pass over Mont Cenis, or roadway between Piedmont and Savoy, the highest point 11,570 feet above sea level. The pass was an old unused road, and dangerous on account of brigands and bandittis. Bonaparte, be it said to his credit, in 1803, spent £300,000 in repairing it, and it was here the great Napoleon III. sent his troops into Italy against Austria in 1859. The tunnel is about eight miles in length. To make it was a work of almost superhuman labour and skill. It was commenced by two sets of men, one on the Italian side and one set on the French side, in the year 1857; and so exact had been the calculations made, that when the men met in the middle, they were not a single foot out of their calculations. The cost was nearly £3,000,000, and quite a number of valuable lives. Now, both for business and pleasure, a way has been opened to the sunny south. We settled in our respective corners as we pierced this great mountain, and gave ourselves up to reflection. The great train thundered on, and silence largely held us all in its thrall. The half-hour in going through Mont Cenis seemed almost half-a-day. At last we emerged into the day light, and into the glorious sunshine of sunny Italy, with its vine-clad hills, and its serene and sunny sky—“Land of all lands the pride,” leaving behind us the Alpine heights (to revisit them on our return). We were running for Turin. We found we had no buffet on the train, and as we had not laid in a stock of refreshments, we began to feel the cravings of nature, and we began to wonder how they were to be satisfied. We ultimately pulled up at Turin; how long we were to stop I did not know, and I could not ask, for now it was beyond my bit of French. I said to my dear wife, here goes, we must have bread or starve: if the train leaves before I return to you—well, good-bye! But I will do my best to be back in a few minutes and before the train leaves. Without hat I rushed down the platform looking for a buffet, right at the bottom of a long platform I saw the word buffet. I darted in, threw down a lire, and picked up two rolls of bread worth about twopence each, also some fruit worth about as much. I seized these and hurried back to the carriage, passengers and people looking on and the waiters seemed to think I must be an escaped lunatic. Well! I reached our carriage just as the train was moving out. What would have happened if I had been left behind I do not care to think. “All’s well that ends well.” So we got at least something that would keep soul and body together until we could get a proper meal. We had decided to stop at Genoa, but my wife said “well, now Nurse is going right through to Rome, let us keep her company.” So we decided not to remain at Genoa, but to go right through; that meant twenty-four hours in the train. As we were approaching Genoa we could see lovely vine-clad slopes, also the hills, the rivers and lakes, the landscapes, lovely beyond my power to describe.
Genoa is a very fine city. I felt I could say of it as is said of the City of Jerusalem. Beautiful for situation is Genoa. Here we found we should have time for dinner; twenty minutes being allowed. We left our carriage—now I had two nurses to take care of—we had to go under some arches, and across several platforms, to get to the buffet; this took us five minutes out of the twenty. We found, to our extreme satisfaction, a table-de-hote fully set out. Soup was laid out and waiting; waiters plenty. No sooner one course was over, another was before us—chicken, fish, saddle of mutton, pastry, ices, and more than we needed—so that in ten minutes we had well satisfied the inner man. Cigars were lying on the counter, and each passenger having dinner just helped himself, also to as much fruit as we could conveniently take. We were also helping ourselves to Post Cards but these, we were reminded, we must pay for as extra. So we scampered back with all speed. Never, I think, did a dinner of eight courses disappear so quickly. We had no time to explore the town, and we could only get glimpses of it from the train going in. It is called “le Superb.” Has some of the finest churches in Italy; is also a city of Commerce, of Shipping. It is a garrisoned city, and has fortifications considered impregnable. It is a city of palaces. Also has a picture gallery containing some fine paintings by the old masters, one by Guercino, in the very best colouring, “Virgin and Child.” This has been a favourite subject of the Artists, as both in oils and in marble and stone, this subject is prominent. “The Flight into Egypt” is another favourite. These, however, we had not the pleasure of seeing, so we could only have the pleasure of knowing we had been near them. We left Genoa about 9 p.m.; it was quite dark, and so sultry we could hardly bear the heat of the atmosphere. We hutched up into our corners to try to sleep, but with the rattle of the train, the screams of the baby, and the impatience of the mother, we could not sleep, at least I could not. I think my wife got a little sleep. So did the nurse, our travelling companion. Before midnight, there broke over us a thunder storm. The lightning was so vivid I could clearly see the objects we passed, and it continued for several hours. We passed the leaning tower of Pisa before daylight broke in upon us, we were also getting too tired to enjoy the look out when the day broke.
As we sped on we expected to see the City of Rome about 10 a.m. At last the vision burst upon our view. Rome at last. Yes, certainly, there is the proud City. Its towers, spires and domes, and minarets, all glistening in the morning sun. The monuments and ruins of this city still standing testifies to the greatness of its past history. The gigantic Colosseum to the humblest of ruins, everything in Rome is eloquent in the language of history. We soon hunted up our luggage, and made our way out of the carriage to the platform. After a few words with our companion, the Nurse, we separated. She was expecting to be met, and we were anxious to get to our hotel. This time we had chosen the “Grand Hotel Continental,” and finding their ’bus at the station we were soon conveyed to our destination.
The hotel was certainly of a high-class order, and very extensive. The grand saloon for dining was most costly furnished. Mirrors and paintings on the walls gave brilliancy and attractiveness to the scene. The lecture room, the smoke room, the reading room, were all most luxuriantly fitted up. The bed rooms also were sweet and clean. Abundance of lavatories, bathrooms, lifts, etc., make the place a comfortable home from home. After having fixed our number (I mean the number of our bed room, this was always our first business at a fresh hotel) we had breakfast, then a bath, for we had no opportunity of even a good wash since leaving Chambery twenty-four hours ago. We were needing it badly. An ample supply of hot water for the bath, towels ready to hand, soap we carried with us. We thought it strange, but we found it true, the hotels don’t find soap. This reminds me of Mark Twain’s position when in Italy, in his “Innocents Abroad.” He says, “We have had a bath in Milan, in a public house. They were going to put all three of us in one bath tub, but we objected. We chose to have three tubs, and large ones—tubs suited to the dignity of aristocrats who had real estate, and brought it with them. After we were stripped and had taken the first chilly dash, we discovered that haunting atrocity that has embittered our lives in so many cities and villages of Italy, there was no soap. I called. A woman answered and I barely had time to throw myself against the door, before she would have been in, in another second. I said, ‘Beware, woman! Go away from here—go away, now, or it will be worse for you. I am an unprotected male, but I will preserve my honour at the peril of my life.’” We had a good bath, then to bed for a few hours, as we had had hardly any sleep in the train. We rose about 2.30 p.m. refreshed, and after lunch we prepared for a stroll or ride to see the sights of this wonderful city. We soon found it is a wonderful city. The ancient and the modern are seen at almost every point. And yet you seem to feel there is no jar on your taste or feeling.
CHAPTER V
Visit to the Forum and the Colosseum: Crossing the Tiber: Castle of St. Angelo: Palace of Justice: Trajan’s Column: Garibaldi’s Monument: The Appian Way: St. Peter’s: Its magnitude and magnificence: Michael Angelo’s work.
Our first visit was to the Colosseum. Among the many sights of Rome none give us a better idea of its ancient civilisation than the Forum and the Colosseum. The heart of the great Roman Empire throbbed in the Forum. Here was, at one time, the Senate, the market, the courts, indeed, it was the very centre of the life of Rome. As we gazed upon the ruins, the vast marble columns, still standing, its broken arches, and gables in ruins, it needed no great stretch of the imagination to fancy we were back to the palmy days of Rome, and the Forum is ringing with the cheers of the vast populace who have sat under Cicero’s
