Further down the mountain we found the ancient wall of the city, without doubt of Etrurian origin.  It is of immense blocks of stone, and extends more or less dilapidated around the whole brow of the mountain.  In one place there stands a solitary gateway, of large stones, which looks as if it might have been one of the first attempts at using the principle of the arch.  These ruins are all gray and ivied, and it startles one to think what a history Earth has lived through since their foundations were laid!

We sat all the afternoon under the cypress trees and looked down on the lovely valley, practising Italian sometimes with two young Florentines who came up to enjoy the “bell’aria” of Fiesole.  Descending as sunset drew on, we reached the Porta San Gallo, as the people of Florence were issuing forth to their evening promenade.

One of my first visits was to the church of Santa Croce.  This is one of the oldest in Florence, venerated alike by foreigners and citizens, for the illustrious dead whose remains it holds.  It is a plain, gloomy pile, the front of which is still unfinished, though at the base, one sees that it was originally designed to be covered with black marble.  On entering the door we first saw the tomb of Michael Angelo.  Around the marble sarcophagus which contains his ashes are three mourning figures, representing Sculpture, Painting and Architecture, and his bust stands above—­a rough, stern countenance, like a man of vast but unrefined mind.  Further on are the tombs of Alfieri and Machiavelli and the colossal cenotaph lately erected to Dante.  Opposite reposes Galileo.  What a world of renown in these few names!  It makes one venerate the majesty of his race, to stand beside the dust of such lofty spirits.

Dante’s monument may be said to be only erected to his memory; he sleeps at the place of his exile,

    “Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore!”

It is the work of Ricci, a Florentine artist, and has been placed there within a few years.  The colossal figure of Poetry weeping over the empty urn, might better express the regret of Florence in being deprived of his ashes.  The figure of Dante himself, seated above, is grand and majestic; his head is inclined as if in meditation, and his features bear the expression of sublime thought.  Were this figure placed there alone, on a simple and massive pedestal, it would be more in keeping with his fame than the lumbering heaviness of the present monument.

Machiavelli’s tomb is adorned with a female figure representing History, bearing his portrait.  The inscription, which seems to be somewhat exaggerated, is:  tanto nomini nullum par elogium.  Near lies Alfieri, the “prince of tragedy,” as he is called by the Italians.  In his life he was fond of wandering among the tombs of Santa Croce, and it is said that there the first desire and presentiment of his future glory stirred within his breast.  Now he slumbers among them, not the least honored name of that immortal company.