Our new found friend, Miss Himmel, left us in the early morning, her next visit was to Munich. We wished her good-bye and God speed, for in our very short acquaintance we had learned to look upon her as a dear friend. And so we leave Venice, calling it as Goethe does: “a grand work of collective human effort. A glorious monument, not of a ruler, but a people.” So we departed, our gondola was at our hotel door early, we settled up, he swung out and we were at the station and caught the 9.45 for Milan.
Arrival in Milan: Our visit to the Cathedral: Its Spires, and Turrets: Its Stained Glass Windows, Altars, Pictures, and Sculpture: The Church of St. Ambrogio: The Bera Picture Gallery: The Hospital: Leaving Milan: Arrival at Como: Lake Como.
As we steamed out of this dear old city, a palace of dreams, we looked back with a lingering desire to know her better. Across the lagoons we were soon out of waterways and amongst the mountains of Italy; scenery lovely, bewitching, enchanting. With a certain poet
“I ask myself is this a dream? Will it all vanish into thin air? Is there a land of such supreme And perfect beauty anywhere?”
For a long time we sped on through mountainous country whose peaks were bright with sunshine, the hillsides were dotted with pretty villas, which were surrounded with lovely gardens full of shubbery, or ravines that looked cool and shady. Before the day had begun to wane, we caught glimpses of the great city of Milan, and soon we were being driven to “Hotel Europe.” We found it all we could desire, large, clean, well fitted and most moderate. Our great desire, of course, was to see the wonderful cathedral. We had heard so much of this grand, solemn, vast, airy, peaceful building, that we could hardly sleep for the thought that we were so near what our eyes were aching to see. We rose refreshed, and, after a good breakfast, we sallied forth to feast our eyes on the object we had heard of so often, but never seen. Into the streets we went in a fever of excitement. In this direction and in that, around us, behind us, before us were busy crowds. At last, a very forest of graceful spires, shimmering in the light of the lovely morning sun, burst upon our view. We needed no one to tell us what it was. The Cathedral! my dear wife exclaimed. We knew it in a moment. How sharply its angles and its hundred of spires are cut against the sky. It is like a vision! Some one has said: “a poem wrought in marble.” From whatever standpoint you view Milan Cathedral, it is noble, it is beautiful. You can see it from almost any point of the city, and for many miles outside it is visible. We were at its doors early in the morning. The central one of the five is finely bordered with a bas-relief of birds and fruits, beasts and insects, so ingeniously carved that they look as if they were really living things. On entering, we felt as though we might hear a strange voice saying: “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standst is holy ground.”