Foreign Parts
Florence, Venice & Trieste

Foreign Parts.

On Tour from N.S. Wales.

[By H. and F. Rieck.]

Trieste, 20th April, 1899.

The late spring this year in these parts forced us to remain at the different stages of our journey longer than intended. We stayed at Rome one month, and tramped all over the “Seven Hills” to inspect old and modern humanity, which appears to have made up its mind to make Rome a universal cosmopolitan camping ground. Why this is so is hard to conceive, as the landscape where this city is built is, by all rules of choosing a definite dwelling quarter, quite unfit, as it lays amongst dismal swamps, far from good water and firewood. Did the early settlers pitch their camp here because the historical babes, Romulus and Remus, were suckled here by a she-wolf? This assertion—if true—should rather frighten the early settlers away from these swamps than induce them to take up abodes there. I think it was the good grass growing in the swamps along the yellow, muddy Tiber river that induced the first settlers to take up their abodes here, and the convenience of being near water—bad as it is—for stock and domestic purposes. The later generations have kept on living in these dismal, malaria-breeding swamps instead of removing to the beautiful and healthy Albanian and Sabinian Ranges, which is just as inconceivable as that Graftonians built their city on a low flat.

We left Rome on the 7th April, and arrived in the evening at Florence, where by the beautiful sunset we had an opportunity of admiring the landscape. The land through which our rail ran is all highly cultivated, and anybody who says that the Italian worker of the soil is lazy is quite wrong; but the poorly-fed and ill-housed peasantry did not work their own free little farms like my free Saxon countryman on the North Sea shore. All this fine land I am told is owned and given in high rent by the R.C. convents and old feudal aristocratic families.

As the train approaches Florence there stretches away far to the north-east an immense mountain chain, whose south-western slopes are most beautifully cultivated, and dotted by castles, convents, villages, etc. At the foot of this range flows the broad but shallow Arno River, on whose banks Florence (the “town of flowers”) lays, with its clean broad streets, green parks and gardens, homely dwellings, grand shops, proud castles, venerable monuments, majestic domes, and friendly, honest inhabitants—resting as if contemplating on the creations of its great poets, artists, statesmen and philosophers. Our train ran along the dark valley, while the heights of the north-eastern range of the Appenine mountains was still shining in the red and golden glory of the setting sun. Then the dark passages of the railway station, the bright electric lights, the whistle of the locomotive, and the buzz and noise of a big lively town brought us back to our troubles about our small hand-baggage. But soon by cab we rattled along to a neat little room in the Hotel Venice.

The sight-seeing on the following day was soon finished. Although the town is rightly proud of some pictorial, architectural and other treasures, the greatest charm of Florence lays in its situation in a healthful, rich, and highly beautiful landscape. One noble piece of architecture attracts the eye of every visitor. It is the Cathedral of “Santa Maria della Fiore.” This building is of eminent and highly interesting beauty, singular style, and gigantic dimensions. Generally, photographs give to their subjects a more beautiful and pleasant appearance than they really possess, but this grand building excels far any photograph or any other picture we ever saw of it.

As the weather became at last warm, clear, and more pleasant than hitherto, we ventured to go northwards to Venice. We went by the slow-going “omnibus train,” so the journey took us all day. This was quite pleasant for us as we had a good stock of provisions. The first part of the day’s journey along the S.W. slopes and gradually up to the heights of the Appenine Ranges was very beautiful. Along the banks of the Arno River the lands were well tilled wheat fields. The soil is not of best quality, but continual manuring brings the crops to perfection, while the moisture appears to be quite regular. Some of the mountain ranges were cultivated—quite different from the southern parts of Italy—even where ploughing is quite impossible. In many places the wheat fields are laid out in terraces to keep the soil from washing away, and reminded us of the rice-terraces in Ceylon. The white labour in Italy is scarcely better paid than the black labour of Ceylon, but there is a wonderful improvement in the appearance of the farming population in and around Florence to those in Naples and Rome. Here the farm houses are homely and comfortable, and stables and hay ricks abound; while the people do not bear the stamp of the Arabian blood of the south, but show the blue eyes and fair hair of the Goth and Teuton.

After the undulating plains and zig-zagging up the heights of this immense range, we pierced the tops of the Appenines through scores of tunnels. No sooner out of one than in another for many hours. The smallest of these many tunnels would pierce the narrow range between Coff’s Harbour and Coramba, and it would strike the population of our old home with astonishment to find out how short that distance is which they have to travel through slush and muck up and down hills for many weary hours. No matter how high we went in these Appenine mountains everywhere along the line were pretty cultivations of vine, olives, figs, oranges, and vegetables, and always we could see pretty little towns, villages, churches and castles.

When we were over the mountain we came to a great plain, and arrived at Bologna, the changing station to Venice. Here an English-speaking porter told us the Duke of Cambridge would arrive there in a few minutes by train, so we waited and saw his Royal Highness. The Italians never take any notice of royalty, and although the train stayed 15 minutes, very few people were on the platform, and I think we were the only loyal subjects there.

At Padna we remembered the holy Anthonius, who was the pioneer selector and hermit in this dreary muddy flat. But in spite of the low marshy character of these parts we were very sorry that the latter part of our journey to Venice was in the dark, and we could not see the bridge, many miles long, which connects the mud-island whereon this great city is built with the muddy coast of the Adriatic Sea.

Venice, the Queen city of Italy—how beautiful, splendid and charming it is, with its lofty towers, noble and harmonious architecture adorned with mosaic pictures of high art and of immense value; its sparkling ever-flowing waters, immense gondolas, its many grand and tiny canals, with thousands of arched stone bridges, brilliant arcades, and not least, its soft, sunny, balmy climate.

One of the peculiarities of Venice is the total absence of any cab, car, dray, horse, ass, cow, or goat. The great traffic (goods and passengers) is done by noiselessly sliding gondolas and boats. St. Mark’s Place, as well as all the streets, are therefore only for foot passengers, and are kept perfectly clean, there being neither mud nor dust. The people here are also more friendly, polite and sociable. In the great St. Mark’s Place almost every afternoon in the open air an excellent orchestra plays exquisite music, while groups of visiting foreigners, mostly ladies and small children, feed the swarms of tame pigeons, which by thousands inhabit the crevices and eaves in the old towers and churches. These birds are so tame that they settle on the heads, hands, and shoulders of the feeders.

The republic of Venice at the time of the Levant trade—which slowly developed after the Crusades, from India, via Arabia, to Venice, and thence by many caravan roads to Europe—was the heart of the commercial world and possessed, like London at present, enormous riches and influence amongst all other parts of the world. Since the road via the Cape of Good Hope to India has been opened, and the expansion of the trade of England and America, Venice has gradually sunk down, and now has the appearance of an empty beehive. But I am quite convinced that now the Suez Canal is opened the old Levant trade will come slowly to life again, and all the old cities—even Damascus, Jerusalem, and Bagdad—will, like Venice, thrive again; even Nineveh might rise, especially if the Americans get the Nicaragua Canal opened. The fact is that during the last 12 years Venice has made enormous strides towards progress, which is undoubtedly in consequence of the union of all Italy.

We visited the Palace of the Doges (the Doges were the presidents of the old Republic Venezia), situated facing the Grand Canal on one side and St. Mark’s Place on the other. We saw the Bridge of Sighs, where the prisoners were guided to execution or slow perishing under the leaden roofs. We saw the Arsenal, where there is a splendid collection of old galley models, enormous State and war ships, pulled by galley slaves (some by more than 100 oars each pulled by two slaves), who were chained to their seats. The armoury also was very remarkable, especially the gigantic swords used by the ancient Goths, Cimbrians and Teutons; coats of mail of enormous weight, and also many different styles of spears, parriers, and halberds.

The Church of St. Marco also fronts the St. Mark’s Place. It is very richly ornamented inside and outside by copulas, turrets, and mosaic pictures, and is open all day long free for everybody to walk about, sit or kneel, come and go at free will. The mosaic pictures are not painted, but are put together by very small coloured stones or china.

We were quite charmed by the brilliant Venetian glassware. We paid a visit to the Island of Murano, where the proprietor of our hotel, Mr. Testolini, has a manufactory. We were kindly shown all round, and visited also a museum of old Venetian glassware.

The public gardens and the lido (the latter is a long narrow island situated in front of the Grand Canal) are very fashionable visiting places in hot summer time for the Venetians. We visited both places, and although we enjoyed a stroll along the surf of the open Adriatic Sea, we found the weather at this early European spring time rather chilly, and soon returned to the shelter of the walls of the town.

At the Academy of Arts is a collection of art pictures unequalled by any we have yet seen. Masterpieces of enormous value are here to be found executed by Raphael, Fizian, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, and many other Italian painters, also some exquisite works by Dutch and Belgian masters, as Rubens, Ostade and others, but it is to be regretted that the latter were put into the darkest corners. The picture of “A petition to the Doge,” by Bordone, and “The Day of Judgment” and “The Virgin in the Temple,” by Fizian, were our three selected pieces in this gallery.

We concluded our 10 days’ visit by a call at the Museum, where we saw a remarkable old-time woodcut, the Map of old Venice. This enormous woodcut is composed of seven different plates, and prints a gigantic map 5 feet high and 12 feet broad, and is very finely executed. After mounting the Campanile on St. Mark’s Place to a height of 98 meter, we went by gondola on board the Austrian steamer Archduchessa Carlotta. This very comfortable steamer started at 11 o’clock on the 17th April and arrived at Trieste at 6 o’clock in the morning, and we are now comfortably housed at a homely English house, and will start on the 20th of this month for Gratz in Syria.