DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from Duke University Libraries https://archive.org/details/sunnydaysinitaly01lath_0 SUNNY DAYS IN ITALY The Milan Cathedral SUNNY DAYS IN ITALY il BY ELISE LATHROP ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS NEW YORK JAMES POTT & CO. MCMVII Copyright, 1907, by James Pott & Co. First impression, September, 1907 TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PAGE Through the St. Gothard to Milan. A cosmopolitan pension. The Milan Cathedral and other churches. The opera. Italian railway trains . ...... 1 CHAPTER II. The Italian lakes Como ami Maggiore. The operatic appear¬ ance of Italian working people . . . . .22 CHAPTER III. Genoa, her palaces and churches. The Campo Santo. Trips in the vicinity; Pegli and Nervi. Genoese traits. The cabmen ......... 37 CHAPTER IV. The two Rivieras. Santa Margherita, Portofino, Rapallo, Alassio, and Finalmarina, an Italian resort. Taking the baths. Mountain climbs and drives . . . .GO CHAPTER V. Pisa. Italian home life. Pisan sights. The Cathedral group. Other churches. The modest Medici family . 73 CHAPTER VI. Italian schools. The University of Pisa and the students. Italian women. Business prospects of young Italian men. Holidays. An opera season. Trips near Pisa . . 101 [v] Eable of Contents CHAPTER VII. PAGE Florence, and a few of her notable sights. The galleries and churches ......... 132 CHAPTER VIII. Siena, her palaces and art treasures. The Cathedral. Her saint. Orvieto: the Cathedral, San Patrizio’s well, Etrus¬ can tombs ......... 152 CHAPTER IX. Rome and the Romans. The great galleries. The Vatican and a few of the 365 churches. The King and Queen of Italy.163 CHAPTER X. Holy Week in Rome. The curious ceremonies . . .199 CHAPTER XI. Old palaces in Rome. The Borghese family. Legend of the founding of Santa Maria Maggiore. The Castello Sant’ Angelo ........ . 212 CHAPTER XII. Naples and the Neapolitans. Sights of the city and trips in the vicinity. Pozzuoli, Pompeii, Capri and Sorrento . 223 CHAPTER XIII. Perugia and Assisi. St. Francis and St. Clara . . . 256 CHAPTER XIV. Bologna, Ravenna and Padua [Vi] . 266 liable of Contents CHAPTER XV. Wonderful Venice. The Palace of the Doges and the Prison. Famous churches and the Academy. The Armenian Monastery. Murano, Burano and Torcello. A Serenata. The Lido.279 CHAPTER XVI. Verona .......... 313 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS The Milan Cathedral ..... Frontispiece PACING PAGE The Castello, Milan ...... . 10 Garden, Isola Bella, Lake Maggiore . 19 Lake Maggiore. ...... . 26 Isola dei Pescatori ...... . 34 A Typical Street in Genoa, old town . 42 The Promenade by the Sea, Nervi . 51 The Beach at Alassio ..... . 66 General View of Finalmarina .... . 72 House in Pisa where Galileo was Born . 99 Atrium of the University of Pisa . 114 The Palazzo Vecchio, Florence .... . 133 The Ponte Vecchio, Florence .... . 144 The Well of San Patrizio, Orvieto . 154 Etruscan Tombs, Orvieto ..... . 163 The Aqueduct of Claudius, Rome . 170 The Pincio ....... . 178 The Madonna of San Agostino . 186 Ceiling Decoration by Maccari in Senate Chamber at Rome 195 The Campo dei Fiori ..... . 210 The Piazza Navone ...... . 227 House of the Faun, Pompeii .... [ix] . 242 Hist of illustrations; PACING PAGE The Marina Grande, Sorrento ...... 252 The Arch of Augustus, Perugia ...... 259 The Portico of the Temple of Minerva, Assisi . . 264 Tomb of Theodoric, Ravenna ...... 274 San Apollinare in Classe ....... 277 A Typical Side Canal, Venice ...... 288 The Public Gardens, Venice, with Campanile of San Giorgio in the Distance ........ 291 Fragment of the Arena, Verona ..... 306 M PREFACE S O many and such excellent books upon that fascinating land, Italy, have been written that it may seem effrontery to offer another. Yet it has seemed to me that none of the books on Italy that I have read have treated the country, whose charm few escape, and her courteous people in quite the same manner as the present volume. In travelling in Italy it has too, always been my endeavour to mingle as much as possible with Ital¬ ians, to discuss with them their institutions and modes of life, to learn their opinions, and also to see as much of truly Italian life as distinguished from the cosmopolitan side usually presented to the tourist, as is possible for the foreigner. If I have succeeded in portraying anything of this side in these pages I have accomplished my purpose. A portion of Chapter X. dealing with the Holy Week ceremonies in Rome, appeared several years ago as a separate article in Vogue, and is included here by permission of the publishers of that magazine. To the many kind Italians whose courtesy has largely contributed towards making these journey- ings pleasant, this book is affectionately dedicated. [xi] / SUNNY DAYS IN ITALY CHAPTER I. T HE traveller visiting Italy for the first time usually approaches that fair country from the north, and there are many reasons why this is the most satisfactory plan. In this way, one’s journey presents a veritable crescendo of beauty, of the picturesque. Then, too, as the northern Italians differ greatly from their southern brethren, as the north is far more progressive, more pervaded with the modern, up-to-date spirit, the change from former habits is less pronounced, less adaptability is required in the traveller, and, in consequence, there is less grumbling, fault-finding and dissatisfaction. When one has felt the charm of Italy, has learned to love it for itself, it matters not from what direction one approaches it; unpleas¬ ant features are overlooked, or, for the enthusiast, no longer exist. Of the various railway routes into Italy, that through the St. Gothard has always been deservedly popular. Every mile of the trip is beautiful, save for the tunnel itself, and the discomforts of that portion are trifling. Starting from Lucerne, the little lake steamers afford a delightful three hours’ [1] iffltlan anb sail on the Lake of the Four Cantons to Fluelen, an agreeable variation upon the mere railway route. Immediately after the railway station of Goe- schenen, with its view of a glacier, one enters the tunnel. In about twenty minutes the train emerges, and, from that time on, for nearly two hours, is constantly ascending, passing through many short tunnels. There are constant glimpses of high waterfalls, dashing down the mountainsides, or of convents or chapels, perched quite isolated on some steep rock; sometimes glancing out of the window one sees below the three or four tiers of railway track, marking the ascent made. Then the descent begins, and one enters the Italian Switzerland. Chestnut trees in abundance, and green, peaceful valleys gradually replace the bold, bare mountains. Here I caught my first glimpse of the Italian lakes, first, the northern end of Lake Maggiore, and then the train runs close to the shore of Lake Lugano, very blue in the sunset, with a beautiful pinkish glow on the mountains beyond. Crossing one arm, Chiasso, the Italian frontier is reached. Here the customs formalities are brief, but all bound for Italian points change cars, and then I saw my first Italian train, with comfortable, vesti- buled corridor coaches, lighted by electricity. We skirted the Lake of Como, after which we ran through a peaceful farming country until Milan was reached in the early evening. The brightly [2] Jfirsit Smpresisiionjs lighted station, with waiting cabs and omnibuses, and an electric tram line close by, with clanging bells, seemed little different from a railway station at home, save that it is decorated with fine frescoes by well-known artists, and the voices of cabmen and porters are soft and musical. The pension at which I stayed on my first visit to Milan no longer exists in its then interesting state, having since been removed to a modern build¬ ing. Then one climbed three long flights of stairs which turned around three sides of a court-like opening extending to the roof, the various landings constituting the fourth side. This opening, as I afterwards discovered, was utilized by the different tenants’ servants to shake rugs down. Early in the morning it was not pleasant to go up and down the stairs—lift there was none—because of the clouds of dust. Presumably the portiere , a more important personage than the American janitor, occasionally cleaned the floor of the basement where the dust finally lodged. The plan of the building was quite the usual one in Milan. The outer door was closed at ten o’clock in the evening by great wooden doors, and woe to those who forgot their night keys, for it would be most difficult to arouse the portiere in his remote quarters. Upon opening the door, one entered a perfectly dark hall, and groped his way up the stairs in equal darkness unless he had been warned to provide himself with a box of matches, for other lights there were none. [3] Jtltlan anli Signorina B., my landlady, was polite as only Italians can be. She listened to my faltering Ital¬ ian without flinching, and, to my joy, even under¬ stood it. Of course she assured me that I spoke Italian very well, for Italians always encourage the foreigner who is mutilating their beautiful lan¬ guage, and never, by the slightest sign, let him guess the awful havoc he may be making of double consonants and accents. Signorina B. was always ready with assistance or information for the stran¬ ger, never seemed flurried or out of temper, yet had a large household, rose almost with the pro¬ verbial lark, and superintended everything her¬ self. At the first luncheon in her house I made the acquaintance of polenta, almost the same as boiled mush, and discovered the polyglot nature of the household. English, French, German, Spanish, Polish and Italian were all spoken at the table, and frequently one’s right-hand neighbour addressed one in a different language from the person at the left, while opposite a third one was used. The English and Germans were chiefly tourists, devoting two or three days to Milan—few people seem to think it deserving of a longer stay, and on subsequent visits I heard of large parties of tour¬ ists, usually Americans, who arranged to arrive in Milan in the morning, “ do ” the Leonardo da Vinci “ Last Supper ” and a church or two in the morning, take lunch at a pension facing the Cathe- [ 4 ] Jftrst Umpresisitong dral, thus “ doing ” it as they sat at luncheon, and depart on an afternoon train quite content that they had seen Milan. But at this season the tour¬ ists were lessening in numbers, and the Americans and people of other nationalities were principally singers in search of operatic engagements, for which Milan is the great centre, and this house was a well-known resort. On my first afternoon in Milan I caught my first glimpse of the wonderful cathedral, to me by far the most beautiful in Italy. Walking along a nar¬ row street lined with shops, with straight curtains of canvas hanging down to the sidewalk from pro¬ jecting roof, or in doors and windows, instead of awnings of the usual pattern, suddenly turning a corner, I found myself in the Piazza del Duomo, with its fine equestrian statue of King Victor Emanuel II. in the centre. On the farther side rose the beautiful building. Only a poet should describe it, its hundreds of minarets, all crowned with exqui¬ site statues, its gleaming whiteness, or even the somewhat blackened facade, that facade which seems destined never to be completed, for it lias so often been changed. The marble for this cathedral was brought from the vicinity of Lake Maggiore, and it was necessary to construct a special canal to bring it to Milan. Can dimensions aid one to form a picture of it, or to be told that there are 128 mina¬ rets and more than 2,000 statues? Some complain that the absence of one or more lofty spires detracts [5] iWtlatt aitb from its impressiveness. The tower is at the back, and adds but little height to the appearance. None able to climb the long winding stairs to the roof ought to fail to do so. One may go in the morning, but not alone. This rule is made as a supposed precaution against suicide, a favourite manner for this with Italians, being, on their own testimony, that of throwing oneself from a high building. Still the solitary tourist can arrange with the friendly custodian of the doorway to consider him one of some other party, and allow him to pass through. Up on the white marble roof one may walk about and examine the statues at close range, while perhaps the music of organ and choristers floats faintly up and out through high, opened win¬ dow. If one pushes on to the summit of the tower, one is rewarded, if the day be fine, by a view of the entire city, the plains of Lombardy, the towers of Novara, and Pavia, and its famous Chartreuse monastery; while in the distance may be seen Mt. Blanc, Mt. Cenis, the Simplon, St. Gothard, and many other peaks. Entering the cathedral by one of the five doors in the front, there is much to attract attention in the church itself. Four rows of dark granite col¬ umns support the roof. As one gazes up at the lofty ceiling it seems to be an elaborate lacework of marble, but it is merely wood painted to resemble it. The effect of the interior is overpowering. It is so vast, so lofty, and the light falls faintly through [ 6 ] Jfirsit Smpres&umg stained glass windows of the richest dark colours, casting many-hued reflections on marble altars and statues. High up above the main altar hangs a great golden cross, where almost the last ray of light will be caught by it. At first it is impossible to examine details. One comes again and again, and revels in the colour, the dim light, the silence and solitude, hardly broken by a stray figure on her knees at a side altar, or some workman entering reverently, cap in hand, to say a brief prayer. Even when a service is being held, and the wor¬ shippers enter, pay the trifling sum to the old man or woman in charge of chairs, placing them then where they wish, the little group, save on some holi¬ day, is but a speck in the great interior, and one is at liberty to wander up and down the side aisles, or in the transepts, examining the ancient tombs, the tablets engraved with the apostolic succession of bishops down to the present Bishop of Milan, or the numerous altars, while the music of the fine organ and choir adds another charm. One of the altars, the supposed wonder-working Madonna of the Snow, portrayed in a has relief, was the cause of a heated discussion a dozen years ago. Some maintained that the Madonna was not satisfied with her place in the left nave, so the relief and altar were removed to the present position in the right nave, with this inscription: “ Ed ora sci contenta? ” (And now art thou content?) Up to the present tune at least, there seems to have been [ 7 ] Jffltlan anb no manifestation of dissatisfaction. It affords an instance of the familiarity which does not neces¬ sarily mean contempt, with which the Italian, espe¬ cially of the lower classes, treats his saints. These altars give one the first, and, alas, not the last feeling of discontent with Italian church in¬ teriors. Around the statues of Madonna and Child, and of saints hang votive offerings. If the giver be wealthy, these may be handsome jewels, but in the majority of cases they are brought by the poor, and consist of large silver tinsel medals with fringe or filagree borders. To add to the dis¬ figurement, great bunches of the gaudiest artificial flowers deck the altars, sometimes flat cardboard horrors, like flowers on the cheapest and ugliest of Christmas cards. The tombs are devoted impartially to guarding the ashes of saint or sinner. One to the memory of Giacomo di Medici, a pirate on the Lake of Como, and that of his brother Gabriel, was erected by their brother, Pope Pius IV. There are few pictures in this cathedral, but many statues. One particularly horrible, though remarkable, represents St. Bartholomew, after having been flayed alive, carrying his own skin on his shoulders. The muscles are all in evidence, and the effect is dreadful. Upon this statue its author modestly inscribed: “ Non me Praxiteles sed Mar¬ cus pinxit Agrafes ." In the opposite transept is a candelabra in bronze, nearly seventeen feet high, [ 8 ] Jftrsrt Smpres&ions; in the form of a tree with seven branches, holding twenty-eight candles. It is a beautiful piece of work, with its monsters around the base, inter¬ spersed with figures from the Old Testament. As one leaves the cathedral, on the right-hand side of the Piazza, lined on the other three sides by shops, is one entrance to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. This handsome building is in the form of a cross, whose two arms unite in an octagon sur¬ mounted by a dome, beneath which in the lunettes are fine frescoes. Broad promenades covered by a glass roof lead to the ends of the cross, while on either side are four-storied buildings containing fine shops, offices and caffes. Through this build¬ ing is the favourite promenade for the Milanese and foreigners, although Italian ladies would hardly walk there unattended by a man. Men gather in numbers at the little tables outside these caffes —although family groups are often seen there as well—and stare unabashedly at the passing women. Even two foreign women may find it annoying to run the gauntlet of their gaze. The shops are fascinating, and some of their proprie¬ tors do not hesitate to ask more than they are will¬ ing to take, though to one newly arrived in Italy the prices may seem reasonable enough. Outside the galleries the same goods are often much cheaper. But in northern Italy, at least, fixed prices are becoming more and more common, espe¬ cially in the first-class establisliments. [9] Jffltlan anti For the tourist in search of the picturesque, Milan is too modern, with its clanging electric trams running in all directions from the Piazza del Duomo as a centre, and carrying one wherever he wishes to go for the equivalent of an English penny (ten centesimi ). The sidewalks are so nar¬ row for the most part that it is difficult for two people to walk abreast, save in the new portion of the city, and one soon follows the habit of Italians, and takes to the middle of the street; still the build¬ ings are not quaint, and if this is one’s first glimpse of Italy one is apt to be disappointed. Yet there are many interesting sights. The old churches may occupy one for many a day; there is the ruined Castello, once the home of the great Sforza family, the scene of many brave and dark deeds, of sieges victorious or otherwise. It is now being restored by an enlightened and liberal municipality, since otherwise soon but little would have remained of it. Unfortunately, however closely the old plan is fol¬ lowed, the modern brick walls at present detract sadly from former picturesque beauty, but in time the glaring newness will be toned down. The re¬ mains of moat and drawbridge may still interest one. The picture gallery of this Castello is not re¬ markable, but among the archaeological collections are many interesting fragments of ancient sculp¬ ture, some belonging originally to the cathedral, before its partial destruction by fire, and which are now replaced by more modern ones. Those anx- [ 10 ] The Castello, Milan jfinrt 5mprcfis;iong ious to improve their Italian will do well to permit one of the custodians to accompany them, and point out the objects of especial interest. It is better than the average Italian lesson to listen to them. They speak very slowly and distinctly, in their soft voices, and take pains to make themselves easily understood. Almost all the guides and custodians of galleries and public monuments in Italy speak French well, many a little English or German, but I fancied that they took much more interest in ex¬ plaining if I encouraged them to speak Italian. If the galleries are not crowded, they give far more than the usual guide-book information. After I had seen everything else, my custodian took me into a room in the castle which had then, in 1902, but recently been thrown open to the public, and Avhich tourists now often miss seeing. Until a few years ago it was a square, bare, whitewashed room, for¬ merly a part of the barracks which have been Austrian, French and Italian in turn. One of the committee of gentlemen in Milan superintending the restorations of the castle, became deeply in¬ terested in the work, and after poring over old documents and manuscripts relating to this build¬ ing, was convinced that this particular room held a treasure. Careful experiments in removing the whitewash which covered walls and ceiling, proved how correct was his surmise, and to-day ceiling and walls to a distance of some six or eight feet from the ceiling down, stand a work of art, believed to [ 11 ] jWtlan anb be another monument to Milan’s great engineer, poet, sculptor and painter, Leonardo da Vinci. Against a blue background chestnut trees grow up to the ceiling, on which their foliage is interlaced and closely massed, with mere glimpses of the blue sky background. A few touches of gold relieve the green, and the arms of the Sforza family are painted on the four sides of the ceiling. This is believed to be the design of Da Vinci, and executed by his pupils, under his supervision. After realiz¬ ing how nearly this work was lost, after gazing at the mutilated “ Last Supper,” it is hard to under¬ stand how anyone, especially the beauty-loving French, could have been so barbarous as to efface such beauty. Leaving the castle, the beautiful Arch of Peace rises at the edge of the park beyond. After having been destined to honour various sovereigns, accord¬ ing to the vicissitudes of Milanese fortunes, it is now a fine structure, with subjects to suit all par¬ ties and countries among its sculptured ornaments. Although at that time too unfamiliar with Italy to remark upon it, I afterwards realized how few beggars I saw during my visits to Milan’s many churches. September is a poor time of the year in which to hear music in Milan. La Scala, her famous opera house, does not open until the winter. One evening we went to hear " Trovatore ” in a popular priced theatre. It was very new, glaringly lighted, and [ 12 ] Jftrsft Smpressiujnfii we paid three lire or francs for orchestra chairs. The rate per seat for the first row of encircling boxes was a trifle higher, that in the second and third rows less, while there was a top gallery where seats cost but half a franc. The charge for admis¬ sion in Italy is almost always a fixed sum, with an extra charge for seats according to location. Thus if one takes a box, admissions must be bought sepa¬ rately in addition. The floor of the orchestra in this theatre was perfectly level, the lights were not lowered during the performance, and the men smoked continuously if so disposed, as is the case in the parquet of almost all Italian opera houses—- during the present winter of 1907 it has been abolished in La Scala. For orchestra, there was a strident brass hand, costumes were of the cheapest, the performers hopelessly ordinary, with the ex¬ ception of the contralto, an American, who was far above her surroundings, and has since won an envi¬ able reputation in her own and foreign countries. Yet encores were freely bestowed upon the other singers, and not until the contralto had positively compelled admiration by her fine acting as well as singing, was she tardily applauded heartily. This was my first intimation of what I afterwards found to be a fact: that the foreign singer has to contend against strong prejudice in Italy, as well as in other countries. Italian voices, especially those of the women, are no longer what they once were, partly, they sav, from lack of study, and there is [13] much jealousy of foreigners with better voices than the native singer. This lack of study on the part of the Italian opera singer of the present day was startlingly illustrated later, at another operatic performance. Fanny Torresella, a well-known artist, came to the Filodramrnatico, the opera house next in standing to La Scala, for a short season, giving the old opera, "I Puritani ” We went to hear her, and this time had parquet chairs for four francs. The orches¬ tra, though noisy, was much better than at the other theatre, but here, too, no lights w T ere lowered dur¬ ing the performance. The company was fairly good, but early in the evening the baritone dis¬ pleased the audience, and was persistently laughed at during the entire opera. He had a small voice, neither his singing nor acting was really bad, he was merely mediocre, but every time he opened his mouth the audience tittered. It might have been much worse, as those familiar with Italian audi¬ ences know. He might have been hissed, pelted, or greeted with cat-calls. He persisted bravely under these trying circumstances. The prima donna exe¬ cuted the difficult, old-fashioned music with ease and brilliancy, but surely outside of Italy the tenor would have been impossible. Not that he was so bad; on the contrary, his voice was wonderfully sweet and pure, but only three months before this evening, he had been a cobbler, singing over his work. He was awkward and extremely ill at ease, [14] Jfirsit Smjpressions the experienced soprano had fairly to drag him around the stage, to make love to him, since he was far too embarrassed to attempt making love to her at the proper times. But those who know the very difficult score of this opera of Bellini, those familiar with the coloratura passages which he sang well, will agree that no other country but Italy, the famous “ land of song,” could produce a tenor capable of singing such a role after but three months of study. The audience was at first in¬ clined to be amused, for he was a droll figure, very tiny, his hands encased in white gloves which were evidently a source of much worry to him, but his singing soon won them, and when the famous high D of the role, a note for which every Italian in the house was waiting—woe betide him had he omitted it!—rang out clear and true, the envy of all singers in the audience, they burst into frantic applause. When they are pleased, Italian audiences are wildly enthusiastic, and encores are an absolute necessity, though here, too, 7>« Scala has set an example of reform in forbidding them. Italians are not as dependent as we are upon stage settings to pre¬ serve an illusion. If a scene is to be shifted from out of doors to an interior, wings are often drawn back in full view of the audience, men in the theatre livery march on the stage bearing tables and chairs, and when all is ready the opera proceeds. I see no reason why I should have been excep¬ tionally fortunate, but I cannot agree with the [15] JfflUan anb statements so frequently made in regard to luggage in Italy. After repeatedly travelling almost all over the peninsula, after sending luggage by grand vitesse, by petit vitesse, taking it with me on trains, and leaving it for days at a time in stations, I have never missed anything from contents of trunks or valises, have never seen any evidence of its having been tampered with. Undoubtedly there must at some time have been foundation for these state¬ ments, possibly such things do occur now, but they have never happened to me or to friends with whom I have discussed the matter. Grand vitesse appears to me somewhat slower in Italy than slow freight with us, and what petit vitesse may be I for one have no desire to learn through personal experience, but one can always send luggage as such pure and simple, without accompanying it on the same train, or even the necessity for showing a railway ticket to the same destination; a great convenience when there are several routes to the same place, and a roundabout one with stops over is preferable for the passenger. I have found Italian servants in pensions and hotels quite generally honest, and surely this would be as much as any country could boast. An early discovery in Milan was a startling one. It was odd to learn that even a woman may walk boldly into a tobacco shop, with sometimes a bar in connection, and purchase postage stamps. One may certainly go to the Post Office for this purpose, [ 16 ] Jfirsit Smpresstonsi but that is often remote, and these shops are a sub¬ stitute for branch post offices. Here letters or par¬ cels may be weighed, and sometimes they may be registered as well. How one can believe that Milan may be seen in two days it is difficult to understand. The Campo Santo, or cemetery, deserves a visit. It contains some beautiful monuments, and on the way there one sees the pretty promenade laid out on top of the old earthworks of the city. Beside the cathedral and many churches, all interesting for one reason or another, is the remarkable Brera Gallery, with its celebrated “ Betrothal of the Virgin,” by Ra¬ phael, its paintings by Titian and Veronese, the Luini frescoes, in short, examples of all the old masters; the Ambrosian Library, with its illumi¬ nated manuscripts and small picture gallery. In the latter are Raphael’s cartoon for the “ School of Athens,” and two wonderful little groups, mar¬ vels of wood carving, Brostoloni’s “ Beggars.” The Poldi-Pezzoli Museum, formerly a private house and collection, left by its former owner to the city, is another interesting sight. The Royal Palace, save for the beautiful Giotto tower quite a modern structure, since it is not quite one hundred and fifty years old, is open to the public on certain days. There are a few good pictures here, includ¬ ing a very lovely portrait of Queen Margherita, and one is escorted through suites of rooms in which, remembering what one is told of the cold Milanese [17] iWtlan anb winters, it is hard to see how royalty can be kept warm during its visits at that season. The great Hall of Caryatides is magnificent. Forty-two mar¬ ble caryatides sustain the balcony which runs around the room, the ceiling is gorgeously frescoed, and huge crystal chandeliers holding three thou¬ sand candles illuminate it when it is used for festive occasions. But aside from the sights there is little to keep a foreigner in Milan. Many plays and operas have their first representations here. Verga, D’Annun¬ zio, Boito, and other celebrities spend much time in this city, but accounts of the cold, of fog almost equal to that of London, make one anxious to be off before winter is actually at hand. Leaving Milan was quite simple. One of the maids of the pension went out on a balcony, and beckoned to a facchino or porter, some of whom are always loiter¬ ing around the squares, waiting for custom. He came upstairs, shouldered my trunk, and bore it to the sidewalk below, where were cabs in plenty. A long line of people were before me at the ticket office, but a polite individual in a kind of uniform stepped up and offered to get my ticket for me, so that I need not wait. In a moment he was back with it, a small tip sent him away content, with many bows and thanks. The best Italian trains have coaches with good springs, vestibuled, with electric lights, and com¬ fortably upholstered; these are the corridor trains, [ 18 ] Garden, Isola Bella, Lake Maggiore Jfirst Smpresisiions! with compartments for six or eight persons, accord¬ ing to whether one travels first or second class. Some are steam-heated; in others, when the weather is cold, metal cylinders filled with hot water, are furnished, and changed from time to time. The third-class carriages are quite too dirty to be possi¬ ble for most travellers, owing to the unfortunate Italian habit of expectorating frequently, and as far as the lower classes are concerned, without the least regard to place. On local trains the compart¬ ments occupy the entire width of the coach, with room for eight persons in the first-class, ten in the second-class compartment. The third-class car¬ riages are seldom upholstered. The fast express trains on the direct line, the direttissimi , on which additional fare is paid, make quite good time; then come the diretti, about like our local trains, making never more, and usually less, than thirty miles an hour. Then comes the omnibus train, which may be expected when it arrives. There is still another, the misto, for both freight and passengers, which, from the hours indicated for its arrival on time tables, must be too dreadful to contemplate. The price varies according to style of train as well as class, but travelling second class on the diretti costs about the same as the same class in England, or ordinary railway fare in America, without parlour car accommodation. On the diretto —the word, as may he fancied, means direct—the stops are fre¬ quent and long. First the train comes to a stand- [19] jUtlan aub still, and the guard walks the length of the train calling out the name of the station. He may or may not open the doors of the compartments, so it is well to be on the lookout. If he is near it, and one raps on the window he will open it, but fre¬ quently one must lower the window in the door, lean out and try to raise the latch that is dropped across the door to hold it firmly closed. By this time someone will usually come to one’s assistance, and porters are almost always plentiful to lift out the luggage. Although they do not seem to think so, Italians carry almost as much luggage with them as do the English, and for a journey of any length, rich and poor alike carry their straw-covered bottle of wine. If one has not reached his destination, however, he sits and waits for what seems a very long time. The guard goes up and down the platform, calling: " Partenza-a-a! " with long-drawn ahs. Xot ready yet, though! Next he calls repeatedly: Pronti! ” (ready). At last he blows his little brass horn; after a few seconds the engineer replies with a toot of his whistle, and slowly, as if reluctantly, the train starts. As this is all repeated at each stop, it will be evident how much time is consumed. If one is travelling alone, or is not too absorbed in a companion, and especially if one speaks Italian, the Italian travellers will almost always chat with one as they do with each other. Frequently this insures interesting conversations, and much infor- [ 20 ] Jfirfit impressions mation about points of interest. Italians ask ques¬ tions like children, but are equally ready to answer them. The first remark was often a comment upon the bravery of English and American women in travelling alone. This was often followed by: “But we are becoming more like that in Italy. It is only a question of time before our women do the same.” This was an opinion frequently expressed by Italian men. Italian railways are almost entirely owned by the government, and a considerable discount is allowed professors in the government schools, or any government employees and their families, while soldiers, both officers and privates, enjoy a still greater discount, travelling for almost half fare. [ 21 ] CHAPTER II. M ILAN is a favourite starting point for trips to the Italian lakes. During the summer there are frequent excursions at reduced rates; many leave the hot city to spend Sunday at any of the numerous resorts, since, however high the temperature, there is almost always a breeze from the lake, and the mornings and evenings are much cooler than in the city. Lake Como, in par¬ ticular, is lined with villas belonging to wealthy Milanese merchants, who go and come each day during the summer to their places of business in Milan, only an hour by rail from the city of Como, to which the lake steamers make frequent trips from all other landings. My first visit to these far-famed and widely sung lakes was in the month of July. We left the train at Como, with no especial destination in mind, and chance—or was it Baedeker?—led us finally to select Cernobbio. Stepping into a carriage at the station, we were soon bowling briskly along a fine hard road which for the greater part ran close to the waters of the lake, bordered on the other side by high walls, over which hung blossoming vines and plants, and which enclosed a continuous succes¬ sion of villas. [ 22 ] lakes Como anti Jlaggtore It was sunset, and little groups of workers from the silk factories of Como were wending their way homewards with much gesticulation, singing, laughter and chattering. An occasional smart car¬ riage or hotel omnibus passed us, and women came out in numbers to greet the returning men, all pic¬ turesque if not viewed at too close range, even in these days when peasant costumes are so seldom seen. There is still a bright kerchief, a gaily em¬ broidered apron, a string of beads, or the favourite big gold hoop earrings to characterize the women; the men are almost equally picturesque, either in velveteens or corduroys; or perhaps a broad- brimmed black felt hat and gay necktie gives them that air of belonging to an opera chorus so charac¬ teristic of Italian peasants. One point upon which my friend and I always agreed was in shunning the large hotels beloved of most tourists, and when we drew near a small hotel facing the lake we bade the driver stop. Here rooms were arranged for, and our supper served at a small table set out in front of the house, on a kind of square. We were the only Anglo-Saxons in sight. Italians came from villas or near-by apart¬ ments, and a few from the hotel itself, and took their places at other small tables. As it grew dusk, people flocked from the narrow streets of the village hack of the hotel and formed groups on the square, a hand organ appeared, and played Italian airs, the moon came up, and lent an air of [23] lakes! Como mystery to the scene, and we felt that we were indeed in a foreign country. The inn was a truly Italian one, with smiling maids and waiters on most familiar terms with the innkeeper and his wife, if indeed they were not members of the family. The main hall served as office, sitting room, and dining room for those who did not care to follow the usual custom and take their meals outdoors. At the back of this hall was what in this country would be called a bar, a counter with the usual array of bottles and glasses, but where the beverage most frequently called for was the common Italian summer one of fruit sirup and water or seltzer. The front door stood open day and evening, and back doors opening directly oppo¬ site into a court, gay with flowers, insured coolness even at noon. The lake front of the village is taken up with hotels, among these the famous Villa D’Este, and the Municipio, a large building from whose tower a cracked bell announced the hours. Beyond the hotels are a few villas, and in front of all a gravel walk, where a few trees have been planted and carefully boxed around to insure their growth, the whole dignified by the name of park. There are benches under these diminutive trees, and stone steps lead down to the water’s edge, serving as a landing for many small boats, or in the evening as seats for the people. Here small rowboats could always be found, and near by is the small pier at which the lake steamers stop. [24] anfo jftaggtore The village of Cernobbio consists of two or three back streets with tiny shops for the sale of almost all kinds of merchandise, with post card and fruit shops well in the majority. Over the shops the working people live in that crowded proximity which they seem to love, and which may explain why Italian emigrants do not seem to mind herding in tenements in the country of their adoption. Cer¬ tainly, save on farms, they show little desire in their own land for the separate habitation, however small, which most Anglo-Saxons desire. Next to our hotel was another, with a terrace or balcony of stone, supported by pillars, along the level of the second story. This left a kind of loggia beneath, which was a favourite gathering place for the populace of an evening. No one thought of sending them away, as a hotel proprietor in our own country would probably have felt compelled to do, that his guests might not complain. The Italian is the most democratic of men, and the hotel guests watched the none too quiet people below complacently. Evening after evening the hand organ ground out airs from popular Italian operas, " La Tosca ” and “ Cavalleria Rusticana " well in the lead as favourites, although one of Verdi’s works was sure of affectionate greeting. The men returning from work whistle or sing these airs, and how the music fits the surroundings! No one familiar with “ Cavalleria for instance, but is struck by this. [25] 3lafee£ Como The people gathering in the open squares recall its scenes, one looks involuntarily for Santuzza, one picks out a coquettish Lola among the groups, while Alfios and Turiddus are not lacking, even in the north. The Italian peasant has a peculiar, free, unmistakable walk too, which one soon notices. After greeting friends, exchanging news of the day, while the children ran along the stone steps, perilously near the water’s edge, we thought, but their parents looked placidly on, the loggia under the next hotel became the centre of attraction. Thither the hand organ repaired, and it was soon densely packed with people. We had plenty of time to watch them, as it was usually quite an hour after ordering our dinner before it was served. The menu was not extensive. There was always veal cutlet, the favourite summer meat in Italy, salad with delicious oil, cheese, chicken of the thin variety frequently met with, and fruit. These, with but few other dishes and the native wines, seemed quite satisfactory day after day to the visitors. By the time we were served with coffee, the hotel waiters had brought out many little tables and chairs, rapidly taken possession of by more people flocking to the scene, and which they were at liberty to retain for the entire evening after ordering an ice, or any beverage, however inexpensive. Then a performance began beneath the loggia, a marionette show, the dialect remarks of the chief manipulator being received with roars of laughter and bursts [ 26 ] Lake Maggiore anb Jilaggtore of applause. During intermissions the hand organ played briskly, and it must have been well after midnight when the crowd finally dispersed. During the day nothing could be pleasanter than a trip on the lake on one of the little steamers. There are no lack of charming landing places and show villas to visit. The boat rounds numerous points or islands, with an ever-changing panorama of beauty. The curious deep blue of the water, the wonderful lights on hills and mountains, silhouetted against the incomparable Italian sky, so blue and cloudless, one attractive villa after another, some close to the water’s edge, others perched high on the hillside, make the trip a most fascinating one. One day we went to Cadenahbia. From the boat landing a broad, shaded walk close to the lake leads to the Villa Carlotta, one of the finest show villas on Lake Como. It received its name from the daughter of Princess Albert of Prussia, when the latter bought it from its original owners, the counts of Sommariva, in 1843. It now belongs to the Duke of Meiningen, and in his absence is open daily to visitors. Of the villa itself, only the marble entrance hall, containing a frieze of exquisite has reliefs by Thorwaldsen, and several fine statues, among them Canova’s “ Love and Psyche,” is shown, but from this hall one passes out into the beautiful gardens. To reach the villa one ascends a long flight of stone steps, and the gardens are on ever-ascending terraces hack of it, so they lie [27] Eafees; Como high above the level of the lake, and the view of the beautiful region is extensive. All kinds of trees and plants are here, including great masses of rhododendrons, palms of great height, and in some parts the walks lead through veritable forests, so thick are the trees, with every now and then open¬ ings carefully cut to give a glimpse of the lake, which then appears framed in semi-tropical foliage. At one end of the gardens is the sepulchral chapel of the old time owners, with marble statues of the dead. The gardens are perfectly kept, and the ser¬ vants who show visitors over are polite, and make no effort to extort the tip which most visitors are in consequence quite glad to bestow. The entrance fee is given to charity. After we had left the gardens, and declined the urgent invitations of boatmen to row us in the bright sunshine to Bellagio opposite, we fancied a cup of tea. It was after four o’clock, but returning to the large hotel near the landing it might have been the abode of the sleeping princess. Not a soul was in sight. Doors were open, and we wandered through one room after another. Finally, as we were about to give up in despair, a solitary waiter appeared, looking as though he had just been aroused from a nap, took our order, and promised to bring the tea out to a shady arbour which we had noticed near the water. He did so, and we sat there in undisputed possession, feasting our eyes on the beautiful scene, until the time for our boat. [ 28 ] anti Jllaggwre As it was then after five o’clock, Cadenabbia was beginning to show signs of life. A few well-dressed guests emerged from the hotel portals, some going to meet our boat as well as that from the opposite direction, which was doubtless bringing their hus¬ bands, brothers and friends from Milan. Our last glimpse as we steamed away was of a gay group of women in light summer gowns—and at no time do Italian women appear to better advantage than in their summer attire—against a background of hills, with an ever-widening stretch of blue water between us and them, the whole scene bathed in the soft light of late afternoon in summer, while the wonderfully clear Italian atmosphere brought out into relief each slightest detail of beautiful colouring. A nine days’ stay at Stresa, on Lago Maggiore, almost convinced me that it was the most beautiful spot in the whole world, but in Italy one’s supply of adjectives and of superlatives soon gives out, one needs new words with which to express one’s admiration for each new beauty of land and sea. In selecting Stresa for headquarters, I had a special reason. Being situated on the west side of the lake it received the morning sun, and was in shadow quite early in the afternoon. Places like Intra or Pallanza, on the opposite side, and favour¬ ite resorts for tourists, however delightful in win¬ ter, were bathed in sunlight all the long summer afternoon, and the difference in temperature was [29] Hakes! Como consequently great. It was a very hot July the year of my visit (1906) and Milan had been almost unendurable, but as soon as the lake was reached one felt a cool breeze. At Stresa the heat was at no time intense during my stay, although the news- papers were full of reports of high temperature all over Italy. The mornings were fresh, and shortly before noon a strong breeze would spring up from the lake. By four o’clock in the afternoon one could walk in comfort, while at no time during the day was a lake trip uncomfortable. Close to the west shore of the lake runs the old Simplon post road, one of those fine, level, hard, white roads found all over Italy. Occasionally it runs sufficiently back from the lake front to make room for a villa or hotel, but in general these are on the other side of the road, back from the lake. Both sides of Lago Maggiore show an ahnost uninterrupted succession of villas and hotels, of little towns, so that one may walk or drive from one village to another almost without knowing it. The large hotel patronized especially by Americans is at one extremity of Stresa. Then, as one walks toward the town proper, come villas, including a large one belonging to the Duchess of Genoa, the maternal grandmother of the present king of Italy; nearer the boat landing a row of hotels, beyond them more villas, and almost at the other end of the town the villa, with beautiful gar¬ dens, belonging to the Marchese di Pallavicino. [ 00 ] anti iflflaggiore From morning until sundown these gardens are open without restrictions or fee of any kind to the public. Anyone is free to wander about, or sit near a shady thicket and listen to the nightingales, which even in summer sing here late in the afternoon or in the evening. The Duchess of Genoa spends a portion of every summer at her villa, and is some¬ times joined by her daughter, ihe gracious Queen Margherita. A number of Genoese families have their summer homes here. The Duchess of Genoa was staying at her villa while I was in Stresa. Every evening about half past seven, when the air was delightfully cool but not chill, the ducal carriage, drawn by a pair of stout cobs, would pass the hotel, in it the duchess, a pretty, white-haired old lady, slight and erect, with one lady, and one or two gentlemen of her suite, all chatting pleasantly together. A coachman and footman in plain black livery were always on the box, but there was no display of any kind; they might have been any four ladies and gentlemen out for a drive. From Stresa it is but a short row to the beautiful Borromean Isles, or one can go by steamer in five minutes, save to Isola Madre, where the steamers do not touch. The weather being so warm the steamer was preferable. These three islands are the property of Count Borromeo. On Isola Madre are a fine park, a residence of the family, and ex¬ tensive orange and lemon groves laid out in ter- [31] Hakes Como races. On Isola Bella—the name sounds like a caress, even when called out by the steamer offi¬ cials, and well deserves its name—is a remarkable Italian garden, highly artificial, but most pictur¬ esque, containing many varieties of trees and plants. Here birds, some of them quite strangers to me, sing gaily, as well they may. A large cha¬ teau built by Count Borromeo in 1650-1671 has one wing still unfinished, but it is quite large enough without this. It is at the northern end of the island, where it is quite narrow, so from windows on three sides of the chateau one looks out directly upon the beautiful blue lake, and off at the encircling hills. The garden covers the other end of the island; but at one side, close to the entrance of the chateau, are a chapel and a few houses, constituting a small settlement. In these houses all are of course the count’s tenants. The chateau contains many paint¬ ings, tapestries, fine bric-a-brac, old furniture and curiosities. Here many royalties and nobles have been entertained in bygone days. The Isola dei Pescatori (Isle of the Fishermen) is exactly what its name implies. The fishermen’s houses are four or five storied stone buildings built closely together, and near the water’s edge, where boats of all sizes were drawn up. Each house ap¬ parently contained a number of families. There are one or two inns on the little island, chiefly re¬ sorted to by parties from the neighbouring shore towns for fish dinners or suppers. The grey stone [32] anb jWaggiore houses were enough to delight an artist. There were balconies on almost every floor overlooking the lake, and from these balconies hung masses of geraniums drooping like vines, and covered with red or deep pink blossoms, such as one frequently sees in northern Italy. One morning the old waiter came to me with the air of one anxious to impart information. I had remarked that some day I intended to take the sail to the other end of the lake and back. The round- trip ticket from Stresa ordinarily cost some six or seven francs. “ To-morrow,” said the friendly waiter, “ is a fcsta.” This announcement had come to mean nothing to me in Italy save an excuse for closing shops, or for laundresses suddenly stopping work on the washing one is anxious to have ready by a certain day. I believe this especial fcsta was one of the numerous saints’ days of the Italian calendar. I was not quite sure how this affected me or my welfare, however I assented. He continued: “ If the signorina wishes to take that trip to Locarno to-morrow the fares on the steamers are greatly reduced.” He mentioned the amount, and I think it was a franc and a half. “ But do you not think that the boats would be very crowded? ” I asked. “ No, signorina , I think not. They are more apt to be crowded on Sundays than on to-morrow.” Upon his recommendation I decided to try it. [33] Hakes Como No true woman objects to a bargain. To make the trip in one day it was necessary to take quite an early boat, but my breakfast was waiting for me when I came downstairs, and the waiter kept care¬ ful watch of the clock, so that I might neither miss the boat nor be unnecessarily hurried. It promised to be a perfect day. Unfortunately a hard thunder-storm came up soon after we started, but the boat was not so crowded that there was not room for all to sit in the middle of it and keep dry. Locarno is a sleepy little Swiss town, the side¬ walks of its main street for almost the entire length are covered with porticoes, above which are the pro¬ jecting second stories of its buildings. Beneath these porticoes are the principal shops, the most attractive ones being those where the beautiful Swiss embroideries or the ever-present post cards are sold. Out from the town itself, along the lake, are charmingly situated hotels, pensions and villas, and they say that in winter it is quite a resort. At the hotel where I lunched I saw no one but a sleepy waiter and two maids. The return sail was beautiful, though still varied by occasional dashes of rain. At the northern end of the lake, near Locarno, the scenery is rather more rugged than further south, although this is too harsh a word. The hills are covered with dark foliage, there is an occasional ravine, the villas are less thickly clustered. Lake [34] Isola dei Pescatori anti Jflaggwre Maggiore is less smiling than Lake Como, but it would be hard to say which is the more beautiful. Both are exquisite. There is never a suggestion of ugliness; no bare, barren stretches, as yet no hideous advertising signs. The pink and grey stucco houses blend far more harmoniously with the beauty of scene than ugly, shabby wooden structures, either with paint half worn off, or glar¬ ingly fresh and vivid, such as too often disfigure our landscapes. The luxuriant vegetation would soften them if they did exist. Here and there a ruined castle lends an added touch of the pictur¬ esque. When we reached Stresa the sun was just break¬ ing through the clouds after another shower. At the boat landing stood one of the old proprietors of my hotel with an umbrella for me. The waiter had noticed that I went without one, since the sun was shining early in the morning. He had men¬ tioned the fact, and, in consequence, here was my kindly old host with one. It is these constant little friendly attentions on the part of Italians which so endear them to those who will take the least trouble to become acquainted with them. If, however, one travel in Italy with the firm conviction that he or she is to be robbed and cheated at every turn, if one look with suspicion upon every Italian one meets, can it be wondered at that such an one never really understands this people? There are pretty walks to be taken in the country [35] Hakes Como anb jWaggtore back of Stresa, although in summer, as they are chiefly uphill climbs, they are not as alluring as at a different season. Back from the town, and quite high above the lake, with a beautiful view, is the Rosminian College. Open to visitors is a chapel in which is buried Antonio Rosmini, the Italian priest, patriot and philosopher, founder of the “ Institute of the Brethren of Charity,” the Ros¬ minian Fathers, and who spent so many years, and finally died, in Stresa, in 1855. A remarkable statue by Vela marks his tomb. Many trips to the other Italian lakes may be made from Stresa. Across the lake from Laveno a steam tram runs to the Lake of Varese, familiar to readers of Fogazzaro’s books; from Luino an¬ other runs to the Lake of Lugano, and there are many small lakes within driving distance, includ¬ ing Orta. But although all these trips may be made in summer, it is not the best season for them. In October they would be delightful. [ 36 ] CHAPTER III. T HE railway journey from Milan to Genoa is very pretty. There are, to be sure, fre¬ quent tunnels, but the view from the high elevation to which the train winds and twists is beautiful. After the descent I had my first view of the stony-bedded Italian rivers, at this season of September almost perfectly dry. Around the few little pools remaining crouched groups of women washing clothes. They rubbed them with soap and then with stones from the river bed, rinsing them in the clear cold water, chatting and laughing the while. After one has watched these laundry scenes, one wonders how it is possible for the clothes to become clean, and why they are not returned in rags. But they are no more damaged than by our laundry methods. Wash day in Italy is quite a social function. Out in the villages the women gather around the village fountain, always pro¬ vided with a broad stone ledge, or a square stone tank with broad coping is fed with water from the irrigating canals with which the country is inter¬ sected. To those w r ho seek the Italy of their dreams, Genoa is far more satisfactory than Milan. To be sure one arrives in a modern station, but the cabs [37] #enoa anb clatter tlrrough narrow streets lined with tall mar¬ ble palaces, with glimpses of gardens with palms, of cool dim courtyards, and marble staircases flanked by statues. There are electric trams, but even these do not spoil the illusion. Overhead the bright blue sky—unless one is so unfortunate as to arrive in the rain, and that is unusual—in the back¬ ground the hills crowned with fortresses, or villas, and continual glimpses of the beautiful harbour, so crowded with shipping. There is not nearly room enough at the docks for all the vessels that come into this port, despite the gift of twenty mil¬ lions of francs some years ago for the enlargement of the harbour, by Genoa’s public-spirited Duke di Galliera, whose family have given largely and wisely to Genoa. Consequently, as a rule, only such ships as have just arrived or are about to sail can be accommodated, the others lie at anchor and are loaded from lighters. There is scarcely a single sidewalk in the old part of the town except the Via Carlo Alberto, running along the harbour, with porticoes on the land side upon which open many small, cheap shops. The narrow streets are paved from one row of build¬ ings to the other with large, even blocks of stone. People come and go quickly, almost under the horses’ feet, or flatten themselves against the walls to let two vehicles pass. On the principal shopping streets the sidewalks are narrow, save in the Via Venti Settembre. This street, starting from the [38] Jfytv palaces: Piazza Deferrari, is being entirely rebuilt. Hand¬ some modern stone buildings of uniform height, containing attractive shops, hotels, offices and apartments, are being erected along the entire length. The street is wide, and broad sidewalks covered with lofty porticoes make walking there agreeable, even in the heat of the day. A hand¬ some stone viaduct marks the crossing of the Corso Andrea Podesta , or Via Corsica, as it is called at different portions of its course. This street at a much higher level leads down to the harbour, and ends in a semicircular bit of park high above the sea, to which side streets windingly descend, giving a fine view. Below are bathing establishments and a fort. Continuing down Via Venti Settembre, after the new buildings are left behind, one comes to the sluggish Bisagno River, in summer almost dried up. Turning to the right, a fine road runs between the river and the old city walls, until it too reaches the bay, and turning, follows the shore past the fort mentioned above, a breakwater, and so on down to the docks. I should say that, without exception, in no part of Italy are the natives so proud of their city as in Genoa. This is somewhat remarkable, for the reason that the Genoese are devoted to business, and are considered the most commercial people of Italy, hence one would expect to find less admira¬ tion for beauty. But “Genova, la Superba” is the object of enthusiastic admiration by her sons. [39] <@enoa anb They talk far more of her beauties than do the Neapolitans, and always compare it most favour¬ ably, and to their own complete satisfaction, with Naples. Both are beautiful, but in quite a dif¬ ferent way. The hills which encircle Genoa on the land side are high, and but partially green. The forests which, perhaps, once covered them, have been destroyed. Almost every one is crowned by a fortress long since out of date as to equipment, but most picturesque. In the valleys are olive trees, fruit trees and flowers, great masses of colour, and deep ravines are filled with vegetation, there is nothing bleak or barren in appearance. On the other hand, there is not the languorous charm of the south. Palms flourish in Genoa, and the public parks and gardens are full of them, some with enormous trunks. The Genoese will say with pride that their city is clean, and it is, as are the people. But the streets are not filled with singing, laughing, happy-go-lucky people, they do not sit about in the sun doing nothing. On the contrary they are hard¬ working, industrious, independent men and women, and there is much wealth in the city. It is no un¬ common sight to see women of the class who do not wear hats, respectable elderly matrons, wear¬ ing magnificent diamond earrings or rings. The Genoese are fond of jewels, and invest a portion of their savings in them. The women have not the fondness for bright colours of their southern sis¬ ters, and wear black a great deal. The men, too, [40] J|er -palaces dress far more simply than the gay Neapolitan, in dark colours, save for the common white duck in summer. The Ligurians—Liguria is the province in which Genoa is situated—differ greatly in appearance as well as temperament from their neighbours. There are two distinct types, the blond, blue or grey eyed, quite Germanic type, and the dark, somewhat Semitic. There are a number of Jews in Genoa, among the most prosperous merchants, but even such Genoese as have no Jewish blood in their veins often resemble them. They are far more serious than any other Italians, including the Milanese, who are often called “ a race of shopkeepers.” They are not nearly so talkative, so animated, they do not gesticulate as much, and seem too much occupied with their own affairs to pay much atten¬ tion to strangers. In no city in Italy is a woman more free to go about the streets alone without attracting attention. They are not given to amus¬ ing themselves, and save for a few large balls during the opera season, there is hut little enter¬ taining. The large opera house, the Carlo Fenice, is not always open even for carnival season, but there are several other theatres, especially the Poli- teama Genovese, where opera is frequently given. The foreigner, if a man, compelled by business to make Genoa his home, seldom meets the native Genoese woman socially; he is seldom invited to call in a Genoese home. The Genoese men will be cor- [41] <@enoa anb dial and agreeable to him, and will invite him to lunch with them, but it will be at a caffe or restau¬ rant. There are several of these caffes where bands or a small orchestra play in the afternoon and even¬ ing, and to these whole families often repair in summer, spending the evening listening to the music, and eating ices or sipping sirup and seltzer. The wealthier Genoese usually own villas at some of the bathing resorts near by, at Pegli, Sturla, Quinto, etc., from which the men of the family can come to town to their business during the summer. There are bathing establishments in Genoa itself, but these are the resort chiefly of the poor. For a small sum one may take a tram to these other places where the water is, of course, much cleaner. The tourist who does not wish to be made to pay four or five times the proper amount, or have an annoying discussion, will do well to avoid cabs. The electric trams run all over the city, and out to points of interest, are clean and much cooler. The principal hotels now send their own omnibuses to the steamship landings as well as to the two rail¬ way stations, and in these there is a fixed charge. There is, as everywhere in Italy, a fixed tariff, but the drivers will not accept it, or anything near it without a quarrel. Five and eight francs for a one- franc or, at most, two-franc fare is what they usually demand. They are for the most part vil¬ lainous looking individuals, then’ clothes greasy and dirty. They drive recklessly, their cabs are not [42] A Typical Street in Genoa, Old Town ?|er palaces over clean, and altogether they are an unpleasant lot. Neither guards nor hotel men will interfere on behalf of the foreigner, although after the dis¬ pute is settled and the cabman departed, the latter will frequently sympathize, and comment upon the cabman’s unreasonable and illegal demands. Once, by marching into the house after he had scornfully thrown the money I offered him on the sidewalk, and by refusing to come out again, I did compel a cabman engaged by the hour to accept an hour’s fare plus a pourboire for thirty-five minutes’ driv¬ ing. He insisted upon being paid for an hour and a quarter; but I have never had a purely peaceful experience with a Genoese cabman. On the other hand, every one warns travellers against the Nea¬ politan cabman. I find him no more villainous in appearance than his Genoese brother, and have never had but one quarrel with a Neapolitan, on which occasion an appeal to the guard resulted in a decision in my favour. Certainly they will cheat one if they can, but they have a more genial man¬ ner of doing so. In Genoa, as in most Italian cities save in the south, where it is less, the charge for a course to any part of the city is one franc for one or two persons, with no extra charge for bags carried inside the carriage, and a charge of from ten to twenty centesimi for trunks or valises carried outside. Drivers and porters always try to pile all luggage on the outside, even to a small handbag, that they may charge for it, so it is necessary to [43] (genoa anb insist if one wishes them inside. The driver must receive the additional pay for outside luggage, or he would hardly he so persistent. Whether I have been unusually unfortunate in my experiences with these Genoese cabmen I cannot say, but certainly Genoa is the one city in Italy in which I shun cabs save when absolutely unavoidable. Everyone is warned that he or she will be cheated in Italy, that he should examine all money received carefully, whether silver or banknotes, as much counterfeit money is sure to be passed off on foreigners. As to the first charge, it is certain that foreigners do pay much more for things than Italians, save in shops where the prices are fixed, or possibly in some of these, but if they speak Italian, and are willing to bargain, they will not pay extortionate amounts. Italians themselves always bargain. But most of the purely Italian goods which foreigners purchase for souvenirs, the silk shawls, wood carvings, mosaics, corals, etc.,, seem so cheap at first price to the purchaser, espe¬ cially to the American, that he does not think of offering less until later, after learning how much less someone else has paid for the same thing. As to bad money, during many months of travel in Italy I have never received a bad note, and, I think, but one bad coin. I have occasionally received change a few pence short, but quite as often I have had to rectify an error in my favour. The clerks do not seem as quick at arithmetic as at home. [ 44 ] jfytt palaces Buying postage stamps of more than one denomi¬ nation at a post office apparently always necessi¬ tates a written calculation, not quickly reckoned. But one must never be in a hurry. As for the cab¬ men in general, always excepting those of Genoa, it seems to me they are about the same the world over. In what country can one step into a cab without question and be sure of paying only the exact legal fare? The heart of Genoa affords some interesting walks for one with a good bump of locality. Take almost any turn to the right from Via Carlo Felice, to the left from Via Nuova, which with other names for the same street in different sections are the leading shopping streets. Down, down into a hollow one goes, tall buildings on either side, clothes hanging from the windows, queer little shops with all kinds of cheap merchandise or even an occasional low class restaurant. Other narrow, steep little alleys lead off in all directions, and be- wilderingly similar in appearance. However, one need never he actually lost. If one takes the first ascending alley it will lead out into one of the two streets mentioned, even though at quite a different point from where one entered this maze, and that means a cab, an electric tram, or the clumsy horse trams of Via Nuova, to convey one to his destina¬ tion. One street runs through this hollow, start¬ ing from the Piazza Fontane Marose, which is surrounded by historic old palaces, some of which [ 45 ] #enoa anb have not yet been turned into shops and offices. One of these palaces is the seat of the German Em¬ bassy, and two or three are occupied by Genoese princely families. This little street, Via Luccoli, is lined with shops, most attractive ones, filled with beautiful silks, photographs, books, and jewelry. One may watch the celebrated Genoese filagree being made in these shops. The street also con¬ tains old palaces, with finely carved doorways, and finally broadens out into the Piazza Banchi. On one side is the Exchange, a fine sixteenth century building. Through the windows one catches a glimpse of a marble statue of Cavour, Italy’s great statesman; he is represented in a sitting posture, and the statue is but slightly elevated above the floor. As one comes upon it suddenly in certain lights it looks wonderfully lifelike, and quite gives the impression of someone addressing the busy members within. Opposite is the picturesque old church of San Pietro, built in 1583, as a thank- offering, Genoa having escaped a plague four years before. It was erected upon the site of a tenth century church which was destroyed by the Ghibellines. Genoa, like all Italian cities, contains many churches with fine paintings, but they are not par¬ ticularly attractive. There are the usual “ Sacred relics.” In the cathedral, with its black and white marble fa 9 ade, are the Cross of the Zaccaria, con¬ taining a piece of the True Cross, which St. John [46] detached with his own hands from the place “ where our Lord rested Ilis precious head,” as it is described in the old chronicles; the Sacro Catino,” a vessel said to have been used by Christ and His disciples to partake of the Paschal lamb; a silver shrine containing relics of St. John the Baptist—they show one of this saint’s teeth in the School of San Rocco, Venice—and other lesser relics which the sacristan is usually willing and anxious to show for a consideration. Whether or not one visits the churches of Genoa one will be very conscious of their presence before he has been twenty-four hours in the city. The bells awaken one early in the morning, deep bells, shrill bells, cracked bells, chiming, or single boom¬ ing bells. Again in the afternoon they peal out. After a while one becomes accustomed to them, noisy as they are, and really looks forward to hearing them. They are part of the picturesque whole, and belong with the street cries, always musical, with their long-drawn final oils and alls. The street as seen from my window in Genoa furnished me with much diversion. First there were the tall buildings, eight, ten and twelve stories high, always without elevators, save in those hotels patronized by foreigners. Up to the tops of these tall buildings the postmen toil three times a day. A peculiarity of them is that while the lower stories may contain quite elegant apartments, the top story, up under the roof, and sometimes an- [47] #enoa anb other one or two story addition, built in the middle of the roof, leaving a kind of piazza or terrace all around, will be occupied by quite poor working people, who use the same stairs to reach their lofty abodes as do the tenants of the more expensive apartments. These terraces are often converted into flower gardens, or at least there will be pots of flowering plants, increasing their attractive ap¬ pearance. All the windows have green blinds, but with fixed slats. In each blind a small square sec¬ tion with hinge at the top may be pushed out and fastened at varying angles by means of a long iron rod. The Italians almost always close the blinds tightly, whether or not the sun be shining, and then fasten these little sections partly open. From be¬ neath this shelter they gaze out at passers-by or their opposite neighbours, themselves invisible. Then the peddlers! Their long-drawn, musical cries drew me to the window many times a day. On a small handcart would be displayed rolls of cloth, cotton or woollen according to the season, tape, thread, shoe-strings; the women would come out of the houses and shops, and bargain and chat for some minutes, then the peddler would cheerily move on. Up the long hill in front of the house horses toiled with loads of earth and stones. Evi¬ dently building was going on on some hillside near by, and many of these hills and the paved streets leading up them are so steep that one won¬ ders how building materials were ever hauled there, [48] Her ipalace* unless on the backs of mules. The carters walked beside their horses, calling out in a continuous chant, cracking their whips furiously, hut always in the air; the horses seemed perfectly accustomed and quite indifferent to the noise. All over Italy whips are cracked loudly. Sometimes it is like a volley of musketry to the unaccustomed ear, but I saw few horses here abused or ill-treated. On the contrary, I often saw cabmen petting their horses. There are interesting palaces in Genoa, with fine art collections open to the public. Almost every large building is called a palace, thus University Palace, Civic Palace—the City Hall—etc.; but aside from these there are the private palaces, or those originally belonging to noble families, and since given to the city for museums. Some of them are free, at others a small admission fee, half a franc or less is charged, in others a tip to the serv¬ ant who shows one around is expected. The White Palace and the Red Palace belonged to the Brig- noli Sale family, and were left, with the art collec¬ tions they contained, to the city. In the former, after seeing fine paintings by Velasquez, Murillo, Veronese, and many lesser artists, porcelains, etc., I wandered into a suite of rooms at the foot of the entrance stairs. Here the custodian pointed out various treasures. A battle flag of Garibaldi, care- fully wrapped in silver tissue paper, beside a re¬ splendent flag bearing the arms of Genoa, several articles of wearing apparel which had belonged to [49] #enoa anb the famous leader and were now preserved in a glass case, quaint drawings and models of Genoa and its surroundings in the fifteenth century, and a very beautifully illuminated parchment. He ex¬ plained that when, in 1867, Venice became a part of united Italy, Genoa sent her early rival for the supremacy of the seas, marble busts of Pietro Doria and Vittorio Pisani, as a token of friendship and welcome back to Italian rule. Venice, not to be outdone, returned portraits of Christopher Colum¬ bus and Marco Polo, beautifully executed by Sal- viati, in the mosaic for which the city by the sea is celebrated, and this parchment, containing a letter of thanks and presentation of the return gifts, with wonderful miniatures and scroll border, accom¬ panied them. The mosaic portraits are in the larger of the suite of rooms in the Civic Palace, where the Common Council meets. This suite is magnificently decorated, and contains three auto¬ graph letters of Columbus, which used to be shown until some vandal cut out a corner of one, where¬ upon the originals were placed in the pedestal sup¬ porting the bust of Columbus, and photographs of them were hung on the walls for the inspection of visitors. In these rooms, too, is the parchment code conveying the privileges bestowed upon the dis¬ coverer by Ferdinand and Isabella. The Dnrazzo Pallavicini palace contains some magnificent pictures, curios, porcelains, clocks and bronzes, many of them gifts to the family from [50] The Promenade by the Sea, Nervi Her palaces! royal friends. All of the ceilings are gorgeously frescoed, the rooms very large and lofty. Having heard that Genoa is quite cold in winter, and as this is the winter home of the family—they have a beautiful summer place at Pegli—I asked the polite servant who was showing the rooms how they were ever warmed, since the one fireplace for burning wood seemed wholly inadequate. “ Oh,” he said, “ we have heaters, and a furnace down¬ stairs, such as you have in America.” Proudly he pointed to a register perhaps ten inches square, set in the chimney of the fireplace. The palace is all of marble, both walls and floors, with a draughty marble corridor opening upon a courtyard. With the Italian windows opening down to the floor, the effect of one poor little register, and that one in the chimney, upon the huge room would seem to be quite lost. All the floors in Italy are of stone or marble, save where in a few cases, parquet floors are laid over the stone ones. The stairs are of stone or marble, only the doors and window frames are of wood. Many doors are without protruding framework, and are papered entirely over, like the walls, so that when closed they are hardly discernible. Even in warm weather a foreigner feels the chill of the floors through a rug, but Italians do not seem to mind it. Many of them spread down but few rugs even in winter. All visitors to Genoa should take the circonvala- [51] <§cnoa anb zione a monte trip. As its name implies, this is a road running at a high elevation on the hills at the land side of the city, descending sharply at either end to the harbour level. One may drive, take an electric tram, or even walk, and the view of the bay, the whole city, will well repay one. Another favourite trip is the ascent of the Riglii, a high hill crowned with an occupied fort. A funicular takes one almost to the top, or it may be climbed in about three-quarters of an hour. It is a steep climb, but interesting. One way is by taking the flight of steps at the end of the Via Palestro, then up a nar¬ row street, so narrow that the occupants of the houses could almost clasp hands across it, up, up, catching glimpses of little gardens through open gateways, out over olive-clad slopes of the beauti¬ ful harbour, or the high hills. A few children or a sure-footed little donkey may pass you. A horse could hardly go up and down here. Genoa is full of just such streets or alleys winding up her hill¬ sides. As soon as one leaves the main part of the city one turns into them. The Genoese must be good mountain climbers. Some tantalizing glimpse of an old convent, villa or garden attracts the foreign walker, and he passes on, despite short¬ ness of breath, and at last comes upon the ever- changing and beautiful view of mountains and harbour, the purple shadows, the sea melting into the sky, the grim fortresses, and the soft grey- green of the olive trees. [52] Her palaces The Campo Santo of Genoa is probably the most beautiful in Italy. It is built on the side of a hill, and an electric tram takes the visitor there by a winding road, up and around curves offering many beautiful views, in about twenty minutes. The guide-book described this cemeteiy as situated beside a rushing mountain stream, but in Septem¬ ber not a drop of water was to be seen, merely a broad stretch of gravel. Beautiful colonnades are built around three sides of a square, and at the back a flight of steps leads up to a platform with a chapel, and still other porticoes further up the bill. The outer wall of these colonnades is un¬ pierced by windows. Here are the tombs, rows of marble shelves, with marble slabs and inscriptions. In front of these tiers are the monumental statu¬ ary. Opposite, instead of a wall, are marble arches, through which one looks out upon the central square, sodded, and with shrubbery and flowers. The first impression of the whole is that it is very beautiful. But when one comes to examine it closely some of the beauty is lost. Interspersed with exquisite “ Angels of Death,” beautiful draped figures signifying Grief, Hope, and other allegorical types, are statues of the departed, both men and women, in what was at the time of their death the prevailing mode of dress. One sees large puffed sleeves side by side with voluminous skirts, queer little basques with rows of buttons down the fronts, on the part of the women, or worst of all, [53] <@enoa attb family groups of life-sized figures in various atti¬ tudes of grief and despair, conventionally gowned, grouped around the deathbed of the person to whom the monument was erected. Then there are huge wreaths of artificial flowers, tied with enormous black ribbons with inscriptions in gilt, placed against some monument which may be a beautiful piece of sculpture, and with wax candles burning or burned out. The latter are there in numbers, especially soon after All Saints’ Day, at which time Italians make a practice of visiting the tombs of their dead. The tombs of the poor who cannot afford a statue, bust or relief, are disfigured by photographs of the dead, whether old person or child, glazed and fastened into the little marble slab. Sometimes these photographs are put in embroidered frames. Outside this Genoese cemetery I saw my first Italian beggars. There were a couple on crutches, several children, and one peculiar man, barefoot, but apparently neither crippled nor decrepit, knelt at the corner of the outer wall, and prayed at the top of a loud voice. I saw no one give him money, but he prayed on until the tram bore us out of hearing. None of these beggars had the pertinac¬ ity of their southern brethren. We had a pleasant afternoon at Pegli, on the western Italian Riviera, or Riviera di Ponente, Genoa being the dividing line between this and the Riviera di Levante. Electric trams take one in [54] ^er palaces about an hour to the little village, but the road is chiefly inland. A street with rows of pink or yel¬ low stucco buildings runs parallel to the shore. A few small hotels, for it is a winter as well as summer resort, are close to the shore. Back of these, on streets sloping up the hillside are numbers of villas. The shingly beach does not look especially attrac¬ tive for bathing, but there are several establish¬ ments. The chief attraction for tourists in the place is the Villa Pallavicini, the gardens of which are open to the public on certain days and between certain hours. A long avenue rises steeply to the house, and from the terrace there is a beautiful view of the blue Mediterranean in the foreground, with Genoa off at the left, and between and at the back, hills interspersed with valleys, thickly planted with olives. A polite gardener took us through a fruit garden of figs, pomegranates and lemons out into the extensive grounds. We passed down a long alley flanked by large trees, and under a white marble “ arch of triumph,” then the path led to the top of a high hill, crowned by a sandstone imita¬ tion of an old castle. One can enter and examine all the rooms, complete as to fireplaces, and a wind¬ ing stone staircase leads to an upper story, from which the view is superb. Then we passed a num¬ ber of what appeared to be tombs. “ Imitations of old Homan tombs,” said the gardener. A little further came the entrance of a grotto. This, too, [55] #cnoa anti was artificial, even to the stalactites and stalagmites. After groping along a winding passage in it we came to its main hall, where a rowboat was waiting in an imitation subterranean lake, and in this, after more dark windings we were brought out into the light of day on the still artificial lake. Here there are all kinds of contrivances for tricking the unsus¬ pecting visitor, but our guide warned us before showing them off. There is an innocent looking bridge crossing the outlet of the lake. A spring hidden in the grass is touched, and tiny jets of water burst forth from each end, crossing in the middle of the bridge, and quite drench¬ ing the unwarned individual. A swing may lure children to seat themselves in it, a spring is touched, and more tiny sprays of water drench the occu¬ pant. A stretch of pathway bordered with shrub¬ bery comes next. Here, too, is another spring, quite impossible to find save for one who is thor¬ oughly familiar with the place, so carefully hidden among bushes is it, and from these bushes more sprays of water issue. The guides seem to take a never-failing delight in exhibiting these, and laugh like children over the many contrivances. By far the loveliest trip in the environs of Genoa is to Nervi. The electric tram starts from the Piazza Deferrari, down near the old church of San Ambrogio, one of the most interesting churches in Genoa, containing among other good paintings several by Rubens. The former convent back of it, [56] l>er places after having served as barracks and as jail, is now being rapidly demolished to make way for street broadening and improvements. One can also go to Nervi by rail, but the other route is far prefer¬ able. As soon as the city is left behind, the tram runs close to the beautiful shore. Out in the suburbs are charming villas, built in the prevailing Italian style, a square, box-like building, with some¬ times a terrace at the side or rear, but never a piazza, the stone of which the house is built covered with stucco, and painted pink or pale yellow, and with green blinds, Variety is afforded by the deco¬ rations. Around one house on a level with the sec¬ ond story a ten-inch band of dark red was painted, and upon this flowers, quite as though it were a frieze. Another had a large picture of some sacred subject, an Annunciation, or a group of saints, painted in bright colors, almost covering one side wall; or the decoration may be only a false window, with a lifelike vine climbing around it, or a red and white striped awning Avhen viewed at close range proves to be merely a painted one. The Italians seem to delight in this painted trickery. An apparently massive marble wall in some niche in a church turns out to be merely painted on stone. One house outside an Italian town, at a distance appeared to be a two-story wooden chalet, with cross beams and rafters in a darker brown, while a thriving wisteria vine climbed nearly to the roof, its purple blossoms hanging gracefully from a little [57] <§enoa anb balcony. Coming nearer, I saw that it was a square stucco house, the boards and rafters were only painted, the balcony did not exist, even the wisteria vine was the result of brush and paint. The road to Nervi passes through a number of little villages. On one side are high stone walls outside these villages, overhung with vines or palms, affording tantalizing glimpses through open gateways of villas and flower gardens. On the other side is the beautiful sea, dashing up on a rocky coast, with many little promontories, many honeycombed rocks which send spray high up in the air. Sometimes the road turns slightly inland to pass through a town, but in a few minutes it is back again close to the shore, though often high above it. The tram runs rapidly, save when wait¬ ing on a switch for one from the other direction to pass, and in about an hour, having paid less than a franc, one is in Nervi. A broad street lined with palms, with houses on either side, set in pretty gar¬ dens, leads down to the railway station. On the hills are more villas. Little quiet lanes run down between high garden walls, through archways cut in the rock to the promenade, a broad walk cut in the rock, high above the rocky shore. The beautiful grey-green foliage of the olive trees covers the slopes of the hills rising back from the sea, and palms, orange and lemon trees are plentiful. This town is a great winter resort for invalids, and some of the pensions have extensive [58] 3|er palaces grounds surrounding them, shut in by the usual high stone wall. Down in the town, near the railway station and a factory, stands an old Roman arch spanning the river, one of three remaining in an almost perfect state of preservation in Liguria. [ 59 ] CHAPTER IV. T WO hours by rail from Genoa brings one to the little cluster of bouses and hotels which form the village of Santa Margherita, on the eastern Riviera. The village is built on a suc¬ cession of terraces, for the strip of level shore is very narrow, the mountains close to the sea. From the railway station a road descends sharply to the one street along the shore. On one side of this are hotels, a few shops and dwellings, on the other the shingly beach of the Mediterranean. Back of the station steep flagged paths wind up the hillsides, between high garden walls, and everywhere are olive trees. The garden at the back of the hotel where we stayed was a mass of lemon and orange trees. The shore road extends to Portofino, three miles to the south, another little settlement without a railway station, and on the north to Rapallo, about the same distance away. Three times a day a primitive stage runs between Rapallo and Porto¬ fino, but the roads are delightful for walking, and the pedestrian enjoys a continuous panorama of beauty. Save where a promontory juts out into the sea, the road is usually close to the water, with villas on the other side, and olive trees planted in terraces. [ 60 ] Journejungs gUong tfje &toicrasi On one of these promontories as one walks to Rapallo is the Villa Spinola. The iron gates were ajar as w r e passed, and pausing to look longingly in at the attractive grounds, wondering if they might be seen, a ten-year-old girl appeared and volunteered to show us over them. She pointed out the various objects of interest with quite the manner of an experienced guide. The large house is set some distance back from the road, with a beautiful lawn, and shady walks descending to the sea, for the promontory is quite high. The house was closed, but we stood on a broad marble terrace overhanging the sea, which broke on the rocks below, and wondered how the owners could remain away at this delightful season of the year—Octo¬ ber. On the extreme end of the promontory are the ruins of a very old castle, with drawbridge over a moat, now quite dry, and with grass-grown ram¬ parts, on which are still mounted a few useless old cannon. We crossed the drawbridge and entered the great hall, where some queer old weapons were hanging on the walls, or lying on the stone floor, mounted a steep incline leading to the ramparts, and tried to fancy the castle the object of an attack in those old times of fierce conflicts. Bold indeed would have been the assailants who could have scaled the rocks from the sea, which surrounds it on three sides. A little beyond the villa the road passes a tiny fishing village, the four-story, pink-plastered build- [ 61 ] Sfourneptngsi ings, the houses of the inhabitants built in a solid block, like city buildings, as is almost always the case in these Italian villages. Here they lived under the same roof, with the sea coming almost to their front doors, happy and contented. But almost all Italians seem happy and con¬ tented. The maids answer one’s morning ring with a smiling, Buon giorno, signorina ” and bid one an equally smiling, " Felice notte! " One enters a shop to be received in the same friendly manner, and if one’s purchase is but a spool of thread she is thanked, and on leaving the shop the proprietor or clerk says: “ Arrivederci” that frequently used expression for which we have no actual equivalent, “ until we meet again,” coming nearest to a trans¬ lation. The shops open early in the morning and close late in the evening, but the shopkeepers are never too busy or hurried to come to the door and point out the way in answer to a question, adding directions, and often going to the next corner to be sure that they are understood. The people of the poorer class will always go out of their way to point out the road. Of course these usually expect a small coin in return—and how small a one will content them!—but their cheery manner makes the giving in most cases a pleasure. Rapallo is more of a town than Santa Marghe- rita, with narrow, paved streets, and rows of little shops beneath the porticoes which cover most of the sidewalks. On these sidewalks sit old and young [ 62 ] gUong ttc &toieras; women, making lace on cushions, the shop windows are full of lace collars, pretty and cheap, but heavy. Lace and post cards are everywhere displayed. The walk in the opposite direction from Santa Margherita to Portofino is equally attractive. Years ago some one began a theatre near the for¬ mer town, but when the foundations were built abandoned the idea, so here it stands on a project¬ ing point, already quite a picturesque ruin. As one nears Portofino the strip of level shore grows even narrower, and on the land side the olive-planted terraces rise steeply from the road. It winds around several beautiful little bays, and passes two charming villas owned by Mr. Brown. Beyond Portofino is a third, with more extensive grounds, also owned by Mr. Brown. The road ends abruptly at the foot of a broad flight of stone steps leading up to the church, large and handsome enough for a city, instead of a fish¬ ing village. A path descends steeply from the road to the village itself, five or six stone buildings con¬ taining shops, cheap hotels—those patronized by tourists are all back from the water, set on the hills— caffes, and apartments, built close to the shore of the beautiful Bay of Portofino. Several of the village buildings have the popular stone porticoes, beneath which one finds lace workers, hard at work, stopping only to invite one to buy, and exhibiting their handiwork in friendly rivalry, while fishermen urge the delights of a row on the [63] 3fourncptngsi bay. When we returned to the church to take the primitive little stage there was no sign of it, and we were afraid that we had missed it, but men, women and children hastened to assure us that it had not yet arrived, and when it finally came in sight, far down the road, several who had been on the lookout ran up to tell us of its approach, quite without expectation of any small change in reward, it was all pure friendliness. Some of the children were very pretty, with dark eyes and bright colour in their cheeks, but the women looked worn and old. All seemed happy, however, and were doing their lace work out-of-doors, under the blue sky, in cheerful sociability. Even on the much travelled Riviera di Ponente, extending from Genoa to the Italian frontier at Ventimiglia, and on as the French Riviera to Nice, there are many places which are but little known to foreigners. The familiar resorts of Mentone, San Remo, Bordighera, etc., are usually known to tourists as winter resorts only, or as stopping places for those on coaching or automobile trips along the famous Corniche road. But all of the Italian towns are visited in summer by Italians for the baths, and in addition there are strictly Italian sum¬ mer resorts. It is a habit far more than a fashion, one might almost say that it is a national custom, for Italians to go to these watering places in summer; that it is considered one of the necessary things in life. The very expression given to this [64] dicing tfjc &tbieras; resorting to the seashore indicates its importance. Italians do not speak of going to the seaside, they go to fare i bagni, literally to take the baths. This they do with amazing persistency. The true season begins July 15th, and continues until August 15th. A few remain later, but only a few. There is a reason for this, though scarcely a sufficient one for the sea-bathing enthusiast. After August 15th the Mediterranean is frequently rough, the water colder, although not by any means what we of a more northern clime would consider cold. But it is also far less clear, apt to be sandy and roiled. An ideal place for sea baths is Alassio, about sixty miles west of Genoa. In winter this is a popular resort for foreigners, many English people own or hire villas during that season, but in summer few but Italians are to be found there. A smooth sandy beach, with scarcely a pebble, slopes gently down, so that one may walk out for some distance, yet still be in safely shallow water. The difference due to tides in the Mediterranean is so slight that one has the added advantage of being able to enjoy bathing at any hour of the day. Little bath-houses line the shore, but it is the general custom here to don bathing suit and a long crash wrapper (accappatojo is the correct Italian term), sandals or Turkish slippers on stockingless feet, and thus attired to walk to the beach, even though one’s hotel be at some rods distance. We frequently met people thus attired strolling about [65] STournejungs the town or in the tiny shops. After the bath wet suits are left in the bathing-houses, where an attendant takes charge of them and dries them, the crash wrapper is again donned, and the bathers usually sit in groups on the sand, or in the after¬ noon, when the sun is low, walk up and down close to the water’s edge. These crash wrappers are sold in all the little shops at prices ranging from six francs for the plain white ones to higher prices for the more elaborate colored and striped ones. The cut is quite the same for men and women, but the men usually pull the Capuchin hoods over their heads, resembling bands of white-clad monks, droll to contemplate. We were amused to read posted on the walls of our hotel notices that guests were not expected to come to meals in these wrappers. Most of the Italians spent hours in the water, going in twice, and sometimes three times a day, and staying in more than an hour each time. The water was delightfully warm, but we had no desire to emulate them in this respect. As usual, there were life-lines even in the shallow water, and one or more bathing masters, according to the number of bathers, to watch that no one got into trouble through venturing out too far. Quantities of life preservers always lay on the shore, and bathers were rather encouraged to take them. The Italian women are not usually swimmers, but armed with a large circular life preserver, they would float themselves out into water sometimes over their [ 66 ] The Beach at Alassio gUong tf )i &tbteras; heads in depth, and placidly stay there, almost motionless, for an hour. Little sailboats were continually passing back and forth close to the shore, but they seldom went beyond the headlands bounding the bay, for sudden squalls are by no means uncommon along this coast. There are stiff climbs back of the town up on the hills, that if taken will reward one with a beau¬ tiful view, but the only drives are in either direction along the Corniche road. Most of the hotels in Alassio are close to the shore, ours was so near that from the dining-room one descended a short flight of steps and was directly on the beach, and some¬ times the waves broke within three feet of the foundations. Back of the hotels is a narrow wind¬ ing street with small, dark shops, and a few little cross streets or alleys run off from this. The villas are almost all back from the shore, up on the hills. After August 15th, when almost all the people left Alassio, the place became rather lonely. The little park with its tables and chairs was deserted, and we decided to move on. Finalmarina, our next stopping place, about half an hour by slow train in the direction of Genoa was totally different. It is but a small resort, and we enjoyed the distinction of being the only Americans who had ever stayed there. In the weeks we remained we never once saw another Anglo-Saxon, or in fact any but Italians. The little village is most picturesque, with its [67] 3Tournej>tngs narrow streets, its overhanging arches connecting buildings, and the beautiful vistas of the blue Medi¬ terranean caught as one passed the narrow alleys leading from the main street to the beach. Of course there was a cathedral, quite large and impos¬ ing. There was a piazza, where occasionally a band came from some neighbouring town to perform. There was a caffe on this piazza, with a few plants set in boxes to lend a festive air. There was also a clumsy little horse tram which ran frequently back and forth between Finalmarina and the inland village of Finalborgo, still older and equally pic¬ turesque, and without a railway station of its own. At Finalmarina were two bathing establish¬ ments, the larger and more popular connected with our hotel, the most important hotel of the town. Here for six francs a day we had a very large, lofty room, lighted by electricity, and our three meals, with wine included. The attendance was far from good, but atoned in willingness and amiability for what it lacked in other respects. Luncheon and dinner were served in a dining-room large enough for fifty persons, and we felt quite lost at the great table shaped like a horseshoe, where we were often the only guests. The Italians spending the sum¬ mer here chiefly lived in hired apartments. The cooking was thoroughly Italian; but for those who like it, as we do, there was no cause for complaint. Meats were good and well-cooked; there was always plenty of fruit, of salad, and oil is [ 68 ] &lona tfje Efoteras; always good in Italy. Spaghetti, all the various forms of pasta, risotto, and other national dishes were frequently included in the menu, and after the first few days the hostess or her daughters used to consult us as to what we would like. Down on the beach the bathing establishment consisted of the usual rows of bath-houses, and a pavilion, the “ rotunda,” in which were a piano and a piano organ. A man hired for the purpose, and eagerly assisted by the children, kept the handle of the latter turning steadily for several hours in the morning, again in the afternoon, and in the evening, save on those special occasions when there was a “ grand ball,” for which an admission fee of half a franc was charged, when there was an orchestra of local musicians. Occasionally a vol¬ unteer pianist relieved the organ grinder. To this music children, young people, sometimes everyone danced, round and round, seldom reversing, to the fastest music—Italians care little for the slow waltz—and we grew fairly dizzy from merely watching them. They danced before their baths, and afterwards again, almost unwearyingly, save when they sat on the verandah overlooking beach and sea, sipping sirups and water, or possibly a glass of cordial or vermouth. Twice a week ices could be had in the evening. As for the beach, it did not compare with that of Alassio, but was very stony. A character of this establishment was the waiter. [69] Joumejungg He had grown old in his calling, was most obliging, and delighted, with the harmless, simple freedom of the Italian servant, in talking. The small tips of five or ten centesimi customarily given him with the drinks he served, were augmented by a lottery organized for his benefit. There is no prejudice against lotteries in Italy, so, aside from those con¬ ducted by the Government, with their weekly draw¬ ings, they are frequent. As the first Americans who had ever stayed at the hotel—a few English people sometimes came there for a day or two, previous to hiring a villa in the vicinity—we excited the greatest, and some¬ times embarrassing attention. Groups gathered in the streets to watch us pass, we were pointed out to visiting Italians, small children occasionally fol¬ lowed us, although without making any attempt to annoy us, merely gazing at us in open-mouthed wonder, as at some strange beings. Our clothes came in for a great deal of attention, and even admiring comment on the part of the maids, although not in the least remarkable from our point of view. The Italian women wear white a great deal in the summer. The men wear white duck and very light¬ weight woollen suits, with a variety of neckties which would amaze the Anglo-Saxon man. Bril¬ liant ties even with quite bright colored shirts are by no means uncommon. Sometimes some such “color scheme” is affected by a young dandy. [70] gUong tfje &ibieras With a white duck or flannel suit he will wear a lilac tie, lilac hose, a lilac hatband, and a lilac hand¬ kerchief will peep coyly from a coat pocket. The Italian man is fond of dress, and often, especially in the lower classes, far better dressed than his wife or sister. On holidays one often sees women of the peasant type, hatless, poorly dressed, with but little attempt at festive attire, accompanied by men of their own class, dressed quite as gentlemen, save that the materials of their clothes are cheaper. They use a great deal of perfumes too. Those fond of walking may take delightful mountain climbs back of the town of Finalmarina. There is a ruined old castle within easy walking distance of Finalborgo, itself about a mile away. Actually to stand within this ruin means quite a stiff climb, for the present proprietors have effectu¬ ally barred the easier path by throwing down some of the rocks that formed it, for the sake of protect¬ ing the vines and fruit trees planted near it. But the climb is possible, and the view worth the trouble. On a high hill opposite, looking across the valley in which lies the town, is another chateau, possibly once a rival. One may make many pleasant trips by a climb up to any of the little hamlets nestling on these mountainsides, and provided he can be content with Italian dishes, he can make an excel¬ lent luncheon at the tiny little inns, however un¬ promising he may fancy them from their exterior. These Ligurian inns are clean, too. There will be [71] 3Fom*neptngs; gffong tfje &toteras in summer fresh figs, bread and fresh butter, cheese, salad, Italian smoked sausage, sliced very- thin, and sometimes served with the figs as a pre¬ liminary course, good wine, made on the place from their own grapes, and almost always a chicken. Sometimes one’s feelings are slightly harrowed by the landlady bringing in the live chicken which she proposes to kill and cook for you, tucked con¬ fidingly under her arm to show for your approval. Here in some of these little homes, apparently so far removed from the world, away from railroad or post office, the visitor may be amazed, as we were, to discover proudly fastened to the wall in a post of honour, an illustrated post card of the Flatiron Building, in New York City, sent by some former chance visitor, or by the never failing relative, who has gone to seek his fortune in the New World. The drives from Finalmarina, especially in the direction of Genoa, are beautiful. The Corniche road is alluring here. One passes close to the water, now near its level, now high above, rounding great rocky headlands, sometimes passing through them by tunnels, with the blue, blue Mediterranean a never failing source of delight, and at sunset, an ideal time for summer drives, with sea and sky such a changing glory of opalescent hues that one with the least love of beauty cannot but wax enthusiastic. A moonlight drive along this shore, too, is some¬ thing never to be forgotten, a veritable passage through fairyland. [ 72 ] General View of Finalmarina CHAPTER V. M Y first glimpse of old Pisa was at sunset. Anxious to spend the winter in some one place, and study Italian seriously, the question of where to settle was far more serious than some may fancy. There are so many dialects in use, even among cultured persons. All Vene¬ tians, for instance, love their soft, pretty dialect as the Genoese love theirs, to which these adjectives cannot be applied. The Genoese dialect is one of the most difficult in Italy, and a mixture of Italian, Spanish, Arabic, and many other tongues. It is almost impossible for even Italians from other parts of the country to understand it. Of course educated Italians are all supposed to speak good Italian, but there is almost always some local pecu¬ liarity. In Tuscany they speak the purest Italian, this province being still, as formerly, the seat of literature, but even here the pronunciation is usually marred by the aspirated c. They speak slowly, however, and this is of great assistance to foreigners learning the language. In Rome the pronunciation is considered perfect, it is certainly most musical, hence the old saying, ee lingua tus- cana in bocca romana” a Tuscan tongue in a Roman mouth, as qualifications for speaking the language well, but the Romans speak very rapidly. [73] Winter month# Upon Pisa I finally decided, as most conducive to study. I found an Italian family willing to take me into their home, and went there late in October. As I left the station and came out on the broad piazza upon which it faces, I fopnd myself surrounded by importunate cabmen. There were few other passengers, but cabs enough for a crowd. Later I often wondered how these men earned a living, for the city is full of cabs, and save on holidays they stand idle for hours. All the cabs in Pisa are, I was told, owned by a com¬ pany. The fare from the station to any part of the city is seventy centesimi, and often they will offer to take one for fifty centesimi , or half a franc. ? My cabman chosen and my trunk secured (paper luggage receipts, with the number of pieces, weight, and charges plainly marked upon them are given all over Italy, and all luggage not carried into the compartments must be paid for), we started off down a broad street lined with hotels and caffes. The number of hotels for the size of the place is also a matter for speculation, but for¬ merly Pisa was a great winter resort for invalids, especially for the English. Now only parties of tourists come on their way to or from Rome, and remain for two or three days at most, usually merely for the day. The English church was never once opened during the months I spent there. After passing three hotels, and crossing a steam [ 74 ] in $h£a tram track, we came to two iron gates, an opening in the wall surrounding the city, for Pisa is still a walled city. Here is the custom house, and there is one at each city gate. No produce, wine or mer¬ chandise can enter without dazio or the appointed tax having been paid. Foreigners are seldom trou¬ bled, however. In my case the cab stopped, and a uniformed official, sword at his side, came up and tapped my trunk inquiringly. I said, "niente “ he smiled, bowed, and we passed on through another piazza, with a statue of Victor Emanuel II., down the broad Via Fibonnacci, with villas set in gardens, then past cheaper buildings in blocks, with little shops beneath the apartments, and across a hand¬ some stone bridge, decorated with sculptured lions, spanning a broad, muddy stream, the Arno, flow¬ ing sluggishly between high brick walls. More streets, with rows of three and four storied build¬ ings of apartments, and I was at my destination, where I was cordially welcomed. This was my first opportunity for studying Italian life, since the life in pensions and hotels is always more or less cosmopolitan. Here I was quite one of the family. And what kind-hearted people they were! Always doing and saying pleas¬ ant things, always consulting my tastes. The politeness of an Italian is a never failing delight, and he never hurts the foreigner’s feelings, he never sneers at other nationalities as we Anglo- Saxons are rather prone to do. Sometimes he may [75] SSItnter Jfflontfjs; smile at what seem strange vagaries, but amiably. It is difficult for them, as for most continental people, to discriminate between the English and the Americans, they are all called English, so the enthusiastically patriotic American must be forever proclaiming his nationality, and will find it expen¬ sive to do so, for all Americans are thought to be wealthy. With the exception of fruit, wine, cheese, chest¬ nuts—the Italian chestnuts are large, like the French variety, and quite a staple article of food— and a few other articles, I found that eatables cost quite as much with us. Meat—inferior to ours— sugar and salt more. The last two articles are heavily taxed, as they are one of the sources of revenue for the government, salt being a govern¬ ment monopoly. Servants frequently do the marketing for the family, and carry home their purchases in large, gaily colored handkerchiefs. Provisions are purchased in very small quantities. Fresh butter is used exclusively, and this must, of course, be bought every day. It is well to watch tradesmen pretty closely. In butchers’ shops, for instance, old-fashioned scales are used, and the cus¬ tomer cannot, as with us, see the figures plainly shown on the indicator. Rents are much cheaper than with us, but modern conveniences are lacking. Outside of the hotels, I never heard of but one apartment in Pisa with a bathtub, and that was a huge marble affair, with [76] in ipitfa no hot-water connections. The large towns all have bathing establishments, where for a franc one may have a hot bath, but in Pisa only one of these bathrooms could be heated in any way. Many houses have running water in the kitchen, and perhaps one other faucet elsewhere, but some fami¬ lies do not use the water thus supplied, fetching it instead from the many fountains in large pictur¬ esque copper jars. Every drop we used was brought up one flight of stairs and from a foun¬ tain at least five hundred feet distant, for the head of the house believed that the water from that particular fountain was purer than that supplied by the city in pipes. The majority of people live in apartments vary¬ ing in size from five to fifteen rooms, and which usually occupy an entire floor. The rooms are of much greater average size than with us, and there are few little dark ones, but closets are almost unknown. There will be a storeroom for groceries, and wardrobes must be used for clothes. There are two-storied houses with gardens at the rear or some¬ times surrounding them for separate families, and these are almost invariably called pallazini, or little palaces, while the larger apartment houses are palazzi, and in Pisa many were old palaces, dating back to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, with entrance doors through which a coach and four might drive into the broad stone hallway, and depart through a rear doorway. Over these doors, [ 77 ] ®2ltnter jWont&ai or blazoned on a great stone shield on the front of the building, were carved coats of arms of families perhaps long since extinct. The entrance is usually on a level with the ground, or raised one or two steps. The ground floor apartments have lower ceilings, smaller win¬ dows, with iron bars on the street side, and are called mezzanine. Upstairs comes the first floor, or piano nobile, the most desirable and expensive. Here the windows usually extend to the floor, with a waist-high iron railing outside the glass doors to prevent one from falling into the street. The ceilings of these apartments are always high, and indeed low ceilings are rare in Italy. All towns of any size are lighted by electricity. In Pisa both gas and electricity are used, and gas ranges are found in some apartments, and much liked, although the majority of Italians still use charcoal for cooking. The stove, which at first sight resem¬ bles a range, is of iron, with little box-like cavities for holding charcoal, one for each pot or saucepan, with little doors to open that the charcoal may be fanned if it does not light well. Roasting is done in a tin oven on top of the fire. Every possible south exposure is made use of for windows; next in favour come east or west, any¬ thing but north, for sunshine is much appreciated. The first question asked in looking for rooms or apartments is how many windows to the south, or mezzogiorno —midday—as it is always styled. [78] in fiisa One hears much criticism of Italians for dirti¬ ness. Some of them deserve this, especially the lowest classes in the south. The Italian women are quite apt to be untidy looking, their hair not well arranged. In private families not nearly enough attention, according to our ideas, is paid to sweep¬ ing and dusting, and the city streets are not over clean. Sometimes sidewalks in front of shops are washed, but not frequently, and I suspected that many times the dust was laid on the floors of pub¬ lic buildings—other than the museums and gal¬ leries, which always looked clean—by the use of the ever present watering-pot, instead of being re¬ moved with a broom. At least I never saw the broom. But kitchen utensils are kept very clean, and the copper pots and pans shine in a manner to delight the heart of any housekeeper. I have found most hotels and pensions clean, in spite of much that I had heard to the contrary, nor did I ever have any difficulty in obtaining plenty of hot water and towels, and the beds were comfortable. Italian women use quantities of face powder, but are not addicted to rouge or peroxide hair washes. It surprised me to see so many blondes or half- blondes, even sandy and red haired people, and, at first, I was constantly asking if these could really be Italians, much to my Italian friends’ amuse¬ ment. The young women are often very pretty, but, to our eyes at least, lacking in style, though they have pretty, round figures, and small hands [79] Winter Jtlontijs: and feet. Even the day labourers have small hands and feet, and are rarely very coarse looking. Italians are far more ceremonious than are we. Acquaintances stopping to speak to each other on the street shake hands both at meeting and part¬ ing, women friends are apt to kiss each other in the Italian fashion, once on each cheek. When calls are paid, each caller shakes hands with everyone else in the room, both at coming and going. At summer resorts Italians who are on speaking terms usually shake hands with an entire group for good morning, or when bidding them good night. Pisa is a sleepy old town, basking in the mem¬ ory of past glories and importance. The univer¬ sity and two regiments of soldiers stationed there cannot make it lively. Those of its inhabitants who are not natives give it a bad name. They declare that the Pisans are small-minded, mean, given to cheating, stupid; that Italians from other parts of the country are called foreigners in Pisa, and treated as such, namely, made to pay more for everything, and looked upon as outsiders. I was solemnly told that Pisan ladies, while calling on these “ outsiders ” and waiting for them to appear in their own drawing-room, have been known to steal out into the corridor and open cupboards or drawers, to spy out their contents, or while appa¬ rently absorbed in conversation, have felt of their hostess’ gown to gauge its quality, and learn whether or not it was lined with silk. One day while [ 80 ] in $isa walking with the daughter of the house, we met several girls of her acquaintance, natives of Pisa. Introductions followed, and they asked me many questions as to what parts of Italy I had visited before coming to Pisa, how long I intended re¬ maining, where I was going afterwards, etc. After we had left them my companion said to me: “ Did you notice how they questioned you? I had an¬ swered all those questions about you several days ago, but they wanted to see if I had told the truth, or if they could catch me in a falsehood.” The foreigner can hardly decide upon the justice of these accusations, but it may serve to illustrate the feeling, hardly strong enough to be called hos¬ tile, yet not friendly, which exists between many Italians from different sections. As far as the shops were concerned, I found the Pisans as polite as all the other Italians, from the little stationer who thanked me for purchasing a dozen pens for fifteen centesimi to the proprietors of the larger shops. Some of the larger shops had fixed prices, in others bargaining was expected. Clothes are much cheaper than with us, although the quality, especially of woollen goods, is inferior. Silks are cheaper, but ribbons are almost double the price, and one must examine them closely before purchasing. Many are half cotton. Almost every yard of ribbon is imported from either France or Switzerland, and a heavy import duty must be paid. There is no reason for this other than the [ 81 ]