Our train left early in the morning, and we had to be up before six. We hastened to the railway station and took seats in the last car, in order to see the entrance of the great St. Gothard tunnel. The guide cried out “Partenza!” the train moved, and we went with a rush into the black unknown for more than twenty minutes. A wavering light glowed here and there at long intervals. When the train flashed out of the tunnel, we entered the Canton of Tessino. Our train slid down zigzags through narrow passes, from valley to valley. After Chiosso—the Italian frontier—the railway line ran through comparatively flat country. At about nine in the evening we arrived at Milan.
CHAPTER XXIX
MILAN
We have a vast and splendid apartment at the Hôtel de la Ville with a lovely ceiling, mostly angels and smiling cherubs floating about in the clouds, and a floor paved with marble. We passed a restless night; it was so hot, and the mosquitoes were such a nuisance! The roar of the street came to us, and till sunrise belated passers-by sang jolly songs at the top of their voices. The next day we took another room which looked into a quieter street. Even during the night the heat is intolerable, and I have to fan myself vehemently instead of falling asleep. We remained indoors the whole afternoon. From within came the sound of a piano. In this artistic city the air seems full of music, which is here as common as speech. There is nothing but singing from morning till night. We went down to dinner at table d’hôte. A queer company was dining at the next table: two extra-smart Brazilians and a young person of small virtue, with a thick paint on her face and a very loud voice. She seemed on easy terms with her cavaliers, who were on close attendance on her. They all looked as pleased as possible with each other and exchanged loving glances quite openly. The Brazilians made known to their lady-love, who was a Frenchwoman, in broken French, that they had been hunting all over the town for her, and as her address was unknown to them, they had to apply even to the police!
Immediately after dinner we went out for a drive. Milan is a very fine city. Our guide pointed out all the places of interest. The cathedral attracted our especial attention; it is a perfect lace-work of carving, all in white marble, marked, alas, by merciless age. We saw the Castelli, an immense open circus, which can hold thirty thousand spectators. Reviews of troops and public entertainments take place in it. In about half-an-hour the Castelli can be filled with water; it serves in winter as a skating rink, and in summer nautical fetes are organised there. We walked through the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele, the largest arcade in the world, which has the form of a Latin cross, and contains a great number of shops, restaurants and cafés, with little tables all over it, and people sitting at them eating, drinking. The arcade is roofed over with glass, and illuminated by two thousand gas-jets, which can be lighted in one moment by the aid of small automatic engines. At nightfall the streets of Milan are filled with flirting couples, sitting in dark corners, the women’s heads on their gallants’ shoulders; what they say to each other was not hard to guess. The masculine population is not to be pitied here, for the women, for the greater part, are very pretty creatures, wearing on their heads black lace mantillas like Spanish ladies. They don’t look as if they felt the awful heat at all, the lucky creatures, whilst I am painfully hot and red. At every crossing we saw policemen dressed in long black coats and top-hats, holding great sticks and looking like funeral attendants. On our way back to the hotel we heard a funeral chant, and next moment appeared a procession of monks, their faces covered and only their eyes seen, and their hands hidden in their full sleeves, walking two and two.
The following day at dinner we saw again the French cocotte and her bronzed cavaliers, who this time appeared insensible to her charms, their temperature having fallen to below zero. Her fickle lovers had only monosyllables at her disposal. They took no notice of her and ate their dinner.
The principal theatres of Milan are closed in summer, except the “Dal Verme,” where we went to see a new play. The theatre is awfully dirty, the curtain all in holes and the chair-backs wear the trace of the spectators’ feet. The performers were all second-rate and the play rather boring.
This night again we were roasted alive. It is impossible to remain longer in this furnace, and we decided to go on to the Italian Lakes to look out for a comfortable boarding-house where I could put up during the manœuvres. The morning, as if on purpose, was comparatively fresh, the sky overclouded and the rain coming on; still we did not put off our journey and took the first train to Como. This town, with its Gothic cathedral, is very pretty. It is situated on Lake Como and surrounded by verdant mountains. Immediately on arriving, we took a carriage to Cernobbio, a little place where you take the boat to Bellaggio. The trip only occupies twenty minutes. Our driver pulled up at the entrance door of “Villa D’Este,” a beautiful old palace transformed into a large palatial hotel, standing in a garden of orange and lemon trees. The house had once been the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte. The dining-room is decorated with rich tapestries incrusted with the letter “N” in gold, surmounted by the Imperial crown. In the library we saw a large veiled figure, the statue of “Love and Psychè,” covered with gauze in order not to shock the prude spinster ladies of blameless morals dwelling in the hotel. After a hasty luncheon, we came out upon the beach, and I sat down to wait for the boat. I was that day in one of my nasty moods, in the humour to pick a quarrel with anyone, and Sergy’s imperturbable good-temper was a source of greater irritation to me. Poking an inoffensive pebble viciously with my umbrella, I said some detestable things to Sergy and was altogether horrid. Fearing lest I should say too much, I made myself the solemn vow not to pronounce one single word until I went to bed that night. And there we sat, side by side, with faces apart, in gloomy silence, when suddenly the idea struck Sergy to establish me at Cernobbio, whilst he would attend the manœuvres. He sat thinking for a while, then rose and strolled down by himself, investigating the neighbourhood to try and find some hotel where he wanted me to spend about three weeks. He soon came back to tell me that he had found out a nice boarding-house kept by a German lady, Frau Weidemann, just opposite the landing place. Being tongue-tied I could only nod approval, meaning “Yes, it suits me exactly.” In the meanwhile our boat approached and took us to Bellaggio, where we had dinner at the Hôtel Grande Bretagne. It was a depressing meal, during which I maintained an absolute silence. After a stroll in the splendid park, which surrounded the hotel, the boat took us to Lecco, where we arrived too late to catch the evening train for Milan, and had to put up for the night at the modest little hotel bearing the name of “Zwei Thore.” The hostess ushered us into a room with a pointed ceiling and an enormously high bedstead. How pleasant it was to get rid of my vow of silence, which was becoming unbearable; for a whole day I had kept my lips sealed, although my anger had sensibly evaporated. When the hostess left us we became reconciled upon the spot, and all was right again.
Next morning we were back at Milan, and went to visit the “Campo Santo.” This vast cemetery is a veritable museum. We wandered about, looking at the tombstones, reading names and epitaphs. I noticed a great many beautiful monuments, including those of some fearless people who gave themselves monuments and erected shrines during their lifetime. We admired the mausoleum of Mario, the celebrated tenor, which is surmounted by his bust, with his favourite “cavatina” incrusted on a metal plate. The poor folk are buried in a remote corner of the cemetery; their tombs are all level, with black crosses and the number of the tomb painted on white labels. After the lapse of ten years all the bones are gathered together in heaps, in large boxes, and placed in the charnel-house. When we approached the Crematory Temple, we saw smoke coming out from the chimneys, and were told that the corpse of an Austrian engineer was being consumed at that moment. This dismal procedure generally takes about an hour-and-a-half, and costs fifty francs. When we entered the Crematory I felt somewhat frightened, and the odour was so sickening that I thought I must faint, and felt sorely in want of smelling-salts, but the guardian’s pretty daughter seemed to feel quite at her ease in that ghastly kitchen, and ate her luncheon with great appetite. I hadn’t the courage to peep into the Crematory furnace, but Sergy perceived the corner of the huge frying-pan upon which broiled the corpse of the Austrian engineer. His wife and children, who were present at this awful ceremony, didn’t appear much impressed by it, and chattered on gaily all the time. It had been too much for my nerves, and when we were back at the hotel I went straight to bed and had a good cry.