Milan, June 23rd, 1830
Milan is a very fine town, without much to see in it. The Duomo, Amphitheatre, Arch of the Simplon, Brera (pictures). There are a few fine pictures in the Brera; among others Guido’s famous ‘St. Peter and St. Paul,’ Guercino’s ‘Hagar and Abraham;’ a row of old columns which were broken and lying about till the French set them upon their legs; Leonardo da Vinci’s fresco, which is entirely spoilt. The view from the top of the Duomo is superb, over the boundless plain of Lombardy with the range of the Alps, and the Apennines in the distance. I like the Duomo, but I know my taste is execrable in architecture. I don’t, however, like the mixture of Italian with the Gothic—balustrades over the door, for instance—but I admire its tracery and laborious magnificence. Buonaparte went on with it (for it was never finished), and this Government are completing it by degrees; there will be 7,000 statues on different parts of the outside, and there are already 4,500. St. Charles Borromeo’s tomb is very splendid, and for five francs they offered to uncover the glass case in which his much esteemed carcase reposes, and show me the venerable mummy, but I could not afford it. The entrance to Milan from Venice, and the Corso, are as handsome as can be. The Opera is very bad, but the Scala is not open, and none of the good singers are here.