[Illustration: _Alinari_
_Benedetto Buglioni_
CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN
OSPEDALE DEL CEPPO, PISTOJA]
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
_Alinari_ _Mino da Fiesole_
MONUMENT OF CARDINAL NICCOLÒ FORTEGUERRA
CHURCH OF S. CECILIA, ROME]
A SUNDAY AMONG THE HILLS OF BRANCOLI
[Illustration: _Alinari_
_Fra Bartolommeo_
THE VIRGIN AND CHILD ENTHRONED, AND SAINTS
CATHEDRAL, LUCCA]
[Illustration]
A SUNDAY AMONG THE HILLS OF BRANCOLI
"O day most calm, most bright."
--HERBERT.
[Illustration]
On St. Patrick's Day in the morning we left Florence, had a full day's
sight-seeing in Pistoja, Groppoli, and Serravalle, and pushed on to
Lucca the same evening, arriving about seven o'clock.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
THE OLD CITY WALL AND MOAT, LUCCA]
Acting on sound British advices, we drove at once to the Albergo
dell'Universo, a comfortable little inn occupying the first floor of
the old Palazzo Arnolfo, where we had our belated dinner, took our
ease before a cheerful open fire, and congratulated ourselves that at
last we were in Lucca--a hope long deferred.
[Illustration: _Alinari_
_Jacopo della Quercia_
TOMB OF ILARIA DEL CARRETTO, CATHEDRAL, LUCCA]
The morrow is crisp and brilliant; and, forgetful of our guide-book's
express advice, to crown and finish our Lucca visit with a walk on the
ramparts, we turn our backs on churches and priceless works of art
and hasten at once to the old city walls. How faithfully those mediæval
bricklayers did their work! Their walls, well preserved, still surround
the town, no longer bristling with engines of war, but planted thick
with shade-trees--elms, acacias, and limes--affording one of the most
beautiful promenades in Italy. Lifted well above the city streets, they
command extensive views on every side: here the broad, fertile plain,
stretching to the Arno; yonder, at the north, the chain of rugged
Apuans, two sharp peaks of which are now capped with glistening snow;
southward rise the heights of Monte Pisani, noted in Roman days, and
since, for its hot-springs. From thence comes the pure drinking-water
for Lucca, conveyed by an aqueduct built by the Duchess Marie Louise,
for which her grateful people erected a monument in her honour. As
it crosses the sunlit plain on its four hundred and fifty-nine grey
stone arches, we are reminded of the Roman Campagna, and remember that
Lucca, in the day of her greatest splendour, was a favorite summer
residence for the Romans, and that many traces still exist of their
occupation, particularly the massive arcades of an amphitheatre in the
present market-place. Standing on the old ramparts, on a rare spring
morning, ten chances to one you forget all the sights awaiting you
down there, in the "city of the Magnificent People and Commune of
Lucca"--its palaces, towers, and picture-galleries, its chapels and
churches, of which there are no less than seventy "to satisfy the wants
of 22,000 souls." The fame of San Frediano's seventh century church,
with its magnificent tower, its sculptured font and Madonna, has
reached us over sea. For years we have yearned to look on Jacopo della
Quercia's marble of that fair lady, Ilaria del Carretto, resting in
the transept of St. Martin's cathedral. We know there are paintings
by Fra Bartolommeo, palaces and libraries; but the fresh mountain air
has driven all these things from our desire; we only long for those
mountains delectable, those chestnut-crowned hills and distant grey
towers. We begin to ask why we should study the churches of Lucca, and
who is Matteo Civitali that he should keep us within the city walls?
We consult time-tables and guide-books; there's a tram, they tell us,
leading out of Porta Santa Maria in ten minutes, and if we catch it
we may ride six miles, and then ... perhaps a carriage may be found,
though it is early in the season. "But," importunes the handsome driver
of the cab waiting to take us to the tram, and who in some way has
divined our wants, "the _tramvia_ will not take the signore to the
hills, and surely there is no carriage at Ponte Moriano so early in the
year. _Ecco_, this _buon cavallo_ and your devoted Pepino, who will
take you all the way so comfortably!" Off comes the shabby hat with
inimitable native grace, and the bold, brown eyes are convincingly
eloquent. You can no more resist Pepino's reasoning than that rush of
mountain air on the ramparts. All preconceived plans are fast taking
flight; but Prudence keeps her head and demands with thrifty caution,
"How much, inclusive, there and back?" Then Pepino: "Oh, a mere
bagatelle, my _illustrissime_ signore, only twelve lire." Prudence,
scouting this declaration with lofty scorn inspired by a profound
knowledge of tariffs and coach-men from Paris to Palermo, exclaims:
"Preposterous! Ten francs it shall be, and not a centesimo more." "Ah,
signorina, the roads are very steep and it will take my whole morning,"
returns Pepino, beseechingly; but in vain he seeks for a sign of
relenting. His struggle is brief, and, with a deprecating flourish of
his small, shapely hands, he mounts the box, and the air with which he
says, "as you will have it, signorina," is that of a gracious conqueror
dictating terms to the vanquished; he cherishes no resentment, he has
no interest but ours. We never for a moment regret the tram. Pepino
knows every villa and grey tower, every path through the hills, every
bridge over the _torrenti_; he never intrudes his knowledge, and, above
all, he is kind to his horse.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
ON THE RAMPARTS, LUCCA]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
S. FREDIANO, LUCCA
EAST END, WITH THE CAMPANILE (11TH AND 13TH CENTURY)]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
SAN FREDIANO FROM THE GUINIGI TOWER, LUCCA]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
A "GREY TOWER"]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
PONTE A MORIANO, WITH A VIEW OF THE SERCHIO RIVER]
"Yonder cross on the round, bare hill," he says, "is Brancoli," and
Brancoli is the hill of our desire. Our good road at first runs over
the plain following the east bank of the Serchio, principal river of
the province; it rises in a northernly valley among the Apuans and fed
by many a mountain stream or _torrente_, maintains a southeasterly
course almost to Lucca, which it avoids by a broad loop westward, and
then makes its way to the Mediterranean almost parallel with the Arno.
We pass clusters of farm-houses, well-cultivated fields and vineyards,
until in less than an hour we reach Ponte Moriano, which is little more
than a busy street of shops and dwellings, but has a good stone church
founded by San Frediano in five hundred and something. Its rather
tall, square tower, of good proportions and crenellated battlements,
is characteristic of all the church towers in this region. Here is
the terminus of the _tramvia_, and Pepino was right, there is no
appearance of a carriage; but his Italian for "I told you so," was kept
under his breath with true Lucchese courtesy.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
AN OLD STONE BRIDGE]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
BRIDGE OVER THE SERCHIO RIVER]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
PARISH CHURCH OF S. MARIA E S. GIORGIO (11TH CENTURY)
BRANCOLI]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
SAN LORENZO, BRANCOLI]
A mile farther on is the little hamlet of San Giusto, situated at a
point where the Lima joins the Serchio. Here we leave the main road,
turn sharply to the right, and follow the windings of the little river,
which is crossed by the picturesque stone bridge of Vinchiana. An
old mill, half hidden by white birches, turns its moss-covered wheel
close under the steep river banks, overhung with a tangle of vines
and flowery shrubs. The road becoming rather steep, we now leave the
carriage and proceed on foot. What an entrancing walk it is! Always
ascending, we follow the turnings of the stream, now far below, and
glancing like a silver thread along the valley. We round the grey
shoulders of jutting cliffs, where clumps of white heather are in full
bloom and the "maidenly birches" are touched with the first tender
green; the air is intoxicating in its freshness, and the sky never
so blue. "_Ecco!_" calls Pepino. "_Ecco!_ San Ilario!" How has the
fellow guessed that we ought to study churches rather than maunder
about posies! The little church of cut stone, flanked by its good
tower, stands hard by the roadside, convenient and inviting to tired
feet and aching hearts, as many a pilgrim in the old days knew full
well. Its doors stand open wide, admitting floods of sunshine and
spring fragrance. We enter unbidden, to find the little temple quiet
and empty, all its pictures and sacred emblems covered, and all as
clean and fresh as if waiting in reverent silence the miracle of Easter
morning. We proudly boast the stern old Puritan blood running cool and
inviolate in our veins, but there's a silent appeal in these modest
temples and shrines of the elder faith that "must give us pause," and
silence the voice of criticism. Taking the road again, we still ascend
from one fold of the hill to another, whence we overlook the Serchio
pursuing its lazy course far below, the views becoming more and more
beautiful, until in half an hour we come upon the little stone church
of San Lorenzo, close by the road. Small as it is, San Lorenzo is as
complete in all its attributes, and as true to its architecture, as a
full-fledged duomo, even to the little apse. The sturdy tower, square
and shapely, small, round-arched windows and sides of warm, grey stone,
the red-tiled roof, flecked with patches of green moss, make a charming
picture, found in no country but Italy. This time the church is closed,
but there are keys hanging in the north door, perhaps entering the
sacristy, and we make bold to peep. It is a clean and cold room,
entirely separated from the church proper, and evidently serving at
present for a store-room, as a slender stock of various commodities
and a few bottles of wine attest. Meantime Pepino has made our wants
known at the near farm-house, and is returning, accompanied by a
handsome young girl with the keys to the proper church door, which she
opens, saluting us with respectful dignity, and, without questioning,
draws the curtain from the Della Robbia over the altar; for well she
knows that the _forestieri_ only come to see our "beautiful white San
Lorenzo." The statue is small and perfect, like everything about this
woodland _chiesetta_. The head is exquisitely modelled, all in white,
with the finish and the ivory-tinted glaze which belongs to Andrea
Della Robbia's best work, though the wise in such matters ascribe it to
one of his pupils.
[Illustration: _Alinari_
THE INTERIOR (11TH CENTURY), PARISH CHURCH OF S. MARIA
E S. GIORGIO, BRANCOLI]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
HOLY-WATER STOUP, PARISH CHURCH OF S. MARIA E S. GIORGIO
BRANCOLI]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
HEXAGONAL BAPTISMAL FONT (13TH CENTURY), S. MARIA E S. GIORGIO
BRANCOLI]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
DETAIL OF PULPIT, PARISH CHURCH OF S. MARIA
E S. GIORGIO, BRANCOLI]
Saying our _buon giorno_, and pressing a small fee into the reluctant
hand of the handsome _contadina_, we now turn from the carriage road
and begin a short but rather difficult climb up the steep hillside by
a roughly paved path, which leads us through chestnut woods to the
crest of the hill and the parish church of Santa Maria e San Giorgio,
belonging to the eighth century. We have seen it all the way from the
plain, perched on a commanding height, surrounded by its sombre guard
of stately cypresses. The tower is especially fine in its proportions
and built quite apart from the church, though only a foot or so from
its walls. Unusually tall, it has four orders of arched windows, and
is crowned with bifurcated, or "swallow-tail," battlements, indicative
of Ghibelline influence. The exterior of the church, built of squared
blocks of travertine, has a plain façade, broken only by shallow
pilasters and a round-headed doorway, with a bit of rude carving on
the cornice, perhaps representing the vine. The south side has two rows
of irregular windows, with remains of ornament, and an arched doorway,
over which is a singularly grotesque figure. Both doors are wide open,
the noonday sun lighting up vaulted aisles and the ancient timber roof
of the nave. We enter without let or hindrance and possess the church
for a good hour, uninterrupted even by a footstep on the road hard
by. The interior, which gives an impression of space and dignity, is
divided into nave and aisles by columns and piers with interesting
sculptured capitals. The choir is raised by four steps well above the
nave, the high altar, still higher, fills the apse, and over all is
a good timber roof, richly coloured by time. Near the west end in the
south aisle is a quaint and seemingly very ancient holy-water stoup,
carved with rude but expressive figures of men and animals attacked by
serpents. On the crown surmounting the principal head is inscribed
"_Raitus me fecit_," but having no date. Many of the capitals of the
pillars bear sculptures of rude symbolic figures, indicating early
Lombardic work. The fine hexagonal baptismal font is attributed to
the thirteenth century, but the carved heads and vine suggest an
earlier date. The same period is accorded to the very beautiful marble
pulpit standing at the entrance to the choir. It is square in shape,
supported by four columns, two of which rest on the backs of grotesque
Lombard lions struggling with savage beasts, symbolic of Divine power
overcoming evil; the capitals are boldly sculptured in foliage and
animal forms. On the front is a serious crowned figure holding the
Book, above it the eagle serving as lectern. On the corner toward
the altar a sculptured figure bends to support another reading-desk.
Altogether this pulpit may be reckoned among the most interesting ones
of Tuscany.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
DETAIL OF PULPIT, PARISH CHURCH OF BRANCOLI]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
PULPIT (13TH CENTURY), S. MARIA E S. GIORGIO, BRANCOLI]
Finally, added to its many attractions, the church contains a fine
and unusual piece of Della Robbia terra-cotta, the work of Andrea
and his son Giovanni. Miss Cruttwell writes: "This romantic scene--I
had almost said painting, 'St. George Slaying the Dragon'--is one of
the best pictorial works." It is probably the only instance of an
attempt by Andrea to represent a horse, and it is undeniably stiff and
indifferently modelled. The princess in the background also is rather
heavy, but the grace and action of the youthful rider and the beauty
and radiance of his expression are remarkable. The frame, probably the
work of Giovanni, consists of garlands upheld by winged cherubs, with
graceful candelabra and medallions characteristic of the artist.
We left the church of Santa Maria e San Giorgio with regret, but with a
sense of complete satisfaction with our day among the hills and temples
of Brancoli.
"Sundaies the pillars are
On which heav'ns palace arched lies,
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities."
--HERBERT.
[Illustration: COATS OF ARMS OF LUCCA]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
_Andrea and Giov. della Robbia_
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON, S. MARIA E S. GIORGIO BRANCOLI]
BARGA AND THE VALLEY OF GARFAGNANA
[Illustration]
BARGA AND THE VALLEY OF GARFAGNANA
[Illustration]
Brancoli's Hill commands a view of the Serchio River and its extensive
valley, called the Garfagnana, which lies between the Apennines,
defining the northern boundary of Tuscany, and the Alpi Apuane range,
which follows the direction of the coast, and contains several lofty
peaks, the highest rising over six thousand feet.
The principal town and capital of the Garfagnana region is Barga,
situated thirteen hundred feet above the sea, and containing, we had
learned, an interesting church and several pieces of the Della Robbia
terra-cotta. As the crow flies it is but a trifling distance over the
valley to Barga, but we were obliged to return the way we came and take
the main road at San Giusto; a small matter, for in twenty minutes we
had dropped down into the valley, passed again the pretty bridge of
Vinchiana, also crossed the one over the Serchio, and were speeding
along the river bank near the railroad which runs to Bagni di Lucca.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
THE BRIDGE AT VINCHIANA]
[Illustration: _Alinari_
BORGO A MOZZANO, PONTE DELLA MADDALENA OVER THE SERCHIO, CALLED "THE
DEVIL'S BRIDGE"]
At Borgo a Mozzano we see the old bridge, Ponte della Maddalena,
oftener called the Devil's Bridge, because traditionally it was built
(1328) in one night by Castruccio Castracane, the "greatest war captain
of his time." It is a singular structure, very high and narrow, not
allowing a carriage of present date to cross, and supported on heavy
piers and five arches of irregular height, one of which carries
the bridge up, like a camel's hump, rendering it most curious and
picturesque. At Ponte a Serraglio is a distant view of Bagni di Lucca,
lying in the valley of the Lima.
[Illustration: BAGNI DI LUCCA--PANORAMA]
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
PARISH CHURCH, LOPPIA]
By this time we have crossed the river, and taken a narrower but
equally good highway, though belonging to the second class of
carriage roads, every turn of which brings to view new wooded valleys
and hilltops crowned with grey villages. In the distance, which is
greater than it seems in the clear, luminous atmosphere, we see
Ghivizziano's lofty towers, with her train of ruddy roofs and grey
walls sharply outlined against the sky. At Fornaci we part company with
the Serchio again, strike northward through one of the interesting
mountain valleys, and pass close to the ancient parish church of
Loppia, weather-beaten and neglected, but none the less a striking
landmark and noble monument of mediæval power. Loppia was the capital
of the Garfagnana until 1390, when, having been desolated by war and
its inhabitants reduced to fifty, its jurisdiction and the title of
its parish church were given to Barga, and even its one good picture
transferred to the new capital.
[Illustration: _Alinari_
THE CATHEDRAL OF BARGA]
The whole district is well watered by many mountain streams, affluents
of the Serchio, furnishing excellent water-power for various mills
scattered along their banks. The soil is generally productive, the
uplands covered with chestnut-trees and affording fair pasturage for
sheep, which are a source of considerable revenue. On the lower levels
we find the olive, maize (or _granturco_), a principal article of food,
and flax, also the mulberry-tree and silk-worm culture. The region is
fairly rich in minerals, stone and marble quarries, manganese, mercury,
etc. Here, also, is found the fine red jasper, veined or flecked with
white, which has been so effectively used in the Medici Chapel in
Florence. We are now quite close upon the walls of Barga, but the long
drive in the eager, exhilarating mountain air makes us quite willing to
take Pepino's advice and stop for lunch at the Posta, an unpretending
wayside inn, beautifully situated, with plain, comfortable rooms
commanding fine views, and where, as a recommendation, we were told a
Chicago gentleman had once spent seven weeks for his health. In the
words of another visitor, we read that "the soup is excellent, and so
is the wine;" also, there is trout when the streams are full. We found
everything as had been promised, and did ample justice to the excellent
food served by a pretty, smiling _contadina_, daughter of the house,
who was full of chat and little airs, her young head evidently quite
turned by her knowledge of the wandering _forestieri_.
[Illustration: _M. M. Newell_
MAIN DOOR OF THE CATHEDRAL, BARGA]
Hunger appeased and our modest account settled, we walk to the
nearest city gate, passing an ample bowling alley, bordered with
fine plane-trees. At the upper end is a raised, grassy platform of
considerable breadth, in the centre of which stands a fine cedar of
Lebanon. The platform is reached by two flights of steps cut into the
sod, and tradition has it that here Charlemagne stood and delivered
his laws and instructions to the conquered people gathered below. The
well-paved street winds and turns up the hill until it terminates
in the little plateau, or Piazza del Duomo. The city retains its
ancient walls and three old gates, and is still further defended
by two deep natural ravines, which render it altogether a striking
and typical mediæval town. We enter the gate just in time to see
a religious procession, consisting apparently of all the people in
town, most of the men in capes of green and white, led by three
important ecclesiastics in really splendid vestments; two copes were
of ivory-white damasked silk, evidently old, adorned with gold; the
third, of a peachy-purple tint, enriched also with designs in gold. We
join the procession, and wind slowly up the steep path, noting several
palaces of old-time importance, and one or two schools or institutions.
We see, also, erect and pretty young girls bearing copper pails of
water on their heads, lightly mounting the precipitous side streets,
and remember then that this mountain region is noted for the beauty of
its women. Arriving at the Piazza del Duomo, the procession enters the
Church of SS. Christopher and James, to say the prayers appropriate
to St. Joseph's day, while we enjoy the wide and beautiful prospect
over the Garfagnana valley, held at the north by the hill-town of
Fivizzano, surrounded by Castruccio's walls, its church door bearing
the Medici shield. On the left, Alpi Apuane, overlooking the charming
gulf of Spezia, Carrara, and Sarzana, where Castruccio Castracane
built his famous castle, and the only road to which now, as then, is
by the castled town of Fosdinovo. To the right are the loftiest peaks
of the Apennines: Rondinaio, Monte Prado, Abetone, and the rest,
owing "much of their grandeur to the precipitous slopes and fantastic
profiles of the calcareous rocks which enter into their composition."
The lofty and well-defended position of Barga, near the boundaries of
Lucca and Florence, gave it a certain military importance in the early
struggles for despotism. At present it is a busy centre of a large
district, quiet and orderly, its people marked by spirit, buoyancy of
temperament and good looks. To the outside world it is best known for
its church, several good Della Robbias, and its fine and beautiful
situation. The Church of SS. Christopher and James--is it a temple
or a citadel?--built of squared blocks of travertine, unusual and
irregular in shape, its watch-tower, or campanile, springing from
the main wall and guarding all the country round about, possesses no
dominant style of architecture, and wears such an appearance as ten
centuries of weather and vicissitudes may well give a church. The grand
old tower is fitting, as a human creation may ever hope to be, the
prospect it overlooks. Its massive sides are pierced by three orders
of double-arched windows, supported by columns and piers, and each
order defined by a string course, or corbel-table, of shallow arches,
which takes, perhaps, something from the height of the tower, but
emphasizes the solidity of its structure. Unlike most towers in this
region, it carries no battlements, but is finished by a low, plain
roof. The façade of the church is strikingly plain, broken only by a
single cornice, string course, and short pilasters. The main door alone
retains a hint of former grandeur in its foliated arch and sculptured
architrave, once guarded by two Lombardic lions, one of which has
fallen from its high estate. The front and side walls are pierced
irregularly with small windows of varied shape and size.
[Illustration: _Alinari_
INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL OF BARGA]