Foreign Parts
Milan & Bergamo

Foreign Parts.

By H. and F. Rieck.

Bergamo Alto (Italy), 20th May, 1901.

On arrival at fresh places while journeying the landscapes, towns, institutions, etc., are very interesting, and occupy and improve our judgment by comparing with others seen before; while the strange people and their unintelligible language irritates and displeases us. But a longer stay alters this entirely. While we get gradually tired out by seeing the same mountains, forests, lakes, fields, streets, and buildings, even the finest and costliest works of art, we gradually get accustomed, and even befriended, with the surrounding population, and to our own astonishment get acquainted to a certain degree with the foreign language.

Mrs. R. feels severely the parting from our two old Italian hostesses (mother and daughter) here in Bergamo; but as after a stay of 18 days at this good old place we have seen over and over again all streets, places, bastions, palaces, churches, mountains, forests and fields, and—after a week’s moist weather—as the sun now breaks through the clouds again, we have both our steel steeds (bicycles) put in order, and sent our luggage ahead by rail to Locarno, on the Lago Maggiore (South Switzerland), we leave our beautiful sunny rooms here in Bergamo Alto, from whose broad, elevated verandah, close to the steep brink of an alpine promontory, we were able to look far over the wide, flat, fertile, lovely Lombardian plain, and far over our previous domicile the grand and proud but low and moist situated town of Milano.

We left Munich on the 18th of March, 1901, for Brixen (South Tyrol), and went by wheel further south to Bozen, leaving the latter place per wheel for Riva, on the Garda Lake (Lago di Garda), on the 27th March. We took a furnished room in Salo, on the Garda Lake, and left per wheel for Milan on the 12th April.

Milan, via Felice Casati,

29th April, 1901.

After having scaled in wide zig-zags the road up to a pretty high mountain between Salo and Villanuova, we had a beautiful smooth and level run of 60 miles. Soon the lovely shores of the Lago di Garda—with their olive gardens, vineyards, and orange and lemon houses—were far behind, and in two hours we reached the very clean, beautiful and rich little town of Brescia, which is situated outside the alpine ranges in the Lombardian plain. Therefore, instead of olives, oranges, lemons, etc., we saw on the surrounding fields wheat and maize, rape and mulberry trees, the latter for feeding the silkworms. As these plains extend to Milan, over 100 miles, the productions are mostly the same. Near Milan is situated extremely rich grazing land, which is always well worked, manured and drained.

In the lands around the town of Gorgonzola, a few miles east of Milan, are cheese manufactories, where the world-renowned Gorgonzola cheeses are made. They are partly green inside but deliciously rich, nice eating, and contain much cream. We saw here on 12th April, when snow still lay in Munich (on the northern side of the Alps), the farmers cutting the first meadow grass, which was about 12 or 14 inches high, and of a fine and rich-looking description. All the grass lands here are meadows not pasture grounds, as the cattle are constantly kept and fed in the stables. This first mow of grass was not made into hay, but loaded on to drays, to be used, mixed with hay, as food for cattle and horses. Here we heard the larks lustily singing in the air above the grain fields, and in the parks, gardens and bushes around castles and villages the sweet songs of the nightingales. Owing to the extreme severe winter in Europe, the spring is also here very late.

The first day after leaving Salo we rode from 10 to 3 o’clock only, about 64 miles, and stayed at night in the small Italian village Chiari. We supped in real Italian way—soup with maccaroni, vegetables with grated cheese in it, a nice portion of well-cooked kid or goat’s meat, and a liter of splendid wine. For breakfast we had a large basin of hot fresh milk, with bread. We have long given up the Australian mode of eating a heavy meat meal three times a day.

On the following morning we found a great deal of rain had fallen. The roads were heavy, and at mid-day there sprang up a strong head wind; but in spite of everything we ran over 50 miles, but decided not to run into the crowded Milan streets by night, so stayed in a small village four miles out. It must be an unusual sight for the natives of this country to see a female bicyclist, for when we stopped for refreshment or to have a good look round in an inhabited part the children and people of the village would come round us, and stare and pass remarks, but not unfriendly. The Italian country people are very curious, but when they see a friendly face behave very politely and kindly. Women might, in seeing quite unaccustomed, one of her own sex swiftly flitting along, scream, “O, Santa Maria! Madre del Dio, una biciletta feminina!” odar “Brava, brava, signora!”

Owing to the late heavy rain, and also to the rich heavy soil around Milan and the scarcity of roadmaking material, the ways are never very good for bikes, and if it were not for the good footpaths, which are, very generously permitted for bicycles by the Government and the Italian pedestrian, this sport could not be carried on here.

As we ran into the city of Milan early on the Sunday morning, the Customs officers, who stand on all the entrances of Italian towns to collect duty on provisions, called out to Mrs. R., “Signorita! Signorita!” but she was so occupied in threading her way between the enormous traffic of cabs, horse and donkey carts, electric trams, pedestrians, and a caravan of about 30 lady and gentlemen bicyclists and motor carriages going out for a pleasure trip into the country, that she took no heed of the officers, who wanted to look into her mountain rucksack on her back to see if there were any eatables—eggs, butter, cheese, bread, etc. But her husband, who was just behind her on his wheel had to stop and to show the contents of his bag, which luckily contained only bicycle lamps, tools, oil bottle, and a wine flask in form of a giant revolver. As it is forbidden in Italy to carry arms, these officials, thought at the first glance to make a good haul, but as the cork was taken off the muzzle and this funny bottle produced to them, the revolver (amidst the great hilarity of the drinkers) was discharged of some of its contents. In the meantime, Mrs. R., quite unconscious of this delay, ran on about half a mile into the very wide, crowded Milan street Corso Venezia, till she came to a cross road on the Porta Venezia, where she sprang off and saw to her immense terror that she was—surrounded by the noise of a quite strange language and a very large street crowd—without money and without husband! She really thought she had lost him, as she had to wait for a long time till he came up with her again.

We were surprised to find Milan such a large city. It has about 330,000 inhabitants, beautiful broad streets, bordered to a large extent by palaces, some out of the earliest times of the history of this venerable country, and there are amongst the antique, grim fortification works highly beautiful public gardens, which reminded us of the Adelaide botanic gardens. There are also in this far extended city very narrow, unhomely lanes, but all streets, places and lanes are decidedly clean. Here begging, the great nuisance of many Italian towns and districts, is in the northern part of the Kingdom severely forbidden.

In Milan is the most beautiful church of the whole world—one of the “wonders of the world.” It is built of the finest white marble, and has thousands of most beautifully sculptured towers, and on the top of each a beautifully sculptured figure of an apostle, saint or martyr. Mr. R. writes; Mrs. R. writes: “My husband says it resembles a giant wedding-cake, but the sight of this dome at first almost took my breath away. Like a cake is overcrawled by ants, this dome, every wrinkle of its roof, rooflets, and tower is overcrawled by globetrotters of all nationalities of the world, and we both followed suit, looked at all parts of this ‘miracle,’ in and out, underneath, and on all parts of the roof. We ascended the enormously long narrow winding staircase around a frail-looking marble pillar, to the highest point of the highest of the many towers up to a height of 400 feet above the pavement.” We had a clear view of the far-stretching southern Lombardian plain, and towards north of the Switzer Alps, covered with eternal ice and snow. We could see the immense peaks of the Montblanc, Monte Rosa, Finsterrehorn, Jungfrau, and other mountains. The dome occupies a central position in the town, and on the opposite side of the Piazza del Duomo stands one of the finest arcades in Europe, roofed at an enormous height by glass, and it has in its centre, from where in form of a + galleries run off, a magnificent dome. All the galleries are occupied by most brilliant show rooms containing all possible articles from all countries of the globe, grand cafes, and A1 restaurants. In this gallery the “fine” world, in both sexes and all possible artistic poses, carry their new hats, shawls, toggery, wigs, mustaduos, walking-sticks, umbrellas, fans, cigar-holders, dogs, children, etc., about to see and to be seen. Mrs. R. writes: “Nowhere have I noticed such modern elegance and richness in dress. The ladies possessed good figures. Silk and satin are manufactured everywhere in this country; therefore, it is not too dear.”

The inner city of Milan was once fortified, and the grim old bastions are partly left, and some fine new ornamental gates have been built. The most beautiful is the one built by Napoleon Bonaparte I.—a triumphal arch built entirely of white sculptured marble, in the old Roman style, with Corinthian columns. High up on top is a bronze chariot, with six prancing horses, and other bronze statues. Near by is an enormous arena, built also by Napoleon I., which, similar to the Coliseum in Rome, has, in open air, sitting room for 30,000 people. This arena is in a splendid state of preservation, but it is seldom used.

We visited the many picture galleries, especially that in the celebrated Brera Palace, which contains a valuable collection of originals and copies of masterpieces, mostly of the old Italian, German and Flemish schools. The most valuable piece in this collection is a large original painting by Raphael Sancio, “La Sposalizio” (the marriage of Mary with Joseph). It is said this picture has a value of nearly £100,000, but to tell the truth we did not admire it so much as many others found there.

Milan is a very proud city; but, like many other proud cities, it lays very low on a damp, unhealthy flat, and has not the best of drainage. Therefore, the atmosphere is close and unhealthy. After a few days’ rain all leather, etc., even our boots, turn white and mouldy, and everything of iron or steel rusts quickly. Fine weather allowed us to run out to the mountains and lakes towards the north.

We left Milan on 2nd May, and went first to Como on the Como Lake, a distance of 50 miles, with a stony, slow rise of 250 feet, which we reached after many rests in 6 hours. Como has a population of 26,000, but is so closely jammed together in a little valley that one has no view of anything, and as the lake makes only a small bend on to Como, only a very small sheet of water is to be seen along a short shore, and on this short quay are enormously grand hotels, princely pensionats, etc., filled with a melancholy, sickly, unhomely, proud population, that we felt somewhat disappointed. We left our wheels in an inn, and looked the whole town and country through in a few hours. After a good supper and a sound sleep we rode on the following morning out to Lecco to another part of this big lake; and then—on an exceedingly pretty road on the lake, and along the northern mountains, in enormous zig-zag cuttings, over ancient stone bridges, spanning foaming mountain torrents, in enormous heights—to this town of Bergamo, where we arrived in the evening of the 3rd May.

Bergamo is a very fine and strongly fortified ancient town. The citadel (Bergamo alto) is built on a high solitary hill, not unlike the Monksberg, near Salzburg, as described in our former letter. It is surrounded by perpendicular, enormous high walls. A cable-tram (in Italian called Funiculare) brings passengers and goods up from the lower town to a height of about 400 feet. The houses in the fortified (but at present entirely disarmed) parts are packed closely together, and are of great height, and the streets are narrow and crooked. Therefore, we endeavoured and succeeded in getting a room on the brink of the height, overlooking towards the south the lower town (Bergama basso) and the whole plain. Our room has a very broad verandah and on the sunny side a wonderful far-stretching view of the fertile, perfectly and thickly cultivated country, and a big modern laid out town to our feet. But our wheels (except for a few excursions in some renowned valleys) have been laid by to rest after their labours; for to ride up and down the steep inclines to Upper Bergamo is almost impossible.

The two notable things in Bergamo are (1) an ancient church and dome, and (2) the picture gallery, called Academia Cavara. Unlike the dome in Milan, the outside of the Bergamo dome is, however elaborate, rather repulsively overloaded, like the Buddhist temples of India, with somewhat childish ornaments. But for its extreme old age this dome has a great value, in spite of the angels on horseback. The inside of this ancient Christian temple has such a wealth of adornments in highly artistic execution as to be reckoned only in hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling. The ceilings are a mass of wonderful oil paintings and sculptures in white polished marble and gold, and the walls are draped with old silk goblin tapestry, resembling coloured paintings, but all executed in finest silk embroidery. Some, although in brilliant colours, are 400 years old. Around the altars are many large and small pictures in laid wood mosaic, the perspectives, lights and shades being wonderfully done. These highly valuable fine mosaics are always kept under lock and key, and only shown by the caretaker of the church.

The world-celebrated composer of music, Donizetti, and the poet of old, Torquato Tasso, are natives of Bergamo, and therefore their monuments are erected in the dome and elsewhere. Also the old warrior Garibaldi stands in marble on the forum of Bergamo. In his company are several brass lions, one of which has a crushed German war helmet under his claw, whereon the name of Dijon is engraved, hinting thereby at a deplorably vanquished attempt, of which Garibaldi and all Italy ought to be ashamed, to assist the French in 1870-71 against Germany by Garibaldi’s undisciplined hordes against that power, by which—not only in 1866 as an ally against Austria—the province of Venetia, but also in 1870-71, Rome and Romagna (which is since then in the hands of France) fell back into the possession of United Italy again.

The celebrated picture gallery of Bergama, the Academia Carara, is well worth a visit. For this comparatively small town (41,000 population) of Bergamo this gallery has a remarkable collection of ancient and modern pictures. Originals and copies of Raphael, Michael Angelo, Fizian, Rubens, Van Dyk, Holbein, Durer, etc., from the Venetian, Bologna, and other old Italian, as well as from old German and Flemish schools, and some modern pictures are there. One picture we noticed particularly, as it is painted by the Dowager Empress Frederick of Germany, the mother of Emperor William II. We could not make out the meaning of the subject, which appeared to us not to be a happy one. On the left side is a crucifix and a skull, and on the right is represented a book with a rosary hanging over it. It is painted in the “still life style,” so often depicted also by our modern Australian amateur artists in imitation of a modern “fad” chosen by the leaders of fashion in England. We could not get a clear understanding what the subject of this oil-painting meant, but it had a very dreary monastic, almost ultra-Catholic, appearance.

The most flourishing parts around Bergamo are the valleys Seriana and Brembana, where rivers flow towards the former out of the Iseo Lake (Lago d’Iseo). In these valleys the waters are easily led into canals, and utilised all the valleys through by their fall to drive machinery. Here, as everywhere where labour is cheap, many enterprising Germans have businesses of their own, or are employed as managers and engineers. Here are wool and silk factories, tanneries, paper mills, vinegar, and other chemical factories, and also beer is brewed in large establishments; but owing to such enormous quantities of splendid, pure, and cheap wine being made and consumed, the beer will have to fight a hard struggle till it is drunk in such quantities as in the countries north of the Alps, where the good, healthy, and cheap beer has victoriously beaten almost entirely out of the field the fiendish and nation-destroying habit of the consumption of distilled liquor. It is only since the new railway was built from Bergamo to Iseo that these many manufactories and lots of splendid country villages have sprung up hereabouts like mushrooms alongside of the dark, almost in Arabian style built Italian villages, and the electric light shines wonderingly down upon the palanta, garlic, frogs, and snail consuming old Italians. This electric light gives also an interesting contrast to the dreary oil lamps in front of the many “miracle-acting” pictures of saints and other carved images, etc., before which the priest-ridden country folks here kneel for long hours upon the cold stone flooring, thereby contracting rheumatic and other sufferings.