Florence beneath it.

The odd thing to remember is that for the poor of Florence, who now
inhabit houses of the same age as the Davanzati palace, the conditions
are almost as they were in the fifteenth century. A few changes have
come in, but hardly any. Myriads of the tenements have no water laid
on: it must still be pulled up in buckets exactly as here. Indeed you
may often see the top floor at work in this way; and there is a row
of houses on the left of the road to the Certosa, a little way out
of Florence, with a most elaborate network of bucket ropes over many
gardens to one well. Similarly one sees the occupants of the higher
floors drawing vegetables and bread in baskets from the street and
lowering the money for them. The postman delivers letters in this
way, too. Again, one of the survivals of the Davanzati to which the
custodian draws attention is the rain-water pipe, like a long bamboo,
down the wall of the court; but one has but to walk along the Via
Lambertesca, between the Uffizi and the Via Por S. Maria, and peer
into the alleys, to see that these pipes are common enough yet.

In fact, directly one leaves the big streets Florence is still
fifteenth century. Less colour in the costumes, and a few anachronisms,
such as gas or electric light, posters, newspapers, cigarettes, and
bicycles, which dart like dragon flies (every Florentine cyclist
being a trick cyclist); but for the rest there is no change. The
business of life has not altered; the same food is eaten, the same
vessels contain it, the same fire cooks it, the same red wine is
made from the same grapes in the same vineyards, the same language
(almost) is spoken. The babies are christened at the same font,
the parents visit the same churches. Similarly the handicrafts can
have altered little. The coppersmith, the blacksmith, the cobbler,
the woodcarver, the goldsmiths in their yellow smocks, must be just
as they were, and certainly the cellars and caverns under the big
houses in which they work have not changed. Where the change is,
is among the better-to-do, the rich, and in the government. For no
longer is a man afraid to talk freely of politics; no longer does he
shudder as he passes the Bargello; no longer is the name of Medici
on his lips. Everything else is practically as it was.

The Via Porta Rossa runs to the Piazza S. Trinita, the church of
S. Trinita being our destination. For here are some interesting
frescoes. First, however, let us