Arrival in Milan: Our visit to the Cathedral: Its Spires, and Turrets: Its Stained Glass Windows, Altars, Pictures, and Sculpture: The Church of St. Ambrogio: The Bera Picture Gallery: The Hospital: Leaving Milan: Arrival at Como: Lake Como.

As we steamed out of this dear old city, a palace of dreams, we looked back with a lingering desire to know her better. Across the lagoons we were soon out of waterways and amongst the mountains of Italy; scenery lovely, bewitching, enchanting. With a certain poet

“I ask myself is this a dream?
Will it all vanish into thin air?
Is there a land of such supreme
And perfect beauty anywhere?”

For a long time we sped on through mountainous country whose peaks were bright with sunshine, the hillsides were dotted with pretty villas, which were surrounded with lovely gardens full of shubbery, or ravines that looked cool and shady. Before the day had begun to wane, we caught glimpses of the great city of Milan, and soon we were being driven to “Hotel Europe.” We found it all we could desire, large, clean, well fitted and most moderate. Our great desire, of course, was to see the wonderful cathedral. We had heard so much of this grand, solemn, vast, airy, peaceful building, that we could hardly sleep for the thought that we were so near what our eyes were aching to see. We rose refreshed, and, after a good breakfast, we sallied forth to feast our eyes on the object we had heard of so often, but never seen. Into the streets we went in a fever of excitement. In this direction and in that, around us, behind us, before us were busy crowds. At last, a very forest of graceful spires, shimmering in the light of the lovely morning sun, burst upon our view. We needed no one to tell us what it was. The Cathedral! my dear wife exclaimed. We knew it in a moment. How sharply its angles and its hundred of spires are cut against the sky. It is like a vision! Some one has said: “a poem wrought in marble.” From whatever standpoint you view Milan Cathedral, it is noble, it is beautiful. You can see it from almost any point of the city, and for many miles outside it is visible. We were at its doors early in the morning. The central one of the five is finely bordered with a bas-relief of birds and fruits, beasts and insects, so ingeniously carved that they look as if they were really living things. On entering, we felt as though we might hear a strange voice saying: “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standst is holy ground.”

Milan Cathedral, Milan

And the lines of Milton at once rose to our lips.

“But let my dear feet never fail
To walk the studious cloisters’ pale,
And love the high embowered roof
With antique pillars, massive proof
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
In service high and anthems clear
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstacies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.”

And Tennyson says:

“Oh! Milan! oh! the charming choirs!
The giant windows blazoned fires,
The height, the space, the gloom, the glory,
A mount of marble, a hundred spires.”

We were amazed at the magnitude, the brilliancy, the beauty of all its interior parts. In every nook and cranny and corner there is some lovely statuary, or vase, or painting, and every one is a study in itself, every face is eloquent with expression, and every attitude is full of grace. You can trace the master mind and hand of Michael Angelo or Raphael in the many objects of interest that arrest attention. “Long rows of fluted columns, like huge mountains, divide the building into broad aisles.” The lovely stained glass windows, one of which contains no less than sixty panes; these throw in the soft morning light their shadows upon the marble floor of the aisles. We quietly strolled along, viewing with admiration the pictures and mosaics so artistically arranged by their thousands of small pieces of coloured glass, until the whole seems to have the finish of a picture. Our guide showed us many things of interest, which we might have missed but for his aid. A piece of sculpture, the colour of a coffee bean, was shown to us, and our guide stated it was believed to be the work of that famous artist, Phidias. It is a figure of a man without a skin, with every vein, artery and muscle, every fibre and tendon and tissue of the human frame shown in the minutest detail. It was not a very attractive object to look upon, yet it was a work of skill and genius. The staircases to the roof are of the whitest of white marble. There is no stone, no brick, no wood apparently amongst its building material. We did not feel like going up the one hundred and eighty-two steps, to gain the summit of this great block, we contented ourselves with a general view from the floor. The statues up in the niches high, looked like tiny dolls, while they are really the size of a man. There are niches for nearly five thousand statues, but only about three thousand are filled up-to-date. We were not allowed to see the treasures and relics, these are most valuable and curious. We learn there is treasure inside the coffers to the value of six million francs. This is in silver and gold bas-reliefs and images of Bishops, Cardinals, Madonnas and Saints, Crosses, Croziers and Candlesticks. For relics they have a stone from the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, a fragment of the purple robe worn by Our Saviour, two of St. Paul’s fingers, and a bone of Judas Iscariot, a nail from the real cross on which Our Saviour died. Once every year these sacred relics come out of their dusty archives, and are carried in a grand procession through the city, amid the acclaims of a deluded people. On the High Altar is a very fine tabernacle of gilt bronze adorned with figures of Our Saviour and the twelve disciples, the gift of one of the ancient Popes. A magnificent candelabrum hangs from the roof of the choir stall. Beneath the choir is a small subterranean church, in which services are held in the winter months, as it is much warmer than in the great cathedral above. This lower church is from the designs of Pellegrini, and from this church is an entrance to the Chapel of St. Carlo. This Saint, it appears, was born about 1505, and was specially good to the poor, as he sold his life interest in some property and distributed it amongst the hospitals and charities of the city. He tried to introduce some salutary improvements into the church, for the scandalous manner of living of the priests had become notorious. For his desire to reform their habits, an attempt was made to assassinate him. Several of the attempts failed, they then hired a priest named Farina to execute the bloody deed. He gained access to this private chapel, and as San Carlo was kneeling before the altar, he fired at him with an old blunderbuss, just at the moment he was chanting: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” The bullet struck him on the back but did not penetrate his silken stole, but dropped harmlessly to the ground. This failure of the attempt to murder him was considered an interposition of Divine Providence. He died, however, at the early age of forty-six. His death was hastened by the severe austerity of his life. His body is deposited in a gorgeous shrine of silver, the gift of Philip IV., of Spain, and he lies in his full canonicals and can be seen through panes of rock crystals. Upon the sarcophagus is worked in rich tapestry San Carlo’s favourite motto: “Humility.” There are several busts of San Carlo, also a fine statue. A mitre, also said to be worn by this Italian worthy during the plague, it is beautifully embroidered with feathers of the choicest and richest hues. There are many churches in all the cities of Italy that are full of interest, some have been so much modernized that, from the outside, there appears nothing unusual, but once you are inside, surprise follows surprise. Saint Ambrogio is one of these. The moment you get inside you are interested, statues of costly marble, silver shrines, columns of marble, vast and numerous. One of the great sights is the splendid facing of the altar, which is a marvellous display of the goldsmiths’ art. A fee of five francs must be paid to see it, the front of the altar is of rich plates of gold, the back and sides are of silver, all richly enamelled and set with precious stones, the golden front is in three divisions, each contains smaller compartments; in the centre one are nine containing the emblems of the four Evangelists and the twelve Apostles. The transfiguration is also clearly seen amongst them. On one side are to be seen eight angels bearing vials, on the other side are the four archangels—Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel. But the back is quite as full of interest; like the front it consists of three grand compartments, and these are divided into similar tablets. On one of the first is seen a swarm of bees buzzing around the head of a sleeping child. The legend, when explained, tells us that when St. Ambrose was born in the year 340 A.D., a swarm of bees were thus seen around the head of the infant while in his cradle while lying in the palace of his father, and as no harm followed, it was said to be an omen of his future eloquence and power. He was chosen Bishop of Milan in the year 375 A.D. Other emblems, indeed they are too numerous to mention. On the right side of the nave is a large serpent of brass. Tradition states it is the serpent of brass which was set up in the wilderness for the serpent-bitten Israelites to look upon and live. Tradition is not always truth. In the centre of the choir is a curious marble throne, called the chair of St. Ambrose, its appearance is very ancient, it is decorated with figures of lions and strange carvings. We left this interesting sanctum as we had left other churches—impressed, instructed and grieved. The Brera Picture Gallery or Museum is also well worth a visit. It originally belonged to the Umiliate Order of Jesuits. It is of immense size, and its frescoes are simply magnificent. Amongst them I may name “The Virgin and Child, with St. John and the Lamb”; three girls playing a game then called “hot cockles”; “A youth riding on a white horse”; “Child seated amongst vines and grapes”; “The Virgin and St. Joseph proceeding to their marriage at the Temple”; two minstrels, such as usually accompany wedding parties; “The martyrdom of St. Sebastian;” “The Israelites preparing to leave Egypt”; “The Prophet Habakkuk awakened by the Angel”; “Three cupids with musical instruments.” I believe there are thirteen rooms all full of the finest works of arts to be found anywhere out of Rome. The botanical gardens are not, to my mind, equal even to our own in this country. The Grand Hospital of Milan is well worth looking at from the outside, built in the year 1456. The first stone was laid by Antonia Filarte. As you enter the great gateway, a very fine quadrangle appears in view, and there is a double colonnade of arches, twenty-one on one side and nineteen on the other. I was told that over thirty thousand patients passed through this hospital every year. It can accommodate at once about five thousand people. Monuments abound outside that have been raised to the memory of the principal benefactors. The theatres of Milan are really palaces of beauty; indeed, I learn that Milan is known by the magnificence of its theatres. The principal one is La Scala. It is said to be the largest and the best arranged of any in Italy, It is capable of holding three thousand six hundred spectators easily. There are forty-one boxes in each row. We did not go inside as our time was fully taken up with other scenes and places. There is a Church of England, or rather services rendered by a clergyman of the Church of England. The Protestants in Milan are very few. There are several Free Church services conducted in the city, but the buildings are not of any special character. From observation I should say four-fifths of the inhabitants are Roman Catholics. The city has now a population of over four hundred thousand. We visited a good many parts of this beautiful busy city. It has some very fine squares, some noble monuments, some pretty gardens; also shops of all kinds, and goods may be had at reasonable prices. We secured some small mementoes that were not very difficult to pack and carry away. After a few days stay we agreed to move on. So packing once again, and settling up our accounts, and tipping the waiters (it is unpardonable to leave without doing this), our luggage was once more on the ’bus, and we were lumbering along to the railway station, now to make our way to Como, and so on to Lucerne through the great St. Gothard tunnel. We had only a little while to wait, and our train came in with a roar and a hiss. A few minutes and we have left behind us one of the sights that will linger long with us. “The Cathedral of Milan,” for some distance we could see it behind us, and in front of us snow-clad mountains some twenty miles away, our interest deepened as we proceeded, for the beauties nature’s bounteous hand has spread all over Italy is one continual surprise and joy. In less than an hour our train steamed into the station at Como. This is not a large place, but looks very pretty as it nestles in quite an amphitheatre of hills. Como was the home of Pliny, and it is said to have been a very fashionable resort at the time of the CÆsars. In the middle ages it became an independent republic, and for a long time held its own against the large city of Milan. It is now a very prosperous little town, and it is said rivals Lyons in some respects for its beautiful production of silks. It is surrounded by Olive yards and Orange groves, and near by is the beautiful lake of Como. This is one of the most beautiful of all lakes of lovely Italy we have seen, and we had seen several from our carriage windows, and it was only from this point we could gaze upon this scene of loveliness. Time did not permit us to leave the train to explore and to enjoy. We could see its blue waters shimmering under a warm glow of sunshine. The surroundings are very interesting and beautiful, the eye does not grow weary in tracing the outline of the hills which surround it. I do not wonder at the Psalmist saying: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Psalm 121. For surely earth cannot present, nor unassisted reason fancy or conceive an object more profoundly significant of Divine Majesty than these hills clothed in their vestures at the top, by everlasting snow. In their presence “There is silence deep as death, and the boldest hold their breath.” The slopes of the hills are covered with a very lovely verdure of green, intersected here and there by glens. On one side there are crags and precipices, under whose shelter the vine hangs in bright green festoons. The Olive tree also is in good evidence, as shown by its gnarled and knotted stem; Orchards and fine Chestnut trees in rich profusion. Passing along we see the white foam of a waterfall as it shines amongst the verdure or leaps over the rocky crags and comes dashing and splashing down the hillside. Further on we see the little white houses dotting the hillsides, as if they grew out of the same. Then a single arch of a bridge that spans a small ravine and unites one little cluster of houses with another, giving interest to the whole surroundings. In another hour and a half we were steaming into beautiful Lugano.