It was a beautiful, bright, clear day when we left Verona in the forenoon of April 5th, for Milan. Passing through the suburbs of the town, we realized to the full the beauty of its situation, nestling in the valley of the Adige, with undulating plains, well cultivated and dotted with villages, and the splendid amphitheatre of hills in the background harmoniously blending with grey blue sky, altogether making one of the finest bits of river and hillside scenery I have ever seen. Every commanding point bristled with fortifications. This part of the famous quadrilateral is evidently exceedingly strong, but it would require an immense force to garrison the forts alone. These recent acquisitions of Italy, and her ambition to be a first-class naval power, must very greatly increase her national debt, and probably another large loan will soon be wanted. However, the Italians appear quite alive to the dignity and responsibility of the position they have been suddenly brought into since the Crimean War, and they seem determined to be equal to it.
It was interesting to witness, close to the train, on a very fine camping ground, the exercises of the cavalry and artillery as we passed.
At Peschiera, distant about a quarter of an hour's railway journey from Verona, we came in sight of the beautiful Lake Garda, the snow-clad mountains rising almost precipitously from its blue waters. A tiny vessel, with green and red sails like wings, floated peacefully along; the verdant fields and never-ending fortifications in the foreground. Then, as we changed our course, the lake slowly expanded, disclosing the soft, harmoniously tinted hills sloping upwards from its shores, a warm mist blending their outline with the sky above. Every moment opened new scenes of loveliness to us—little nestling villages of dazzling whiteness; a narrow strip of plain, with clumps of cypress trees; and presently a small island in the bosom of the lake, seemingly a tiny city with castellated tower resting on the blue waters; great mountain peaks rising grandly in the background. This island of Sirmione which is connected with the mainland by a stretch of sand, contains some old ruins said to have been the villa of Catullus.
At 11.25 we arrived at Desenzano, the station of which overlooks the lake, but the town itself is at some little distance. It seemed so lovely here, I quite regretted we were to continue our journey to Milan. After Desenzano, which possesses a picturesque little castle with turreted walls, the railway passes on to higher ground, affording more commanding views of the lake scenery. Then the land intervened, and we quite lost the lake. The weather was delightfully warm, the air bracing, and the sky cloudless. The sunny hills, flooded with soft purple light, reflected from the red soil in the foreground, added greatly to the beauty of the scene. The olive and the vine seem to love this richly coloured earth, and always flourish splendidly on it. Pizzato is finely situated at the foot of the great Carrara marble quarries. Thousands of hands are employed here. There were consignments of marble columns and blocks for building purposes at the station, ready to be despatched, probably to all parts of the world; for the hard and beautiful white marble dug out of these stupendous Alpine quarries is greatly in request for monuments, tombs, etc. After this we lost sight of the snow-clad hills for a time, but at Brescia they reappeared.
The castle and fortifications of Brescia are boldly placed, overlooking the city. The Cathedral Dome, and red serrated hills, add a picturesque grace, with the purple mountains in the background. Up to this point our journey had charmed us with its beautiful and varied landscapes, but the remainder of the route appeared tame and uninteresting. It was our first taste of the beautiful Italian lake scenery, and we were spoiled for anything less lovely. Much of the ground we passed over in this journey from Verona to Milan was full of historic interest, having been, from its important central and strategic position, one of the great battle-fields of Europe both in ancient and modern times.
CHAPTER XXIII.[ToC]
Arrival in Milan—Railway station—Tram carriages—History and present condition—The Cathedral—Irreverence of Italian Priests—The Ambrosian Liturgy—Sunday school—S. Carlo Borromeo—Relics—A frozen flower-garden—View from the tower.