from A Ride on Horseback to Florence Through France and Switzerland by Augusta Macgregor Holmes - october 1842

At last, Piacenza was in sight; the dark red city rising on the broad plain beyond the broad Po, with the stone arch, the relic of a Roman bridge, standing in its centre, on the deposit of sand and stones; and the two bridges of boats which we were to cross, and which should be a relic also, being extremely unsafe, the boats small, and the decaying planks they sustain a succession of hill and dale, over which our horses feared to advance. The toll is five sous per steed, which, considering its state, is sufficient.

Having ridden in safety, but some dread, across this uneven and trembling bridge, we left our passport at the gate, and the douaniers came smilingly forward. "What is in this valise ?" "Linen." "And in this ?" "Linen also; will you look at it ?" The douanier smiled, and shook his head, but made an almost imperceptible sign of thirst, and D--- gave a silver coin to satisfy it. There is a frankness about this conduct which is exceedingly agreeable. One is sure of giving in the right place, and without offence, and also of saving trouble at small cost, for it happened that the only change we possessed was an Austrian lira, which translated, means seventeen sous, three centimes; and though we were almost ashamed to offer it, it seemed to content the custom-house officer perfectly.

The sombre streets of this saddest of towns led us to San Marco, an inn neither good nor bad, though certainly better than its Milan namesake, and having fine rooms and broad staircase, which common cleanliness would make objects of admiration. Our sleeping chamber with its dome is of such elegant form that I should like to transport it afar, but spoiled with gaudy frescoes on wall and ceiling, by dirty floor, and ragged furniture. The eating room, a noble hall, with a range of pillars down its centre, and hung round with paintings for sale - some few good, several curious; luxury and poverty, dirt and elegance, everywhere blended - even in the yard, which is an abomination, yet where a coved trellis-work forms a roof which a splendid vine covers with its thick leaves, making the lovliest of ceilings.

We walked to the cathedral - a dark red heavy building, built almost entirely of brick... The church is large without being handsome... We were driven from the cathedral by two or three guides, who, next to beggars, persecute strangers in Italy, following with a pertinacity which defies repulse, forcing on you a new version of history, and concluding each sentence by saying, with extended hand, "Le sue buone grazie." ... On the whole, though we made the tour of all the other churches we found open, and wandered till we were weary among the desolate streets, the day we passed at Placentia seemed a long one. When night closed in, the silent town awoke, and parties walked up and down, singing with most enchanting voices: it is a pleasure peculiar to Italy.

Piacenza received her name, in days of yore, from her pleasant environs, - now so changed that she requires new baptism...