The wonders of the world

by John Loraine Abbott

This celebrated tower, a view of which is given in the cut below, likewise called the Campanile, on account of its having been erected for the purpose of containing bells, stands in a square close to the cathedral of Pisa. It is built entirely of white marble, and is a beautiful cylinder of eight stories, each adorned with a round of columns, rising one above another. It inclines so far on one side from the perpendicular, that dropping a plummet from the top, which is one hundred and eighty-eight feet in hight, it falls sixteen feet from the base. Much pains have been taken by connoisseurs to prove that this was done purposely by the architect; but it is evident that the inclination has proceeded from another cause, namely, from an accidental subsidence of the foundation on that side. The pillars are there considerably sunk; and this is also the case with the very threshold, which shows that the position of the building is accidental, caused by the settling of the ground on one side, and not, as some think, by the ambition of the architect, endeavoring to show how far he could with safety deviate from the perpendicular, and thus display a novel specimen of his art; for had this been his design, he would have shortened the pilasters on that side, so as to exhibit them entire, without the appearance of sinking.

THE LEANING TOWER AT PISA

This tower, from its singular appearance and position, has attracted the notice of all travelers passing near Pisa, who, of course, fail not to visit it. We give the impressions of two of these: Professor Silliman, who saw it in 1851; and Mr. Hillard, who was there at a still later date. The former says, “This structure has excited so much surprise, and been seen with such deep interest by thousands of travelers for more than six hundred years, that it is almost universally known, and it is not difficult for one who has not seen it to form a clear and distinct conception of it. Still, on approaching the tower, you are strongly impressed by its grandeur and beauty; and when you ascend it, you obtain an almost overwhelming conception of its majesty; although it is perfectly safe; and if you do not feel apprehension that it will fall, you may not be able to keep that idea quite out of your mind. The hight of the leaning tower is one hundred and seventy-eight feet, the thickness of the wall ten feet, and the diameter is fifty feet at the base. It is composed of eight stories, all adorned by columns and arches. Its form is slightly conical. It is ascended by three hundred and thirty very easy steps, very well lighted, and it is a pleasant journey to the top. There are seven bells in this grand belfry; they were rung while we were near, and the sound is very soft and musical, especially of the great bell, which weighs twelve thousand pounds, and is placed upon the side of the tower, opposite to that which overhangs. It was this bell which was formerly used to give notice of public executions. The leaning of the tower of Pisa was evidently caused by unequal subsidence of the ground; and it is obvious that the architect, as the work rose, before the tower was half up, perceived it, and he endeavored to counteract it as far as possible by balancing his materials. After a particular hight, the columns are higher on the leaning side, and, of course, shorter on the other. The builder appeared to be aiming to bring the upper part of the tower into a vertical position, although he did not succeed. It is about thirteen or fourteen feet beyond the vertical; but the center of gravity still falls within the base; and as the blocks of stone, being now firmly united by cement, can not slide upon each other, they, in fact, form one mass. The walls are, moreover, fortified by iron bars, and it is not probable that anything short of an earthquake can produce its downfall. I can not think with some, that it requires strong nerves to ascend the leaning tower of Pisa. We ascended with a perfect consciousness of security, and it is certain that were it filled in every story by an armed host, it would not quiver or vibrate. The view from the summit of the tower is most splendid. The beautiful city is at your feet, and you are in the midst of it. The Mediterranean is in the horizon, Leghorn is visible in the distance, the Arno shows its windings, here and there, and a rich plain in full cultivation reaches far inland to the lofty Apennines, in the vicinity of Lucca. It is said, that, in clear weather, Corsica may be discerned. This tower is one of the most beautiful objects in Italy, and one would never be tired with looking at it or from it; so beautiful is it, that its leaning becomes a mere incident, interesting indeed, but the tower possesses commanding attractions independently of this circumstance. We can not descend from it without remembering that here Galileo made his decisive experiments upon the law of the descent of falling bodies, and upon the vibration of the pendulum. His great name is associated with the permanent glory of his country, and will be honored to the end of time, while his persecutors are remembered only to be despised and detested.”

Mr. Hillard, the other tourist to whom we have alluded, says, “On a bright, sunny morning, I first saw the leaning tower of Pisa. This piece of architectural eccentricity was, and I suppose is, one of the common-places of geography, and is put into the same educational state-room with the wall of China, the great tun of Heidelberg, and the natural bridge of Virginia. I can not recall the time when its name was not familiar to me; and now, here it was, bodily before me; no vision, no delusion, but a very decided fact, with a most undeniable inclination on one side; so much so, that a nervous person would not sleep soundly in the house that stands under its lee, on a windy night. This singular structure is simply a campanile, or bell-tower, appurtenant to the cathedral, as is the general custom in Italy. It is not merely quaint, but beautiful; that is, take away the quaintness, and the beauty will remain. It is built of white marble, wonderfully fresh and pure, when we remember that nearly seven centuries have swept over it. I will not describe it, nor give its dimensions, for these may be found in every guide-book, and nearly every book of travels; nor will I condense the arguments which have been called forth by the question, whether the inclination be accidental or designed. To one who has been on the spot, and observed the spongy nature of the soil, as evidenced by the slight subsidence of the cathedral, there is really no room for argument or doubt. The ascent is very easy and gradual. The summit is secured by double rails, and the inclination is less perceptible when on the top than when it is observed from the ground. There is no peculiar sense of danger to interfere with the full enjoyment of the beauty of the view, which embraces mountain and plain, land and sea; a combination at once varied, extensive and picturesque. This was my first sight of the Mediterranean, whose blue waters blended in the distant horizon with the blue of the sky. To the eye, it was but common water reflecting the universal sky; but a man must be very insensible, not to recognize peculiar elements in his first view of that many-nationed sea, upon whose shores so much of the poetry and history of the world has grown.”

THE COLISEUM AT ROME.

On approaching the majestic ruins of this vast amphitheater, the most stupendous work of the kind antiquity can boast, a sweet and gently moving astonishment is the first sensation which seizes the beholder; and soon afterward the grand spectacle swims before him like a cloud. To give an adequate idea of this sublime building, is a task to which the pen is unequal: it must be seen to be duly appreciated. It is upward of sixteen hundred feet in circumference, and of such an elevation that it has been justly observed by a writer, (Ammiamus,) “the human eye scarcely measures its hight.” Nearly the one-half of the external circuit still remains, consisting of four tiers of arcades, adorned with columns of four orders, the Doric, Ionian, Corinthian, and composite. Its extent, as well as its elevation, may be estimated by the number of spectators it contained, amounting, according to some accounts, to eighty thousand, and agreeably to others, to one hundred thousand.

Thirty thousand captive Jews are said to have been engaged by Vespasian, whose name it occasionally bears, in the construction of this vast edifice; and they have not discredited their forefathers, the builders of Solomon’s temple, by the performance. It was not finished, however, until the reign of his son Titus, who, on the first day of its being opened, introduced into the arena not less than five thousand, or, according to Dio Cassius, nine thousand wild beasts, between whom, and the primitive Christians held captive by the Romans, combats were fought. At the conclusion of this cruel spectacle the whole place was put under water, and two fleets, named the Corcyrian and the Corinthian, represented a naval engagement. To render the vapor from such a multitude of persons less noxious, sweet-scented water, and frequently wine mixed with saffron, was showered down from a grated work above, on the heads of the spectators.

The Roman emperors who succeeded Titus were careful of the preservation of this superb edifice: even the voluptuous Heliogabalus caused it to be repaired after a great fire. The rude Goths, who sacked the city of Rome, were contented with despoiling it of its internal ornaments, but respected the structure itself. The Christians, however, through an excess of zeal, have not been satisfied with allowing it gradually to decay. Pope Paul II. had as much of it leveled as was necessary to furnish materials for building the palace of St. Mark, and his pernicious example was imitated by Cardinal Riario, in the construction of what is now called the Chancery. Lastly, a portion of it was employed by Pope Paul III. in the erection of the palace Farnese. Notwithstanding all these dilapidations, there still exists enough of it to inspire the spectator with awe. Immense masses appear fastened to and upon one another without any mortar or cement; and these alone, from their structure, are calculated for a duration of many thousands of years. Occasionally, where the destroyers have not effectually attained their object, the half-loosened masses appear to be holden in the air, as if by some invisible power; for the wide interstices among them leave no other support than their joints, which seem every moment as if about to yield unavoidably to the superior force of gravitation. “They will fall;” “they must fall;” “they are falling;” is, and has been the language of all beholders during the vast periods through which this stupendous edifice has thus hung together in the air.