A LETTER FROM FLORENCE
Irma had been two or three days in Florence before she had time to write
the long letter to Tessie that for some time she had been planning.
"Dear Tessie," she began:
"Though I have sent you messages and post cards, this is my first
letter. I know you do not care to hear much about pictures and churches,
of which I have seen almost too many, so I will tell you about other
things. I can't say much about foreign children, only that they all seem
shy, except the little girls who beg, and the little boys who wish to be
our guides, and I am sorry to say that sometimes, just to get rid of
them, we give them the penny that we know is not good for them. They
want all the money they can get from _forestieri_, for we are
_forestieri_ here.
"The Italian children seem to have long school hours, and that is one
reason we do not see many of them about. When we do see a group together
it troubles Aunt Caroline that they are not playing, but simply standing
about solemnly. Sometimes, when we pass a station in the middle of the
day, we see a little boy with a loaf of bread under his arm, cutting off
a slice with a jack-knife. That probably is all he has for breakfast,
and perhaps his dinner will be nothing but a dish of macaroni.
"Well, all we have ourselves for breakfast is chocolate and some rolls
and butter. Older people take coffee. If we ask for a boiled egg we can
have it, but we are trying to live as the Italians do. After breakfast
we go sightseeing, and we are always half starved by one o'clock, when
we have _dejeuner_. Everything then is served in courses, and if you are
late you simply have to go without the things that were served before
you sat down. In the middle of the day we rest, for it is as hot as our
hottest summer from twelve to three. After that we drive, or visit some
church or museum, ending with afternoon tea. If you happen to have
friends at some hotel, it is fun to drop in there. But over all the
pastry shops, that are almost like restaurants, you see the sign
'afternoon tea.' It is the one English expression most Italians seem to
know.
"Dinner is served in courses like _dejeuner_. But whatever else they
give us, we are sure of one thing, a course of chicken and salad. By the
time the chicken comes to me, it is generally all wings, which I never
eat. None of us ever eat salad, because we are suspicious of the water
it is washed in.
"You have not had many railroad journeys, and so the little cars and
engines might not seem as funny to you as they do to us. Each car is
divided into little compartments, with room for five persons on each
side, and there you have to sit and stare at the persons opposite. But
we have generally been fortunate enough to have a carriage to ourselves.
"When we arrive at a station, we always find a row of men in blue
cotton blouses and conductors' caps lined up waiting to carry our bags.
They are the _facchini_, or porters, and each one tries to carry several
bags, for it is the law that he shall be paid ten centimes, or two
cents, for each piece of luggage he carries.
"We got rid of crowded railway carriages and _facchini_, when we went
from Siena to Florence. For we drove all the way, staying one day at San
Gimignano, the most curious place we have seen. We wouldn't have thought
of going there but for Richard Sanford, whose family we met in Siena.
Just think! His cousin, Katie Grimston, is travelling with him and his
mother. Katie Grimston, who says that Nap still belongs to her; and I am
afraid she really will take him away from us. But to return to San
Gimignano. It is on the top of a high hill, and has a wall going
completely around it, with handsome great arches, or gates.
"There are eight tall towers in the town, and five on the walls. But
none of them are considered safe now for visitors to climb, though we
had all we could do to keep Marion and Richard from trying one or two of
them. The people of San Gimignano were divided into two great parties,
Guelph for the pope and Ghibelline for the emperor. From the towers,
belonging to the leading families in the town, they could do any amount
of harm to their enemies in the streets below, and also keep a lookout
for outside enemies on their way from Siena.
"Next to the towers (which, to be honest, look a great deal like
factory chimneys of gray stone) you would like the pictures in the
cathedral that tell all the old Bible stories, especially the one where
they are building the Ark, with Noah and his family and all the animals
standing about and looking on.
"In another church some beautiful frescoes by Gozzoli tell the story of
St. Augustine's life. One, where he is shown going to school with his
books under his arm, is very entertaining.
"All the young people seem to have left San Gimignano. There are none
but middle-aged and old, and I never in one place saw so many bent old
men and women. The town itself is so gray and old and poor that we were
glad to leave it. We had enjoyed our drive from Siena so much that Aunt
Caroline and Mrs. Sanford thought we might as well drive to Florence.
This was forty miles, and we all got rather tired. But the country was
beautiful, and after our sixty miles of it by carriage, we feel that we
know just what Tuscany is. The farmers use great white oxen for their
work, white and large and smooth skinned. They made more impression on
us than anything else we saw.
"Now we feel quite at home in Florence. My room looks out on the Arno,
the river that runs through the centre of the city. Not far away I see
the famous Ponte Vecchio, or old bridge. Give my love to every one,
especially Mahala and Nap.
"Your affectionate sister,
"Irma."
Hardly had Irma signed her letter, when Ellen Sanford came into the
room.
"The door was half open, and you did not hear my knock. But what a long
letter. My family never gets anything but post cards from me when I am
travelling."
"Well, this is to my little sister. I promised her one long letter."
"I am glad it's finished, for now you can go out with me. Katie went off
in great spirits, because she had managed to get Marion and Richard both
to go shopping with her; the boys hate shops, too. Your uncle and aunt
have taken mother driving, and so what shall we do?"
"Let us go to the Medici Chapel. I am tired of galleries. I shall need a
week to digest what I saw yesterday at the Uffizi."
"What suits you will suit me," said Ellen, and soon the girls were
driving toward San Lorenzo.
"These booths remind me of the Rag Fair at Rome," said Irma, glancing at
the display of trinkets and small household articles on canvas-shaded
tables, in an open space near the church. "Only these things are much
cheaper. But what a crowd. Italians seem to like open-air shopping."
Within the lofty church the girls saw much to admire, especially the
sculptures by Thorwaldsen, Donatello, and Verocchio. But the tomb of
Cosimo de Medici, "the father of his country," was a plain porphyry
slab.
"The great monument must be somewhere else." And Irma followed Ellen to
the old sacristy, where, though they saw other Medici tombs, they knew
these were not what they sought. In the new sacristy were Michelangelo's
famous statues of Lorenzo, with the figures of Dawn and Twilight at the
base, and of Guiliano, with Day and Night. But beautiful as these were,
they knew they must search further.
At last some one directed them to a door outside, at the other end of
the church, and then with tickets they entered the mausoleum.
"Ah," said Irma, "it is really all I expected. Some one told me it was
not in good taste, and it is not really completed. But a building like
this is more impressive than if decorated with paintings. The pavement
is beautiful, and the walls of exquisite marbles seem built to last
forever."
"There are not many statues," said Ellen.
"No, but I dare say they meant to have more. It is because the grandeur
of the Medicis didn't last that this interests me, Ellen. In the Palazzo
Vecchio and the Riccardi Palace we have seen them painted as conquering
heroes, and every one of them holds his head as if he owned the world."
"They did own a good bit of their little world in their own day."
"That is just what I mean. We have the paintings and the statues, and we
know all that Cosimo the first and Lorenzo the Magnificent did for
Florence by encouraging art and establishing museums and libraries. But
the later men who were not so great built this chapel, and when I look
on these magnificent tombs, and remember what harm came to Savonarola
through a de Medici, and what harm Catherine de Medici did----"
"Oh, Irma, I believe they did more good than harm in the world, and
this tomb is a splendid memorial."
"Yes, it is; only the effect it has on me is different from its effect
on you."
"Now for the library," said Irma, as they turned away from the tomb,
"and after that I will try to show you something quite different."
"This isn't at all like a library," exclaimed Ellen, as they stood in
the high-roofed hall of the Laurentian Library. "There are no bookcases,
and why are these pews here?"
Before Irma could reply, an attendant explained that Irma's pews were
stands for the valuable manuscripts, and he added that Michelangelo had
designed them as well as the fine wooden ceiling of the great room. He
permitted the girls to look at the manuscripts in substantial covers
chained to the stands. Many of them were Greek and Latin classics of
great age. Others were in Italian, and exquisitely illuminated, like the
_Canzone_ of Petrarch, with portraits of Petrarch and Laura. Ellen
bought large copies of these portraits, with the delicate coloring
exquisitely reproduced, and Irma sighed, as she realized how seldom she
herself could spend money on things she liked.
"Ask him the way to the cloisters," she whispered, as they bade the
librarian good-by; and Ellen, when she had interpreted his reply, asked,
"But why should we go to the cloisters?"
"Oh, you will see," and Irma looked at her watch. "We are in good time.
It is only quarter of twelve."
"In good time for what?" persisted Ellen, as they entered the cloistered
enclosure at one side of San Lorenzo, and walked along the arcades to
read the many memorial tablets on wall and pavement.
"I will tell you," said Irma. "This is a kind of Animal Rescue League, a
refuge for stray cats. Persons anxious to get rid of their cats bring
them here, and those who wish to adopt cats come here for them. They say
that the stray cats of Florence hide here in corners and on roofs."
"Well, if I needed a cat I shouldn't know how to find it here. There
certainly isn't one in sight."
"Well, that's why twelve o'clock is the important hour. Exactly on the
stroke of twelve the cats are fed with meat. They seem to know the time,
and come rushing down from roofs and chimneys, and after they are fed
people choose the cats they want."
"Hark! Isn't twelve striking now?" asked Ellen, as the bells of many
churches began to peal loudly. "It is certainly striking twelve; but I
see no cats."
"I don't understand it," said Irma. "I read a long account the other
day, in a book that described Florence."
"Here is the custodian; I will ask him."
After talking for several minutes with the custodian, Ellen turned with
a smile to Irma. "This is the place where the cats used to be fed, and
it was a very ancient custom to let stray cats have refuge here. But
many of them refused to be adopted and became so wild that now they are
all given over to a society, I suppose like the prevention of cruelty.
Your book was not up to date, though it is not very long since the
feeding of the cats was given up."
"Well, I am glad that we have seen the place where they used to feed
them. I can at least describe it to Tessie. I am always trying to see
things that will entertain her when I go home."
At _dejeuner_ Katie was in great spirits; she had bought a number of
pretty things, and had kept the two boys with her all the morning, on
the pretext that she was in great need of their advice. Among her
purchases a long double necklace of large amber beads was especially
beautiful, and Irma praised it generously.
"I would rather have them than anything I have seen in Florence; any
piece of jewelry," she added quickly.
Uncle Jim and Aunt Caroline exchanged significant glances.
After _dejeuner_ Richard and Ellen invited Irma to go with them to San
Marco.
"Mother and Katie say they wish simply to drive, and Marion, I believe,
is going with them to San Miniato, and your aunt thinks you might not
care for the Accademia to-day," said Ellen, as she gave Irma her own
invitation. "But Richard is sure you would enjoy San Marco and
Savonarola."
[Illustration: SPIRES OF FLORENCE.]
[Illustration: SAN MARCO, FLORENCE.]
So in the early afternoon the three friends found themselves
wandering in the beautiful cloisters of the old monastery, with its
little flower garden in the centre, and its great pine, whose trunk was
wreathed with ivy. They walked around a second cloistered garden whose
rosebeds were fenced in by a row of pointed bricks. Seated on a bench,
they looked up at the tiny windows of the second story, and wondered if
the garden that Savonarola had looked on was much like this.
"We must not sit here long," and, as he spoke, Richard walked over to
one of the frescoes painted on the brick walls under the arches. He
called Irma's attention to those by Fra Angelico, representing scenes in
the life of Christ.
"The monastery," he explained, "was suppressed forty years ago, and the
whole building is now a museum. There are some beautiful paintings in
the chapter house and the refectory, but I am most anxious to see the
cells upstairs, nearly all of which are decorated with paintings by Fra
Angelico and his pupils."
"Richard," said Ellen, "I see that this is to be one of the occasions
when you are going to appear terribly wise and talk like a book.
Sometimes, when you are particularly pleased with things in general, you
are so frivolous that I feel that I ought to explain you to some one,
but to-day I believe that you are going to the opposite extreme."
"No matter," interposed Irma. "You know all about San Marco, but I am
less wise."
"Well spoken, young lady," said Richard, in the tone which Irma already
had learned to associate with his fun-making mood. "But I cannot pretend
to have any knowledge about San Marco, or Savonarola or Fra Angelico
that you and my sister might not already possess, if you have read your
books carefully. First, as to Savonarola; he became Prior of San Marco
in 1490, and when he preached in the church here, the whole piazza in
front was crowded hours before the doors opened, and shopkeepers did not
think it worth while to open their shops until the great preacher's
sermon was over. He made religion seem a simple thing, within the reach
of all who tried to live pure lives. He addressed himself to the poor
and to the young; and he especially blamed the love of luxury that was
spreading in Florence, though he encouraged artists to use their talents
on religious pictures."
"Well, we all know that," said Ellen, mildly.
"Then you remember how on the last day of Carnival, 1497, his followers
went from house to house collecting books and pictures and musical
instruments and other things that they thought had an evil influence,
and burned them all in a great fire in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. I
will point out the place later."
"I should like to see it," responded Irma, to whom Richard had turned.
"Savonarola had made many enemies by his plain speaking, and though for
a time Florence seemed to have had a change of heart, when the Pope
Alexander VI excommunicated him, the supporters of the de Medici power
went against him, and at last San Marco was stormed, and Savonarola was
carried away to death."
"Yes--yes--it is a very sad story. It is pleasanter to go into these
cells and remember how Savonarola encouraged art. Let us look at these
frescoes carefully," and the three walked on slowly, stopping a moment
at the entrance to each cell, where, on the whitewashed walls, were
exquisite paintings by Fra Angelico, his brother Fra Benedetto, and Fra
Bartolommeo. At last, after a turn or two at the end of the corridor,
they came to the Prior's Cell, with Fra Bartolommeo's frescoes on the
wall.
"Of course you recognize Savonarola," said Richard, "and that other is
his friend Benievieni, and look at these smaller cells inside; here is
his hair shirt and his rosary and this bit of old wood, as the
inscription says, is from the pile on which he was burnt."
"Ugh!" cried Irma, "I don't like it"; and she turned to look at
Savonarola's sermons and his crucifix.
The three were silent as they left the dormitories of the good brothers
of San Marco, especially when they remembered the great prior, whose
terrible death the fickle Florentines in time repented.
"Time is so precious to-day," said Richard, as they left San Marco.
"And why, pray?" asked Ellen.
"Because you have me with you, dear sister. You cannot be sure when I
shall be ready to go with you again."
"Indeed!" responded Ellen. "We are not sure that we shall need you
again."
"Well, then, since time is precious, we will drive for a moment to S.
Annunziata to see something fine and something funny."
Soon they were in the little courtyard of the church, and after leaving
them for a moment Richard returned with a sacristan, carrying keys. He
unlocked the doors of the corridor surrounding the court, in which were
some fine frescoes by Andrea del Sarto and two or three other great
painters. After they had admired these paintings, while their guide
moved off toward some other visitors, Richard said, "Here is the
'something funny,'" and he pointed to a number of small, crude paintings
at the end of the corridor.
"They _are_ funny; what in the world are they?" asked Irma.
"You mustn't laugh, even though they seem funny. Come here, and I will
explain," and Richard pointed to one that showed a man falling headlong
down a steep flight of stairs. "This man, you see, escaped death from a
broken neck, on the date put above the picture, and this one, on the
deck of the ship tossing about so wildly on the ocean, was saved from
shipwreck, and this other in the carriage with two wildly prancing
horses was evidently not fatally injured, and this woman in bed,
surrounded by her weeping family, was apparently at the point of death,
when her patron saint saved her."
"Oh," exclaimed Ellen. "Then these are pious offerings, and I won't
laugh at them. It is rather a pretty idea to show thankfulness in this
way, and we oughtn't to laugh, even if they could not have Del Sartos or
Botticellis for their artists."
On their way home, they looked at the spot in front of the Palazzo
Vecchio, now marked by a stone, where Savonarola was burned, and his two
chief followers, Fra Domenico and Fra Silvestro.
"When I leave Florence," said Irma, "I shall remember the Palazzo
Vecchio more because it was the prison of Savonarola than for anything
else."
"But you haven't forgotten the wonderful great halls, and the gildings
and paintings. There are no halls more splendid in Florence."
"No, I haven't forgotten them, and I remember Uncle Jim told us the Hall
of the Five Hundred was built from the plans of Savonarola for his great
Council, and Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. But the return of the
de Medici changed all this, and instead, every inch of space records the
greatness of the de Medici and their victories over the enemies of
Florence. But the great statue of Savonarola is there, and I believe his
memory will last the longest."
"You are right," responded Richard absentmindedly. He had just seen a
flower girl with a basket of exquisite roses.
"Oh, Richard, you are extravagant," cried Ellen, as the girl emptied
her basket.
"One can't be extravagant with flowers in Florence," he replied.
Katie and Marion were standing at the door when they reached the hotel.
"Where did you get those roses?" Katie asked, as they descended from the
carriage with their arms full.
"Gathered them, of course," replied Richard promptly, although the
question had not been addressed to him.
"Richard gathered them for us," added Ellen. "He is a brother worth
having."
"Marion and I didn't see any like them," said Katie.