Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  The Pitti Galleria was founded in 1440 and occupies a part of the Pitti Palace, the residence of the king when he is in Florence. It contains five hundred pictures, many of them masterpieces. The gallery is a series of small rooms known as the Salon of the Iliad, of Saturn, Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, etcetera, each taking its name from the design on the painted ceiling. These ceilings are splendid, the pictures being framed in heavy gilt woodwork, with stuccoed designs — as of flowers — in relief of gold and white. The rooms contain many handsome vases, statuary and tables, and I noted especially one table of lapis-lazuli and mother-of-pearl, and another formed of a single slab of malachite which is said to be the largest piece of this precous stone in existence. Here is Canova’s statue of Venus and the bronzes of Cain and Abel.

  Raphael has two Madonnas in the Pitti Galleria, one being his Madonna of the Chair, perhaps his most famous work. The expression of maternal tenderness on the face of the Madonna has never been equalled by any other artist. Murillo has also two Madonnas in the collection, that of “La Vergine col figlio” being exquisite in conception and coloring. Rubens’ great canvas, “The Consequences of War,” is something that holds one a long time, so bold and strong is it. Then there is Van Dyck’s “Rest in Egypt” and Christofano Alleri’s “Judith” to add to the widespread fame of this wonderful gallery.

  L. F. grieves me. He says “he can tell one old master from another as soon as he reads the name on the frame,” and makes other slighting remarks when I grow enthusiastic; but he seems as eager to study the picture as I am, and so surely are we being educated by observation that we can both detect now the peculiarities of style and color effects of most of the great masters.

  We have had many beautiful walks and drives here, and feel we could spend a whole year in Florence and enjoy every minute. The royal gardens, called the Boboli Gardens, are extremely beautiful and have some wonderful avenues of old trees. There is a musical festival here at present, and we have seen Leoncavalli lead an orchestra of eighty masters at the production of one of his operas, and Mascagni direct the orchestra at the production of his latest opera. L. F. says that Americans would not tolerate such shabby costuming or crude stage settings; but the music was grand and inspiring.

  LETTER XVI. VENICE

  Venice, Italy

  Venice is dreamy and beautiful. There is nothing real about it whatever. It is like stepping into Fairyland, and wondering when you’re going to be dragged out again. The other cities of Italy, however old, wear a modern garb; but Venice is today the Venice of Bulwer and Browning, of Desdemona and Lorenzi, of all who have ever loved it or written about it. You can’t modernize Venice, and so it is the one old world city that is not disappointing.

  In such a fascinating place I don’t know how I am going to compose myself to write a letter. I am perched in my window, looking down at the Grand Canal with its flotilla of quaint water craft, and the soft cries of the boatmen, the distant strains of mandolin music and the happy laughter of those who glide by in their gondolas are quite distracting.

  We reached here Saturday night at ten o’clock, and at the station embarked in a gondola and by the light of a glorious moon were paddled a half hour or more through winding waterways to the Grand Canal and our hotel. Such an introduction to Venice won our hearts completely.

  The city covers one-hundred twenty islands which are connected by four-hundred and three bridges. The Grand Canal runs through Venice in the shape of the letter S and is, so to speak, the Broadway of the town. Along the edges of all the canals are foot paths, so that walking is easy although you have to go roundabout to get from one point to another. It is better to take a boat if you are in a hurry or not in need of exercise. Besides, a stranger is often lost in Venice, and after wandering aimlessly for a time has to call a gondolier to take him home.

  Sunday we took a gasoline launch and rode to the fishing village of Chiugga, on a little island where the first settlement of the Venetians was built. The route took us out of the Grand Canal into the port of Lido, and finally into the Adriatic Sea. It was a perfect summer day and a delightful ride. In the evening we hired a gondola and floated for an hour on the Grand Canal. It is very wide at this end, and anchored in various places were large barges decorated with colored lanterns on which concerts are given. A band of some twenty men and women constitutes the orchestra and songsters on each barge, and they sing everything from grand opera to comic songs, in solos, duets, quartettes and choruses. Some of the voices are remarkably good, and the Venetians patronize these floating concerts liberally. Gondolas point their slender ends in a close circle all around these barges, while their passengers listen to the concerts. We stopped at several of the barges and enjoyed the novelty of the scene very much. The buildings at the water’s edge were all brilliantly lighted by electricity, which was reflected in every eddy and ripple of the water, while every gondola bears its own lights. The scene was positively enchanting.

  Next morning we started out to see the city, and of course made straight for the Piazza San Marco, a big oblong square paved with marble. Here stands the famous cathedral of St. Mark’s, which occupies one end, while the sides are flanked by the former royal palaces — now occupied by private individuals. There are several arcades leading from the square to the side streets, and around three sides are covered colonnades with shops and innumerable restaurants. These latter set their tables far out into the square in the afternoon and evenings when the daily band concerts are held.

  The Piazza San Marco is the heart of Venice. The first thing I did on arriving there was to buy some corn and feed the pigeons, which are almost as famous as the cathedral itself. The birds are so tame that three of them perched upon my hand at once in their eagerness to get at the corn.

  The cathedral was built in 976. It has five domes and is decorated most lavishly with mosaics both inside and out. The splendor of its appearance is distinctly oriental and its beauty appeals to me more than does that of any other cathedral I have seen. It is built entirely of marble, as are all the buildings facing the square, the surface blackened by age but still rich in its effects. Over the door of the cathedral is the quadriga, or four bronze horses which Constantine took from Rome to Constantinople and which Zeno brought back to Venice. The mosaics in the vestibule are of the thirteenth century, the figures in colors and the background in gold. One series depicts the manner in which St. Mark’s body was brought here from Constantinople. The Saracens refused to allow it to pass their lines, so the pious Christians encased St. Mark in a covering of pork, and passed it over the border in that way. The Muslims would not examine it carefully, but held their noses when they saw the offensive pork; therefore the saint landed in Venice in good shape.

  The mosaics of the central dome represent the Ascension and the Passion. Over the central altar is a marble screen surmounted by statues of the twelve apostles, the Virgin and St. Mark, with a crucifix in the center. These marbles are brown with age. The high altar is of green marble, upheld by four pillars bearing chiseled reliefs of Bible scenes, all of which date from the eleventh century. The bones of St. Mark lie underneath this altar. The wealth of exquisite mosaics here fascinated me, for although I have seen mosaics without end, these are so harmoniously placed and so interesting and beautiful that they seem to overshadow and surpass even Monreale. They were designed by Titian and other great masters.

  The clock tower at the left of St. Mark’s is surmounted by two immense bronze figures bearing hammers, with which they pound out the hours an a bell that rests between them. This was built in 1496. Beside the Ducal Palace, on the water front, we saw the two fine granite columns brought here in 1180, one surmounted by the Winged Lion of St. Mark and the other by a figure of St. Theodore standing on the back of a crocodile. St. Theodore was the patron saint of the early republic.

  Much of the material used in the construction of the cathedral was donated by Christian knights who brought it from the four corners of the world. Pagan temples and mosques we
re rifled of their pillars and rich marbles and the architects are said to have been guided in their plans by the class of material furnished. It is the fashion for some modern architects to sneer at the architecture of St. Mark’s, but they can’t get away from the fact that it is the most beautiful and appealing of all the cathedrals of the world.

  The Palace of the Doges stands just as it did ages ago, when it was the scene of countless tragedies. After the Republic was destroyed the people tried to burn it, but there was nothing to burn. Unlike our modern hotels, it was fire-proof. But on the outer wall was a lion’s head which had caused the death of many an honest man, for a written accusation, placed in the lion’s mouth, was equivalent to a condemnation. So they smashed this head and went away satisfied. The slit through which the accusing letters dropped into the chamber of the Council of Ten still remains.

  This chamber still has the seats of the Doge and the infamous Council of Ten and the original decorations remain on the walls. Adjoining it is the Senate chamber, where the condemned was allowed to plead for his life. Out of it is a small chapel of the Doge and an ante-room. From the ante-room is a small passage leading directly to the chamber of the Council of Ten, the ceiling and walls of the passage being exquisitely painted. There are rooms for the servitors of the Council and their chief of police, and then the room of the Chief Inquisitor. Here the walls are hung with black. From this dread place opened two secret doors, one leading to the dark cells and death, the other to the Bridge of Sighs — which also meant a living death or assassination.

  On the lower floor is the big hall called the Hall of the Grand Council, reserved for the use of those of legitimate noble descent whose names were in the Golden Book. They were eligible at twenty years of age and were elected by ballot. Here, on the walls, are the largest paintings I have ever seen. One called “The Glory of Paradise” is seventy-eight feet long by thirty-two feet high, and contains hundreds of figures. The portraits of the seventy-six Doges of Venice form a frieze around the hall. Adjoining this room was the Balloting Room and many other suites magnificently decorated and containing a wealth of paintings. Many of the doors of the palace were brought from Constantinople, and are of precious woods richly carved. They are in two sections, opening in a way similar to that which we call a “Dutch door.”

  We next visited the prison. The dungeons are black holes, having a small aperture through which food was passed to the prisoners, but they are of good size and lined with wood. The beds consisted of four stones covered with wood, and there was a stone table in each cell. I went into many of the dungeons, each of which must have had its own terrible history; and also saw the place where the condemned were guillotined and their bodies thrust through an opening to the canal, where a boat received them and carried them to the open sea for burial. The torture chambers were grim looking places. We passed through the original stone doors, covered with iron, to the Bridge of Sighs, and thence to the State Prison on the other side. The bridge is divided by a partition into two separate passages, one for those summoned before the three inquisitors, the other for those brought before the regular court for judgment. The Bridge of Sighs is not an official name, but one derived from Thomas Hood’s poem.

  The Carceri, or prisons, connected by this bridge with the palace, are still in use, and are not so terrible or dismal as those of the ducal palace. The sight of the latter made me fairly miserable when I thought of all the unwritten tragedies that had been enacted there. Yet the experience was interesting.

  The best paintings of Paul Veronese and Tintoretti are in the Doge’s Palace. Also here are some of Titian’s masterpieces. The canvasses are all enormous, and when Napoleon rifled Venice he cut many of these pictures from their frames and carried them to Paris. Most of them have been returned to their original places, but a few never found their way back again and their spaces are now filled with copies.

  The Porte della Carta, or main entrance doors, are famed for their rare beauty, and the Giants’ Staircase, with its enormous statues of Mars and Neptune, is the most impressive feature of the exterior of the Doge’s Palace.

  We visited one of the lace factories for which Venice is celebrated and saw hundreds of young girls at work. They are specialists at the trade, for one bastes on the pattern, another sews the braid, another works only flowers, another only leaves, and so on, each being trained to a certain detail. They are all uniformed in white aprons or slips with high necks and long sleeves, and the lace is made upon a cushion held in the lap or resting upon a table. The fine work is very trying to the eyes, and the woman who conducted us said, “Only young eyes can do this work, so after a few years the lace-workers all retire, put on spectacles, and marry.”

  A fine gondola ride took us to the island of Murano, where the glass factories are located. One of the workmen made me a dolphin vase, the creation of which I watched with interest, and he was certainly very skillful and quick.

  We love the gondolas, and have ridden through all the various canals and into the quaintest, queerest places, enjoying it all immensely. The Grand Canal is lined with palaces of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, mostly ornamented in the curiously elaborate Venetian way, which seems quite harmonious here but would be objectionable elsewhere. Some of the palaces date back to the eleventh century. The Rialto Bridge, which until 1854 was the only bridge connecting the east and west sides of Venice, is a single marble arch seventy-four feet long and thirty-two feet high, resting on two-hundred and forty piles. The tombs of all the Doges are in the church of St. John and St. Paul, which boasts some exquisite stained glass and many fine marbles and paintings. Another old church, highly ornamented with statuary but dingy with age, is the church of Moses.

  Venice is a dream, but every dream has its awakening and we must move on. But we do it regretfully. In no other place has our craving for romance, for beauty, for idle enjoyment been so thoroughly satisfied. Every traveler who boards the train with us hopes, as we do, to see Venice again.

  LETTER XVII. THROUGH SWITZERLAND

  Lucerne

  On leaving Venice we went to Milan for a couple of days, and as the World’s Fair was then in progress we visited it and found some charming buildings, a rare collection of paintings and statuary and beautiful grounds. As we entered the Cairo exhibit a tall Egyptian prostrated himself before us and said he had waited upon us at the wedding ceremony we had attended in Cairo, and told his companions that L. F. was a friend of the great Araby Pasha. We were greatly amused, but refused to accept the presents the fellow pressed upon us. The Milanese built their Fair upon two separate sides of the city, and connected them by an elevated railway. The fare is which is the usual street-car fare in Europe.

  The Cathedral of Milan is so familiar to everyone that I need not describe it. It is all of marble, and with its ninety-eight minarets and two thousand status resembles a fairy castle more than a church. It was built in 1386 and is one of the largest cathedrals in the world, being second only to St. Peter’s in all Italy. The interior is majestically impressive and has many beautiful stained glass windows, those of the apse representing three-hundred and fifty Biblical scenes, mostly copied from famous paintings. Among the objects of interest are a fine bronze candlestick of the 13 th century with seven branches like those of a tree; an old wooden crucifix that was borne in processions during the plague of 1576; a beautiful monument to the two Medici, with excellent bronze statues; a sarcophagus of 1018; and some 13th century statues of eight of the Apostles.

  The church is Gothic and has a fine marble mosaic pavement and a beautiful vaulted roof; but they tell me its architecture has been severely condemned. That is not especially startling, for I cannot remember a single thing we have seen that some modern wisacre has not found fault with. What a grand thing the old world might have been if the moderns could have constructed it!

  The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele of Milan is the largest gallery of its kind in the world, built in the form of a Latin cross with a huge dome in the center,
and all roofed with glass. The best shops of the town and many restaurants are located here, and in the evenings the place teems with life. La Scala, where many great operas have been produced, is one of the largest and most famous theatres of Europe.

  From Milan we journeyed to Como, where we took a steamer for Bellagio, enjoying a perfectly delightful three-hour ride over Lake Como. The outline of this famous lake is very irregular, as it is surrounded by the Italian Alps and winds in and out the mountains for thirty miles; so that sometimes we seem to be floating in a pool with no outlet, and then skirt a cliff and see a new and marvelous scene before us.

  We are in love with Bellagio, which is charmingly situated on a rocky promontory. Our excellent hotel — the Grand Hotel et de Bellagio — sits high above the lake, the gardens being protected from the cliff by a marble parapet. Splendid flowers bloom in the extensive grounds and there is an ancient grove with lonely and mysterious walks.

  Just across, at a little village called Cadenabbia, is the Villa Carlotta, whose art treasures are freely displayed to visitors by its noble owner. Here are many of Canova’s masterpieces, chiefly his “Cupid and Psyche.” The grounds of the Villa, centuries old, are magnificent. Wonderful roses climb up the ancient trees and fill them with masses of bloom, and the vistas between the avenues of the lake and the snow-capped Alps are extremely fascinating.

  On leaving Bellagio we crossed by boat to Menaggio, took a train that climbed the mountains like a cat to Porlezza at the edge of Lake Lugano, and then boarded a steamer for Lugano. This lake is also very pretty, but not so beautiful as Como.

  We have now crossed the border into Switzerland, and here we are in the midst of the Swiss Alps. Lugano occupies a crescent shaped bay and its main feature is a walk at the edge of the lake shaded by avenues of splendid trees. The heights of Mt. Salvador and Mt. Rosa look down upon the little town, and may both be reached by funicular railways. There are hotels on the summits, and fine views, as may be imagined. Lugano is a favorite watering-place for Europeans, and has many good hotels. But Bellagio is much more beautiful in every way, although I must admit if there was no Bellagio then Lugano would be delightful.