CHAPTER XV
A LETTER FROM FLORENCE
Irma had been two or three days in Florence before she had time to writethe long letter to Tessie that for some time she had been planning.
"Dear Tessie," she began:
"Though I have sent you messages and post cards, this is my firstletter. I know you do not care to hear much about pictures and churches,of which I have seen almost too many, so I will tell you about otherthings. I can't say much about foreign children, only that they all seemshy, except the little girls who beg, and the little boys who wish to beour guides, and I am sorry to say that sometimes, just to get rid ofthem, we give them the penny that we know is not good for them. Theywant all the money they can get from _forestieri_, for we are_forestieri_ here.
"The Italian children seem to have long school hours, and that is onereason we do not see many of them about. When we do see a group togetherit troubles Aunt Caroline that they are not playing, but simply standingabout solemnly. Sometimes, when we pass a station in the middle of theday, we see a little boy with a loaf of bread under his arm, cutting offa slice with a jack-knife. That probably is all he has for breakfast,and perhaps his dinner will be nothing but a dish of macaroni.
"Well, all we have ourselves for breakfast is chocolate and some rollsand butter. Older people take coffee. If we ask for a boiled egg we canhave it, but we are trying to live as the Italians do. After breakfastwe go sightseeing, and we are always half starved by one o'clock, whenwe have _dejeuner_. Everything then is served in courses, and if you arelate you simply have to go without the things that were served beforeyou sat down. In the middle of the day we rest, for it is as hot as ourhottest summer from twelve to three. After that we drive, or visit somechurch or museum, ending with afternoon tea. If you happen to havefriends at some hotel, it is fun to drop in there. But over all thepastry shops, that are almost like restaurants, you see the sign'afternoon tea.' It is the one English expression most Italians seem toknow.
"Dinner is served in courses like _dejeuner_. But whatever else theygive us, we are sure of one thing, a course of chicken and salad. By thetime the chicken comes to me, it is generally all wings, which I nevereat. None of us ever eat salad, because we are suspicious of the waterit is washed in.
"You have not had many railroad journeys, and so the little cars andengines might not seem as funny to you as they do to us. Each car isdivided into little compartments, with room for five persons on eachside, and there you have to sit and stare at the persons opposite. Butwe have generally been fortunate enough to have a carriage to ourselves.
"When we arrive at a station, we always find a row of men in bluecotton blouses and conductors' caps lined up waiting to carry our bags.They are the _facchini_, or porters, and each one tries to carry severalbags, for it is the law that he shall be paid ten centimes, or twocents, for each piece of luggage he carries.
"We got rid of crowded railway carriages and _facchini_, when we wentfrom Siena to Florence. For we drove all the way, staying one day at SanGimignano, the most curious place we have seen. We wouldn't have thoughtof going there but for Richard Sanford, whose family we met in Siena.Just think! His cousin, Katie Grimston, is travelling with him and hismother. Katie Grimston, who says that Nap still belongs to her; and I amafraid she really will take him away from us. But to return to SanGimignano. It is on the top of a high hill, and has a wall goingcompletely around it, with handsome great arches, or gates.
"There are eight tall towers in the town, and five on the walls. Butnone of them are considered safe now for visitors to climb, though wehad all we could do to keep Marion and Richard from trying one or two ofthem. The people of San Gimignano were divided into two great parties,Guelph for the pope and Ghibelline for the emperor. From the towers,belonging to the leading families in the town, they could do any amountof harm to their enemies in the streets below, and also keep a lookoutfor outside enemies on their way from Siena.
"Next to the towers (which, to be honest, look a great deal likefactory chimneys of gray stone) you would like the pictures in thecathedral that tell all the old Bible stories, especially the one wherethey are building the Ark, with Noah and his family and all the animalsstanding about and looking on.
"In another church some beautiful frescoes by Gozzoli tell the story ofSt. Augustine's life. One, where he is shown going to school with hisbooks under his arm, is very entertaining.
"All the young people seem to have left San Gimignano. There are nonebut middle-aged and old, and I never in one place saw so many bent oldmen and women. The town itself is so gray and old and poor that we wereglad to leave it. We had enjoyed our drive from Siena so much that AuntCaroline and Mrs. Sanford thought we might as well drive to Florence.This was forty miles, and we all got rather tired. But the country wasbeautiful, and after our sixty miles of it by carriage, we feel that weknow just what Tuscany is. The farmers use great white oxen for theirwork, white and large and smooth skinned. They made more impression onus than anything else we saw.
"Now we feel quite at home in Florence. My room looks out on the Arno,the river that runs through the centre of the city. Not far away I seethe famous Ponte Vecchio, or old bridge. Give my love to every one,especially Mahala and Nap.
"Your affectionate sister,
"Irma."
Hardly had Irma signed her letter, when Ellen Sanford came into theroom.
"The door was half open, and you did not hear my knock. But what a longletter. My family never gets anything but post cards from me when I amtravelling."
"Well, this is to my little sister. I promised her one long letter."
"I am glad it's finished, for now you can go out with me. Katie went offin great spirits, because she had managed to get Marion and Richard bothto go shopping with her; the boys hate shops, too. Your uncle and aunthave taken mother driving, and so what shall we do?"
"Let us go to the Medici Chapel. I am tired of galleries. I shall need aweek to digest what I saw yesterday at the Uffizi."
"What suits you will suit me," said Ellen, and soon the girls weredriving toward San Lorenzo.
"These booths remind me of the Rag Fair at Rome," said Irma, glancing atthe display of trinkets and small household articles on canvas-shadedtables, in an open space near the church. "Only these things are muchcheaper. But what a crowd. Italians seem to like open-air shopping."
Within the lofty church the girls saw much to admire, especially thesculptures by Thorwaldsen, Donatello, and Verocchio. But the tomb ofCosimo de Medici, "the father of his country," was a plain porphyryslab.
"The great monument must be somewhere else." And Irma followed Ellen tothe old sacristy, where, though they saw other Medici tombs, they knewthese were not what they sought. In the new sacristy were Michelangelo'sfamous statues of Lorenzo, with the figures of Dawn and Twilight at thebase, and of Guiliano, with Day and Night. But beautiful as these were,they knew they must search further.
At last some one directed them to a door outside, at the other end ofthe church, and then with tickets they entered the mausoleum.
"Ah," said Irma, "it is really all I expected. Some one told me it wasnot in good taste, and it is not really completed. But a building likethis is more impressive than if decorated with paintings. The pavementis beautiful, and the walls of exquisite marbles seem built to lastforever."
"There are not many statues," said Ellen.
"No, but I dare say they meant to have more. It is because the grandeurof the Medicis didn't last that this interests me, Ellen. In the PalazzoVecchio and the Riccardi Palace we have seen them painted as conqueringheroes, and every one of them holds his head as if he owned the world."
"They did own a good bit of their little world in their own day."
"That is just what I mean. We have the paintings and the statues, and weknow all that Cosimo the first and Lorenzo the Magnificent did forFlorence by encouraging art and establishing museums and libraries. Butthe later men who were
not so great built this chapel, and when I lookon these magnificent tombs, and remember what harm came to Savonarolathrough a de Medici, and what harm Catherine de Medici did----"
"Oh, Irma, I believe they did more good than harm in the world, andthis tomb is a splendid memorial."
"Yes, it is; only the effect it has on me is different from its effecton you."
"Now for the library," said Irma, as they turned away from the tomb,"and after that I will try to show you something quite different."
"This isn't at all like a library," exclaimed Ellen, as they stood inthe high-roofed hall of the Laurentian Library. "There are no bookcases,and why are these pews here?"
Before Irma could reply, an attendant explained that Irma's pews werestands for the valuable manuscripts, and he added that Michelangelo haddesigned them as well as the fine wooden ceiling of the great room. Hepermitted the girls to look at the manuscripts in substantial coverschained to the stands. Many of them were Greek and Latin classics ofgreat age. Others were in Italian, and exquisitely illuminated, like the_Canzone_ of Petrarch, with portraits of Petrarch and Laura. Ellenbought large copies of these portraits, with the delicate coloringexquisitely reproduced, and Irma sighed, as she realized how seldom sheherself could spend money on things she liked.
"Ask him the way to the cloisters," she whispered, as they bade thelibrarian good-by; and Ellen, when she had interpreted his reply, asked,"But why should we go to the cloisters?"
"Oh, you will see," and Irma looked at her watch. "We are in good time.It is only quarter of twelve."
"In good time for what?" persisted Ellen, as they entered the cloisteredenclosure at one side of San Lorenzo, and walked along the arcades toread the many memorial tablets on wall and pavement.
"I will tell you," said Irma. "This is a kind of Animal Rescue League, arefuge for stray cats. Persons anxious to get rid of their cats bringthem here, and those who wish to adopt cats come here for them. They saythat the stray cats of Florence hide here in corners and on roofs."
"Well, if I needed a cat I shouldn't know how to find it here. Therecertainly isn't one in sight."
"Well, that's why twelve o'clock is the important hour. Exactly on thestroke of twelve the cats are fed with meat. They seem to know the time,and come rushing down from roofs and chimneys, and after they are fedpeople choose the cats they want."
"Hark! Isn't twelve striking now?" asked Ellen, as the bells of manychurches began to peal loudly. "It is certainly striking twelve; but Isee no cats."
"I don't understand it," said Irma. "I read a long account the otherday, in a book that described Florence."
"Here is the custodian; I will ask him."
After talking for several minutes with the custodian, Ellen turned witha smile to Irma. "This is the place where the cats used to be fed, andit was a very ancient custom to let stray cats have refuge here. Butmany of them refused to be adopted and became so wild that now they areall given over to a society, I suppose like the prevention of cruelty.Your book was not up to date, though it is not very long since thefeeding of the cats was given up."
"Well, I am glad that we have seen the place where they used to feedthem. I can at least describe it to Tessie. I am always trying to seethings that will entertain her when I go home."
At _dejeuner_ Katie was in great spirits; she had bought a number ofpretty things, and had kept the two boys with her all the morning, onthe pretext that she was in great need of their advice. Among herpurchases a long double necklace of large amber beads was especiallybeautiful, and Irma praised it generously.
"I would rather have them than anything I have seen in Florence; anypiece of jewelry," she added quickly.
Uncle Jim and Aunt Caroline exchanged significant glances.
After _dejeuner_ Richard and Ellen invited Irma to go with them to SanMarco.
"Mother and Katie say they wish simply to drive, and Marion, I believe,is going with them to San Miniato, and your aunt thinks you might notcare for the Accademia to-day," said Ellen, as she gave Irma her owninvitation. "But Richard is sure you would enjoy San Marco andSavonarola."
SPIRES OF FLORENCE.]
SAN MARCO, FLORENCE.]
So in the early afternoon the three friends found themselveswandering in the beautiful cloisters of the old monastery, with itslittle flower garden in the centre, and its great pine, whose trunk waswreathed with ivy. They walked around a second cloistered garden whoserosebeds were fenced in by a row of pointed bricks. Seated on a bench,they looked up at the tiny windows of the second story, and wondered ifthe garden that Savonarola had looked on was much like this.
"We must not sit here long," and, as he spoke, Richard walked over toone of the frescoes painted on the brick walls under the arches. Hecalled Irma's attention to those by Fra Angelico, representing scenes inthe life of Christ.
"The monastery," he explained, "was suppressed forty years ago, and thewhole building is now a museum. There are some beautiful paintings inthe chapter house and the refectory, but I am most anxious to see thecells upstairs, nearly all of which are decorated with paintings by FraAngelico and his pupils."
"Richard," said Ellen, "I see that this is to be one of the occasionswhen you are going to appear terribly wise and talk like a book.Sometimes, when you are particularly pleased with things in general, youare so frivolous that I feel that I ought to explain you to some one,but to-day I believe that you are going to the opposite extreme."
"No matter," interposed Irma. "You know all about San Marco, but I amless wise."
"Well spoken, young lady," said Richard, in the tone which Irma alreadyhad learned to associate with his fun-making mood. "But I cannot pretendto have any knowledge about San Marco, or Savonarola or Fra Angelicothat you and my sister might not already possess, if you have read yourbooks carefully. First, as to Savonarola; he became Prior of San Marcoin 1490, and when he preached in the church here, the whole piazza infront was crowded hours before the doors opened, and shopkeepers did notthink it worth while to open their shops until the great preacher'ssermon was over. He made religion seem a simple thing, within the reachof all who tried to live pure lives. He addressed himself to the poorand to the young; and he especially blamed the love of luxury that wasspreading in Florence, though he encouraged artists to use their talentson religious pictures."
"Well, we all know that," said Ellen, mildly.
"Then you remember how on the last day of Carnival, 1497, his followerswent from house to house collecting books and pictures and musicalinstruments and other things that they thought had an evil influence,and burned them all in a great fire in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. Iwill point out the place later."
"I should like to see it," responded Irma, to whom Richard had turned.
"Savonarola had made many enemies by his plain speaking, and though fora time Florence seemed to have had a change of heart, when the PopeAlexander VI excommunicated him, the supporters of the de Medici powerwent against him, and at last San Marco was stormed, and Savonarola wascarried away to death."
"Yes--yes--it is a very sad story. It is pleasanter to go into thesecells and remember how Savonarola encouraged art. Let us look at thesefrescoes carefully," and the three walked on slowly, stopping a momentat the entrance to each cell, where, on the whitewashed walls, wereexquisite paintings by Fra Angelico, his brother Fra Benedetto, and FraBartolommeo. At last, after a turn or two at the end of the corridor,they came to the Prior's Cell, with Fra Bartolommeo's frescoes on thewall.
"Of course you recognize Savonarola," said Richard, "and that other ishis friend Benievieni, and look at these smaller cells inside; here ishis hair shirt and his rosary and this bit of old wood, as theinscription says, is from the pile on which he was burnt."
"Ugh!" cried Irma, "I don't like it"; and she turned to look atSavonarola's sermons and his crucifix.
The three were silent as they left the dormitories of the good brothersof San Marco, especially when they remembered the great prior, whoseterrible death the fickle F
lorentines in time repented.
"Time is so precious to-day," said Richard, as they left San Marco.
"And why, pray?" asked Ellen.
"Because you have me with you, dear sister. You cannot be sure when Ishall be ready to go with you again."
"Indeed!" responded Ellen. "We are not sure that we shall need youagain."
"Well, then, since time is precious, we will drive for a moment to S.Annunziata to see something fine and something funny."
Soon they were in the little courtyard of the church, and after leavingthem for a moment Richard returned with a sacristan, carrying keys. Heunlocked the doors of the corridor surrounding the court, in which weresome fine frescoes by Andrea del Sarto and two or three other greatpainters. After they had admired these paintings, while their guidemoved off toward some other visitors, Richard said, "Here is the'something funny,'" and he pointed to a number of small, crude paintingsat the end of the corridor.
"They _are_ funny; what in the world are they?" asked Irma.
"You mustn't laugh, even though they seem funny. Come here, and I willexplain," and Richard pointed to one that showed a man falling headlongdown a steep flight of stairs. "This man, you see, escaped death from abroken neck, on the date put above the picture, and this one, on thedeck of the ship tossing about so wildly on the ocean, was saved fromshipwreck, and this other in the carriage with two wildly prancinghorses was evidently not fatally injured, and this woman in bed,surrounded by her weeping family, was apparently at the point of death,when her patron saint saved her."
"Oh," exclaimed Ellen. "Then these are pious offerings, and I won'tlaugh at them. It is rather a pretty idea to show thankfulness in thisway, and we oughtn't to laugh, even if they could not have Del Sartos orBotticellis for their artists."
On their way home, they looked at the spot in front of the PalazzoVecchio, now marked by a stone, where Savonarola was burned, and his twochief followers, Fra Domenico and Fra Silvestro.
"When I leave Florence," said Irma, "I shall remember the PalazzoVecchio more because it was the prison of Savonarola than for anythingelse."
"But you haven't forgotten the wonderful great halls, and the gildingsand paintings. There are no halls more splendid in Florence."
"No, I haven't forgotten them, and I remember Uncle Jim told us the Hallof the Five Hundred was built from the plans of Savonarola for his greatCouncil, and Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. But the return of thede Medici changed all this, and instead, every inch of space records thegreatness of the de Medici and their victories over the enemies ofFlorence. But the great statue of Savonarola is there, and I believe hismemory will last the longest."
"You are right," responded Richard absentmindedly. He had just seen aflower girl with a basket of exquisite roses.
"Oh, Richard, you are extravagant," cried Ellen, as the girl emptiedher basket.
"One can't be extravagant with flowers in Florence," he replied.
Katie and Marion were standing at the door when they reached the hotel.
"Where did you get those roses?" Katie asked, as they descended from thecarriage with their arms full.
"Gathered them, of course," replied Richard promptly, although thequestion had not been addressed to him.
"Richard gathered them for us," added Ellen. "He is a brother worthhaving."
"Marion and I didn't see any like them," said Katie.
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