From the Porta Romana one may do many things—­take the tram, for example, for the Certosa of the Val d’Ema, which is only some twenty minutes distant, or make a longer journey to Impruneta, where the della Robbias are.  But just now let us walk or ride up the long winding Viale Macchiavelli, which curves among the villas behind the Boboli Gardens, to the Piazzale Michelangelo and S. Miniato.

The Piazzale Michelangelo is one of the few modern tributes of Florence to her illustrious makers.  The Dante memorial opposite S. Croce is another, together with the preservation of certain buildings with Dante associations in the heart of the city; but, as I have said more than once, there is no piazza in Florence, and only one new street, named after a Medici.  From the Piazzale Michelangelo you not only have a fine panoramic view of the city of this great man—­in its principal features not so vastly different from the Florence of his day, although of course larger and with certain modern additions, such as factory chimneys, railway lines, and so forth—­but you can see the remains of the fortifications which he constructed in 1529, and which kept the Imperial troops at bay for nearly a year.  Just across the river rises S. Croce, where the great man is buried, and beyond, over the red roofs, the dome of the Medici chapel at S. Lorenzo shows us the position of the Biblioteca Laurenziana and the New Sacristy, both built by him.  Immediately below us is the church of S. Niccolo, where he is said to have hidden in 1529, when there was a hue and cry for him.  In the middle of this spacious plateau is a bronze reproduction of his David, and it is good to see it, from the cafe behind it, rising head and shoulders above the highest Apennines.

S. Miniato, the church on the hill-top above the Piazzale Michelangelo, deserves many visits.  One may not be too greatly attached to marble facades, but this little temple defeats all prejudices by its radiance and perfection, and to its extraordinary charm its situation adds.  It crowns the hill, and in the late afternoon—­the ideal time to visit it—­is full in the eye of the sun, bathed in whose light the green and white facade, with miracles of delicate intarsia, is balm to the eyes instead of being, as marble so often is, dazzling and cold.

On the way up we pass the fine church of S. Salvatore, which Cronaca of the Palazzo Vecchio and Palazzo Strozzi built and Michelangelo admired, and which is now secularized, and pass through the gateway of Michelangelo’s upper fortifications.  S. Miniato is one of the oldest churches of Florence, some of it eleventh century.  It has its name from Minias, a Roman soldier who suffered martyrdom at Florence under Decius.  Within, one does not feel quite to be in a Christian church, the effect partly of the unusual colouring, all grey, green, and gold and soft light tints as of birds’ bosoms; partly of the ceiling, which has the bright hues of a Russian toy; partly of the forest of great gay columns; partly of the lovely and so richly decorated marble screen; and partly of the absence of a transept.  The prevailing feeling indeed is gentle gaiety; and in the crypt this is intensified, for it is just a joyful assemblage of dancing arches.