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FLORENCE

AND NORTHERN TUSCANY
WITH GENOA



WORKS BY EDWARD HUTTON

Uniform with this Volume

The Cities of Romagna and the Marches

The Cities of Umbria

The Cities of Lombardy

The Cities of Spain

Siena and Southern Tuscany

Rome

Venice and Venetia

ALSO

In Unknown Tuscany. Illustrated in Colour.
Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d. net

The Book of the Wye. Illustrated in Colour.

Demy 8vo, 7s. 6d. net
Country Walks about Florence. Illustrated

with Line Drawings. Fcap. 8vo, 5s. net



":. •• •!




FROM THE UFFIZI



FLORENCE

AND NORTHERN TUSCANY
WITH GENOA

BY

EDWARD HUTTON



O rosa delle rose, O rosa bella,
Per te non dormo nh notte ne giorno,
E sempre penso alia tua faccia bella,
AUe grazie che hai, faccio ritorno.
Faccio ritorno alle grazie che hai :
Ch'io ti lasci, amor mio, non creder mai.



WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY

WILLIAM PARKINSON

AND SIXTEEN OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS



THIRD ED'TION



METHUEN & CO. LTD.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

LONDON



^^






First Published .


. October /go^


Second Edition


. February igog


Third Edition .


/914



TO

MY FRIEND

WILLIAM HEYWOOD



dCiA'yAQ^



CONTENTS



I. GENOA ....

II. ON THE WAY

III. PORTO VENERE

IV. SARZANA AND LUNA
V. CARRARA, MASS A DUCALE, TIETRASANTA, VIAREGGIO

VI. PISA ....

VII. LIVORNO ....

VIII. TO SAN MINIATO AL TEDESCO

IX. EMPOLI, MONTELUPO, LASTRA, SIGNA

X. FLORENCE ....

XI. PIAZZA BELLA SIGNORIA AND PALAZZO VECCHIO

XII. THE BAPTISTERY — THE DUOMO— THE CAMPANILE— TH
OPERA DEL DUOMO ....

XIII. OR SAN MICHELE .....

XIV. PALAZZO RICCARDI, AND THE RISE OF THE MEDICI
XV. SAN MARCO AND SAVONAROLA

XVI. SANTA MARIA NOVELLA ....

XVII. SANTA CROCE .....

XVIII. SAN LORENZO ......

XIX. CHURCHES NORTH OF ARNO .

XX. oltr'arno ......

vii



41

54
57
65
77
129

134
142

150
161

169

185
194
206
219
228

239
249
264



viii FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY



CHAP.

XXI. THE BARGELLO

XXII. THE ACCADEMIA

XXIII. THE UFFIZI

XXIV. THE PITTI GALLERY
XXV. FIESOLE AND SETTIGNANO

XXVI. VALLOMBROSA AND THE CASENTINO

XXVII. PRATO ....

XXVIII. PISTOJA ....

XXIX. LUCCA ....

XXX. OVER THE GARFAGNANA .



276
298
310

360
385

393
404

423



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS



IN COLOUR








VIEW FROM THE UFFIZI




, Frontispiece


ON THE ROAD . . . .




Facing page 44


BADIA A SEiriMO . . . .






„ 146


PONTE VECCHIO






» 156


LOGGIA DE' LANZI . . . .






162


PIAZZA DEL DUOMO .






170


OR SAN MICHELE






. „ 186


THE FLOWER MARKET, FLORENCE .






. „ 196


CHIOSTRO DI S. MARCO






206


S. MARIA NOVELLA .






„ 220


OGNISSANTI ....






. ,, 250


VIA GUICCIARDINI .






. '.'. 254


PONTE VECCHIO






. „ 264


THE BOBOLI GARDENS






. „ 270


COSTA DI S. GIORGIO






. n 348


OUTSIDE THE GATE .






. M 356



IN MONOTONE

PORTO VENERE ,,..,,

PISA ........

WAX MODEL FOR THE PERSEUS IN THE BARGELLO,
BENVENUTO CELLINI .....



54
78

166



X FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

THE MADONNA DELLA CINTOLA, BY NANNI DI BANCO,

DUOMO, FLORENCE .... Facing page i8o

SINGING BOYS FROM THE CANTORIA OF LUCA DELLA

ROBBIA, OPERA DEL DUOMO, FLORENCE . . ,, 182

THE CRUCIFIXION, BY FRA ANGELICO, S. MARCO, FLORENCE ,, 2IO

ST. JOHN THE DIVINE, BY DONATELLO, DUOMO, FLORENCE „ 284

THE LADY WITH THE NOSEGAY (VANNA TORNABUONi), IN

THE BARGELLO, BY ANDREA VERROCCHIO . ■ ,, 292

" LA NOTTE," FROM TOMB OF GIULIANO DE' MEDICI,

by michelangelo . . . . • „ 296

the adoration of the shepherds, by domenico

ghirlandajo, accademia . . . . »> 302

the three graces, from the primavera, by sandro

BOTTICELLI, ACCADEMIA . . . • n 30S

THE BIRTH OF VENUS, BY SANDRO BOTTICELLI, UFFIZI

GALLERY . . . . . • „ 316

THE ANNUNCIATION, BY ANDREA VERROCCHIO, UFFIZI

GALLERY . . . . . .,,318

PIETX, BY FRA BARTOLOMMEO, PITTI GALLERY . . ,, 33S

THE TOMB OF ILARIA DEL CARETTO, BY JACOPO DKLLA

QUERCIA, DUOMO, LUCCA . . . • >» 412

THE TOMB OF THE MARTYR S. ROMANO IN S. ROMANO,

LUCCA, BY MATTEO CIVITALI , . . . „ 418



FLORENCE AND NORTHERN
TUSCANY



GENOA
I

THE traveller who on his way to Italy passes along the
Riviera di Ponente, through Marseilles, Nice, and
Mentone to Ventimiglia, or crossing the Alps touches Italian
soil, though scarcely Italy indeed, at Turin, on coming to
Genoa finds himself really at last in the South, the true South,
of which Genoa la Superba is the gate, her narrow streets,
the various life of her port, her picturesque colour and dirt,
her immense palaces of precious marbles, her oranges and
pomegranates and lemons, her armsful of children, and above
all the sun, which lends an eternal gladness to all these
characteristic or delightful things, telling him at once that the
North is far behind, that even Cisalpine Gaul is crossed and
done with, and that here at last by the waves of that old and
great sea is the true Italy, that beloved and ancient land to
which we owe almost everything that is precious and valuable
in our lives, and in which still, if we be young, we may find all
our dreams. What to us are the weary miles of Eastern
France if we come by road, the dreadful tunnels full of despair
and filth if we come by rail, now that we have at last returned
to her, or best of all, perhaps, found her for the first time in
I



2 FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

the spring at twenty-one or so, like a fair woman forlorn upon
the mountains, the Ariadne of our race who placed in our
hand the golden thread that led us out of the cavern of the
savage to the sunlight and to her. But though, indeed, I
think all this may be clearer to those who come to her in
their first youth by the long white roads with a song on
their lips and a dream in their hearts — for the song is
drowned by the iron wheels that doubtless have their own
music, and the dream is apt to escape in the horror of the
night imprisoned with your fellows ; still, as we are so quick
to assure ourselves, there are other ways of coming to Italy
than on foot : in a motor-car, for instance, our own modern
way, ah ! so much better than the train, and truly almost as
good as walking. For there is the start in the early morn-
ing, the sweet fresh air of the fields and the hills, the long
halt at midday at the old inn, or best of all by the road-
side, the afternoon full of serenity, that gradually passes into
excitement and eager expectancy as you approach some
unknown town ; and every night you sleep in a new place,
and every morning the joy of the wanderer is yours. You
never "find yourself" in any city, having won to it through
many adventures, nor ever are you too far away from the
place you lay at on the night before. And so, as you pass
on and on and on, till the road which at first had entranced
you, wearies you, terrifies you, relentlessly opening before
you in a monstrous white vista, and you who began by
thinking little of distance find, as I have done, that only the
roads are endless, even for you too the endless way must stop
when it comes to the sea ; and there you have won at last to
Italy, at Genoa.

If you come by Ventimiglia, starting early, all the afternoon
that white vision will rise before you like some heavenly city,
very pure and full of light, beckoning you even from a long
way off across innumerable and lovely bays, splendid upon
the sea. While if you come from Turin, it is only at sun-
set you will see her, suddenly in a cleft of the mountains,
the sun just gilding the Pharos before night comes over the



GENOA 3

sea, opening like some great flower full of coolness and
fragrance.

It was by sea that John Evelyn came to Genoa after many
adventures ; and though we must be content to forego much
of the surprise and romance of an advent such as that, yet
for us too there remain many wonderful things which we may
share with him. The waking at dawn, for instance, for the
first time in the South, with the noise in our ears of the bells
of the mules carrying merchandise to and from the ships in
the Porto ) the sudden delight that we had not felt or
realised, weary as we were on the night before, at finding
ourselves really at last in the way of such things, the shouting
of the muleteers, the songs of the sailors getting their ships
in gear for the seas, the blaze of sunlight, the pleasant heat,
the sense of everlasting summer. These things, and so much
more than these, abide for ever; the splendour of that
ancient sea, the gesture of the everlasting mountains, the
calmness, joy, and serenity of the soft sky.

Something like this is what I always feel on coming to that
proud city of palaces, a sort of assurance, a spirit of delight.
And in spite of all Tennyson may have thought to say, for me
it is not the North but the South that is bright " and true and
tender." For in the North the sky is seldom seen and is
full of clouds, while here it stretches up to God. And then,
the South has been true to all her ancient faiths and works,
to the Catholic religion, for instance, and to agriculture, the
old labour of the corn and the wine and the oil, while we are
gone after Luther and what he leads to, and, forsaking the
fields, have taken to minding machines.

And so, in some dim way I cannot explain, to come to
Italy is like coming home, as though after a long journey
one were to come suddenly upon one's mistress at a corner
of the lane in a shady place.

It is perhaps with some such joy in the heart as this that
the fortunate traveller will come to Genoa the Proud, by the
sea, lying on the bosom of the mountains, whiter than the foam
of her waves, the beautiful gate of Italy.



4 FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

II

The history of Genoa, its proud and adventurous story, is
almost wholly a tale of the sea, full of mystery, cruelty, and
beauty, a legend of sea power, a romance of ships. It is
a narrative in which sailors, half merchants, half pirates,
adventurers every one, put out from the city and return laden
with all sorts of spoil, — gold from Africa, slaves from Tunis
or Morocco, the booty of the Crusades ; with here the vessel
of the Holy Grail bought at a great price, there the stolen dust
of a great Saint.

This spirit of adventure, which established the power of
Genoa in the East, which crushed Pisa and almost overcame
Venice, was held in check and controlled by the spirit of gain,
the dream of the merchant, so that Columbus, the very genius
of adventure almost without an after-thought, though a Geno-
ese, was not encouraged, was indeed laughed at ; and Genoa,
splendid in adventure but working only for gain, unable on
this account to establish any permanent colony, losing
gradually all her possessions, threw to the Spaniard the
dominion of the New World, just because she was not worthy
of it. Men have called her Genoa the Proud, and indeed
who, looking on her from the sea or the sea-shore, will ever
question her title ? — but the truth is, that she was not proud
enough. She trusted in riches ; for her, glory was of no
account if gold were not added to it. If she entered the first
Crusade as a Christian, it was really her one disinterested
action ; and all the world acknowledged her valour and her
contrivance which won Jerusalem. But in the second
Crusade, as in the next, she no longer thought of glory or of
the Tomb of Jesus, she was intent on money ; and since in
that stony place but little booty could be hoped for, she set
herself to spoil the Christian, to provide him at a price with
ships, with provender, with the means of realising his dream,
a dream at which she could afford to laugh, secure as she was
in the possession of this world's goods. Then, when in the
thirteenth century those vast multitudes of soldiers, monks,



GENOA 5

dreamers, beggars, and adventurers came to her, the port for
Palestine, clamouring for transports, she was sceptical and
even scornful of them, but willing to give them what they
demanded, not for the love of God but for a price. Even that
beautiful and mysterious army of children which came to
her from France and Germany in 121 2 seeking Jesus, she
could hold in contempt till, weary at last of feeding them, she
found the galleys they demanded, and in the loneliness of the
sea betrayed them and sold them for gold as slaves to the Arabs,
so that of the seven thousand boys and girls led by a lad of
thirteen who came at the bidding of a voice to Genoa, not
one ever returned, nor do we hear anything further concerning
them but the rumour of their fate.

Thus Genoa appears to us of old and now, too, as a city of
merchants. She crushed Pisa lest Pisa should become richer
than herself; she went out against the Moors for Castile
because of a whisper of the booty ; she sought to overthrow
Venice because she competed with her trade in the East ; and
to-day if she could she would fill up the harbour of Savona
with stones, as she did in the sixteenth century, because
Savona takes part of her trade from her. What Philip of Spain
did for God's sake, what Visconti did for power, what Cesare
Borgia did for glory, Genoa has done for gold. She is a
merchant adventurer. Her true work was the Bank of St.
George. One of the most glorious and splendid cities of Italy,
she is, almost alone in that home of humanism, without a
school of art or a poet or even a philosopher. Her heroes
are the great admirals, and adventurers — Spinola, Doria,
Grimaldi, Fieschi, men whose names linger in many a ruined
castle along the coast who of old met piracy with piracy.
Even to-day a Grimaldi spoils Europe at Monaco, as his
ancestors did of old.

One saint certainly of her own stock she may claim, St.
Catherine Adorni, born in 1447. But the Renaissance passed
her by, giving her, it is true, by the hands of an alien, the
streets of splendid palaces we know, but neither churches nor
pictures ; such paintings as she possesses being the sixteenth



6 FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

century work of foreigners, Rubens, Vandyck, Ribera,
Sanchez Coello, and maybe Velasquez.

Yet barren though she is in art, at least Genoa has ever
been fulfilled with life. If her aim was riches she attained
it, and produced much that was worth having by the way.
Without the appeal of Florence or Siena or Venice or Rome,
she is to-day, when they are passed away into dreams or have
become little more than museums, what she has ever been,
a city of business, the greatest port in the Mediterranean, a
city full of various life, — here a touch of the East, there a
whisper of the West, a busy, brutal, picturesque city, beauty
growing up as it does in London, suddenly for a moment out
of the life of the place, not made or contrived as in Paris or
Florence, but naturally, a living thing, shy and evanescent.
Here poverty and riches jostle one another side by
side as they do in life, and are antagonistic and hate one
another. Yet Genoa, alone of all the cities of Italy
proper is living to-day, living the life of to-day, and
with all her glorious past she is as much a city of the
twentieth century as of any other period of history. For,
while others have gone after dreams and attained them and
passed away, she has clung to life, and the god of this world
was ever hers. She has made to herself friends of the
mammon of unrighteousness, and they have remained faithful
to her. Her ports grow and multiply, her trade increases, still
she heaps up riches, and if she cannot tell who shall gather
them, at least she is true to herself and is not dependent on
the stranger or the tourist. The artist, it is said, is something
of a daughter of joy, and in thinking of Florence or Venice,
which live on the pleasure of the stranger, we may find the
truth of a saying so obvious. Well, Genoa was never an
artist. She was a leader, a merchant, with fleets, with argosies,
with far-flung companies of adventure. Through her gates
passed the silks and porcelains of the East, the gold of
Africa, the slaves and fair women, the booty and loot of life,
the trade of the world. This is her secret. She is living
among the dead, who may or may not awaken.



GENOA 7

If you are surprised in her streets by the greatness of old
things, it is only to find yourself face to face with the new.
People, tourists do not linger in her ways — they pass on to
Pisa. Genoa has too little to show them, and too much. She
is not a museum, she is a city, a city of life and death and
the business of the world. You will never love her as you
will love Pisa or Siena or Rome or Florence, or almost any
other city of Italy. We do not love the living as we love
the dead. They press upon us and contend with us, and are
beautiful and again ugly and mediocre and heroic, all between
two heart beats; but the dead ask only our love. Genoa
has never asked it, and never will. She is one of us, her
future is hidden from her, and into her mystery none has
dared to look. She is like a symphony of modern music,
full of immense gradual crescendos, gradual diminuendos,
unknown to the old masters. Only Rome, and that but
seldom, breathes with her life. But through the music of her
life, so modern, so full of a sort of whining and despair in
which no great resolution or heroic notes ever come, there
winds an old-world melody, softly, softly, full of the sun, full
of the sea, that is always the same, mysterious, ambiguous,
full of promises, at her feet.

Ill

The gate of Italy, I said in speaking of her, and indeed it is
one of the derivations of her name Genoa, — Janua the gate,
founded, as the fourteenth-century inscription in the Duomo
asserts, by Janus, a Trojan prince skilled in astrology, who,
while seeking a healthy and safe place for his dwelling, sailed
by chance into this bay, where was a little city founded by
Janus, King of Italy, a great-grandson of Noah, and finding
the place such as he wished, he gave it his name and his
power. Now, whether the great-grandson of Noah was truly
the original founder of the city, or Janus the Trojan, or another,
it is certainly older than the Christian religion, so that some
have thought that Janus, that old god who once presided at



8 FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

the beginning of all noble things, was the divine originator of
this city also. And remembering the sun that continually
makes Genoa to seem all of precious stone, of moonstone or
alabaster, it seems indeed likely enough, for Janus was
worshipped of old as the sun, he opened the year too, and the
first month bears his name ; and while on earth he was the
guardian deity of gates, in heaven he was porter, and his sign
was a ship ; therefore he may well have taken to himself the
city of ships, the gateway of Italy, Genoa.

And through that gate what beautiful, terrible, and
mysterious things have passed into oblivion ; Saints who
have perhaps seen the very face of Jesus ; legions strong in
the everlasting name of Caesar, that have lost themselves in
the fastnesses of the North ; sailors mad with the song of the
sirens. On her quays burned the futile enthusiasm of the
Middle Age, that coveted the Holy City and was overwhelmed
in the desert. Through her streets surged Crusade after
Crusade, companies of adventure, lonely hermits drunken
with silence, immense armies of dreamers, the chivalry of
Europe, a host of little children. On her ramparts Columbus
dreamed, and in her seas he fought with the Tunisian galleys
before he set sail westward for El Dorado. And here
Andrea Doria beat the Turks and blockaded his own city and
set her free ; and S. Catherine Adorni, weary of the ways of
the world, watched the galleons come out of the west, and
prayed to God, and saw the wind over the sea. O beautiful
and mysterious armies, O little children from afar, and thou
whose adventurous name married our world, what cities have
you taken, what new love have you found, what seas have
your ships furrowed ; whither have you fled away when Genoa
was so fair?

It was about the year 50 when St. Nazarus and St. Celsus,
fleeing from the terror of Nero, landed not far away to the
east at Albaro, bringing with them the new religion. A lane
leading down to the sea still bears the name of one of them,
and, strangely as we may think, a ruined church marks the



GENOA 9

spot, crowning the rock above the place, where a Temple of
Venus once stood. Yet perhaps the earliest remnant of old
Genoa is to be found in the Church of S. Sisto in the Via di
Prb, standing as it does on the very stones of a church raised
to the Pope and martyr of that name in 260. In the journey
which Pope Sixtus made to Genoa he is said to have been
accompanied by St. Laurence, and it is probable that a church
was built not much later to him also on the site of the
Duomo. However this may be, Genoa appears to have been
passionately Christian, for the first authority we hear of is
that of the Bishops, to whom she seems to have submitted
herself enthusiastically, installing them in the old castello in
that the most ancient part of the city around Piazza Sarzano
and S. Maria di Castello. This castello, destroyed in the
quarrels of Guelph and Ghibelline, as some have thought,
may be found in the hall-mark of the silver vessels made
here under the Republic. Very few are the remnants that
have come down to us from the time of the Bishops.. An
inscription, however, on a house in Via S. Luca close to S.
Siro remains, telling how in the year 580 S. Siro destroyed
the serpent Basilisk. In the church itself a seventeenth-
century fresco commemorates this monstrous deed.

Of the Lombard dominion something more is left to us ;
the story at least of the passing of the dust of St. Augustine.
It seems that at the beginning of the sixth century these
sacred ashes had been brought from Africa to Cagliari to
save them from the Vandals. For more than two hundred
years they remained at Cagliari, when, the Saracens taking the
place, Luitprand, the Lombard king, remembering S. Ambrogio
and Milan, ransomed them for a great price and had them
brought in 725 to Genoa, where they were shown to the
people for many days. Luitprand himself came to Genoa
to meet them and placed them in a silver urn, discovered at
Pavia in 1695, and carried them in state across the Apennines.
Some of the beautiful Lombard towers, such as S. Stefano
and S. Agostino, where the ashes are said to have been
exposed, remind us perhaps more nearly of the Lombard



10 FLORENCE AND NORTHERN TUSCANY

dominion. Then came Charlemagne and his knights and the
great quarrel. But though Genoa now belonged to the Holy
Roman Empire, she was not strong enough to defend herself
from the raids of the Saracens, who in the earlier part of the
tenth century burnt the city and led half the population into
captivity.

Perhaps it is to Otho that Genoa owes her first impulse
towards greatness : he gave her a sort of freedom at any rate.
And immediately after his day the Genoese began to make
way against the Saracens on the seas. You may see a relic
of some passing victory in the carved Turk's head on a house
at the corner of Via di Prb and Vico dei Macellai. Nor was
this all, for about this time Genoa seized Corsica, that fatal
island which not only never gave her peace, but bred the
immortal soldier who was finally to crush her and to end her
life as a free power.

There follow the Crusades. These splendid follies have
much to do with the wealth and greatness of Genoa. It
was from her port that Godfrey de Bouillon set sail in the
Pomella as a pilgrim in 1095. He appears to have been
insulted at the very gate of Jerusalem, or, as some say, at
the door of the Holy Sepulchre. At any rate he returned to
Europe, where Urban 11, urged by Peter the Hermit, was
already half inclined to proclaim the First Crusade. Godfrey's
story seems to have decided him ; and, indeed, so moving
was his tale, that the crowd who heard him cried out urging
the Pope to act, Dieu le veult, the famous and fatal cry that
was to lead uncounted thousands to death, and almost to
widow Europe. In Genoa the war was preached furiously
and with success by the Bishops of Gratz and Aries in S.
Siro. An army of enthusiasts, monks, beggars, soldiers,
adventurers, and thieves, moved partly by the love of Christ,
partly by love of gain, gathered in Genoa. With them was



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