Though the general form and appearance of the Leaning Tower of Pisa were familiar in my mind, I was not prepared for the surprisingly graceful beauty of the structure, which is of white marble; and though it was built nearly seven hundred years ago, it is remarkably clear and fresh-looking. The very decided lean is at once observable on approaching it; indeed, you experience something of an uncomfortable sensation on being at the side where it appears to be ready to fall. Its beauty consists in its being a perfect cylinder of fifty-three feet in diameter, and one hundred and seventy-nine feet high; this great cylinder being formed of eight regular tiers of columns, supporting graceful arches, one above the other, and forming as many open marble galleries running round the tower, the whole surmounted with a graceful open-arched tower or belfry, giving it the appearance of a tall marble column sculptured into circles of open arches and pillars.
We started for the summit, an easy ascent of two hundred and ninety-five steps, occasionally going out upon the outside galleries, which project some seven or eight feet on each story, till we reach the belfry, where seven bells are hung, the largest weighing nearly twelve thousand pounds; this tower, as is well-known, being the companile, or bell-tower, of the cathedral close at hand. A few moments among the bells, and we climb above them to the summit of the tower, where the iron rail that protects the edge is grasped nervously as we approach and look over the leaning side, where, without its aid, the feeling is, that one would positively slip off from the slant; indeed, a glance downward and at the tower itself, from this point, produces a terrific sensation,—that it is slowly moving from the perpendicular on its course to the earth below. It is, therefore, quite natural that most tourists should take their views of the surrounding country from the top of the Leaning Tower, as we did, from its upper side.
The view from the summit is very fine, taking in the city of Pisa directly beneath, the surrounding country, distant mountains, and hill-sides, with beautiful villas and vineyards. Far off in the distance, in one direction, we saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean, twelve miles and more away, heaving in the sunshine, with the white sails of ships gliding upon its bosom, and the city of Leghorn at its shore, with the masts of the vessels in port, and its light-house, all distinctly visible. After a thorough enjoyment of the scene, we descended to view the cathedral, Campo Santo, and Baptistery.
Here, in one grand square, within a stone's throw of each other, are the four wonders of Pisa; the great Duomo, or cathedral, the Baptistery, the Campo Santo, and the Leaning Tower—standing in a magnificent group by themselves in the open space, rendering all else near them shrunken, petty, and insignificant by their beauty and superb finish. These glorious structures seem like the newly-created wonders of some magical workman, who has placed them here together in the quiet old city for the tourists of all nations to come and gaze upon, admire, wonder, and depart.
The cathedral is an elegant specimen of beautiful architecture in marble. Like all buildings of the kind, it is built in the form of a Latin cross, and is three hundred and eleven feet long in the nave and two hundred and thirty-eight in the transepts. The height of the building is one hundred and twelve feet, and above its first story rises a series of pillars supporting arches, the last two of a series of four, when the façade is viewed from the square, making the building to look like a square structure lifting a Grecian temple into the air upon its lofty walls, or like an end view of that ideal picture that used to be delineated as Solomon's Temple in the old family Bibles.
The great dome rises from the centre, surrounded by a ring of eighty-eight pillars supporting an elegant ring of pointed work above them, and surmounted by a cupola. Inside the scene is elegant; the great centre nave, over forty feet wide, with twenty-four Corinthian columns of red granite, twelve on a side, and each one a single block of stone, twenty-five feet high, on a great pedestal over six feet high, and above these another series of columns, smaller and more numerous, forming the upper cloister corridor, or "Nuns Walk," as they call it in the old English cathedrals, all lifting the grand roof ninety feet above the pavement.
In the centre, on four great arches, rises the grand dome, richly decorated; on either side are the aisles, their roof supported by fifty Corinthian columns, while above, the roof gleams with mosaics set in golden ground-work. On every side are interesting works of art which will attract the attention; elegant paintings, among them those of Andrea del Sarto; the high altar, a rich structure in costly-wrought marble, the flowers, running vines, and chiselled cherubs beautiful to look upon; the rich carved wood-work of the stalls, in the choir; the stained-glass windows; the rich frescoes of the cupola; elegant monuments, statues, and beautiful chapels, with their rich altars and paintings, all contribute to render the interior elegant and attractive. At one end of the nave, as we were passing out, we were shown the great bronze chandelier, suspended from the roof by a cable nearly eighty feet long, the regular swaying of which is said to have suggested the theory of the pendulum to Galileo.
"What!" said I to the guide, "is this the very lamp?"
"The very same, monsieur."
"But it appears too huge, too heavy to swing."