Read Ebook: The Medici Balls: Seven little journeys in Tuscany by Newell Marjorie Moyca Sheldon Anna R

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Ebook has 410 lines and 30259 words, and 9 pages

Iron Lantern, Palazzo Baroni, Lucca 107

Moat of Castle Sarzanella, Sarzana 109

Stemma of Serravalle 118

Medici Shield, Ospedale del Ceppo, Pistoja. Della Robbia 121

Viale dell'Arcadia, Pistoja 123

Shield of Pistoja, Supported by Bears 124

Piazza del Duomo, Pistoja 125

Bronze Candelabra, Duomo, Pistoja 132

Head of Filippo Tedici, Pistoja 133

Campanile, from Via Ripa del Sale, Pistoja 137

Loggia, Ospedale del Ceppo, Pistoja 141

Coat of Arms of Hospital, Pistoja. Della Robbia 145

Via Abbi Pazienza 152

Adoration of the Magi, S. Andrea, Pistoja 155

Bastions of San Colombo, Lucca 163

Old City Wall and Moat, Lucca 164

On the Ramparts, Lucca 168

San Frediano, Lucca 169

S. Frediano, from the Guinigi Tower, Lucca 171

A "Grey Tower" 173

Ponte a Moriano, Serchio River 175

An Old Stone Bridge 177

Bridge Over the Serchio 178

Church of Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 179

San Lorenzo, Brancoli 181

Interior of Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 183

Holy-water Stoup, Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 186

Baptismal Font, Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 187

Detail of Pulpit, Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 189

Detail of Pulpit, Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 190

Pulpit, Santa Maria e San Giorgio, Brancoli 191

Three Coats of Arms, Lucca 194

Sarzanella 199

Bridge at Vinchiana 200

"The Devil's Bridge," Borgo a Mozzano 201

Bagni di Lucca 203

Parish Church, Loppia 204

The Cathedral, Barga 205

Door of the Cathedral, Barga 208

Interior of the Cathedral, Barga 211

Pulpit in Cathedral, Barga 215

Adoration of the Magi, Pulpit, Cathedral, Barga 219

Tabernacle in Cathedral, Barga, Della Robbia School 223

"Violet-eyed Tuscan Oxen" 229

Trappings on Horse of Lorenzo de' Medici 230

THE MUGELLO

THE MUGELLO

But suddenly, on a crisp spring morning, a quick turn from a narrow street gives us a vision of the hills, olive-grey, brown, and purple--hills with the Apennine heights beyond. The spell is broken, our hearts burn for the "spring running," and, as in old Chaucer's day, "Then longen folk to go on pilgrimage." We have the old poet's authority that England's Spring came in April, but to us in Tuscany this year she appeared by the middle of January, and has never for a day turned her face, coming safely through the "ides of March," even to the end of April in almost continuous sunshine and ever-increasing bloom. Blackthorn, almond, and fruit trees, daisies and daffodils, violets and roses, rival each other in bewildering loveliness wherever the eye may turn; out of city gates the paths lie luringly open to hillsides clad with ilex and magnolia, to hidden valleys, and the snow-clad Apennines beyond Vallombrosa.

We yearn for unbroken space with no dome but the blue above, no tower but the stately cypress; our resolution is quickly taken to climb out of Val d'Arno, and slip over yonder delectable heights into the Mugello. Diligence and tram are too slow for our patience; therefore, at the easy hour of nine, on a clear, sunny morning, we leave the city by the Florence and Faenza railway, run through the pretty valley of the Mugnone, pass the stone-quarries close under the northern flank of steep Fiesole, discover a world of beauty unknown to us before, dash in and out of tunnels, catching flying glimpses of a broken countryside, grey-walled towns, and bosky slopes; thus pushing northward for half a dozen miles, where the line loops back toward the south, and gives us once more, and from a greater height, the charming view of Fiesole's northern slope. Now the railroad rises rapidly by well-built viaducts, galleries, and tunnels to Vaglia, only nine miles from Florence, as the crow flies, then passes swiftly over the ridge which separates the valleys of the Arno and Mugnone from the Mugello region.

Descending the narrow pass of Carza, the train reaches Piero a Sieve, where we leave it to pursue its way through a most picturesque country, over the mountains to Faenza, while we explore the quaint little hamlet of Piero a Sieve, which clings by grey walls and terraces to the side of a steep hill, crowning which are the massive fortifications of San Martino. We climb to the fortress, take a snap-shot at one of the loggias, where the group of ever-busy women in bright skirts and kerchiefs would make a delightful picture in water-colour, have a look at the parish church, with its so-called Della Robbia font, and then proceed on our way to Scarperia, three miles to the northwest, which is our destination.

After judicious bargaining at the station with drivers of a varied assortment of country vehicles, we are cleverly packed into two small, rattling, rather clumsy but very comfortable carts, one drawn by a phenomenally brisk donkey, and away we bowl toward the towers of Scarperia. Somehow the sunshine and exhilarating air incites us into rebellion against Mr. Ruskin's opinion that the scene is "only a grey extent of mountain ground, tufted irregularly with ilex and olive, a scene not sublime, for its forms are subdued and low; not desolate, for its valleys are full of sown fields and tended pastures; not rich nor lovely, but sunburnt and sorrowful."

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