very great wonder in the Tyrol, of which I must give you an account.
We went by the Poste to Desenzano, the southern point of the lake of
Garda, and from thence steamed all up that most beautiful sheet
of water to Riva. From Riva we took a ricketty machine, called by
courtesy the Post, to Roveredo, and on hither to Trent. First I must
tell you, we had an introduction to Manzoni at Milan from a friend in
Paris; and his son-in-law had just returned from seeing one of the two
persons who were the object of our present pilgrimage--the Addolorata
and the Estatica, whose case was set forth, some few years ago (about
three or four), by Lord Shrewsbury. The first of these has received
the stigmata of the Passion, from which blood issues every Friday--the
crown of thorns, the nail-holes in the hands and feet, and the wound
in the left side; and the second lives in a continual trance. We met a
lady in Paris, a Roman Catholic, who had seen them, and spoke much
about both, but not very satisfactorily to our minds. We determined
accordingly, if possible, to visit them ourselves, and received full
instruction from Signor Stephano Stampa at Milan as to the route and
all other needful circumstances. Well, at Trent we went to the bishop;
for one of these persons, Maria Mörl, the Estatica, lives in a
convent, and may not be seen without a letter from the bishop, which
we hardly expected would be granted to any persons not Romans.
However, we wrote _Artium Magister_, Oxford, upon our cards, and sent
them in. He received us very politely, granted at once the petition
for a letter, begged us, if possible, to call on him and give
him our opinion on the cases in returning; "for," said he, "we cannot
pronounce about either case, especially the Estatica, while they live,
and the end is uncertain;" and he further thought every one who had
the opportunity should make an unfettered judgment for themselves. At
the conclusion of the interview he gave us his blessing, and by noon
we were on our way in an omnibus to Neumarkt, up the valley of the
Adige; grand castellated rocks overgrown with brushwood, some 12 or
1700 feet, on either side of this rapid river. Neumarkt is a stupid
little place; and we were considerably imposed upon by the worthies
there, who might have put us at once in the way to our point. Next
morning, Thursday, 29., we took a carriage to Cavalese, a small town
in the mountains, a post and a half distant; and after breakfast
there, we found out Signor Yoris, a medico, to whom Signor S. Stampa
had given us a letter of introduction. He was very civil, and offered
to accompany us to the village of the Addolorata, whose name is
Domenica Lazzari. This place is called Capriana, and we walked thither
in something less than four hours, a distance (I supposed) of about
nine or ten miles. This was across a range of hills, and up the valley
of a tributary to the Adige: the hills covered with forests of spruce
and pine, and very beautiful. We got to Capriana about 5 P.M.; and
I will give you an abridgment of notes I wrote that evening for
the rest of the account. Reached Capriana at five, turned to the right
to the house--almost the outside of all, the meanest we saw--and after
some minutes the sister arrived and let us in. The room at first dark,
too dark to see more than the figure contracted in the bed, and the
face dark with blood as low as the bottom of the nose, and a little
lower on each side. The medico drew aside the curtain, and we saw
plainly the stigmata on the back of the hand, and the marks round the
forehead in a straight line, about an inch below the hair in the
middle. The marks are about a quarter of an inch apart in an even row
as far as the hair, and for three or four marks under it. The medico
told me they go all round. There were other marks below the first down
to the eyebrows, but whether so regular as the first I could not tell
for the quantity of blood clotted and dried on the face. The blood has
flowed straight towards the bottom of the face, and not trickled
sideways to the bed. There has been a good deal this week. The hands,
which are much wasted, are clasped continually on the top of the bed
clothes, and are marked a little above the centre with the stigmata
(the nail holes); the scar extends half or three quarters of an inch
all round, slightly red. The wound is cicatrised with a dark spot of
dried blood in the centre. Inside (as well as I could see, the
hands being clasped,) the left palm seems to have a long white wound
right into the flesh, which is covered all round with dried blood.
That on the face is so dark and continual, that, from the holes of the
_spicæ_ (thorn marks) to the nose, it is just like a dark mask. Her
breast is curved up to a close convex, and the legs drawn up till
almost doubled from convulsions. The medico says she was once as tall
as I am. Twelve or thirteen years since she has eaten anything but the
Blessed Sacrament, and that in the most minute portions possible.
The following are the correct dates:--
10th April, 1834. Nothing eaten since.
10th January, 1834. Stigmata, hands, feet and side.
31st January, 1834. Crown of thorns.
An altar is in the room, at which the bishop allows mass to be
celebrated once or twice every week, according to the convenience of
the priest, and on saints' days.
We spoke of the bishop. She was much interested also in all that the
doctor said. He kept fanning her with a large feather fan: her only
relief. She suffers most on Thursdays. The issue of blood Fridays
unaccompanied with pain: rather a relief. A woman and boy came to see
her. Cheerful when _freer_ from pain (she always suffers). Was told
we were English. Looks very intently at one. Light blue or blue
gray eyes; hair fine,--a cold brown. Face awfully wasted. Her smile
sweet. Says, when most in pain, "Dio mio, mio Dio!" Friday morning, at
five, we were again with her. She was in an insensible state: waking
up at intervals. The hands still clasped, but the head shaking, and
her teeth chattering. The blood was bright red and fresh (flowing)
from all the upper row of holes and the rest, though clotted below
generally, for she suffers great heat of fever. The wounds of the
hands were open and ran, but outside (on the surface) the blood had
run down the back of the hand in a broad stream to a little below the
wrist, and there stopped; one small current had trickled across to the
bottom of the hand. It was clotted. I looked as close as I could by
stooping to the inside of the left hand. My impression was of an open
wound, much deeper; long, with lips standing out upon the upper side;
much blood had run over the inside of her hand: it ran to the wrist
and all over the palms. Her teeth whole, though the two centre much
apart. Her face, above and below the blood, was not livid, but of a
good complexion. Her voice when she spoke was much stronger than
yesterday. She saw me trying to draw the outline of her face, and
said, she supposed a portrait would appear of her. We commended
ourselves and England to her prayers. All English (she said) who had
seen her had done the same. She commended herself by us to the
Bishop's blessing and intercession with "Il vescovo di tutti,"
(something she said quite indistinct). This is the substance of my
notes written on the spot. I must add to it, that every Friday since
the date above, and only on Friday, the wounds have bled; that the
doctor told us he had seen her feet a hundred times, which are marked
like the hands, but the blood runs _up_ towards the toes; as it does
up the nose, which we saw. Her side wound has been seen by several
women, her sister among others, whom we talked much to. She was
perfectly simple, wanted no money, and treated her sister more as an
invalid than anything else. The Dr. Yoris's presence was, I think, a
very great advantage to us. It put all reserve out of the question, if
any would otherwise have been observable, and enabled us to see her
more as she always is, and no doubt to stay longer, to draw the
curtain aside, &c. My impression was of great awe at the sight: the
day Friday, and the supernatural facts of the flow of blood from a
person taking no nourishment or food of any kind, the course taken by
the blood,--but the sight of the dark mask of blood was what first and
most painfully struck me. The simplicity, and apparent domesticity, of
her way of speaking--her smiling and answering the doctor's
questions--struck me next. As he said, a secular question is answered
in the tone of this world, a religious one in that of the other.
She seems conscious herself of nothing beyond God's chastisement for
her sins; therefore she is shy of showing or speaking of herself
beyond what is necessary as information to serious inquirers. The
wound in her side she refused to show any man, though she said any
number of women, physician's wives, if they would, might see it, for
it needed no medical treatment. She does not seem conscious of being
in any extraordinary or miraculous way the vehicle, as such, of Divine
Grace; but she is patient, exceedingly, and strives, as she says, to
do all God's will. Nothing remarkable in a religious way is recorded
of her early character. "Una buona ragazza," the doctor called her,
but no more; he said especially not "bigotta." Is it not a palpable
evidence of our Lord's presence to us in His sufferers, to bring home
the actuality of what is taught us of the spiritual things we have
been born into, yet to confound spiritual pride? "Thy ways are in the
sea, and Thy paths are in the great waters, and Thy footsteps are not
known."
Next morning we went to Caldaro, a beautiful village about nine miles
or eight from Neumarkt, and, by aid of the Bishop of Trent's letter,
saw Maria Mörl, the Estatica, but were only allowed to see her for
five minutes. She knelt on her bed, with her hands together under the
chin: her attitude was leaning forward, and inclined to the right in
such a position as I cannot keep myself in without support; nor
do I think, from the overbalance of the body, it could be done
naturally. Her face has much beauty, her eyes are dark and full, hair
long and black, and her skin as pale as that of a dead body or a wax
figure; not a muscle moved; and except a very slight oscillating
motion of the body occasionally, and the breathing, there were no
signs of life in her, though I saw once the eyelid quiver slightly.
The friar who took us in, a Franciscan, told her to lie down; which,
after a moment or two, she did; only falling back in the bed, with her
legs from the knee unmoved. She gave two slight sort of groans or
sighs. Her hands remained just as they were, and the eyes were fixed
on the same spot. After a short visit, the friar took us out,--talking
a German which we could none of us understand. When we got to the door
of the house, we asked him, in Latin, if we could see her again: he
answered, "Eam vidistis, eam vidistis," and left us.
We walked back to Neumarkt, and yesterday evening started in the
Bolzano omnibus back to this place. Fare you well. * * * I have given
you as short as I could this marvellous account.
* * * * *
J. H. POLLEN.
Venice, August 5. 1847.
MY DEAR ----.
* * * We staid at Verona one clear day: it has very interesting
churches, and a noble river, the Adige, "exulting and abounding," as
Byron says; and many Shakspearian associations, besides very quaint
and mediæval bits of architecture. But my time is waxing short, and a
greater attraction was near. So yesterday we _squudged_ ourselves
into a merciless omnibus, which carried twelve insiders thirty miles
in the space of six hours to the railway at Vicenza; and the said
railway brought us on just in time to reach Venice by the last light
of day. Very striking indeed is the approach to Venice, on a bridge
two miles long over the Lagune, very striking because so appropriate
to a city which is like no other. The evening was unfavourable, for it
rained, which has scarcely happened to us before; notwithstanding, our
excitement was great; I do not think I have felt so much curiosity
about a place since I entered Rome nearly thirteen years ago, and
could scarcely believe I was there. Though a great part of to-day has
been rainy Venice does not disappoint me. The Doge's palace, the
piazza, and piazzetta of St. Mark, and his church, are quite unique;
so is the great canal, with its host of middle age palaces. We have
been to-day both in the pozzi and the piombi, the ancient
prisons of the republic, the former terrible for their darkness, the
latter for their heat; both seldom disgorging the prisoner save to
death; and what a death, at least in its circumstances, and in the
case of political offenders. The cells were all cased in wood, with
hardly any light; but when the criminal in politics had confessed his
fault, and was condemned, he was transferred to another cell in the
middle of the night, a foreign priest was admitted, received his
confession, and absolved him. The priest issued from the cell, and
turned to the left, the criminal to the right, and rounding a corner
not a yard off, was placed on a seat, a cord passed round the neck,
and strangled. Behind the seat a door opened, a gondola received his
corpse (for it is just at the level of the water), carried it to the
cemetery, and no one, wife or child, knew more of his destiny than
this: that the invisible inquisition of state had laid its hand upon
him, and that he _was not_. I said to the old guide, who had a fine
Venetian head, "I suppose you do not regret not living in those
times?" "But _I do_ regret it," he replied; "Venice was then a
republic; there was more commerce, and life was easier; and it was
just owing to her wise treatment of criminals that she maintained
herself so long; and had she kept that treatment to the end, she would
not have fallen: mine was a very ancient Venetian family. It is to
foreigners," he added, "that I say all this; writers have
greatly exaggerated about these prisons." As I stood on a spot at
which hundreds of human beings, during the long course of that
terrible rule, had yielded up their lives in the darkness of a gloomy
passage, more fearful at least to the thought than the gaze of a
furious multitude, or the rack itself, I could not agree with the old
man, though I was surprised at such a flash of old Venetian spirit.
That same ducal palace, which is among palaces what the great mediæval
cathedrals dedicated to Notre Dame are among churches, has these
dungeons below; the state reception apartments of the Doge above; and
over them again those other prisons of the piombi, or leads--a
somewhat strange position for the drawing-rooms of the head of a
state. Italian churches are as unlike ours as two things called by the
same name can well be. They are full of marbles on floor and walls,
paintings, gildings, shrines, images, tapers, perpetual services, and
seldom wanting at least in some worshippers. St. Mark much exceeds my
expectation. It has five domes covered with mosaic and figures in rich
gilding, columns of finest marble, bronzes, multitudes of precious
objects, but with a solemnity far beyond all these, which makes one
feel that one is in a temple, a place of worship, of bowing down to
the Infinite, not of addressing man himself through a part of him
which has shared in his general fall--the understanding. This, I
think, is the main difference between Catholic and Uncatholic
churches. Then, again, that vision of the Blessed Virgin and Child, so
often repeated, and under so many different phases, is inexpressibly
consoling. It really seems to me that the more men dwell upon the
Incarnation, the more they will associate the Blessed Virgin with our
Lord, and the saints with Him and with her; they will not analyse and
divide, but rather always seem to be touching the skirts of His robe
of glory, in every one of those who have suffered and conquered in His
name; and most of all in the Mother, who was and is so unspeakably
near to Him. Thus the Protestant sees in her "a dead woman worshipped;"
the Catholic, the mother of all Christians; the Protestant sees in the
saints "deified sinners;" the Catholic, living members of His body, in
whom His virtue now dwells without let of human corruption. In short,
I think Keble is no less true than beautiful when he says,
"What is this silent might, making our darkness light,
New wine our waters, heavenly Blood our wine?
Christ, with His Mother dear, and all His saints, is here,
And where they dwell is heaven, and what they touch divine."
Now this is just the idea which an Italian church conveys.
Our room looks out on the end of the Grand Canal, into whose waters a
slight jump would convey one some fifty feet down. It is one of the
greatest thoroughfares and finest views in Venice. Gondolas are
perpetually flitting by; I had my first glide in one to-day for
several hours up and down the Grand Canal. I can't say I feel the
smallest sympathy with the ruling spirit of ancient Venice, but it is
something to be on a spot so long the seat of empire; I feel that I
shall _feed_ for the ensuing year on this excursion, and this adds
much to its pleasure. We were all delighted with Trent: it is
magnificently situated in the midst of mountains, with that wild rapid
Adige sweeping through it. The church in which the Council sat is, of
course, very interesting. We called twice on the bishop; first to ask
his permission to see the Estatica; secondly, to give him our report.
He received us with the greatest politeness, talked about Church
matters in England, and perhaps was gratified, if not surprised, by
three English priests falling on their knees to receive his
benediction. I hope you got my long letter of the 1st of August,
giving our visit to Capriana and Caldaro. We all look back on that
with great satisfaction.
_August 6th._--Venice this morning is in all its beauty; we have just
taken a gondola for the day, to visit churches and paintings,--Titian's
finest are here. We take coffee morning and evening in the Piazzetta
of St. Mark, the great resort. It is with great difficulty one can get
along without an officious shoe-black insisting upon the satisfaction
of cleaning that part of one's dress. If they happen to be dirty, the
creature can no more be driven away than a hungry mosquito; he buzzes
round and round and round, till the only way is to stop and let him
draw his sous.
Yours very sincerely,
T. W. ALLIES.
Milan, August 14. 1847.
MY DEAR ----.
I left Venice yesterday morning, on my way home, alone, I am sorry to
say, for my two companions proceed to Bologna and Florence, and will
not be back in England till the end of September. It seems to me quite
a different thing now I have to go by myself; and the only comforting
thought is, that every step brings me nearer home. I am not likely to
lose much time on the road, and I hope to be with you on the day I
mentioned in my last; viz., Tuesday, the 26th.--I meant to have
written to you again from Venice, but our days went swiftly there, and
when we returned in the evening I was too much tired for the exertion.
Venice will remain as a strange and beautiful dream in my remembrance.
After all that one had heard it required sight to realise a city
rising out of the water on all sides, whose streets are canals,
whose doors open by flights of stairs on the water, whose carriages
are gondolas, and the most agreeable kind of carriage I ever was in;
for one reclines in them most lazily, like lotos eaters, and sees
palace and church, and all sorts of strange-looking heterogeneous
buildings sweep gently by, in a sort of sleep; while every now and
then comes a bit of semi-eastern architecture, rich ogee windows, and
arcades which perfectly delighted me, and quite as often we wound
through narrow, dirty, motionless canals, that seemed just suited to a
purpose they no doubt often served,--the drowning troublesome bodies.
But one sight we saw which you would have thoroughly entered into. On
Sunday afternoon, as we got into a gondola, the gondolier informed us
that he could not take us at the accustomed fare that evening, from
six to eight, for it was his especial harvest time, that all the world
went to the music on the Grand Canal. Accordingly, after looking for
some time at the Euganean hills and Friuli mountains, which are a
glorious sight to the north of Venice, we bade him take us to meet the
music on the Grand Canal. This is about 200 feet wide, winds most
beautifully through the city, having the Rialto bridge about the
middle, and is bordered by the finest palaces. We soon met the
Archduke's gondola, and behind it a great crowd of others covering the
whole breadth of the canal, shouldering and elbowing each other,
the gondoliers shouting, watching every one else's gondola as well as
their own, applauding or blaming, as might be. Each boat has one man
on a little covered deck near the stern, where he balances himself
admirably, and mainly directs the boat, serving both as oar and
rudder, and another not quite so near to the prow. In the middle
ladies recline on cushions, and no Hyde Park carriage serves to set
off beauty and fashion so well as those wicked barks of Venice, which
have screened so many tricks both of man and woman, for so many
hundred years. On this occasion, however, the part of the boat which
serves for shelter, coolness, or concealment, as it may be,--that is,
a sort of cabin, covered with crape, is taken away, and the cushions
afford a full view of whatever they carry. Into this press and throng
of little gallies we passed with the rest; the scene every moment
changing, the gondoliers vociferating, the boats seeming in perpetual
collision, now jammed close together, and again emerging into a few
feet of clear water, the band playing close behind us. Every now and
then adventurous boats came from the other direction, and how they
made themselves a way into a throng that seemed quite full before was
the wonder. Some of the gondoliers were dressed in fanciful liveries,
which added much to their appearance. This was all in the last light
of day, and we agreed that we had never seen so interesting and
original a piece of fun. A single gondolier thus standing on his
little deck will guide his boat with admirable skill, and though it is
near forty feet long, he will make it turn the corners of the
narrowest canals, and wind through opposing boats without touching.
For this purpose, when he approaches a corner which he has to turn,
perhaps at right angles, of course not knowing what is coming the
other side, he sings out in good time, Stalí, or Staprimí; answering
to starboard and larboard; and thus collisions are generally avoided,
though barges act in an unkind and domineering manner towards their
slighter brethren, and move about with a consciousness that they are
the "iron pots" against the "earthen." These canals are not always
free from another danger, as we were near learning to our cost. The
last evening, as we emerged from one of the thousand bridges, came a
violent smash into the boat, which made me jump. It was a whole wine
bottle which descended, and broke itself on W----'s back.
Providentially he was not much hurt, but I thought it might just as
easily have been my head, which was uncovered at the time, and which
it would certainly have broken. I suppose it was done thoughtlessly,
but we could not discover the person. Almost all our time was spent in
the open air at Venice, with occasional visits to the picture
galleries and churches. We were all much struck with the number
of persons attending services on week days. There are Masses
perpetually going on, sometimes two or three at different altars, from
early in the morning till past noon, and each would have its circle of
worshippers, men as well as women. Besides, persons would be kneeling
in all parts. The largest church in Venice, S. Giovanni e Paolo, a
very fine one, full of grand tombs of the ancient Doges, had the
exposition of the Holy Sacrament for five days over the Great Altar,
which was fitted up with crimson hangings all round, and a great
quantity of lights; in the centre, in a remonstrance, the Host was
exposed, places for kneeling stretched a great way down the church. I
was in it almost every day, and always saw a great many kneeling and
saying their prayers. We heard a sermon in St. Mark's on Sunday, about
the different modern systems of physical philosophy, and their
manifold absurdities. Morning and evening we took our coffee, often
relieved with ices, in the Piazza of St. Mark, which in the evening is
a great rendezvous, and serves the ladies in the summer instead of
receiving company at home. Then we used to walk under the Doge's
palace, and talk of things past, present, and to come, of which the
two former were the pleasanter. We were generally very unanimous,
liking the same buildings, the same pictures, and the same principles;
disliking with one accord that huge variety of beard and whisker
and moustache, in which "Young Italy," no less than "Young France,"
luxuriates. The journey here took twenty-three hours from Venice, the
heat and dust dreadful. To-morrow I shall see the Feast of the
Assumption, which you remember we passed together at Amiens four years
ago. On Monday my place is taken to Lucerne, thirty-two hours' journey
from here, so that night I shall begin to scale the Alps by the St.
Gothard pass, descending on that most lovely lake, and the worst part
of my journey will be over. _August 15th._ I went just now to see the
sun rise from the top of the cathedral. As I entered it just before
five, I found a good many people, mostly of a poor class, already
there. At five a priest entered, and began communicating people before
the rails of an altar in the transept. This is done very rapidly; as
with only a previous blessing he takes the pyx from the tabernacle
over the altar, in which the Host is reserved, and holding a Host
between the fingers and thumb, makes with It the sign of the cross,
saying in Latin, "The Body of the Lord preserve thy soul to eternal
life," and puts It on the tongue. When I came down an hour after, I
saw a much larger number, and after celebrating Mass he began
communicating a fresh set. In this way a great number can receive in a
morning at different altars, without much waiting. As for _effect_,
they understand it well here; the lights burning on and before
the altars, and the deep religious gloom of the duomo itself,
especially in early morning, add all that can be added to the
solemnity of such a scene. This is going on without intermission, till
the High Mass at eleven. It certainly looks to me very like reality.
Yours very sincerely,
T. W. ALLIES.
JOURNAL.--1848.
_Paris. Windsor Hotel, Rue de Rivoli, July 18. 1848._--I have been
nine days in France, and the kindness of friends has not left me an
hour to put down my thoughts. Yet assuredly, in so utter a change of
one's usual habits and sights, the mind has been more affected than
during many weeks of sedentary occupations. But when one has been
profoundly moved either by a religious service, or a conversation, or
place or building, it is a great effort to sit down, collect one's
thoughts, and turn one's eyes inward on oneself. Generally, too, by
the end of the day we were so fatigued that such an effort became
physically impossible.
We left Southampton at five P.M., on Saturday, the 8th July. A good
deal of wind, and sea rough. Passed off Portsmouth the fleet of ten
men-of-war, one three decker, St. Vincent, 104 guns; four two deckers;
and five frigates. Most majestic they looked unmoved amid the
freshening waves. I can never see a ship of war without my heart
bounding. Byron has exactly expressed one's feeling:--
"She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife."