The others soon succumbed to sleep; but, till long after midnight, old Livy wandered like a ghost from the front balcony, with the lovely lake, to the closet window and its dramatic joys, feeling that no moment of that memorable night should be lost, for what other traveller could boast that she ever went to the opera wrapped in a yellow bedquilt?
On the morrow a few pictures of Luini before breakfast, and then more sailing over lakes, and more driving in festive diligences to Menaggio, where a boat like a market waggon without wheels bore them genteelly to Cadenabbia, and a week of repose on the banks of Lago Como.
Their palace did not 'lift its marble walls to eternal summer' by any means; for it rained much, and was so cold that some took to their beds for warmth, stone floors looking like castile-soap not being just the thing for rheumatism. Hand-organs, dancing-bears, two hotels, one villa, no road but the lake, and an insinuating boatman with one eye who lay in wait among the willows, and popped out to grab a passenger when anyone ventured forth, are all that remains in the memory regarding Cadenabbia.
A few extracts from Lavinia's note-book may be found useful at this point, both as a speedy way of getting our travellers to Rome, and for the bold criticisms on famous places and pictures which they contain:—
'Milan.—Cathedral like a big wedding-cake. "Last Supper" in the barracks—did not "thrill;" tried to, but couldn't, as the picture is so dim it can hardly be seen. Ambrosian Library.—Lock of L. Borgia's hair; tea-coloured and coarse. Don't believe in it a bit. Jolly old books, but couldn't touch 'em. Fine window to Dante. Saw cathedral illuminated; very theatrical, and much howling of people over the deputies from Rome. Don't know why they illuminated or why they howled; didn't ask. Men here handsome, but rude. Women wear veils and no bonnets,—fat and ugly. Gloves very good.—Arch of Peace.—More peace and less arch would be better for Italy.
'Raphael's Marriage of the Virgin.—Stiff and stupid. Can't like Raphael. Dear, pious, simple, old Fra Angelico suits me better.
'To the Public Garden with A.; saw a black ostrich with long pink legs, who pranced and looked so like an opera dancer that we sat on the fence and shrieked with laughter.
'Pavia.—To the Certosa to see the old Carthusian Convent founded in 1396; cloisters, gardens, and twenty-four little dwellings, with chapel, bedroom, parlour, and yard for each monk, who is never to speak, and comes out but once a week. A nice way for lazy men to spend their lives when there is so much work to be done for the Lord and his poor! Wanted to shake them all round, though they did look well in their gowns and cowls gliding about the dim cloisters and church. Perhaps they are kept for that purpose.
'Parma.—Dome of church frescoed by Correggio. All heaven upsidedown; fat angels turning somersaults, saints like butchers, and martyrs simpering feebly. Like C.'s babies much better. Heaven can't be painted, and they'd better not try. Madonna, by Girolamo, was lovely. Room of the Abbess, with rosy children peeping through the lattice, very charming. Madonna della Scodella—the boy Christ very charming. The old Farnese Theatre most interesting; got a scrap of canvas from a mouldy scene. Dead old place is Parma.
'Bologna.—Drove in a pelting rain to the Academy, and saw many pictures. A Pietà, by Guido, was very striking. The desolate mother, with her dead son on her knees, haunted me long afterwards. St. Jerome and the infant Christ, by Elizabeth Sirani, I liked. Raphael won't suit yet. Sad for me, but I cannot admire Madonnas with faces like fashion-plates, or dropsical babies with no baby sweetness about them.