The Italians at Home. Translated from the German by the Countess d'Avigdor

Front matter

TDK ITALIANS AT HOME, BY FANNY LEW AL D, AUTHOR OF " DIOGEN.4," "CLEMENTINA AND JBNNT," &C, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 3Y THE COUNTESS D'AVIGDOR. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL I. LONDON: THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 72, MORTIMER St., CAVENDISH _q. 1848. TO THE BRITISH PUBLIC. There is always a degree of embarrassment attend ing the entrance of a stranger into a large, social circle, a kind of hesitation in uttering the first words, in encountering the first looks, which seem to ask who he is, whence he comes, and what induced him to step forward thus unexpectedly. I experience a similar feeling in appearing before the English Public, and in acknowledging myself as the author of " Diogena." I acknowledge it because rumour has long since proclaimed me as the author of that work ; but I do not intend to offer any defence or excuse for it.

I wrote it because a powerful impulse, a strong conviction, induced me to do IKTKODUOTION. so. I did not wish to attack a person, but to destroy a new creed. I wrote it against a theory of levity and egotism, which seemed to have taken deep root, and to be already bearing sad blossoms ; this duty accomplished, the matter has passed from my mind, it has completely disappeared, as if it had never existed. The work I am now offering to the British Public, with the friendly assistance of an English woman, contains pictures of Italy, pictures of the people, of their life, of their festivals and employments ; of their joys and sorrows, as they appear sometimes on the back-ground of the great past, sometimes, on the bright azure of a southern sky. The Italy of 1S.5-6 exists no longer! In the once tranquil city of Rome, patriotic hymns are heard, the banners of liberty are seen waving ; in the gulf of Naples, in the solitary valleys, and ravines of Sicily, where formerly the gentle mandolines alone broke the stillness around, the roaring of the cannon has become a familiar sound.

In the space of one year, this journey seems to ■ belong to ancient times ; it may become a pleasant remembrance to the reader, and form a contrast to

Introduction

. ill the present ; and if he were acquainted with that poetical dawn, which preceded the young, bright day of liberty, he may perhaps be grateful to me if I have assisted him in retaining a remembrance of those pictures, which have now vanished in the reality. Should I succeed in this, my aim will be accomplished. FANNY LEWALD. Berlin, June 1848. AT HOME.

Chapter I. Passage Across The

8IMPLON. When the golden gates of the world of fairy tales are closed to the wonder-seeking imagina tion of the child, and the Fairy Queen, with her wand, vanishes to the region of dreams, when the faith in her power is gone, then reality suddenly asserts her rights — then youth longs for the unknown beauties of the world, as the child had longed before, for the wonders related in the fairy tales. Everything then VOL. I. B assumes a more defined form, the vapoury images become condensed, and there remains but the wish to transport one's Eldorado to some favored spot on earth, where bright flowers bloom, and golden fruits ripen. Such a spot is not to be found in our cold and dreary North; then we turn ardently to the South, to that South, where, through dark leaves, the golden orange glows ; there softest airs breathe from the deep blue skies, and myrtles high and stately laurels rise.

The South becomes the aim, Italy the goal, of almost every in habitant of the North. The longing for the South is more intense as the ice and snow deepen on the ground, as the crystal edges of the windows thicken, and as the wind whistles loud and long. In my Prussian home I bad often gazed at the snow -covered roofs of my neighbours' houses, when the sun shone brightly in the skar winter sky, and thought how different rhe colouring must be on the Southern Alps, aud how the Alpine glow of tbe glaciers must tinge all around with vivid colours. For a length of time, I had wished to be come acquainted with that unknown world, but the circumstances in which I was then AT HOME. placed, seemed to render the fulfilment of that wish so impossible, that it was foolish to en tertain it for a moment.

However, when cir cumstances altered, and I became a free agent, with a wide field of action before me, then the old feeling returned, and the peaceful Roman campaign was decided on. I had travelled through Switzerland in the July and August of 1845, 1 had seen the snow capped summits of the Jungfrau and Mont Blanc receive the parting embrace, and morn ing greeting of the sun ; I had seen the stars shine in the deep bright mirror of the Swiss lakes, and Italy the aim and end of my hopes seemed to draw nearer to me. How my heart beat, as I took my first walk in the pleasant town of Vevay, and wandering in the Rue du lac, soon found myself in the Rue du Simplon ! I felt at that moment, as I did when a child, on the first Sunday of Advent, when I thought of the future, and of the coming delights of the Christmas tree with its golden fruits.

Vevay has somewhat of a southern aspect ; its port, with its avenue of plane trees ; the shores of the lake covered with vines ; tha figs, grapes, and melons, which are sold in lar;.e quantities, and at very reasonable prices ; the b air and the sunshine, and the physiognomy of the inhabitants belong to the South. It is the introduction to the joyful Symphony of Italy. I often sat on the terrace belonging to the house which was near the lake, and gazed at the Dent du Midi and Dent du Morgue, as the purple-lit tops were reflected in the lake, and cast shadows like roses on the still waters beneath. Then I pictured to myself the days of my early youth, and rejoiced that my old hinging was _bout to be gratified. But there is an Epicurism sometimes in giving up what is pleasant: it consists in keeping in view, for a time, an enjoyment of which one is certain. 1 think this depends much on in dividual character ; that which suddenly as tonishes — disturbs the equilibrium of the mind ; that which has long been expected comes as a well-known guest.

It is pleasant to watch the gradual growth and unfolding of a bud; it is an inexpressible delight to enjoy before hand what will soon 'become reality. So I lingered at Vevay from one day to another aud only left on the 25th of August in order to cross the Alps. We crossed the lake of Geneva in a steamer AT HOME. and landed at Villeneuve, whence we drove to the small town of St. Maurice, which is close to the Rhone. There the Rhone divides the fruitful Pays de Vaud from the wild Valais, which is a stepping stone from Switzerland to to the smiling plains of Upper Italy. It is necessary to leave St. Maurice early in the morning, in order to reach Brieg, which lies at the foot of the Siraplon, before night. The roads are traversed only in the day, in consequence of the dangerous mountain passes.

Even Brieg is very high. It was quite dark when we reached it at nine in the evening. We were only allowed a few hours rest during the last night we spent out of Italy. The coachman awakened his passengers at two iu the morning ; and we ascended the the carriage by the light of a lantern. The 6tars were shining brightly iu the dark sky, where only the last quarter of the moon was seen. The road leads over large masses of rocks, and winds through ravines and over heights. Nothing, but the nearest turning was visible ; it was vain to try to penetrate the darkness; but, by degrees, the grey light of day returned, and at length the golden sun shine brightened all around. But we travelled for more than two hours before it was quite day-light, when we discovered, on a sudden turn in the road, the still slumbering town of Brieg enveloped in mist.

The air was fresh and elastic. The feathered songsters rejoiced at the opening day. Sometimes some large bird would spring forth, as its solitude was disturbed by the noise of the carriage. Then it seemed to hover over the valleys, and look into the depths beneath, just as the thoughts of the philosopher try to penetrate into the mysteries of life, which unfold themselves before him. And there indeed the mind of man has erected a memorial and a noble one, that wonderful road over the mountains ! There Napoleon's genius conquered nature. Tbe wide road is in hard granite, it was necessary to blast rocks, to curb waterfalls in order to make the tunnels, through which the road passes, and which protect the traveller from the falling avalanches. The sensation is a curious one, when one passes through these tunnels, for the rushing of the water-falls dashing over the stones and emptying themselves into the valleys, is heard overhead.

As the horses could proceed but slowly, we alighted and walked a short distance AT HOME. up the mountain, in order to enjoy the fresh, morning air. The perfect stillness all around had something solemn and overwhelming to those, accustomed to the small noises of every-day active life. Each time the little town of Brieg came in sight it looked smaller, and the valleys with their scattered houses at length disappeared entirely from vie w. All vegetation also was gone, and the alpine roses glowed no longer among the rocks. We were in the snow regions surrounded by light summer atmosphere and treading over lumps of ice, which lay on the thick and hardened snow. Several small huts are erected where the avalanches used to falls most frequently. The word " Refuge" is written over the doors. The road is 7,000 feet high, as high as the Wegner Alp at the foot of the Jungfrau.

The galleries cut out in the rocks, are not far from the Hospital, which is at the summit of the mountain. On one of the walls a large flag stone is fixed which bears the following inscription. Aer Italica. Napol Imperat 1805. This inscription delighted a Pole, who happened to be of our party. My soul also rejoiced at the mighty genius of the Emperor. It certainly makes one proud and happy to think that the will of man can curb the power of nature in a spot like this ; for the Pont de Godo checks one of the mightiest of waterfalls. The Hospital is like a large, plain looking Hotel, and monks of the Augustine order have the management of it. The Prior and three lay brothers always reside there, the house has nothing in it like a convent but the chapel — the ground floor is intended for travellers of an inferior class who certainly have better accom modation there than in their own dwellings.

The upper floor is for a higher order of guests, and is fitted up like a comfortable Hotel, there is a common dining room to each floor. Im mediately upon entering the saloon on the first floor, I observed two beautiful engravings 7 DO on each side of tbe chimney-piece. I went closer in order to examine them and read the inscription which follows : " Homraage de Md. Therese de Baeheracht aux bons freres du Simplon." I had just parted from Therese at Interlachen, where we had spent a pleasant quiet fortnight together. When I saw her name there, thus unexpectedly, I felt as if I had again clasped a dear friend's hand. The Prior related to me how Mde de Baeheracht bad been overtaken by a avalanche, how she had AT HOME. been brought into the Hospital, where she bad been detained on account ofthe weather.

And he added with the politeness of a true gentleman '• farce qu'il faisait ties mauvais terns nous avons eu le plaisir de la garder deux jours chez nous." He praised her kindness and amiability and begged me to tell her not to forget the Hospital. After we had seen all the interior arrangements of the Hospital, we were anxious to obtain a sight of the dogs. Three of them were brought into the hall ; they certainly are splendid animals, and looked remarkably strong and clever. The Prior wanted them to raise their paws but notwithstanding his endeavours to make them obedient and his oft repeated sentence " Donnez la patte" they remained immoveable though all the travellers in turn held out their hands ; I was delighted with them, and before I left the hall, I turned round once again and held my hand ont to the largest of all, then lie raised his immense paw with great solemnity, and £ave il to me, as if he had guessed how much I admired him It was a satisfaction that the dog made an exception in my favour.

I thought of Leon Gozlan's beautiful idea. " L 'instinct b et lame se regardent, se reflechissent et le fluide universel les unit par le conducteur intime de la vie, pile voltaique de l'.tre." We left the Hospital at 12 o'clock and dined at the little town of Simplon, which lies at the foot of the descent, and soon reached the frontier where our passports and luggage were slightly examined. And thus, I had at length reached Italy ! Though we were going down hill and therelore moving tolerably fast, still to me, our pace seemed to be a slow one. When once the curtain was withdrawn, I longed to discover all the beauties that I had dreamed of, and expected ; every flat roof, every chesnut tree, every brown southern face, seemed a pledge for what was to come. And like a child I would willingly have exclaimed "more, more."

When we arrived at 5 o'clock in the after noon at Domo Dossola, which lies at the bottom of the Siiuplou ; the horses were to rest there for the night, but I hired an extra pair in order to travel to Baveno, which is on the shore of the Lago Maggiore. The road to Baveno first displayed to me all the beauties of the south. The air was mild and soft, and impregnated with a strong scent of herbs, AT HOME. probably partly from the flowering flax fields, but still there seemed to me a new and strange aroma. The white houses with their flat roofs shone like gold in the setting sun, fields of maize, mulberry and chesnut trees covered the roads through which we passed. The vines with their ripening fruits seemed twined in festoons among the highest trees. If all looked as feast-like, as if Bacchus and Ceres were about to march triumphantly through the country.

On each side ofthe road lay cheerful looking villas, everywhere the labourers were slowly returning from their work. They carried baskets on their heads, full of grass and vine leaves, which are used as fodder for the cattle. All looked graceful and picturesque. Waggons with mules harnessed one behind the other, passed slowly by. A few priests were seen riding on asses, or sitting on the road side, familiarly chatting with the peasants. Then the evening bells for the Ave Maria were heard tinkling in the soft stillness. As it became darker, and I could no longer feast my eyes, and when night enveloped the whole scene, then that joy came over me which is always felt, when what has long been wished for, is at last attained. Dreamily I enjoyed those delightful sensations, till a fresh sight again aroused me.

A storm was gather ing in the sky, and the lightning occasionally opening the clouds, diffused daylight in the midst of darkness. Then the Lago di maggiore, towards which we were journeying, suddenly became visible for a moment, and then it again vanished in the obscurity. All these appearances produce a wonderful and poetical effect. We reached Baveno very late, and sought our beds with great eagerness. In the morning, my first glance was towards the lake. There lay before me, that Isola madre, of which I had read Jean Paul's description in Titan, and which had always hovered before me like a Paradise. There fiy Isola madre, lsola pescatore^ lighted by the morning suu. Yes! that indeed was Italy, and I breathed freely, and rejoiced with my whole heart in the beauties of nature ! On the island, there is a handsome stately palace, surrounded by a garden, laid out in the old French style, which, notwithstanding the clipping and cutting, still remains rich and blooming like all vegetation on that fortunate island.

We saw the state rooms in the palace, the room in which ISapoleon slept before the AT HOME. battle of Marengo. Mosaic floors, ornaments in stucco, fresco paintings, and marble statues adorn the castle. The covered walks formed of orange and lemon trees, with their pendant, golden fruit assured us that we were in Italy. Sparkling water, flowing from the rocks in the grottos, watered all the beautiful creepers, that grow luxuriantly among the stones. Plants requiring hot houses in our northern climes, are seen flourishing there in the open air. From the garden, we were conducted to a part of the park, which alone deserves that name, as there, nature is allo'wed to display all her riches without the aid of art. There is a grove of high trees, through which the lake peeps smilingly. The olive tree and the laurel grow among the more northern oaks and elms, and one laurel is so lofty, that it seems as if it knew it had been held sacred in former day..

Under these trees, Napoleon rested before the battle of Marengo, and two days before the battle, he, with his own sword, cut the word " Battaglia," in the soft bark of a tree, aud it is still to be seen there, as a memorial iu the sight of nations. We had intended to remain twoorthree daysat the lake. But whilewewere wandering about the island, thick clouds wers gathering in the sky, and oa our return heavy rain began, which continued all day and night without the least hope of intermission. It was therefore impossible to think of crossing to the other islands, or of visiting the Lago d'Orta. We went through the pouring rain in a boat to Stresa to await the steamer in which we were to reach Sesto Callende. The lake was so stormy, that the boat was tossed about, as if we had been on the sea, and some of the party suffered from sickness.

Two peasant women from the Pays de Vaud cried and screamed with t.rror, and while the rain dropped on us through the awning, the waves were so high that we sat with our feet in water. We were two hours before we reached the steamer ; we took refuge in tbe heated, crowded cabin, where travellers of all nations, but prin cipally Italians, sat, or reclined according to the amount of their sufferings. It was very unpleasant to be compelled to remain there, on account of the rain. At length we arrived at Sesto Callende. But it seemed as if after Italy had shewn us all its beauties on the preceding day, we were AT HOME. now to see the reverse of the picture, that we might learn what to expect. The Custom House officers received us as we landed, and conducted us to a miserable looking shed, where our passports and luggage were to be examined.

This we must submit to, as long as different governments look upon each other with jealousy. Such a state of affairs is wonderful in a time of peace; however as it exists, the evil must be borne. But one discovers in Italy, that Custom House officers enjoy a degree of liberty which is denied to the poor traveller. They come and go, are absent and present in their offices as they please. At Sesto Callende, it was twelve o'clock before the wet and sea-sick travellers were landed. The invalids wanted rest, the healthy ones, the food they had not been able to swallow on board. All wished to reach Milan, for lingering on the road in such wretched weather was anything but agreeable. However the employes went home to their dinners, not a single one remained behind to finish the examination of our luggage, and we were obliged to wait with as much patience as we could muster for more than an hour and a half while the gentlemen leisurely completed their meal.

I really think it is a ruse of the officers. They well know how disagreeable and unwelcome they are ; they force people to wish for their presence, and receive them with politeness. In our case it certainly was so, we were delighted to exchange the shed for the nearest inn. That inn was a sample of one of the bad Italian locande, and afterwards I me. with many public-houses intended for the lower orders, which are much more comfortable. Dirty saloons iu a large house, situated in a couri-yard, in which were donkeys, carriages, carts, postillions, vetturini and stable-boys — _ome ofthe latter quarrelling — cooks and scul lions coming from the kitchens, with sauce pans, plates &c, all in an unpleasant con dition. In the parlour, the hens had taken refuge from the rain, like ourselves, aud seemed to be considered by the hostess a_ privileged guests.

But notwithstanding the dirty table cloth on the long narrow table, notwithstanding the large, ricketty chairs, and the not very benevolent countenances of our hosts, we felt more cheerful when we had, at length, re- * t__ * freshed ourselves with macaroni and cheese AT HOME. and roast fowl. At every fowl which the host brought in, and which the hungry travellers devoured, I looked at the hen3 under my feet and said, " Hop on a little while longer, your time will soon come ; and when we are gone, there will be other Germans, English, and Russians who will avenge us and devour you." And then I could not help laughing at myself, it was so German of me to expect revenge from the next generation for the misery I had endured. About four o'clock, though the card says two, the coach was ready to start.

The postilions had to be fetched from the inn, the postmaster, who was to arrange how we were to be stowed, was called from the cafe, and on leaving Sesto Callende, we had the satisfaction of knowing that no one had been disturbed in his usual course of life for our sakes. We had been told that the road to Milan was beautiful; it may be true, but the other travellers know as little about it as I do, for we drove the whole way in pouring rain, which obliged us to shut all the windows; the trees seemed to be covered with mist. It was as damp and un comfortable as in our northern autumnal days, and when it became dark, we might have fancied ourselves in Lithuania. We stopped at ten o'clock : we were under the Arco della Pace at Milan. Under the protection of the arch which Napoleon built at the end of the road from the Simplon to Milan, our passports were examined before we were allowed to enter the town.

In half an hour we w ere comfortably established in Reichmann's Hotel, delighted to have reached it, and acquainted, too, with a small portion of the pleasures and pains Italy affords. MILAN AT HOME. 21

CHAPTER IL THE DUOMO.

There are pictures of certain countries and edifices, so scattered in every part of the world that every one fancies the reality must be familiar to the beholder. The cathedral at Milan may be classed in this category. Our first walk, on the following morn ing, was directed thither. We had started early, in order to hear mass in the cathedral ; but the charm of wandering about in a large, unknown city enticed us from one street to the other, till at length we determined to take a complete survey of the town, as far as was possible on a first visit. The characteristic of Milan, as it appeared to me then and ever after, is that of quiet, modern solemnity, like our German court-towns. There is no com merce or business to be seen ; the town is very clean and very quiet, considering the number of people about the streets.

In the best parts, most of the houses are large and handsome. Tbere are regularly built squares. The houses are in good repair ; the front windows are usually closed ; but the balconies are frequently occupied by the handsome Milanese ladies, and well-dressed servants are seen hurrying to and fro in the court-yards. The closed windows, together with the uni versal stillness, give tbe town an appearance of gloom. The streets are paved with small pebbles on the foot-pavement, and there are large free-stones in the middle of the road, on which the carriages roll without noise. A few priests and monks were walking slowly past, the flower-vendors were taking their places at the corners of the streets, women, with their glossy black hair, were going either to the market-place, or to hear mass in some of the churches.

The people moved as silently and AT HOME. quietly as if they had been in a sickchamber. From the Corso Francese, we went into the small, narro v streets, which are very irregu larly built, and where the dirty, narrow-win dowed old houses are still standing, as they have probably stood for centuries. But there, at least, one felt freer and more comfortable, for there seemed to be some living beings. The noise of the hammering and knocking of people pursuing different trades had life in it, and gave one the idea of a moving population. So the time slipped away, and it was twelve o'clock ere we reached the Duomo. If I might be allowed to use a thoroughly woman-like comparison, I should say that the Duomo at Milan is like a large, delicate piece of lace-work, not really carved, but suddenly con verted into stone by the hand of a magician.

Time has given a slightly yellow tinge to the marble, which, to my mind, only enhances its beauty, as there is always something chilling in the pure whiteness of marble. The beautiful building, with its light and delicate ara besques, on which every figure and every leaf are as finely chiselled, as on the most delicate alabaster vase, is indeed of surpassing loveliness. One feels how great must have been the stimulus of religion, and what powerful means the church must have used to accom plish such perfection in architecture and orna mental decoration. The interior of the Duomo is quite in keep ing with the exterior. It is so vast, and the open space so clear, that the mind seems to expand on entering. There is not a brass nail, or a bit of wood perceptible in the whole building. All is of marble, and all is most highly finished.

Beautiful old painted windows throw a kind of chiaro oscuro over the interior, and an occasional light on the marble pillars. There was a deep solemnity in the vast edifice, as the sounds of mass were heard. Though the impression of the pomp of the service was striking to one accustomed, as I was, to the simplicity of Pro testant worship, yet the sight of the perpetual movement in the church was equally extraordinary. In the Italian churches, there are no benches, but only cane-chairs, which are kept in a corner of the aisle and are let out for a trifling sum of money. As every empty chair is carried off to the corner, for fear of its being used without payment, there is perpetual carrying back- AT HOME. wards and forwards, and constant noise during the service. This is not, however, the only striking fea ture to Protestants, who are accustomed to spend a couple of hours io devotion on a Sun day, and to think no more of church tor the remainder of the week.

There, working men, in their common working jackets, entered, with their tools in their hands, said their prayers in haste, and departed. Peasant women, just returning from market, laid their baskets of provisions by their side, knelt down, made a few signs of the cross, and also disappeared. Close by, a handsome and elegant young Abbe knelt in the middle of the aisle, praying with apparent devotion, but occasionally drawing a small watch out of his soutane, and 1 joking eagerly towards the door of the church. Some ladies, who were sitting very near, often looked at him and smiled. Two fops, with well trimmed whiskers, and strongly-scented clothes, sat close to me, and conversed in French, and in a tolerably loud voice, respecting some ladies they had seen the previous day. A large dog was crouching at their feet.

At last, at the conclusion of mass, a youi.g vol. I. c TUE ITALIANS aud handsome priest came out of the vestry and ascended the pulpit to preach a sermon, it being a Saint's day. While he cleared his throat, his auditors drew their chairs closer, and turned anxiously to the preacher, who looked down upon them with satisfied cheerful ness, but without any of the gravity and seri ousness which our clergymen assume every Sunday morning, when they ascend the pulpit. The priest's surplice, the black cloak, and the dark red stola became him very welL He evidently was pleased with his own appearance, and his audience seemed equally satisfied. He discoursed on the temptations of sin ; his voice was melodious, and his gestures graceful. " La tempesta del core,' tire .storms of the heart, formed the subject of the first part of the sermon.