We passed through Rhò, a village of some importance; beyond are rice-grounds and extensive and unhealthy marshes. The entrance to Milan is fine: an avenue a mile in length of tulipiferas, now about to blossom, with a grove on either side, conducting to Napoleon’s memorial, the Arco del Sempione. Our passports examined, we crossed, as the sun set, the extensive exercising ground, and the courts of the building now serving for barracks, once the fortified castle of the dukes of Milan, but still retaining its ancient aspect; built of dark brick with heavy battlements and covered walls; that towards the town flanked by two massive round towers, on which cannon are now pointed, ready at need to awe the town.
We summoned an idler to be our guide, and without him should have failed in arriving ere midnight, for Milan boasts an incomprehensible collection of crooked streets, and an insolent population, who would have lent no aid in the labyrinth. Young and old crowded about us, almost preventing our horses from moving forward, and hooted manfully. Yet I am told the governor’s daughter and officer’s wives ride constantly in the Corso, but not daring to offer insult to the Austrian masters, who I heard with satisfaction make no difficulty of correcting with the blow of a cane or the flat of the sword, a word from a refractory vassal, they compensate for the privation when an opportunity offers, as now. We rode by the beautiful cathedral, and through more winding alleys, some so narrow that two carriages cannot pass, made dangerous for horses by the bands of flat pavement laid down to facilitate the roll of the wheels, and arrived at dusk at San Marco. I do not think it a good inn: its rooms are large, but dirty; its servants numerous, but inattentive; and its cookery greasy beyond description.
CHAPTER VI.
The Duomo—Our host’s advice—Joseph the Second—Tombs—That to the memory of Giovanni and Gabrielle de’ Medici, designed by Michael Angelo—Chapel of St. John—St. Bartholomew—Tomb of Otho, archbishop of Milan—Crucifix carried by St. Charles of Borromeo—Antique altar—Burial-place of St. Charles—La Scala—Opera ballet—The Brera, once monastery of the Umiliati—Paintings—The old castle—Arms of the Visconti—Prerogative preserved to himself by Giovanni—The parricide—Filippo Mario—His innocent wife executed—Carmagnuola Filippo’s general—Forced by his injustice to change of party—Suspicions of his new masters—His execution—Francis Sforza—His youth—His name’s origin—Jane of Naples—Imprisoned by her husband—Set free—King James a monk of St. Francis—Forte Braccio—Sforza’s death—Arena—Roman ruin.
27th.
Passed the morning in the ramblings which travellers are heir to, first proceeding to the Duomo. As I wished to see there the holy mummy of St. Charles, which lies in its crystal case and subterranean chapel, I asked our host for directions: “You must knock,” said he, “at the door of the sacristy, and there you will find a priest.” “A priest; a gentleman?” “Yes, you had better ask his charge beforehand, as he may be extravagant; and there are about a dozen steps to descend, and should his demand be exorbitant, you can give him two-thirds or the half, which will satisfy him.”
Passing the post-office and finding no letters, we arrived at the cathedral in five minutes. It occupies one extremity of a most irregular place, and if its façade wants taste, or at least consistency, having some doors and windows of Roman architecture, mingled with the Gothic, and its form is that of a heavy pyramid,—yet seen in the bright sunshine, its mass of white marble, with all its pinnacles surmounted by statues, standing shining forth from the purest of blue skies as if they were carved in snow, its effect is far more striking than the engravings would lead to expect, and the grandeur of its size and delicacy of its execution justify the exclamation of Joseph the Second: “It is a golden mountain, chiselled by fairies, and metamorphosed to marble.” The statues which adorn the edifice are in number about four thousand five hundred, of which two hundred and fifty decorate the façade. Each of the twelve needles supports a colossal figure; that of the Virgin having for base the tallest of all, of Moorish architecture. Her statue is in gilt copper, and from the pavement to the glory round her head the elevation is a hundred and eight metres, eighty-six centimetres. To describe these and the bassi relievi which encrust the façade of this noble church would be endless, and indeed the intense heat prevented my examining the half of them; but I particularly remarked for their beauty the two figures which represent the Old and New Testament at either end of the great balcony above the chief portal. The two interior columns of this central entrance, for there are five, are of enormous height and size, considering that each is carved of a single block of the pink granite of Baveno. Within, the cathedral is divided into five aisles (the nave being of double width), separated by fifty-two massive pillars of octagon form; four others of far heavier dimensions, raised in the centre of the church, support the cupola, and their strange capitals each exhibit eight statues. On the right near the entrance is the tomb of Eribert, archibishop of Milan, who died in 1035, and farther against the wall a monument, which is a Gothic gem, decorated with small statues, each in its niche; while on the top lies in marble effigy one Marco Carelli, who gave 35,000 golden ducats towards the expenses of the building. Of the chapels, that best worthy notice is beside the small door which opens on the stair, whose 512 steps conduct to the dome erected to the memory of Giovanni and Gabriello de’ Medici, by Pope Pius the Fourth their brother. The real name was Medechino though Giovanni, become one of the great captains of his day, took advantage of its similitude with that of the Florentine house, and adopted their armorial bearings. He had obtained distinction early. Presented when a young officer to Francis Sforza, who having married Blanche of Visconti, and lost his father-in-law, after their long dissensions, became, in the latter’s place, lord of Milan; he gained his entire confidence. Astorio Visconti might, it was feared, assert his right to the Milanese sovereignty, and Medechino, with another named Pozzino, were chosen for his assassins. Astorio dead, Sforza’s anxiety to rid himself of his accomplices, induced him to command the death of Pozzino, while Giovanni Giacomo received an order to repair to the castle of Muzzo, on the shores of the lake of Como, charged with a letter for the governor. On his way thither, though they had parted on the best terms, he suspected the intentions of Sforza, and opened his despatches. Finding there his doubts confirmed, he fabricated others, commanding the governor to yield him present possession of the fortress, and once installed therein, he held it against all the efforts of the duke of Milan. He afterwards took Chiavenna; and, lastly, offered himself to Charles the Fifth, the emperor, who created him duke of Marignano, and to whom his courage and conduct rendered signal service in the wars of Germany. Having incurred the emperor’s displeasure, by unnecessarily prolonging the siege of Sienna, at the head of the army which Charles placed at the disposal of the Grand Duke Cosmo to subdue the revolted inhabitants, and also by his pillage and cruelties exercised towards the peasantry of the country which surrounds the town during the eight months the siege lasted, he fell ill from grief at losing his master’s favour, and died at Milan,—where, four years after, his brother, elected pope, raised this mausoleum to his memory, designed by Michael Angelo. The six beautiful columns are in Roman marble, the remainder of marble of Carrara, excepting the statues which are of bronze; those of the brothers, of colossal size, occupying the centre, between two weeping figures of Peace and Heroism.
The large chapel, dedicated to San Giovanni Buono, which terminates the transept, is next in order: it contains some fine bassi relievi and statues; among the latter a group, near the altar, of a guardian angel, who carefully leads a child, while his foot holds down, without an effort, a prostrate demon. At the entrance of this chapel stand two colossal figures of saints, bad, and in plaster,—though not perhaps injurious to the effect of the whole, and to judge of it, this spot is the best which can be chosen. We gazed at all its details, the hollow of the high dome rich with countless statues; the chapel opposite, with its rich stained window, seen athwart a forest of columns; the light through the coloured glass crossing with a red ray pillar and floor, and touching the forms of bishop and cardinal in their niches; on the capitals the square grated aperture, before the steps of the choir, which gives light and air to the burial place of St. Charles; the semi-circular pulpits of carved and gilded bronze, supported by bronze figures, leaned each against its massive column; the sculptured stalls of the canons,—the altar with its curious temple and red canopy, and the tall painted windows seen behind it, and the golden star shining on the roof above, within which lies the relic of the St. Cloud which, with multifarious ceremonies, is once a year let down by pulleys to meet the eyes of the faithful, and with like pomp mounted to its place again:—the rich lamps suspended by gilded chains, and the priests officiating in their robes of black, green, and crimson,—and the view seen dimly through and along the pillared arches where they turn round choir and high altar. The white marble has no glare; it is stained with a succession of softer greys than mellow stone. Near the same chapel of San Giovanni, and the entrance to the subterranean passage which, imagined by Pellegrini, leads to the Archevêché, hangs, suspended from a pillar, a much-prized picture by Procaccini, effaced almost wholly.
As we passed on beside the choir, we looked through the gratings which, surmounted by most delicate sculpture, light the subterranean chapel beneath, also having marble columns, balustrades, and altars. Opposite is a fine monument in black, supporting a figure in white marble, which reclines upon it,—the head resting on the hand, executed by Augustin Busti, to the memory of the Cardinal Marini Caracciolo; and near it and the door, which opens into the southern sacristy, and which I beg you to notice for its lovely and elaborate carvings, hangs an effigy of Our Lady of Succour. Italian taste has glazed this picture, which is an ancient one, and represents the Virgin giving the breast to the Saviour, who stands on her knee,—and stuck, outside the glass, above the heads and across the throats, tin crowns and bead necklaces. Above, its pedestal jutting from the wall, is the statue of Pope Martin the Fifth, raised by the command of Filippo Mario Visconti, last duke of Milan of the name. The flayed St. Bartholomew, who carries his skin on his shoulders, is a fine specimen of anatomy, and a most disagreeable production of art. Past the three stained windows and the long lists of relics contained in the Duomo, is a strange tomb, which resembles a red marble chest, supported aloft by two columns, and containing the ashes of Otho, archbishop of Milan. The seated statue above is that of Pope Pius the Fourth; next comes the door of the northern sacristy, even more beauteous in its sculpture than its companion, and the tomb of the three brothers, Arcimboldi. We had arrived at the first chapel in the transept, dedicated to St. Thecla, who is there among the lions, all carved in white marble,—a red riband and silver heart hung round her neck by some devotee.