Milan

After considering the power of Almighty God, I had the opportunity of admiring the power He has bestowed on His creatures. The first Italian city we visited was Milan. We examined minutely its white marble cathedral in which its statues were so many they could have formed a small population. Céline and I were very brave; we were always the first and were following the Bishop closely in order to see everything pertaining to the relics of the saints and hear the explanations given by the guides. So while the Bishop was offering Mass on the tomb of St. Charles, we were behind the altar with Papa, resting our heads on the tomb enshrining his body which was clothed in its pontifical robes. And it was like this everywhere, except in those places reserved to dignitaries and then we did not follow his Excellency.

We climbed up to the lower pinnacles adorning the roof of the cathedral, and leaving some timid ladies to hide their faces in their hands we followed the braver pilgrims and reached the top of the marble bell tower. From this vantage point, we had the pleasure of seeing the city Milan at our feet, its numerous inhabitants milling around like so many tiny ants. Descending from our high perch, we commenced a series of driven tours which lasted a whole month. I certainly satisfied my desire forever to ride around in comfort!

Campo Santo attracted us even more than the cathedral. All its marble statues, seemingly brought to life by the chisel of some great genius, are placed around the huge cemetery in a sort of haphazard manner which to me added greatly to their charm. One would almost be tempted to console these imaginary personages who were all around us. The expression on the faces is so real, the sorrow so calm and resigned, one can hardly fail to recognize the thoughts of immortality which must necessarily have filled the hearts of the artists creating these masterpieces. One saw a small child scattering flowers on the grave of its parents; the marble seemed to lose its heaviness as the delicate petals slipped through the child’s fingers and the breeze scattered them. That same breeze appeared to move the light veils of widows and ribbons adorning the hair of young girls. Papa was as thrilled as we were. He had been fatigued somewhat in Switzerland, but now, his customary gaiety returning, he enjoyed the beautiful sight we were contemplating; his artistic soul was revealed in the expressions of faith and admiration clearly evident on his handsome face. an old gentleman (French), who no doubt did not possess as poetic a soul, looked at us critically and said in bad humor, pretending he was sorry he could not share our admiration: “Ah! what enthusiasts these French people really are!” I believe this poor man would have been better off to remain at home, for he did not appear to me to be happy with his trip. He was frequently close to us and complaints were coming from his mouth constantly: he was unhappy with the carriages, the hotels, the people, the cities, everything. Papa, with his habitual kindness, tried to console him by offering him his place, etc.; he himself felt at home everywhere, being of a temperament directly opposite that of his disobliging neighbor. Ah! what different personages we saw, and what an interesting study the world is when one is ready to leave it!