THE BATHS OF LUCCA.

BY FLORENTIA.

VI.

Fêtes at Lucca-Vespers, Illuminations.

LONG had we anticipated going to these fêtes, the first I had an opportunity of witnessing in the land of stoled priests and gorgeous ceremonies; and when the day really arrived (Monday, the 13th of September), I rose early, finding it impossible to waste the hours in bed in my present state of delighted expectation. A fine day was certain, for the parting clouds over the mountains to the east indicated sunshine and blue sky.

Well, here we are in the good city of Lucca, swarming with people, mostly contadini from the neighbouring hills, and strangers, like ourselves, arrived from the Baths or Florence. No sooner were we installed in our apartments at the Universo-where the padrone received us with a politeness very suspicious to my mind, as indicative of his determination of cheating us than we had no end of visitors.

First and foremost appeared Baldassare, the Adonis of the Baths, his handsome face beaming with delight in the hopes of escorting usa hope which I internally determined should be doomed to disappointment. What is beauty without expression? is a question that has often been asked, but never with more reason than à propos of this young man, whose features, chiselled in the most classical mould, are positively unpleasant from their extreme vacuity.

But I must not be too severe. He is at least good-natured, and on the present occasion had done all that he could devise to make our stay agreeable. So, leaving to the proud houses of the Orsetti and the Bernardini the task of settling the claims of their low-born townsman, I cordially thanked him for all his exertions in our behalf.

Were we well?-were we pleased with our room ?—should he take a box for that evening at the theatre ?

I replied Yes to all these questions, by which time the youth had placed himself in a statuesque attitude, and was gazing at the ceiling with all the expression he could muster. I was rapidly growing weary of a flagging conversation (for Baldassare, when not dancing, has nothing in the world to say), when the door opened, and the Countess T. appeared. Giving a patronising nod to the aspiring beauty, she advanced towards me, full of her usual hopes and fears. She pitied me for the long drive I had had from the Baths, for being in an hotel, for not having dined; in fact, for everything, I was called "poveretta." She was shabbily dressed, yet had a certain distinguished air about her that would have redeemed her in any society. She speaks such pretty, soft Italian, and has such a gentle way of pressing one's hand and looking lachrymosely in one's face, which, although it means nothing in all the world, and is done to every one whom she considers worthy of the honour, still pleases at the moment, and makes one like her. To hear her talk, one would have thought my enjoyment at the coming fêtes was to her a

matter of the greatest moment, so earnest were her hopes, so pathetic her fears.

"You must remember, cara signora," repeated she, "that the court not being at Lucca, there will be none of the gaiety and éclat we usually look for no opera, no balls, no accademia; but still "-and she pressed my hand-"I trust you, who are so amiable and so good, will be amused; also the signora sister," turning towards R., who, not speaking a syllable of Italian, could only bow and smile. "Cara amica, if I can be of any service to you, command me and my house-tutto è a sua disposizioneyou are the mistress." And the good-natured little countess again took my hand.

Baldassare, seeing no probable conclusion to this affectionate scene, in which he could take no share, having earnestly gazed at his boots, arranged his hair in an opposite mirror, and sat for some time staring like a handsome Grecian mask, took his leave for the present. He was rather in awe of the countess, who, being too dignified to patronise, acted on him rather as a damper. Besides, he did not exactly like us to see the precise estimation in which the doctor's son was held by the high-born dames of Lucca.

The countess and I, seated side by side on a couch, became tenderly affectionate, and I was called "poveretta" over and over again. I offered her my carriage; she responded by renewed offers of her house and all it contained. At this touching crisis, our interview was cut short in the most pathetic moment, when for the twentieth time she had pressed my hand and called me "poveretta," by the appearance of a round, goodnatured face peeping apologetically in at the door. This was a face we both knew the excellent Cavaliere Trenta-who, as his cards express it, being chamberlain to his royal and imperial highness the Grand Duke of Tuscany, commands everywhere a certain position. When the cavaliere, with his white hat and orthodox blue coat and gold buttons, had fairly got into the room, I warmly welcomed him. He, on his part, was charmed to see us. "Sempre belle-sempre amabili," as he flatteringly said. The countess, too, received him graciously, and called him Cesarino, or little Cæsar-rather a droll diminutive addressed to a fat old man. But as he was the head of one of the oldest noble families in the city, and resided in a palazzo twice as big as her own, the countess considered it safe to be facetious. But Trenta cared little for her or her condescensions. All his attention was fixed on us, and the idea of escorting us about occupied him entirely.

He declared he felt young again-able to do anything and go anywhere "coll' amabile signora"-and actually began to show his agility by dancing. But we persuaded him not to over-exert himself, and at length got him reseated for the present. The countess now departed, shaking her little fair curls, set in stiff rows round her face, with the nods and bows she bestowed on me.

The

We now walked out in order to see the progress of the preparations; and as we passed through the town it was evident some great event was in petto from the additional bustle and activity in the streets. crowds collected at the various cafés, and the display of all sorts of goods in the shops and on the tables planted at the corners of the various thoroughfares, told of some solemnity. If I possessed any proper know

ledge of architecture, I might aspire to describe the cathedral a rich specimen of Lombard gothic; but, unhappily, I do not understand the mysteries of architecture, the very nomenclature proper to descriptions of famous buildings is to me a closed book, and I can only put down my impressions of what I see in the simple vernacular. It is very beautiful and very ancient, dating from the year 1060. Alexander the Second, previously Bishop of Lucca, commenced its erection during his papacy, out of the love and regard he bore to his native town.

The façade is formed by a multitude of small open arches supported by half-pillars, rising tier above tier, and resting below on the solid arcades which form the portals or porches; along the sides of these porches appear a series of curious basso-relievos, which are much esteemed -one in particular, by the hand of Niccolo Pisano, sculptor of the wonderful Baptistry at Pisa. At one corner of the edifice springs a lofty campanile, light and airy in appearance, being raised, like the façade, on a series of open arches. On entering the Duomo, it would be difficult to pronounce on its size, so perfect are its proportions; it is, however, of very large dimensions, consisting of a vast nave, with spacious aisles on either side, and a choir and transept. The pillars supporting the nave are somewhat heavy and massive, but the ceiling, which instantly catches the eye from its rich colouring of deep blue, admirably relieves the somewhat stern character of the architecture; when I saw it, however, all aspect of sternness had disappeared, for the pillars and entablature were decorated with rich crimson damask, bordered and striped with gold, giving the church the appearance of a splendid ecclesiastical drawing-room. Along the top of the arches in the nave runs a gallery, or lattice, carved in the most delicate gothic fretwork imaginable; at a distance, one might believe it was lace, so fragile do the beautiful patterns cut in the massive stone appear. Here and there a fine old window of painted glass, glowing in deep rich shades of blue and red, flung down radiant shadows aslant the aisles, heightening the gorgeous appearance of the interior. The spacious edifice was in total solitude, save here and there a few solitary figures kneeling in the shadow of an overhanging altar. Trimmed and furnished for the fête, spotless and beautiful in its gorgeous trappings, the effect of the Duomo was indeed striking. Everything spoke of expectation, of anticipation: the guests were all bidden; the vast pillared aisles were wreathed; the altars were laid; all waited the hour and the moment when silence would burst into strains of delicious melody, when twilight would vanish into floods of glorious light illuminating every column, and solitude would give place to a mighty multitude, crowding the steps, the porticos, filling every chapel, occupying every space.

That any such reflections as these occurred to the mind of the worthy old cavaliere, I much doubt, but he enjoyed the church also, in his own way. On entering, he declared it to be the very finest Duomo in all Italy, and defied any one to assert the contrary; which proposition, not being contradicted, he looked on as an admitted fact. It was devotional, he said; to demonstrate which fact he knelt down at every altar, in the most unaccountable places, and in so abrupt a manner, that I several times was in danger of falling over him. One moment he was expatiating on the antiquity of the edifice; the next, before I could reply, he was kneeling on the bare stones, muttering prayers with a

velocity quite astonishing; which done, he instantly rose and continued his discourse, only to repeat the same performance the very next minute. After he had regaled himself sufficiently with this devotional exercise, we proceeded round the building. First, he led me to a circular chapel, standing in the midst of the nave, in defiance of perspective or general effect, covered with gilding, and surrounded by multitudes of gold and silver lamps, and innumerable glass chandeliers. Upon the altar the miraculous crucifix, or Volto Santo, in whose honour the fêtes of the Santa Croce are given, reposes. This miraculous image, supposed to bring every kind of prosperity to the good city of Lucca, is said to have been carved by Nicodemus. As yet the Volto Santo was not exposed, but stood shrouded by a veil of crimson silk. Near the chapel of this famous image the peculiar object of devotion to every native Lucchese -stands an exquisite ideal statue of San Sebastiano, by Civitalis, the celebrated Lucchese sculptor. In the centre of the nave an iron cresset descended from the roof, within which some flax was placed. It is the privilege of the Archbishop of Lucca, together with the Pope, during the singing of the "Sic transit gloria mundi," to light this flax on all grand occasions; so the flax lay prepared to be fired at the approaching fêtes. The high altar, standing in a deep semicircular choir, was richly decorated with silver crosses, candlesticks, and plate; to the left appeared the chapel, dedicated to the independence of Lucca, now dwindled to a name, which the fine sculptures of Giovanni of Bologna, beside the altar, will long outlive. Here, in the palmy days of this once sturdy little republic, which contrived to maintain its liberty from the time of the Lombards until our own century, the gonfalonieri and magistrates yearly knelt, and registered solemn vows and prayers for the defence and preservation of the national independence. A few old crones were all that remained to offer up their prayers at the altar of national liberty, whose very shadow has now fled, to be replaced by the alien sway of an Austrian, who cares as little for Lucca as Lucca does for him.

After admiring the cathedral sufficiently, we were joined by Baldassare, who insisted on our immediately taking our places in the palchi. The procession to the altar began to form soon after we were seated. Priests and canons in black, red, and purple, issued from the sacristy, awaiting the arrival of the archbishop, who appeared at last, dressed in splendid robes of crimson, but wearing his spectacles. At his appearance the crowd of priests rapidly formed into pairs, and entered the choir, where, after making low obeisances before the altar, they took their seats on either side; the archbishop, mounting the steps, seated himself on his throne, surrounded by the canons, also wearing mitres. The service now began in good earnest; bursts of magnificent martial music broke forth from the galleries, precisely resembling an overture to an opera; not a note or cadence expressed the solemnity of church music; all was of the earth earthy, and I could hardly persuade myself I was not seated in a box at Covent Garden hearing the " Prophète." Night had now closed in, the chandeliers were lit, and the whole cathedral assumed a character of gorgeous brilliancy quite overwhelming. The floods of light that irradiated the chapel of the Volto Santo were dazzling: hundreds of candelabra, like so many constellations, shone around it, and rays of bright light issuing from within increased the brilliancy. The aisles, before so

desolate, were now thronged with a moving mass of thousands, all pressing towards that glittering chapel. The fumes of the incense perfumed the heavy air; the music echoed through the aisles in strain after strain of rich harmony, taken up first by one orchestra, then by the other, in responsive chorus: now, one organ thundered forth in mighty melody, then the other replied; the voices on this side responded to those opposite; until every sense was intoxicated by the glorious scene appealing to every sense with such powerful eloquence.

There

Not one

After a time, I began to observe the company in the tribune seated around us. On one chair sat a priest, so fat and bloated his very robes seemed as if they must crack with the immense internal pressure; a large double-chin rested on a dirty white collar; his eyelids, heavy with sleep, were partially closed. Next him sat a lady, who certainly had forgotten she was in a church, for she never ceased talking and laughing one instant with a gentleman sitting in the row behind her. was a levity in her whole manner highly displeasing. But no one looked shocked; not even the scrupulous cavalier of mine, who, however, himself abstained from all conversation. In a seat near him was a little hunchback dwarf, so low in stature that his head barely reached the top of the chair. He was the only person near me holding a prayer-book, which he studied with unwearied attention. moment were his lips closed, and the prayers he muttered ought to have relieved his soul from years of purgatory. By him was seated an Italian nobleman to whom I had been previously introduced. His red face and martial grey moustache, added to a very common expression of countenance, looked anything but aristocratic. His countess, who sat beside him, was equally vulgar, something like a broken-down housekeeper out of place, dressed in rusty black. I have heard of a gentleman who, seeing his own cook crossing the hall in her Sunday best, so entirely mistook her as bowingly to escort her into the drawing-room, and beg her to be seated whilst he called his wife to receive her. But the noble lady near me was in the other extreme; and if she had been seen by a stranger in the lofty apartments of her own palace, she would infallibly have been taken for her own maid-servant, and desired to retire.

The music had never entirely ceased. Occasionally the instrumental pieces were varied by vocal music, and voices of great beauty and of that peculiar mellow quality so common in Italy, made the old arches echo with many a melting cadence. One barytone in particular sang a solo with fine effect, his voice telling wonderfully well in the solemn music allotted to him. Then came a chorus, given with a precision that reminded one of the performances at Covent Garden: taken up alternately by either orchestra, in a kind of musical conversation, the effect was grand and original-at least to me, unaccustomed as I am to Italian church music. Then there was a beautiful concerto, played by a boy on the violin, accompanied by the orchestra, which was also charming, and rested the ear, fatigued by the noise of the powerful instrumental performance.

to

At last, for even the most delightful enjoyments will weary one, I began grow tired; the pieces of music seemed interminable, and what psalms or prayers they possibly made to last out so many hours I cannot divine. No one seemed to know in the least what they were chanting; even old