CHAPTER XXV.[ToC]
Climate of Milan—Magenta—Arrival in Turin—Palazzo Madama—Chapel of the Holy Napkin—The lottery fever—View from the Alpine Club—Superga—Academia delle Scienze—Departure—Mont Cenis railway—The great tunnel—Modane—Farewell to Italy.
Before leaving Milan, I should like to say a word on its healthfulness. An eminent medical man, recently writing on the subject, says, "On account of the neighbourhood of Milan to the Alps, its climate in winter is cold and damp, and occasionally foggy. The irrigation of the rice-fields, with which Milan abounds, is a fertile source of fevers of all types, which, together with thoracic inflammation, phthisis, rheumatism, and affections of the digestive organs, are the most prevalent diseases." The same authority gives Como a scarcely less baneful character. For my own part, I can only say that, whatever may be the condition of Milan in the winter time, in the month of March, when we were there, the climate was most enjoyable, the air pure and bracing. All the hotels, however, are not equally healthful in their sanitary arrangements, one of my friends having been subjected to a serious illness from this very cause; and the Italian doctor (a Milanese) who attended him did not hesitate to condemn the sanitary condition of the hotel where he was staying at the time of his illness. The hotels in the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele are, I believe, without reproach in this respect.
After leaving Milan, we passed through Magenta, situated amid fertile corn-fields and plantations of mulberry trees. This was the scene of one of the greatest battles in the war which gained Italy her freedom from the hated rule of Austria. Close to the railway station is a huge pyramidal monument, indicating the spot where the brunt of the battle was borne, and erected to the memory of the brave French who fell in the contest. All along the route are mementoes of the late war. Casting our eyes over the level plains, occasionally broken by the river Ticino, and undulating towards the hills, it was interesting, though sad, to imagine the desperate conflicts of which it had so recently been the scene—these now peaceful plains and valleys saturated with the blood of valiant men, whose bones lie beneath the green sod and waving corn! The result, however, was glorious—a People's Freedom! Very different to the selfish ends and aims of the insatiable Napoleon!
Reaching Turin, we found the station, like that at Milan, an imposing structure, standing in a fine open space planted with trees, the Piazza Carlo Felice. This is surrounded by a colonnaded square—from which runs the Via Roma, one of the principal streets—and extends as far as the Piazza Castello. The streets, which are long and straight, like those of an American city, in some cases seem to run right up to the circling foot of the snowy Alps; and, looking up these streets towards the north, one gets most lovely vistas of the grand Alpine range, and feels their majestic presence by the dazzling light reflected from their snowy slopes, and the cold air from their icy peaks, to which the fair blue of the sky above forms a beautiful canopy.
Turin seems to have been badly treated; the removal of the seat of government from her to Milan, Florence, and ultimately to Rome, caused the value in land, etc., to fall considerably. The city was extended, great piazzas and streets lined with handsome shops, tramways laid down in all directions, theatres built on a large scale, and all preparations for making it the capital of Italy; and this expenditure proved, after all, a needless outlay, for soon the city was comparatively deserted, so far as fashion and gaiety are concerned, and these go far to make the vigour and wealth of a rising town. It is, however, busy and industrious in its trade and commerce, and alive with factories; yet recent events have left very distinct traces in Turin, almost more so than in any other Italian city.
Turin, or Torino, was founded by the Taurini, a Ligurian tribe, and was destroyed by Annibal about the year 218 B.C. It was ruled during the Middle Ages by its own dukes. The House of Savoy continued to hold it from the middle of the eleventh century until the late disturbances in Italy. Most of the streets of Turin converge into the Piazza di Castello, in the centre of which stands the Palazzo Madama, a weird-looking, half-ruined building overgrown with ivy, with a gloomy look about its desolate towers. It is a fine and picturesque old place, especially on a moonlight night—a unique relic of the Middle Ages. Near it are the Royal Palace and the Duomo. The former is not unlike a barrack externally; but it contains a noble staircase and fine banqueting and reception rooms, the ceiling and floors being especially worthy of admiration. From the palace chapel, which is entered from the great hall, you can look right down to the Cathedral adjoining. This chapel of the Santo Sadano (or Holy Napkin) was built in 1648, to receive one of the folds of the shroud in which the Saviour was supposed to have been wrapped by Joseph of Arimathæa. This relic is contained in an altar under the cupola. One cannot help feeling anger and amazement at these miserable impostures on the ignorance of credulous devotees. We were actually shown by one of the priests an oblong frame, about thirty inches by twelve, containing a tracing, probably photographed, of this holy napkin, which, having been pressed against the Saviour's face, retained the imprint of His features; and so this piece of old linen was duly worshipped, and has probably brought a comfortable income to the priests from the pockets of the superstitious and easily beguiled multitude. There is no end to the so-called marvels in these Romish churches.
The Cathedral is built on the site of a Lombard church of the seventh century, but does not contain anything of much interest. Indeed, among the hundred churches at Turin, there are really few worth a visit; perhaps the Consolata Church, including a chapel of the tenth century, is the best of these. Canon Wordsworth quotes an incident relative to this church. "A poor man prayed to the Madonna to reveal to him some lucky numbers for the lottery. He had a dream, in which, as he imagined, she suggested a trio of numbers. He made his purchases accordingly, but they turned out blanks. In revenge for this delusion, he attacked the image of the Madonna della Consolazione, when borne in procession through the city to the Superga, and mutilated it with a hatchet. The mob was enraged, and would have torn him in pieces had he not been rescued by the soldiers, and he was conveyed as a madman to a lunatic asylum." These lotteries are a means of ruin and demoralization in every Italian town, the lottery offices, where the winning numbers are displayed, being only less plentiful than the cafés. I believe many of the poorer people invest their savings in these "official" gambling-places, and the majority are much the worse for so doing. But the State evidently profits by this infatuation for gaming, just as the pope and the priests enrich themselves by the blind superstition of the ignorant and foolish. The suppression of these Lotto banks should be among the first reforming acts of Italy: far wiser to substitute a State savings-bank, on the lines of our Post-office system. Bearing to the eastward of the Castello, up the Via di Po, we came to the Ponte di Po, a fine bridge across the river, which greatly resembles the Arno, but is rather cleaner in colour. Crossing the bridge, we mounted the rather steep hill to the Capuchin Church of Del Monti at the top. This hill has been of great military importance in a strategetic point of view, commanding, as it does, the town, river, and valley. A little higher up is a kind of observatory; and on ascending the stairs, we found ourselves in the Alpine Club of North Italy. Here is an interesting little Museum, with a very good and instructive collection of Alpine plants, minerals, maps, etc. From the balcony outside we had a most glorious and impressive view. Immediately below, the river Po, pursuing its rapid course towards the sea, watering the valleys on its way,—rich plains stretching far and wide, and the city of Turin lying in a grand mountain hollow, spread like a map before us; beyond, like an impenetrable barrier, and arranged in a mighty semicircle, towered the great Alpine range. On the left, the Maritime Alps; then the Cottians, with Monte Viso, Mont Cenis, and the Grand Paradis, the Pennines to Monte Rosa, and the Lombard Alps. I looked up at this mighty barrier, its summits deep in misty clouds and vapour, the bright sun glittering on the thick snow, and the blue sky reflecting all manner of lovely hues on the white slopes and beautiful plains beneath:
"Above me are the Alps,
[321] The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned Eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The Avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow!
All that expands the spirit yet appals,
Gather around these summits, as to show
How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below."
It was indeed a sublime and impressive sight—one of the grandest views of the Alps to be obtained in Italy. The early forenoon is the time to see it to the best possible advantage, which we were not fortunate enough to do, the heights being frequently enveloped in mist. Away to the south is the great hill called Superga, some 2000 feet above the sea. From thence there is probably a much more extended view from west to east, but the Alps would be seen from above—to my mind a far less majestic and imposing sight; moreover, it occupies some three or four hours to climb the Superga, whilst the observatory of the Capuchins is but half an hour's walk. Yet this hill is decidedly worth a visit if time be no object, not only for the noble extent of landscape surveyed from its heights, its convent, and church, but as the mausoleum of many of the royal family of Italy. The best views are, I believe, to be obtained from the gallery of the college.