"Michael, piu che mortal, angel divino."
(Michael, less man than angel, and divine.)
Altogether it is one of the most beautiful Cathedrals I have ever seen, more particularly in its external architecture.
Opposite, and but a few yards distant, is the Baptistery, but, unfortunately, we were too late to obtain admittance. It is a beautiful, circular structure some 160 feet in diameter, surrounded by columns below, and a gallery of smaller detached columns above, covered with a conical dome 190 feet high. The building was commenced in 1153, but was not finally completed until 1278. It is famous for its wonderful echo.
The Campanile, or, as it is usually styled, the "Leaning Tower," is on the other side of the Cathedral. It is 188 feet high, 53 feet round the base, and about 14 feet out of the perpendicular. It is now, I believe, generally understood that this obliquity was occasioned by the imperfect state of the foundations and the sinking of the soil, which is light and sandy, and which caused it to settle down on one side while the building was still uncompleted; and this defect was afterwards provided for by its architect. This is evident from the staircase, of some 294 steps, being also at an angle. There are some very heavy bells on the topmost towers, to counterbalance the deviation. It is supposed to have been constructed about 1174, by William of Innsprück, and afterwards finished by Italians, but it was not finally completed until 1350. It rises in storeys, which, like the Baptistery, are surrounded by half columns and six colonnades.
It is said that Galileo, who was born at Pisa, took advantage of the peculiarity of the leaning tower to make his experiments regarding the laws of gravitation; and there is in the Cathedral a great silver chandelier suspended after his design—by a simple rod—from the great height of the roof. This was so mathematically correct that the celebrated astronomer took his idea of the pendulum from it. There is a very fine view from the top of the tower, well repaying the trouble of ascending. We were very pleased with the old "leaning tower of Pisa," so familiar in our childhood as "one of the eight wonders of the world," and were not in the least degree disappointed, but rather wondered at its height and circumference. It seems perilous to have erected other buildings in its proximity, yet there are several handsome houses in its immediate vicinity, affording, perhaps, additional grounds for the theory of its accidental settlement.
The Campo Santo, or burial-ground, was the next place we visited, accompanied by the custodian. It is not so beautiful in statuary as that of Genoa, but from its great antiquity is even more interesting. It is a long parallelogram 430 feet in length, with a covered cloister running all round; the central part supported by beautiful pilasters adorned with painting and frescoes, chiefly by Giotto, Orgagna, and Memmi, some of them almost obliterated. There is a very ancient and interesting collection of Roman, Etruscan, and Mediæval sculpture and sarcophagi, important links in the history of early Italian sculpture. The pavement is formed by the tombstones of those who have been interred here. Through the round and beautifully traced arched windows you look out on the original burial-ground in the centre, which is open to the sky, and, tradition says, is filled in with some fifty-three ship-loads of earth brought from Mount Calvary in the twelfth century (after the loss of the Holy Land), by the Archbishop of that time, so that the dead might repose in holy ground. I have heard that this Campo Santo is very impressive when viewed by moonlight, which can be done by arranging with the custodian at suitable times.
One other memento of past naval glory that we saw, was the great chain across the more ancient part of Pisa. This was carried away by the Genoese as a trophy, after their conquest of the city, but was afterwards generously returned.
One of the pleasures of travelling not to be overlooked is that of retrospection: picture after picture and memory after memory rises to the mind, and one could go on for ever rebuilding in fancy all that has pleased and interested. With all my heart I can echo Dickens' words—"I find it difficult to separate my own delight in recalling, from your weariness in having them recalled."
We took train to Leghorn, to procure our letters from the post-restante there. The weather was so unpleasantly wet that, under the circumstances, we did not find the place very interesting. Leigh Hunt sums up his impressions in a few exceedingly apt, albeit somewhat unkind, words: "Leghorn is a polite Wapping, with a square and a theatre." The grave of Smollett, who lived here for some time, is one of the objects of interest to visitors from the British Isles. There is always a degree of melancholy pleasure in coming across the last resting-place of a distinguished countryman in a foreign land.