hurch's very beautiful door. Whether or
not it is true that SS. Apostoli was built by Charlemagne, it is
certainly very old and architecturally of great interest. Vasari says
that Brunelleschi acquired from it his inspiration for S. Lorenzo
and S. Spirito. To many Florentines its principal importance is its
custody of the Pazzi flints for the igniting of the sacred fire which
in turn ignites the famous Carro.

Returning again to the embankment, we are quickly at the Ponte
Vecchio, where it is pleasant at all times to loiter and observe
both the river and the people; while from its central arches one
sees the mountains. From no point are the hill of S. Miniato and
its stately cypresses more beautiful; but one cannot see the church
itself--only the church of S. Niccolo below it, and of course the
bronze "David". In dry weather the Arno is green; in rainy weather
yellow. It is so sensitive that one can almost see it respond to the
most distant shower; but directly the rain falls and it is fed by
a thousand Apennine torrents it foams past this bridge in fury. The
Ponte Vecchio was the work, upon a Roman foundation, of Taddeo Gaddi,
Giotto's godson, in the middle of the fourteenth century, but the
shops are, of course, more recent. The passage between the Pitti
and Uffizi was added in 1564. Gaddi, who was a fresco painter first
and architect afterwards, was employed because Giotto was absent in
Milan, Giotto being the first thought of every one in difficulties
at that time. The need, however, was pressing, for a flood in 1333
had destroyed a large part of the Roman bridge. Gaddi builded so well
that when, two hundred and more years later, another flood severely
damaged three other bridges, the Ponte Vecchio was unharmed. None
the less it is not Gaddi's bust but Cellini's that has the post of
honour in the centre; but this is, of course, because Cellini was
a goldsmith, and it is to goldsmiths that the shops belong. Once it
was the butchers' quarter!

I never cross the Ponte Vecchio and see these artificers in their
blouses through the windows, without wondering if in any of their boy
assistants is the Michelangelo, or Orcagna, or Ghirlandaio, or even
Cellini, of the future, since all of those, and countless others of
the Renaissance masters, began in precisely this way.

The odd thing is that one is on the Ponte Vecchio, from either
end, before one knows it to be a bridge at all. A street of sudden
steepness is what it s