There is one little inconvenience attendant upon the extreme length of the galleries. Upon occasion of my first visit, I had unfortunately taken an umbrella, which I was obliged to leave at the door of the Uffizi Gallery. After wandering to the extreme end of the Pitti Gallery, I had to retrace all my steps to regain this umbrella. It is better, therefore, if anything must be left at the door, to confine a visit to one or other of the palaces, and there is abundance in either to engage a whole forenoon.
Not far from the Piazza della Signoria is what is called the National Museum, contained in the old Palazzo del Podesta, rich, but severely rich, in its architecture. The ground floor is occupied with ancient and modern armour and arms. Above there is a gallery of statues, some of them by Michael Angelo, a room full of majolica, another of ivory carvings, two of bronzes, two of tapestry, and two of sculpture; but the collection, though interesting, looks small after experiencing the extent of the Uffizi and Pitti Galleries, and seems hardly deserving to be dignified with the name of National.
The Corsini Palace, on the Lung Arno, is open three days in the week to the public, and contains in twelve rooms a large collection of paintings, many of which are by the great masters.
The Academia delle Belle Arti contains a large collection of pre-Raphaelites, commencing with Cimabue, and comprising among others some fine Peruginos. It is accordingly interesting. In an upper floor several rooms exhibit paintings by modern Italian artists, principally battlepieces. I paid a visit also to the rooms of the Association for the Encouragement of the Fine Arts, which seems to be founded somewhat on the same principles as similar associations in Great Britain; but from such opportunities as I have had of forming an opinion, I cannot say that the mantle of their great predecessors—whose works are constantly before them, and might be thought calculated to inspire—has fallen upon the modern Florentine artists.
Florence, besides being a great place for the sale of copies of paintings, and for the manufacture of the well-known massive and tastefully-decorated picture-frames, all carved out of the solid wood, upon which the gilding is laid without any mixture of composition, is the place of all others for the manufacture and sale of marble and alabaster sculpture, and of the beautiful Florentine mosaic jewellery. It is filled with shops for the sale of these various articles, which are to be had at moderate prices, and strangers seldom leave without more or less extensively making purchases.
The streets of Florence are always full of life. Occasionally of an evening a body of men, perhaps twenty or thirty, would form themselves in a ring, and with deep, rich, melodious voices sing Italian songs. The power of voice or strength of lungs which the Italians sometimes possess is indeed often exhibited in a surprising manner. All of a sudden, walking along a street, it may be meditatively, a vendor of small wares will abruptly at your very ear, and without apparent effort, discharge a sharp, stentorian cry, piercing and startling as with the shock of a nine-pounder, and nearly knocking you down breathless and affrighted. The markets, too, are noisy,—bargain-making being a serious operation, in which success is supposed to attend the most vociferous and energetic,—but sometimes they are more quietly conducted. Having once penetrated them, and found myself in the press of a great crowd in very narrow passages, and in odious proximity to heaps of most unpleasant-looking fish, it was with no little satisfaction I made my escape as soon as escape was practicable.
There are many other places in Florence to be seen besides those I have specially mentioned. We did see a good deal in the time we were there, but not all by any means, and what we did see was in a very general way. We remained not quite three weeks, and could with pleasure have stayed much longer. It is a place which, like Rome, though not to the same extent, requires a long stay, and is full of objects meriting careful study and worthy of repeated examination. It is not, however, without its drawbacks, chief among them being the not uncommon practice in Italian towns of making air-holes from the drains to the streets, from which unsavoury whiffs occasionally come, not pleasant to contemplate. The authorities plainly want in sanitary arrangements some teaching.
BOLOGNA.
We left Florence for Bologna by train at 7.50 A.M. As we were about to enter a railway carriage, a pleasant-looking English lady looked out and cried to us deterringly, ‘This is not a smoking carriage.’ ‘Thank you, madam,’ I replied; ‘that is just what we want.’ So, as the two parties filled the compartment, we were not troubled with any selfish smoker, and, as we were all English, with no needless exclusion of the views by lowering the blinds. We reached Bologna at noon. The railway passes through many tunnels, and in some places at a great elevation. The views from it are fine.
Bologna is a singular old university town, very compact within the walls, so as to accommodate its population of 109,000. From the twelve or thirteen gates in the walls, leading streets converge to the centre, constructed with arcades at the sides, under which the pavements and shops are placed. The object of the arcading is probably to afford shelter from the snow in winter and the rain in summer. The town itself is dull, and the shops entering from the arcades are dark and second-rate. Photographs of Bologna can be procured at Florence, and perhaps in some as yet undiscovered region in Bologna itself. The Hotel Brun (the principal one) is an old-fashioned house. Like many of the Italian hotels, the salons are entered direct from the court-yard.