My ears have been bored several days past with the continual chiselling of the Scarpellini, or stone-cutters, who are repaving the street under my windows, and the solid arched stone bridge over the river. From seven in the morning until seven in the evening, with an hour’s intermission for a frugal meal, they are measuring, picking, and cutting huge granite blocks into suitable forms, close jointed; the street has no sidewalk, the descent being gradual from the houses, and the water carried off by culverts from the centre. It is a pleasure to look upon such beautiful work; a carriage rolls without impediment, and where there is an ascent it can be nitched or chiselled, as may be needed, for the foothold of horses. These poor mechanics earn from thirty to forty cents per day, our currency, and consider themselves well paid, notwithstanding the increased price of provisions, while large numbers in other pursuits have only the miserable pittance of from one to one and a half pauls per day, say from twelve to eighteen cents.
Begging in the capital is prohibited by law, but tolerated in consequence of the distress of the poor. Public beggars are frequently unworthy of charity, but a Howard would have a fine field here for the exercise of benevolence. The other day, emerging from the Palazzo Pitti, or royal residence, wearied in gazing through long galleries at the pictures of Raphael, Rubens, Titian, Salvator Rosa, Murillo, Carlo Dolci, and a host of other celebrated painters; at the statuary of renowned artists, the allegorical frescoed ceilings, and seeking relief in the shady walks of the Boboli, or palace garden, my attention was arrested by the Ducal family riding out with a splendid equipage. Happy children of wealthy families fed the gold fish in the basins surrounding the fountains, decorated with the colossal figure of Neptune, with the waters of the Ganges, Nile, and Euphrates gushing forth, while nurses and liveried servants were in attendance.
Continuing my walk quite into the suburbs, and reflecting upon the concentration of so much treasure in the hands of the nobility, and the inequality of society in monarchical countries, I accidentally met a little boy quite alone, poorly clad, with dejected air, trying to gather a few sticks. On inquiry I found he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and had left his poor mother and four children in a suffering state. His hunger was soon appeased at the first baker’s shop, and it was pleasant to see the little fellow going to the relief of the others with something more substantial than his errand called for.
After repeated visits to the same city, one becomes so accustomed to the remarkable sights which first attract the stranger, that if he attempts to describe them he scarcely knows where to begin.
We pass and repass the Palazzo Vecchio, an old palace of Grecian and Etruscan architecture, with its lofty tower of the thirteenth century, and its gigantic figures, at the entrance, of David slaying Goliah, and Hercules slaying Cacus, with but slight notice, casting a glance at the open gallery opposite, with its pretty front of columns and arches, containing the beautiful bronze figure of Perseus and Medusa, with the bleeding head of the latter severed from the body, the marble group of a young Roman warrior carrying off a Sabine female, whose father is prostrate at his feet, the statues of priestesses, figures of huge lions, &c.
One strolls along through the city, on some church festival, to the Duomo, or cathedral of the thirteenth century, the walls of which are of black and white polished marble, four hundred feet in length. The front never was finished, but a project is now on foot for its completion. The square tower, or Campanilla, of Arabic and Greek architecture, of white, black, and red marble, stands beside it, and rises two hundred and eighty feet in height. The baptistery, of octagon form, somewhat resembling the Parthenon at Rome, stands opposite and completes the trio.
The bronze doors are exceedingly beautiful, with festoons and foliage prettily wrought. The marble columns, the altars, the twelve statues representing the Apostles and the written laws, the trophies of victory, won by the Republic against the Pisans—these, with other adornments here, become so familiar to the eye, that when one drops in on some festival occasion, or christening, his attention is more directed to the personages and ceremonies than the contents of the edifice.
Instead of wearying you with descriptions of works of art, I would rather revert to the beauties of nature, at this season of the year, in the neighborhood of Florence. The rides, walks, and views from the surrounding hills, are now most agreeable and rarely excelled.
CXIV.
Bologna, June 3, 1856.