In many of the palaces and churches in the city, there are very interesting mementoes of the gallant Knight Crusaders; and the pictures and tapestries are also very fine. Few edifices are more full of mediaeval interest than the Church of St. John, with all its treasured relics of the brave, self-denying Knights of Malta. I scarcely think that we in this nineteenth century quite realize the service rendered to Christendom in their deeds of heroism and noble self-sacrifice. It was their indomitable power and courage alone, at one time and another, that prevented the Moslem from overrunning and devastating Europe and the Christian world, and the fair Mediterranean shores from becoming a prey to the hordes of merciless and cruel pirates which would have followed in their wake. One cannot look at the great forts of Malta without a glow of the deepest admiration for, and gratitude to, those valiant Knights of St. John, who held the place for so many months, all alone, against the whole power of the Moslem under the great Solyman. There at St. Elmo, a handful of brave Knights kept the army and fleets of the powerful Mustapha at bay, and hurled them back in assault after assault, the walls gaping with breaches; and then, when all had been done that brave men could do, and further resistance was hopeless, in simple obedience to the stern commands of their loved Grand-Master, La Valette, and to save the city and the other forts, these brave Knights preferred death at their posts, and that a cruel death, rather than dishonour. Wounded knights were actually wheeled on chairs to the breaches, and there died like heroes. And the Christian world, meanwhile, stood by with bated breath at such heroism, and awaiting the dreadful issue.

Then, when the victorious Moslem, mad with the blood of the St. Elmo garrison, threw their united forces against the other great forts, especially St. Angelo, where the brave Valette was in command, the gallant besieged, inspired by the undaunted courage of their chief, long resisted their impetuous assaults; and on the glorious 8th of September, 1565, compelled the shattered armies of the Turks to raise the siege (leaving twenty thousand of their dead behind), and leave them alone for ever. The Christian world once more breathed freely and was grateful. Ever afterwards—and I believe to this day—the 8th of September has been held in reverence by the Maltese, and kept almost as a sacred festival, in remembrance of their great deliverance, and of the brave Knights who fought and died so heroically.

The capital of Valetta, or rather Valette, founded in 1566, and named after the chivalrous Grand-Master, John de Valette, was subjected to such extensive and judicious improvements under the late governorship of Sir Gaspard le Marchant, as to compare with many a fine colonial city. An infinite amount of interest centres round the old Phoenician Citta Vecchia, with its numerous catacombs, and the ancient palace of St. Antonio, where, within the last decade a little English princess, Victoria Melita, first saw the light. A very peculiar stone quarry-like appearance is given to Malta from the fact of its being much divided off into small gardens, surrounded by extraordinarily high and thick walls, in order to protect the valuable orange, lemon, and other numerous and varied fruit-bearing trees, from the tempestuous and destructive winds which frequently visit the island—by the name of scirocco, etc.—and from this cause little verdure can be seen until you are on a level with the plantations.

Though tradition says that most of the soil was originally brought to Malta in ship-loads, etc., from Sicily and other places, I am not very much inclined to believe it; still, there is comparatively little soil in the island, and it is therefore astonishing to see how the place abounds in vegetables and fruits, and almost every kind of flower, among which are some very rare and high order of orchids. It is said that even potatoes are exported from Malta to Greece, Turkey, and also to England, though the root was introduced into the island only forty years ago. What little land there is, is certainly marvellously cultivated, and speaks volumes for the thrifty industry of the Maltese; indeed, I have often heard that a Maltese could live luxuriously where even a canny Scotchman would starve. It is said that a greater number of people live in Malta than in the same number of square miles anywhere else in the world.

There is a fishing industry at Malta, some of the more extensive bays being completely interlaced with huge nets sunken perpendicularly. This kind of preserve extends some miles, and is, I think, used chiefly for catching the great tunny-fish. I shall not easily forget some little experience of these nets during my Naval career. Being caught in a fierce gale of wind outside Malta, we ran for a bay called Marsa Scirocco, lying on the lee side of the island, and to our great astonishment found ourselves firmly enmeshed in a gigantic net, parts of it entangling our screw propeller. Indeed, the ship could not be released until we had almost cut the net to pieces; for which our Government had to pay some hundreds of pounds sterling to the proprietors of the fish-preserve.

Vast quantities of mackerel and other fish are also caught, dried, and exported to the various adjacent Roman Catholic countries; but, I believe, excepting perhaps shellfish—prawns, lobsters, crabs, etc.—there is little or no fresh fish worth eating.

Maltese society is very proud and exclusive, and dreadfully reserved and jealous of the English community; indeed, little or no sympathy exists between them, which is much to be regretted. The nobility, so-called, are seemingly content to live almost to themselves, as it were in the past, amongst their ancient ancestry (putting one in mind of Mr. and Mrs. German Reed's entertainment of "Ages Ago") rather than in the present and with the people surrounding them. They are reputed to be excessively mean and close, but perhaps they have but a scanty allowance to support their nobility, and therefore, by necessity, it is half starved. A friend who has resided at Malta many years, related to me a little incident of his own experience. For once breaking through their usual reserve, an Englishman was invited to the funeral of one of the Maltese nobility; when, in accordance with the usual rites, a candle or taper is provided by the mourners, which is generally carried home by each as a memento, and perhaps as possessing some virtue from the priestly blessing. But the day after the funeral, much to his surprise and disgust, having simply taken it as a mark of respect to the family, he was requested to return the said candle, "which had only been lent to him."

There is, however, apart from the Maltese element, plenty of society at Malta, amongst the English community, governor, and Naval and Military officers. Indeed, in the season it is rather a gay place. There is, or used to be, a very good little opera-house, where some of the most eminent prima donnas (Spamezi and Pareppa, etc.) made their debut; for the society at Malta is supposed to constitute rather a critical audience; and if an artiste once succeeds in winning its approval, she may go to England without fear and trembling.

Malta is, I believe, considered one of the most favoured of health resorts (especially since our good Queen Adelaide resided there), and particularly for chest complaints. But, from my own experience and that of many others (Europeans) who have resided there a long time, I can scarcely reconcile this to fact. It is exceedingly hot and oppressive in summer, the glare from the rocks and stone buildings being very injurious to the eyes, and the heat retained by the limestone during the day making the houses very close and sultry in the night. Towards autumn and winter there are violent atmospheric changes, and it would appear that the spring-time of the year and early autumn are really the only seasons in which the weather is agreeable.

I remember about December, in the year 1855, after returning from the Crimean War, being a whole fortnight in a dreadful gale and hurricane outside Malta. There was a tremendous sea, sometimes vivid forked lightning, thunder, and heavy rains, the skies as black as ink. Indeed, it was a grand and extraordinary scene, the sea in a wild and curious commotion, rearing up around us as it were in little mountains, and breaking in upon us in all directions,—washing away some of our boats, and tumbling the vessel about in a most eccentric and exceedingly uncomfortable manner, almost as if the bottom of the sea were sinking beneath us. One night was particularly dreadful and awfully grand; the forked lightning cutting the black clouds asunder, the winds howling terribly, and occasionally an outburst of flame,—or rather the reflection of it, from the far-distant Mount Etna splendidly lighting up for a moment the black sky. It was a strange and wonderful sight, bringing home to me the truth of the Psalmist's words, "They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters; these men see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep," etc.

Having at last put safely into Malta, we were not much surprised to hear that while we were at sea there had been violent earthquakes felt at Malta, and nearly all round the Mediterranean. At Malta there was great consternation; the houses were almost rocking, the church bells clanging to drive away the supposed evil spirit, and the people sitting up with lighted tapers.

As regards the reputed healthfulness of Malta, I think it is a mistake, for I believe the sanitary arrangement and sewerage system are extremely faulty, especially in the old part of the city, where the wells are absolutely contaminated and unsafe to use without boiling and filtering the water. There is also a kind of bad and dangerous intermittent fever at Malta, like that at Gibraltar—endemic, I should think. My wife has recently lost a very dear sister (who resided in this island), chiefly, I believe, from these last two causes, and hence I speak rather earnestly on the subject.

Altogether, what with fever, ophthalmia, etc., one can scarcely call Malta a healthy place. The fact is, in that latitude, with so over-crowded a population, the natives most unclean in their habits, and with faulty and inadequate sewerage system, one could not expect otherwise.

In February, March, and a part of April, when my wife was there, the weather was unsettled, stormy, and cold nearly all the time.

Strada Reale, where the great public square and governor's palace are, I believe, is (or used to be) the principal street, and the shops there are very attractive, especially the jewellers', with their exquisite silver and gold filagree work; and also the places where the beautiful Maltese lace is sold. Strada Zecca, a peaceful, shady, and silent retreat, used to be the street of the Government offices; and we see here many of the old palaces and houses of the Knight Crusaders, some of which are rather peculiarly constructed inside. There are the overhanging shading roofs, as at Genoa and other places; but the Knights, not being permitted to marry, had no families, and so did not require many sleeping-rooms: therefore, in most of the houses of Valetta the reception-rooms and courts are spacious, lofty, and handsomely decorated, and occupy by far the larger portion of the building, while the sleeping-rooms are narrow, confined, and limited in extent.

Sliema and St. Julian's Bays, three or four miles off, are the little Brightons of Malta, whence the residents change the sultry heats of the city for the cool and refreshing sea breezes, healthful sea-bathing, and something in the shape of verdure and green fields. These places, St. Paul's Bay, and the adjacent Island of Gozo, are the chief resorts for excursions, picnics, etc. At Valetta nearly the only country walk used to be to the (so-called) Gardens of St. Antonio; and it was rather melancholy to see the stream of poor human beings almost confined to this one walk, like invalids at some water-drinking health resort, or a moving mass of regimental ants.

The industries of Malta consist chiefly of its exquisitely made silver and gold filagree work, and its rich and Spanish-like lace, which find ready sale on the continent; its further exports being principally dried fish, luscious oranges and fruits, and vegetables.

Labour is remarkably cheap, the Maltese living on a mere nothing. A little rancid oil, shark, or any other half-putrid fish, a few olives, sour wine, and bread, and they are well feasted. Hotel expenses are not higher than on the Riviera; but amongst the best resident classes living is rather expensive, especially in the matter of clothing, nearly every article of which is imported from England. In my days, gloves used to be remarkably cheap, so much so that we could indulge in a fresh pair every evening for the Opera, and the gloves, with admittance, did not exceed the cost of an ordinary pair of gloves alone in England. The opera was our chief delight, and we could sympathize with the Italians in this pleasure.

One great drawback to visiting Malta is the fear of quarantine. Very recently a young friend of mine, an Oxford man, experienced the bitter disappointment of going all the way there, only to be "imprisoned" in the lazaretto, and was only able to talk to his friend from a distance of four yards, with a gen d'arme between them. Unfortunately, his time was too short to allow of his seeing Malta after his release from durance vile.

* * * * *

Having seen my wife off from Messina, I had arranged to go by steamer on the following day to Palermo, but the stormy weather had delayed the arrival of the vessel from Reggio, so I decided to go by rail instead, and hurried to the station in a violent storm of rain and hail.

The route was so full of interest, and the views so enchanting, that I did not regret the change in my plans. The coast scenery was grand and beautiful. For miles, while circling round great Etna, we were passing over vast fields of lava—the land tumbled about like the waves of a tempestuous sea, as if recently thrown up by some mighty earthquake, and all sombre-coloured and sulphurous, as though we were traversing some part of the nether world. It was a most striking contrast to the lovely scenery we had already passed, and also to that we were approaching—Aci Reale and Catania, in particular, comparing even with Monte Carlo and Monaco; groves of orange and olive trees and picturesque vineyards adorning the fine coast heights, and the blue sea beyond. The fine expansive plains around Etna brought to mind England's great naval hero, Nelson, for here was situated the territory of his Dukedom of Bronte, which in those days yielded good crops of Marsala wine. I was really sorry not to be able to spend a few days at Catania, and view more closely the lovely region around Aci Reale; but it was just here that we suddenly branched off to the west, and plunged into the heart of the island. Away we went up the mountain heights, the night closing in, and a glorious moon uprising. Sometimes we were on the mountain-tops, then again descending into the valleys beneath, only to rise like eagles, and mount to the summits once more; the moon circling round the peaks, occasionally hidden, and then appearing as if again rising in silent majesty over the beautiful landscape. About midnight we approached the coast and proceeded along by the shore once more, the great waves dashing almost up to the train as we rushed swiftly by. Soon I saw the semicircular lights of the harbour of Palermo, and in a short time the train steamed into the station.

I think this was the grandest and most interesting railway journey I ever made, and I shall not soon forget the impression I received.



CHAPTER XV.

Palermo—Oriental aspects—Historical facts—Royal Palace—Count Roger —The Piazzi Planet—The Palatine Chapel—Walk to Monreale—Beauty of the Peasantry—Prickly pears—The "Golden Shell"—Monreale Cathedral—Abbey and Cloisters—English church—Palermo Cathedral—Churches—Catacombs of the Capuchins—Gardens—Palermo aristocracy—The Bersaglieri—Sicilian life and characteristics—Climate and general features.

Palermo, formerly Panomus or All Port, and originally a Greek settlement, is situated in a beautiful fertile valley, and presents much the appearance of a magnificent garden. The approach from the sea is splendid, as a full view is then had of its beautiful bay, spacious harbour, bold headlands, high cliffs, and the great mountain ranges in the distance, which form so grand a background.

There is a very fine sea-wall, with a drive extending some two or three miles along the coast, and from this the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele extends right through the city, crossed about the centre by another fine road, the Via Macqueda, and these, the two principal streets, divide the city into four equal parts. The most frequented promenade is the Marina, opposite the sea, where the Hotel de France is situated. Here I found very comfortable quarters overlooking the semi-tropical public gardens. The houses and buildings generally resemble those at Naples, and the churches are second only to those of Rome in their magnificence. One might almost fancy one's self in the far East, there are so many surroundings of a Moorish and Saracenic character, and many of the names are quite oriental. The cactus, palm, and citron trees, tropical flowers and sunny skies, carry out the impression. There is no matter for wonder in this, however, as the Saracens made Palermo the capital of their Sicilian territories for more than two centuries, when the Normans in their turn took possession. From 1806 to 1815, it was the residence of the court of Naples; and in 1860, was captured by the troops of the brave liberator of Italy, Garibaldi. In the same year, the university, founded in 1806, was freed from the direction of the Jesuits. Altogether Palermo has seen a variety of governments, and many changes and scenes of historic interest. It has always been a rich commercial port, and well advanced in the refinements of civilization. I think the inhabitants are far more agreeable than at Naples; more hospitable to strangers, and less inclined to "spoil" them as Egyptians. They are especially courteous to the English, probably in recognition of the substantial sympathy England so freely showed them in the time of their struggle for freedom.

The Royal Palace is situated on the site of the Saracen Al Kasr, and within a short tramway drive of the Hotel de France. It is an unpretentious, castellated building, well worth a visit, not so much for the beauty of its interior decoration, its paintings and frescoes, in which it only resembles other palaces in Italy, but for its interesting history; for it was here the good Count Roger Guiscard (Roger II.), the first Norman King of Sicily, resided, and did so much to encourage art, science and the industry and prosperity generally of the island. Our own lion-hearted Richard landed here on his way to Palestine in 1170; and it was here, in the observatory of the palace, that Joseph Piazzi discovered, in 1801, the planet to which he gave the name of Sicily's mystic goddess—Ceres, and subsequently many other minor planets some 230 in number. Attached to this palace, and under it, is a small but unique Palatine Chapel in the Gothic style, built by King Roger in 1129. It is a perfect gem in its way, the walls and ceiling covered with beautiful mosaics, fine porphyry, and marbles, but it is too dark to be seen to advantage. The only way to obtain any idea of the real beauty of the mosaics is to go into the darkest corner, and so accustom your eyes to the deep gloom, when it becomes radiant with its beautiful scriptural mosaic pictures.

After viewing the Palace and Chapel, I had a most delightful and invigorating walk up the road which led directly to the beautiful country and suburbs beyond the city. The tramway ran up to the base of the hills in the distance, but I preferred to walk, for it was a lovely summer's day, though very early in February. The road led up to the ancient town of Monreale, about four miles distant to the south-west from Palermo, standing upon a fine commanding height overlooking a most lovely and fruitful valley, between the two mountain ranges that rise behind the city. It was through this valley that Garibaldi marched with his troops, thus avoiding the fire from the forts on the heights around. As I ascended the hill, I passed the remains of many ancient mementoes of the past. I was struck by the grace and beauty of the peasantry—the men, active, swarthy, and handsome, with finely cut features; the women tall, beautifully shaped, and with long dark hair and magnificent eyes. Their picturesque dress and the character of their occupations added to the effect of their appearance.

By-and-by I reached the large Benedictine Convent of St. Martino, where I stopped to take breath and look round. It was a very hot day, and, feeling thirsty, I was glad to see a Sicilian peasant selling prickly pears, a most delicious tropical fruit. The man soon cut a few open for me, and I found them truly refreshing. To any one who has not yet tasted a prickly pear, there is yet an epicurean luxury in store. The fruit grows plentifully in the East, where you will frequently see an uncouth, impenetrable, cactus-like plant growing by the wayside hedge in a dry, rocky soil, its great succulent leaves bristling with long, formidably sharp thorns, and around the edges and upon these thick leaves are attached most delicately an oval reddish-yellow fruit, which is also covered with myriads of minute prickles. The camel munches the immense thorn-clad leaves with impunity, deriving a great deal of nourishment from them. It is necessary to handle the prickly pear with extreme care, lest the infinitesimal prickles should get into the hand, the saliva of the camel being almost the only thing that will effectually remove them from the flesh. The fruit is dislodged from the plant by means of a knife or cloven stick; then, when a deep gash is made from top to bottom, and another across, the luscious, ice-cold, crimson fruit is ready to be extracted. The taste is a pleasant sweet acid.

Having thus refreshed myself with a few deliciously cool mouthfuls, I proceeded on my way. Right ahead of me, perched upon the rocky heights and facing a fine range of mountains, was the ancient Cathedral of Monreale. It overlooked a broad and fruitful valley literally covered with orange, lemon, and olive plantations, their tints contrasting bright and sombre, and their wealth of fragrant blossoms filling the air with perfume; far away to the left, and parallel to the road by which I had come, stretched the rich, verdant vegetation, through the bluff headlands to the blue sea beyond, where Palermo glittered in the sun, like a queen in her splendour. No wonder she was named of poets, "Concho d'Oro," the Golden Shell! I lingered for some time, perfectly fascinated by the beauty of the scene.

Passing through the crowded little town of Monreale—probably a city in the times of the Greeks and Romans—I gained the piazza where the beautiful Cathedral, with Benedictine Abbey attached, was situated. I had expected a Cathedral here as a matter of course, for no Italian town, however small, is without one, but I was scarcely prepared to find it so large and so beautiful. It was founded in 1174, by William II., surnamed the Good; the front is enriched by two bronze doors by Bounanno of Pisa, and is further ornamented with mosaics and arabesques.

On entering, I was filled with admiration. The magnificent edifice, which is some 315 feet in length, is divided into three aisles by pillars of granite and different-coloured marbles; the pavement of tessellated marble; and the whole of the ceilings and walls, down to the very capitals of the Corinthian columns, a grand series of beautiful mosaics representing Scriptural subjects, separated by, and intermixed with gold and parti-coloured arabesques. Over the altar, a colossal figure of Christ in blue and gold mosaic. When the sunlight streamed through the windows, these beautiful arabesques looked like the finest silk tapestries, and presented a form of decoration only equalled by that of St. Mark at Venice; there are also some very fine and interesting monuments.

I next visited the Abbey, and some of the most beautiful cloisters I think I ever beheld. Hundreds of delicate columns of white marble, filagreed and inlaid with gold and mosaics, and with exquisite capitals, rose before me on all sides, which, with the fine tracery of the Gothic windows, formed a vista of perfect classic loveliness.

Afterwards, by the kind invitation of one of the monks, I visited the Convent refectory above. There were some good oil-paintings here; and I was pleased to see, by the number of schools within the building, that good work was being done by this wealthy Convent—now probably under the supervision of the Italian Government.

On returning, I had magnificent panoramic views of the valley and Palermo constantly before me. I was much amused, on my way back, to see the peasant women plaiting their daughters' hair outside their houses, on the high-road, and doing their best to beautify it by unblushingly introducing long artificial tresses! This was rather disappointing to my day-dreams, as I had so much admired Nature's rich dark clustering head-dress on the heads of the handsome Italian peasant women.

There is a nice little English church at Palermo, near the Street of Palms, and I quite enjoyed the service, everything was so bright and peaceful. There was a goodly gathering of English folk assembled within its walls.

Near the Royal Palace, in the Via Toledo, is the Cathedral, a fine Gothic pile of very striking appearance, standing well back in the piazza, its rather quaint Campanile separated from it by a narrow street arched over. The principal porch is in the form of a very beautiful arch; the interior in the Corinthian style, and chiefly interesting for the beauty and richness of the high altar. In one of the chapels are the tombs of Roger II. and the Emperor Frederic, and those of their respective families.

There are several other churches in Palermo well worth a visit. St Domenico, which is built in the Doric style, is one of these; but perhaps the most interesting of all is the ruined church of St. Giovanni, erected by King Roger in 1132, and which was evidently in the style of a Byzantine Mosque, with its numerous arches, low roof, and domes. On leaving this building, and thanking the keeper for explaining its antiquities to me, I found he belonged to one of the most ancient Eastern orders of the Masonic craft—a gratifying proof to me of the wonderful ramifications of this powerful charitable fraternity. The Church of Martorana is in a semi-Gothic and Saracenic style of architecture, and was built by one of King Roger's admirals in 1113-1139; it has some very beautiful mosaics. Some of the palaces of the nobility are open to visitors, and contain much of an interesting description.

Within an easy walk, towards the Monreale road, are the catacombs of the Capuchin monastery, which is situated a little off from the high-road, and looks an unpretentious kind of building. A monk guided me through the clean, well-lighted subterranean passages, and it was not without some feeling of dread that I saw on each side of me tiers of the decaying skeletons of monks, suspended against the walls, and looking down upon me with their poor hideous mouldering visages. I almost feared the ropes round these skeleton bodies would give way, and that the bones would come tumbling down upon me. The Capuchin, with a somewhat humorous smile on his worn, kindly face, reassured me, and said that when at last they fell to pieces, the remains were carefully collected and religiously locked away within an iron door in one of the walls. There were several lively cats jumping about from coffin to coffin, and these were looked upon with a most compassionate and friendly air by my good monk, as assisting him to preserve the bones of his comrades from moth and mouse—whether the old Sicilian superstition with regard to the sacredness of the feline species had also anything to do with it, I cannot say. There is a saddening sort of feeling in entering these homes of the dead—

"To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral state; Pitying each form that hungry Death had marr'd, And filling it once more with human soul."

After going through some hundred yards of this vast tomb, I felt glad to return to the sunlight and pure air of the living world.

On the road to Monreale there is an interesting botanical garden, where I saw some very fine specimens of plants entirely new to me—camphor, coffee, castor oil, and others. There are many beautiful gardens in Palermo, besides the delightful public one known as the "Flora," which afforded such a charming and refreshing outlook from the Hotel de France, where I was staying.

The great cross-roads afford one of the principal drives of the elite of the town, and at about three o'clock in the afternoon these thoroughfares are crowded with the carriages of the Palermian aristocracy. The circus, where the two roads meet and intersect each other, forms a large open space called the "Ottangolo," from its octagonal shape; each of the eight sides is formed by a beautiful building or fountain. This place is a favourite lounge for soldiers and idlers generally, who come here simply to enjoy their cigarettes in the open, sunlit air, and in the hope, like the ancient Athenians, of hearing "some new thing."

The Bersaglieri regiment, in their shining black hats, with flowing cocks' plumes, cut a great dash. I often wondered where all these feathers came from, as the cock seemed quite a rara avis at Palermo. Perhaps, after all, one fact explained the other, and I had been mixing up cause and effect. The military were evidently proud of themselves and their past exploits with Garibaldi; they had certainly proved that there was plenty of sturdy pluck about them. They are in general a small, swarthy, handsome set of men, but with rather too much of a swagger for soldiers who had seen service. The ladies are graceful and dignified; a trifle too pale, I thought, but I have since learnt that this pallor is studiously acquired—I suppose, to give more sentiment to the expression: in other countries, ladies seem inclined to go in for a little more colour. The nocturnal-like existence of the Sicilian ladies, however, should be quite sufficient to produce the desired pallor, without any artificial aid. Their evening commences at 10.30, when tea is served, and you are lucky if you can contrive to get away by 2 a.m. As a matter of course, they are invisible during the morning, and are seldom seen before three o'clock in the afternoon, when they drive out to gain fresh vigour for their nocturnal existence.

From January to May, I believe Palermo is considered a very healthy place for invalids. It is not subject to changes of climate, and being on an island is perhaps the cause of its advantage over other places on the Italian coast, and especially those situated more inland, and on a river, such as Rome, Pisa, and Florence; for these rivers are generally the receptacles of the city sewage—dirty, muddy, and polluted streams, and most unhealthy during the warm season. Yet, strange to say, these river-sides are frequently selected as chosen places of residence, as witness the Lung Arno of Pisa and Florence.

One of the features of Palermo is the number of reservoirs, which are generally situated at the corners of streets, and every house in the city accordingly has an abundant supply of water. This must also be a great source of cleanliness and healthfulness.

For a tour of a few weeks, I can fancy no place more interesting than this fair island. The enchanting Straits of Messina, Catania, Mount Etna, and lovely Aci Reale; the ancient Girgenti and Syracuse with their Greek and Roman ruins; Marsala and Palermo. It is also close to the interesting island of Malta, and is the highway for steamers to all parts. The place is healthy, and, finally, the living is good and moderate in price. Travelling, too, is convenient and cheap: the tramways run quite round Palermo, and the carriages are better and cheaper than in any other city in Europe.

Although travelling in Italy has its drawbacks, I have found more pleasure in moving amongst the Italians than the French. There is an evident respect and grateful sympathy felt by the former towards England, while the French take no pains to disguise their antipathy. Yet we were blindly intent on making the Channel Tunnel, foolishly supposing it would convert our sullen neighbour into a sincere friend and commercial ally.

I could not but notice in Palermo, the vigorous efforts of the Italian Government to suppress brigandage. I constantly saw some of the plumed Bersaglieri posted in the most out-of-the-way places, commanding the various passes, in order to surprise any attempt that might be made.

Before leaving Sicily, I cannot refrain from recalling that perfect avalanche of stirring incidents that took place in 1860—incidents that far eclipse all other events recorded in the momentous history of this lovely island; and, as the death of the patriotic Garibaldi is still of somewhat recent date, and the subject is one of universal interest, I shall, in the following chapter, briefly sketch these thrilling events, with certain particulars of the part taken therein by the English which have not been publicly known before.



CHAPTER XVI.

Annexation of Nice and Savoy—Garibaldi's protest—A desperate venture— Calatafimi—Catania—Melazzo—Entry into Naples—Gaeta—The British Contingent—Departure from England—Desertion—Arrival in Naples—Colonel "Long Shot"—Major H——'s imaginary regiment—Dispersion of the British Contingent.

On April 1st, 1860, of all days in the year, was consummated the annexation of Nice and Savoy to France. Napoleon III. had liberated Lombardy from the Austrian yoke, and handed it over to Victor Emmanuel. As the "honest broker," he required his fee, and, much against the will of the majority of the inhabitants, Nice and Savoy became French territory. Certainly a plebiscite was taken on the question, but the whole affair was "managed," and the birthplace of one of modern Italy's greatest men was handed over to France.

Giuseppe Garibaldi loudly protested against the annexation, and never forgave it.

For some time during the early spring of 1860, the Sicilians had been in a state of intermittent rebellion against Ferdinand King of Naples—Bombina. At the end of April, Garibaldi determined to make a strenuous effort to aid the patriot insurgents, and collected around him several of his old companions in arms, among whom were Nino Brixio, Colonel Turr, the Hungarian, Count Teletri, and Sistari. With these were a number of brave men who had survived the siege of Rome, and the slaughter by General Oudinot's troops. In three days after determining on action, everything was prepared for one of the most daring and hairbreadth expeditions of modern times. Supplies of arms and stores were procured and held ready at different points of the coast near Genoa; several steamers were "arranged for" (it was stated, at the time they were seized); and on the night of Saturday, May 5th, some two thousand stern and resolute volunteers of all classes of society, and all ages from sixteen to sixty, including about two hundred of the best marksmen of the Societa del Tiro Nazionale of Genoa, were on board the steamers, Piedmonti and Lombardo, belonging to the Genoese Rubatino Navigation Company, and La Sardigna. The embarkation, which took place at Foco and other places on the coast, was witnessed by five thousand spectators, who wished the brave fellows God-speed. The Sardinian Government, sub rosa, was fully cognizant of the whole affair, but dared not give it either countenance or recognition of any sort. Shortness of time alone prevented Garibaldi going to the king who was at Bologna, and telling him of his plans.

The Piedmonti was under the command of Garibaldi himself, and Nino Brixio took charge of the Lombardo. Both were experienced sailors. It was generally rumoured that they intended landing on the coast of the Roman States, and the Piedmonti did call at Telemone for water, as the vessel that carried her store had been seized. From Telemone Garibaldi addressed a letter to Signor Barline, which served as the pronunciamento of his expedition and intentions, i.e. to free Italy from the Bourbons. On May 7th the vessels and their gallant crews, recovered from the effects of the very stormy passage from Genoa, set forth again; and on the 11th the whole party disembarked at Marsala, in the teeth of two Neapolitan frigates, who opened fire on them just as the last boat was leaving the Piedmonti, which vessel they afterwards gallantly captured, there being no one on board! The Lombardo was sunk by the Neapolitan guns, and the other vessels made off as best they could, after landing their men. The whole took place in full view of Admiral Mundy and the officers and men of the British fleet.

No sooner were the Garibaldians landed than they marched on to Calatafimi, quite unfettered in their movements by any superabundance of baggage. Here they at once attacked and defeated the royal troops, four times their number, and, raising the whole country on their route, pushed on towards Palermo. At the battle of Calatafimi, Menotti Garibaldi, the son of the general, received his first wound.

With all Europe looking on, amazed at the sheer audacity of the deed, Garibaldi showed himself as prudent and as skilful as he was bold. His red-shirted army, daily increasing in numbers, made one of the most wonderful forced flank marches on record, pushing the way along mere goat-tracks over the mountains, and with such rapidity that General Lanzi, the commandant of the royal army in Palermo, was awakened in the middle of the night to hear that the dreaded Garibaldians, whom he supposed to be at least twenty miles away, were actually forcing their way into the city, and driving the soldiers of Bombina before them. Being driven out of Palermo, Lanzi shelled the city from the forts, in spite of the remonstrances of Admiral Mundy, who had moved the British fleet round the coast to watch proceedings. Outside Palermo, at a place called Catania, Garibaldi engaged and defeated the royal army so badly that General Lanzi was fain to ask the aid of the British admiral, to negociate terms between himself and the filibuster Garibaldi, for his withdrawal from, and surrender of, Palermo to the national army. Had it not been for the generosity of an American captain, who supplied the red-shirts with ammunition, they would have exhausted their last cartridge before the battle of Catania was half over.

Garibaldi was not the man to remain idle one moment, and after establishing a provisional government at Palermo, and recruiting his small forces, he set out towards Messina, and again attacked the Royal army at Melazzo, on July 24. Here was one of the severest struggles of the war. Melazzo was a hard-fought battle, but victory remained with the patriots, and the result placed Messina in the hands of Garibaldi, and with it the whole of the fair island of Sicily. It was at the battle of Melazzo that, watching some English sailors, who had obtained leave from their ships and volunteered their services in the cause of freedom, and were very skilfully managing some pieces of artillery, the idea occurred to Garibaldi and some of his staff, to invite the services of England by the formation of a volunteer legion.

Shortly after the news reached London of the battle of Melazzo, agents were at work enrolling volunteers to join the standard of Garibaldi—no longer the revolutionary fillibuster, but the victorious general.

When at Messina, Garibaldi received a letter from Victor Emmanuel, forbidding him to make any attempt to cross the Straits of Messina, and carry the war on to the mainland; but he heeded it not, or, what is perhaps most probable, he read between the lines, that having succeeded so far, greatly to the surprise of all the wiseacres among European diplomatists, he was to follow up his good fortune, and "go ahead." He did so, and, in spite of the Neapolitan fleet being in the Straits to prevent his passage, he crossed in the night and landed at Melita August 20th, and at once commenced the task of driving out the detested Bombina from his kingdom.

In informing his Government of the fact, Admiral Mundy, who had brought the British fleet to Messina, said, "If the royal troops are staunch, he must be annihilated in a week." But he knew neither the rottenness of the Neapolitan government nor the terror with which the red-shirted Garibaldians were regarded by the royal troops; for with scarcely any fighting the victorious Garibaldi advanced, driving the king's army before him like sheep, and entered Naples, on the 7th of September.

His progress from Messina to Naples was unlike any military advance recorded in history. The Bombini government was paralyzed. The king sent to him, and offered fifty millions of francs and the surrender of the whole Neapolitan navy, if he would halt his men and stop the invasion. He knew little of the man who had sworn never to sheath his sword till Victor Emmanuel was King of Italy!

Ferdinand remained in Naples while Garibaldi and General Coyenzi entered it in an open carriage, followed by the chief officers of his staff. The air was rent with the shouts of the people, who thronged in thousands to hail their deliverer. The Neapolitan police—the hated Sbirri—looked on in sullen silence. The guns of the fortress of St. Elmo commanded the road by which the cavalcade advanced, and were all loaded, the gunners standing ready with lighted fuses waiting for the word to fire. The order was given to clear the streets with grape shot, but the artillerymen stood amazed at the sight of the approaching carriage, in which Garibaldi stood erect, with his hand on his breast, giving orders to the coachmen to drive slower and slower, in a voice that was heard above all the din of the "vivas" of the populace. Three times the officers gave the word to fire; but the gunners were now under the actual majestic influence of Garibaldi's noble patriotism and unflinching courage, and, throwing down their matches, they flung their caps into the air, and joined the people in their cries of "Viva Garibaldi! Viva Italia!"

The king left the city and fled to Gaeta, and, having collected what troops he could, returned to Volturino, the whole of his army amounting to thirty thousand men. He had not long to wait before Garibaldi, who had been proclaimed Dictator in Naples, attacked him with about five thousand really fighting men, and a herd of Neapolitans who were of no earthly use. The king made most desperate efforts to crush the red-shirts, who fought as only men can fight who do so for country and liberty. After seeing many of his best men fall, and among them some of his dearest friends, and passing through many personal dangers—for he was ever in the hottest part of the battle—Garibaldi drove the royal troops back, and they never stopped or showed face again till they were safe within the lines of Gaeta, where, after making a decent show of resistance, and standing a siege by the troops of Victor Emmanuel, they surrendered, and the Bourbon dynasty disappeared from Italian soil for ever.

The whole campaign, from the landing at Marsala to the last defeat of the Neapolitan army at Volturino, occupied but 122 days, in which time a mere handful of determined patriots, who were regarded as banditti at the outset of the undertaking, and who were at no time decently supplied with what are deemed by military men the ordinary and necessary equipments for warfare, beat a well-organized army in four regular engagements, besides innumerable skirmishes, and conquered a kingdom.

History records how nobly Garibaldi acted, and how scurvily he was treated. On October 24th, having handed over to Victor Emmanuel the kingdom of the two Sicilies, and made him King of Italy, he retired from Naples, to his island home at Caprera, and, after having at his command the treasury of Naples, was compelled to borrow L20 from a friend to defray his private expenses, and embarked with less than twenty francs in his pocket.

No wonder every Italian glories in the name of Garibaldi! Such men are few and far between.

I have mentioned the formation of a British volunteer legion. Probably there have been few more mismanaged affairs than this British contingent, from the first conception of it on the field of Melazzo to the disbandment of the remnants of it after the surrender of Gaeta.

In the summer of 1860, a gentleman, calling himself Major S——, appeared in London, as the accredited agent for the formation of the British Garibaldian Legion. An office was opened in Salisbury Street, Strand, for the enrolment of volunteers, and a committee having been formed, met daily in a room over the shop where a gentleman, better known among Free-thinkers as Iconoclast, sold his own and other unorthodox books of a similar character in Fleet Street. Here a Captain de R—— became the practical man, while a Major H—— assumed the character of the dashing dragoon officer. A legal opinion was obtained as to the best way of evading the several Acts of Parliament bearing on the points of foreign enlistment and equipment of armed forces in time of peace.[G]

The great volunteer movement having sprung into existence during the previous year, there was a vast amount of military ardour floating about among young men of all classes, and recruits offered themselves faster than funds were subscribed for their equipment.

About ten or twelve hundred young men of all classes enrolled themselves in the legion, and officers of more or less experience were not wanting to command them. An offer was made to take the whole force out to Naples in a large screw steamer, the Circassian, which had formerly been employed in the Transatlantic service, and belonged to an eminent Greek firm. The offer was, to take the regiment out to Naples, and to feed and provide the men with all necessaries, on exactly the same scale and manner as English troops had been accommodated on board vessels that had taken out the army to suppress the Indian Mutiny. Captain de R——, the practical man on the committee, advocated the acceptance of this offered contract, but there were other influences at work. Commissions were offered, and "pickings" were to be obtained if the men were sent out at a cheaper rate in another way, and the consequence was that, instead of the whole force going together in one large vessel, with ample and comfortable accommodation, they were sent out in two parties, in two miserable little vessels totally unfitted for such work, and quite incapable of berthing more than half the number packed on board. The first ship to start was a small screw boat, re-christened for the occasion the Melazzo, after the late Garibaldian victory. The men were huddled on board anyhow at Thames Haven, in the night. No sooner had she got to sea than discomfort begat discontent. There were only sleeping-berths for half the number on board, and consequently the poor volunteers had to take it in turns to sleep; it was turn out one lot, and turn in the other. The vessel called at Plymouth, and a large number of passengers left her, some to find their way out on their "own hook," and join the force in Italy; and others, having had enough of such discomfort, deserted altogether. The remainder sailed on board the paddle-steamer London, a vessel quite as unsuited for the purpose as the Melazzo. The men assembled at midnight at Fenchurch Street station, making the surrounding neighbourhood echo again with their patriotic songs, and a special train took them down to Southend, where the London was lying. Arrived on board, a very unseemly dispute arose between some of the officers, resulting in Captain de R—— turning Major H—— out of the ship. The London did not call anywhere going down Channel, strict orders having been given to her captain not to do so, in consequence of the number of desertions from the Melazzo. However, on touching at Gibraltar, several of the men had experienced discomfort enough, and some of those who had the means of reaching home left the ship there.

Arrived at Naples, a greater mistake than any that had yet occurred took place. The regiment, when assembled together, mustered about eight hundred very presentable young soldiers, well fitted in every way to give a good account of themselves, and such as any English officer would have been proud to lead into action. The question was, who would be the lucky English officer to whom the command would be given?

During the campaign of 1859, when the united French and Italian armies wrested Lombardy from the Austrians, Garibaldi had commanded a body of men who did excellent service, and obtained great renown as the Chasseurs des Alps—men who were now fighting with him in Sicily. Wherever Garibaldi went he was accompanied by an eccentric Englishman who was an excellent long shot with the rifle, and whose delight it was to "pot" off Austrians at incredible distances. He became famous for his skill in picking off Austrian officers, and was known as "Garibaldi's Englishman." When success attended Garibaldi's expedition to Sicily, his long-shooting Englishman joined him, and when the English volunteers were ready to leave Naples and take the field at the siege of Gaeta, Colonel "Long Shot" was placed in command—a man of execrable temper, and totally unfitted in every way to command anything, let alone a body of half-drilled, high-spirited young Englishmen. About the same time Major S—— was placed under arrest, and accused of having kept irregular accounts of the regimental monies that had passed through his hands.

Arrived at the front, the British legion were neglected in every way by the Italian troops. The Garibaldians were treated badly enough, but the Englishmen fared worse, and, being dependent upon the Italian commissariat, they came badly off. They were pushed well to the front to do the fighting, and did what little there was to do with credit to themselves and their country, but when supplies were wanted they were almost ignored.

Major H——, who had been turned ashore from the London, found his way to Naples, where, in the most resplendent of uniforms, he figured at the cafes and casinos as colonel and commander-in-chief of an imaginary regiment of cavalry, which never reached more than himself and his orderly. After rendering himself the laughing-stock of all Naples, and giving rise to much unfavourable comment upon Englishmen in general, and himself in particular, he disappeared from Naples, and went no one knows where, leaving behind as mementoes of the celebrated cavalry regiment various unpaid accounts.

After the fall of Gaeta, and the end of the war, the remains of this unfortunate British legion melted away, leaving many of their comrades behind, either having died in hospital or fallen beneath the enemy's fire.

Among the ranks of the British Legion was a young artist, who has since done good service for some of our illustrated papers in depicting battle scenes all over Europe. Mr. Vizitelli was that artist who received a wound in front of Gaeta, and who is one of the unfortunate band that accompanied Hicks Pascha to the Soudan, and about whose fate much anxiety now exists.

[G] See Appendix.



CHAPTER XVII.

Floods in France—London—Back to the South—Marseilles—Italian Emigrant passengers—A death on board—French impolitesse—Italian coast scenery at dawn—Unlimited palaver—Arrival in Leghorn—The Lepanto—Departure —"Fair Florence"—The Arno—Streets—Palaces—San Miniato—The grand Duomo—The Baptistery—Ghiberti's Bronze Gates.

We had a very rough passage to Marseilles, and arrived five hours after time. I only stopped here one night, and hurried on through Paris to London. The lowlands of France were still under water, and the weather in England much the same as when I left it six weeks ago. After a sojourn of some weeks—

"In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud,"

during which time the weather continued anything but agreeable, with bitterly cold winds and frequent rain, I started for the south once more, having arranged to meet my wife at Leghorn. I had hoped that Malta would have been mild and pleasant at this time of the year, but, as in most other places, the disastrous floods and phenomenal weather generally of 1882 had extended to March, 1883, even here, and she was not particularly sorry to leave the island, hoping to find an improvement in the climate on a second trip into Italy.

Crossing the Channel in fairly smooth water and with a clean sky, I began to hope a favourable change had really set in at last. Paris was very bright and pleasant. A political demonstration was expected here on the Sunday following the day of my arrival; but this was the greater reason for my hurrying away on the morning of that day, March 18th. It opened bright and frosty. The usual tedious journey of fifteen hours to Marseilles was quite pleasant, and without event. I was glad to hear that the day had passed over peaceably at Paris.

At Marseilles it was warm and sunny; and on Monday I embarked on board the Transatlantic steamer for Genoa. Knowing the little sympathy and friendly feeling there is on board French vessels for the English, I was glad to find two or three of my countrymen among the saloon passengers. The time of sailing arrived, but there was no sign of our leaving, and at last I found we were waiting for some three or four hundred Italian returning emigrants, whose vessel had come from the Brazils, and which was not yet released from quarantine. This prospect of waiting for some three or four hundred poor, dirty, sickly emigrants was not very lively, and this was rather disappointing, as it would probably interfere with my arrival at Leghorn at the time arranged. However, some four or five hours later their vessel came into the harbour, and they were brought alongside in several large barges—men, women, and children, with all their worldly goods, most of them returning poorer than when they had left their native land. They had a medley of souvenirs with them, parrots and other birds, and all kinds of gay garments—those land-sharks the Jews not even sparing these poor, pitiful emigrants, but doing their best to make them part with their little store of hard-earned savings, by offering them these gaudy articles of apparel, to cover or replace their own poor warm clothing. The long sea-voyage from the Brazils must have been very trying to these forlorn creatures, whose hopeless condition it was impossible to avoid sympathizing with and pitying. They appeared most eager to reach the shores of their own dear Italy once more—a fond hope and dream in foreign lands, now almost realized.

There was one poor old man, upwards of seventy years of age, who sat very still during all the exciting confusion of getting on board the steamer. He looked very ill, and I felt quite grateful to the fine, robust young man (whom I afterwards discovered was a perfect stranger to him) who most kindly took charge of him, and assisted him to climb the ship's ladder, which seemed to give him intense pain—indeed, he appeared scarcely able to move for agony. That night, while we were steaming away over the moonlit sea towards his native land, the poor old man entered on his long rest in a happier home above.

The rest of the emigrants seemed happy enough, though herding together like sheep—men, women, and children lying about the deck asleep. I thought it would have been as well to have separated them, and made the men strip, and given them the hose of cold water in the early morning, for they had evidently not removed their soiled and tattered garments for weeks; but probably the water would have proved too cold. I was the more fully convinced of the necessity of this cleansing process when, tired of the crowded confinement of the deck-space allotted to them, these poor emigrants gradually encroached on the precincts of the saloon, and a certain painful irritation of the skin unpleasantly reminded me of the fact. It was a pleasant sight, however, to see them enjoying their hot coffee and biscuits after their night's rest, and a more substantial breakfast later on in the forenoon. They were certainly well fed while on board.

We had a tolerably fair passage, which was fortunate, as I believe it would have been next door to impossible to have had proper control over our motley crew of passengers if any danger had arisen; moreover, the boats would have been utterly insufficient. Yet, although so fine, most of the passengers were obliged to leave the dinner-table, and return to their cabins. I was then a witness to the ill feeling of the French towards us, as adduced by their selfish neglect of my two English fellow-travellers; the doctor paid not the slightest attention to them, though it was clearly his duty to do so. I was glad, therefore, to be able to do what I could for them, and ordered one or two tempting things from the dinner-table to be set aside for them, which I afterwards took to them myself, incurring thereby the decided disfavour of the French officers, who churlishly resented what they considered my interference. Possibly it might have been against the rules of the vessel; still, I felt it to be only a simple and natural act of humanity towards my sick countrymen, since no one else appeared willing to trouble themselves in their behalf.

It was a lovely moonlight night as we coasted along the shore, and I walked the deck till long past midnight.

The next morning I was up at six, and awoke my companions, that they might share with me the beauty of the coast scenery, which we were passing in the early daylight:

"'Tis morn, and Nature's richest dyes Are floating o'er Italian skies; Tints of transparent lustre shine Along the snow-clad Apennine."

It was all we could desire—a glorious sun, clear atmosphere, and genial, bracing air. How fair is Nature at this hour! "One drinks in the air by long draughts; the eyes seem to be intoxicated with the sun, the very soul to bathe in the glory of colour!"

Meanwhile, we have passed Frejus, Nice, Villafranca, Antibes,—the old castle at Mentone projecting out into the sea; and now lovely Monte Carlo and Monaco are in view, nestling amidst terraces of orange and olive trees,—graceful palms lifting their heads here and there to the blue sky. Then a sterner and more imposing series of views, the coast-line more rugged and broken, as we gradually near the mountain ranges of the Alps and the Apennines, and approach the harbour of that magnificent city unrivalled indeed in the commanding grandeur of its situation—"Genova la Superba." I now quite realized that this glorious coast scenery must be seen from the sea, to understand and appreciate its special beauties.

As I had anticipated, the fussy and over-punctilious Italian sanitary officers demurred at admitting us to Pratique, and were about to put us in quarantine on account of the death of the poor emigrant, though it was clearly evidenced that he died from some organic disease. The poor emigrants were longing to get on shore and seek their homes once more, and I was most anxious to catch the train to Leghorn, to receive my wife on her arrival from Malta. Still, officer after officer came on board, and it was useless to chafe with impatience; they persisted in going through the whole of their tiresome, circumlocutory inquiries, and having their talk out: this aggravating palaver evidently being extended to magnify their office.

At last they came to the conclusion that we were entitled to a clean bill of health, and released us. I hurried on shore, and arrived at the station just ten minutes after my train had started. This was most provoking, but fortunately I found a little steamer of the Rubatino line, going to Leghorn that night, and at once engaged a passage in her. I found another Englishman on board, and as the little vessel rolled about in the trough of the sea, and there was therefore evidently little sleep to be got in our small cabins, we did our best to walk the deck till midnight; and then, with a "Good night," crawled into the confined cabins allotted to us, exercising, of course, the full privileges of Englishmen in a growl at the scanty accommodation.

Arriving at Leghorn the next morning at six, I found myself in rather an anxious predicament, for, having planned to arrive at Leghorn before my wife, I had not named any special hotel for our meeting; but owing to my having missed the train at Genoa, she had arrived before me, and where she had gone I knew not. However, trusting to her good sense and courage, I began my search with a light heart; and, after two unsuccessful attempts, was rejoiced to find her all safe. Like myself, she had experienced rather rough weather on her passage from Malta; but had appreciated the little breaks in the voyage afforded by the vessel stopping at Catania, Messina, and Naples.

On exploring the town a little after breakfast, we caught a glimpse of the great ironclad Lepanto, which the Italians had just launched, and a great unwieldy monster she looked.

Leghorn is a dead and alive sort of place, and we had no inclination to remain there; so took the 10.45 train to Florence, at which city we arrived safely in the evening, and proceeded at once to the Hotel de Russie.

I had always had a great longing to see Florence, the home of Italian genius:

"Florence! beneath the sun, Of cities fairest one."

Rain had fallen pretty freely here as elsewhere, and for the first few days we had to take advantage of every gleam of sunshine to obtain an outing.

Florence is divided into two parts by the Arno; the northern side is the oldest part, and contains the best hotels and restaurants. From one window we saw the yellow river rushing tumultuously over the artificial weirs that are built to prevent its unhealthy stagnation. Across this unpoetical river are several stone bridges; the central one, which is something like old London Bridge, is almost covered with houses, chiefly small jewellers'. Artists consider that this adds to the picturesqueness of the river, but I would have preferred a clear view up to the mountains at its head. It is a very interesting city, with its narrow streets, quaint buildings, piazzas, and monuments of ancient glory. There are two or three rather fine streets leading from the railway station, and culminating in the Cathedral Piazza. These contain several noble palatial residences of the ancient nobility, massively built of great rough-hewn stones, attached to which are large iron rings with holders for torches, and at the corners antique iron frames to hold lanterns, showing how the city was lighted in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was curious to notice the great overhanging roofs, probably intended to give shade to the passers-by. As at Genoa, these buildings usually have the coronet and arms of their noble owners over the porch. The principal streets are sufficiently wide to allow of two carriages passing, and yet leave room for pedestrians; but, properly speaking, there are few regular foot-pavements. The shops are all one can wish, the cafes and restaurants being particularly conspicuous.

Crossing the river to the south side by one of the suspension bridges, we had some very pretty peeps at the valley; then, mounting up to the well-planned and finely terraced Boboli Gardens, and up to the interesting church and cemetery of San Miniato, we obtained magnificent views of the whole city, and the beautiful valley and plains in which it reposes. The interior of San Miniato is now used as a kind of Campo Santo, and has frescoed walls and an exquisitely wrought screen and pulpit; there are also several paintings attributed to Spinello Aretino.

The Cathedral is of course the centre of life, as in all Italian cities, and this reminds me of a beautiful thought in reference to this grand and splendid duomo of Florence: "It was designed by the Republic to be the largest and most sumptuous building that could be invented, in order that it might correspond with a very great heart—because originated in the mind of most of the citizens united together in one will." This was indeed a noble and Christian sentiment!

It is in the Italian-Gothic style—a great casket of black and white marble, beautified by many exquisite traceries and statues. The noble dome is finely proportioned, but looks almost small amidst the great pile of buildings around it, and by the graceful square Campanile rising proudly beside it. The porches have arches most curiously but daintily traced and twisted, the outline of the building putting one in mind of some exquisite Indian work of ivory, inlaid with silver. Altogether it is a strikingly handsome Duomo, and when the facade is completed, I doubt if there is another in Italy of the kind to compare with it, always excepting the beautiful and unique St. Mark's at Venice. It is, however, somewhat too closely surrounded by shops and other buildings. The interior is vast, grand, and impressive, but very cold and gloomy. The choir is octagonal, enclosed by an Ionic colonnade, and corresponds in shape with the dome above, which is double, one dome within another; the inner one is painted with frescoes by Vasari and Zacchero. From the pavement to the top of the cross it is 380 feet. The beautiful Campanile tower is encased with strips of differently coloured marbles, adorned with bas-reliefs and statues. It is 269 feet in height, being ascended by some 415 steps. The view from the top is very extensive. The adjacent Baptistery is on the site of the Temple of Mars. It is an octagonal building of the thirteenth century, and is chiefly remarkable for the beauty of Ghiberti's great bronze gates, representing scripture scenes.

"Ghiberti left behind him wealth and children; But who would know to-day that he had lived If he had never made those gates of bronze In the old Baptistery—those gates of bronze Worthy to be the gates of Paradise? His wealth is scattered to the winds, his children Are long since dead; but those celestial gates Survive, and keep his name and memory green."

There are also some very fine mosaics in the interior, but unfortunately the darkness prevents their being properly seen. The only way to see anything of them is to go into the darkest corner, shutting your eyes, and then, opening them, look up at the dome suddenly. All the children in the city are baptized here, the water being blessed by the bishop twice a year. There is much of ancient interest around this old Baptistery; indeed, in all places where the Romans have been, one cannot but feel the presence of a mighty nation. So also with the Greeks; they leave traces of a refined intellect behind them which centuries cannot entirely efface.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Santa Croce—San Lorenzo—Day and Night—Picture-galleries—The Tribune—Venus de' Medici—Excursion to Fiesole—Ancient Amphitheatre —Aurora Cafe—Climate of Florence—Heavy hotel charges—Departure— Bologna sausages—Venice.

The church of Santa Croce—the Westminster Abbey of Italy—possesses great interest to every classical student and lover of art and genius. It is situated within a few minutes' walk of the Cathedral in its own piazza, in the centre of which stands the striking monument and statue of the intensely thoughtful Dante, by Canova:

"In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie Ashes which make it holier, dust which is Even in itself an immortality. Though there were something save the past, and this The particles of those sublimities Which have relapsed to chaos:—here repose Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his The starry Galileo, with his woes; Here Machiavelli's earth returned to whence it rose.

These are four minds, which, like the elements, Might furnish forth creation:—Italy! Time, which hath wronged thee with ten thousand rent Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, And hath denied, to every other sky Spirits which soar from ruin:—thy decay Is still impregnant with divinity, Which gilds it with revivifying ray; Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day."

The facade of Santa Croce, like that of the Cathedral, is finely encased with marble; but it is the interior that excites such deep interest in the mind; the many fine monuments, and the beautiful sculptures on the tombs of the great and illustrious men whom Italy has had the honour to call her children. In this she is indeed rich among nations. The church contains a great number of chapels, some large, some small, but all possessing paintings, sculptures, mosaics, and monuments of interest.

In the Church of San Lorenzo are the stately mausoleums of the Medici. The Capella dei Deposite, or Chapel of the Buried, was designed by Michael Angelo, on purpose to contain his two celebrated statues of Giuliano and Lorenzo di Medici. At the feet of Giuliano rest the recumbent figures, Day and Night; of the latter, the great Angelo wrote—

"Grateful to me is sleep; to be of stone More grateful, while the wrong and shame endure To see not, feel not, is a benediction; Therefore, awake me not; oh, speak in whispers!"

The other and more imposing statue of Lorenzo, grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent, is a truly wonderful study. The figure is seated in a perfectly natural attitude, one hand supporting the head, which is covered by a kind of helmet; the shadowed face is full of intense thought, and the stone almost seems to breathe beneath your gaze. The statue is worthy of the master mind which designed it. Allegorical figures, representing Morning and Evening, are recumbent on either side.

There are many other churches to visit in Florence, but although they may well repay the trouble, I think, as a rule, that visitors waste much time and money in making a point of seeing every individual church and chapel in each place they stop at. The hotel-keepers, who make the objects of interest as numerous as possible, derive by far the greatest benefit from it.

Florence is truly wonderful in picture-galleries, and nearly every antique shop is worth stopping at, to look at the copies of great works, though there is too frequently a doubt as to their genuineness; for there is great difficulty in obtaining permission to copy some of the most celebrated of the old masters, therefore the demand for these copies far exceeds the supply, and the shopkeepers resort to unscrupulous means to satisfy their customers and fill their own pockets. Many a British householder has pictures hanging upon his walls with which he is so well pleased, that it would be a pity to question their genuineness and undeceive him.

The chief and most important of the Art Museums are, the Uffizi or National Gallery of Florence, and the royal Pitti Palace. These two buildings, although on opposite sides of the river, are connected by a picture-gallery some seven hundred yards long, which extends across one of the bridges of the Arno. It is impossible to view separately, or form a very connected after-idea of, all the various treasures gathered here—a collection which equals any other in the world. The chief and most universally admired paintings by the old masters are contained in one room called the Tribune—here are also five of the most beautiful of antique statues—the Wrestlers, the Dancing Faun, the Apollino, the Slave, and lastly, the famous Venus de' Medici. Of this last I may truly say, with Hawthorne, "It is of no use to throw heaps of words upon her, for they all fall away, and leave her standing in chaste and naked grace, as untouched as when I began." It is very, very beautiful, but not to be compared with that perfect chef d'oeuvre of sculpture, the Venus of the Capitol, of which it is supposed to have been a copy.

The statues are hardly seen to the best advantage, as the paintings behind them, and the many beautiful art treasures in the room, distract the attention and weary the eye. In fact, in visiting all these celebrated galleries in Italy, one is really unable to devote to each the attention and admiration it deserves, and which we should naturally accord were we not simply overwhelmed and dazzled with such profusion of treasure; the mind refuses to store away all the beautiful and tender thoughts that crowd into it in wild confusion—they pass away almost as swiftly as they come, leaving our after recollections in a sadly fragmentary state, with a feast of undigested mental food.

It is said that both painting and sculpture are almost lost arts at the present time in fair Italy; and that the former has emigrated to England, and the latter to Germany.

Besides paintings, there are some very beautiful mosaics, representing scenes from Roman life. One room also contains a very rich collection of gems, priceless relics of the Medici family set in jewels.

"Precious stones, never grow old."

There are some cabinets wonderfully inlaid and adorned with the smallest possible miniature paintings, representing Scripture scenes in infinitely minute compass; they are exceedingly curious and beautiful, and must have occupied years of patient toil and persevering talent. There was noble and appreciative patronage in those days! Some of the tables in the different rooms are marvellously inlaid and studded with precious stones, the subjects being very beautiful in harmony of colour. One great table, said to be worth L30,000, was sent, I believe, to the exhibition of 1851.

The Pitti Palace was originally built by a rich merchant of that name, and afterwards sold to the Medici; it now belongs to the King of Italy. The gardens at the back of the palace are well worth walking through, chiefly on account of the fine views of Florence obtainable from the upper terraces.

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One of the most enjoyable trips outside Florence is to Fiesole (the mother of Florence), the ancient Fiesula, an Etruscan town, older even than Rome. It is situated in the mountains some thousand feet above the valleys. We took a carriage thither, winding our way up the hillsides, and passing many a picturesque-looking villa. One of them, Villa Mozzi, is the property of an English artist, Mr. William Spence; another, the Villa dei Tre Visi—celebrated in one of Boccaccio's tales—belongs to the Earl of Balcarres. This site is much esteemed for the views it commands of the beautiful plains and valleys by which fair Florence is environed. Many of Italy's men of genius have retired to these peaceful abodes, to recruit their health and meditate on those imperishable works of art and literature which are now the admiration of the whole world, adding greatly both to its pleasure and instruction.

In about half an hour we reached the quaint little village at the top, having enjoyed our drive exceedingly, and having bought some pretty, quaintly shaped straw baskets from the peasant women en route. After passing into the Cathedral—there is no town or village in Italy too small to boast of its Duomo, or Cathedral—we mounted still higher to the little chapel on the site of an old monastery, and here we had a magnificent view of the valley of the Arno, for nearly half its extent. Florence, with her great Duomo reposing in the centre of a beautiful plain, and numerous convents, villas, and villages lying here and there around, some in the glens and valleys, others on the hillsides, the whole encircled by the fine chain of mountains which formed a circular boundary-line to the landscape. We found, a few minutes' walk from this spot, the remains of a half-circular Etruscan amphitheatre, in fairly good preservation. Wherever I have seen these coliseums and open-air theatres, I have always found them most admirably situated for grand and extensive views of the country beyond, and this, I think, must have greatly added to the impressiveness of the performance, and perhaps dignified the cruel and barbarous exhibitions that took place there, as the silent and solemn forest scenery raised the superstitious sacrifices of the ancient Druids to acts of veneration and worship.

We found here a very pleasant restaurant called the Aurora Cafe. It is owned by the artist I before mentioned as the proprietor of one of the charming villas. We partook of some refreshment, and I was offered sundry coins and antiques, supposed to have been dug up from the amphitheatre, or the still more ancient Etruscan village. I selected an iron coin, with a fine superscription.

On descending the hillside, we met an English coach and four, and our Italian driver fully shared in our enthusiastic admiration of the fine "Hyde Park" turn out, and the skilful manner in which the horses were handled on these mountain heights. Late in the evening we met the same team, admirably coached through the narrow and crowded streets and lanes of Florence.

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We found the climate of Florence bright and pleasant, bracing and healthful, but it was rather too dear a place for those with a limited income. We had heard that it was an expensive city, and so indeed we found it, for with all our efforts to be economical our bill at the Hotel de Russie was astonishingly high; nor were we alone in this experience, our fellow-travellers averring that it was quite necessary "to cut down your hotel bill, and not to pay quite all that was demanded, as you were always overcharged," and we all remembered what the "Innocents Abroad" had to say on the subject. As far as I have seen of Italian travel, it is a system of "spoiling the Englishman," whenever there is a chance, and the traveller might save himself the trouble of ever taking his hand out of his pocket. As a specimen, we were actually charged a franc each for four small mutton cutlets, and three francs (2s. 6d.) for a cauliflower! Of course I complained, and got one or two francs knocked off. I believe most of the landlords are fully prepared to reduce their bills, but Englishmen as a rule pay the exorbitant prices charged, contenting themselves with a hearty growl at the same on departure. I told the landlord plainly myself, that the English seldom objected to pay liberally, but hated extortion. The charge of two francs a day for attendance is a snare and a delusion, for it is well known that this does not in the least exonerate one from feeing the waiter, chambermaid, porter, boots, and even the omnibus tout. It is a system of blackmail throughout, and I think something should be done to abolish it, for it is undoubtedly one of the greatest drawbacks to foreign travel. At present there seems a private understanding among the servants, that one and all are to establish some sort of claim on you, thus:—you ring—the chambermaid appears; you ask for candles—she withdraws and sends the sommelier with them; and every trifling duty is performed by a different personage, instead of one servant taking the entire attendance, to whom you might feel some satisfaction in giving a remuneration. I think that, under the present regime there is little doubt that the visitors pay the servants wages rather than the landlord, and therefore the item of "attendance" charged in the hotel bill is simply a fraud.

Then, at the railway stations you have a regular chain of porters for your luggage, as formidable as the array of officials who receive and show you into your hotel, one and all expecting a fee for the service of welcome (?) they have rendered. Hence, it is far cheaper to travel by Cook's Tickets; and if you decide to remain a week or longer at a place, it is a good plan to select a pension, where you will be charged so much a week inclusive.

Such is the system of extortion in Italy, that if you purchase anything at a shop—mosaics, jewellery, or what not—you are held in contempt if you at once pay the price that is demanded, the shopkeepers naming a sum perhaps three times as much as what they finally take and consider as a good bargain.

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The 29th of March, the morning of our departure from Florence, was as bright and bracing as a real old-fashioned English May morn, and we felt it to be truly enjoyable as we sped over the well-cultivated and sunny plains of the Florentine Basin, the outlines of the distant scenery charmingly developing in the clear Italian atmosphere. Indeed, it is this atmosphere which renders Italy so beautiful, every feature displayed to the best advantage, and the eye allowed to roam from one object to another; whilst in our London, for instance, during one half the year, the view too frequently presents a blurred mass, little really to be seen with distinctness, the buildings and great edifices looming darkly through a half fog—no dimpling lights and shadows, giving life, warmth, and animation, quickening one with admiration and rapture. It is like an otherwise beautiful woman spoiled by a bad complexion.

We passed through fine open plains, then a series of tunnels, rocky defiles, over mountain streams and fertile valleys, until we reached Pracchia. We had been steadily ascending to higher ground, and were now nearly at the top of a mountain range, a wild defile and stream on the one side, a mountain road on the other. Then craggy cliffs, waterfalls, and snow-capped mountains follow in grand succession; sometimes a deep valley, with a mountain torrent plunging far, far into the depths below, the water hanging from the rocks in long petrified icicles. Men and women, like specks in the distance, toiling up the steep hills and winding paths, laden with faggots. We seemed to have been circling round two great mountains whilst having these enchanting glimpses of ever-varying scenery, with no end of intervening tunnels. At last we appear to have passed through a final one, and, emerging quite into daylight, find we have attained the topmost part of the mountains at a station called Pittachia, where we found a good buffet. We here encountered a great many little country maidens, offering bunches of beautiful primroses and violets—veritably a sweet refreshment!

Now we swiftly descend, a mountain stream chasing us on the right, gradually swelling into a river, the Reno. In one part was the wreck of a stone bridge which had evidently been carried away during the inundations of December and January. Many parts of the river-bed were silted up by the action of wind and water on to the great overhanging sandstone mountain, enormous landslips in some places blocking up the river and changing its course. We thus saw how the sand is carried down to the mouths of the rivers into the sea, and how the great sand-banks are formed, such as those on which Venice is built. Everything in Nature is done progressively, never hasting, never resting.

At Bologna we had an opportunity of tasting the famous sausage-meat, and found it exceedingly good, the flavour being somewhat like spiced beef. The dogs of Bologna were, I believe, once a celebrated breed, which is now almost extinct. I do not mean by this remark to induce any uncomfortable reflections with regard to the sausages, but I really was surprised that nothing in the shape of a dog made itself visible in this town.

Journeying round from here, I could not help thinking what a total contrast the scenery now presented to our view. It was one monotonous level, a lagoon-like plain, partly swamped with water, the only features in the landscape being the stunted trees, to which, at regular intervals, the vines were symmetrically trailed and spread. Yet in the far distance we caught the outline of the Apennine range, their snowy summits almost disappearing in the warm blue-grey sky. Slightly in the foreground the darker outline of the nearer hills bounded the basin of the level plains.

At Monselise the scenery improves, and we saw some very picturesque castle ruins, conical-shaped hills lying round; and on approaching Padua we again obtained a fine view of the snow-clad Alps, with the huge mound of hills at their base. We did not stop at Padua, having decided to do so on our return. It is only an hour's journey from Venice, which we were now rapidly nearing, and we eagerly scanned the horizon ever and anon to catch the first glimpse of the wonderful city—the "eldest child of liberty." We had the sea on our right, from whence blew a most refreshing breeze; but soon it spread ahead and to the left, and then we caught sight of little glittering minarets in the midst of the waters, and then Venice, fairy-like disclosed herself to our admiring eyes, rising slowly from the sea, and strangely bringing to mind Tennyson's description of the magic city of Camelot: