THE OLD WORLD

Southland Times, Issue 19546, 9 May 1925, Page 11

THE OLD WORLD

ITALY AND SWITZERLAND. A SOUTHLANDER IN SOUTHERN EUROPE.

(By

a Wayfarer:)

We left England for Italy in February to escape the bleak days of early Spring and get back to sunshine once more. As we journeyed through France, snow was falling and we were very glad to reach San Remo, in the Italian Riviera, after a long monotonous journey of a day and a half. We left London about 10 ajn. in the morning and reached San Remo about 7 o’clock the next evening, and how we longed for the comfort of our New Zealand carriages, slow though our trains may be. W 7 e were wedged tightly together in the only carriage known here, the despised “bird-cage” in New Zealand, and the carriages in addition to their other discomforts were heatad almost to boiling point; but we forgot all our troubles when mine host of the Hotel des Etrangers welcomed us to Italy with charming courtesy. San Remo is a picturesque little town with palatial Hotels along its sea front, and away up on the hill the old town, built there for purposes of defence when Saracen pirates roamed the seas. We climbed there one day along narrow, tortuous streets where the sun hardly penetrates and one imagines a lurking assassin at every corner, but the glorious sunshine was all the more appreciated when we emerged from its dark recesses. A little church has been built on the summit where the peasant worships with true reverence, and from here there is an enchanting view of the modern town, a striking contrast to the old. W’e motored one day from San Remo to Monte Carlo, an interesting and romantic drive along the shores of the Mediterranean and when we reached the gorge beyond Ventimilli, on the Italian frontier, we showed our passports, and again when we crossed the bridge spanning the narrow ravine and were in French territory. We sped along the shores of the beautiful Mediterranean, bathed by an azure sea, with a wealth of vegetation everywhere, the silvery sheen of the olive and the mimosa tree much in evidence; the air was fresh and balmy even in February, and all too soon we arrived at our destination. What a gay scene the Casino presented with its beautiful grounds and everybody clad in summer attire! Of course we visited that far-famed building, walked through its fine halls and surveyed the tables with people around them, all intent on their gamgg we had a mild flutter ourselves at the gambling table not with any great success. From San Remo, we went next to Genoa where is to be seen a beautiful statue of Columbus near the railway station. We went by tram to the famous cemetery, the Campo Santo, which is crowded with sculpture, good and indifferent. Afterwards we took the funicular to the heights above the town, getting a splendid view of the city and harbour. Then, the next morning, we set off for Rome and passed on the way the famous leaning tower of Pisa, and by the language of signs an Italian gentleman indicated to us, beforehand, that we would goon see the tower. There are countless tunnels between Genoa and Rome, and every few minutes after glimpses of enchanting bays, for the railway skirts the sea for a good part of the way, the train would whiz into a tunnel in the most tantalising manner. We had rather an amusing attempt at conversation with the help of a phrase book, and punctuated with shrieks of laughter on both sides, with a vivacious Italian lady who was dying to talk to us. In vain did she murmur to each and all of us, “Non parlato Italiano?” and we, for our part, “Parlez-vous Francais?” But, if she couldn’t speak to us, she made up for it by the sweetness of her smiles. When we reached Rome, she shook hands warmly with us all, and wished us “Bon voyage,” and very sorry we were to see the last of this kindly lady. We joined Carrani's motor tours for sightseeing in Rome where there were about seventy Germans, ten English, and perhaps three or four French in the party, and our little Italian guide, with unflagging enthusiasm pointed out all the interesting sights of Rome, and whether he discoursed in English, German, or French, he radiated happiness and good-nature all the tune. On one occasion he turned to one of our party who was looking slightly bored, for five or six hours’ sight-seeing is fairly strenuous, and insisted on recounting again the history of some old ruin, for he imagined from her lack of interest that she had not heard his explanation, until she, too, in very shame, waxed enthusiastic even when a melancholy looking heap of stones was referred to as Nero’s Golden House. What memories of ancient power and grandeur are conjured up at the name of Rome and there is no place in the world that excites more admiration and wonder. Here stand the triumphal arches (the arch of Constantine still remains entire) ; there Trajan’s Pillar on the spot where it was erected by the Emperor, and on the Appian way we saw the strange Pyramid ’which marked a grave before Christ was bora. We traversed the Forum with its imposing ruins of pagan Rome, and from the Palatine Hill, where once the magnificent palace of Septimus Severus stood, looked down on this sad monument of what was once the very heart of Rome. We went through the Catacombs where the ancient Christians buried their dead, and as we hurried through with our tapers in our hands, glanced fearfully from side to side, fallowing our guide, a silent monk, in all haste, and when an American lady mourned the loss of a pair of gloves she had dropped in the dark labyrinth we trod nobody offered to stay and help her find them.

Then the Churches and Basilicas in Rome —what a testimony they are to the power of Catholicism, though their doors are crowded with beggars, and their grandeur is mocked by signs of misery on all sides. Among them all, the lofty dome of St. Peter’s stands out and dominates the scene, and one feels such an atom wandering through its massive halls, tjie very Chapels, full of rilent worshippers, are isolated, as it seems, from the vast central building. There is also the Church of St. John’s (Laterani. the first Church of Rome from the time of Constantine, and even surpassing St. Peter’s in dignity and importance. Here is the celebrated relic of the “Scala Santa” or Holy Staircase, said to be the stairs of Pilate’s house at Jerusalem, and made holy by the feet of Our Lord as he went to judgment. I must not forget to mention the treasures of the Vatican, its noble sculpture of which the Laocoon is a wonderful example, and its pictures where the works of Michael Angelo and Raphael are immortalised. The glorious ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with its magnificent pictures is a monument alone to the undying genius of Michael Angelo. One cannot leave Rome without a brief reference to the Colosseum,/which is only a shadow of its former greatness, for much of Rome has been buih from its stones. This marvel of a ruin recalls the past and we se# again Rome, “glorious, splendid, wicked Rome,” hastening fast to its fall. Its tiers of eeats crowded once with all the pomp and splendour of the city, look down on the arena, where Christians and gladiators fought with wild beasts to provide amusement for a decadent race. When the softening light of evening falls, these ruins are invested with charm once more, and Rome, the fcteraal Qty, lives again as in the past. I have never seen anything quite so gruesome m the Capuchin Chapel we visited, where we went down into subterranean cells adorned with the skulls and skeletons of departed monks—a nightmare of a place and destined to remind the living monk of the transitory state of human life. Among the cities of Italy, Florence, perhaps, comes next to Rome in its romantic history, and art and genius own it as their home. We joined Cook’s tours here for sight-seeing, and visited the Cathedral (the Duomo), the Baptistry, practically the oldest building in Florence, with its wonderful carved doors, the work of Giherti, and designated by Michael Angleo, the Gates of Paradise, and the elegant Campanile. We saw also the house where Dante lived, the Palazzo Vecchio, the seat of the Republican

Government till 1530, and the, Loggia dei Lanzi, the hall of which has wonderful sculpture. In the square ip front of these buildings, a slab marks the spot \where avonarola, the famous preacher, was burned at the stake; close by is the fountain of Neptune, rather an indifferent piece of sculpture. Days could be spent in the world-famed picture galleries, the Ufizzi Gallery and the Pitti Palace, but we had only time for a cursory glance at these wonderful exhibitions of art. The Florentines are justly proud of the noble Arno, and nobody who has visited Florence can forget the Ponte Vecchio, the bridge that crosses the Arno, with its quaint old shops where all kinds of jewellery and mosaic art are shown. Florence was the home of the powerful Medici family and her famous artists have portrayed marly of the family with servile worship, for in the Louvre Gallen, they figure as Gods and Goddesses on their canvas. We visited the Medici Chapel, splendid with costly marbles and precious stones, which still remains unfinished and where there are remarkable statues by Michael Angelo, in honour of the Medici family. In the afternoon we drove outside the city along the Viale dei Colli, a magnificent carriage way to the Piazzale Michael Angelo where a statue of Michael Angelo occupies a commanding position, and where we had a glorious view of Florence with its picturesque villas and fruitful vineyards, and the Arno below, encircling the city like a silvery ribbon. Lastly we visited the Church of San Croce, which is the Westminister Abbey of Florence, and many of her famous men such as Michael Angelo, Dante, Galileo, and Machiavelli are buried here. From Florence we journeyed on to Venice the theme of artists and poets from time immemorial and nothing can be more picturesque than its gondolas gliding through the silent canals with bright sunshine over all. Venice is a city of palaces but, alas, in name only, and on the first night of our arrival, our gondola carried us slowly past these hornet, of past magnificence and dead ambitions, now more resembling dilapidated tenement houses, while our gondolier, in a mixture of French and Italian, pointed out this or that palace associated with some historic name. In Venice, too, is the wonderful square of St. Mark’s, where the busy sound of traffic is never heard while pigeons circle round the gilded dome of St. Mark’s. AU round the square are covered arcades of shops displaying artistic jewellery and Venetian beads, and as you stop to admire the windows, the shopkeeper darts out and insists on your coming in to inspect his wares, or you are besought by eager Italians to visit one of the famous glass factories of Venice. We saw nothing more beautiful in all our travels than the Cathedral of St. Marks with wonderful mosaic paintings lighting up the exjerior of its romantic building, and the bronze horses on top which were removed for a time by Napoleon, but now rest in their old home. Close by is the Doge’s Palace and climbing the Giant’s Staircase to the Hall of the Grand Council, we went on next to the room of the Council of Ten, where Venice exercised despotic power in the days when she was Queen of the Seas. Then we emerged from the Doge’s Palace to cross the Bridge of Sighs, and entered the gloomy prisons where many a captive languished through years which must have seemed interminable. We took a gondola afterwards and went across to the Church of Santa Maria della Salute, made famous by Venetian painters, and built, when the plague was raging, to propitiate an angry God. There is the wonderful Church too, of the Jesuits, the interior of which in marble, presents the appearance of lace work. Our gondolier pointed out the house where Browning lived and died, and we glided past the Rialto where Shylock often encountered his old enemy Antonio. From Venice the train next took us to Milan, whose magnificent Cathedral is one ' of the chief architectural wonders of the world. Here, too, is the original painting of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, painted on the walls of the Church, but it has suffered from damp, abuse, and repairing; the Church was even used as a stable when Napoleon over-ran Italy. On the way to Stresa, on Lake Maggiore, we passed fields of mulberries, this part of Italy being the centre of the silk industry. Coming from the South, one finds Italy's last charm and sweetness on the shores of blue Maggiore, with the lofty Swiss mountains frowming above. We climbed the railway to Mount Mottarone, right into the midst of the snow, and far below us, we saw the peaceful Borromean Islands which belong to a noble Italian family. On one of the islands is a beautiful garden, and you stroll among chestnut and palm trees while the perfume of roses and other Southern flowers floats on the breeze. Now we leave Italy for the Alpine world, and what glorious scenery we passed—the wonder of the Alpine peaks around us, while clear mountain streams rippled below. We went through the Simpon and Lotschberg Tunnels, and after changing trains at Spiez, the train ; gradually brought up along the charming I shores of Lake Thun with its proud old ; castles to Interlaken. Interlaken is prettily situated on the fez tile plain between two lakes, Brienz and Thun, and from the windows of our hotel we saw the white clad summit of Jungfrau up which the railway runs. One could gladly spend days in the sunny valley of Interlaken with the snow-clad mountains in the background, and in springtime, when the first trees burst into flower, nothing could be more exquisite. There are many excursions from Interlaken to Grindelwald, Murren etc. where Winter Sports are held, but unfortunately, we arrived in Switzerland between seasons (the end of March) and the mountain trips were not running. On our run to Berne, we passed through lovely country and admired the picturesque Swiss cottages, with neat wood piles stacked up in the rear and everything spotlessly clean. In Berne, we saw the enclosure where the bears are kept and watched them being fed by the onlookers. Bears have been maintained at the city’s expense for many years, because of the traditional derivation of the name Berne which means “bear;” hence the “bear pit” is one of the sights of the town where strangers are always directed. There is a famous clock in one of the streets, and as the clock strikes the hour, it is interesting to see the quaint little figures performing on it. After leaving Berne, we passed through country covered with snow, only the hedges peeping ont here and there, and the toylike villages partially hidden. When we reached Geneva, the home of Calvin, an icy wind was blowing, the lake looked cold and grey, and the mist obscured our view across the lake together. Geneva is a splendid city and the Rhone as it rushes through the town with its volume of water, is an impressive sight, and everywhere the eye is confronted with an avenue of waters. ITie next day we left for Lausanne, which is an interesting and picturesque town, hilly like Dunedin, and after crossing a bridge over the roofs of the houses, we clinjbed the tower of the Cathedral, a beautiful Gothic building dating from the 13th century, to have a charming view of the lower town nestling along the shores of the lake. The weather improved very much next day, and we- went by the funicular to Duchy, the port of Lausanne, a pleasant and pretty suburb much frequented by English tourists; then we had a lovely walk past the shores of the lake to Pully, and homeward by the' train. Lausanne itself is an imposing town, famous for its educational institutions; here the historian Gibbon resided for some years and wrote his “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” while the ro raance of his early life was connected with Lausanne. We took the train one day to Montreux, a lovely town on Lake Geneva, and the home of the annual Narcissi Festival. We passed on the way Vevey, a favourite resort of the English, with a charm and simplicity all its own, for it does not aspire to the grandeur and display of its more important neighbours, Lausanne and Montreux. When we reached Montreux, it looked fairy-like in its beauty and we saw charming Caux and Glion, perched dizzily on the heights above while a little railway

train was puffing away at the station, preparatory to climbing there. Then we took the car to Terrilet and had just time to see the romantic Castle of Chilion, immortalised by Bryon, with the snow clad Dent du Midi in the background, before we hurried back to catch our train to Lausanne. Our short ( visit to Switzerland gave us only a hint of its marvellous beauty, and I long to see it under happier auspices, when the sun shines and Lake Leman gleams a radiant blue.