YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

From the Library of
WILLIAM M. ODOM

LIFE IN TUSCA-NY.

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LIFE IN TUSCANY.

BY

MABEL SHARMAN CRAWFORD.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
1859.

\_The right of translation is reserved."]

WILLIAM SHARMAN CRAWFORD,
lihis Volume
i->
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BT HIS
DAUGHTER.

INTRODUCTION.

At the present moment, when Italy is the central
point of interest to the whole of Europe, no apology,
it is hoped, will be necessary for the contribution of
any information tending to throw a light upon the
character, condition, and ideas of the people of that
land. The classic and historical associations of Italy,
its architectural remains, and the treasures of ancient
and modern art contained in its churches, museums,
and picture galleries, have been the theme of so
many eloquent writers, that it would be superfluous,
if not presumptuous, for any one not highly qualified
by learning and research to treat of such subjects.
Avoiding, therefore, topics to which, under any
circumstances, no interest arising from novelty can
now possibly attach, I venture to hope that these
impressions of the aspects of " Life in Tuscany,"

viii INTRODUCTION.
derived from a ten months' sojourn in that country,
will prove neither trite nor unacceptable.
Tuscany, it is true, with barely two millions of
inhabitants, constitutes but a small section of Italy^
which counts a population of twenty-five millions;
but the part which this petty State may enact, in the
event of an insurrectionary movement throughout
the land, will certainly exercise a powerful influ
ence over the destinies of the Italian Peninsula,.
For Tuscany, small though it be, is far from an
insignificant province of Italy, embracing as it does
several cities and towns of considerable importance
— Florence, Pisa, Sienna, Lucca, Leghorn, Pistoia,
and Arezzo ; and thus it possesses a power and
influence far beyond what it would derive from
its limited population and extent of territory. For
cities, important and influential in every country,
are especially so in Italy: in them are concen
trated the entire wealth, intelligence, commercial
enterprise, and intellectual activity of the provinces.
Were it not for Milan and Venice, Lombardy would
lie supine beneath the iron heel of Austria; the
destiny of the States of the Church depends on
the will of Rome ; and Naples gives the law to that
kingdom of which it is the metropolis. Every-

INTRODUCTION ix
where in Italy cities dominate : it is only by
their power that tyranny, domestic or foreign, can,
or will be overthrown.
Li addition to the power and influence that Tus
cany derives from its cities, Florence, indissolubly
associated as it is with glorious recollections of past
greatness, gives to the province of which it is the
capital a distinguished position among other Italian
States. Proud memories of the fame, the power, the
riches and conquests of Florence in bygone times —
of the great names which have shed lustre on its
literature, arts, science, and arms — foster the bright
hopes and lofty aspirations in which Italians indulge,
of the future of their native land.
Judging from the past as well as from present
indications, Tuscany will not remain inert if a
struggle for freedom should begin in Northern Italy.
The people, united by a bond of common grievances
proceeding from the same source, will join in the
cry of " Down with the Austrians ; " and the first
cannon shot from the fortress of Milan will be
echoed from the ramparts of Florence.
As unforeseen and sometimes trivial occurrences
frequently give an unexpected turn to affairs, no
prediction of the course and result of future events

x INTRODUCTION.
can be reliedupon : still — as the liberal cause was lost,
during the late revolution in Italy, mainly through
democratic violence and want of unity of action —
should the Italians now unite, as they seem disposed
to do, and fight for their freedom under the banner
of the King of Sardinia, hope may not unreason
ably be entertained that the issue of the apparently
impending struggle will he widely different from
that of the last. Wise, indeed, it is for the people
of a country which has long been oppressed, to
renounce the idea of a form of government de
manding for its due administration qualities to
which oppression does not give birth — and wisely
will they act in seeking to acquire the power of
self-government under the guidance of a consti
tutional monarch.
M. S. C.
Crawfordsburn, March 23rd, 18&9.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE
I. Baths of Monte Catini . . .1
II. VlAJREGGIO . . . 18
m. Lucca, and the Baths of Lucca. . . .41
IV. A Pisan Caenital . . . 79
V. Floeentine Scenes and Amusements . . 94
VI. Soctett . . . . . .114
VIL The Peasant . . .151
Vm. Mannees and Incidents . . 189
IX Religion . . . . .249
X COMPAGNIA DELLA MlSEEICOEDIA . . 280
XI. Galileo and Michael Angelo . . 299
XTL The Late Revolution . . . . 311

ILLUSTRATIONS.
View of Floeence ..... to face Title.
Leaning Towee of Pisa .... Page 81

LIFE Ii\ TUSCANY.

CHAPTER I.
BATHS OF MONTE CATINI.
Little as Tuscany can compete with some of the
small German States bordering on the Rhine in
regard to variety and abundance of mineral waters,
it yet possesses several medicinal springs that enjoy
a high local reputation for their sanative properties.
For those afflicted with rheumatic affections, the
sulphureous Baths of Pozzolenti, adjoining the town
of Leghorn, are considered beneficial. In the
same .locality also are the springs of Monte Nero,
containing a large proportion of salts of magnesia,
much frequented in the summer months, for drink
ing merely. Near Pisa, the Baths of San Guiliano
afford, or at least profess [to afford, a means of
relief or cure for various ills that afflict suffer
ing humanity. The Baths of Lucca enjoy a still
more distinguished and wide-spread reputation —
a reputation, however, probably much enhanced by

2 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
their agreeableness, in point of scenery and shade,
as a summer place of residence. But of all the
mineral waters of this part of Italy none rank so
highly in popular estimation — either as regards
internal or external apphcation — as those of Monte
Catini, a small watering-place, situated in the
northern part of Tuscany. These springs, which are
Crown property, bring in a considerable revenue
to the State, from the large annual export of the
waters that takes place to the principal cities of
the Grand Duchy. On most occasions of trifling in
disposition, the citizens, both rich and poor, of the
Tuscan towns, instead of having recourse to doc
tors' drugs, are wont to avail themselves of those
which nature has compounded, and swallow huge
draughts of Monte Catini water: which, however,
as far as pleasantness of flavour is concerned, has
little to boast of over the medicaments which
load the shelves of the apothecary.
In point of beauty, the situation of the Baths of
Monte Catini has much to recommend them. Placed
on the verge of the rich Val Nievole, where the plain
terminates abruptly in a range of well-wooded
heights, the Baths offer on their northern side a
series of highly attractive views. Immediately above,
perched like an eagle's nest on the very summit
of the declivity, is seen the small town of Monte
Catini, crowning the steep sides of the hill from
which both it and the baths below derive their name.

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 3
To the right and left, otlier hills, forming a portion of
the same northern chain, with picturesquely-varied
forms and outlines, enhance the attraction of the
scene. But though the Baths offer some very
charming views, these sink into insignificance in
point of beauty compared with those which the sides
or summits of the adjacent hills afford. Ascending
even a slight elevation in the vicinity, and looking
southward, the eye wanders over a far-reaching,
fertile plain. In proportion as the step ascends, so
does the prospect gain in beauty and extent ; till
from the summit of Monte Catini, or the contiguous
heights, a view is gained which well repays the
fatigue and toil the steep ascent involves.
Below, gleaming in the bright light of an Italian
sun, stretches out the rich vale of Nievole, blending
in the distance with the still richer vales through.
which the Arno runs. Amidst fields teeming with
the rich products of a fertile and well-cultivated soil,
amidst olives, mulberries, vines, and figs, gleam forth
the numerous dwellings of the peasantry, interspersed
with white, glistening villages and small country
towns. Here and there rises up a chapel tower;
here and there, too, amidst the sea of verdure, the
country palace of a nobleman may be seen. To the
south and east a range of undulating hills, wearing
the misty veil of distance, closes in the view ; to
the west, towering above the calm waters of the
small lake of Bientina, is seen a mountain, forming a
B 2

4 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
portion of the Pisan group, advancing boldly into the
plain; and to the north a chain of lofty hills— here
separating into gentle slopes, there parting into steep
ravines, crowned not unfrequently with villages and
ruined towers, rising out of groves of chesnut and
olive trees— combine to form a grand, imposing frame
work for the rich and smiling scene.
Like most parts of Tuscany, the whole country
in the vicinity of the Baths of Monte Catini wears
quite a garden-like aspect of cultivation, neatness, and
care. Not a crooked fence, -not a useless hedge, not
a weed, not a waste patch of ground is visible any
where. Vines fastened to stakes, or trailing their
graceful branches from tree to tree, form the
boundaries of fields and farms. In the early
summer months a vast variety of wild-flowers are
to be seen, many of which attain to the dignity of
garden plants in England. Amidst the long, slender
stalks of wheat, the beautiful purple gladiolis springs
up abundantly, and is succeeded a little later in the
vear by a bright-coloured kind of lupin ; while at
the same time the gumcistus may be seen on every
side, showering its delicate white blossoms on the
turf around. Towards the end of June the orange
lily becomes a common ornament of the woods and
fields ; whilst with July the crowning glories of
Italy's floral riches appear in the sweet-scented
clematis, and the still more fragrant and beautiful
myrtle : both springing up under the sole care of a

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 5
kindly nature; both doomed for the most part to
bloom neglected and unseen, and to yield their per
fume solely to the passing breeze.
Like the mineral waters of Germany, those of
Monte Catini are, during the summer season, much
used for bathing purposes. Hither, particularly
during the months of July and August, flock from all
parts of Tuscany a health or pleasure seeking crowd.
Those who may have seen the Baths of Monte
Catini during the winter, will, if subsequently
visitants at the springs in the fashionable bathing
months, find a wonderful difference in their aspect.
Without shops, without trade, without the slightest
pretension to anything that might be called a town,
the Baths of Monte Catini may be considered to
have, for at least nine months in the year, a merely
nominal existence. The whole permanent population
of the place consists but of the keepers of a few
lodging-houses and hotels. In the vast, palace-like
Government structure, whi(5h absorbs within its
capacious centre and wings the greatest portion of
the migratory summer throng, spiders and ghosts
may for a large portion of the year revel in silence
and darkness unmolested. The stranger, whom
curiosity should at such a season allure to the spot,
would find his meditations almost as secure from
interruption from the world without, as if, Hke a
hermit of the olden time, he inhabited a cell in some
rocky wilderness. Beneath the long avenue of trees

6 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
leading to the principal spring, he will hear no voice
save that of the strolling mendicant, or the more
agreeable accents of the peasant, who, with a
courteous "felice giorno," passes on; and to the
few inhabitants of the locality or the neighbourhood
he may chance to meet, he will find himself an object
of curiosity and surprise, and a phenomenon as rare
and extraordinary as that which might be presented
by the sight of a swallow in the depth of the winter
season. Even so late in the year as the month of May,
when all Italian nature is thoroughly awake, when
the fields are green with waving corn, the trees in
leaf, the sky serene, the air warm, and the birds in
full song, the Baths of Monte Catini still wore to
my eye, on my arrival there, the aspect of a place
asleep: not in a profound sleep, however, for
symptoms of an approaching animation, a coming
awakening, were beginning to be visible at this
time. Through the open doors of long-deserted
houses, the voices of workmen were to be heard,
as they painted here, and whitewashed there, in pre
paration for the opening of the bathing season. Into
long-darkened rooms sunlight and air were allowed
to penetrate once again, whilst sweeping, dusting,
and polishing of the furniture actively went on. The
roads were cleaned, the walks were weeded, while
garden-plots or pleasure-grounds were, in accord
ance with the happy inspiration of some moment,

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 7
re-arranged. An air of business was visible every
where : I heard the note of preparation for the
rising of the curtain on the scene. As the month
rolled on, the signs of activity and of animation
increased; the very frogs, who had been exerting
their voices pretty freely for some time previously,
seemed to croak more loudly as June drew nigh:
from every pool, and brook, and water-course, arose
a clamour that, especially in the night-time, filled
the air. Out came the fire-flies as the day expired,
and lit up the roads and lanes with their bright,
flashing lamps, vieing with the stars above in
number and brilliancy. Thus May died out, and
with the 1st of June Monte Catini may be said to
take off its nightcap ; for the bathing season has
then officially begun.
But though the place has nominally entered on
a new stage of existence, for three weeks at least
it bears in its aspect the signs of its old drowsy,
yawning, lethargic state; in spite of its newly-
arranged electric telegraph, its freshly-opened post-
office, and its grand grocer's shop, whose shelves
display a goodly array of imposing canisters. Until
after Midsummer-day, it is only drop by drop
that the Baths of Monte Catini fill. With July,
however, when the bathing mania in all parts of
Tuscany sets in, the stream of population, which
has been flowing so languidly during the preceding
month towards the Baths, grows strong and deep ; to

8 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the infinite satisfaction and advantage of the keepers
of lodging-houses and hotels. With the increase of
visitors, beggars multiply in number: a numerous
concourse of the blind, the halt, the maimed, the
sick, and ragged, all ply their trade with zeal.
Beneath the long avenue of overarching trees, a
motley throng of promenaders may be seen in the
cool morning and evening hours. Representatives
of almost every class of Tuscan society may be dis
tinguished there, from the cringeing beggar to the
haughty peer. The peasant woman, with her blue
cotton dress and handkerchief covering her dark
hair, looks with unconcealed curiosity and surprise
at the many-flounced skirt and fashionable bonnet of
the Florentine belle. The petty shopkeeper of the pro
vincial town and the Leghorn merchant, with their
wives and families ; the lawyer and Government
official ; all swell the morning and evening concourse
at the springs. Long-robed ecclesiastics abound, from
the humble country priest to the pompous prelate
boasting the dignity of an archiepiscopal see. Car
riages dash along the drive, at a rate that none but
Italian coachmen ever think of forcing their horses
to achieve. Itinerant shopkeepers set up their stalls,
and solicit the passer-by with eager looks and words
to buy their wares. From the tent erected by the
migratory showman, there issues forth a troop of
dancers and athletes, bedaubed with paint, bedecked
with tinsel finery, and who, to the sound of drum

BATHS OF MOXTE CATINI. 9
•and fife, parade about with the view of attracting
spectators to performances announced in stupendous
capital letters to be the most wonderful in the world.
On every side, life, noise, and animation prevail.
The butterfly that has just issued from its chrysalis
affords an apt^ illustration of the changed aspect
which the Baths of Monte Catini presented to my
view, on my return there in July after a short
absence. The several mineral springs of Monte Catini vary
somewhat in quality, but their elementary nature
is much the same. All are saline: the Rinfresco
slightly, the Tetuccio more, and the Fortuna most
of all. In public estimation the Tetuccio ranks the
first ; the visitors to this spring exceeding infinitely
in amount the frequenters of the other two. The
morning scene which the Tetuccio presents is a gay
and animated one. Beneath an awning, covering a
portion of a small garden whose roses and oleanders
are in full bloom, may be seen a motley company,
some standing, but the most part sitting, in groups
of three or four, around small circular marble tables
covered with glasses, destined to be repeatedly, filled
from the large reservoirs of tepid mineral water close
at hand. Nauseous as is the beverage, it is wonder
ful to see the equanimity with which it is swallowed
down ; not in one great draught, as inclination would
prescribe, but sip by sip, in pursuance of the phy
sician's command. Old and voung, all have their

10 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
glasses before them, or in their hands, whilst ani
mated conversations are carried on. New groups
arrive, familiar "faces depart; there is a perpetual
bowing of heads, an interminable shaking of hands.
By nine o'clock, however, the morning drama is at an
end, and the drinkers have disappeared : around the
marble tables, covered with empty glasses, are seen
circles of untenanted chairs, and the plash of falling
water is the only sound that breaks upon the ear.
The ordinary routine of existence at Monte Catini
taxes the energies of both mind and body but in a
slight degree : life seems to pass away in a kind of
blissful indolence there. The " dolce far niente," so
dear to an ItaHan heart, is indulged in to its full
extent. The water-drinking business of the morning
coming to an end, the company separate, and retire
to their respective rooms, to drive away with a cup
of coffee or a substantial meal the lingering flavour
of the Tetuccio spring. Between breakfast and the
bathing time, which varies from eleven to one, a
gentle doze is taken, either on bed or sofa, as conve
nience or inclination may suggest. Dinner at two
o'clock evokes signs of energy and animation on
every side, which continue for an hour or an hour
and a half, till, the great event of the day being
concluded, the last glass of wine swallowed, the
last apricot eaten, the company formally separate,
with the poHte wish, mutually expressed, that each
may enjoy a sound repose : whereupon, ladies and

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. H
gentlemen repair to their respective sleeping apart
ments, doff their outer garments, close the shutters,
adjust their pillows, and enjoy two hours of blissful
unconsciousness of all the trials and miseries of life,
as attested by the loud nasal sounds that may be
heard issuing from the darkened rooms.
Not more surely, however, does the light of
morning arouse the lark to life and animation, than
do the shades of evening put an end to the afternoon
slumherer's dreams. The gentleman resumes his
coat, and the lady makes her toilet afresh, as the
sun sinks downward to the west, and between five and
six o'clock the whole population of the Baths is out
of doors again; for the most part bending their steps
onward towards the Rinfresco spring, where, after a
glass or two being drank, they stroll about, some
here, some there, exchanging salutations with their
friends ; talk of the heat, repeat the latest news, and
tell of the last wonderful cure that the waters of
Monte Catini have performed. Carriages dash up
and down beneath the avenue of trees; and horses
decked out with feathers and gay trappings are
stimulated to a frantic speed. With the vanishing
twiHght vanishes also the gay scene, and between
eight and nine, when the darkness of night comes on,
the voice of the cicala, a huge species of locust,
reigns supreme.
Within doors, however, considerable animation
prevails, for the hour of supper has arrived. That

12 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
meal being ended, those of the company who do
not feel themselves overpowered by the exertions
of the day, repair to the casino, a suite of rooms
assigned to the purposes of amusement. Here in
a large apartment, brilliantly lit up, is to be found
every evening a considerable assembly. Some talk,
some play at cards, some read French or Italian
newspapers; others stake a paul in a game of
chance, called the Tombola, a particular kind of
lottery : of which species of amusement aU Italians
seem to be enthusiastically fond. Music also
generally lends its aid to make the hours pass by
pleasantly and fleetly. In a nation gifted with such
musical tastes as are the Italians, in every assem
blage, amongst the upper and middle classes will
certainly be found both gentlemen and ladies pos
sessing no mean skill as vocal or instrumental per
formers. Thus, at Monte Catini, scarcely an evening
elapses without some black-moustached, dark-haired
amateur sitting down at a fine pianoforte, with which
the casino is furnished, to favour the company with
a sonata ; and occasionally a philanthropic lady will
minister to the general happiness by singing an opera
air, for which act she is sure to be rewarded by
a shower of "bravas" at the end. Dancing, too,
occasionally affords to the juvenile portion of the
assembly an amusement of a still more attractive
kind ; rising in dignity from the impromptu waltz,
suggested by the enlivening strains of some musical

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 13
amateur, to the more solemn occasions when ladies
and gentlemen in full ball dress perform their varied
evolutions to the accompaniment of a full band.
But be it ball, or dance, or song, or cards, or
simple talk that crowns the labours of the day,
the company separate at an early hour, to pre
pare, by several hours of sleep, for a repetition
on the morrow of the exertions undergone the
preceding day.
Though a favourite resort of the inhabitants of
Tuscany in general, the Baths of Monte Catini
number few foreigners amongst their visitors. Amid
the crowd of dark-eyed and dark-complexioned Ita
lians that lounge along the walks or cluster at the
springs, a ruddy EngHsh face, though so familiar
a sight in the chief towns of Tuscany, is rarely to
be seen. France and Germany contribute, also, but
Httle more than England to swell the bathing crowd,
which pours in so freely during the months of July
and August, from Florence, Leghorn, Pisa, and the
minor provincial "Tuscan towns. The absence of the
EngHsh element, at least, is easily explained. To the
native of the British Isles, bred up to activity of body
and mind, the indolent, drowsy kind of life, which
almost every rich or well-born Italian likes to lead,
must ever be uncongenial. To an Italian, the one
short, solitary, shady walk or drive, of which the
Baths of Monte Catini can boast, is amply sufficient
for every purpose of exercise. To lounge morning

14 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
and evening under the one avenue of overarching
trees, or to drive up and down, criticising new
faces, remarking new dresses, seeing and greet
ing acquaintances or friends, contents, as far as
bodily exertion is concerned, the ItaHan's utmost
desire. But it is not so with the English visitor ;
who, even in amusement, craves exercise of a more
varied, active kind — a craving which the Baths
of Monte Catini can hardly satisfy during the hot
months of August or July, from the absolute want
of agreeable shady walks, rides, or drives. For rich,
and indeed beautiful, as is much of the scenery in
the vicinity of the Baths, the roads and walks are
all too much exposed to the hot glare of a July or
August sun, to admit of driving, riding, or walking
being indulged in until the sun is down; an hour
too late to allow of pleasure excursions being made
of any but the most limited description. For this
reason, therefore, the Baths of Monte Catini are but
in little favour with the numerous members of the
active Anglo-Saxon race, who, either from motives
of economy or of pleasure, have taken up tlieir abode
in Tuscany. Thoroughly Italian, therefore, is Monte
Catini, and thoroughly Italian it will probably remain
to the last hour of its existence, however much the
migratory English may multiply in Italy.
Though liberality is somewhat a rare attribute of
the Government of the present Grand Duke of
Tuscany, this quality is certainly displayed by it

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 15.
in so far as regards its acts in connection with the
amusements of the summer visitors to this locality.
Freely may the stranger enter the brilliantly lit up
casino ; freely may he join in the dance, or listen to
the performance of a well-trained band; freely do
the French and Italian papers lie at his command :
the Hght music and journals being supplied at the
cost of the " Administration," as the presiding
power in this place is called. This liberality, how
ever, is far from being of a disinterested character ;
as, the greatest portion of Monte Catini being Crown
property, the Grand Duke's revenues are materially
augmented by there being a numerous resort of vi
sitors to the springs. The HberaHty, therefore, dis
played in providing amusements gratis for the guests
may be compared to the sowing of a bushel of corn
with the assured hopes of receiving back an abun
dant harvest in return. That the policy thus
pursued is a wise and profitable one there can be
little doubt ; for Italians generally, both of the upper
and middle classes, have fortunes of a very moderate
amount: and probably many of those families who
come to Monte Catini during the fashionable bathing
season, have to economise in various ways for some
time previously in order to provide the funds neces
sary for a summer trip. To persons such as these —
to persons, too, endowed by nature with a keen love
of pleasure, as for the most part all Italians are — the
offer of amusements free of cost will prove in itself

16 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
a lure of a very effective kind to draw visitors to
the baths, all sanitary considerations apart; but
when, in addition, the highly reputed medical pro
perties of the mineral waters are taken into account,
it is no wonder that the place should overflow with
visitors : to the benefit not only of the Grand Duke,
whose huge hotel is amply filled, but to the profit
also of the poor peasant of the neighbourhood, who
lets his humble apartment for, to him, the hand
some sum of threepence or fourpence a night.
Short, however, is the harvest season, for either
peasant or Grand Duke. Towards the end of
August, the morning convivial gatherings at the
Tetuccio spring dwindle down considerably in num
bers; by the first week in September most of the
company have departed, and the remainder are pre
paring to take to flight, and on the 15th, when the
Baths are formally closed, the last lingering rem
nants of the bathing crowd have left. The crack of
the vetturino's* whip is then no longer heard, and
the drive echoes no more with the roll of carriage-
wheels and the tramp of horses. The awning at the
Tetuccio is taken down, the marble tables vanish from
the scene, and the hotel-keeper sits down to count
his gains, and compare the profits of the season just
expired with those of former years. The careful
mistress of the .lodging-house, with a sigh at the
transitoriness of sublunary joys, takes down the
* Hack-driver.

BATHS OF MONTE CATINI. 17
curtains of her untenanted beds, folds up her table-
covers and quilts, consigns her delf and china to the
cupboard, and closes the window-shutters of her
deserted rooms : all signs of life and animation
disappear, and the Baths of Monte Catini once more
lie buried in their habitual nine months' sleep.
Long, however, before the close of the fashionable
season I left the place, consequently my description of
its autumnal aspect is derived, not from the results of
personal observation, but from information afforded
me by some of the very few permanent residents at
the Baths. In the height of their summer gaiety I
went away, bearing with me many pleasant remem
brances of the place — remembrances of quiet strolls,
through fields and lanes, to humble dwellings, where
I was aways a welcome guest — of soft summer nights,
when the sparkling stars yielded in brilliancy to the
fire-flies' flashing fight — of rambles through groves,
where the myrtle offered its beautiful white blossoms
to my sight ; and, above all, remembrances to which
I shaU ever fondly turn, of courteous acts, kind
wishes, and friendly looks and words.
« \ye g0 to bed at five o'clock in the evening in
the winter months, because it is cold, and we have
nothing in the world to do," said the mistress of a
small inn at Monte Catini to me; and I thought
that nothing could depict more forcibly than these
simple words the utter stagnation of life prevailing
during the winter months in that locality. c

18 LIFE IN TUSCANY.

CHAPTER II.

VIAKEGGIO.

About fifteen miles from Lucca there lies on the
shores of the Mediterranean a small seaport town
called Viareggio. Insignificant in point of size,
almost destitute of trade, save that connected with
the fishermen's pursuits, the existence it leads is, for
the greatest part of the year, of the very quietest
and most monotonous description. The surf breaks
upon an almost untrodden strand ; the sunset glow
upon the magnificent mountains of Carrara, arrests
no wandering stranger's admiring gaze ; and the
tramp of horses' feet and the roll of carriage-wheels
are almost unknown sounds in the streets of
Viareggio. But it is not always thus ; for a short season of
gaiety and animation annually chequers the ordi
narily quiet life of the inhabitants of this locality.
Soon as the bathing movement has fairly com
menced in Tuscany, Viareggio, like the Baths of
Monte Catini, emerges in the hot sun of summer
like a butterfly from its chrysalis. Brief, however,

VIAREGGIO. 19
is its period of festivity, for, unlike the bathing
towns and villages on the coasts of the British Isles,
which enjoy a succession of visitors from May until
October, the bathing towns and villages on the
shores of Italy can count upon but a two-months'
influx of strangers. According to Italian ideas, to
bathe in May savours strongly of insanity ; to bathe
in June is deemed an act considerably more rational,
but still one that sense and prudence must condemn ;
and it is not till the sol leone (the lion sun) of
July is glowing overhead, that public opinion in
Italy sanctions a rush into the sea. August is
looked upon also with considerable favour in refer
ence to its sea-bathing qualifications, but is far
from being so highly thought of in this respect as
its predecessor July. September puts the whole
flock of bathers everywhere to flight; except those
eccentric foreigners, the " Inglese," who, notwith
standing the decreasing temperature, still continue
their daily immersions in the waves. October finds
the bathing boxes closed, the hotels deserted, and
the lodging-houses consigned to darkness, silence^
and sofitude.
It was in the middle of July, in the very height
of the Italian bathing season, that I first made
acquaintance with Viareggio. The approach to
it from Lucca is characterized by considerable
beauty of scenery. The road, for the first few
miles, lay through a country where vines, trained
c 2

20 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
so as to form festoons from tree to tree, encircled
fields that looked like gardens in point of neatness
and care of cultivation. In the ground, where but
ten days before the reaper's sickle had been at
work gathering in sheaves of golden grain, young
plants of maize had already sprouted, and through
the line of trees that fringed the road, one caught
glimpses in every direction of the red tile-roofed
dwellings of the peasantry.
Scenes such as these, however, soon gave place
to others of a different character. On reaching one
side of the plain in which Lucca stands, the road
began to wind up through a kind of gorge in a
chain of hills covered with a perfect forest of
chesnuts ; vines, fields, and houses disappeared from
view, and all the eye now saw was the bright
blue sky overhead, and the steep declivities of the
winding glen below, clothed with the bright green
foliao-e of that tree which is, to the inhabitants of
O •*
the district where it grows, what the bread-fruit
tree is to the South Sea islanders. The ascent,
though steep, is not a lengthened one ; and before
long, the horses, after a short pause at the summit
to take breath, commenced to descend rapidly the
other side of the mountains. The road wound
backwards and forwards, curve after curve, in an
extremely snake-like fashion; a course of proceed
ing highly to be commended, both as regarded
considerations of safety and scenery : the latter

VIAREGGIO. 21
especially, for the views which every turn disclosed
were of a very beautiful description, and of a highly
varied character.
Below, at the furthest edge of the narrow plain,
to which the chesnut-covered hills served on one
side as boundary, lay the little town of Viareggio,
gleaming brightly in the sunshine; while beyond,
the blue waters of the Mediterranean, sparkling in
the same bright rays, mingled in the distance with
the still deeper azure of the sky. On another side,
the fine mountains of Carrara rose up to view, their
bald crags and precipitous peaks towering majes
tically, high above the calm blue sea and the tree-
fringed coast, and the villages nestling amongst
the chesnut groves, which clothed the base and
partiaUy adorned the sides of the whole mountain
range. The immediate vicinity of Viareggio, however, is
marked by a feature not of the most agreeable kind ;
for no sooner do we enter on the narrow plain which
intervenes between the mountain chain and Via
reggio, than there is to be seen on either side a
marsh, which even Tuscan industry seems not to
have been able to convert to any other use than
the growth of osiers, that flourish in company with
beautiful white water-HHes. Up almost to the very
doors of Viareggio this swamp extends : a closeness
of vicinity that, it appeared to me, must pre
judicially affect the salubrity of the locality; but,

22 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
according to the Italian doctrine on the subject,
the sea-breeze blows away from Viareggio every
kind of unwholesome exhalation.
Within the memory of man, Viareggio has made
a great advance in dignity, having become at least
trebled in size and population during the last fifty
years ; still, however, it will have to grow at the
same rate for the next succeeding half- century,
before it can take a distinguished place amongst
the towns of Tuscany. Yet, insignificant in extent
as it is at present, Viareggio evidently pretends to
a far higher grade in point of station than that of a
mere fishing village. A capacious church, crowned
with a large dome, daily invites, with open doors,
the devout Catholic to enter"; and a large waste-
looking piece of ground, covered with parched-up
grass, and surrounded by a fringe of scrubby trees,
proudly assumes the name of the "Piazza Grande."
A canal, cut from the sea into the heart of the
little town, allows boats to discharge their cargoes
conveniently ; and close to it, under a double row
of mushroom-shaped trees, is the favourite lounge
of the seafaring population, where neighbours meet
to sit and talk together about their good or bad
success in the take of fish, or the last news of
the vine disease, or the conscription (a word of
terror to the Tuscan peasant); and gossip also
(for human nature is much the same amongst high
and low) about the petty scandals of their circle

VIAREGGIO. 23
— how Guiseppe and his wife fell out, and how all
Tomaso's earnings are squandered away in cards and
drink. During the course of years, Viareggio, originally
built at about a quarter of a mile from the shore, has
been creeping seawards ; and line after line of street
has been added : one row of houses excluding the
view of the sea from that which had been previously
built, to be itself subsequently excluded by a new
row in a Hke unpleasant fashion. The line of houses
that now occupies the van, — the post of pleasure,
honour, and profit, in the bathing season, — has
a sufficiently attractive and cheerful appearance.
Though the dwellings are for the most part small,
yet nearly all of every size, from the so-called
" palazzo " of four stories to the peasant's dweUing
numbering but two, are characterized by iron bal
conies, by waUs of gleaming whiteness, and by
windows embellished and shaded by bright green
Venetian blinds, closing externally after the Italian
fashion. Here it is that pilgrims to the salt-water
chiefly take up their, residence ; and here it was that
my friend and myself resolved to fix ourselves during
the two weeks' stay we wished to make at Viareggio.
But moderate as were our requirements with regard
to accommodation, we found that even an attic to let,
commanding a view of the sea, was almost an unat
tainable luxury. "Tutta piena, tutta piena" (all
full), was the unwelcome answer ithat awaited our

24 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
inquiries, as we wended our way from door to door
on our unexpectedly difficult mission. At length,
when all hopes of success were nearly extinguished,
we chanced upon a house in which there actually
were two apartments unoccupied.
The house belonged to a " Contadino," — the
name applied to a man of the peasant or working
classes in Italy ; — but, both outside and inside, the
dwelling was very unlike a Contadino's common
residence, into which no person of civilized habits
could dream of entering as a tenant. But yet,
though light and cheerful, with whitened walls and
large glass windows, the two vacant apartments had
not a very inviting aspect, in connection with the
idea of even a fortnight's residence in them. No
sofa or arm chair offered to the tired or languid
frame a luxurious lounge, and the eye wandered
dejectedly over superannuated rush-seated chairs,
invalided looking-glasses, which appeared as if they
had just passed through a severe crisis of small-pox,
and beds quite mountain like in the altitude to which
they rose. Still, as the sea stretched out before
the windows so beautifully blue, as the air felt
deliciously fresh, as the waves broke with such a
melodious sound upon the beach, and as no other
accommodation by the sea-side was procurable, a
bargain was struck with the mistress of the mansion;
and in a very philosophic frame of mind, making
sage remarks on the subject of the superfluities of

VIAREGGIO. 25
existence, we entered upon the possession of the
rooms in question.
It must be owned that it did require some
philosophy to submit cheerfully to the various dis
comforts of our habitation ; but after all our stock
of equanimity was not put to the severe test which
our first twenty-four hours' experience of life in
the Contadino's house gave us reason to anticipate ;
for after some sharp passages of words with our
landlady, of whom we thought we had reason to
complain, our circumstances assumed a more smiling
aspect. "Abbia pazienza; siamo Contadini,"* was the apo
logy put forward by Violante, our landlady, for ever
deficiency in her establishment complained of: when
our dinner-table exhibited a very limited amount
of spoons and forks, when our lamps nightly
evinced a most uncontrollable propensity to go out,
the same appeal to our forbearance was sure to be
made — "Abbia pazienza ; siamo Contadini." Not
withstanding, however, the Contadino plea, we
enjoyed the benefit of a considerable redress of
grievances: the lights increased materially in bril
liancy and longevity, and the important spoon and
fork question, as well as other matters that came
under discussion, underwent before long a satisfac
tory settlement.
" But, Contadini as you say you are, how do you
* Have patience; we are peasants.

26 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
happen to have such an exceUent house as this to
live in ? " I said one day to Violante, retorting
upon her favourite exclamation of Abbia pazienza.
" The house was a gift to me from a lady with
whom I lived for some years in service," repfied
Violante ; " she was a countess, who had a fine
house in Florence, and so, being very rich, and very
generous and good, she had this house built ex
pressly for my husband and myself, that we might
earn money by it in the bathing season. A good
lady she was indeed to me I buon' anima, may her
soul rest in glory."
The munificent gift of the countess to Violante
came most opportunely, for through its means she
was able to support her family when her husband,
a sailor, was incapacitated from working by an
accident, which rendered the amputation of one of
his feet necessary, and thus reduced him to the
position of a cripple. True, the profits derived
from letting the house in the short bathing season
were trifling, but as the expenditure of the peasant's
family was on the same scale also, the one sufficed
for the requirements of the other. A piece of bread
served for their breakfast ; a decoction of hot water
and maccaroni, flavoured occasionally with a bone,
afforded, under the name of soup, materials for their
dinner ; and their supper consisted of a dish of
kidney beans served up in oil: altogether, a style
of living, it must be confessed, by no means costly.

VIAREGGIO. 27
Occasionally, however, the family fared in a more
luxurious manner, as I had an opportunity of ob
serving from my window, which looked down upon
a small garden; there, underneath the shade of a
spreading vine, the master and mistress of the man
sion, with a son and two daughters, daily assembled
around a smaU table "to make their mid-day meal.
The exceptions to the general rule only occurred,
however, on saints' days and Sundays, when a dish
of fish or of stewed tomatoes graced the board ; but
no matter what might be the style of dinner, no
sooner did the master of the house, the one-footed
sailor, perceive me at my window, than with a most
courteous bow he would very hospitably request me
to assist at the rural banquet that was going on
below — a piece of pofiteness which was invariably
responded to on my part by wishing the company
a buon appetito* a wish enjoined by good manners
according to the estabHshed Italian form.
In one respect, our crippled landlord was quite
a curiosity in appearance, for he exhibited almost
an African tint of skin. Swarthy as is generally
the complexion of the working classes in Italy, their
swarthiness rarely amounts to a degree of darkness
sufficient to raise doubts in the stranger's mind as to
their claim to a European origin ; but Moschardino,f
* Good appetite.
f A sobriquet ! one of the very many in general use amongst the
working classes of Italy. I have found sometimes a man's next
floor neighbours were unacquainted with his real name.

28 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
as our disabled host was usually' called, might well
have passed for one who had drawn his earliest breath
by the banks of the river Nile or Ganges. However,
it always remained a matter of speculation with me
how far Moschardino's oriental complexion was due
to the action of the sun, or how far ascribable to
a cause easy of removal by the application of a
little soap and water.
Our landlady, Violante, was a perfect specimen
of the Tuscan Contadina, the most hard-working,
indefatigable specimen of human nature anywhere
possible to find. With the earliest dawn of
morning, almost before the cock had begun to
crow, I heard her voice ; and she still was bustling
about long after I had lain down. How such an
amount of energy, of strength, and endurance
could have been put into any feminine form, ap
peared to me a matter of surprise ; but in the lean,
sinewy frame of Violante, and in her furrowed brow,
one read, as in a printed book, a history of long
years of toil.
" It is a hard, hard life I lead," she said to me
one day, in answer to a remark of mine; "but
how can it be helped ? My husband can do nothing
now to earn his bread, and the burden falls on me
to support him and our family. Ah ! it was a great
mistake I made when I was young, to marry; but
I knew nothing then of what was before me—
bf the hard lot that falls to a wife and mother.

VIAREGGIO. 29
And Guiseppe, too, though he is a good husband
now, in former times used to get drunk and beat
me. Ah ! would to Heaven I had never married,"
she exclaimed, reiterating the wish I had so often
previously heard uttered by the peasant women of
Tuscany, " for the life I lead, still striving to earn
a quattrino for my family's sake, whom I love too
well, is a life of the hardest slavery."
The weather set in very warm at the beginning of
the third week in July at Viareggio ; yet, however
powerful might be the mid-day sun, its great heat
was always tempered by a gentle breeze blowing
freshly from the sea ; whose blue expanse, ever
ruffled through this cause, never once assumed
during my stay a mirror-like aspect. Still, morn
ing, noon, evening, night, the air was filled with
the sound of breaking waves, whose foam, glit
tering by day in the bright beams of an Italian
sun, formed a sparkling snow-white fringe along
the sandy shore. Nothing more tempting-looking
for bathing purposes than the Mediterranean at
Viareggio can be conceived ; nor did the reality
beHe, in this respect, my most ardent anticipations
of enjoyment ; for indescribably delightful was it to
plmige beneath the tepid sea, and to feel the warm
spray of the breaking waves dash over head and
face, as in quick succession their curving crests,
bursting with a roar, dissolved in a sheet of milk-
white foam upon the beach. Little can those whose

30 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
salt-water experiences are confined to the seas that
wash the British or Irish coasts, form a fair idea
of the luxury of an ocean bath under the warm
sun of Italy. No chilly waters arrest the breath, or
send a shudder through the sensitive frame ; and
neither prudential motives, fears for health, dread
of congealing blood, colourless flesh, nor shivering
limbs, limit the bather's pleasure to a few minutes'
time. To do the inhabitants (both permanent and oc
casional) of Viareggio justice, they showed the
utmost appreciation of the marine privileges they
enjoyed; — in particular, also, it must be recorded
that the rising male population of the town evinced
this feeling hi the strongest and most unequivocal
way. Happy boys of Viareggio ! While your
luckless contemporaries in other places and other
climes are stammering over dull books, puzzling
their brains over sums in arithmetic, and inking their
fingers in a laborious attempt to make well-rounded
" o's " and straight-backed " t's," you are revelling
in a salt-water elysium from morn till night; — now
in the tide, jumping, shouting, laughing, dancing,
splashing, gamboling away — now taking a race, in
Eden's primeval garb, along the beach; — then rolling,
or tumbling, in the hot sand, and again rushing off
into the waves, to commence a new series of evolu
tions. "How often do you bathe in the day?" I once

VIAREGGIO. 31
asked an urchin of about ten years old, whom I
met upon the shore.
" Six or seven times," he replied.
"And how long do you stay in the water each
time?" I rejoined.
" Generally from one to two hours," he answered
— a reply which will serve to give an idea of the
amphibious kind of existence led in the summer
months by the juvenile population of Viareggio.
A very much more limited allowance of bathing
is that which custom prescribes for the grown-up
portion of the community; two baths a day being
the general amount indulged in by both ladies
and gentlemen. The bath, however, is very variable
in duration : some renounce their aqueous life
at the end of twenty or thirty minutes ; others
extend their morning and afternoon bath each into
a recreation of two hours. Small wooden houses,
three in number, rising upon a foundation of piles
above the water, a few yards distance from the
beach, and communicating with the shore by a
narrow bridge, are used as bathing boxes by every
bather who aspires to belong in any way to the
aristocratic or affluent class. For a lower order —
for those, in short, who find it inconvenient to pay
the " Bagnetti " regulation price, which runs at the
rate of threepence or fourpence a dip — the shore
affords sheds, or rather screens of straw, to serve
as dressing-rooms, at a still lower price.

32 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
But well frequented as are the precincts of the
Bagnetti and straw screens, they are scantily
peopled in comparison with the aspecfof the shore,
where no such articles of luxury are to be found,
and where, from morning till night, a motley com
pany is to be seen either going to, or returning from,
the sea. Here, comes a troop of soldiers marclung
along with measured tread, and there, a swarm
of shouting urchins ; a guardian of the peace, in
all the pomp of cocked hat and sword, is followed
by a brace of Capuchin friars, with long brown
cloth robes, cord-girt waists, bare feet, and heads
protected from the scorching sun by hats of straw
with ample brims. Day after day is the same scene
displayed, as day after day the sun shines bright
and warm, in a sky where only a few fleecy wreaths
of vapour are seen to veil the glory of its clear
deep blue.
Unimpeachable, however, as are the merits of
Viareggio so far as its bathing prerogatives are
concerned, it yet has two very considerable draw
backs to its agreeableness as a place of residence
in the summer time. On the English coast, the
absence of trees and shade is a circumstance of
little moment for visitors to the sea in search
of recreation or health, as the sun there exerts a
comparatively mild sway, even in the height of his
dog-day reign. But in Italy, on the shores of the
Mediterranean, where for many successive hours

VIAREGGIO. 33
of a long summer's day, a flood of light and heat
is poured down uninterruptedly from a cloudless
sky, shade becomes not only a luxury, but (for
all above the peasant class) almost a necessity of
existence. In Italy, in such places where no groves,
no avenues of overarching trees, afford a protection
from the glare and heat, a journey to and fro,
or round a room, or an excursion up-stairs, down
stairs, or to a neighbouring apartment, must perforce
content the cravings of a restless spirit for motion,
during eight hours at least of diurnal existence.
Such being the case at Viareggio — there stretching
inland for half a mile or more, a waste of sand,
on which nothing but some prickly sea-plants and
coarse grass will grow — a walk, or stroll, or lounge
in the open air by day, takes rank amongst the list
of unattainable enjoyments. Even, indeed, in the
cool early morning and late evening hours, out
door exercise could only be indulged in at the cost
of an amount of toil and fatigue which rendered
walking a kind of purgatorial performance; for in
the loose, soft, dry sand, which covered the beach
and extended far inland, the foot sank deeply.
Thus, between the hot sun and the yielding sand,
Viareggio enforced (except as far as the occupation
of bathing was concerned) a very sedentary existence.
About twenty-three o'clock, as the hour before
sunset is called in Italy, Viareggio, which looked as if
it was indulging in a nap all day, begins to assume a
D

34 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
wakeful aspect, and shows signs of life and anima
tion. Bright green jalousies are thrown wide apart,
whilst every balcony has its group of occupants, to
enjoy the coolness of the evening air ; and a little
later, as the sun sinks lower in the west, from almost
every house along the shore the inmates issue to bid
the day good-bye, from a favourite spot of rendezvous
on the beach, or from a still more favourite wooden
pier which stretches out beyond. The beach is
the halting place of the most juvenile portion of
the community, who, with wooden spades or spoons,
dig caverns, raise mountains, build houses, make
cakes or pies, and perform many wonderful labours
in the damp sand; while mammas, still keeping a
watchful eye over the movements of their Biancas-
or Giovannis, salute their passing friends, or exchange
with one another a budget of domestic news. Here
stalks " young Italy," in a Hght linen coat, with a
cigar in his lips, and staring fixedly, as is the mode
universally with Italian gentlemen, at every youth
ful feminine face he sees. Dressed out in the most
extravagant style of an extravagant fashion, with
bonnet hanging on her neck, with dress swelled out
by flounces, hoops, and horse-hair to a wondrous size,
the Italian lady sails proudly on, rejoicing in the
thought that her attire is in complete accordance
with the last Parisian mode. The Capuchin friar,
in his brown cloth robe, wanders to . and fro, and
looks with a moody air and lustreless eye upon

VIAREGGIO. 35
all arovmd ; while here and there a portly priest,
having his head adorned by a large three-cornered
hat, and his feet set off by a pair of large buckles
in his shoes, seems from his genial air to participate
largely in all the pleasant influences of the scene.
But few, however, are the loiterers on the beach
compared with those who stroU onwards to the
wooden pier, which offers a pleasant lounge, as well
as numerous seats to the idle throng. Here friends
walk to and fro together, or sit side by side engaged
in careless talk, while before their unheeding eyes
extends a scene that, once beheld, stamps itself inde
libly on the stranger's memory. Almost on the verge
of the ocean bed, in which it would seem about to
sink to rest, is seen the sun, no longer a globe of fire
casting forth a furnace glow of heat and light, but
a ball of burnished gold, shedding a golden radiance
on water, earth, and sky. The windows of Viareggio
flash like diamonds in the yellow light, and high
above the town, and far extending towards the
north, tower the splendid mountains of Carrara, with
their bold summits and wooded slopes bathed in
the most exquisite violet hues. Still further in the
distance the bold headland of Cape Corvo, rising
at the entrance of the Gulf of Spezzia, stands up in
strong relief against the glowing sky. Lower and
lower as the sun sinks towards the horizon, brighter
and brighter glows the reflection of its golden hues
in the flashing mirror of the sea ; gaining, at length,
D 2

36 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the line, where sky and water seem to meet, one
minute half its burnished surface is seen above the
wave, in the next its rapidly dwindling crescent-
form has vanished from the sky, which slowly
pales into a silvery gray, while the purple tints
upon the mountains merge into a twilight gloom.
Night comes apace ; but even as its darkening shadow
falls around, a faint roseate light begins to creep up
the western sky, as if the departed luminary were
returning on his track again. Slowly spreading, the
soft suffusion rises up on high, till a large portion
of the vault of heaven glows with a ruddy light,
that tinges faintly the calm expanse of water under
neath. North, east, and south the darkness deepens
overhead, while the round orb of the moon grows
bright and the stars appear. Some minutes pass, and
then the West, seemingly loath to exchange the
rich livery of the day for the sable hues of night,
slowly, reluctantly, as it were, yields to the latter's
irresistible sway. The outline of the distant head
land melts into the darkened sky, and the nearer
mountains seem to grow loftier in the deepening
gloom. From the West the rich tints of sunset
fade quite away ; whilst the sea stretches out a dark
expanse, save where the moonbeams fling a glitter
ing trail ; and in the illimitable depths of the dark
blue vault above innumerable stars are sparkling
brilliantly. But beautiful as was the day in its decline, the

VIAREGGIO. 37
night to which it yields possesses charms, though
widely differing, of a not less attractive kind.
Through the heated air a sense of coolness is dif
fused by the light evening breeze, which wafts slowly
towards the pier small fishing barks belonging to the
seafaring population of the town. Like diamond-dust
gleam the myriad stars of the Milky Way, whilst
the nearer steUar worlds illuminate the dark vault
of heaven with their bright, sparkling lamps. In
unclouded majesty the full moon pursues her upward
course, marking the sea beneath with a rippling sil
very trail. High up the side of the lofty mountains
numerous fires break into view, which increase and
wane, till they successively expire. Mingled with
the melodious roar of the breaking waves are faintly
heard the joyous shouts and laughter of young girls,
seen in the distance, by the bright moonlight, sport
ing in the waters of the surf-fringed sea. No sound
that comes but falls melodiously on the ear, and not
an object visible but seems to add to the soft beauty
of the scene, from the mariners' distant warning light
in the isle of Tino, scarcely visible to the eye, to
the full-orbed moon shining through the clear depths
of an Italian sky..
Beautiful as is the scene, however, there are few of
the assemblage on the pier; that give much heed to
it, further than to remark on the pleasant coolness of
the air ; and before long, when conversational topics
grow somewhat scarce, or those discussed become

38 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
threadbare, a homeward movement takes place
amongst the throng. Following the example set,
we also swell the numbers of the retreating band,
and halt with a considerable portion of its strength
at a cafe, where, still in conformity with the mode,
we take our seat at a small round table, one out of
several which occupy the space immediately before
the door. Knocking the table to arrest the waiter's
attention, — who is rushing about with a kind of
frenzied haste, now to receive orders, now to receive
money, now to execute the orders that have been
received, — we at length are fortunate enough to
obtain a moment's audience, in which we intimate
our desire to indulge in the luxury of an ice cream.
The much toiling individual again hurries off amidst
a volley of knocks resounding from every side ; to
which, to the credit of that important personage be
it said, no attention is given until our behest has
been obeyed; this done, however, he hastens off
once more in quest of a supply of gelati di pesca
and di albicocca* to satisfy the popular demand.
Very rightly does pubfic opinion at Viareggio
flow in favour of refreshments of this kind, for
ices, excellent even in cold northern climes, possess
peculiar merits under an Italian summer sky. What
a thrill of pleasure does the taste of the first cold
morsel send through the heated, languid frame ! and
to what a keen sensation of regret does the sight
* Peach and apricot ices.

VIAREGGIO. 39
of the empty glass give rise ! Not that the ices of
Viareggio or of Tuscany in general have any pre
eminent merits of an artistic kind ; and in a less
sultry clime they would probably be found unde
serving of particular eulogy. One merit, however,
peculiar to this land they do possess undoubtedly,
for when, after looking steadily at my empty glass,
which sanitary considerations forbid me to renew,
I ask what is to pay, I find that six soldi (an
amount which, translated into English, becomes
about two-pence halfpenny) will satisfy the demand.
Beautifully bright shines the moon as we slowly
take our way towards our abode, and darkly shows
each shadow, seen in contrast with the silvery white
ness that characterises every object on which the
moonbeams fall. The doors and windows of every
house are thrown wide open to admit the warm,
yet fresh-feeling evening air. Lights sparkle inside :
here, voices engaged in eager conversation are heard;
there, the chords of a piano mingle with a singer's
rich harmonious tones. Outside the doors of the
lodging-houses belonging to the peasant class the
family of the contadino sit enjoying the fresh air.
We pass along a lengthened row of neat, weU-
whitewashed dweHings to where our temporary one,
distinguished from its neighbours by an image of the
Madonna decorating the front, invites our entrance
with open doors. Before the threshold sit Moschar-
dino and Violante, with different members of their

40 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
family. There is Paolo, a youth of nineteen, who,
to his mother's regret, is on the eve of marriage;
and that, too, with Italian improvidence, to a woman
poor as himself: there, also, is Caterina, a very
handsome, dark-eyed girl, who thinks that human
felicity consists in the possession of a silk dress and
the wearing of a gold chain. There also stands
lounging by, Mariana, a half-witted girl of sixteen,
who looks as if an abhorrence of soap and water
was the predominating feeling in her darkened mind.
All rise at our approach, all wish us "felice sera"
in a breath, and the ever hospitable Moschardino
invites us to sit down, which invitation, as the old
gentleman's conversation is somewhat unintelligible,
from the extreme volubility of his utterance, I
decline. Violante hastens to bring lights : we ascend
the stairs, and after exchanging a few words with
our fellow-lodgers, two Lucchese ladies, whose
apartments adjoin ours, we follow their example
in preparing to seek repose.
"Felicissima notte," * says Violante, in the soft
dialect of Tuscany ; " Felicissima notte," I respond ;
and, presto, clambering up the steep altitudes of my
couch, and gaining the soft and sheltered summit
of my Mont Blanc, I wish felicissima notte to
Viareggio and the whole world.
* Most happy night.

41

CHAPTER III.
LUCCA, AND THE BATHS OF LUCCA.
LrccA rises up out of a plain that is celebrated for
its fertility; the natural productiveness of the soil
being increased by a most perfectly arranged system
of irrigation. Stimulated by the combined influences
of heat and moisture, all vegetation assumes the
most luxuriant aspect. A richer and a more pro
ductive country than that by which the walls of
Lucca are surrounded is, perhaps, not to be found
anywhere. Lucca, like most of the Italian towns in the
present day, derives now its sole interest from its
past existence. Places characterised as the scenes
of remarkable or stirrmg events always exercise a
kind of spell over the imagination. The cell where
the patriot has been confined, the square which has
witnessed the martyr's agony, the ground which
has been the theatre of a famous battle, all exert
a powerful influence over the mind and fancy. It
matters not though the ceU be but four common
bare stone waUs, though the square be an ordinary
paved court, surrounded by mean and insignificant

42 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
dwellings, or the battle ground be but an unin
teresting-looking expanse of cornfields, intersected
by quickset hedges, — a power resides in all these
objects to attract the eye, to enlist the interest,
and to touch the feehngs. The captive comes
before us with his pale, thin, careworn face ; around
the stake to which the hapless victim is attached
rise up the glowing flames ; and the din of a
murderous conflict — the tramp of horses, the clash
of contending weapons, the cries of suffering, and
the roar .of cannon, resound within our ears.
Though Lucca, however, appeals not by its history
to our sympathies in any particular degree, either
through the greatness of its power or the genius of
its sons, it yet possesses a claim to our respectful
consideration from the high position it occupied
among the numerous republican towns of Tuscany.
Here was silk first produced and manufactured in
Italy — a circumstance which contributed materially
for many years to the prosperity of the town ; and
from the energy and enterprise that characterised its
citizens in all matters that related to commerce and
trade, the epithet of "the Industrious" was attached
to its name. Even under the Lombard Kings of
Italy, whose power was subverted by the Franks in
the eighth century, Lucca had risen to be a place
of considerable importance ; so much so, that it
became the capital and seat of government of
princes of its own, who, under the title of Duke,

LUCCA. 43
exercised sovereign sway over the whole of Tuscany.
The twelfth century found Lucca a free town, whose
existence was as much disturbed by dissensions and
feuds amongst its citizens as was that of any other
republican city of Tuscany.
Hotly and eagerly, as in Florence, did the Guelph
and GhibeHne factions engage in conflict within its
waUs ; and it was whilst these were battling together
in the streets that, in the fourteenth century, the
Pisans entered, and took possession of the town.
Throwing off the yoke of Pisa, after various vicis
situdes through which it passed, from the grasp of
a domestic tyrant into the possession of a Bohe
mian King, Lucca was only saved from being
subjected to Florentine rule by once more falling
into the possession of the Pisans, who defeated the
rival repubficans in a mighty battle which was
fought in contention for the prize under the very
walls of Lucca. To the Pisan supremacy succeeded
that of Charles IV., and from that monarch the
Lucchese purchased their freedom at an enormous
price. Short, however, was the period marked by
the enjoyment of the costly boon, for before thirty
years had passed away, Lucea lay prostrate at the
feet of Gian Galeazzo, the tyrant Duke of Milan.
Recovering their liberty once more, the Lucchese
did not recover with it the qualities of mind which
in former times had rendered them worthy to exercise
the prerogatives of self-government ; for whilst the

44 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
town still bore the name of a republic, it was tyran
nised over by a narrow oligarchy of its citizens —
an oligarchy, however, which, though hated by the
people, maintained its sway until the year 1800,
when the French took possession of Tuscany: an
event which was followed before long by the
entrance into Lucca of the Princess Elise, sister
of Napoleon Buonaparte, as sovereign of the town
and adjoining territory. In the same month, and
in the same year, Genoa, which formed with Lucca
the last remnants of the ancient republican towns
of Italy, lost its independence also.
But if Lucca lost its independence, it did not
lose its dignity, for it continued to be the capital
of a State, the residence of a court, and the seat of
government during the rule of the French Princess,
and of the succeeding house of Bourbon, down to
1847 ; when, in virtue of the treaty of Vienna, where
by the Allied Powers assumed to themselves the
right of deciding on the destinies of small, power
less States, Lucca and the Lucchese territory passed
into the possession of Leopold II., the present
Grand Duke of Tuscany. Behold now Lucca — its
liberty, its independence gone ; its name as a State
extinguished ; its distinction as the seat of a govern
ment, as the residence of a court, at an end : behold
it dejected, grieving, burning secretly with indigna
tion at the change, with the spark of disaffection
and disloyalty smouldering in its breast, ready at

LUCCA. 45
the first favourable moment to burst out into a
formidable flame.
Piety and wealth combined in Lucca, as in its
neighbouring republican cities, to raise noble and
numerous temples to the Deity. Some of these,
erected in the eighth century, serve as monuments
of the existence of the Lombard kingdom, by
offering to view the characteristic features of the
Lombard architectural school. The cathedral, a
handsome building, dates its existence from the
eleventh century, and exhibits a facade adorned
by several tiers of arches and rich inlaid work ;
the latter representing the somewhat inappropriate
subject of the chase — huntsmen equipped with lance
and horn, and accompanied by dogs, being depicted
in the pursuit of a curious medley of wild animals,
consisting of foxes, wolves, lions, boars, and deer.
The interior of the cathedral, compared with the
interiors of the cathedrals of Pisa and Florence,
is somewhat insignificant; for, though ornamented
with fine stained glass, some rich Gothic tracery,
and a ceihng where frescoes of saints show forth
on a ground of blue, it does not at all make up
by such decorations for its inferiority to the
Florentine and Pisan cathedrals in point of size.
One distinction, however, the cathedral of Lucca
enjoys over that of Florence ror of Pisa, in that
it is the possessor of a relic which was venerated
in former times in the highest degree throughout

46 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
all Europe. Richly gilt and adorned is the small
chapel that contains the Volto Santo di Lucca* — a
crucifix carved in cedar-wood by the hand, it is
alleged, of Nicodemus, and miraculously transported
to Lucca in the eighth century. By the "Volto
Santo di Lucca," under its mediaeval Latin name,
did princes and nobles swear: the per vultum de
Luca being recorded as our second Norman King's
most favourite oath, of the many with which
he was accustomed to garnish his discourse and
to give energy to- his words. Yet, although this
relic has lost its ancient celebrity, though princes
and nobles swear by it no more, its sacred reputation
still in this day prevails so far as to cause it to
be shrouded from the public gaze; except on three
great occasions of the year, when it is brought forth
for adoration, with a sparkling jewel on its breast,
and a gilt crown upon its head. Fortunately,
however, for the passing stranger, who, except by
special permission or rare good chance, cannot get
a glimpse of the sacred work of art — a declared
facsimile of the image is always exposed to view ;
which, if in very truth it be what it is professed,
gives a most unfavourable idea of the artistic genius
of Nicodemus.
Exclusive of the cathedral, there are eleven
churches in Lucca, sufficiently remarkable in some
way or other to entitle them to a place in the guide-
* " Holy face of Lucca."

LUCCA. 47
book of every traveller. San Michele, venerable
in years, dating its existence from the period of
Lombard rule, displays on the summit of its richly
decorated white marble front, a colossal figure of
the Archangel in whose honour the stately pile was
reared. Some fine pictures by Fra Bartolommeo
give interest to San Romano ; and San Frediano,
built out of the ruins of a deserted amphitheatre,
commends itself to Irish sympathies, from its having
been raised in honour, as well as bearing the name,
of the highly venerated son of an Irish king. In
not only spiritual, but also in manual works, did
the Irish saint engage ; for within this church an
immense slab of marble may be seen, which was
lifted (as an inscription testifies) by San Frediano
and his canons from the quarry where it was dug,
and transferred by the same hands to the car
destined to draw it to the place where it now
stands. Of the merits, or of the characteristics, of the
seven remaining churches of Lucca, it is not for me
to tell ; since sight-seeing becoming an intolerable toil
under the influence of a July sun, I turned away
from churches, Lombard or Gothic, or Lombard
and Gothic intermixed, from sculptures, from dim
frescoes, and from paintings of artists of more or
less note, and bent my steps towards the ramparts
of the town, to take a look at the works of the great
Artist, whose creations combine all that is lovely

48 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
and sublime : creations before which those of the
greatest Italian masters fade into insignificance.
The Piazza Ducale, through which I passed on my
way to the city walls, is a handsome, spacious square,
adorned with rows of trees, and derives its name
from the adjoining Ducal Palace, before whose un
frequented gate a sentinel was pacing apathetically
to and fro. In front of the now deserted building a
monument stands, raised to the memory of a Duchess
of Lucca, to whom the citizens owed the construc
tion of a splendid aqueduct, which affords at this
present day a plentiful supply of water to the inha
bitants of the town. Square, palace, or monument,
however, possess but little power to arrest the
stranger's steps under the influence of a July noon
day sun, and passing onwards, I gained in a few
minutes the ramparts of the town, from whence
there burst upon my view a prospect of which the
Lucchese have reason to be proud. How strongly
does the durability of nature contrast with the insta
bility of all human glories. Fallen now as Lucca is
from its ancient republican wealth, power, and dig
nity — blotted out as now it is from the list of States
and degraded into the rank of a mere provincial
town, its amphitheatre of hills is still as beautiful,
and towers up as grandly in the air, as when, in
centuries long gone by, the churches of San Fre
diano and San Michele sprang into existence under
the dominion of the Lombards.

LUCCA. 49
Echoing no longer with the clash of arms, with
warlike shouts, or with the heavy tread of men-at-
arms, the ramparts now are made to serve far dif
ferent uses from those for which they were originally
constructed ; for, planted with trees, which overarch
a broad and well-kept walk, they now afford a de
lightful promenade to the Lucchese, especially in the
hot summer months. Delicious is the shade, as,
emerging from the heat and glare of a July sun, I
stand beneath the thick canopy of leaves, through
which but two or three intrusive sunbeams here and
there can force their way ; and peacefully the mur
muring sounds from the quiet town faU on my ear,
as, in a solitude* unbroken by the sight of any
living creature, I slowly stroU along this enduring
monument of a sanguinary age, where human blood
was shed Hke water to satisfy the cravings of ambition,
the desire for plunder, or the thirst for vengeance.
Very beautiful is the view, on which from time to
time I pause to gaze. A soft purple haze rests on
the chain of hiUs, that like a natural rampart encircles
the rich vale in which Lucca stands. Here a de
clivity high and bare, there a verdant slope, arrest
the eye, whilst everywhere the graceful varying
outlines of the hills are seen to stand out in bold
relief against the deep azure of the sky, and the rich
* Italians say that no living creatures, save mad dogs and
English people, will voluntarily stir out of doors during the heat
of the day in summer. E

50 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
plain glows and sparkles in the bright sunshine.
From the walls of Lucca to the Pisan hills upon one
side, or on the other to the more distant Appenines,
a sea of verdure stretches out, thickly dotted over
with villages and the dwellings of the peasantry.
Vines, festooned from tree to tree, encircle fields in
which the Indian maize has taken the place of the tall
waving golden wheat harvested more than a month
ago. Art combines with nature to adorn the scene,
from the rich green of the irrigated meadows to
the lofty arches of the magnificent aqueduct, which,
spanning a large portion of the plain, advances
in close vicinity to the city walls.
But when the churches and the view from the
ramparts have been seen, the stranger, who chances
to visit Lucca during the months of July or August,
hurries away impatiently from the town ; for the
heat is oppressively intense, in the full glare of the
sun, and even in the shade there prevails a stove
like temperature. At this season of the year no
Lucchese noble, or plebeian with independent means,
continues in the town. Some go to ruralize in
country villas for a while ; others, destitute of such
possessions, repair to Leghorn or to Viareggio for
sea-bathing, or to Monte Catini for health or recrea
tion ; but, singularly enough, very few frequent the
baths to which Lucca gives the distinctive name,
although distant but fifteen miles, and possessing
in point of coolness and beauty an immeasurable

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 51
superiority over every other summer retreat in
Tuscany. But if the Lucchese are indifferent to the charms
of the Baths of Lucca, the foreigners belonging to
that fair-complexioned race denominated " Inglese,"
who have taken up their temporary or permanent
abode in Tuscany, shew a thorough appreciation
of the advantages and attractions of the place.
As soon as the hot weather begins, carriages, laden
outside with luggage, and fiUed inside with faces
belonging unmistakeably to the Anglo-Saxon race,
may be seen, day after day, travelling along the road
that leads from Florence to these Baths; and so
many of these vehicles passed before my view at
Monte Catini in the month of June, that the dusty
highway, on which my sitting-room windows looked,
assumed the aspect, in a great degree, of an English
thoroughfare. Fully prepared, therefore, as far as
society was concerned, to find myself in a miniature
England, I leave the broiling town of Lucca, in com
pany with a friend, to spend the autumn months
amidst the shade of chesnut-covered hills, in the
most beautiful valley of Tuscany.
Almost from the very gate of Lucca through.
which we pass, the road to the Baths is distinguished
by a considerable degree of beauty. FoUowing the
course of the Serchio (a very Hi-conducted river,
whose propensity for overflowing can with the
greatest difficulty be restrained), we travel along
E 2

52 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
a road, bordered on both sides with festooned vines,
towards the rich valley through which the Serchio
winds. The closer we approach the hills, which on
the north side bound the luxuriant plain, the more
attractive becomes the scenery. At a distance of
little more than three miles from the town, stands
Marlia, a summer palace of the Duke; and in its
vicinity may be seen many handsome villas, which,
though the property of Lucchese nobles, are, for
the consideration of a reasonable amount of scudi,
quite at the service of such persons as may desire
to have them as their summer residences : a con
descension of an extremely sensible nature on the
part of the proprietors; if, as it is alleged, the
hills keep off every cooling breeze, and hosts of
mosquitoes indulge without pity or remorse their
sanguinary appetites. Not far from Marlia, the
Serchio is crossed by a sandstone bridge, erected in
1832 to replace its predecessor, which was carried
away by one of the rebellious outbreaks of the river
thirteen years before. As a protection, probably,
against the recurrence of such a catastrophe, the pre
sent structure, Ponte a Muriano, as it is called, is
adorned with statues of saints of colossal size, which
we hope will have the good effect of keeping the
turbulent Serchio henceforth in order.
From Muriano to the Baths, the road still con
tinuing faithful to the left bank of the Serchio,
gradually ascends through a fine valley bounded by*

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 53
lofty hills, on whose declivities, midst olives, vines,
and chesnut trees, a succession of picturesque vil
lages appear. On the summit of a lofty eminence
is seen the Convento degli Angeli (Convent of the
Angels), founded by the Queen of Etruria, in 1815 ;
but in accordance with the name, which harmonises
well with the aerial situation of the structure, it must
be a subject of regret to those of its inhabitants who
may have to pant and toil up the steep ascent, on
their return from spiritual missions in the world
below, that the angefic mode of locomotion by means
of wings has not been conferred on them.
Hills, mountains, river, chesnuts, olives, vines,
villages, farm-houses, villas, continue to meet the
view as we proceed; but, Hke objects seen in a
kaleidoscope, to which the slightest motion gives
variety of aspect, each advancing step we take,
though the features of the scene remain the same,
presents them in some fresh and ever beautiful com
bination. VHlages bearing the old Roman names,
which mark their distance from the Lucchese metro-
poHs, in quick succession we pass by, and near the
furthest one of these we see the place where stood,
not many years ago, a bridge which the Serchio in
one of its fierce bursts of passion entirely swept away.
The Httle town of Borgo, the emporium of the moun
tain commerce in silk, hemp, and wool, comes soon
into view, and close to it is seen an ancient and
extremely singular-looking bridge, to which, though

54 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
rightfully bearing the name of Ponte della Maddalena,
the appellation of Ponte del Diavolo (Devil's Bridge)
has been popularly assigned. Not wholly undeserved,
indeed, is the ill-omened name by which this struc
ture is almost invariably called, since, to the super
stitious eye, it weU might seem to owe its existence to
some impish freak.; for, constructed in utter opposi
tion to ordinary rule, its central arch is raised to such
a height above the other four that, at its summit, the
narrow causeway forms an angle too acute to admit
of any carriage crossing it. Thanks to the great
altitude, however, as weU as to the wide span of
the centre arch, the Ponte del Diavolo has borne
repeated bursts of the fitful fury of the Serchio for
centuries, unscathed.
Shortly after passing Ponte del Diavolo, the
Serchio, just previous to turning off into another
valley, is joined by the Lima, a tributary mountain
stream, by whose side we journey onward. In spite,
however, of the very mild and inoffensive aspect
of our new friend, which murmurs on musically
over its rocky bed, it would seem to partake of
the Serchio's turbulent character, for on its banks
rise up the towers of an unfinished suspension bridge,
intended to replace a bridge of stone which feH
a victim to the river's violence in 1836. Still
travelling by the Lima, along a road overhung
by chesnut trees, and bordered on one side by
vines, the first houses of Ponte a SeragHo, the

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 55
metropolis of the bathing district, soon appears.
On the very outskirts of the vHlage rises up La
Maison de la Grande Bretagne, as if to arrest the
onward movement of the British traveller by an
appeal to his patriotic feelings. A few steps further
on, the Albergo di Londra advances a similar claim
on the cockney's sympathies; and within a few
yards' distance " Pagnini's Hotel," written in gigan
tic characters on the front of a large house directly
opposite to "Cordon's Store," confirms the EngHsh
character of the locality. Dashing along at the
Italian's favourite frantic pace, through two short
narrow streets, we reach the bridge which gives the
distinctive name of Ponte a Seraglio to the small
cluster of houses that extend for a short distance on
either bank of the river.
But, the bridge being gained, our progress was
arrested by a miHtary band, that occupied (at the
further side of the stream) a smaU piazza through
which we desired to pass. Except for tired tra-
veUers, the delay would have been an agreeable
one, for the scene had many features which could
scarcely faQ to be attractive to the stranger's eye.
To the right and left, the view is closed in by
wooded heights, at whose feet the river runs in a
narrow winding valley; and high above the village
rise up precipitous Mils, clothed with the bright green
foliage of the chesnut, amidst which here and there
white gleaming viUas are seen. Nearer, the view

56 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
presents the animated scene which life in a fashion
able bathing-place always offers in the frequented
season of the year. Around the band, whose
members seem to do their best to display the full
powers of their instruments, is assembled a gay
and motley company. Before the doors of three
cafe's of which the small piazza boasts, are ranged
a number of small tables, where lovers of music and
ice creams sit and indulge at the same time in their
two favourite luxuries. Young ladies with large
straw hats, brown, gray, or white, underneath which
are seen true EngHsh faces, exchange greetings with
young gentlemen in linen coats, who, in spite of
a carefully cultivated moustache or beard in the
Italian style, look as much true-born Britons in
aspect as they are in language. Here and there, a
sallow-faced Frenchman, or a fashionable-looking
Frenchwoman, may be seen, and occasionaHy, too, a
dark-eyed Italian is visible;, but the great bulk of
the company, if not exactly English (for Americans
abound), is composed of persons of at least English
origin. On every side the rougher tones of our
island tongue overpower the soft musical language of
Tuscany ; to have closed my eyes on chesnut woods,
on the cloudless sky, on houses unmarked by stain
or mildew, on signboards with Italian inscriptions, on
a group of vetturini lounging on the bridge, and to have
judged by. sounds alone, I should have pronounced
myself in England.

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 57
First in importance, as well as in magnitude, of
the three villages which arc comprehended under
the name of the Baths of Lucca, Ponte a Seraglio
enjoys the distinction of being the head-quarters of
the gay world of fashion. Here is the post-office, and
here also the Casino, a handsome building devoted
to purposes of amusement, where nightly assemblies
are held during the fashionable season, in a large
room ornamented with mirrors and gilding. Here,
under the auspices of royalty, balls take place pretty
frequently at stated intervals ; but the enjoyment
of dancing is by no means confined to such periods,
for a piano which the room contains is constantly
made to do duty for the orchestra, to whose music
young ladies and gentlemen go through their varied
evolutions on state ball evenings, when the Grand
Duke and Grand Duchess, and the young Arch
dukes, deign to honour the company with their
presence. Adjoining the ball-room is another large
apartment, where the natives of England, Germany,
France, and Italy can read the varied news of the
day, each in his native language. The Casino also
contains a biUiard-table for such as are partial to
that species of recreation; but no gaming-table is
seen : for by a very praiseworthy edict of the late
Duke of Lucca, in 1846, gambling, once the
opprobrium of the Baths, was strictly prohibited.
The Bagno alia Vflla, the second village of the
Baths in point of size, consists of two straggling lines

58 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
of houses, which form an irregular street running
along the base of a steep hHl that forms one side
of a narrow valley through which the Lima flows.
Distant about a mile from the Ponte, with which it
communicates by a shady road, the scenery of the
Vflla resembles much the first-mentioned vdlage in
general features, though somewhat more confined
in character. At both the view is closed in on
every side by lofty chesnut-covered hfils, at whose
feet a river flows, the brawling voice of which is
heard both night and day resounding in the air.
While the houses of the Ponte, for the most part,
however, overhang the stream, those of the Villa,
retreating a short distance from its banks, interpose
small gardens between. Essentially different in its
general aspect, the Ponte wears a gay, flaunting,
dissipated look ; while the Villa* has an extremely
quiet, retiring aspect, as if it shunned the pomp
and flutter of the gay world. Here, indeed, come
quiet families, serious famiHes, strict in the per
formance of their religious duties, and famiHes to"
whom the vicinity of the English church is far more
attractive than that of the Casino. Gaiety, indeed,
evidently cannot be made to flourish at the Villa,
any more than roses in a sandy desert ; for a pretty-
looking structure, bearing the inscription of "Teatro"
* In former times, the character of the Villa may have been
somewhat different, as the Duke of Lucca had his residence in
this locality.

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 59
(Theatre) over the door is silent and deserted, except
when the Grand Duke's band, retiring there on
practising days, awakens its dormant echoes. Nor,
though it be the head-quarters of the musical corps,
is the quiet, serious character of the Villa destroyed
by pubHc performances ; for while the Ponte a Ser-
agHo has its band days, and the Bagni Caldi, the
third number of the family group, is distinguished
in a similar manner, no rakish waltz or dissipated
polka ever disturbs the philosophic or religious
meditations of the inhabitants of the VHla. Music,
indeed, is frequently wafted on the air to the recesses
of the dwellings, but music it is that could never
be guilty of disturbing the mental equilibrium by
an undue vivacity of character; as any one could
testify who, like me, had Hved for a month within
earshot of a guardhouse, where an indefatigable
player on the trombone daily exhaled the sorrows
of his soul in a series of the most dismal and
unearthly tones imaginable.
The Bagni Caldi,* the third, and by much the
smaHest village of the group, has its comparative
inferiority in point of size atoned for by the distinc
tion it enjoys of containing the residence of the
Grand Duke. Placed about half-way up the pre
cipitous hill, at the base of which the principal
portion of the Ponte extends, the Bagni Caldi affords
its inhabitants the advantages of an extensive view
* Hot baths.

60 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
and a bracing air. Still, such advantages must be
considered to be dearly purchased by persons who
have not, like the Grand Duke, carriages and horses
constantly at their disposal ; for the approach to this
exalted post is by a road which, notwithstanding
its serpentine course as it winds upwards on its way,
taxes the breath and energies to a very considerable
degree, especially on a hot summer day. On this
account, probably, it happens that, whne the Ponte
and the Villa each possess numerous large and
flourishing-looking hotels, the Bagni Caldi cannot
exhibit one ; in spite of the attraction of its fine Bath
House, where nature, acting the benevolent apothe
cary's part, serves up a steaming compound of
sulphur, iron, lime, and magnesia, free of cost — a
liberality which the dispensers of the medicated
waters do not emulate.
Notwithstanding that the village of the Bagni
Caldi would seem from its name to arrogate to itself
some peculiar distinction on the score of the tempe
rature of its springs, these latter possess the property
of heat in common with four other sources, which
are equally employed for baths. The springs of the
Bagni Caldi, however, have a higher temperature
than any of the rest, for whilst the warmest of these
latter only reach to 112 degrees of Fahrenheit, the
former rises to 136. The waters of one of the
springs are used internaHy, and are sent to various
parts of Italy- it is said authoritatively ; but if such

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 61
is the case, their reputation, as regards drinking
purposes, judging from my own observation, must be
infinitely greater abroad than it is at home ; for I
never saw a draught of mineral water taken by
any one during my two months' residence at the
Baths. Numerous as were the English families staying at
the Baths of Lucca in the summer of 1856, on every
side, yet from every quarter, from hotel and lodging-
house keepers down to the purveyors of horses and
donkeys, I heard many lamentations of the paucity
of the number of Inglese. There was every reason,
indeed, to believe that, in comparison with the advent
of the EngHsh in former years, the complaint uttered
so generaUy in regard to their scanty numbers was
correct; for in the very height of the fashionable
season I saw many lodging-houses quite shut up,
and in others, suites of apartments remained unlet.
From what I heard and saw, the Baths of Lucca
seemed evidently to be waning in prosperity, so far
at least as the foreign element is concerned, that has
ministered for many years so very largely to its
wealth ; for fashion, influenced by increased facilities
of travelling, induces its EngHsh subjects resident
in Italy to pass the hot months of the year by the
shores of the lovely lakes of Switzerland. Still,
however much the flow of the annual tide of
English to the Baths of Lucca may diminish in
amount, the English element of population will

62 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
probably never fail to shew itself pretty conspicu
ously in the place. For, whatever aspirations may
exist after a summer abode by the lakes of Leman
and Lucerne, these aspirations can only be indulged
in, where a large family is concerned, through the
medium of a weU-fiUed purse; which is not at the
command of that numerous class of English residents
in Tuscany, who from economical considerations have
become exiles from then* native land. So Miss Hen
rietta, however she may long to wander amongst
Alpine heights, and fill her sketch-book with views of
snow-crowned mountains and chalet-dotted valleysT
must perforce content herself with a summer resi
dence by the Lima's side, and limit her artistic powers
to the Devil's Bridge, or villages with red-tiled
roofs, wooded heights, old church towers, and
hordes of ragged beggars, whilst young Mr. George,
the proprietor of a carefully cultivated and promis
ing infantine moustache, who pants for the glory of
climbing up Mont Blanc, encountering bears, or
hunting chamois, must resign himself to the tamer
pleasures which the Casino of the Ponte a Seraglio
offers, of billiard-playing and newspaper reading, in
the morning, dancing, music, and flirtation in the
evening. Truly, however, those English residents in Flo
rence are little to be pitied, whom scanty means
precludes from seeking a more distant place of
summer recreation than the Baths of Lucca. Al-

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 63
though compared with Alpine scenery, that of the
Appeiunes is tame, the taste must be fastidious
mdeed, that would not derive a high degree of
gratification from the sight of the winding valleys,
hemmed in with lofty and magnificently wooded
hflls, with which the neighbourhood of this beauti
ful Tuscan watering-place abounds. To such per
sons as are fond of riding, and can attain to a
philosophical indifference in regard to roads, — who
wiH not recofl from scrambling up on horseback to
peasant viUages perched eagle-like on the summits
of high declivities, by highways that resemble
nothing so much as the dried-up rocky beds of
mountain streams, a great variety of grand as weU
as very beautiful views may be obtained. From the
village of Lugliano especiaUy, a viUage crowning
the hiU at the foot of which the white houses
of a considerable portion of Ponte a Seraglio
rise, a very splendid prospect is seen, of glens and
vaUeys, of winding rivers and wooded hills, whose
undulating outlines stand out in strong relief against
the deep blue sky, of villages dinging to the sides or
crowning the summits of bold decHvities, over which
tower up in grim and solemn grandeur the naked,
barren crags, herbless, leafless, and lifeless, of the
lofty Appenines.
Small as is the quantity of arable land amongst
these hiHs and glens, the unlaboured earth yet
affords subsistence to a population almost as dense

64 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
as that which exists in the rich plains of Tuscany,
judging from the number of villages that meet the
view. Many are the compensating gifts of nature ;
and here, where the steepness of the hills offers an
almost insurmountable obstacle to the cultivation
of grain, a bountiful Providence has clothed their
precipitous sides and lofty summits with a tree,
which, while it beautifies their aspect, yields to
the inhabitants of the district an abundance of
nutritious food. What the potato was to the Irish
peasant a few years ago, the chesnut is to the
dwellers amidst these hills at this present day ; and,
like the former article of food, should the latter be
annihilated by some fell disease, the dread Irish
tragedy of 1846 would be re-enacted on a smaller
scale amidst these Appenine glens. Stripes of Indian
corn and patches of French beans may be seen, in
deed, extending along the level ground of the narrow
vaUeys, or growing on the summits of the hills,
around the peasant villages, in small garden plots,
but the combined produce of these crops, even in
the most favourable season, would scarcely afford
subsistence to the dense population of those districts
for more than a few days.
The chesnut harvest takes place for the most part
towards the end of October ; but there are trees,
however, of an early kind, which commence to
shed their fruit some weeks before. Eagerly does
the peasant watch the skies in September, for on

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 65
the character of the weather in that month do his
hopes of an abundant harvest in a great degree
depend. Rain and sunshine following each other
in quick succession form the kind of weather that
is considered to exercise the most favourable influ
ence on the crop ; for without rain the chesnuts
wul not swell, and without sunshine they will not
ripen as they ought. In general, indeed, September
does not disappoint the peasant's wishes in these
respects ; yet sometimes it proves his enemy, by
bringing him the Libeccio, the dreaded South-west
wind, laden with salt, under whose influence the
chesnuts turn quite black, and drop. At such a
period, general consternation prevails, Heaven is
besieged with prayers to withdraw the bfighting
blast, and the peasant kneels at the shrine of the
Madonna, and with more than his wonted fervour
invokes her aid.
The proprietorship of a patch of chesnut forest
is a dignity much longed for by the peasant inha
bitants of these hiHs. Few of them, however, com
paratively speaking, attain to the position of pro
prietors ; the chesnut woods belonging, for the most
part, to members of a higher class, who let them
to poor labouring people, on the terms so generally
prevalent in Tuscany, of receiving half the produce
in the way of rent.
Although chesnuts, both boiled and roasted, are
extensively eaten by these mountaineers, the principal F

66 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
portion of the fruit is ground like grain ; and from
the flour thus obtained, a kind of porridge called
pollenta, and a cake, termed indifferently neccio,
migliaccio, or castagnacio, is made, which forms the
principal diet of the people throughout the year.
This cake (neccio, as it is generally called by the
Lucchese) is sweet and pleasant to the taste; but
although considered to be exceedingly nutritious,
its dyspeptic tendencies are very great, except as
regards such persons as have from infancy been
accustomed to its use. The manufacture of this
neccio requires but little time or skill. Mixed with
water the farina dolce * (as the chesnut flour is
termed) forms a dough, which, when kneaded into
a cake about two inches thick, is laid sandwich
fashion between two small circular flat stones, on the
inner side of which dried chesnut leaves are spread.
Into the centre of a fire — formed probably of the
wood of the chesnut tree — these two flat stones with
the intervening dough are placed, and through the
medium of this primitive stove, a cake is speedily
produced; soft, dark in colour, and sweet to the
taste. In preparation for the manufacture of this
neccio, large quantities of the leaves of the ches
nut tree are collected in the month of September,
strung all close together on a cord, and then hung
up outside the house to dry. At the end of Sep
tember, scarcely a peasant's house is to be seen, that
* Sweet flour.

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 67
has not one or more pendent rows of chesnut leaves
garnishing its front Other preparations for winter
meals are seen also at this period of the year.
Underneath the shade of the chesnut trees grow
quantities of fungi, which, though bearing to an
EngHsh eye a most poisonous aspect, are much
made use of by the peasantry, when fresh, to form
a dish, when dried, to flavour their ordinary kinds
of food. Insipid, however, as these fungi are in
point of taste, compared to the English mushroom,
and indeed almost destitute as they are of savoury
qualities, they are eagerly sought for by the pea
santry in the autumn months, when they appear ;
and though some are used in their fresh state, the
most part are preserved for winter use, by being
cut up in pieces and laid out to dry in baskets
placed before the door.
Abundant as is the harvest which the chesnut
generaHy yields, and cheap as is the food that it
affords, a very considerable number of the popula
tion of those hiHs are annually driven, by the pressure
of want, to seek the means of existence elsewhere.
When the autumn months set in, groups of hardy
peasants may be seen wending their way to Leg
horn, to embark for Corsica: where they find employ
ment during the winter, and gain sufficient money
to support their families, to whom they return in
the latter end of April or beginning of May. The
summer past, the succeeding autumn witnesses the
T 2

68 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
scene of the preceding season renewed ; and so on
in a similar manner year after year.
Strange to the ears of the Tuscan peasants are the
tales of Corsican life that these wanderers bring
home. The Lucchese women, who are accustomed
from their childhood to the hardest toil, working
incessantly from morn till night, daily ascending
precipitous hills carrying tremendous loads upon
their heads, Hsten with wonder when their fathers
or brothers tell how the Corsican women, for the
most part, sit squatted in listless idleness on the
ground; and with no less surprise, not unmingled
with envy, perhaps, do the home-staying young
Giovannis and Guiseppes hear how the Corsican
men, scorning all kinds of drudging work, allow
their fields to remain unfilled, and their spades
and hoes to spoil with rust, whilst shouldering
their guns they hie off in company to the woods to
shoot. Not alone, however, does Corsica afford a field of
employment to these poor mountaineers ; scarcely
a year passes by that enterprising youths do not
leave their native hills to seek their fortunes in
England or America, by following for the most part
the trade of modellers of plaster figures. Some years
ago the profession was a good one, I was told by
one of these vagrant artists, who had returned home
with a fortune of five thousand dollars from America.
" I used often to make," he said, " from nine to ten

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 69
doHars a day ; but now the business is overstocked :
the lads of the present day, who take to the same
way of earning their bread, don't make half of that
amount." This man had two brothers, modellers
like himself; one had, like him also, returned en
riched from America, the other had married and
settled in England. Few, however, of these
wandering mountaineers establish themselves in
a foreign country, if they should happen to have
secured by their exertions a sufficiency of means
to enable them to live with the least degree of
comfort in their native land. Little attractive to
the stranger's eye as are the homes of the peasan
try in the neighbourhood of the Baths of Lucca,
the natives of these hills find a charm in their
dark, dirty, furnitureless, smoke - stained interiors,
which the snug, clean, comfortable cottages of
America or England do not in their ideas possess.
With an intense yearning for country and kindred,
the wandering modeller generally returns to spend
his declining days under the shade of those chesnut
trees, beneath which his earliest youth was passed.
But sufficient as are for him the pleasures of that
rough and rude existence to which he returns, and
the shelter of the roof under which he first drew
breath, — indifferent as he is to unglazed windows
and dirt-stained walls, so long as he has the means
of indemnifying himself for years of toil by loung
ing about with a pipe in his mouth in listless idle-

70 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
ness, far different is it with the American or EngHsh
wife whom he brings back with him to his native
land. " Poor creatures ! it is a terrible life for such as
them," said an ItaHan woman, speaking on the subject
to me. " I knew two ; one died of a broken heart, the
other at the end of two months left her husband,
and went into service in an English family. Poor
things, it wasn't to be wondered at certainly. They
had never been accustomed, like our peasant women,
from their youth to climb up steep mountain tracks,
or to live upon chesnut or maize. Little did they
think, when they heard of the blue skies of Italy,
of the kind of hard and comfortless life that the
peasants amongst these mountains lead ; they wanted
meat to eat and tea to drink, and how were they to
be had miles away from any place where such things
are sold?"
Since the annexation of the Duchy of Lucca to
that of Tuscany, the Baths of Lucca have become
the favourite residence of the Grand Duke Leopold
and his family, during the summer months. In this
respect the Tuscan ruler followed the example of
the Lucchese Prince, who invariably honoured the
Baths with his presence at a similar period of the
year. Nothing can be more simple than the habits of
the whole Grand Ducal family whfist ruralizing here.
Difficult indeed it was to realize at times that the
riding party of seven or eight, frequently to be met

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 71
with, could aspire to the possession of regal dignity ;
so very homely in style and dress did the whole
group appear. Very stout in person, and past the
prime of life, the Grand Duchess on such occasions
was to be seen mounted on a somewhat diminutive
horse, arrayed in a riding habit of some light yellow
stuff, and wearing a large brown straw hat of a
mushroom shape upon her head. In Ms plain black
coat and wMte beaver hat, the cMef member of the
party, the Grand Duke Leopold, an elderly man with
a gray moustache, exhibited little of a princely air ;
wMlst the young Archduke, in Ms linen tunic, and
the little Archduchess, in a common Manchester
print, were far from tending to increase the aristo
cratic aspect of the party.
If affabHity of demeanour in public could win
affection, Leopold and Ms fanuly would enjoy un
bounded popularity at the Baths of Lucca ; for not
only do they most courteously return all salutations
proffered, but they take the imtiative in tMs respect
in most instances, and the passing stranger is almost
overwhelmed by the task of having to return a
voHey of royal inclinations. In spite, however,
of this condescension on the part of the reigmng
fanuly, Leopold and his rule are most thoroughly
detested by the Lucchese people, in consequence
of the great increase of taxation that the country
has had to bear since its annexation to the Grand
Duchy of Tuscany. Most opprobrious are the terms

72 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
I have heard applied to him by the peasantry in
conversation. " He grinds us down to the ground,"
says one : " He takes the piece out of our children's
mouths," says another : " The old miser! he has lots
of treasure by him," exclaims a third : and a fourth has
gravely assured me that the Grand Duke, fearing
that he will lose his throne, has sent whole sack-
fuls of gold to California, whither he is to follow it
on the occasion of the next revolution in Tuscany.
"Oh! that we had Carlo Ludovico back again,"
exclaim all, with one consent : " he did not oppress
us or rob us; he loved the English too, and the
poor had always a kind friend in him. It was a
black day for this country when it passed from
the rule of Carlo Ludovico into that of Leopold of
Tuscany." This Carlo Ludovico was the last Duke of Lucca,
the last bearer of the title ; for, in conformity with
the treaty of Vienna, he was obliged to yield up the
Lucchese territory to the Grand Duke of Tuscany,
on succeeding, by the death of the Empress Maria
Louisa, to the Duchies of Parma and Piacenza.
Though the impartial historian will be able to say
little in his praise, his character resembling that
of the "merry monarch" of England, yet Carlo
Ludovico, like many a scapegrace in every grade of
life, seems to have possessed a certain good humour
and a certain affability of manner, which obtained
for him a considerable degree of popularity, notwith-

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 73
standing the worthlessness of his character. At
least, tMs was the case amongst the peasantry around
the Baths of Lucca; and I subjoin an anecdote
of Carlo Ludovico that was told me by one of his
warm admirers : —
" Ah ! Carlo Ludovico was another sort of man
from that gray-muzzled tyrant we have now over
us," began my informant. " He had his faults, to
be sure, — who has them not? but he was not the
man to grind down the poor with taxes, or to send
spies about to catch up and report every hasty or
evil word that any man, or any woman either,
might say against him ; as does the present prince,
who for our sins has been put to reign over us.
A better .chance has the robber, or even the mur
derer, of escaping on conviction from the doom of
a heavy pumshment, than has that man or woman
who has been found guilty of saying a word against
the Grand Duke or his family. Very different
was it with Carlo Ludovico, even if he heard with
Ms own ears a disparaging remark about him ; and
that often might readily occur, for the Duke, just
from the love of a bit of frolic, as it were, was
accustomed to go about in the dress of a contadino
among the people : and to show you now what kind
of a man he was, I will teU you a story about him.
"Well, one fine day, it happened that Carlo
Ludovico, disguised in a countryman's dress, having
gone some little distance into the country, being

74 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
somewhat tired on his road home, asked a baroccino*
who was passing in his baroccio, to take him a
bit of the way to Lucca. ' WiUingly,' said the
baroccino ; and at the word up got the Duke beside
him. Well, of course, they began to talk, and the ba
roccino, never dreaming it was anyone but a mere
contadino he had to deal with, from this and that,.
came to mention the name of Carlo Ludovico.
" ' Well, what of him ? ' asked the Duke, quickly.
'What do you think of Carlo Ludovico and Ms
government ? '
" ' Oh, the government is not a bad one, surely,
for us country people, at least,' returned the ba
roccino, ' since it don't tax us hardly ; and as for
Carlo Ludovico, I have no fault to find with him,
except that he lets himself be guided and governed
by the ladies.'
" ' But, poor man,' said the Duke, snuling, ' that
is not a great crime after all, for there is many a
good and wise man in the world that fares no better
than Carlo Ludovico in this particular ; ' and the
Duke went on talking quite pleasantly and good-
humouredly, without the least show of anger, till
coming to the gates of Lucca he got out of the
baroccio and walked on towards his palace: not,
however, without being recognised in passing by
one of the guards on duty at the gate.
* The driver of a light kind of rude country conveyance called
a barroccio.

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 75
" ' You have made a fortune, I suppose, this
morning?' said the guard, as he examined the
baroccind's cart.*
"'What do you mean by that?' rejoined the
baroccino. " ' Why, you have had a fine paying passenger tMs
morning,' said the guard.
" ' You jest,' said the baroccino ; ' I had none but
that poor contadino, who just now got down — of
whom I did not ask a soldo by way of payment'
"'Poor contadino, indeed!' said the guard, laugh
ing ; ' I tell you what, my good feUow, he is far
richer than either you or I will ever be, no matter
how weU we may prosper in the world, for I swear,
as I am a fiving man, that was Carlo Ludovico, the
Duke, you had beside you.'
" ' The Duke ! ' exclaimed the baroccino, aghast
' Oh, sanctissima Vergine, what have I done ? What
have I said? I am a lost and a ruined man!' and
calling en the saints in heaven to help Mm, he
rushed as fast as his legs would carry him after
the Duke, whom he soon overtook.
" e Pardon, your ExceUency, pardon ! ' exclaimed
the baroccino, throwing Mmself down on his knees
before the Duke.
" ' Pardon for what ? ' asked Carlo Ludovico.
* In consequence of a tax on provisions being generally levied
in the towns of Italy, all vehicles entering the gates of a walled
city are liable, and often subjected, to a search.

76 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
"cFor what I said about your Excellency and
the ladies,' returned the baroccino, trembling, and
quite white in the face with fear.
"f Oh, if that is all you ask pardon for, it is
given at once,' said the Duke, smiling; "there
are not ten men in a hundred that escape petticoat
government, and why should I be angry at being
told the general fate was mine. There, set your
mind at rest, and go your way,' continued the
Duke, and taking a couple of scudi out of his pocket
he gave them to the baroccino as payment for the
drive, and went away quickly, leaving the poor
man half out of his mind with joy."
With August terminated the gay season of the
Baths of Lucca, for on the advent of September,
balls became numbered amongst the things that
were, and public band days undergo a little more
tardily a similar fate. With the first week of
September, all the symptoms of a general break-up
of the society at the Baths were visible, and every
day well-laden travelling carriages might be seen
starting from the doors of the numerous lodging-
houses of the Baths of Lucca. The lines of closed
shutters, also, which the hotels began to exhibit,
were also strongly expressive of the ebbing tide of
population, and the vetturino lounging on the bridge
invariably asked the passer-by if the signor or the
signora, as the case might be, was in want of a
carriage for Lucca.

THE BATHS OF LUCCA. 77
In truth, judging from the experience of 1856,
the climate strongly enjoined a change of residence
as desirable. With September came thunder-storms,
mght after night and day after day, for a consi
derable period. Summer, instead of dying out, as
elsewhere, by slow degrees, seemed to expire instan
taneously : the air, from having been intensely warm
in August, grew damp and chilly. The skies, from
having been for week after week unspotted with
a cloud, showed only here and there small islands
of blue amidst billowy masses of leaden-coloured
vapour. A yeUow hue began to steal over the
bright green foHage of the chesnut trees, whose
fruit rapidly increased in size under the favouring
influences of the moisture. Depressing to the spirits
as it always is to look on gloomy rain-charged clouds,
in no country in the world, perhaps, can chill, damp,
showery weather exercise a more subduing influence
than in Italy. In England, the domestic sun that
shmes upon us from our hearths, the heat and light
that come steaming to us from the bright coal fire,
mitigate in a great degree the unhappiness of our
lot in being doomed for the most part of the year
to rainy, gloomy weather. But in Italy under similar
circumstances, when the sun is hid behind masses
of leaden clouds, from which the rain pours down
with little intermission, perhaps for not only suc
cessive days, but weeks together, the compensating
influences of the English hearth are scarcely to

78 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
be found. In the room which looked so pleasant
in bright sunny weather, with its green jalousies,
wMte muslin curtains, and smooth, uncarpeted floor,
no fire-place exists most probably ; or if by chance it
does, the aspirer after English comforts will be half
choked and blinded by the smoke, wMch, refusing
obstinately to ascend the chimney, diffuses itself in a
dense cloud through every corner of the room.
The foot as it treads on the cold poHshed tiles misses
the soft warm carpet of England. Into the open
terrace the rain comes beating, and the chill, damp
air without enters in currents through the many
apertures of the ill-fitting doors and windows. Wise
is it in English visitors to leave the Baths of Lucca
ere September rains begin, for an EngHsh cHmate
requires English comforts, such as are there un
attainable. Summer, however, though it had died out
apparently in Lucca during the months of Sep
tember, had a much longer life in other parts of
Tuscany; for in Leghorn, where I passed the
beginning of the month of October, the weather
was quite summer-like in character, and enjoyable
beyond description.

79

CHAPTER IV.
A PISAN CARNIVAL.
There are some ideas so essentiaUy incongruous in
their nature, that one involuntarily recoHs from them
when they are presented together to the mind : such
was the grim veiled skeleton associated in days of
yore in Egypt with mad revelry and luxurious
feasts ; such, too, would prove the aUied images of
a wedding procession and a hearse, or a dance per
formed over the graves of the mouldering dead ; and
but little less antagomstic than such ideas seem to
the mind, is the connection of Pisa with carnival
mirth and revelHngs to any one who has made a
personal acquaintance with that town.
For Pisa wears at this present day an air of
melancholy beyond the power of words to describe ;
and did the same principle stiH prevafl, which assigned
in bygone years to ItaHan towns epithets illustrative
of the several quafities for which they were re
nowned ; as Lucca was termed " The Industrious :"
Florence, " The Beautiful ;" and Genoa, " The
Superb:" even so the propriety of now appending

80 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the designation of " The Mournful " to . the name of
Pisa would be beyond dispute.
The quiet of the country exercises a. sootMng
influence over the '¦¦ feelings; there, the ear asks not
for more than the sound of rippling water, or of
rustling foliage, and the eye rests satisfied with
such images of animated life as browsing cattle
and the flight of birds supply : but the quiet of a
town, and the absence there of sights and sounds
indicative of the existence of human energy and
activity, are depressing to the spirits in a very emi
nent degree. Such is the case with Pisa, whose
deserted squares, untrodden courts and streets,
which, with two or three exceptions, never echo to
the sound of carriage-wheels and the tread of horses,
imbue the mind and fancy with thoughts and images
of an intensely gloomy hue. Passing along the silent
streets, where a dark-robed priest or a wandering
beggar alone is found, one might very readily enter
tain the thought that the houses, which rise up high
and with solemn aspect on either side, have only
ghosts and spiders for their inhabitants.
The youth of ten transformed into the greybeard
of fourscore supplies an apt iUustration of the differ
ence that exists between the Pisa of the present and
the Pisa of mediaeval days. A time there was when
Pisa — powerful, industrious, rich, renowned, — was a
town in something more than name ; when along the
now deserted quays, between which the Arno runs,

ICJE.O'

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 81
the busy tide of life poured on from morn till night;
when the now silent streets resounded with the din
of trade; when the grass-grown piazza re-echoed
with the war-steed's tread, and from the marble
palaces along the river's side issued the mail-clad
warriors and the men-at-arms, whose prowess won
for Pisa an extended sway and a widely known and
honoured name.
The mutabifity of human fate is well exemplified
in the change which has come over Pisa during the
course of years. In the Piazza dei' Cavafieri, from
which the Kmghts of San Stefano sallied forth with
plume and sword and blast of trumpet to fight the
enemies of the Cross, not a sound is heard, save
the step of some black-clad priest, or the strolling
beggar's wail for alms addressed to the exploring
stranger. The far-famed Leaning Tower, in company
with the noble Cathedral and Baptistry, rise up in
lonely grandeur out of a grassy waste. One ancient
palace, whose richly ornamented front testifies to its
pristine digmty, has become the Caffe dell' Ussero,
and in the ancient residence of the Gambacorti
family — whose walls once echoed with the sound of
mirth and music, whose mirrors once reflected back
the forms of the fair and the Mghly born, — clerks sit
and write, discourse of tariffs, duties, and such
matters as come within the province of the custom
house officials of the Grand Duke of Tuscany.
Notwithstanding the antiquity of the greater por-
G

82 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
tion of the buildings of Pisa, they present in general,
to an English eye, a freshness of aspect which seems
inconsistent with their venerable years. In the
clear air of an Italian sky, marble and stone, unde-
filed by smoke and unstained by damp, change little
in colour during the course of centuries. Unlike
what occurs in our humid clime, no mildew vege
tation creeps up the walls, no sooty impurities,
deepening from year to year, mark with their dis
figuring trail the progress of time. Yet, reasoning
from a six weeks' experience of Pisa during the
winter months, the absence of all external symptoms
of humidity on the buildings appears somewhat unac
countable; for during, at least, a month of that
period mentioned, the rain fell with a violence and
constancy such as I had never previously witnessed.
The first sound that generally greeted my ears on
waMng was the pattering of rain drops against my
window, or on the flags below ; and if, perhaps,
in the afternoon, a cessation of a couple of hours
occurred, yet at the approach of mght the rain, as
if it had recruited its energies by that short rest,
began once more to fall with additional vehemence.
For days together the sole testimony the sun vouch
safed to the Pisans of his continued existence was
the regular alternation of light and darkness.
Under the influence of the leaden sky and the
murky clouds of that wet and gloomy season,
the wonted melancholy deserted aspect of Pisa

A PIS AN CARNIVAL. 83
became deepened in a tenfold degree. The wet
pavements were trodden but by very few who
were not forced to leave the shelter of their houses
by some affair of pressing necessity. The north
side of the Arno — the usual lounge of the idler in
the afternoon — exhibited only here and there, at
the favourite hour, a green umbrella, covering a
shaven face surmounted with a three-cornered hat, or
a melodramatic-looking Pisan gentleman shrouded
in the folds of a voluminous cloak. Few and
far between, too, were the beggars (usually so
abounding) that were to be seen. In contrast
with the sfience and deadness of the streets
that skirted the Arno's either edge, that river —
swollen by the long-continued rain — roared madly,
furiously along, bearing on its muddy surface logs
of wood, bundles of hay or straw, and other memo
rials of the depredations it was committing in the
country through wMch it passed. The weather
was very bad, the Pisans owned, in reference to
my not particularly complimentary remarks on the
character of their winter clime; but while they
admitted tMs, they hastened to assure me, with a
patriotism truly commendable, that the season was
stravagante — implying, by this term, that the weather
had departed from the usual meritorious tenor of
its ways : an assurance somewhat difficult to believe,
when it came to my knowledge that only the year
before a terrific inundation of the Arno had occurred,
G 2

84 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
by which life, as well as a vast amount of property,
had been destroyed.
If the weather had been the bitterest enemy of
the Pisans, it could not have shewed its malice
more than by selecting this particular time for in
dulging in a stravaganza ; as it was the period
between Christmas and Lent — a period varying in
length every year — which custom has for many
centuries in Italy dedicated especially to pleasure.
In this season of which I speak — viz., the winter of
1856 — the interval between Christmas and Easter
was unusually short ; and instead of having, as some
times happens, a two months' licensed season for
enjoyment, the Pisans were obliged to condense
their amusements into the narrow compass of five
weeks — a circumstance, doubtless, annoying in itself,
but more particularly so when it is taken into con
sideration that in these five weeks they had to
indemnify themselves for the absence of their
wonted carnival pleasures during a period of eight
years. This privation owed its origin, and also its con
tinuance for the period mentioned, to causes of a
political nature. In the winters of 1848 and
1849, the populace of the Tuscan towns were
too busily engaged in making public demonstra
tions in favour of the republican cause, in think
ing of and discussing political events, to play the
merry-andrew in mask and domino. In the five

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 85
succeeding years, the presence of the detested
Austrians, with whom Leopold, on his restora
tion to power, had filled the Tuscan towns — com
bined with a prohibition issued against the use
of masks — effectually checked all pubhc demon
strations of carnival mirth. In 1855, however,
reassured by the pacific aspect of affairs, the Grand
Duke of Tuscany dismissed his troops, and tMs
measure being foUowed by* the revocation of the
edict against masks, the Pisans, as well as the other
inhabitants of the Tuscan towns, prepared to greet
the next arrival of the festive season with the
warmth and cordiahty due to the return of a much-
regretted and weU-loved friend.
Under these circumstances, therefore, it may
readily be imagined with what sensations of despair
the Pisans looked up to their clouded skies, from
wMch the rain feH for many weeks, with periods
of but short intermission. Making the most, how
ever, of the few hours of sunshine or of fair weather
they might happen to enjoy, a motley assemblage of
old and young, of rich and poor, might be seen on
an occasional January afternoon, extending along
the street wMch skirts the Arno on its northern
side, shouting, laughing, talking, and cheering the
oddly-dressed figures that passed before their view.
At first, the masks were few . in number ; but, as
time wore on, and as the weather towards the end
of the month began to grow fine, the maskers be-

86 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
came more numerous, until at length, in the week
that preceded Lent, they increased to quite a throng.
A very curious sight it was for a stranger to look
down, as I did, from my window on that crowd — to
watch the eager, excited faces, to hear the shouts,
and to see the antics of a people intoxicated (as it
were) with joy. Nor did the amusement, often
repeated as it was, seem in the least degree to
pall upon the taste; on the contrary, the furor
for masking, and for seeing masks, appeared daily
to increase. The tradesman left his shop, the
artizan his loom, the straw-platter threw her work
aside, the wrinkled grand-dame put her distaff by,
and all, with one accord, from every street and
back lane of the town, hurried off each afternoon
to take their accustomed share, either as spectators
or actors, in the strange scene enacted by the river's
side. It would be difficult to say what style of dress,
amongst the maskers, was the favourite or the pre
vailing one, so varied were the garbs that met the
view. Here, a black domino might be seen, contrast
ing there with the motley array of a circus clown;
wMlst some wore gigantic masks, displaying noses
of prodigious length, or faces looking four different
ways ; others shrouded tlieir features from the public
gaze by a simple covering of black silk, through two
apertures in which gleamed forth a pair of bright,
laughing eyes. Here, might be seen a cavalier, with

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 87
a high cocked-hat, long flowing curls, and fashion of
dress appertaining to the olden time, conducting, with
an infinity of bows, a dame decked forth in a corre
sponding style, moving along with a suspiciously
masculine stride. Now, came dancing, springing by,
a bevy of masked girls dressed in white, with flutter
ing ribands and flowers in their hair; and anon,
a set of warriors, with polished cuirasses and visors
down, drove (somewhat incongruously) slowly by.
As the figures in the kaleidoscope vary with every
shake, so at every moment the scene was changed.
Clowns and dominos — blue, black, green, yellow,
red — knights and dancing girls, prodigious noses,
and miraculous heads — appeared and reappeared in
new combinations each successive moment; whilst
the scene was further varied by a line of carriages of
every degree of dignity, from the smart equipage
of the Pisan noble to the dingy vehicle called into
requisition for the occasion from the neighbouring
stand. EquaUy great as the variety of scene was the
variety of sound : with the roar of the muddy river,
swoUen by the recent heavy rains, were blended the
tramp of horses, the roU of wheels, and the tones of
the human voice, from the shrill treble of the en
raptured child, to the deep accents of the scarcely less
deHghted man ; high in the air rose the maskers'
piercing trill, a sound seemingly impracticable for
any but Italian throats or lips to give, and which,

88 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
amidst the prevailing laughter, shouts, and cheers,
was ever distinguishable. How voices lasted as they
did, when day after day their powers were taxed to
such an extreme degree, appeared to me somewhat
remarkable. The long-continued duration of the
excitement was a source to me also of some Httle
wonder ; for amongst the natives of the British isles
a long-protracted pastime, such as the carnival was,
would, before half its course was run, have died out
certainly of weariness and satiety. Here, on the con
trary, to the very last moment of the carnival's exis
tence, the evidences of popular enjoyment went on
daily increasing. To the colder, graver temperament
of northern climes, the huge draughts of pleasure
that can be swallowed by the impulsive, excitable
natures living under southern skies must prove a
subject of surprise ; and to some, perhaps, may assume
the aspect of a privilege to be envied.
To the masquerade by day in the public streets of
Pisa, succeeded masquerades at night in the theatre
or in private houses. Not only had the rich and
noble their masked balls, but the shopkeeper, and
even the servant, had theirs also; and often the
tardy light of a January morning dawned upon the
unfinished festivities. Private theatricals were also
indulged in to a considerable extent, not only by the
upper, but by the middle classes of the community.
Two pretty young girls whom I knew, daughters of
an hotel-keeperjn the town, displayed considerable

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 89
proficiency in this accomplishment; and a man-servant
in the house where I was staying, who enacted in the
morning the housemaid's part of sweeping, dusting,
and cleaning, appeared in the evening, on some
private stage, in the character of an actor. Another
carmval amusement deserves also to be mentioned.
From the hour of six o'clock in the evening till late
at night, the streets were traversed, towards the end
of the festive season, with bands of masqueraders ;
men and women, who, disguised in fancy dress, or
simple domino, rushed mto their friends' houses,
there to frisk about, to laugh, to utter witticisms in
feigned voices for a few minutes, and then to vanish
as suddenly as they had entered. One scene of tMs
description, wMch feU under my notice, was about the
very oddest and most curious sight I ever witnessed.
On previous occasions, the glories of the carnival
came to the culminating point on the two last days of
its existence ; for not only was the most expensive
and striking style of array reserved for this period,
but a new amusement was introduced to vary the
aspect of the daily scene. In former times, an
amicable warfare, carried on between the several
occupants of the carriages that passed each other
in line, had wMtened the pavement of the Lung'
Arno with a carnival missile termed confetti, in form
like comfits, but composed of Hme instead of sugar.
This year, however, to the disappointment of the
Pisans in general, and to the despair of the confetti

90 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
manufacturers in particular, the customary warfare,
both in lime] and sugar comfits, wTas prohibited,
under pain of heavy penalties, duly declared by
means of notices posted everywhere throughout the
town. That this prohibition emanated from some
abstruse political motive was generally believed ;
but it was quite beyond the power of ordinary intel
lects to comprehend how, when the other carnival
weapon of flowers was tacitly permitted to be used,
treason and danger to the State was more likely to
lurk in the interchange of confetti and bonbons than
in a warfare carried on by volleys of violets, snow
drops, or camelias.
However unreasonable the prohibition might
seem to the Pisans, they were too well drilled
into obedience not to conduct themselves in confor
mity with the Government decree. At least such
was generally the case ; for there were to be found
a few bold spirits belonging to the upper classes of
society, who dared to act in defiance of the new-
made law. Short-lived, however, was the triumph
that these rebels enjoyed. One, whose spotless and
well-fitting white kid gloves and boots of var
nished leather formed a striking contrast with the
grotesque and gigantic head he wore and the donkey
he bestrode, had not half emptied his pockets
of the comfits with which they had been filled,
before he was favoured with some not particularly
acceptable attentions on the part of the police. A

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 91
similar fate awaited a party of gorgeously dressed
Greeks, detected in the crime of discharging from
their carriage a volley of comfits at some passing
friends. Unpleasant, however, as such incidents
doubtless were to the parties immediately concerned,
they did not seem to cast any cloud upon the public
mirth, for in default of the proscribed ammunition,
a smart fire of bouquets was kept up between
carriage and carriage ; giving rise to much excite
ment, and to no small danger to little boys, who
scrambled amongst the feet of horses to earn a trifle
by selling to the eager combatants such bouquets
as, having missed their aim, had fallen upon the
ground. The commodity being somewhat limited in
amount, the traffic was brisk, high prices were
obtained; and many a bouquet was probably sold and
re-sold a dozen of times.
Amidst evidences of unabated enjoyment, the sun
went down upon the last day of the carnival. Domino
stiH saluted domino with a laugh and a shout, clowns
still danced and sung, harlequin still flourished Ms
wooden sword, Punch stiH sported his tremendous
nose, when, as the darkness of the evening cast a
vefl over the scene, the whole line of the Lung' Arno
became dotted over with minute points of Hght,
emanating from wax tapers wMch the occupants of
the carriages held in their hands ; and which they as
zealously strove to guard from extinction, as they
endeavoured to extinguish those that their neighbours

92 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
held. Senza moccolo* was the exulting cry that
awaited the victims' of a successful blast, and many a
senza moccolo rose upwards on the air. Long after
night had fairly set in, the gleaming lights were
visible all along the river's side, while carriage still
followed carriage in two lines, and tapers were extin
guished, lit, and re-extinguished innumerable times.
It seemed as if the actors in the scene would never
tire : nor was it, indeed, from any sensation of
weariness that the noisy throng at length dispersed,
for few were there, at least of its more youthful
portion, both rich and poor, noble and plebeian,
that did not dance out the last hours of the expiring
festival. With the first day of Lent, the town of Pisa
resumed its ordinary aspect of duMess, solitude, and
dejection. In the morning indeed, the interior of the
churches offered to the eye a somewhat animated
spectacle, from the number of persons of every
degree who flocked thither to receive the mark of
the pemtential ashes on their head ; and no wonder,
indeed, so many should be eager to perform this act
of humiliation, since, as an Italian lady told me, who
had herself conformed to the requirements of the
church in this particular, that not only the follies, but
the misdeeds of carnival times, were in a great degree
atoned for by this means. But after the transient
effervescence attending on this ceremonial was at an
* Without light

A PISAN CARNIVAL. 93
end — when every professmg Catholic had complied
with the requisitions of his faith, Pisa sank back into
its old listless and stagnant state again. The Lung'
Arno, so recently the scene of an ever-varying
comedy, so recently crowded with a noisy, exulting
throng, now echoed only with the whining voices
of the importunate beggars, who pursued the few
chance passers-by with an urgent cry for alms. In
place of the merrymaker's motley garb, whose bril
liant colours had flashed before the eye — in place of
the joyous laugh and shout that had filled the air
not many hours ago — I saw the mendicant's squalid
form, the cripple's distorted frame, and while the
bfind rolled their sightless eyes, and the maimed
tMust forth their mutilated limbs, and the widow
pointed to her corpse-like child, I heard repeated,
with the same professional wail, by old and young,
" Daterni qualche cosa, per Vamor di Dio, signorina ;
un quattrino, ho tanto fame"* and so on, in slightly
varying terms, over and over, continually.
If, to those who know Pisa but by repute, that city
and its wonderful Leaning Tower are indissolubly
connected in the mind ; to those who have enjoyed,
as I did, an intimate personal acquaintance with that
town for several weeks, Pisa and beggars will be
ideas inseparably associated together ever afterwards.
* " Give me something for the love of God, lady ; a farthing, I
am so very hungry."

94 LIFE IN TUSCANY.

CHAPTER V.
FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS.
The Florentines seem quite as proud and as. fond of
their city as are the Parisians of theirs. Praise
Florence to an inhabitant of that town, and he wiU
smile and look quite flattered, as if what had been
said was a compliment to himself; but venture even
in the gentlest manner to hint at some defect, and
you will see his brow contract, and find out shortly
that the imputation of bad taste is fixed on you irre
vocably, in his opinion.
For many ages the epithet of "The Beautiful" has
been affixed to the town ; and certainly, as far as
its situation is concerned, no one for a moment can
dispute the correctness of the term. Placed at the
upper extremity of the fertile valley through wMch
the Arno flows, it is commanded by the Appenines,
whose lofty peaks, which for a considerable portion
of the year are crowned with snow, tower above
ranges of undulating hills of varying form, all
bright with verdure, all studded over with peasant

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 95
dwellings, villages, and with villas, which peer
forth brightly from out a luxuriant growth of vines
and olive-trees. From the heights of Bellos-
guardo, or from the still more elevated site of
Fiesole, a view is beheld winch cannot fail to make
an indeHble impression on the memory. Below —
hushed in that solemn sHence, with which distance
ever invests the busiest scene of human toil and
life — lies Florence, crowned with its vast cathedral
dome, the pride and wronder of a former age.
From the amphitheatre of verdant hills, by which
the city is on most sides girt, the eye turns to
linger on that rich vale through which the Arno
winds onward to the sea. Here, heights rising
above heights; there mountains marking their out
lines on the bright blue sky; with steep decli
vities or gentle slopes, melting down by slow
gradations into a far-stretching plain of exuberant
fertility — present a picture — or rather a series of
pictures — from wMch the eye turns reluctantly
away. Though the greatness and glory of Florence have,
like the renown of Pisa, passed away, it is far from
exMbiting the mournful aspect which characterises
its former rival in the present day. Life does not
seem to stagnate in Florence as it does in Pisa ; its
streets being, for the most part, neither silent nor
soHtary. The priest and the beggar, who appear in
Pisa on ordinary occasions to form the principal por-

96 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
tion of the population of the town, become in Florence
but inconsiderable items, as regards numbers, in
the passing throng. While Pisa seems to brood
over the remembrance of its former greatness,
Florence, as if forgetful of its bygone glories,
welcomes the stranger with a look of cheerfulness,
and even gaiety: and that, too, in despite of the
grim dark palaces, with their prison-like windows,
that flank the street, and which testify to those
times of insecurity and turbulence that have passed
away — when Guelph and Ghibelline contended toge
ther in the streets, and when the air was rent by the
cry of opposing factions.
The streets of Florence in those bygone days
must have worn an aspect widely different from that
they exhibit now, owing to the essential difference
that exists in point of manners, of modes of life, and
of customs, between the past and present. Under
the deep broad cornice, projecting from the roof of
the merchant noble's fortress-palace, dependants no
longer lounge upon the bench of stone that runs
along the basement story of the building. Through
those large iron rings, which hang pendent at
intervals from the wall, the bridles of waiting
horses or samples of merchandise are no longer
drawn; nor do they any longer serve the part
of torch-holders on festive occasions. No longer
do their inner courts re-echo with the heavy
tread of mail-clad men, nor do their arcades re-

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 97
sound with the hum of trade ; for now no merchant
comes there to confer with his brother merchant
on commercial business ; nor do the young and old
repair tMther to buy the rich products of the
East or of Florentine looms — spices, gems, porce
lain, perfumes, wrought ivory cabinets, brocades,
and gorgeous tissues. Neither do the streets dis
play the figure of the grim man-at-arms or of the
man-clad knight mounted on his war steed, and
ever prepared for combat.
In contrast with the scene such images suggest
is the one presented by the principal streets of
Florence at the present day. Let us take one
of them — that which runs, for instance, from the
Cathedral to the Piazza del Gran Duca, and re
mark the objects it presents to notice. On either
hand are shops of every description, into whose
windows sundry passers-by gaze — some with eager
interest, and some with listless curiosity. Here
approach two dark-eyed Florentine ladies, dressed
out for public admiration in the last extravagance
of Parisian fashion ; the most delicate of Tulle veils
float before their faces, for they use a veil to
enhance, and not to conceal, the merit of their
features. Here comes the young Florentine gen
tleman, with delicate-coloured kid-gloves, French
boots, glossy hat, and well-trimmed and well-
arranged moustache and whiskers. In passing, he
stares at the Florentine belles in a way that would
H

98 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
be considered rude in England, but is merely
received as a welcome tribute to their charms by
the gratified ladies. Here comes a sallow priest
with shaven face, with long black robe descending
to his feet, with buckles in his shoes, and a tri
angular cocked hat upon his head. Not far behind
him follows a capuchin friar, clad in a dark -brown
cloak with falling hood, which, on an emergency,
can be drawn over his shaven crown; from the
cord tied round his waist, hangs a rosary and Ms
bare feet are shod with sandals. Moody is Ms face,
dim his eye, and uncleanly his aspect: let us turn
away from him, for he is not an agreeable object
to contemplate.
Far otherwise is that well-looking, dark-eyed,
sunburnt peasant woman, wearing a hat the broad
and limp rim of which goes flapping about with
her every movement, and who, to judge from the
basket hanging on her arm, has visited town with
the object of making some purchases. Next comes
into view the very impersonification of an Italian
brigand, a middle-aged, dark, fierce, gloomy-looMng
man, enshrouded in the folds of a voluminous cloak,
one end of which has been flung across his left
shoulder, whilst his hat is pressed so low down on
his head as nearly to conceal his frowning fore
head. Does not a stiletto seem to be a natural
accomplishment to that form and face, suggestive
as they are of tales of blood and vengeance ? But

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 99
let him pass by without further notice, and fix your
gaze on that strange , and startling procession that
is approaching: onward it comes, an assemblage of
frightful-looking figures, each clad from head to foot
in a loose robe of black, with eyes that stare out
grimly tMough two apertures in the black silk
hooded mask that conceals their features. Goblins
they might be thought ; imps of iniquity, ready for
any deed of darkness. But far different, indeed,
is their character, and of a very different nature,
too, is the act wMch they are now performing
from those of wMch their appearance is sugges
tive ; and as they come on rapidly, bearing a litter
aloft between them, the carriages and the pedes
trians turn aside to make way for them ; and not
a man whom they pass by or meet, but raises
or touches Ms hat reverentially to them as they
speed on their charitable mission; for they are the
Brothers of the Misercordia (Mercy) conveying a
sick man to the hospital. All hail to ye, brothers !
I also touch my hat to you, in spirit.
From the aspect presented by the streets of Flo
rence let us turn to that presented by its pleasure-
grounds, and take a view of life in the form in wMch
it is there offered to our notice. Adjoining the
magnificent palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany
are the Boboli gardens, which are thrown open on
certain days to the public; Let us select Sunday
for the day of our visit there, as otherwise we shall
h2

100 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
see few but nursery-maids and children. Following
in the train of a joyous throng, bent upon obtain
ing a transient taste of rural enjoyment on this
their great day of recreation, we pass by the front
of the palace to a high arch, through which the
gardens are entered. Along the walk which skirts
the base of a precipitous hill, we follow on in the
track of the greatest portion of the throng that
has preceded us; and at length quitting the broad
gravel way and the crowd, we turn into a side walk,
where we find ourselves in a long regular arcade of
overarching boughs, resembling a continuous arbour,
into which the sun, in its summer noonday might,
can never penetrate further than to shed a twilight
glimmer through the interior. The arcade termi
nates in a broad avenue, at either side of which
rise up massive walls of verdure, serving as a back
ground for numerous statues. From the summit of
a steep hill, up which the avenue runs in a straight
line, a fine view of the surrounding country rewards
the toiling pilgrim in search of the picturesque and
beautiful ; but the ascent is somewhat too steep and
lengthened for a warm and fine day like this, when
the sun — although it has not a long journey to make
to attain the horizon — still shines with warmth and
power. Much pleasanter it is to descend to the very
foot of the hill, where a fountain diffuses around a
sense of coolness and freshness ; and where arbours
and shady seats offer a pleasant retreat to the tired

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 101
or heated wanderer. Hero, for a short time, let us
sit. down and enjoy the scene before us. A right
pleasant seat it is, with the sound of falling water,
and the song of birds, and the voices of merry chil
dren, and of men and women, blending all together
and falfing on the ear harmoniously, whilst the eye
dweUs on walls of verdure, on gleams of quivering
sunlight beneath overarching boughs, on sparkling
water, on vases, shrubs, and flowers, and on marble
statues, contrasting with the changing, shifting forms
of animated life we see around us.
Pleasant, however, as are the Boboli gardens in
the hot days of summer, and proud of them as are
the Florentines, they are left almost entirely to the
occupation of the working classes of the town on the
two days of the week on wMch alone they are thrown
open to the pubhc. The servant in her cap, the
humble tradeswoman with a red or blue handker-
cMef tied round her head, the artizan in his holiday
dress, the soldier off duty, and the families of venders
of pork, cheese, beer, and maccarom in back streets ;
these, and such as these — petty shopkeepers, huxters,
mechanics — in fact, persons belonging to the humbler
classes of society, constitute the throng that may be
seen strolfing about in the Boboli gardens.
Very different is the case in regard to the Cascine,
another Florentine pleasure-ground, which takes its
name from an adjoining dairy farm belonging to
the Grand Duke. Lying outside the walls of the

102 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
town, and affording drives of considerable extent,
these Cascine (the Hyde Park of Florence) are the
favourite resort of the native and foreign fashionable
classes of the town. On a fine summer's afternoon,
mingling with the dark-eyed and dark-complexioned
Italian throng, may be seen numbers of English and
Americans, easy of recognition amidst the mass, not
only by their air and bearing, but by their fairer
skins and lighter hair; and the frequency with
which faces of the Anglo-Saxon type present them
selves to view, testifies to the very large colonies of
that race to be found within the walls of Florence.
The Cascine consist of a narrow strip of well-
wooded level land, extending parallel to the river for
about a mile and a half along its northern side, and
are in themselves devoid of any beauty beyond that
wMch fine spreading forest trees, green turf, and
luxuriant underwood invariably possess. But to the
attractions of a general kind which they enjoy, are
added some of an extraneous nature that confer on
them a particular charm ; for through the trees which
overarch the walks and public drive, is seen the front
range of hills belonging to the Apennine range —
Mils now sharply peaked, now gently rounded, either
blending into one another in softly curving lines, or
standing out boldly and well-defined ; MUs crowned
by trees and villages, and faced with olives, vines,
and verdant fields, amidst which rise up thickly the
red-tile-roof dwellings of the peasant, and the white

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 103
glistening villas of the rich or noble Florentine ; and
hills which, as the sun touches the last period of his
long summer-day reign, mark their dark undulating
outlines on a sky irradiated with the most gorgeous
gold or crimson hues.
Though at all times the Cascine are a favourite
resort of the idle world, they are especially so on
the days when their attractions are increased by the
performance of a band ; on such occasions, particu
larly on a festa, when the shops are closed and
business at a stand, the walks and the broad drive,
in a certain portion of the grounds, are filled respec
tively with pedestrians, riders, and carriages. As no
Florentine of either sex seems to dream of walk
ing, if either he or she has the means to drive, a
motley coUection of equipages is visible, from the
smart Clarence of the Italian noble, with chasseur*
outside, down to the jingling dog-cart of the John
Gilpin class of citizen, and the hack, drafted for
the occasion from the neighbouring stand; whilst
mingling with these may be seen troops of riders,
amongst whom the fair-complexioned English girl,
cantering along on her handsome and well-groomed
steed, occupies a conspicuous place.
The open space adjoining the spot where the band
is stationed, serves as a halting-place for the throng ;
and while humble pedestrians press round the musi-
* A chasseur is the name given to an attendant wearing a plumed
hat and sword in the military style.

104 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
cians in a circle, the occupants of carriages (the
latter drawn up side by side) commence an inter
change of salutations with their friends. The smart
Florentine beau, with polished boots and nicely-
fitting cream-coloured gloves, dismounting from his
horse, makes his way tiirough the file of vehicles,
and seeks out those in which he recognises friends.
Halting here and there as he passes on, he expresses
Ms hope that he sees the Marchesa Cappom quite
well — compliments the Contessa Alberti on her very
becoming bonnet — begs to present the Signora Bar-
tolotti with a bouquet he has purchased from a
flower-girl — is distressed to find that Signora Bianca
is still suffering from a cold — and, after lamenting to
Signora Massoni that his numerous engagements
prevented him from attending her last night's ball,
he exchanges with her the last budget of fashionable
news: as edifying in its nature as such an article
always is, the wide world over.
Thus driving, riding, talking, jesting, quizzing,
flirting, time glides on; the sun disappears behind
the hills, and the shades of evening fall: which,
deepening fast, soon empty the Caserne of their gay
motley throng. The musicians take their departure,
and their audience following the example, all turn
to Florence, leaving the Cascine to silence, darkness,
and solitude: and yet not to darkness entirely,
in that beautiful June evening; for no sooner does
the night set in, than under the deep gloom of the

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 105
overarcMng trees are seen the minute but brilliant
lamps of innumerable fireflies, rising and falling,
swaying here and there, and tracing multitudinous
intersecting lines of light upon the darkened air.
In Florence several days in the year are parti
cularly dedicated to religious display or to public
rejoicing. On Ascension-day it is considered a kind
of pious obligation to make merry, and many a pic-
nic party is formed to the Cascine on that occasion.
The procession that takes place on the 11th of June
through cloth-hung streets, and with flags and ban
ners, in honour of the feast of the Corpus Domini,
is characterized by great pomp and splendour. On
the 15th of August images of the Virgin are dressed
up with silks, ribands, and flowers ; and in this ball
room array the Madonna receives the homage of the
faithful ; who, still further to propitiate her favour,
salute her often on such occasions with musical per
formances. On the 8th of September another tribute
of popular devotion awaits the Virgin ; for in honour
of the Nativity, altars decorated with flowers are
erected in the streets, and boys and girls, in com-
pfiance with a time-honoured custom, the origin of
wMch does not seem very clear, carry about paper
lanterns suspended on poles. A similarly mysterious
practice is pursued during Lent also, for when half
of its six weeks has elapsed, the juvenile street
population of the town amuse themselves by attach
ing to the dress of the passer-by (in a clandestine

106 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
manner, if practicable,) small pieces of paper, cut in
the shape of a ladder, and named scala from that
circumstance. Easter week is distinguished by many peculiar
observances and ceremonies. On Maunday Thurs
day I was present at the celebration of the Lavanda
in the Pitti Palace, where I saw the Grand Duke
go through the pantomimic action (for it was in
reaHty nothing else) of washing the feet of twelve
poor old men dressed in the garb of pflgrims ; after
which, I saw Mm again in the afternoon, as, in
grand state and attended by Ms guard of nobles, he
visited, in accordance with established rules, seven
of the principal churches of the town: in whose
interior, as weU as in churches of less note, there is
invariably one altar decorated with all the magnifi
cence of which the resources of each particular
church will admit. The example thus set by the
head of the State it is incumbent on every pro
fessing Catholic to follow; and the streets were
crowded by people hastening from church to church
to get over the prescribed number of visits in a
reasonable time. Though many certainly went to
pray, as was evidenced by the numerous figures I
saw kneeling before each decorated altar, curiosity,
as with me, was evidently the motive power with
the great majority of the crowd that tMonged the
churches ; and very beautiful was the scene presented
by many of their interiors to the view. The church

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 107
of Santa Croce, hi particular, was distinguished by
a magnificence of decoration such as scarcely any
description could do full justice to: — hangings of
gold and silver brocade, massive candelabras of
precious metals, costly flowers, and innumerable
wax lights, altogether made up a scene of gor
geous splendour such as I had never previously
witnessed. The Saturday in Passion week is distinguished by
a grand service in the cathedral, towards the end of
wMch, when the choir begins to sing the " Gloria in
Excelsis," a discharge of fireworks takes place from
a huge kind of chariot stationed at the door. On
tMs occurrence, guns are fired, and the bells of the
city, wMch have been sdent from the preceding
Thursday, ring out a joyous peal ; whfist from the
same hour the church clocks, which have been con-
stramed to observe sHence for the same period of
time, are restored to the exercise of their suspended
faculties of sound.
But of aU the days set apart for religious or public
festivities in Florence, the feast day of St. John the
Baptist (San Giovanni), the patron saint of the Flo
rentines, wMch falls on the 24th of June, is distin
guished beyond all others by splendour and variety
of ceremonial observances ; chariot races, horse
races, music, fireworks, and illuminations, all com-
bimng to confer (as supposed) honour on the saint,
and to give (most unquestionably) interest to the scene.

108 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
The preparations for these festivities commence
some time before the period fixed on for their taking
place. The erection of a huge wooden scaffold on
the Ponte alia Carraja, for the display of fireworks,
puts a stop, first, to the transit of carriages, and finally
to that of pedestrians, across it. In the Piazza Santa
Maria Novella, there rises, amidst the sound of
hammer and saw, a great amphitheatre of seats, for
the accommodation of such persons as are desirous
of witnessing the chariot races (races of the cocchi,
as they are termed), wdiich take place in tMs square.
In other parts of Florence other seats also are
erected for the purpose of affording a view of the
horse races, the scene of which lies along the central
streets of the town. Long before the 24th of June,
signs may be discerned of the approach of the festi
vities in honour of San Giovanni, the revered pro
tector of the town.
The chariot races afford a sight characterized by
beauty and absurdity in about equal proportions.
The Piazza Santa Maria NoveUa, though irregular
in form, is one of the largest and finest squares in
Florence, and when in the amphitheatre of seats
erected around the course, not one place was to be
seen unoccupied — when from the gay state pavihon
occupied by the Grand Duke and Duchess, the
English ambassador, and the principal personages
of the Tuscan Court, the eye, rising upwards over
tier above tier of human faces, passed on still upwards

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 109
to row after row of windows with crimson harnnno-s
and crowded with spectators — when all this pomp
and show, this animated scene of human life, was
witnessed under the influence of an unclouded sky
and a bright June sun, the effect was eminently
imposing and beautiful.
But what power of words can do justice to the
absurdity of the races, for which all this preparation
had been made ; for which windows had been hung
with glowing draperies, seats erected by the thousand,
and at which royalty in state presided. How often
through life is it forced upon the mind, that man,
though attaining outwardly by grey hairs to the age
of wisdom, yet never attains to the age of discretion
in reality — a fact signally exemplified in this instance;
for however judicious it may be for matured man
kind occasionally to accept pleasure when it comes,
without entering into a strict investigation as to the
digmty of its origin, yet to invest a something essen
tially trivial and ephemeral (as were these races) with
an outward show of pomp and splendour, to expend
tune and money in ministering to the grandeur of
an imbecility, are acts that involve a degree of
intellectual development belonging only to the age
of doHs, hoops, tops, and hobby-horses.
A few words will suffice to give a description of
the races of the cocchi by which San Giovanni is
honoured in Florence. To most persons the form
of the ancient Roman chariot, guided by a standing

110 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
charioteer, has been made familiar through tne
medium of prints ; of the same shape are the Floren
tine cocchi; and, saving that they are constructed
with four wheels, they are fasMoned in close imi
tation of the old Roman car. Behold, now, five
of these cocchi, drawn by two horses each, guided by
a standing charioteer attired in a classically-shaped
floating tunic, differing in colour from the others.
Ranged together side by side in the middle of
the Piazza, in the centre of that imposing-looking
amphitheatre, their drivers await, in Phoebus-like
attitudes, the signal for starting. It is given, and
on the instant down falls the lash, and off start
the horses at a gallop, dragging, apparently with
difficulty, the low and lumbering cars behind them.
One circle of the Piazza is made, and the Apollo in
pink is first; another round, and the Mars in red
has attained the foremost position, and, keeping up
the advantage he has gained, at the third circuit he
comes in victorious. A gun is fired, and the spec
tators leave their seats ; for the races of the cocchi,
which have lasted a space of about tiiree minutes in
duration, are ended.
The races of the Barberi, wMch take place also in
honour of the feast of St. John, though widely dif
fering in nature from the races of the cocchi, are
equally peculiar in character. The race-course is
formed by a long line of streets running through the
centre of the town, from one gate to another, and

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. Ill
the racers arc riderless horses. All along the line of
streets the windows are hung with crimson drapery,
and soldiers, ranged in single file on either side, keep
the horses in the course prescribed ; and keep it also
clear for the performances. Racing in the English
fasMon is far from being to me a pleasurable exMbi-
tion, and from what I once felt on seeing the lash
descend with mercUess force on the bleeding sides of
panting, striving animals, I do not desire ever again
to be a spectator of another English race. In point
of humamty, however, the Italian races are equaUy
obnoxious to censure; for though the feelings are
spared the sight of the action of the jockey's whip
and spurs, the pain inflicted is probably even less
than that resulting from the artful device by which
ItaHan horses (riderless as they be) are stimulated
to action. To the eye, the small circular pieces of
leather, or metal, which flap up and down on the
back and sides of the Italian race-horse, might,
naturaUy enough, be looked on in the light of
merely ornamental appendages. But far otherwise
is the case in reality, for every one of these small
flappers has a sharp spike in its centre that pricks
the horse at every step he takes; and the faster the
poor animal gallops, under the torture of these self-
acting gcrads, the greater becomes the stimulus of pain
to urge him on his course, from the added force given
by every increase of speed to each flapping point.
Recurring in memory to the races of the Barberi I

112 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
witnessed in Florence at the feast of St. John the
Baptist, there rises up before me the vivid picture
of a long line of crowded streets, of crimson-hung
windows, of tiers here and there of well-filled seats,
and of horses, covered with flapping goads, rushing
by at a rapid pace.
But another picture, infinitely more beautiful and
agreeable, rises up before my view in connection with
the midsummer festivities in honour of San Giovanni.
Vividly do I recall that beautiful evening in June
when, standing by the river's side, I saw as it were
the realization of a scene of fairy-land. In the centre
of the Ponte alia Carraja — where a hideous wooden
scaffold, a formless, unmeaning-looking thing of
planks and beams, had affronted the eye by the
light of day — there, in that same spot, shone forth
a radiant palace, fit to be the habitation of genii.
Up rose the whirring rocket into the air, marking
its course across the dark vault above with a fiery
trail, and perishing in a gushing shower of stars of
the most glowing colours ; round spun the wheels
of glittering light, sending forth continuous jets of
dazzling sparks, like spray from a fiery fountain ;
whilst along the Arno, at either side, down to the
Ponte di Santa Trinita, extended close to the water's
edge long lines of lamps, whose mellow lustre was
reflected in the stream beneath ; and the river itself,
from one bank to the other, was studded over with
illuminated boats, shewing like isles of light, every

FLORENTINE SCENES AND AMUSEMENTS. 113
here and there, from its dark surface. Clearly as at
noonday could one see the eager faces of the crowd
around them ; and the stars of heaven looked dull,
and dim, and pale, by contrast with that glittering
pageant There was no sleep that night for many. Crowds
filled the streets till break of day, passing from place
to place, to admire the beauty of the lamp-lit cathe
dral dome, the radiant glories of the tall tower of
the Palazzo Vecchia, and to listen to the inspiriting
strains of numerous bands, stationed here and there,
throughout the city ; and not till the dawn of day
crept up the sky were the tones of music hushed,
and the wanderings of the pleasure-seekers ended.

114 LIFE IN TUSCANY.

CHAPTER VI.
SOCIETY.
The name of Italy has for the educated world a kind
of magic sound. Its glory, grandeur, and might of
old, joined to its more modern triumphs in the arts
of the poet, painter, sculptor, and musician, give
it a foremost position in the sympathies of every
cultivated mind. In no small degree, certainly,
does England feel the spell which departed great
ness, and the deathless triumphs of genius, have
thrown around the country of Brutus, Cicero,
Dante, Columbus, Raphael, Michel Angelo, and
Galileo. By the English stranger who first treads
the classic shores of Italy, the history of which is
intertwined with the remembrances of his early
years — whose residence is adorned perhaps by the
grand creations of Italian art, who owes many a
delightful hour to Rossini's or Bellini's harmonious
strains — by such a one Italy and the Italians, the
country and its people, will naturally be viewed
through a medium of the most favourable kind.

SOCIETY. 115
Short, however, is the duration of the bright picture
painted by the imagination, when the realities of
Italian life are brought before the eyes of those who
respect and cherish the virtues of domestic life, and
beHeve that existence presents some Mgher, nobler
object of pursuit than that of pleasure.
Not more do Italy and England differ in their
outward aspects than in their inward states oi
existence. Strongly as the bright blue summer
skies, the oHves, the maize, the vines of Italy con
trast with the lowering clouds and less luxuriant
and varied vegetation of our colder clime ; the con
trast that exists in all that concerns the domestic life
of the two nations is far greater. From the earliest
to the last moment of existence, influences, entirely
different in their nature, are at work, moulding the
characters and shaping the destinies of the inhabi
tants of Italy and England. In the different aspects
presented by thesejtwo countries at the present day
— England, rich, powerful, triumphant, and free —
Italy, poor, weak, oppressed, enslaved — in the wide
distinction that thus prevails, it needs no penetration
to discover wMch class of influences, affecting the
formation of the national character in either country,
is the best.
" Love, music, and poetry is the life of an ItaHan,"
exclaimed, one day in my presence, a young Floren
tine gentleman. Unfortunately for Italy, the ob
servation was too true : ItaHan youths, epicureans in
I 2

116 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
theory and practice, too often fritter away their
time and energies in the pursuit of mere enjoyment ;
and too often, through the means of a vicious ca
reer of self-indulgence, their natural capacity for
good is well nigh extinguished, if not wholly de
stroyed. Early in life the frivolous tone of Italian
society exerts its enervating influence over the youth
ful mind. Few are the youths belonging to the
upper and middle classes of society in Italy, who
resolutely set themselves to achieve an honourable
independence. Clinging to their kindred for sup
port, necessity alone drives them to exercise their
energies for the purpose of acquiring the means of
subsistence. The idlers can be counted by tens,
the workers by units. The tone of thought which
ruled society in Tuscany in the days of the Medici
is extinguished utterly; for industry now is looked
upon as vulgar, and idleness as genteel. The lad
of fifteen apes the man — apes him in the levities,
and too often the vices of his career: the youth
of twenty is thoroughly a man of the world, in
timately acquainted with the world's worst features.
Frivolities become the serious duties of his exist
ence: he sings — he dances— he gossips — he flirts — as
if life were given him for no higher aims and occu
pation. So long as he can find the means to buy
light kid-gloves, attend the opera, and pay his cafe
bill, he lives on, contented with his position: his
future troubles him not, so long as his present wears

SOCIETY. 117
an agreeable aspect " Vice la bagatelle," is his
cry : " life is short, let us enjoy it whilst we may ;"
and, acting upon this creed, youth vanishes in a
round of folly — in a whirl of excitement, that can
not but be as destructive to the moral principle as
it is inimical to the development of all the higher
faculties of the mind.
But whilst thus characterizing the youth of Italy
as a class, it would be unfair to deny that there exist
many exceptions to this rule. Doubtless, amongst
the young men of Italy there are to be found many
to whom patriotism supplies a motive to exertion and
an object in wMch they worthily invest their sym
pathies. But wMlst admitting tMs, it must be owned
that, if credit is to be given to the words of Italians
themselves, there is but a small amount of singleness
of purpose, unselfishness of endeavour, and honesty
of action, to be found amongst the ranks of the upper
classes of their countrymen. It was a melancholy
thing to me, to hear the strictures passed by ItaHans
upon themselves. Distrust seemed to me to be widely
prevalent ; each man appearing to suspect his neigh
bour of being actuated by merely selfish aims. In
Rome and Naples I have heard Italians lament their
unfitness as a nation for free institutions from the
low moral tone existing amongst themselves. "Siamo
troppo cativi" (we are too wicked) for free insti
tutions, said to me a Roman gentleman belonging
to the anti-papal party; and this is the opinion of

118 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
many a one in various parts of Italy. In Tuscany
this feeling contributes more to the stability of the
hated government of the Grand Duke than the army
of Austrians he has at his command. Anarchy seems
to be more dreaded than despotism ; and the caprices
of tyranny appear to be looked upon as more endur
able than the licence of a mob.
In truth, the republican drama recently enacted
in Tuscany was little creditable to the inhabitants
of that land. Those times were certainly not to be
boasted of, when hydra-headed tyranny under the
name of liberty stalked abroad ; and judging from
what I heard, the closing scenes of the revolution
resembled in character those exhibited throughout
its course.
"The concluding days of our revolution were truly
disgraceful ones," observed a lady, whose husband
had taken a prominent part in the proceedings of the
time. "It was really pitiable to see the way in
which many of our most prominent liberals deserted
their ranks, through the influence of gold or fear. I
was in Sienna when the news of the reaction in
Florence arrived. The mob in the streets began to
hurrah for the Grand Duke. On hearing this I saw
the chief man of our party in the town turn pale as
death and tremble like a child. 'What must I do?'
he faltered out. ' Stick true to your colours and
principles,' I replied : ' I, though a woman, would
scorn to do less.' Vain words I A few minutes had

SOCIETY. 119
not passed before he was shouting for Leopold, with
the ducal colours attached to his dress. Gold, too,
did its work. Few were found like my husband
to refuse the proffered bribe : republican patiiots
became transformed into ducal partizans in a few
hours' time."
" Our present Government is certainly a bad one,"
said a liberal Florentine merchant to me ; " but our
republican rule was far worse. Liberty existed with
us but in name. Florence was tyrannized over by a
mob, each individual of which aspired to be king.
Neither property nor life was safe, and trade was
anniMlated by the general feeling of insecurity that
prevaHed." " We were bought and sold," say the
lower classes of the people. " For the sake of gold
our leaders deserted their colours and us." Of a
similar purport were many of the observations I
heard during my residence in Tuscany.
It cannot be doubted that the defects of character,
attributable to the Italians of the upper and middle
classes of society, spring in a considerable degree
from the despotic form of government to wMch they
are subjected. The energies of the human mind
cannot be altogether repressed ; if denied vent in a
useful, rational way, they will make for themselves
an outlet of a widely different character. The fer
tilising river, whose onward course between its banks
is checked by a strong dyke, will lay waste the land
around in unwholesome marshes. What the dyke

120 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
is to the stream, despotic institutions are to the cha
racter. Liberty of speech and action denied, legi
timate objects of ambition refused, mental activity
looked upon with suspicion and discouraged, it is
only a natural consequence that the innate energy
of the Italian character should exhibit itself in an
unworthy manner. Under other influences, it may
be that the Italian sensualist, adventurer, and gam
bler of the present day would show himself a worthy
citizen, an unselfish patriot, and a true benefactor to
his country.
But, injurious as is undoubtedly the influence of
Italian government on Italian character, the faulty
social code of Italy is chargeable with the evil, in a
still greater degree : indeed, it may be questioned if
this source is not in itself the parent of all the evils
under which Italy groans ; for tyranny and tyrants
are only the outward symptoms of a disease that
has struck its roots in the homes of the land. When
one man subjects many to his tyrannic sway, the
many must be in fault. An army is counted but
by thousands, a people by millions ; and there is no
power in parks of artillery, or in military tactics, to
put or keep a nation down, when that nation, worthy
of liberty, determines to be free. Search the annals
of history and it will reveal that the public life of a
nation is in a great degree the reflex of its private
one. With purity of morals will be found associated
national independence, wealth, and power ; with cor-

SOCIETY. 121
ruption of mox*als, tyranny, weakness, and poverty.
If we would trace the source of oppression of mil
lions subjected to tyranny, or writhing impotently
under the oppressor's grasp, we must look into their
homes and raise up the veil that hangs over private
life ; observe the mother, contemplate the wife, and
watch the young girl as she springs up from infancy
to maturity.
It is an observation justified by experience, that
children ordinarily inherit their mental and moral
qualities from then mother. In the biographies of
great men this fact is evidenced in a very striking-
manner, and proves how essential to the welfare and
greatness of any state is the development of the
mental and moral facidties of woman. By thus
ordaining that cMldren shaU resemble their mother
in mental and moral constitution, Providence seems
visibly to interpose in behalf of the weaker sex, and
to claim for them respect, education, and considera
tion ; for practically does it say, through this means,
to men, " If you desire that your sons should be
clever, wise, and good, develop as much as possible
those qualities in woman." Unheeded, however, for
the most part, does that voice speak to mankind;
and throughout the East, where woman is looked
upon either in the light of a toy or a slave, one sees
how terribly the injuries of the inmates of the ha
rem and the zenana have been avenged. Ignorant,
oppressed, and weak, the women of the East have

122 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
entailed the curses of ignorance, weakness, and op
pression on the nations to which they belong.
To any one who mixes in the sfightest degree in
Italian society, or converses with the inhabitants of
different grades in Italy, it will soon become very
apparent that domestic life in that country partakes
in its essential elements of the oriental type. Though
not secluded in the interior of her house, or veiled
and muffled up when she goes out to walk or drive,
the Italian lady has but little real liberty of action ;
and in all that concerns the practical affairs and
most important interests of life, she may be looked
upon as a mere cipher, or a complete nonentity.
Should we examine her position in the various
stages of her history, as girl, wife, mother, or
possibly widow, we should find her constrained
and fettered to a degree that seems inconsistent
with the fact of her possessing the attributes of a
rational being.
Nothing exercises so baneful an effect upon the
character as the destruction of self-respect. A
despised race will almost invariably exhibit despi
cable qualities. The evidence of mistrust has a
tendency to evoke the evil propensities of human
nature, and errors harden often into sin and gmlt,
if society puts its ban upon the offender. As with
the moral, so with the mental qualities. CaH a man
a villain or a fool, and deal with him habitually as
such, and he will not unlikely prove himself deserv-

SOCIETY. 123
ing of the epithet you give Mm. In like manner, if
women as a class are looked upon with contempt,
and are treated as beings unfit for self-guidance
and self-government, they will be found acting in
accordance with their imputed characters. If an
English woman is superior to an Italian woman in
mental faculties and moral qualities, the fault lies
not with nature, but is traceable to that erring code
of customs and opinion which treats the latter as
if she were a being from whom the great gift of
reason had been withheld. The hobbling gait of the
Chinese woman is not a more artificial product than
are the weakness, vanity, frivolity, and immorality
wMch stain the character of the women of Italy of
the present day.
The contrast between the position of an English
and ItaHan widow is a striking one. The former,
recognised by English society as an independent
existence, may even, though young, live where she
pleases, and spend her jointure according to her
taste. She may travel; she may live in town or
country, as her choice suggests : no one has the
power to control her, to regulate the expenditure of
her income, to dictate to her what she may and may
not do. But with the ItaHan widow the case is often
widely different; and not seldom is she subjected to a
thraldom of the most grievous kind.
" My fife is a burden to me," said a young Flo
rentine widow to me, despairingly one day.

124 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
" Why so?" I asked.
" Oh, Signor Carlo is so cross and unkind ; he
checks and thwarts me in every way," was the
reply. " And who is Signor Carlo, and what right has he
to interfere with you ? " I returned.
" Oh, Signor Carlo is a priest, whom my husband
made a guardian over me, and entrusted with the
management of my jointure and my affairs. Oh, it
is really too insufferable ! " she continued, passion
ately. " Scarcely an evening passes that he does
not come to make a note of my day's expenditure ;
and then, if he finds that I have exceeded the ordi
nary amount by even a couple of pauls, he knits Ms
brows, and tells me that this must not occur again.
And if he sees a nice blazing fire in the grate, he
rebukes me for my extravagance. ' Signora Teresa,
you must not do this, and you must not do that," he
keeps on saying, till I cry with downright vexation.
Then, too, if I want a new bonnet or a new dress,
I have to beg and beg innumerable times before I
can get the money to purchase it. It is too bad —
indeed, it is — the way he acts ; treathig me like a
child, though a woman of upwards of thirty years
of age. It is intolerable to be kept in this subjection.
I would to Heaven I were an Englishwoman !
"But why do you permit Signor Carlo to keep
all your money in his hands, and to annoy you by
his constant presence and interference ? "

SOCIETY. 125
'• Cava mia," she rejoined, " how can I help
it, since my husband willed that I should get
my income solely through Signor Carlo's hands?
And that is not the worst of my lot either,"
she continued ; " that might be borne ; but it is
intolerable that Signor Carlo should be a spy on
aU my actions, keeping a constant watch on all
I do." " Why permit him ? Why not tell him you will
act as you choose ? "
" I wish I could ; but he has me completely in
his power, for by my husband's wiU my jointure is
to be transferred to a member of his family if I do
not show I am st.buona vedova* and exhibit the most
perfect discretion of conduct."
" Am I to understand that Signor Carlo is to be
vour judge in tMs particular ? "
" Yes ; and he is perpetuaUy on the watch to see
if I have got a lover. He thinks himself very
cunning, I am sme ; but sharp-eyed as he is, he has
never yet discovered that Beppo comes here."
"WhoisBeppo?" " A young officer, a noble of Pisa, to whom I am
engaged. Unfortunately he is too poor to marry
yet, and so we must wait until he gets his next step,
wMch wiU give him additional pay."
" You lose your jointure, then, if you marry, I
suppose ? " * Good widow.

126 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
"Yes, certainly; or if my engagement to do so
be known. It is really droU to tMnk of the way
that Beppo has to be smuggled off when Signor
Carlo arrives unexpectedly."
"You wiU be glad when this thraldom is at an
end?" " If it were not for that prospect, I would not
live," she exclaimed ; " or at least not live on in
the way I do. If it were not for Beppo, I should
do something desperate, I am sure."
In the character of this lady I saw a striking
illustration of the evil effects that flow from the
restraints imposed upon her sex in Italy. Scarcely
emerged from cMldhood, she, in obedience to her
mother's orders, became the wife of a man she did
not love, and who was in point of age considerably
her senior. Sadly did the years of her married
life pass by. Without children, without household
duties (for her husband regulated all domestic
affairs), without an education that would have given
her resources of enjoyment in herself, she could
only look to society for happiness, for the means of
filling up in any way the vacuum in her existence ;
and from this sole resource she was excluded by the
decree of a jealous husband. As daughter first, as
wife subsequently — watched, guarded, mistrusted,
deprived of Hberty of choice and action, in despite
of no mean natural endowments of heart and mind
— time found her a widow of thirty years of age,

SOCIETY. 127
in point of judgment, thought, and feeling — a per
fect child.
Although every widow lady in Italy may not have
the misfortune to be under the rule of a Signor
Carlo, it seemed to me, from what I heard, that
the practice was general on the part of a dying
husband to invest some one with the control
over the management of the pecuniary affairs of
Ms widow. Indeed, in many cases this might prove
a wise provision for her welfare; for from the ef
fects of the system of tutelage under which the Ita
Han wife has lived, she is so destitute of prudence
and forethought — so much the slave of impulse, so
passionately fond of dress — that with her income
as a widow at her own disposal, she is capable
of spending in a week, on the merest fripperies of
fasMon, the whole amount of her annual income.
Signora Teresa was no exception to tMs rule : she
acknowledged that she was dreadfuUy extravagant.
The number of bonnets and dresses she possessed
was absolutely startling; and nearly all .the very
small amount of pocket-money aUowed to her by
Signor Carlo was expended m the purchase of lot
tery tickets.
In a country where the inteUectual faculties of
women are rated at a very low degree, it may
readily be believed that education is a matter but
little attended to. Thus error tends ever to its
self-perpetuation. The weak and ignorant girl

128 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
merges into the weak and ignorant mother, and not
feeling her deficiences, goes on in the old beaten
track ; which results in daughters as weak and igno
rant as she is herself. So one generation of women-
follows another, impressed with the belief that the
chief merit of their sex is to look handsome, and
their chief duty to be well dressed. The course of
instruction for girls in the upper and middle classes
of society in Italy is of the flimsiest character:
nothing is taught of a nature calculated to develop
their mental faculties. Beneath the thin varnish of
accomplishments that an Italian lady possesses, the
most dense ignorance of the ordinary branches of
knowledge may be found. I was intimately ac
quainted with two young ladies in Florence, who
were well educated according to the Italian idea
of that term; for they could play the piano tole
rably well, speak French imperfectly, and could
say " Good-morning," and " Good-night," and half-
a-dozen more equally elaborate sentences in the
English language. But with these accomplish
ments, of which they were extremely proud, neither
of them could write without lines, or in any other
than in a child's large, ill-formed characters; his
tory they were ignorant of; and the profundity
of their ignorance of geography may be imagined
from the fact, that neither of them knew of the
existence of the celebrated Italian Lake of Como.
Geographical knowledge would seem, indeed, from

SOCIETY. 129
the results of my experience, to be classed somewhat
among the unfeminine branches of learning in Italy.
"Which is the farthest off, London or America?"
asked a Hvely Florentine lady of me one day. I
gave her the desired information, with a secret
wonder at the ignorance the question impHed; but
greater grew my wonder, and severe was the test
to which my gravity was put, when, after a few
moments of apparent meditation, she exclaimed —
" What a very large city America must be ! "
At a very early period of my residence in Tus
cany, the mockery of the miscalled system of
feminine education in Italy became to me most
strikingly apparent. The most favourite schools
for Florentine girls are those conducted by nuns,
and carried on withm the precincts of the con
vent, but there are educational establishments to be
found in Florence unconnected with the religious
institutions of the country. To an annual exami
nation of the girls belonging to a school of the
latter description I was invited shortly after my
arrival in Florence, when I was as yet but imper
fectly acquainted with the Italian language. Though
doubtful of my abiHty to understand a scholastic
examination carried on in an unfamiliar tongue,
I accepted the invitation, and repaired at the time
indicated to the appointed place.
Great preparations had been made for the occa-
K

13© LIFE IN TUSCANY.
sion, as if to invest the coming exhibition with a
character of importance and dignity. Across the
end of the room, where the examination was to be
held, extended a stage, gaily decorated with bright-
coloured drapery. Upon this stage a table and some
chairs were placed for the use of the examiner and
the pupils, and directly in front were several rows of
forms appropriated to the service of the audience.
The room filled rapidly, and the benches were well
furnished with occupants, when a grave, middle-aged
man emerged from a mysterious side door and took
Ms place on a seat occupying a central position on
the platform. On either side of him four or five
girls, of ages varying apparently from ten to sixteen,
ranged themselves in order. The ladies, of whom
the company entirely consisted, kept a profound
sHence, as befitted the importance of the scene, and
the examination began.
My doubts as to the sufficiency of my knowledge
ot the language were soon dispelled, for I speedUy
found that my endowments in this respect Were
most ample for all the requirements of the occa
sion; the questions asked being characterized by a
ludicrous degree of simplicity. Difficult, indeed,
it was to restrain a smile, when I heard girls, almost
womanly in their appearance, required to tell how
many vowels there were in the Italian language;
and further, to exhibit a convincing proof -of their

SOCIETY. 131
knowledge on this point, by furnishing words in
which the vowels severally occurred.
" Right, quite right," said the professor, applaud
ingly, as a girl mentioned bocca, in exemplification of
the use of the letter o; " and now," he continued, in
his consequential manner, " I write this word bocca
(mouth) upon this slate: you see it there; and I
require you to teH me what letter it is necessary to
add in order to convert bocca iato boccia " (bottle).
The question was too abstruse for the girl ad
dressed to answer; but the pupfl next questioned
solved it triumphantly.
An examination conducted by the French master
was of an equaUy puerile and absurd character.
After requiring the French for — I, thou, she, it,
&c. — requirements not always successfuUy complied
with — he proceeded to make Ms pupHs apply their
knowledge of the personal pronouns to the conju
gation in French of the pMase, " To gain one's
livelihood." " I gam my fivelihood," said one girl :
"Thou gainest thy fivelihood," said another? and
so on round the circle, until " They gain their live
lihood" was attained. In geography and Mstory
not even the most superficial examination took
place; and when the morning's performances came
to an end, I could not help wondering at the display
I had witnessed of gross mcapacity on the part of
the teachers, and gross ignorance on the part of the
taught K 2

132 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
An evening exhibition that took place on the same
stage was, in its way, of a much more meritorious
kind. Though the school was a large one, the same
young ladies who had exMbited their attainments
in the morning, and who were evidently considered
the show pupils of the establishment, once more
appeared upon the stage to display their dramatic
and elocutionary powers. French poems were re
cited with fluency and considerable grace, by girls
who had shown a far from intimate acquaintance
with French pronouns a few hours previously. Then
came a play, which was acted in a very creditable
manner ; and the examination concluded with some
waltzing, which evidenced that the art of dancing
was, above all other branches of learning, the one
most thoroughly cultivated and understood.
From the reputation tMs school enjoyed, and the
number of pupils it contained, it was evident that
the system of instruction there pursued was not
ferior to that adopted in any other simHar kind of
seminary in the town. It was easy to see, indeed,
that the amount of knowledge displayed in the
examination ftdly came up to the requirements of
society ; for an observation I made, relative to the
ludicrous simplicity of the questions asked, seemed
to give rise, in the minds of the ladies I addressed, to
a sensation of surprise. It was truly not to be ex
pected, however, that those who had been subjected
to precisely the same system of tuition themselves

SOCIETY. 133
should find anything to censure or to smHe at in that
morning's scene.
When such is the state of feminine education
amongst the Mgher classes of Italian society, it can
excite no wonder to discover that, in the lower ranks
of female life, a state of the most dense ignorance
prevaHs. Even girls who enjoy a very respectable
position in the world remam quite ignorant of the
arts of reading and writing. The popular opinion
on the subject of the uselessness of such acquire
ments to women, was strikingly embodied in a
remark made to me by the wife of a respectable
Government official at the baths of Monte Catini.
Discovering that she was quite unacquainted with
the mysteries of the alphabet, I asked her how it
happened that she, the daughter of a schoolmaster,
had not learned to read and write ? " Oh, my
father said," she replied, "such knowledge was
quite useless to a woman; and for all the good it
did, it- would be foUy for me to be at the trouble
to learn, and waste of time for him to be at the
trouble to teach me." In towns, girls m the
humbler walks of life may chance to get a sfight
tincture of the elements of learmng; but in the
country, a girl who can read a page or write a
line is quite a phenomenon.
The idea of a girl m Italy is indissolubly con
nected with that of a being devoid of all moral
sense, infalHbly preferring wrong to right, and who

134 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
can only be kept from harm and evil by the most in
cessant watchfulness. A mother's whole maternal
duties towards her daughter seem considered in
Italy to be comprehended in the one act of vigHance.
" My daughter has never been, since she was nine
years old, for more than twenty minutes at a time
out of my sight," said an Italian countess, boastfuUy ;
and by this declaration she appeared to think that
she merited to take rank in the world's esteem with
the mother of the Gracchi. A girl belonging to the
upper ranks of life in Italy is practically a prisoner
until she marries. Into society she must not enter ;
neither in the morning fete, or in the evemng dance,
is she permitted to display her charms and graces.
An occasional walk with father, or brother, or
mother, is permitted; but she must not go outside
the house unless accompanied by her nearest Mn-
dred. To be seen alone, even but a few yards from
her father's door, would entafl upon her the deepest
disgrace and heaviest censure. Kept under a per
petual surveillance, every line she writes and every
line she receives are subjected to rigid scrutiny.
The girl belonging to the humbler classes of
society shares also, in a great degree, in the same
restrictions on her liberty. The grown-up daughter
of a woman keeping a lodging-house in Florence
could not profit by my offer to take her to see the
ceremony of the Lavanda at the Pitti Palace, solely
because she was unable to procure a proper escort to

SOCIETY. 135
accompany her, in a ten minutes' walk through the
best part of the town, to the place where I resided.
A work-girl going to her employer's house has to
provide herself with some companion ; and, in emer
gencies, I have sometimes seen a little cMld do duty
as duenna for the occasion. In the country the
same rule prevails; no peasant girl is ever to be
seen alone: and equally m the Mgher as in the
lower classes of society would any infringement of
the social code, in this respect, be fatal to matri
monial expectations. Under these circumstances,
the proceedings of unmarried English ladies excite
the wonder and envy of their sex in Italy. Often
have I been amused at the way in wMch the most
commonplace exploits have been magmfied into heroic
actions ; and not unfrequently did I find myself
elevated to the digmty of a heroine, when utterly
unconscious that I had in any way merited the
name assigned me.
Though marriage, in some degree, enlarges the
sphere of action of ItaHan women, the liberty it
gives is of a very limited character. An ItaHan
lady belonging to the middle classes of society,
wMlst lamenting to me the evfl influences which
resulted from the present social code of Italy, gave
an instance of how it had once personaUy affected
her in a very unpleasant manner.
" Some years ago," she said, " my husband, not
being able to leave Lucca conveniently at the time

136 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
there was some trifling business to be transacted at
Genoa, proposed to me that I should take my little
boy, and go there to settle matters in his stead. I
at once agreed to his suggestion, and went. The
journey was easily and qmckly performed by rail
road and steamer; but the censure I brought upon
myself by travelling unattended by a gentleman
was of the severest description. If I had committed
some act of murder and robbery, I could scarcely
have been more blamed."
Even amongst the lower classes, neither age nor
matrimony gives a woman the privilege of walking
about alone in a strange place, without provoking
censure. For instance, when I advised a plain,
elderly married female servant to visit the cathe
dral at Pistoja, during a two hours' unavoidable de
tention there on her way by railroad to Florence,
she somewhat indignantly rejoined, "that to walk
alone in the streets of a strange town was an in
decorum she would be sorry to be guilty of."
If it were not a sorrowful spectacle, it might well
excite a smile to see the subservient public homage
paid by Italian women to the conventional regu
lations of decorum, whilst flagrantly contravening
in their daUy life its essential principle. The same
lady who would sMink from the impropriety of
traveUing five miles alone, wiU not scruple to prove
false to a wife's highest duties. Sharing with men
in an epicurean tone of thought and feeling, every

SOCIETY. 137
womanly virtue is sacrificed at the shrine of pleasure.
In the social life of Italy vice presents itself to the
sight imder a veil too thin to hide from the least
observant eye its offensive features. The drawing-
rooms of the upper classes of the land, particularly
in Tuscany, are fiUed with faithless wives and false
husbands. So flagrant and wide-spread is the evil,
that sin wears no blush, nor seeks a mask to screen
it An English lady, who had entered much into
ItaHan society, told me that she was often shocked
at the confidences wMch married ladies would force
upon her ; and when she told her husband that she
must really give up acquaintance with such persons,
he answered, qmte truly, that to act consistently, she
must then give up Italian society altogether, for
Signora A  and Signora B  were not one
wMt worse than other ladies: frankness and un
reserve constituting the only difference between
them. Few are the ItaHan girls who, on first entering as
matrons into the dissipated circles of ItaHan society,
escape its baneful influences. How indeed, under
the circumstances, could it be otherwise ? The whole
training of the ItaHan girl tends to render her a slave
to impulse and a prey to temptation. - Marrying,
most likely at her parents' bidding, a man she does
not love, and with her mind m aH probabifity already
half corrupted by the conversation she has heard in
the drawing-room of her mother, she foUows readfiy

138 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
in the train of the ladies she sees around. To resist
the contagion of example, to make a stand for right
in the midst of a crowd of worsMppers of wrong,
requires strength of mind; and strength of mind
springs not from the mockery of education that
Italian ladies receive : learning to dance, to sing,
to conjugate French verbs, and to play the piano.
From empty minds, and idle hands, evfl naturally
ensues. To fill up the void of life recourse is had
to the excitement of rivalry, of coquetry, to indul
gence in gossip and tattling. Each lady appears to
try to excuse her own proceedings to her conscience
and to the world by making out that the conduct of
her acquaintances is still worse. The Hght literature
of France, which constitutes her only study, tends
further to her mental and moral degradation; its
pages attiring vice in the most seductive and fasci
nating garb. Finding their value estimated solely
by the standard of good looks, dress becomes to
ItaHan women in all classes of society an absorbmg
passion. The cliief part of the existence of the
Marchesa or Contessa is employed in the pleasing
labours of the tofiette; and the maid-of-all-work wHl
not hesitate to lay out half her miserable earnings
on a light pink silk bonnet. A young peasant girl
ingenuously confessed to me, that she thought per
fect happiness would be her lot were she only pos
sessed of a silk dress and gold chain Hke mine. In
short, were woman to be judged universaUy by the

SOCIETY. 139
moral and mental attributes she exMbits in Italy
at the present day, the opinion might reasonably be
entertained that she was a being low in the scale
of inteHigence, requiring perpetual tutelage, and
unfit to be endowed with the prerogatives of self-
guidance and self-government.
Nothing but a change in the social code of Italy
can cure an evil that is a canker in the vitals of that
country. As long as a girl is considered by society as
a kind of chattel property, which may be disposed of
by her parents to the highest bidder in the matrimo-
mal market, female degradation will continue. The
laws of nature cannot be outraged with impumty;
and love, the life stream of a woman's being, be
comes, when diverted forcibly from its natural
course, a dangerous quicksand, in wMch honour,
purity, and every domestic virtue are engulphed.
The refusal of Hberty of choice in the selection of
a husband leads inevitably to the most evil con
sequences. Let society enact what laws it may in
reference to the matter, the young girl feels that
she has inherent rights wMch cannot be abrogated
by its dictum. Too weak for open resistance, she
seeks to contravene the projects of her parents,
in regard to her future establishment, by clan
destine manoeuvres. Concealment induces deceit,
deceit gives rise to falsehood and hypocrisy; and
she stoops to despicable artifices to blind her mother
to the fact that she is carrying on a correspondence

140 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
with some lover. Successful or unsuccessful in her
object, whether she secures a husband for herself or
has to accept one at the dictation of another, the
evU seed has been sown in her heart, and can
scarcely fail to ripen under the baneful influences
of Italian society. In the following incident will be
found a striking illustration of the contest of wits
in regard to matrimonial schemes, which goes on in
Italy between mother and daughter.
In the summer of 1856, a widow lady and her
daughter came from the city of Perugia to Leghorn
for sea-bathing. The daughter was young and sin
gularly handsome : with the dark eyes and hair of
Italy, she possessed the height and fair complexion
of England — a combination rare as it was attractive.
Her appearance out of doors (an event of rare occur
rence) never failed to create a sensation. Admiring
glances greeted the " Bella Perugiana " (as she was
called) at mass, and wherever else she might be
visible; young gentlemen walked up and down
before the house where she resided, to catch a
glimpse, if it were possible, of the young beauty. It
may well be imagined that, under such circum
stances, the mother found her office of duenna no
sinecure. To do her justice, however, she seemed
equal to the emergency ; for she did not scruple to
sacrifice her own convemence and ease to the dis
charge of her duty in tMs particular.
However useful servants might be, and doubtless

SOCIETY. 141
were, in her estimation, she held them as enemies to
be dreaded in her present situation ; for how could
she feel assured that, tirrough the means of a bribe,
they might not be induced to become a channel of
communication between her daughter and some lover ?
The danger was too imminent to be gainsayed or
demed ; no vigilance on her part could prevent the
occurrence of the evH she foreboded, if servants, on
any pretext or business, were admitted mto the apart
ments they occupied. Influenced by tMs conviction,
the anxious mother resolved, with heroic self-denial,
that she and her daughter should act as servants to
themselves, so that the presence of strange attendants
might be dispensed with altogether. Accordingly,
the young beauty had to enact the housemaid's part,
to make her own bed, and to clean out her own
apartment. In the discharge, however, of these
prescribed tasks, it soon became evident that nature
had not designed the " BeUa Perugiana " to enact the
domestic's part, for she was constantly committing
some piece of awkwardness in connection with the
performance of her memal duties. Scarce a day
passed by that, in hanging her towel over the sill of
the back window to dry, she did not let it carelessly
drop down into the small courtyard of a caffi imme
diately beneath. As the distance, however, from the
ground to the first floor apartments was but small,
the evH was easHy remedied, as some good-natured
attendant was always at hand to throw back the

142 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
dropped article to the fair hands from which it had
unluckily slipped.
Thus weeks passed on : the mother had every
reason to be pleased with her daughter's conduct in
everything, save in the careless manner in which she
still continued to perform the housemaid's business ;
for in spite of chidings from the one, and strong
utterances of self-reproach on the other's part, such
iUustrations of the principle of gravitation as were
referred to before occurred frequently. At length
came a day of anger to the mother and of confusion
and dismay to the daughter ; when the origin of the
young lady's awkwardness was revealed. The dupe
of an ingenious artifice, the outwitted duenna dis
covered that in every dropped article which had
been so kindly thrown back to the beauty from the
court beneath, a missive from a lover had been
enclosed; and by the same means, pen, ink, and
paper, to be employed furtively (if possible), had
been obtained. Under the mother's watchful eyes,
a close correspondence with a forbidden lover, who
had followed from Perugia, had been maintained.
But vain were the daughter's wiles : the iron bars of
custom and prescription were too strong for her to
break; and like a bird who, after vainly flapping
its wings against the wires of its cage, resigns itself
to captivity, so the girl yielded to the force of cir
cumstances: when she left Leghorn shortly after
wards, she left it as the promised bride of a wealthy

SOCIETY'. 143
nobleman. Wealth and rank ! what more could any
heart desire ? Nothing, certainly : the essentials for
happiness were fuUy comprehended in those terms.
At least, so thought the mother ; and as to the
daughter, what her thoughts on the subject were,
mattered not — her destiny was sealed.
From such a marriage evH must ensue : whether
dazzled by the seductive charms of wealth and rank,
or under the pressure of compulsion, she yielded
wdfingly or unwillingly to her mother's views, the
career of the " BeHa Perugiana " is almost equally
sure to be a sinful and unhappy one. Bound to a
man she does not love, her heart and fancy fiUed
with the image of her deserted suitor, with an
empty mind, and time hangmg heavy on her hands,
an adept in deceit and artifice — what HkeHhood is
there that she wHl be able to resist the corrupting
influences of the society into wMch she is tMown?
Sad is it to foUow up in thought her probable career,
— to see the incense of admiration, readfly offered,
accepted eagerly; to see mistrust, suspicion, jealousy,
or hatred, perhaps, and every element of discord
and unhappiness, take up their abode beneath the
domestic roof — to behold the desecration of the holiest
duties of existence, and every household virtue flung
aside or trampled under foot with shameless auda
city: — husband and wife alike unfaithful to their
vows — father and mother alike negligent of their
parental duties — cMldren who can neither love nor

144 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
honour her who gave them birth— daughters as
artful as she was herself, and to whom, in turn, she
acts the duenna— sons old in vice at a youthful
age, frequenters of the " casino " and the gaming
table — old age ungraced with love and reverence,
tormented with gnawing regrets after her faded love
liness, envy of the admiration proffered to youthful
beauties, and futile attempts to efface by art the
ravages that time has made in her once perfect
features. Sad and painful as is this picture, who
can say that under the circumstances the life of
the "Bella Perugiana" is likely to be different to the
one described?
Under the social code of Italy, even marriages of
affection are not likely to terminate much more
happily than those contracted from motives of
interest and convenience. Though few in number,
marriages do sometimes occur where the young lady
marries the man on whom she has fixed, or rather
fancies she has fixed, her affections: for generally
in such cases the love professed is but a shadowy
growth of the imagination; since from the secluded
life she has been forced to lead, in accordance with
the Italian code of propriety, her whole knowledge
of the object of her choice is limited, generally,
to an acquaintance with his personal appearance.
At church most likely she first beheld Mm ; and she
was not too much absorbed by her devotions to
remark that his eyes were fixed upon her face with

SOCIETY'. 145
an expression of admiration. She sees him follow
ing her home, to find out her name and residence ;
and, day after day, she notices him passing and
repassing, looking upwards at the window: from
wMch, Hke most ItaHan girls, she spends the greatest
portion of her time in gazing. Flattered by these
attentions, she speedfiy begins to think that the
young gentleman who has found such charms in
her is decidedly a very captivating person. She
finds amiabifity in Ms snule, agreeableness in Ms
eyes, and evidence of perfect taste in the fasMon of
his coat, the curl of Ms moustache, and the shape
of his weU-trimmed whiskers. The impression made
upon her heart she does not fail to evidence by her
snnles and glances. On this the gentleman, if hi
independent circumstances, demands an interview
with the young lady's parents, declares Ms love,
makes known Ms fortune, Ms fanuly, and his expec
tations, and if his statements are deemed satisfactory,
the object of his choice is overjoyed to hafl him as
her affianced husband, although she has never inter
changed with him a single sentence.
Thus with the tastes, the feelings, the real cha
racter of either party mutuaHy quite unknown, it is
evident that it is a happy chance indeed wMch iniites
together dispositions in any way congenial. In
ordinary cases, where no bond exists of commtmity
of thought and fedmg, a few short months of wedded
life suffice to weaken or destroy the love wMch, on
r,

146 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
either side, has been a mere creation of the fancy.
The dark eyes of Gertrude lose their charm, when
they are dimmed by peevishness or flash with anger ;
and the graceful curl of Narcisso's moustache cannot
atone for ungracious words and a careless and cold
demeanour. Mutual disappointment results, ere
long, in mutual indifference. Devoid of that cul
tivation of mind which would enable her to find
resources of enjoyment in herself, Gertrude tries
to drown the remembrance of her domestic griefs
and trials in a whirl of gaiety ; whilst Narcisso vies
with his wife in a sedulous desire to effect the same
object, through a career of fashionable dissipation.
The frequency with which such results occur
has given rise to a proverb that embodies with
vulgar force the popular idea of the unhappy issue
of love matches in Italy ; but it is evident that from
marriages effected in the manner described the merits
of the great principle of feminine liberty of choice
have not been compromised in the slightest manner.
The celebrated Silvio Peflico has referred to this
subject in very striking terms; and how fuUy his
mind was impressed with the conviction that a
reform was urgently required in the social code of
Italy, the following extract from Ms writings will
unequivocally evidence : —
" To the brief raptures of the honeymoon succeed
ennui, and the perception that the choice was pre*
cipitate. From the regrets of one or of both the

SOCIETY". 147
parties arise sfights, offences, and daily bitter dis
sensions. The woman, the gentler and the more
generous being of the two, becomes commonly the
victim of the unhappy discord; either grieving to
death, or, what is worse, losing her natural good
ness of disposition, she forms attachments through
which, it seems to her, she wfll find amends for the
absence of conjugal affection, but which eventuate
in notMng but remorse and shame. From such
unhappy marriages proceed chfidren who, for their
first school, have the unworthy conduct of the
father, or of the mother, or of both the parents ;
chfidren consequently uncared for or little loved,
destitute or almost destitute of education, without
respect towards parents, without fraternal or sisterly
affections, without an idea of the domestic virtues,
wMch form the basis of the national virtues. All
these things are so common that to see them we
need only to look around us. No one can tell me
that I exaggerate."
Words strong as these would not have been used
by such an ardent lover of his country as SHvio
PelHco, if the evHs aUuded to had not been strikingly
apparent; and in no task could the Italian patriot
of the present day be more profitably employed than
in that of trying to extirpate the canker which is
preying upon the vitals of Ms country. It is but a
spurious patriotism that would gloss over or ignore
evils that can be remedied ; and since, truly a3 SHvio
L 2

148 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
Pellico says, the domestic virtues forih the basis of
national virtues, Italy can never, under any form of
government, become great or prosperous, until the
homes from which her people issue are purified from
the unholy influences pervading them at present.
The accomplishment of this object can only be
obtained by elevating the social position of woman,
in every stage of her career: she must be looked
upon and treated as an intelfigent responsible being,
and not as one from whom the great gift of reason
has been withheld. As a girl, she should be Hbe-
rated from the galling restraints by which she is
now fettered; she should be constituted the guar
dian of her own honour, and the influences of a
cultivated mind and of moral principle fully deve
loped, should supersede the duenna's vigilant eye, as
a check upon impropriety of conduct. Her mar
riage would then be an act emanating from her own
free will, and dictated solely by her own judgment
and inclinations ; and in her husband she would see
the object of her love and choice, and not a constant
galHng memento of parental compulsion and tyranny.
Under such altered circumstances love, springing
from the basis of mutual esteem, respect, and confi
dence, would secure the sanctity of the marriage tie
from profanation. Truth, honour, and virtue, m-
stilled by the mother's examples and precepts into
the hearts and minds of her young offspring, would
form the distinguishing features of their maturity ;

SOCIETY'. 149
and by a race growing up under such auspices, the
glories of the mediaeval ages of Italy would be revived,
or perhaps ecHpsed, by the triumphs of her sons in
art, science, and literature.
For nature, bountiful as of yore, still sows the
seeds of gemus amongst the Italian people; but as
in the parable of the sower, the seed now falls in
stony places where it can take no root, and by the
wayside, where it is trampled down, and thus never
reaches maturity. How much the elevation of
woman would tend to foster and to stimulate the
growth of the precious germs wMch now die out for
want of nourishment and culture, is evidenced from
the number of women distinguished by their attain
ments, who shed dignity on their sex in the times of
Dante, Michel Angelo, and Galfieo. In the times
which produced a Bettisia Gozzadini, the pride and
ornament of the Umversity of Bologna, of wMch she
was created a professor; that exhibited a Domitilla
Trevulzia, to whose Latin orations flocked crowds of
listeners ; when Isotta of Verona took a foremost place
amongst the disputants in public controversies ; when
NoviUa, the beautiful daughter of the Professor of
Law at Bologna, delivered lectures to students, as
the deputy of her father, in his absence ; when Elena
Piscopia digmfied the University of Padua by the
variety and profundity of her attainments ; and
when a sHver crown, encircled with leaves of gold,
was placed on the head of Laura Bassi, in testimony

150 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
of the admiration felt for her genius and learning : —
m times illustrated by these, and other names too
numerous to mention, the position, the character of
ItaHan women must have been widely different from
what it is at present ; and the spirit of the past, in
this respect, must be revived, ere the fame of a
tarnished name can be redeemed, and Italy assume
a forward place in the ranks of civHization.

151

CHAPTER VII.
THE PEASANT.
Ik no country of the world, perhaps, do the signs of
fertifity, mdustry, and abundance so forcibly present
themselves to the stranger's view, as in the largest
portion of Tuscany. Art and nature, there going
hand in hand, produce a series of rural pictures of
the choicest, richest, and most attractive description.
Through the combined influences of a glowing sum
mer sun, a fertHe soH and an elaborate system of
cultivation, the vales of the Arno, the Chiana, the
Ombrone, the Nievole, and the plain of Lucca teem
with products unknown to our less fruitful soH and
less gemal clime. From the carefuHy garnered har
vest of the oHve tree the peasant extracts the oH to
feed Ms evening lamp in the short days of winter.
The vine, until stricken by disease in recent times,
afforded him an abundant supply of a grateful and
strengthening beverage. In the Indian maize, wMch
springs up vigorously in his fields, he finds a nutri
tious food. Fig, peach, pear, chesnut, and waMut
trees drop down to him their fruits. Flowers, the

152 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
hot-house nurselings or garden treasures of colder
cHmes, offer spontaneously their rich and often
MgMy-scented blossoms to his view. With the
bramble of the wayside fence the sweet clematis
twines ; the smaU singing bud, which frequents the
copse, makes its nest amongst myrtle boughs ; the
purple gladiofis raises its head amidst the growing
grain ; and, in many a grassy nook, the white petals
of the gumcistus strew the ground. With its teem
ing soH, and its varied produce, the primeval curse
seems to sit lightly on Tuscany,
The impress of art — of industry, no less than that
of a bounteous nature, is seen stamped upon the land
unmistakeably. Fields, where not a weed is to be
discerned; farms, in which not one crooked or useless
fence is visible, where the sower follows quick upon
the reaper's track, and where the fresh turned-up
sod is fast covered over by a bright carpet of ver
dure; where, from dawn tiU dusk, the labourer is seen
plying spade or hoe indefatigably: aU these tMngs,
seen in various parts of Tuscany, attest that the
Tuscan peasant is far from being an ungrateful
recipient of the bounties of Providence. As the
traveller journeys in spring or summer through
this favoured land, especially along the vale of the
Arno, Ms onward course wiU be through scenes cal
culated to suggest the idea of a reaHsed Arcadia. Far
as the sight can reach on either side, farm after farm,
for nules together, displays the same richness of pro-

THE PEASANT, 153
duce, the same economy of space, the same garden-
like degree of cultivation. Seen from a distance,
the tile-roofed dwellings of the peasant, rising in
variably at least two stories in height, though de
void of attraction as picturesque objects, seem to
speak almost as strongly of comfort and prosperity
as do the well-tilled fields, with their rich and
varied produce, visible around them. Under the
influences of the scene, bright are the pictures that
fancy calls up before the traveUer's eye, of the
domestic life enjoyed by the Tuscan peasantry : —
the daUy board, with its simple but abundant
food; the daily ton, which exercises but does not
impair the energies of the frame ; the clean, roomy
kitchen, whose walls display a goodly array of
delf ; the tidy housewife, with her dark hair braided
smootMy beneath her snowy cap ; the stalwart hus
band, clad in Ms good, homely, substantial suit;
cMldren, merry, healthy, and respectably dressed,
playing in the sunshine, or clustering round the
hearth ; youth, happy, its joyousness lingering long,
undimmed by the cares and toils of a striving,
struggling Hfe; age, cheerful, contented, the calm,
peaceful twifight of a day whose brightness had
been but momentarily and rarely overcast.
Unfortunately, however, between the real and the
imaginary in tMs, as weU as in many other things in
the world, there exist a wide mterval and a vast
cHsshnilarity. Not more iHusive is the mirage of the

154 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
desert than is the picture painted in bright colours
by the traveHer's imagination, of the condition of the
Tuscan peasantry; and in both instances, a near
approach destroys the delusion : the comfort, the weU-
being, the prosperity, and contentment of the Tuscan
peasant being no more real than the gleaming lakes
of water, the shady trees, and the hright verdure
wMch mocked from afar the hopes of the tired wan
derer. No more striking exemplification of the truth
of the old proverb that " appearances deceive " can
be found than that afforded^ by the surface aspect of
rural Hfe in Tuscany.
To see the actual state of things with the Tuscan
peasant, let us visit him in his home, selecting a fine
day in early summer for this purpose. Quitting the
Mgh road, we take a narrow pathway winding
tlirough the fields m the direction of a substantial-
looking two-storied house, whose red-tiled roof is
seen rising above an intervemng screen of foHage.
Every yard of our progress, as we advance, is
marked by features that cannot fail to be admired.
On either hand are luxuriant crops of grain alter
nating with strips of lupin, vetches, peas, and beans,
intersected by rows of vines, whose long branches,
hanging in rich festoons as they trail from tree to
tree, close in the view in every direction ; not a rood
of ground we traverse but bears the mark of neat
ness, care, and industry. No weeds, no crooked
fences, no yawning ditches are visible — all waste

THE PEASANT. 155
of space, all waste of soil by useless vegetation,
seem scrupulously avoided. Until we reach the
immediate precincts of I the dweUing, the rich picture
is not marred by one unpleasant feature; but once
there — arrived at our destination, the whole character
of the scene undergoes a complete metamorphosis.
The evidences of neatness, care, and abundance dis
appear, giving place to signs as unmistakeable of
dirt, slovenliness, and poverty. The dwelling, which
viewed from afar had an air of comfort and respec-
tabifity, appears on close inspection a cheerless and
utterly comfortless habitation: discoloured waUs,
wood-work from wMch almost every trace of paint
has vanished, windows without sashes or glass —
mere large square apertures in fact, crossed at regu
lar intervals by iron bars — present themselves to
notice ; and the vacant space before the entrance door
is Uttered over with rubbish.
Inside, a stfil more dreary sight awaits us : step
ping across the threshold we enter a good-sized apart
ment, wMch serves at the same time as kitchen and
sitting-room for the inhabitants of the dwelling. The
light that enters freely through the large unglazed
casement reveals walls begrimed with smoke and
dirt, and blackened rafters. A bench here, a table
there, a stool and two or tMee decrepit-looking rush-
bottomed chairs, with a few pots and pans, compose
the whole amount of furniture visible. Ascending
by a steep ladder with a hand-rail, serving as stair-

156 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
case, we gain the second story, and find the charac
teristic features of the scene below repeated in the
foul, comfortless, and almost furnitureless rooms,
which are used as sleepmg apartments by the mem
bers of the household. Harmonising weU with the
aspect of the interior is the appearance of the mis
tress of the dwelling ; a dirty slattern, without shoes
or stockmgs, clad in a coarse gingham dress, become
from the effects of dirt and age of a kind of nonde
script colour ; her face, arms, and neck are, tirrough
exposure to the sun, tanned to a dark brown hue,
and a quantity of black, tangled, dishevelled hair
peers forth from beneath a red cotton handkerchief
covering the back part of the head, and tied beneath
the cMn. The cMldren, clustering around in scanty,
tattered garments, with shocks of uncombed hair,
and faces guiltless of any but a most remote ac
quaintance with soap and water, correspond in air
and aspect with the maternal model. From a scene
so little accordant with our expectations we turn
away with a sensation of mingled wonder and sad
ness ; and, retracing our steps, marvel at the strange
discrepancy that exists between the peasant's neat,
trim, luxuriant fields and his dirty, slovenly, poverty-
stricken habitation.
As regards the majority of the peasantry in Tus
cany, the scene described presents no exaggerated
picture of the homes belonging to the mass of the
rural population. Dwellings and inmates superior

THE PEASANT. 157
to the class described may undoubtedly be found;
and such I have visited myself in various parts of
Tuscany ; but even in the immediate neighbourhood
of Florence, I did not enter one peasant's dwelling,
however outwardly imposing in appearance, that was
not characterized witlnn by an air of discomfort and
poverty. One house, which gave me shelter for
half an hour from a shower of rain, I particularly
remember, as affording a striking instance of the
deceptiveness of outward appearances. Almost de
terred from entering by its size and aspect of gen
tility, I hesitated, fearing to intrude, until the sight
of one of its inmates at the door convinced me
that the dweUers beneath its roof belonged to the
peasant class. As to size, many a gentleman in
Great Britain with two or three hundred a year
fives in a less capacious house; but as to comfort,
it could not be placed upon a par with the poorest
labourer's cottage I ever saw in England. In the
numerous bedrooms through wMch I was conducted
at my request, a low truckle bed, covered with a
coarse, dark-coloured, dirty qufit, constituted the
only article of furmture visible. One room con
tained a heap of grain, another was devoted to the
silk-worms' ^use, and adjoining the kitchen (the
fanuly sitting-room) was an apartment occupied by
cows and calves. Dirt reigned supreme everywhere ;
ceilings, waHs, floors, dresses, faces — all had a dingy,
begrimed, and sordid look.

158 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
Seen through the medium of experience, the exist
ence of industry amongst the peasant class in Tus
cany is quite an anomaly ; for few instances can be
found elsewhere of the utmost powers of the human
frame being voluntarily exerted, with no Mgher re
ward in prospect than that of furnishing merely the
commonest necessaries of existence. Strange is it,
therefore, to find that the Tuscan peasant, who works
so indefatigably in Ms fields from early dawn till
after the sun has set, possesses no greater stimulus
to exertion than that afforded by the prospect of
gaining the means to afford a bare subsistence for
himself and family. If industry (as it is generaUy
held) be an ever gushing well-spring of fortune and
independence, then should the Tuscan peasant eat
with a sHver fork, and fear the frown of no man.
Scarcely is one crop gathered in, when the ground
is upturned afresh with spade and hoe, and the
yellow stubble of the harvest field is shortly suc
ceeded by another, showing the tender green of the
young sprouting plants of Indian corn. Not a vine
is aUowed to trail its branches on the ground, and
every weed is extirpated by the careful labourer. As
if fearing to lose a moment of his precious time, he
works on with spade or hoe, even whHst answering
the stranger's questions with ready courtesy. Long
as are the hours of the summer day, he knows he
has that to do which will keep him busy until the
sun has disappeared below the horizon. But not

THE PEASANT. 159
alone does the contadino work: his labours are shared
by Ms wife and famuy. That dirty dark-eyed
woman, with the baby in her arms, has an existence
quite as laborious, if not more so, than that of her
husband. Besides the sufferings and cares which
the maternal position involves, she has to cut fodder
for the cattle, to tend, to feed, and to clean them,
and to take a share in outside agricultural labours.
WeU may her face be sunburnt and stamped with
lines of premature old age, for her Hfe is a hard and
struggling one, and wHl continue so until the grass
grows green above her head. Work, work, nothing
but work, save on the day when she washes her face
and combs her hair to appear at mass ; husband and
wife are sharers alike in a tofisome and poverty-
stricken existence.
Poor in quality, and often scant in quantity, is the
food wMch sustains the lives of the Tuscan peasantry.
When the landlord's share is deducted out of their
smaU patch of wheat, the portion that remains serves
but for a short time to afford a supply of wMte bread
for fanuly use. In the absence of this luxury, a
dark, vHe-looking compound of rye and other inferior
kinds of grain, made into a tibick flat cake or clumsy
roU, is generally eaten. Acting upon the idea that
things are not in many cases at all so bad as they
appear, I ventured on the experiment of trying the
unattractive-looking fore; but found that in this
case, at least, the decision of the taste fully con-

160 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
firmed the judgment of the eye; for, though I am
very far from being dainty on the score of food,
and am even obnoxious to the reproach of having
eaten, with positive relish, dinners which have been
indignantly denounced as insults to civiHzation and
humanity, I must in truth confess that it would
require me to be tolerably far advanced in the pro
cess of starvation, before I should feel the least incli
nation to repeat the experiment I made on the black
bread which constitutes the Tuscan peasant's staple
food. The French or kidney bean forms a favourite
article of food ; the young pod is not eaten as with us,
but the bean only, in its maturity. Every peasant has
his patch of beans ; and this vegetable seems to rank
in popular estimation above the potato. Rather a
strange preference it seemed to me ; for though I
strove to divest my mind of every insular prejudice,
and to attain to an exemplary judicial state of feeling
on the question, I could come to no other decision
than that the merits of a dish of potatoes were in
comparably superior to those of a dish of kidney
beans ; particularly when the latter was served up
in oil, the usual and favourite condiment to every-
thmg. Black bread, kidney beans, and porridge made
of Indian corn, constitute, it may be said, the fare
of the Tuscan peasant. OccasionaUy he has in the
summer or autumn season a few luxuries, such as

THE PEASANT. 161
peas, tomatoes, cherries, figs, and chesnuts* to vary
his unattractive food. Milk he seldom tastes, for
the Italian peasant's cow is looked on as a means
of rearing calves, and not of providing a nutritious
beverage for Mmself and family ; and butter, it may
be said, as a general rule, is absolutely unknown.
The wife of a peasant possessing several cows asked
me one day what it was, then how it was made,
and Hstened to my explanation with much apparent
interest and curiosity. The butter I used at the
baths of Monte Catim came some thirty miles, from
the dairy farms at Florence ; and at Albano, a town
contaimng several hundred inhabitants, the luxury
was unprocurable : indeed, it is only in those places
m Italy where the English congregate, that butter
is entitled to take its place m the Hst of ItaHan
produce. From the ordinary dinner of the Tuscan peasant
an EngHsh labourer would turn away with a sen
sation of scorn and disgust, and the more so, when
he found that a cup of water was to prove its
only accompaniment. Not always, however, was
the peasant solely indebted for a beverage to the-
neighbouring weU or brook, for, up to a recent
period his vines, now worthless from the blight,
afforded him a grateful, wholesome, and strengthen
ing drink.
* Chesnuts form a staple article of food only in the mountain
districts where they are grown. M

162 LIEE IN TUSCANY.
With the fertHe soil and the warm sun of Tus
cany, joined to the indefatigable industry of the
peasant class, it is quite evident that their beggarly
aspect, their meagre food, and their cheerless homes,
must arise from some peculiar evils in their position.
Devoid, generally speaking, of property in the soil,.
the peasantry are yet very far from standing in the
same relation to their landlords as the two corre
sponding classes are to each other in England., The
English tenant pays; to the proprietor of the farm he
cultivates a fixed annual sum of money ; whilst the
Tuscan tenant is hound to render to his landloiird
the half of all the produce raised upon his form.
Wheat, wine, and oH are divided, share and share
alike ; and even in articles of the most trifling kind
the halvmg system is applied. Of every brood of
chickens the landlord can claim his half, and even
eggs may come under the operation of a, simHar rule.
The evident hardship of such terms is mitigated
by the fact that the landlord contributes, in some
degree, towards the expenses of the cultivation of
the farm. He provides the house, supplies a moiety
of the requisite seed corn,, contributes in the same
proportion towards- the purchase of cattle and of
mulberry leaves for the silk-worms. Even taking,
however, these landlord contributions, into con
sideration, the bargain on the tenant's side seems
evidently a far from favourable one; and, in the
absence of oppressive taxation, to this system of

THE PEASANT. 163
land tenure * must be traced the comfortless and
struggling life led by the frugal and industrious
contadino. A secondary cause of the poverty that prevails
in Tuscany may be discovered in the density of
the rural population and consequent smallness of
the farms. " We are too tMck," they say them
selves ; " our holdings are too small." TMs, is
true indeed, in many instances, where a man's hold
ing ia limited, as it sometimes is, to two acres, m
extent ; the entire produce of wMch would be re*-
quired to afford to him and Ms probably numerous
family a comfortable subsistence. Under such cir
cumstances, a tenant must be poor, however equi
table or even fiberal are the terms on wMch his farm
is rented. But mingled with holdings of this mimute
description are others evidently of a sufficient size,
taken in connection with the fertility of the soH, to
afford, after the payment of a reasonable rent,, a com
fortable subsistence to the cultivator. Yet,, in the
aspect of a farm so circumstanced, in the appearance.
of the occupier and Ms famfiy, in their mode of life>
in the character of then: dwelling — although, in aU
these respects, a marked superiority over the small
holdiiBg class may be observed — the- evidences of a
hard-struggling, comfortless existence are stiH dis
cernible. * This mezzeria, or iff French metayer, system of land tenure
prevails throughout Tuscany. M 2

164 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
A system, founded on the principle of equal
division of the produce between proprietor and cul
tivator, wears to the stranger the aspect of one
exceedingly difficult to carry out fairly in practice;
on speaking to the peasants, however, on this
subject, they all assured me that the assignment
of the shares was easily effected. Fraud on the
tenant's part is checked by means of the landlord's
steward, who keeps a vigfiant eye on the tenant's
proceedings, and who, from a careful inspection of
the growing crops, can calculate to a nicety how
many sacks of grain should await the landlord as
his rightful portion. In case the anticipated amount
be not forthcoming, or in case, through negligent
culture, the capabilities of the soH are not developed
in what may be deemed their proper degree, the
defaulting tenant has to yield Ms place to a more
honest or competent man. Changes of tenantry,
however, seem to occur but rarely ; for though the
power of dismissal at a few months' notice rests
in the landlord's hands, it often happens that one
generation succeeds another in the occupation of
the same house and land. Cases do of course
occur from time to time, where, from exaction on
the landlord's part, or fraud or negligence on the
tenant's side, one occupier gives place to another
in a farm ; but, as a general rule, the peasant's home
remains unchanged, if not for successive generations,
at least for many successive years.

THE PEASANT. 165
Amongst the tile-roofed dwellings that thickly
dot the country, there may be seen every here and
there one wearing an air of greater dignity than the
rest, one possessing the luxury of glass windows,
and making a little pretension to embellishment in
the way of paint This dwelling, on inquiry, the
stranger is pretty sure to find, is the one in which
the steward — -fattore, as he is called — resides. A
very important personage is this fattore under the
land system of Tuscany. Into his hands the land
lord — invariably a resident in town for at least
nine months hi the year — commits the management
of his affairs. To the fattore must the tenant apply
for money to help to purchase cattle, and all in
the landlord's covenant to supply ; and to the fattore
must the tenant render account of every article of
agricultural produce raised and sold. From the
position and duties of the fattore, it is quite evident
that, if dishonestly inclined, he has every facility
to become rich at the expense of his employer ; and
that such a result frequently occurs may well be
credited, argmng from the common weaknesses of
humanity. There is a weH-known Tuscan saying,
wMch embodies the popular creed and experience
on this point: "Fate mi fattore per un anno se son
povero e il mio danno," says the ItaHan proverb,
whose meaning runs in EngHsh thus: "Make me
a steward for a year, and it is my own fault if I
am poor." Easy, indeed, it is to believe that, from

166 LIFE XN TUSCANY.
•the -amount of produce, varying every year accord
ing to circumstances, and from the absence of all
check over his proceedings, the steward's private
stores are often enriched by sacks -of grain and
barrels of wine and oil belonging rightfully to his
distant employer.
Notwithstanding the proverbially alleviating influ
ences of custom, the Tuscan contadini are far from
being insensible to the hardships of their lot, and
very far from being reconciled to the poverty of their
condition. In particular, I found the peasant women
loud in their complaints and lamentations upon this
subject. " We live like the beasts," they would ex
claim, when, at my desire, they showed me through
their comfortless dwellings; "to work hard, and to
fare badly, is our lot from chHdhood to the grave.
The hot sun seorches us in our hard field-work in
summer, and the cold winter's wind, as it enters
through the many crevices of our wooden shutters,
makes us slfiver in our beds."
" Oh, would to Heavens ! I had never married,"
was a common exclamation with them, and they
would often declare that to rear up children in any
kind of -decency was a task that wore out their
lives with trouble, anxiety, and toil. " From morn
ing to night," they said, "we slave and slave to gain
a scanty supply .of the commonest necessaries of life.
Ah! the hard existence which faUs to the lot of a
mother of a family, can be hardly told.1'

THE PEASANT. 167
Though from the interior aspect of their dwellings,
it is quite evident that an absence of comfort lias
invariably characterized the homes -of the Tuscan
peasantry, it cannot be disputed that tlieir position has
been much deteriorated by the vine disease, which has,
for the last eight years, prevaHed universally in Tus
cany. The Tuscan grape was in former times famous
for richness and for sweetness, and the wine it yielded
was MgMy prized. According to the best authority,
the process of wine-making was better understood,
and a greater number of good wines was produoed,
in the Tuscan domhuons than in any other part of
Italy. From France, from Spain, from the Canaries,
the best species of vines have been imported by
successive Grand Dukes. The M&ntepulciano wine,
termed by an ItaHan poet d'ogni vino il re (" the king
of aU wines'"), was a produet of the Tuscan State.
The Aleatico, the Columbano, the Trebbiano, the
Vernaccia, also enjoyed a high repute. The rocky
lulls of Chianti produced a fine red wine ; and from
Artimino came a claret that was highly famed. In
those days the wine-barrels of the peasant were
never dry, and every road-side tavern offered to the
weary wayfarer, for a trifling coin, a refreshing and
grateful drink. In those days autumn was crowned
with beauty and mirth; and wMlst the eye feasted
on the sight of the rich pendent clusters of bright-
coloured fruit, the ear drank in with pleasure the
joyous sounds that came floating Hi the air from

168 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the vineyards, where the busy vintagers plied their
task. But now, contrasted with the scenes of former
years, sad is the change which the universal pre
valence of the vine disease has effected in the
autumnal aspect of Tuscany. No longer do rich
clusters of green and purple grapes present them
selves in countless numbers to the traveller's view —
no longer does the air resound with the vintagers'
mirthful voice and song. Though from tree to tree
the vine still twines its slender stems, and by road
side fences, in fields, by cottage doors, and on ter
raced heights, its graceful foliage meets the view ;
the small, gnarled, unsightly knots of dried-up,
cracked, and blackened juiceless berries, which pro
trude amongst the changing leaves, are a hideous
mockery and corpse-like image of that beautiful and
delicious fruit, which in every age has been the
favourite theme of poetry and song. The wine-press
of the peasant stands unused, his barrels are dry
and empty; and as autumn after autumn the blighted
produce of his vineyard meets his eye, his heart
sinks within him with despair, although he fails not
still to utter fervent prayers for the recurrence of
the good old times.
Not merely, however, does the peasant mourn the
loss of a pleasant beverage in the destruction of his
grape crop ; this privation forms but one of others
still more grievous, arising from that source. In

THE PEASANT. 169
former years, when the vine yielded an abundant
and deficious fruit, the peasant could calculate, after
deducting the landlord's share, on the possession of
many more barrels of wine than what would be
required for Ms own and family's use. This surplus
(always the best) being sold, afforded the means of
purchasing, besides many little comforts, articles of
prime necessity, such as clothes. " Our wine was
food, and drink, and covering to us," said a peasant,
talking on the subject to me : " it quenched our thirst,
and refreshed us in the summer's heat, it warmed us
in the winter's cold, it gave us strength to work, it
enabled us to do with far less food than we eat now,
it bought us clothing for ourselves and children.
With these old worn-out garments that you see, we
must content ourselves, until the Almighty is pleased
in his good providence to give us back our wine
again." With not less fondness than the Irishman clings
to the potato does the Tuscan peasant to the vine.
Though now for several years nothing but shrivelled
bunches of arid, blighted berries has rewarded his
care and toil, he stiU, spring after spring, devotes
day after day of his precious time to the training and
pruning of Ms once valuable, but now worthless,
tree. Anxiously he watches the forming of the
fruit and the sprouting of the leaves ; and learning
by experience to put no confidence in the luxuriant
aspect of the vine in early summer, he waits with

170 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
keen soicitrnde, with a kind iof despairing hope, for
the arrival -of the time at which the first symptoms
of the disease are accustomed to appear. Closer, and
closer does he examine his vines as the month of
June wears onward to its end; He calls to mind the
date on which at the last, or previous years, he had
marked the presence of the disease, and if the date
passes, without the dreaded -signs, Ms hope grows
stronger.: the curse, he begins to think, has been
withdrawn. His spirits rise at the prospect of a
recurrence of the good old times, and he dreams of
tasting once again a glass of M-s loved wine. Vain
•hope, which the morrow perchance dispels. To a
•stranger's eye, the whitish aspect of the leaf, or a
slight curling of its edges, appears but the effect
of chance or accident, of dust or heat But the
peasant knows too well those fatal indications. His
brow contracts, and his face becomes overshadowed
with a cloud, as he notes indications wMch, he
knows weU, forebode another wineless year. As day
by day leaf after leaf assumes a similar look and
hue, he feels assured that the doom of Ms crop of
grapes is sealed; though as yet the thick clusters
of small green berries show not a visible symptom
of disease. But not the less is the disease at
work, poisoning the lifeJbfood of the plant. As time
wears -on, the berries, instead of growing larger
under Hhe influence of the glowing sun, acquire a
dry, sbriveHed, wMtened look.: often cracMng, they

THE PEASANT. 171
burst in two; some dry up utterly; others, stunted
and acid, make a faint attempt to attain a purple
hue; another portion assumes a mUdewed look;
another turns black, or rusty-brown. With the
recoUection of former times still vivid in Ms mind
— with the remembrance of the glorious clusters
of bright green and purple grapes that in former
vintage seasons met his view — weU may the peasant
turn away from his blighted vines and their worth
less fruit with feelings of disgust, despair, and sorrow
combined. In the season of 1856, the vine disease did not
rage quite so violently in Tuscany as it had done in
the previous six or seven years : here and there
occasionally, amongst the blighted produce, a few
clusters of sound grapes were to be found. In some
large vineyards even, there was an attempt at making
wine ; but, judging from what I witnessed personally,
the attempt resulted in a lamentable fafiure : as far,
at least, as the production of a pleasant or healthy
beverage was concerned; for, in .addition to the
really smaU quantity of untainted fruit that was to
be found, the grapes were gathered before they were
nearly ripe, in consequence of the pilfering by children
of the rare dainty. And from a (heterogeneous mix
ture of unripe grapes and of grapes both slightly and
extensively affected by disease, the result may be in
ferred — a wine, a mere mockery of the name : pale,
thin, weak, and as acrid as a sloe-juioe.

172 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
One absurd theory as to the origin of the vine
disease prevails extensively amongst the Tuscan
peasantry; the smoke arising from the coal used
in the engines being alleged to exercise a deterio
rating mfluence on the air ; and very frequently I
was asked my opinion whether the railroads were
really the cause. "Were there railroads in Eng
land?" I was asked invariably by the contadina in
reference to this point. On my giving an affirmative
reply, the question immediately succeeded — if the
vines were healthy there ? — a question the answer
to which, as may be well supposed, tended nothing to
convict or acquit the railroads of the crime alleged.
In addition to the railroad theory of the origin of
the vine disease, another was started no less sage ;
but, unfortunately for the adherents of this latter
creed, time proved its faUacy in the most irre
futable way. As before stated, from 1847 to 1856,
owing to causes of a political nature, no public car
nival festivities took place. Now, as it happened
that with the first year of this omission the vine
disease appeared, and continued to rage violently
in the subsequent eight years of suspended carnivals
throughout the land, an inference was drawn from
this coincidence by some wise heads, that there
must be a mysterious connection between the two
events — that, in fact, the vine disease originated
in the non-observance of the season set apart for
popular festivity from time immemorial in Tus-

THE PEASANT. 173
cany. From this idea followed, as a logical con
sequence, the befief that with the restoration of
the carnival in 1856, the vines would recover their
ancient vigour ; a belief unfortunately doomed to be
destroyed by the autumn experiences of that year.
Little is it to be wondered at that ideas such as
those described in reference to the origin of the
vine disease should prevail extensively amongst a
peasantry so ignorant as is that of Tuscany almost
universally. Throughout the country, schools are
rare; and, in those that exist, a very infinitesimal
amount of knowledge is communicated. To the
teaching of the arts of reading and writing the en
deavour of the master is generally Hmited ; and to
the acquirement of these two branches of knowledge
are the aim and desire of the pupH as generaHy re
stricted. Even amongst persons occupying what
may be termed a respectable position in society,
and amongst persons endowed by nature with a
considerable degree of mteHigence and qmckness
of comprehension, the grossest ignorance of the ru
diments of knowledge may be often found pre
vailing. In the country lodging-houses and hotels
where I have been staying in Tuscany, it was no
rare thing to find that, to the master or mistress
of the dwelfing, the simplest Italian book was about
as inteUigible as an inscription in the Cuneiform
characters might prove to the world in general.
Often did it faU to my lot to keep an account of

174 LIFE. IN TUSCANY.
expenses incurred, the correctness of which was
only tested by some primitive system of self-invented
mental arithmetic. At the very best, an imperfect
acquaintance with the arts of reading and writing,
and a mere smattering of arithmetic,, constitute the
utmost amount of knowledge- obtainable, or obtained,
by the rural population of Tuscany at the- present
day.
¦ Did the peasant women of Tuscany pay more
attention to their appearance ;, were they- neater,
cleaner, and tidier in then* persons, they would deci
dedly, in regard to looks, be entitled to considerable
praise ; for nature has been for the most part deci
dedly liberal and kind to them in that respect But
as it is, with their uncombed locks, their dirty foces,
their slatternly style of dress, and then? complexion
spoiled by exposure to the weather, notwithstanding
theia? large, bright, hazel eyes,, their white teeth, and
their thick tresses' of black hair, they often present an
exterior far from agreeable. The bloom of youth
fades rapidly, owing to, the hard life they lead, and
owing also, perhaps, in some degree^, to, the senseless
sort of out-door head-dress they wear, which leaves
their faces completely exposed to a summer's scorch
ing sun. Strange it is, that almost universally im every
land and cHme> in every class of society, we find the
dictates of comfort and convenience completely disre
garded and set aside by women, in reference to the
form and fashion of their attire. In Tuscany, where

THE PEASANT. 175
the mid-day's summer sun sMnes with a dazzling-,
blinding glare — where the heat from the same source
pours down with a scorcMng intensity — the peasant
women seem to* have been unable to devise a better
covering for the head than a large straw hat, the
limp leaf of wMch, instead of shading the face, for
the most part hangs or flaps back quite over the
crown, or a cotton handkerchief folded crossways,
placed on the back part of the head and tied by its
two long ends beneath the chin. In neither case is
the face protected from the heat, or the eyes shielded
from the light, in the least degree ; the effects of this
exposure are seen in the coarse reddened skin, and in
the forelbead prematurely furrowed by the instinctive
effort made to screen the eyes from the dazzling
glare: an effort that results in the habitual con
traction of the brows. In the country districts only
on festa days, when then- best attire is donned to
go to mass, do the countrywomen ever resort to
any means to shade their faces from the sun; and
then the means employed to effect tMs purpose
wears to a stranger's eye quite a ludicrous air, con
sisting, as it does, of a large fan held up perpendicu
larly before the eyes.
The observations made in reference to the appear
ance of the peasant women of Tuscany will also
apply in a great degree to- the exterior of the men :
very good-looking specimens of humanity, for the
most part, are they, with their Sunday faces and

176 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
their Sunday clothes; but on working-days their
unwashed and poverty-stricken look detracts con
siderably from their natural advantages. Though in
stature below the average English height, as are the
women also, they are, for the most part, strongly and
symmetrically formed — a circumstance that appears
something of a marvel, considering the barbarous
system of compression to which infancy is univer
sally subjected in Italy, by the means of swaddling
clothing. Ignorant as they are, the manners of both
the men and women are characterized by a poHteness
that, coming from the heart, is far more winnmg than
the cold courtesy which is the offspring of artificial
rules ; and very pleasantly and melodiously did their
"felice giorno," or " felice sera" with which they
never failed to greet me, fall upon my ears. On
entering then? dwellings, the inmates there would
exert themselves to perform the rites 'of hospitality
to the stranger visiter; and whilst many a regret
was expressed that they had not a glass of wine to
offer me, I was often presented with fruit and
flowers, and in default of these, some young pea or
bean pods (the contents of which it is the custom
to eat raw in Italy) were put into my hands.
Could I not stay a little longer? and would I not
come again? were the phrases I constantly heard
on my taking leave ; and the burden of many an
unfulfilled verbal obligation in this regard is resting
on my conscience to this day.

THE PEASANT. 177
Genuinely courteous as I ever found the peasantry,
the urgent solicitations which I invariably received
from them to repeat my visits to tlieir dweUings
were the result, most probably, of a feeling stronger
even than poHteness acting upon their minds. Far
different from the country life of England is that of
Tuscany, for whfist Hi the former tMee classes of
society may be found existing side by side, Hi the
latter there is but one. In England the cottage of
the peasant rises in close vicimty to the dweUing
of the retired tradesman, the independent yeoman,
or the residence of the peer and country gentleman ;
and from tMs arises a nungling in some degree of the
upper and middle with the lower class of society.
The ladies from the Hall superintend, perhaps, in
dustrial schools, visit the cottages of the poor, send
bowls of nourishmg broth to pinmg invafids, and
gifts of money or clothes to such as are m need,
wMlst, m a more limited degree, the retired trades
man's and the yeoman's family contribute to the
comfort and well-being of the necessitous classes of
the community amongst which they five. But in
Tuscany a very different structure of society, a very
different order of thmgs exists. Not scattered over
the surface of the country, as in England, but con
centrated m towns, are to be found in Tuscany the
upper and middle classes of ItaHan society. It is
true that, occasionaUy, here and there, the traveller's
attention is attracted by a mansion whose size and
N

178 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
air announce it to be a rich, man's property; but for
at least nine, and probably ten, months in the year,
that mansion, large and handsome as it is, remains
umnhabited; for the rich Signor Magnane, or the
Conte Baldino>. loves too well (as does also his
fanuly) the town, with its society, its: amusements,
its parties, baUs, concerts, and theatres, to relish a
quiet country existence. Except, therefore, during
the months of July and August, when the heat
renders the atmosphere of a town unhealthy and
oppressive1 the nobleman's or gentleman's country
seat is consigned to silence and solitude. Even,
too, for the time that: the family may be resident
at the place, no intercourse of any Mnd occurs be
tween them and the peasantry in their vicinity.
The Italian lady never walks out if she can avoid
it, except perhaps in some gay promenade, where
she may display her costly toilet, to excite the
admiration or envy of her acquaintances. Having
no conception of any other Mnd of pleasure than
that arising from excitement, no idea of any other
duty than that of striving to look handsome, she
spends the "villegiatura" season in listless indolence,
sleeping away the greatest portion of the long,
tedious twenty-four hours of her daily existence.
The very, idea, of visiting a peasant's cottage and
talking to the inmates, would disgust' her excessively
— she, with her sHks and satins, her long trailing
robes, to pass the threshold of their doors — she, rich

THE PEASANT. 179
and weU-born as she is, to concern herself with
the interests of poor and iU-clad people — what a
preposterous supposition, what an absurdity ! Not
that she is devoid of charity — not at all; but her
idea of that virtue begins and ends with dropping a
soldo mto a beggar's hat, with conferring a crazia on
some distorted cripple, or of contributing a paolo
to the mendicant friar, who, with hox in hand,
soHcits alms for the liberation of some suffering soul
from purgatory.
With the same tastes for social pleasures as the class
described, the prosperous merchant or tradesman
never thinks of providing Mmself with a country
house, where he may take up his residence perma
nently, and spend his declining days. At the most
he builds, or rents, a viUa (probably Hi the immediate
vicinity of a town), to wMch he and Ms family repair
for a month or six weeks, perhaps, m the hot season
of the year. Thus, unlike England, where country
life presents to view a blending of the different classes
of society, that of Tuscany, it may be said, exhibits
one class alone. Remote from the sphere of the
affluent and weU-born the peasant fives and dies,
and m the styfish carriage wMch envelops him in
a cloud of dust as it dashes past him on the high
way, he but very rarely catches even a momentary
glhnpse of those whom the labour of his hands
goes to sustain.
Cut off, thus, from aU intercourse with the upper
N 2

180 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
classes of the land, a strange sight did it appear to
the peasant and his family to behold a person in
the attire of a lady entering their doors. When
in addition, too, they found that the lady was a
foreigner, and had come from a country which they
had all heard of as a country supremely rich and
grand, the marvel at, and interest in, the apparition
was heightened considerably. Many were the ques
tions I had to answer about myself and the country
from which I came. " Was I married ? How did the
peasants live in England ? were they rich ? Did the
vines give good wine ?" Being obliged in answer to
this latter question to confess the poverty of England
in regard to vines, my words were always echoed by
my auditors in a tone of profound surprise. " No
vmes in England ! was it possible ? how strange !
they had always thought that England was the
richest and most fertile country in the world." Still
greater and greater grew their wonder when they
heard that not only had we no vines in England,
but that we were destitute also of olives, figs, and
maize. At this information, whilst exchanging glances
of astonishment, they would exclaim, " Sanctissima
Vergine! what a poor country it must be ! how can the
people there manage to support their lives?" The
commiserating tone in which this remark, or others
of a sunilar purport, was certain to be uttered, always
amused me highly ; and no less droU was it to see
their puzzled look, when they tried to reconcile our

THE PEASANT. 181
miserable destitution of the good things of life — the
absence of olives, wine, and maize — with the fixed
idea they entertained, that every individual of the
English nation rejoiced in a commanding stature
and brilliant colour, in addition to a well-fiUed
purse. Some concluded that the air must be very
nourishing, though certainly the English did not
look as if they lived on air; others gave up the
matter as an inexplicable mystery, contenting them
selves with repeating in a marvelling tone that it was
very strange.
In addition to the vine disease, the peasant has,
during these late few years, been subjected to two
other grievances of a serious kind. In consequence
of the expenses to which the maintenance of the
Austrian army of occupation in Tuscany gave rise,
the land-tax has been increased considerably — a
measure severely felt, in consequence of the low
state of the peasant's exchequer, owing to the loss of
Ms grape crop. The alteration which has recently
taken place in the laws relating to military service
also is one that affects the peasant very prejudi
cially. Under the conscription system formerly in
force in Tuscany, six years was the term which
the conscript had to serve; but recently the term
of years has been increased to eight; and m conse
quence of tMs increase, as well as from the severe
system of army discipfine (borrowed from Aus
tria) that has been lately introduced, the price of

182 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
substitutes throughout Tuscany has become double,
or even treble, what it was. In former times the
peasant, for a few scudi, could easily find a person
willing to serve in place of the son, who, just
arrived at that time of life when his labour be
came most valuable to his family, had been seized
for military bondage under the operation of the
conscription laws. Now, the peasant, if in such cir
cumstances as to render the services of his son an
all-important object to retain, must, from the diffi
culty of procuring substitutes, pay a price for one
that, if not at times beyond his means, is always
beyond his power of doing, without a hard struggle,
entailing sacrifices of the most painful kind. Many
were the complaints and lamentations upon tMs sub
ject that I heard : and not a little does this grievance
serve to nourish the feelings of disaffection towards
the Grand Duke and his government, which prevail
generally throughout Tuscany.
In some parts of Tuscany — for instance, in the
Lucchese territory — a considerable spirit of enter
prise exists amongst the lower classes of the com
munity. From amongst the dwellers in the chesnut-
clad Apennine hills and glens (as has been already
stated) a large number of hardy labourers go forth
yearly to till the Corsican soil; others from the
same district wander off to gain their bread some
way or another in England or America. Even
amidst the rich plains that encircle Lucca, I found it

THE PEASANT. 183
was a common thing for the younger male members
of a large family to seek employment in foreign
lands. One stout young lad I spoke to was on the
point of starting off for France, where, on a railroad,
which he said was being made tMee hundred miles
beyond MarseiUes, he hoped to be employed at
wages of tMee francs a-day. Others, from the same
district, after a voluntary exile of some years, had
returned from America, to take up them dwelling in
their native land, with an amount of dollars that
rendered them the envy of their relations and friends.
To the poor Tuscan peasant the sums thus accumu
lated, though to English ideas moderate in amount,
sound magnificently grand ; for it needs but the
possession of so many scudi as might make up an
income of forty or fifty pounds a year, to confer
on the rustic proprietor the reputation of a mHlion-
aire amongst Ms humble neighbours.
Much as the stranger is likely to be favourably
impressed by the courteous manners and mdustrious
habits of the Tuscan peasantry, it cannot escape the
observer's notice that much of the comfortless,
squalid aspect of the contadini's life is caused by
circumstances for which they themselves are m a
great degree to blame. Not only m the valleys
of the Arno, where the peasant is Hable to be
dispossessed at a few months' notice, but in the
plains of Lucca, where the tenant, so long as he
pays a fixed annual rent of so many sacks of corn,

¦184 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
enjoys a permanent tenure of house and land, the
same uncleanlmess is to be found prevailing Hi the
habitations of the peasantry, as well as in their attire
and persons. Small, indeed, would have been the
expenditure of money required to whiten the smoke
and dirt-stained waUs on which I looked, and sfight
the amount of time which would have satisfied the
claims of personal cleanliness. Though their meagre
fare, their homeliness of dress, be not the contadini's
fault, yet on themselves most certainly must rest
the blame of wearing tattered clothes, and living in
houses where the dust and dirt of years encrust the
walls, ceilings, floors, and furniture, and where ver
min, fostered by the congenial atmosphere, swarm
often m excess. An indifference to cleanfiness, in
deed, partakes of the nature of a national vice,
which is equally apparent in carpets stained and dis
figured by spitting amongst the upper classes, as in
the foul dwellings of the poor and in the peasant
woman's disheveUed hair and unwashed face. A
happy day will it be for Italy when the great merits
of soap and water come to be generally recognised.
The production of silk constitutes an important
part of the avocations of the Tuscan peasantry ; for
m almost every contadino's house silk-worms are
reared. Few farms, however small, are devoid of
mulberry-trees; but as in some farms there are
more, and in others less, than their cultivators
have need of, an active traffic in mulberry-leaves,

THE PEASANT. 185
during the spring and summer months, takes place.
Some mulberry-trees are forced to produce three
crops of leaves in the season to feed tM-ee succes
sive generations of silk -worms ; but the trees are
considered to be much weakened and injured by
being so frequently docked and stripped. The
hatchmg of the eggs of the silk-worm commences
m the month of April, and is generally effected
by artificial heat; the women carrying them about
their persons durmg the day, and placing them
beneath the mattresses of their beds at night. On
Rogation Sunday, the peasants, both men and
women, with the eggs of the silk-worms in their
bosoms, go in procession to church to solicit the
protection and favour of San Jolo, from whose
wounds, it is befieved, the silk-worms issued. As
at the beginning of the process, so the conclusion
of the sHk harvest is terminated by a religious solem-
mty ; for each peasant, taking from his store a few
cocoons, repairs with them to his parish church,
and lays them on the altar as a thank-offering to
Providence. These cocoons so deposited become
the property of the priest, who seUs them; either
for the benefit of the poor, or to enrich his own
exchequer, according as he may be charitably or
selfishly inclined.
The silk crop is an uncertain one ; for, even with
the greatest care, the sUk-worms occasionally become
diseased and die. A good deal of skill is requisite

186 LIEE .IN TUSCANY.
in their management, to produce a prosperous result,;
for at certain stages of the silk-worms' growth they
become extremely susceptible to harm — the slightest
touch or the most trifling noise, as I was told, befog
capable of affecting them prejudicially. Such crises
occur during the five moulting sleeps through wMch
they pass ; after each of which they waken up, in
creased in size and with mcreased vigour of appetite.
Progressively, however, as their eating capabifities
are developed during their successive states of re
pose, the wakening np from the last, sleep, caUed la
grossa, arrayed in a final coat, is foUowed by a disr
play of gormandising powers astomshmgly great :
ravenous with hunger, they eat on incessantly for a
space of eight or ten days; the supply of leaves
required for then* never-ceasing repast is enor
mously large;* and a happy moment is it for the
contadino, when he sees the worms refuse the food
that for many days they had been devouring so
voraciously, and, climbmg up the branches of, the
trees he has placed beside them, begin then work.
Very assiduously do the worms labour at then-
task for four or five days' time ; at the end of which,
having quite enveloped themselves in their silken
sepulchre, they undergo a different fate, according
to the purposes they are allotted to fulfil. Such
cocoons as are destined to manufacturing uses,
* A silk- worm consumes -within thirty days a quantity of food
ahDUt 60,000 times its own primitive weight.

THE PEASANT. 187
are plunged into boifing water to kHl the worm
within ; whilst other cocoons — wMch are reserved
for seed, as it is termed — are strung together on a
piece of tMead, and .hung up agamst a wall. From
the cocoons treated in this latter way there issue,
m a few days' time, large white moths of the most
sluggish nature, wMch never quit the cloth prepared
for -their reception: there, having deposited then
eggs, they langmsh and die.
Not to the present, but to the former political
institutions of Tuscany is the garden-like cultiva
tion of the country ascribable. When the rest of
Europe exMbited nothing but poverty and barba
rism, the open country belonging to each repnb-
fican city of Italy had its fertility developed by
an active and industrious peasantry, through the
medium of a system of scientific agriculture.
Though then, as now, the proprietors of the soU
were inhabitants of the towns, the merchant land
owners of former times contributed money far more
HberaUy towards the cultivation of the land, than
do now their impoverished successors. By them
alone was the land-tax paid; at their cost were
dikes and canals constructed : the former as a pre
servative agamst inundations, the latter to increase
by irrigation the productive powers of the rich
plains. The grand canal of Milan, wMch spreads
the water of the Ticmo over a large part of Lom-
bardy, owes its existence to those times ; and at

188 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
this day in Italy,* after a lapse of five centuries,
the districts formerly free, and cultivated by a free
peasantry, are easily distinguishable from those
where feudalism prevailed. Through those five
ages, amidst all the changes that have occurred Hi
Tuscany as well as in Lombardy, have been handed
down from father to son the knowledge and the
practice of a system of agriculture, which offered
in bygone times, as it does now, a model for imita
tion to other lands. And much truly is it to be
desired that the time may arrive before very long,
when the Tuscan peasant's home will bear m cha
racter some resemblance to his fields ; that the riches,
neatness, and cleanliness without will find a coun
terpart in the scenes within; and that his toH,
furnishing him with more than the mere means of
life, shall surround him with some of the comforts
of a civilized existence. * Sismondi.

189

CHAPTER VIII.
MANNERS AND INCIDENTS.
Tuscany enjoys the reputation of being the cheapest
place of residence in all Italy ; and, certainly,
though the mhabitants of the Grand Duchy com
plain bitterly of the rise of prices in articles of food
that has recently taken place, to the EngHsh stranger
the cost of fiving, even under the present order of
tMngs, wHl appear surprisingly low. A Tuscan
scudo, the value of which is about 4s. 5d. in English
money, wHl, as far as lodging, food, and amusements
are concerned, go nearly as far in Florence in minis
tering to such wants, as a sovereign in London. For
instance, in the newest and cleanest part of Florence,
in the immediate vicinity of the Piazza Maria An-
toma, a bed-room and a sitting-room of moderate
size on the first floor, most comfortably furnished, can
be procured at the rate of twenty-seven shillings a
month. For two paoli, eleven-pence English money,
an excellent simple dinner from a cook's shop, or
trattoria, can be obtained, consisting of a soup, two
dishes of meat, and one dish of some Mnd of

190 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
vegetable. For a couple of paoli, also, the doors of
the opera-house fly open, where first-rate vocalists,
like Mdlle. Piccolomini, are heard, and first-rate
operas are performed. In short, for persons of
scanty means, nowhere, perhaps, can the always
unpleasant duties of economy be so agreeably prac
tised as in the Tuscan capital.
In England, m London especiafiy, sixty pounds
a year constitutes an income on which a fanuly
belonging to the middle classes would find it difficult
to keep up an appearance of gentility; in Florence,
on the contrary, an annual revenue amounting to
that sum confers on the proprietor and his family
the means of enjoying many of the luxuries of life.
Instead of the small, mean, ill-furnished rooms, in
some narrow street in- an unfashionable quarter' of
the town, to which the recipient of sixty pounds a
year must necessarily, in London; be confined, the
Florentine, with the same amount of means, can
provide himself and fanuly with large weU-furmshed
apartments in an airy square. With an Italian family,
whose circumstances were such as I have described,
I was well acquainted durmg my residence in Flo
rence. They occupied a suite- of rooms in the Piazza
Santa Croce, one of the principal piazzas m the
town. Their drawing-room was a spacious, lofty
apartment, not only well, but elegantly, furnished :
a large mirror m a handsome frame decorated the
wall; on a handsome pier table underneath the

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 191
glass, stood a higMy ornamented French clock ; and
the small marble tables, of which there were several
m the room, were covered with vases, shells, and
various articles of an ornamental kind ; whilst the
requirements of comfort were fully satisfied by the
arm-chairs and the luxurious sofa that met the view.
Opening off tMs room was a smaller one, occupied
by the fanuly Hi the morning hours, and when they
had no company to entertain. In the parlour, a
good-sized, weU-furnished room, a very excellent
rosewood grand pianoforte was seen ; whilst another
apartment weU merited the name of library, from
the extensive and choice coUection of ancient and
modern works wMch the shelves of its numerous
bookcases contamed. The two young ladies of the
family had been educated quite in a fashionable style,
having had music-masters, and singing-masters, and
French masters, and EngHsh masters, remaining,
therewithal, intensely ignorant of everything that
most concerned them as rational civHized beings to
know. The outdoor attire of both mother and
daughters quite corresponded with the aspect of
their home — dresses made m the last fasMonable
style, bonnets with artificial flowers, silk mantiUas,
and gay parasols, announced most plainly how far
aloof poverty stood from their door ; and yet the
gilded mirror, the French timepiece, the grand
pianoforte, the numerous sitting-rooms, the accom
plishments, the fashionable dresses, and the artificial

192 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
flowers, were the products wholly of sixty pounds
a year. In England, a villa in the immediate vicinity
of any large town, is a costly luxury to procure,
and one in which no citizen could venture to indulge
unless possessing a revenue of several hundred
pounds a year; but far different is the case in
Tuscany, for in the vicinity of Florence an excel
lent suite of apartments, suited to a good-sized
famfiy, may be rented at the rate of 40 scudi
(81. 17s. 8d.) a year, and in a villa near Florence,
the rent of which was no more than this sum, I
passed a fortnight with some Italian friends. The
situation of the house was extremely beautiful, com
manding, as it did, from the eminence on which
it rose, an extensive . view of undulating hills and
fertile plains, backed by lofty mountains. From the
outer hall an inner one was entered, as spacious,
high, and cool as might be desired in a warm sum
mer's clime. This hall gave access to bed-rooms
smted to the wants of a good-sized family, also to
a Mtchen and two sitting-rooms ; the windows of
which latter opened on a terrace extending the whole
length of the house, and affording a magmficent
prospect. But though an Italian family can manage to
make a show on sixty pounds a year, such could
not be accomplished by an EngHsh family resident
in Florence, owing to the utter difference of opinion

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 193
existing between the two nations in regard to the
reqmsites of life, and to what constitutes domestic
felicity. With EngHsh people of respectability,
good, substantial fare — the juicy joint, well-cooked
vegetables, fresh butter, milk, and eggs, are articles
of prime necessity; but poor in quality and scant
in quantity is the food which suffices for the re
quirements of Italians, belonging even to the middle
classes of society.
Strange to the EngHsh eye is it to see the house
hold Hfe of a Florentine merchant and his family,
and to mark how comfortless it is, according to the
English signification of the term. The proprietor
of a suite of handsome rooms in both town and
country wHl make his morning meal, before repair-
fog to his place of business, on a cup of coffee
without cream or milk, and a piece of sour leavened
bread, devoid of any accompaniment. On his din
ner table wiU be seen, day after day, as the prin
cipal dish, a large tureen of tasteless soup, consisting
of the thin watery decoction of a small piece of
beef, thickened up by maccaroni to its utmost capa
city. The pie or pudding is reserved for great
occasions, such as Easter, Christmas, and company
days, and seldom forms a portion of the domestic
meal. For supper, if milkless coffee and dry bread
come not again into requisition, the day's refresh
ments are probably concluded with a dish of kidney-
beans swimming in oil, accompanied with a glass
o

194 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
or two of thin acid wine. Then, also, though the
mistress of the household appears abroad in velvet,
satin, silk, and artificial flowers ; at home a nightcap
very possibly constitutes the head-dress for her
morning wear, accompanied by a dress which, if not
very old and very faded, is certain to be composed
of some material of the commonest and cheapest
kind. Cold also as the winter's wind often blows
from the snowy crests of the Apennines, and rainy
and chiUy as are generally the spring months, no fire
(or at least but rarely) dispenses its genial warmth
around, gladdening the eye with a cheerful blaze.
It would be difficult, indeed, if not impossible, to find
an English family of respectability contented with
such a style of life ; or one that would not willingly
forego, if necessary, every feature of external show —
the grand pianoforte, the gilded mirror, the showy
timepiece, the velvet bonnet, and embroidered mantle
— for the enjoyment of good food, good daily dress,
and, above all, the good, cheerful fire in the long cold
evenings of winter.
The Tuscans may well love their warm summer
skies, for under those of winter their lives for the
most part (at least to the English idea) are indeed
dreary and uncomfortable. All along the base of
the Apennines, the winter climate, for nearly perhaps
tMee months in the year, is very little, if at all, in
ferior in severity to the climate of England or Ireland.
Rarely is Florence unvisited by snow, and never

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 195
does a season elapse without the frequent recurrence
of frost ; whilst overhead, dark lowering clouds,
borne downwards from the mountains, exclude the
sun from view. The north and east winds blow
piercingly, and even so late as the month of March
furs are a grateful luxury. In a climate such as
tMs, it might reasonably be supposed that ample
provision would be made for the enjoyment in
the winter season of a gemal temperature indoors,
tMough the means of artificial heat; but, as if in
defiance of aU the dictates of common sense, one
finds in Tuscany the dwellings of the peasantry
generally, and the dwelfings of the middle classes
often, constructed Hi a manner suited solely to
a cHmate where summer perpetually prevails; the
windows of the former being devoid of glass, and
the sitting-rooms of the latter being frequently de
stitute of fire-places or stoves. What a cheerless
picture, under such circumstances, a famUy party
in Florence presents on a winter's evemng, may
easUy be conceived; the Hght from the lamp fall
ing upon a cfrcle of shivering mortals, whose cheeks
and lips, with then* pale bluish hue, attest the
severity of the cold. WeU may the household vir
tues languish in Italy, and domestic love grow cold,
under the influence of that frigid temperature wMch
prevaUs during the wmter months mdoors.
Even where fire-places exist in Italy, the English
stranger soon discovers that they are generally
O 2

196 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
intended far more for show than use; the prin
ciple that guided their construction seeming in
general to have been, that all the heat should go
up the chimney, and all the smoke should enter
the room. So well are the natives acquainted with
this characteristic of their fire-places that they seem
to consider the refusal of smoke to ascend the
chimney merely a logical consequence of fire being
kindled on the hearth below ; and the complaints
which strangers utter on this subject are considered
simple and unreasonable in the extreme. " Bring up
some wood and make a fire in our room," I said to
the porter of a house in Naples where I resided.
The direction was obeyed ; the wood was piled upon
the hearth, the match box was produced, and in
another moment the fire would have been kindled,
had I not, suddenly recalling my previous winter's
experience in Tuscany on this subject, hastily asked,
"But does the chimney smoke?" At these words
the man turned round, and, with a look and in a
tone expressive of both wonder and amusement at
the simplicity of my question, repfied, " Smoke ! to
be sure it does."
To impute to Italians, however, an indifference to
and entire disuse of artificial heat in winter would
be untrue; for, though neither open fire-places nor
close stoves are patronised by them, they possess,
in the great domestic institution of the scaldino, a
means of blunting, in some degree, the sharpness of

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 197
the cold. Scarcely has the power of the hot sum
mer sun begun to wane, than the front of every
crockery shop presents to view numbers of small
brown earthenware jars, with high overarching han
dles. Holding an article of this Mnd filled almost to
the top with charcoal embers, Italians may be often
seen, both rich and poor, going through the ordinary
avocations of life, on a cold wmter's day, with much
apparent complacency. The porter at the palace
door cheers the dull tedium of his hours through
the means of his scaldino; the crippled beggar,
who entreats the passer-by, for the love of the most
blessed VHgin, to give Mm a quattrino, wMlst he
extends one hand to receive the expected alms, holds
Hi the other a scaldino ; the elderly gentleman, who
walks along at a slow, measured pace, has probably
a scaldino concealed beneath the folds of his volu
minous mantle ; the lady, as she sits talking to her
guest, caresses lovmgly the warm, smooth brown sur
face of her scaldino. The scaldino takes its place
alike in drawing-room and kitchen, and is cherished
alike by mistress and by servant. One stumbles over
scaldini on the floor, knocks down scaldini on the
table ; scaldini here, and there, and everywhere, ex-
Mbit themselves, from morn till night in winter, to
the stranger's view inside the dwelling of a Floren
tine fanuly.
The scaldino is not without some value, indeed,
in a pleasurable point of view; and on my first

198 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
arrival in Italy, being of a chHly temperament, I
invested a sum equivalent to three halfpence in
the purchase of a scaldino. Short, however, was
my conformity with the national custom, for I found
that indulgence to my hands or feet, in the way
of extra warmth through the medium of the scal
dino, entailed upon me severe and constant head
aches; a very natural consequence of the noxious
gas arising from red-hot charcoal embers, which
I had been unwisely imbibing; yet though the
fumes from the smouldering charcoal affected me
so prejudicially, I never heard an ItaHan complain
of the slightest inconvenience in this respect. Still,
though no headache may arise from the influence of
a poisonous gas to persons accustomed from child
hood to the use of the scaldino, the native vigour
of the constitution must certainly be sapped in some
degree by constantly inhaling a vitiated atmosphere.
The use of the scaldino, and the absence or defi
ciency of fire-places and stoves in Italian houses, is
to be attributed, doubtless, to the costliness of fuel ;
a good fire being a luxury beyond the power of
even the middle classes of society in Italy to indulge
in habitually, even in winter, without taxing then
generally very limited finances in an undue degree.
The absence of a cheap, abundant fuel, Hke coal
in England, causes much discomfort and suffering
amongst all the poorer classes in Italy in the winter
season ; for the price of wood is such as to render

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 199
the greatest economy of consumption of this article
obligatory on the great bulk of the middle as well as
of the entire lower class of the community. What
a disagreeable economy that is to practise, no na
tive of England can understand, who has not made
a personal acquamtance with the winter climate of
Italy by a residence there during the cold season
of the year. So much has been written about the
warm sun, the blue sky, and the balmy an of Italy,
that an idea strongly pervades the English mind,
that warm suns, blue skies, and balmy airs are
the almost perpetual inheritance of that fortunate
country. But such an idea experience proves
should be classed amongst the popular delusions
enumerated by Sir Thomas Brown ; for in many
an ItaHan November day the wind blows icy cold;
in many a December day the sun refuses to shine;
and Hi many a January and February day the skies
are covered with leaden clouds, from which the
ram pours mercilessly down. Oh, poets and novel
writers ! great is the responsibHity resting on your
heads, for having fostered the huge iUusion which
so generaHy prevails with regard to the blessedness
of an ItaHan whiter cfime. With the incessant sound
of ram-drops in my ear, and the dull light from a
leaden sky entering the windows of my room, my
feet and fingers well nigh numb with cold, I have
often longed in Italy for the glorious warmth of a
fire of English coal; before which the beams of

200 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
even the brightest winter Italian sun fade into mere
nothingness. Geology and morality may seem, at first sight,
subjects far apart; but it is not difficult to trace
an intimate connection between the mines of coal
and the domestic virtues of England : for in
stance, if Mr. Smith, that very exemplary member
of the community, who is to be found evening after
evening in his easy chair at his own fireside, chat
ting with his wife and playing with his children —
if this same Mr. Smith, the pattern husband, the
model father, instead of having a good coal fire to
sit beside, were to be condemned to pass the long
winter evenings inhaling carbonic acid gas from a
scaldino, in a cold, dark, fireless room, it is much
to be feared that Mrs. Smith would have often to
mourn an absent spouse, and that few and far be
tween would be the rides that Master Tom would
get upon the parental foot or knee. Keeping this
consideration, therefore, as we should do, in view,
it must be allowed that when the temperature in
doors ranges at forty degrees or less, it is a difficult
thing for Signor Bacilesi to sit out the long winter
evenings in his cold, gloomy home, acting the
Smithian part, when cafes and theatres abroad afford
him, at a trifling cost, the combmed enjoyments of
society, amusement, warmth, and light. Who then,
duly reflecting on this subject, can fail to recognise
the important part which the geological conforma-

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 201
tion of Cumberland and Lancashire plays in the
development of the domestic virtues in England ?
TM-oughout Tuscany, and, mdeed, I may say,
tM-oughout Italy, England and the English are very
much respected by the great mass of the population.
The power of England presents itself to the popular
mind in Tuscany as a power of the most unHmited
magmtude. The release of Rosa Madiai and her
husband from prison resulted entirely, I was told,
from the interposition of England in their favour,
tMough the means of a threat uttered by the
English Government on the subject. My informant
assured me, gravely, that the English Mimster wrote
to the Grand Duke, " If in six weeks' time Rosa
and her husband are not free, I will send an army to
release them, and knock down Florence about your
ears ! " Of course, such a terrific menace could not
faH in producing an immediate effect.
According to the same accurate and trustworthy
authority, an Englishman or Englishwoman never
breaks a promise and never defrauds. During my
stay in Tuscany, I found the most unHmited con
fidence placed in my honesty, by persons, almost
strangers to me, with whom I had money trans
actions of any kind. In a case that came under
my own knowledge, of an English lady who had
defrauded a poor Florentine tradeswoman of a sum
wMch to the latter was one of a serious amount, I
had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the

202 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
deep-seated reliance on English honesty that pre
vailed. " How could you act so very foolishly," I
said, "as to go on from month to month, and even
from year to year, not only giving credit, but lending
money, when it was asked?" "Yes, I feel now
that I acted foolishly," was the reply ; " but the lady
being English, I never doubted for a moment she
would repay me every farthing that she owed, ac
cording to her word." Precisely to the same purport
was the remark made to me by the proprietor of one
of the principal hotels in Florence, to whom I ex
pressed my surprise that he should have permitted
a swindler, a soi-disant Englishman, to defraud Mm
out of the expenses of board and lodging for a length
ened time. " The gentleman always said he would
pay me when he got a remittance from Ms London
banker," was the reply ; " and I, thinking him to be
an Englishman, for he bore the name of one, believed
implicitly what he said." "Still," I rejoined, "when
you found out through the telegraph that he had no
money at the bank, as he declared, I wonder you
continued to give credit to Ms promises of eventual
payment" " Well," was the reply, " if I had not
befieved him to be an Englishman, I would have
turned Mm out of doors at once; but as I never
knew an English gentleman to cheat or to break his
word, I relied confidently on having my dues at
last." In regard to Italian female servants, I invariably

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 203
found that the great desHe of tlieH hearts was to get
into the service of an EngHsh lady or an English
fanuly, not so much from the mcrease of wages they
might obtain beyond the Italian standard, as from
the kinder treatment they expected to receive, and
the easier life they hoped to lead, than that which
fell to then' lot in an ItaHan family. " Pray, take
me as your maid," was an entreaty that I constantly
heard, together with the assurance that I might
fix the wages at any sum I chose. English ladies,
mdeed, are looked up to and spoken of, amongst
Italians of the lower classes, m a manner that often
amused me considerably; by the women especiaUy,
whose depressed social condition leads almost uni
versally to the most extreme cowardliness of mind.
Constantly, when performing the most simple ac
tions in the world, I have found my achievements
regarded as belonging to the heroic class : for in
stance, when batMng, I advanced into the sea until
the water reached up to my waist — when during
a thunder-storm, I stood near the window to watch
the Hghtning-flashes — when I crossed a narrow street
between, perhaps, two very slowly moving fines of
carriages — I was looked upon as having done some
thing truly wonderful Many were the tales I heard
of English ladies' deeds of darings how this one had
undertaken a journey by herself — how that one had
not scrupled to ride or walk for several miles alone —
and how another, who had lost her way one evening

204 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
in a chesnut wood, instead of going well-nigh crazy
with fright, (as an Italian girl under similar circum
stances would be certain to do,) treated the affair as
a good joke, by bursting out into a merry laugh on
being wakened up the ensuing morning by some
members of her family, who, going Hi search, had
found her sleeping quietly beneath a tree. The ex
treme pusillanimity of Italian women gives in their
opinion quite a marvellous character to the simplest
deeds ; and this failing — unchecked in childhood —
grows sometimes to an excess that must often detract
much from the happiness of their lives.
"Ho paura" (I am afraid) is the commonest ex
pression one hears in Italy from feminine lips. I
was acquainted with a young girl of seventeen, who
stayed in bed three days to recover from the effects
of some silly hobgoblin fears ; and a middle-aged
servant of mine remained in a dead swoon for up
wards of an hour, in consequence of seeing a large
eel unexpectedly : it is, indeed, rare to find amongst
rich or poor an Italian woman who will not scream,
or jump, or start, on the slightest provocation ima
ginable. Although the English are generally liked and
respected throughout Tuscany, they are very far
from being favourites with the upper classes of that
land. Whilst to the Tuscan peasant, to the trades
man, or to the merchant, the term Inglese stands
as the impersonification of honour, probity, courage,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 205
wealth, and generosity ; to the Tuscan gentleman
or noble that same word is the synonym for every
phase of disagreeableness : a result attributable in
a great degree to the pride and shyness which cha
racterize, in general, English manners; for to the
polished Italian, brought up to respect the esta
blished forms of politeness beyond most other
things, and gifted with a volubility of speech that
knows no check, EngHsh silence and reserve very
naturally wear the aspect of studied rudeness or
want of courtesy.
To the estrangement resulting from this source
is added that wMch proceeds from uncongeniality
of tastes and characters. Excluded from the real
business of Hfe, without public duties of any kind
to engage his mind, and with no profitable avoca
tions to occupy his time, the Tuscan nobleman, or
gentleman of independent fortune, seeks refuge from
the approaches of ennui by a headlong plunge into
the whirfing gulf of pleasure and dissipation. A
career of such a kind, whose only aim is self-indul
gence, wMlst it destroys the sense of right, infal
libly imparts a tone of frivolity to the character.
The English nobleman or gentleman, brought up
under influences widely different, with many oppor-
tumties of useful occupation, and a consciousness of
public duties as landholder or magistrate, and with
the means of honourably satisfying his love of ex
citement in the wide field of political life that is

206 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
thrown open to his ambition, acquires a certain
seriousness of thought and solidity of character,
which but ill harmonize with the tone of Italian
society; where the advent of a new prima donna
holds the same place in interest as the advent of
a new Prime Minister does in England, and where
the graces of a pfrouette and the merits of a roulade
are discussed with the same amount of earnestness
and animation that might be employed in English
society in criticising the acts and words of English
public characters and statesmen.
Another cause may also be discovered for that
dislike which is entertamed by the upper classes of
Tuscany towards the English generally. With an
innate fondness for display, a national taste that
manifests itself throughout every rank of society in
Italy, the Tuscan nobleman or gentleman, having a
fortune of moderate amount or a scanty revenue,
finds himself eclipsed in Ms own land, in external
pomp and show, by that wealthy Anglo-Saxon race
whom a love of change, of art, of sunshine, or other
motives have impelled towards the shores of Italy.
The princepe or marchese, whose ancestors played a
distinguished part in Florentine history, and whose
fortress-palaces adorn the Tuscan capital, must be
gaUed and mortified by the consideration that, in
equipages, in style of living, in splendour of enter
tainments, they cannot compete with Mr. Brown,
or Mr. Smith, whose gentility dates not, perhaps,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 207
beyond the quarter or half-quarter of a century.
But still more powerful than any of the causes
of estrangement enumerated is that which has its
growth, in the different codes of morals that bear
sway respectively in Italian and English society.
" The EngHsh talk scandal about us, " say the
Italians: and, probably, this charge is not without
foundation ; for no pure-minded Englishwoman, or
right-thinking Englishman, can frequent Italian so
ciety without finding much to condemn.
To one custom, prevalent not only in Tuscany but
tMoughout Italy, no length of residence abroad can
ever reconcHe the English stranger. In the British
isles, the practice of bargaining is looked upon as a
very plebeian transaction, and Hi the lowest order of
shops alone, and amongst the lower classes of the
people cMefly, is the practice of bargaining general.
With us, no shopkeeper, who aimed at securing the
custom of respectable persons, would offer to abate
one farthing in the prices first demanded for his
goods ; and even the most thrifty lady would scarcely
venture to compromise her gentility so far as to at
tempt to Mggle over the purchase of a yard of calico
or a pound of tea. Far different Hi this respect is the
custom in Italy ; for the ItaHan shopkeeper, whether
he lives in a fashionable street or in a back lane,
whether he vends satins or maecaroni, almost in
variably demands for his commodities a higher
price than he will take, or mdeed calculates to

208 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
receive ; since his customers, whether rich or poor,
on their part quite as universally stipulate for an
abatement in the cost of the article they wish to
buy. The difficulty to English strangers of shop
ping, under such circumstances, may easily be con
ceived ; unfamiliar with the art of bargaining as
they usually are, as well as being ignorant of the
just value of the article they may desire to pur
chase. Of course, however, for those fortunate
individuals on whom economical considerations need
exercise no restraint, shopping in Italy is an occu
pation that involves as little trouble as does shop
ping in England ; but to those natives of the
British isles who do not find it convenient to pay
a third, or perhaps one-half, more than the fair
value of every article, Italian^ shopping is a griev
ance, and a burdensome affliction. Disagreeable to
me, however, as was always the avocation, I often
derived considerable amusement in listening to such
negotiations, and witnessing the manner in which
they were carried on between the vendor and the
purchaser. A lady asks the price of a ribbon she admires —
" Three paoli the braccio," is the reply.
frThree paoli !" rejoins the lady in a contemptuous
tone, giving the ribbon a slight toss aside; "how
dear ! how enormously dear ! "
"Dear! no, not at all," returns the shopkeeper,
blandly; "rather it is cheap, remarkably cheap,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 209
if you consider the colour and quality of the
goods." The lady takes up the ribbon again, looks at it,
and after a moment's consideration says she will give
two paoli the braccio for it.
The man shakes his head, with something of an
indignant air. Two paoli the braccio for such a
ribbon ! quite impossible to give it for such a price
as that ; but to accommodate the signora as far as
practicable, he wiU say twenty crazie* the braccio
for it.
" Still much too dear," is the rejoinder : " the
ribbon is not really worth more than twelve crazie ;
but as the colour smts me, I will give seventeen
crazie a braccio for it"
"I am very sorry, but I cannot sell it at that price."
n A short sHence foUows; the lady looks at the rib
bon with an approving eye, the shopman waits for
some new proposal; but none being forthcoming,
he suggests, at length, an accommodation of the dif
ference; for eighteen crazie the braccio the ribbon
shaU be hers.
The proposition being acceded to, the negotiation
comes happHy to an end.
Not always, however, does the transaction termi
nate so speedUy. On two or three successive days
I have known negotiations renewed, before a satis
factory settlement of the price could be attained.
* There are eight crazie in a paolo.

210 LIEE IN- TUSCANY.
On one of these occasions, a straw bonnet, of the
value of about seven shillings in English money,
was the article under discussion. On the- third day,
the negotiations had so far advanced to a favour
able termination, that a difference of about two,*-
pence three-farthings alone prevented the sale from
taking place; and on the fourth day, I have no
doubt the difference was finally adjusted*, and the
sale effected by the sacrifice of, a few farthing's on
either side.
The process of shopping, under the Italian system,
would be much simplified to the, stranger, if any
certain rule could be given as to the proportion that
the real value of an article bears to its nommal
one. But though, unhappily, Italian, shopkeepers
all agree to ask for more for their goods than
they are worth,, they by no means show the same
accord, in adopting one uniform rate of overcharge.
Each shop has its different sliding scale: as the
stranger will find from, painful experience ; wMlst
in one, an article may be procured for half tte
price first asked, in another an abatement of only
a third or a fourth part of the original price will
be made. Amidst the intricacies and perplexities
of such a system, the stranger stands but little
chance, of obtaining any article at a price at aU ap
proximating to the one it ought M equity to bear.
"Quanto vuol darmiV (" How much. wHl you give
me?") is a phrase much Hi use amongst tradesmen,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 211
on an objection being made to the price demanded
for their wares ; and when I have left a shop, rather
than, conduct negotiations for sale on the established
higgling principle, my proceeding was looked upon,
I could easHy see, as- something quite eccentric and
absurd: so firmly is it estabfished in the Italian, mind
that every one who wants to buy, and every one who
desHes to seU, should each endeavour strenuously, on
their respective parts, the one to make the most, the
other to pay the least he can, whether the matter
involve the value of a few pence or many pounds.
Yet, universally as the Hebrew principle of trade
prevails tMoughout Italy, and biassed as minds be
come in favour of customs sanctioned by prescrip
tion, I have met with ItaHan tradesmen sufficiently
rational and enlightened to condemn the principle
of overcharging as dishonest and injurious.
" But what can I do ? " said a Florentine mercer
to me one day, in reference to some observations
of mine ; " though I admire the English system of
dealing as being an essentially good and honest one,
the practice of it on my part would certainly banish
from my shop every ItaHan customer I have ; for no
Italian lady would purchase from me the most trifling
article, unless I made some abatement in the price
declared; however reasonable and fair that price
might be: Under such circumstances, therefore, not
only to make any profit,, but even to save myself
from actual loss, I must ask in the first instance a
p2

212 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
high price for my goods, in order to allow for the
abatement that every customer will inevitably de
mand. Fixed prices are best, I freely admit, and I
wish heartily that they were the established rule in
this land; but for a solitary individual like myself
to oppose a universal custom, and to set up a system
of English dealing here, would soon result in rum
and bankruptcy."
To the reasonableness of such observations I
could not but assent; recalling the keenness with
which the process of bargaining on the part of in
tending purchasers had often, under my own eye,
been carried on. Not only in this, but in many
other respects, Italy affords a striking example of
the way in which evils act and re-act upon each
other, so as almost hopelessly to perpetuate their
rule. The umversality of beggary m Italy detracts much
from the pleasure of a stranger's residence in that
land ; and though the Neapolitan dominions, perhaps,
possess an unhappy pre-eminence in that particular,
the curse of mendicancy prevails to a most lament
able extent in Tuscany. From the rich plains
through which the Arno wmds, there issue a
ragged, squalid tribe, who sustain their miserable
lives on charity. In Pisa, the beggars would almost
seem to constitute the most numerous class of the
population; and, in the other towns of Tuscany,
mendicancy exhibits itself on a scale of scarcely

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 213
less magnitude. Under the bright blue summer sky,
and in a land where plenty apparently reigns, no
where could I escape from sights and sounds of
misery ; everywhere was heard the monotonous cry,
Hsped by the young, mumbled by the old, and cho
rused forth by ragged wretches of both sexes and of
every age — " Datemi qualche cosa ! ho fame, ho tanto
fame ! Datemi una piccola moneta, per I 'amore della
sanctissima Vergine ! " *
Extensively, however, as poverty does really pre
vail in Tuscany, and numerous as are the fit objects
for charity that one sees, the tribe of beggars is often
largely sweUed by additions from a class of indi
viduals who are mendicants more from choice than
necessity ; having other means of sustaining life
than those derived from alms. This class of unpro
fessional beggars abounds especially in country dis
tricts; and so deficient, for the most part, are the
lower orders of the peasantry in a consciousness of
anything inherently degrading in the mendicant's
trade, that petitions for aid will come from persons
evincing in then looks and dress an air of respecta
bility. Almost before the power of speech is at
tained, the bright-eyed, round-cheeked child of the
contadino will stretch out its little hand to the pass
ing stranger for some trifling coin ; and the peasant
woman whose husband cultivates a small plot of
* " Give me something ! I am hungry; I am so very hungry !
Give me a trifle, for the love of the Blessed Virgin ! "

214 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
land, wiU more than rhmt how extremely acceptable
would be the donation of a cast-off petticoat or gown.
Very probably, not a little of the favour with which
the beggar's trade is regarded Hi Tuscany originates
in the circumstance, that mendicancy and religion
are exhibited constantly to the people's view in inti
mate union. The brown-robed friar, with wallet on
his back, who begs from door to door — here, for a
piece of bread, there, for a contribution of chesnuts
or of meal ; the Brother of Mercy, who goes his
rounds with begging-box Hi hand; the friar, who
takes his stand in the public streets, to solicit
alms for the relief of suffering souls Hi purgatory:
acting as they all do under the sanction of the
Church, not unnaturaUy tend to invest with a kind
of digmty the mendicant's trade in the public estima
tion. Be this, however, the cause or not, one thing
is certain, that amongst the lower classes of Tuscany
no feeling of pride, independence, and self-respect
will restrain the utterance of petitions for aid, even
on the part of many whose circumstances are such
as to place them far above the ordinary mendicant
class. By universal assent, Tuscany, with one single ex
ception, ranks high above all the other Italian States
in regard to elegance of expression and purity of
pronunciation of the Italian tongue. Rome alone,
the exception referred to, can contest the palm of
superiority with Tuscany in this particular; and

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 2.15
though, according to the well-known saying, " la
lingua Toscana in bocca Montana," be the best, the
inhabitants of Tuscany, and more especially the citi
zens of Sienna, pique themselves on the possession
of the exclusive power of speaking the Italian lan
guage with perfect purity. On such a point, a
foreigner can necessarily be no judge, for many a
mmute shade of difference in the pronunciation of
an unfamifiar word escapes the untutored ear; but
one thing is certain, that the merest novice in the
ItaHan language will soon discover that, as a gene
ral rule, the Florentines, tMoughout the middle and
lower classes of the population, take certain liberties
with their language that neither good taste nor dic
tionary authority can Hi the least degree justify. For
instance, they very frequently convert the letter "c,"
when it begins a word, mto an "h" in sound, so as to
make hasa out of casa (house), havallo out of cavallo
(horse), and so on tMough a great number of words
of the same kind. With this particular fault, which is
one pretty much confined to Florence and its imme
diate vicinity, the Tuscan pronunciation of Italian was
pleasing to my ear above that of any other part of
Italy, the Roman not excepted. It is a truly plea
sant thing to hear Italian spoken in a voice possess
ing the charms of softness amd sweetness — quafities,
however, which, strange to say in a land of vocalists,
are seldom found in the speaking voices of Italian
men, and still far more rarely in those of Italian

216 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
women. I have often been pained to an indescri
bable degree, in Italian society, by the shrill, sharp
voices of the ladies whom I heard around me. One
young lady in particular, with whom circumstances
brought me unfortunately into frequent contact,
used, by every word she uttered, to cause me the
same suffering as I have endured from the grinding
of a saw, the scratch of a slate pencil, or the scream
of a steam whistle; and I have often felt tempted
to beg that she would chant or operatize her sen
tences; for, curious to say, like many other Italian
ladies I knew who possessed speaking voices of a
similar description, she sang with taste, power, and
sweetness. In the British Isles, music is a passion with the
few, an amusement, or object of mere liking, to
the many ; but, in Italy, music seems to speak to the
heart and soul of every inhabitant of that country.
In Florence, rich and poor are alike adorers of
the opera. The London artisan, intent on pleasure,
hurries off to a third-rate theatre, to luxuriate in
the comicalities of some broad farce, or to seek ex
citement in the exhibition of melodramatic horrors :
blue lights, green lights, and red lights are his
delight; he loves to see fairies flying in the air;
dragons with fiery tails, and magicians with mag
nificent turbans and splendid beards. Beyond a
popular song or two, the tune of which the itinerant
barrel organ has made familiar to his ear, he knows

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 217
little of music ; his own attainments in that art
being probably fimited to humming or whistling
" God save the Queen," or some negro melody.
The Florentine artisan, though not inferior in
natural intelligence, yet certainly inferior m point
of education, seeks for enjoyment in pleasures of a
more elevated kind. Passmg by with indifference
the gigantic placards which announce the perform
ance of some wonderful horse, or the hundredth
representation, amidst universal applause, of some
laughter-exciting play, he Mes with his small savings
to the opera house, to Hsten to the prima donna's
harmomous strains. Not a note escapes his ear ; he
listens with every faculty; prepared to applaud or
to condemn each vocalist,, where praise or blame is
due. He can trace the silver thread of harmony
tMough passages where the clue seems lost to a
less gifted and cultivated ear, and each note he
hears makes a distinct impression on his memory.
He feels no fatigue, he knows no tedium, though
he listens to the same opera, sung by the same vo-
cafists, for the twentieth time ; and the strains thus
heard he carries back in mind with him to cheer
the weariness of his labour hours. From the car
penter's shop I have heard the finest ans of the
" Sonnambula " rise up melodiously in the an ; the
work-gfrl,with a power and sweetness of voice which
I could not but envy, has sung me the best pieces
from the " Traviata " in a truly admirable style ;

218 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
and I sknew a maid-servant who :could go unerringly
through at least twenty operas, from beginning to
end. "Music ! how I adore music!" is the universal
cry in Italy, amongst old and young, rich and poor.
According to the principle of the "Scandinavian
mythology, wMch made the happmess of heaven for
the righteous consist in an endless repetition of the
pleasures they had most enjoyed on earth — even
as the followers of Odin were to drink mead out
of ever-overflowing goblets, and to chop off each
other's heads, and limbs, and arms to the end of
time — so a paradise constructed for Italians on the
same plan would necessitate an mexhaustible supply
of first-rate operas and artistes, with vocal powers
equally divine.
At Easter time, either a little before or after that
festival, the streets of Florence exhibit a sight which
cannot fail in some degree to excite the stranger's
curiosity and surprise. Dressed in robes of white,
composed of some light material, such as muslin or
lace, over skirts of satin or silk, with large white
veHs enveloping then- heads, young girls may be
seen proceeding .along the public streets, either
-singly or in groups, accompanied by a lady of
matronly aspect. The attire, so suggestive of matri
monial proceedings,, mstantly led me to the inclu
sion that the young girls whom I saw were either
going to, or (returning from the wedding of a friend
or relation ; but, on inquiry, I found that the dress

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS, 219
which had excited my interest and curiosity was
significant, not of matrimony, but of religion ; it
befog adopted by such young girls as, for the first
time in their fives, were admitted to receive the
Communion. EngHsh pMlanthropy takes under its especial pro
tection the blind, the deaf, the dumb, the maimed, and
the diseased in mind and body ; for these subscriptions
are raised, donations given, and legacies bequeathed
by charitable persons. But Italian, and particularly
Tuscan pMlanthropy would seem, for the most part,
to take a different dfrection ; for, judging from the
amount of funds set apart Hi Florence for various
charitable purposes, the -want of sight, of speech,
the faUure of health, the loss of limbs, of hearing,
and of reason, are each accounted a calamity of less
weight than that wMch afflicts the maiden destined
to see her youth go by, and grey hairs arrive, unpro-
"vdded with a husband. EngHsh benevolence con
templates with indifference the woes of spinsterism,
but ItaHan benevolence rushes to its aid with a zeal
truly commendable ; enhancing the effect of feminine
graces, and increasing their power to subdue the
manly heart, by the substantial charms of money.
In Tuscany, as well as throughout all Italy, the be
stowal of marriage portions has ever been one of the
most favourite charities; and Hi Florence alone the
sums thus distributed annuaUy amount to between
tMee and four thousand pounds. The Society of St.

220 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
John the Baptist, the patron saint of Florence, was
founded chiefly for the purpose of endowing gfrls
in humble circumstances with marriage portions;
and to the same purpose is annually applied a cer
tain portion of the funds of the brotherhood of the
Misericordia. Another charitable society takes upon
itself to provide every fatherless Florentine girl with
a matrimonial dowry of fifty scudi (about eleven
pounds English money). To entitle themselves,
however, to receive such donations, girls must pay
great attention to theH religious duties ; attend mass
frequently, take the Communion at proper times, go
to confession regularly, and, above all things, present
themselves at the catechetical examination called the
dottrina, held by the priests in the several parish
churches after morning service on Sunday. The
girl who absents herself from the dottrina without
a sufficient cause to justify her absence, has a mark
attached to her name on every occasion of such
truancy ; which marks accumulatmg to the number
of three or more, invafidate her claim to the recep
tion of the next instalment of the marriage portion,
which otherwise would be hers. According to the
age of the recipient, within a certain limit, the por
tion varies; for from eighteen years of age up to
tMrty-five, the young maiden's dower (which she is
alone, however, entitled to receive on her marriage
day) undergoes generally a triennial increase; but
the limit of five-and-thirty being reached without a

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 221
husband being obtained, the hapless maid is doomed
to mourn over the destruction of all her matrimo
nial hopes, from her exclusion henceforth from the
benefits of the charitable endowment through which
she trusted to win her way to marriage. Poor hap
less maid of thirty-five, if such there be in Florence !
who cannot sympatMze with her sorrows, as she sees
that dreaded day and hour approach when she loses
every right to claim the seventeen years' accumulating
heap of sHver scudi, the due reward of years of sedu
lous attendance at mass/confession, and the dottrina!
Sad, however, as the old maid's fate is deemed in
ItaHan popidar estimation, it may well be questioned
whether the Tuscan spinster's lot, in the lower classes
of life at least, is not in reahty frequently a far hap
pier one than that of many by whom the marriage
portion has been rightfuUy claimed. If not actually
maltreated — as from several cases that came under
my own observation I have cause to know she not
unfrequently is — the Tuscan wife, in the lower
classes of society, occupies the position of a mere
servant in the husband's view ; and on a festa, when
her work is done, wMle her husband goes forth to
enjoy himself, she must stay at home.
" It would be a fine sight, mdeed, for my husband
to take me off with him on a pleasure walk or jaunt,"
said an extremely respectable woman to me one day.
" What a joke the neighbours would have about it !
how they would shout out, when they saw us going

22*2 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
arm-in-arm lovingly together, or driving together
side by side, that sugar was cheap, honey was plenty,
and a hundred such like impertinences ! No, no! we
ItaHan wives must just stay at- home, cook, dust,, and.
clean ; and if we would lead peaceable lives, bear
a frown or an angry word with quietness and
patience." In addition to remarks of such a nature;, an ex
pression that became quite famifiar to ray ears,
during my residence in Tuscany, was little indica
tive- of feminine conjugal feficity amongst the lower
orders of society in that country.. " Would to
heaven I had never married! " or, "If I had been
wise I had never married,!' was a plaint' that, time
after time, I, have heard1 repeated by wives, in tones
of the most unquestionable sincerity;
Twenty-tMee o'clock is the favourite hour with
the Italians at' every time of year;, but more particu
larly the summer season; tMs twenty^-three o'clock,
which the hour before sunset is called;, being used by
them for purposes of recreation and amusement. At
twenty-three o'clock the merchant leaves his count
ing-house, the clerk Ms desk, the student Ms books,
the officer Ms barracks, and the idle gentleman Ms
lounging-ehair, and go forth with one accord to
saunter along some fashionable promenade, there to
smoke, to chat, and interchange news and saluta
tions with passing friends. With ladies, this hour
is- also a favourite one ; for whHst the marrieddadiesj

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 223
equipping themselves in their most captivating array,
also go forth to swell the sauntering throng, the
unmarried,, to whom a similar privilege is denied,
station themselves at the front windows of their
respective residences ; deriving no small enjoyment
from the occupation of seeing and the consciousness
of being seen.
Considering window-gazing from an English point
of view, it would seem a sufficiently dull and un
interesting feminine recreation; but viewed through
an ItaHan medium, it beeomes a Mghly exciting
feminine employment No young lady who takes
her station at a front wmdow on an afternoon hut
may readily entertain the idea of captivating by her
charms the heart of some passing stranger ; innume
rable instances being known to her of a husband
having been obtained by a glance shot down from
the altitude even of a second story. It was Mghly
amusing to hear from the Hps of one of these roman-
ticaUy-wooed maidens the Mstory of the courtship,
from the moment when she first observed that, she
was the object of the stranger's attention, on tMough
many successive afternoons, blessed by the inter
change of mutual admHing glances, until the arrival
of that happy hour when, the enamoured youth made
known his name and Ms position, and in explicit
terms demanded her hand Hi marriage. So recog
nised is window-gazing fo Italy as a favourite
feminine occupation, that few windows of houses of

224 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
any pretension to gentility, in the principal streets
of ItaHan towns, have their inner lower ledges un
provided with cushions, for the especial use and
benefit of the leaner's elbow.
The strictness of Italian rules of decorum, even
with reference to unmarried girls in the humblest
classes of society, was once illustrated to me in a
very forcible and somewhat amusing manner. In
the interior of a public conveyance, in which I was
travelling to a small provincial Italian town, I had
for vis-a-vis a girl of nineteen, belonging to the pea
sant class ; a fact evidenced at once by the peculiar
costume she wore. Besides the latter and myself, a
lady friend of mine, and a priest, occupied the in
terior of the conveyance. The girl, on my enter
ing into conversation with her, took particular care
to inform me that she had been waiting for several
days for a good opportunity, like that which had
at last presented itself, of returning home in safe
company. Arrived at the town in which her family
lived, the driver of the conveyance asked her, to
alight; as the ascent to the lane where her parents
resided was very steep, and she could walk with
ease the distance in three minutes. At this request
the girl exhibited the utmost amount of indignation,
and declared it was one to which it was quite impos
sible for her to accede, without being guilty of the
greatest impropriety. Walk alone to her own house !
that would be a fine thing, indeed, for her to do:

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 225
what would her mother, what would the neighbours
say, to see her return in this discreditable way?
How could he ask any respectable girl to commit
such an impropriety? Evidently considering that
such objections were very reasonable, the driver
gave up the point, and the girl was deposited safely
at the parental door.
The towns of San Miniata, Colle, Volterra, and
Fiesole, in Tuscany, all enjoy prerogatives of a
peculiar kind. In each one of these small towns is
what is called a Libro d'oro (golden book), in the
pages of which it is only necessary to have the name
inscribed, to change the proprietor of that designa
tion from a plebeian, perhaps of the lowest rank,
into a member of the nobility. Of course, as may
well be supposed, tMs transformation is not effected
on purely disinterested principles of philanthropy ;
but it must be admitted, considering that, in addi
tion to a title, an inscription in the pages of the Libro
d oro confers upon the proprietor of the name in
scribed the right also to appear at court, that the
terms upon wMch the valuable privilege is granted
are very moderate. For about thirty pounds the title
of chevaHer, the lowest order of nobifity, may be
obtained. For double that sum the dignity of baron
can be reached. A count or marquis's degree costs
something more; but an aspfrant to nobility need
not despair of arriving even at the highest of these
grades, at the expense of a hundred pounds. Q

226 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
The inhabitants of Fiesole turned the privilege
their city enjoyed to a highly praiseworthy use.
Perched on the top of a steep hill, along the pre*
cipitous sides of which no road practicable for car
riages had been made, they found themselves, though
only about five miles distant from Florence, in a
great degree insulated from the world. A remedy
for this state of things at last entered the head of an
ingenious citizen. Distinguished as was the ancient
Etruscan city in point of historical dignity, still it
had become, through the agencies of time, a poverty-
stricken place. From a population, the majority of
which found it a difficult task to earn their daily
bread, the funds essential for the construction of
even a mile and a half of road could not possibly
be obtained. But if the inhabitants of Fiesole had
themselves no money to expend in public works, they
had, by a liberal exercise of the privileges conferred
on them by their Golden Book, the means of raising
the necessary supplies for the object in view. A
suggestion to this effect befog made and approved
of, the scheme proposed was carried out with much
energy and activity. " Titles to sell ! who wHl buy?
who will buy? " was then cry, and in answer to that
cry came numerous demands for patents of nobifity.
Marquises, counts, and barons were created by the
score ; and not a few EngHshmen became ennobled
tMough the medium of a well-filled purse Money
flowed copiously mto the exchequer of the impove-

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 227
rished city, and sufficient was raised to make the
road by which the stranger now ascends the hul of
Fiesole to visit the ruins of tMs old Etruscan city.
The term frutta (fruit) is much more compre
hensive in the ItaHan than its corresponding term
in the EngHsh language, for under the word frutta
are comprised young peas and beans; which, like
the class of products with which they range, are
often eaten uncooked. In an ItaHan house where
I was staying, my invariable refusal to partake of
these so-called frutta exciting some surprise, I ex
plained that I had not been habituated to eat them
raw; whereupon, in deference to my prejudices, the
peas were subjected to a culinary process the suc
ceeding day ; but I found to my distress that the
flavour of the dish was destroyed, in the opinion of
most of the members of the family, since it was
scarcely touched by any one but me.
To spiU oH, and to break a looking-glass, are both
considered in Italy to be evil auguries, and death
is inevitably foreboded by the hooting of an owl
near a sick man's window. The haH is considered
to be acted upon by lunar influence ; for, according
to the popular creed, no one who values an abun
dance of hair should submit his or her head to the
hair-cutter's operations whilst the moon is on the
wane. A few years ago an occurrence took place in
Tuscany, which caused the most unbounded merri-
02

228 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
ment to the lively Florentines. A young student
at the University of Pisa fell under the suspicion of
being heretically inclined, and whilst his education
was still uncompleted, he sickened, and, after a short
illness, died. Having on his death-bed refused the
offices of the priests, and thus tacitly declared his
disbelief in the tenets of the Church to which he
nominally belonged, a reverend teacher in the semi
nary considered that circumstances justified recur
rence to a stratagem, which, more than any words,
might impress upon the minds of the deceased's
companions the dreadful consequences that the re
jection of the Catholic faith involved. A rumour
emanating from this source, to the effect that the
devil would surely come to claim the dead student's
soul, excited a vague feeling of fear in the mind of
a young man who had determined, from affection to
the deceased, to keep watch over the dead body of
his friend during the night preceding its burial.
Actuated by this sensation of dread, and having a
presentiment of the appearance of some evil spirit
during his lonely watch, the young man carefully
loaded a brace of pistols, armed with which he pro
ceeded to his post. Alone with the corpse — that
cast-off garment of humanity, whose pallid, un
changing features and cold impassability never fail
to evoke in the gazer's heart a feeling of awe —
and with vague apprehensions of being brought into
contact with beings from another world, one may

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 229
fancy the thrill of horror that ran through his veins,
when at midnight he heard a rattle as of chains, and
saw a hideous figure approach, with horns sprouting
from his head, and a long tail sweeping the ground.
But, however appalled the young man might have
been at the apparition, his courage and presence of
mind did not desert Mm; for, seizing a pistol, he fired,
and with so true an aim that the spectre fell, and,
with a very earthly shriek of suffering, lay prostrate
on the floor. " The devil is dead ! the devil is dead ! "
shouted the young man triumphantly, and forthwith
rushed off to proclaim to his companions that man
kind had been freed from their great enemy by
his hand. " The devil is dead! the devil is dead!"
resounded through the walls of the university.
But, unfortunately for humanity, it was soon dis
covered that the supposed devil was a very unde
niable sample of the human species, who had been
dressed up in character for the occasion to perform
the devil's part. "All Florence rung with this
incident," said the Italian lady who told me this
tale. "'The devil is dead! the devil is dead!' was
Hi every one's lips, and the joke was not let drop
for a considerable time."
At a period when the whole monetary system of
Europe was in a most unsettled state, and when
monarchs — either to defraud their creditors, or to
force then debtors to pay more than they had re
ceived, or the tax -payers more than was due — con-

230 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
tinually varied the title and weight of the coins
of their respective kingdoms, the republic of Flo
rence was honourably distinguished by possessing a
golden florin, whose weight and value remained
unaltered as long as the republic itself endured.
Unhappily for the traveller, this florin exists no
longer; for cumbrous, heavy, and inconvenient to a
degree are the large sUver coins denominated scudi,
which bearers of letters of credit and circular notes
receive in exchange from their Tuscan or Florentine
bankers. A gold coin, denominated a zecchino, is
indeed declared to form a portion of the monetary
system of Tuscany at this present day; but its
existence must be a mere matter of faith with most
strangers, as it was with me ; for it certainly does
not enter mto the ordinary transactions of purchase
and sale, and during the whole period I was in
Tuscany, I never saw this coin. The Grand Duke
and Grand Ducal famny alone, indeed, I was in
formed, enjoy the privHege of filling their purses
with gold: and what a privilege this is, no one
can fully appreciate, who has not retired from
the counting-house of a Tuscan banker, groaning
beneath the weight of silver scudi.
The reign of cheapness is attested in Tuscany by
the issue of coins representing a value exceedingly
small. For instance, the paolo — worth a little more
than fivepence, English money — is divided- into eight
crazie ; and as every crazia undergoes a subdivision

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 231
into five quattrini, a Tuscan quattrino represents a
value considerably below that of the smallest coin of
England. In former times, the quattrino was divi
sible again mto four denari ; but the denaro, though
it still holds its place in the tables of Tuscan cur
rency, has only now a nominal existence. Another
small coin, called a soldo, containing three quattrini,
is current in many parts of Tuscany, and often
causes the stranger infinite perplexity and bewfider-
ment in smaU shoppfog transactions ; for, as a soldo
contains three quattrini, and a crazia five, and as
payment for an article is often necessarily made
in a coin differing from that one in which the price
was asked, to ascertain the due amount of crazie
requisite to discharge a debt contracted in soldi, or
vice versa, as the case may be, involves a some
what elaborate arithmetical calculation. " I hope to
leam your language, but I do not expect I shall ever
understand your money," said an English lady to a
shop-keeper of Pisa : and I have known several
persons who, even after a residence of many months
in Tuscany, have never attained to a thorough
mastery over the crazie, soldi, and quattrini diffi
culty. In no part of Italy is the foreigner more worried
with pofice regulations than in Tuscany. From
the moment natives of other States enter the Grand
Duchy, they are under the constant surveiUance
of officials, as well as under the disagreeable

232 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
necessity of contributing to the Grand Ducal re
venues.* This proceeding of the Tuscan Govern
ment towards foreigners is not only ungenerous,
but ungrateful ; considering the vast benefit which
Florence derives from the large sums of money
annually expended there by tourists and resident
visitors. The permission to remain even for two
or three days in the Tuscan capital involves an
expenditure of eight paoli, and should the stay be
prolonged beyond that period, a licence — called a
carta di soggiorno — must be taken out, at a cost of
twelve paoli. Even with this carta di soggiorno, the
strangers who may wish to reside for some time in
Tuscany are far from being at the end of their pecu
niary contributions to the police authorities; for in
general, at the end of every two months, a new carta
di soggiorno must be procured, involving a fresh ex
penditure. Nor is this even the whole grievance of
the matter ; for, although a carta di soggiorno taken
out in any town in Tuscany gives to the holder the
right of a two months' unmolested residence in the
place where it was granted, the virtue of this licence
is limited in a great degree to the immediate locality
of its issue ; for though, armed with this document,
the stranger may travel through Tuscany unmo
lested by fresh official transactions, yet, if a stay be
made in any one place for a longer period than ten
* This regulation applies to Italians as well as to natives of
France and England, or other countries.

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 233
days, the purse must again be opened to pay for
another carta di soggiorno. Sometimes, though very
rarely, the expectant victim may escape this exac
tion, through some negligence or oversight on the
part of the police. At the Baths of Monte Catini,
where I stayed for several weeks, I found to my
satisfaction that my tax-paying liabilities seemed to
have escaped the attention or perception of the local
authorities; but in a succeeding place to which I
went in Tuscany, I did not experience similar good
fortune. The custom-house regulations of Tuscany also
sometimes prove an annoyance of a serious kind.
The examination in the frontier Dogana of the State
being passed, the stranger who fancies that, as far
as the Grand Duchy is concerned, all luggage trou
bles are at an end, will find, by subsequent expe
rience, that this idea is incorrect, since the entrance
into a town of any note in Tuscany entails the lia
bility of having the interiors of trunks, portmanteaus
and carpet-bags explored anew. The walls of the
mediaeval republican cities of Italy afford a most
tempting facHity for levyfog taxes upon their inha-i
bitants — a facifity which is taken advantage of by
the authorities, who, through the medium of officials
stationed at each gate, exact the payment of a duty
on every imported article of food. As not only
the principal cities of Tuscany, such as Florence,
Pisa, Siemia, Lucca, &c, are girt with walls; but

234 LIFE IN TIJSCANY.
towns of meaner note — such as Prata and Pistoia,
containing scarce 12,000 inhabitants — are simHar ly
enclosed, the infinite examinations to which the
Tuscan tourist's baggage is liable may be imagined.
Not generally, however, it must be said, is the tra
veller subjected to annoyance from this source; for
with many officials, the innocence of the baggage, in
regard to offences connected with the revenue laws,
is taken on trust of the proprietor's word. Still, in
many instances, a different course is pursued; for
though the expectation can never of course exist
that such articles as butter, eggs, milk, or cheese
will be discovered secreted in a lady's or gentleman's
box or bag, there are to be found officials who will
insist upon availing themselves of then right of
search, in case the fee that they have demanded as
the price for its non-exercise be refused.
But the culminating point of vexations of this
description in Tuscany is attained at Leghorn, where
not only articles entering, but articles issuing from
the town are subject to taxation; the latter additional
affliction arising from the circumstance that Leg
horn, as a free port, enjoys the privilege of receiving
all foreign merchandise free of duty within its walls.
The officials at the gates have thus a double duty to
perform, for wMlst they have to guard against the
furtive entrance of articles of food within the town,
they have to exert themselves still more sedulously
to prevent the clandestine exit of Manchester prints,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 235
French gloves, and, in fact, all kinds of merchandise.
No inhabitant of that portion of Leghorn which ex
tends beyond the waUs can buy the most trifling
article in the town, without being obliged, in bring
ing it home, to have recourse to some stratagem to
evade the payment of heavy dues. The lady who
has bought a bonnet from some fashionable miUiner,
conveys the new purchase home upon her head ; and
each dress that issues from the workwoman's hands
is conveyed to its destination on the person of the
proprietor. Gloves, laces, ribands, boots and shoes
are stowed away in secret pockets, and many a crino
line has been made to lend its aid to hide the smug-
gfing transactions of its wearer. There is no place
in the world, perhaps, where the contraband trade is
so vigorously prosecuted, so ardently carried on, as at
the gates of Leghorn. Lady and gentleman, artisan
and servant, all smuggle : all alike try to evade the
revenue laws, and to elude the vigUance of custom
house officials; and I confess that on two or tMee
occasions during my residence at Leghorn, I fol
lowed in this respect the example set me by the
inhabitants of the town.
The system of espionage which prevails under the
government of the Grand Duke affects most pre
judicially the domestic happiness of the natives of
Tuscany, for through its influence, mistrust and sus
picion are infused into the social intercourse of
relatives as well as of friends* Even women are

236 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
sometimes haunted by a dread of treachery on the
part of their nearest kindred ; and a strict injunction
to secrecy often followed remarks of a political cha
racter that were made to me. On one occasion a
daughter asked me to refrain from mentioning her
observations to her father, and was still more urgent
in her entreaties that I should pursue a similar
course in reference to her sister; alleging in justi
fication of her request, that although she did not
believe the latter was a Government spy, she yet.
could never divest herself of a certain feeling of
insecurity on the subject. This was an extreme
case no doubt, but still it affected me painfully; for
no state of existence can be more deplorable than
that in which the Scripture denunciation seems in
any degree to be fulfiUed : " A man's foes shall be
they of his own household."
The ceremony of blessing the houses is to the
stranger one of the most peculiar religious obser
vances of Passion week in Italy ; and, as this rite
may be novel to others as it was to me, I shall
detail the mode in which it was peformed before
my view.
One afternoon in Easter week, as I was reading
in my sitting-room, my studies were suddenly inter
rupted by the entrance of the maid-servant, who,
calling out in a loud voice, "il prete" (the priest),
threw the door wide open to give admission to the
Visitor. Somewhat startled by this announcement,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 237
I glanced towards the door, just as a tall young
priest, wearing a white cassock, entered the room.
Keeping my seat — for I saw at once the visit was
not to me — I watched the priest as, preceded by the
servant, he advanced at a slow and measured pace
into the room ; and whilst he recited in a low tone
some sentences from an open book he held in his
hand, there foUowed in his train a boy attired in
white, who sprinkled the floor as he proceeded, by
swinging to and fro a small vessel containing water.
Progressing in this order, the strange procession
defiled before my view, until reaching the door of
my bed-room, which was flung open by the servant,
they disappeared within. A minute or more elapsed,
during which I continued to hear the priest's low,
mumbling tones, and then the procession reappeared,
to defile again before my view in the same order
and with the same ceremonial as previously.
Amongst the different ways of travelling in Italy,
that by vetturino (as it is termed) implies a mode
utterly different from any practised in England ; for
whHst an hotel bHl is ever an inevitable accompani
ment of journeys performed within the precincts
of the British Isles, we may travel, if we choose,
through the whole extent of Italy, from north to
south, with only an occasional glimpse of one of
those unpleasant documents. Notwithstanding, how
ever, this happy exemption from a great grievance
appertaining to an erratic life, the traveller by vet-

238 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
turino cannot make his way, save through the
medium of a well-filled purse; for his immunity
from the sight of hotel bills is only secured by the
payment of the cost of board and lodging on the
road to the proprietor of the carriage in which he
travels. The essential difference, therefore, between
this mode of travelling and any adopted in England,
consists in the payment of the whole expenses of the
route to one person, who undertakes for a certain
stipulated sum to convey the traveller free of all
extra cost to his destination. No vetturino carriage
will, however, go beyond a certain distance from its
starting-point : at least, as a general rule, there are
two stations between which it plies exclusively. For
instance, the Neapolitan vetturino carriage goes no
further than Rome ; the Roman conveyance stops at
Florence ; and from thence Genoa or Vemce is only
attainable under this system by a Florentine vehicle,
or by one performing its return journey to either of
those towns.
Vetturini carriages vary much in size and charac
ter; some are small and thoroughly uncomfortable,
wMlst others afford ample and even luxurious accom
modation, to the party of four inside and two outside
they are in general constructed to carry ; and when
every one of these six seats are occupied, this mode
of travelling is the cheapest that can be adopted in
Italy. Though a vetturino carriage is usually hired
for the journey by a famHy or a party of friends,

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 239'
yet in cases where the number rendered desirable by
economical considerations cannot be mustered by
the parties themselves, the proprietor of the carriage
will generally be able to fiU up the vacant seats ; a
registry befog kept in Ms bureau of persons who
have signified their wish to travel, about a certain
period, by a particular route, to some specified town.
The party being made up and the price arranged,
the next step in the business is the signature of a
contract, wMch sets forth in the most precise terms
the amount of scudi to be paid per head, the number
of days to be occupied by the journey, the number
of horses to be furmshed, the hours for starting and
for restfog, the halting-places for the night, and the
three daHy meals that are to be supplied. This done,
half of the stipulated price is paid, and in case of
any alleged breach of faith, the payment of the
remaining moiety may be withheld until the case has
been submitted to legal adjudication.
In an age of which the characteristic feature is
rapidity of movement, it seems like going back to
the last century to creep along in vetturino fashion ;
for, as the horses are never changed tMoughout the
journey, a distance of more than five-and-thirty
nules a day is seldom accompfished. To the ordi
nary race of eager, impetuous, restless traveUers,
whom the British Isles annually send forth to tra
verse the Continent, tMs snail-like rate of progress
would certainly prove most intolerably wearisome;

240 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
but to quiet temperaments, the vetturino mode of
travelling is not devoid of charm. Doubtless, in
the uncertain climate, and under the cloudy skies of
England, the railroad system of locomotion is to be
preferred; but in Italy, where, except in the winter
months, the landscape is steeped in light by a sun
that, day after day, pours down its rays from a vault
of the clearest blue, a tincture of the dolce far niente
in travelling, as well as in ordinary Hfe, commends
itself to the sympathies of impressionable natures in
a considerable degree. Many a pleasant scene re
turns to me connected with my journey by vetturino
from Naples to Rome; scenes in which orange gardens,
vine-encircled fields and mountains bathed in the
warm tints of a southern clime, blend with remem
brances of ruined castles and dilapidated old towns.
But if the slow rate of progress incident to the
vetturino system of travelling in Italy transports
the stranger back in fancy to a bygone century, the
same effect is still more powerfuUy produced by the
danger existing in that country of a personal en
counter with highwaymen. A hundred years ago,
no English country gentleman, who left home for
London, felt any assurance of reacMng his destina
tion without being plundered on the road by robbers;
and he never passed across a lonely heath, without
casting many an anxious glance around, to see if
masked and mounted highwaymen were drawing
near. The stories told by stage-coach travellers to

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 241
each other, related chiefly to this theme, and so many
tales of Mghway robbery were to be found recorded
in the columns of the public journals, that such ac
counts could scarcely aspHe to the distinction of taMng
rank above the mere commonplace incidents of the
times. But whilst with us the phase of social life marked
by the presence of highwaymen has passed away,
far different is the case in Italy, for there the tra-
veUer is exposed to the same risks our grandfathers
or great grandfathers incurred. Fostered by the
misrule wMch prevaUs tMoughout the greatest por
tion of the peninsula, brigandage is rife not only in
the Papal and Neapolitan dominions, but even in the
better governed State of Tuscany. During my resi
dence at Florence, a difigence guarded by soldiers
was waylaid near Arezzo by a band of twelve
brigands, who, after a sharp conflict, fled, leaving
four of thefr number dead upon the ground. But
though incidents of this description are by no means
rare in Tuscany, they fade into insignificance in
number and interest compared with those the Papal
States afford ; and to judge from recorded facts, the
brigands living under Papal rule are at the head of
their profession in Italy, in point of fierceness and
audacity. A very daring feat was performed by them in the
immediate vicinity of VeUetri, only a few weeks
before I passed through that town on my journey
R

242 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
from Naples to Rome. An Italian gentleman, resi
ding in Velletri, drove out in Ms carriage one
autumn day, for the purpose of visiting an estate
he possessed in the immediate vicinity of the town ;
but before he had reached his destination, and wMlst
he was within a mile of the town, his progress was
arrested by a band of armed brigands. Being quite
unprepared for such an encounter, neither the gen
tleman nor his servant dared to resist the order they
received to accompany their captors, who led them
speedily to a cave. On arriving there, the gentle
man was provided with a seat, and pen, ink, and
paper being produced, he was ordered to write
forthwith to a personal friend of his residing in
VeUetri. With a heavy heart, resulting from unpleasant
forebodings in regard to the nature of the com
munication he would be obliged to make, the gen
tleman commenced the note, in the terms dictated
to him by the robber at his side ; but before more
than a few words had been written, he dropped his
pen, with an exclamation of horror and dismay, on
finding himself ordered to intimate that certain
death awaited him at sunset, if a sum of eighteen
hundred scudi was not transmitted to his captors
before that time.
"It is impossible," protested the prisoner: "in
such a town as Velletri, a sum so large as that can
not be collected before sunset."

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 243
After some discussion on the point, in which re
monstrances on one side were met by threats on the
other, the brigands agreed to abate their demand to
twelve hundred scudi ; and the gentleman, finding
he had no alternative but to choose between death
or submission, wrote in the most urgent terms to be
seech his friend to make every exertion to collect the
amount required in the specified time. The letter
finished, it was given to the servant, who was de
spatched to town, with the intimation that the
sHghtest symptom of treachery on his part would
infaUibly be expiated by his master's instant death.
The day wore slowly, anxiously onward to the
prisoner in the cave, Ms mind being harassed with
the doubt as to the possibility of the sum required
befog raised in time to save him from Ms threatened
fate ; and as he saw the sun approaching the horizon
without any visible sign of the returning messenger,
hope died within his breast. At length, just as
the fatal moment was at hand, an intimation being
given him to prepare for death, the servant was des
cried hastening to the spot ; and as he brought the
stipulated sum, the brigands, true to their promise,
liberated their prisoner, and then fled to the moun^
tains to secure the unmolested enjoyment of their
prize. Another stHl more melodramatic incident occurred
in the Papal States not long ago, the heroine of which
was a young lady of noble birth, residing for her
B 2

244 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
-education in a convent situated in the immediate
vicinity of the town of Bologna. An orphan, and
destined to inherit a large property on the attain
ment of her majority, this young lady was a par
ticular object of solicitude to the nuns under whose
guardianship she was placed; and relying on the
high walls which surrounded the convent grounds,
-they entertained as little apprehension in reference
to her safety as they did in respect to their own.
The confidence, however, which they felt in the
security of their position was destined one day to
be rudely destroyed ; for a nun, while walking in
.the garden, was suddenly confronted with a masked
and armed bandit, who, seizing her by the arm,
while he pointed a pistol at her head, swore that
he would kill her if she did not immediately point
out the heiress, or deliver her up to him. The
threat was effectual ; for the nun, in an agony
of terror that destroyed all presence of mind as
well as all power of utterance, pointed to the girl,
who happened to be visible on the terrace; and
the intended victim, ere she was aware of the
danger that threatened her, was seized and carried
off before the eyes of the sMiekfog and terror-
stricken sisterhood. Rejoining his comrades out
side the convent walls, the brigand mounted a fleet
horse, and galloped off to the mountains with his
prize. This audacious act produced the most intense ex-

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 245
citement at Bologna, but before any step had been
taken to liberate the gnl, the brigands, into whose
power she had faUen, sent an intimation that they
were wHUng to restore her for a certain sum. The
amount, however, wMch they demanded by way of
ransom was so large, that its payment would involve
the surrender of more than half the young lady's for
tune ; it was therefore agreed that an attempt should
be made to recover her by force. On this deter
mination being made known, many students at the
University of Bologna offered their services to effect
the object in view ; and, under the leadership of a
young man who evidenced the most ardent interest
in the captive's fate, the chivalrous troop succeeded
in rescuing the young lady from the brigands' den.
The conclusion of the tale was quite in keeping
with the romantic character of the incidents de-
tafied, for the heiress subsequently married the
leader of the student band; and it is to be hoped
that they now enjoy as great an amount of
bliss as in general awaits the hero and heroine of
fiction. The famous Claude Duval of robber literature
seems to have his counterpart in Italy at this present
day; for, though I am not aware that there is any in
stance on record of an ItaHan brigand aUowfog a
lady to ransom herself by dancing a coranto with
him on the road, yet a very Claude-like spirit of
courtesy was displayed by a troop of bandits, who,

246 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
waylaying and stopping a diligence on the northern
frontier of Tuscany, in the spring of 1856, not only
entreated the ladies to dismiss all fear, and politely
assisted them to alight, but gave bonbons to a child
to still his cries of terror at the sight of the many
masks. The same spirit of courtesy characterized
their subsequent dealings with the passengers, for,
satisfied with the 20,000 francs of Government
money they found in the diligence — and for which,
probably, from information received, they had come
in search — they left untouched the baggage of the
travellers, and without depriving one of them of
purse, watch, or ring, took their departure in the
most courteous manner, saluting the travellers with
many bows, whilst uttering expressions of regret
at having caused them alarm or inconvenience.
Chivalrous brigands like these, however, are rare
in Italy, for brutal fierceness and audacity are in
general the distinguisMng features of the Italian
highwayman. But notwithstanding the danger of encounters
with brigands, tourists abound in Italy ; and, stimu
lated by the old Vyking spirit of love of enterprise
and change apparently inherent in the Anglo-Saxon
race, Americans vie in number with English tra
vellers; and vie with them also in the broadcast
style in which they scatter then: money over the
land. Let the English milord take heed, for he
has a rival in the field who contests with him the

MANNERS AND INCIDENTS. 247
first place in the love and respect of guides, waiters,
and hotelkeepers.
" Ah ! signorina," said a cicerone to mc one day,
" it is a very pleasant thing, I allow, to have deal
ings with your country people, but I prefer to serve
Americans; for whUe the English give like kings,
the Americans bestow like emperors."
A course of foreign travel is theoretically con
sidered to exercise a beneficial influence on the
mind tMough the information it supplies, as well
as tMough the new and enlarged views of life it
offers to the stranger's notice. Rational, however,
as such a theory seems, experience proves it to be
far from generally true; for though in some in
stances the predicted benefit may be found, yet there
are very many of the swarm of English tourists to
be met abroad who return to their own country
no wiser than when they left it, except in so far
as the mere guidebook lore of Murray is concerned.
The results of foreign travel on the mind and cha
racter depend entirely upon the spirit in wMch it
is prosecuted, and those who journey from place
to place, as many do, with no object but amuse
ment, are not likely to derive much benefit from
then wanderings. As an illustration of this class
of tourists, I shaU detafi a conversation I had with
a young English gentleman I met in Italy.
" You will, doubtless, visit Venice on your way to

248 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
Switzerland ? " I observed, on hearing Mm express
his intention to go to Geneva.
" I don't think I shall," he drawled out, languidly,
in answer ; " it would'nt pay, I fancy ; for I am told
that the opera-house there is not open at present."
The idea of Venice being only attractive to the
stranger fo a musical point of view struck me as
being so exquisitely ridiculous, that I had a great
difficulty in maintaining a poHte degree of gravity,
as I rejoined :
" You are, I conclude, extremely fond of music ? "
"I can't say I am," was the reply; "for I don't
well know the music of one opera from another ; but
for all that, an opera-house affords me a pleasant
enough lounge, and helps me to get through the time
when I am travelling."
Another means resorted to by this young gentle
man "to get through the time" was by smoMng
incessantly; and I fairly shrink from the labour of
calculating the number of cigars he must have con
sumed in pursuance of this object, ere, on the com
pletion of his travels, he returned to enlighten the
London world with the result of his foreign ex
periences.

249

CHAPTER IX.

RELIGION.

If the influence exerted over the heart corresponds
in strength with the impression made upon the eye,
the Roman CathoHc Church of Italy has reason to
exult fo the great power it enjoys. From the first
to the last hour of residence fo Italy, mementoes
of the Roman Catholic faith continually meet the
stranger's sight Go where we may throughout
that land, the church is the most prominent object
in the view. Not less, assuredly, is this the case in
Tuscany, than fo the other states comprised within
the one common term of Italy. In Pisa, one-half of
the population of that desolate place would almost
seem, to the stranger's eye, to be composed of priests.
In Florence, though the number of that body does
not appear to be so great in proportion to the rest
of the inhabitants, one cannot walk a dozen of yards
without encountering a black-robed figure, whose
shaven face is overshadowed by the luxuriant brim
of a clerical three-cornered hat. With scarcely less
frequency, too, does the eye discern the shaven

250 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
crown, the cord-girt waist, and the sandalled feet
of the brown-clad Capuchin monk. Here and there,
also, the attention is very probably arrested by the
sight of a burly friar, or member of some religious
order, clothed in a dress of spotless white; whilst
from time to time the Sister of Charity, with her
snowy coif surmounted by a large straw hat, comes
into view. On every hand churches with open doors
silently invite the sinner to prayer, and church bells
cease not to issue their noisy summons to the same
effect, with an unwearying assiduity quite painful to
the ear.
Throughout the country generally, the externals
of refigion offer themselves to the stranger's notice
in a no less conspicuous manner. Within a mche
formed in the road-side wall, a picture or image of
the Virgin attracts, every here and there, at very
short intervals, the traveUer's notice. In the midst
of every smaU cluster of rural dwellings, the vHlage
church is seen ; and in secluded spots, and bypaths
worn almost solely by the peasant's feet, smaU ora
tories are found. In quiet lanes and narrow tracks,
as well as by public thoroughfares, large crosses are
upreared, to which the emblems of the Passion,
carved in wood, are not unfrequently attached, and
thus the unlettered peasant has daily before Ms
eyes a pictured Gospel, wherein he daily reads the
Mstory of that great sacrifice wMch was offered up
for human pin. Rude, and sometimes ludicrous,

RELIGION. 251
are these representations; but the details of rustic
artists' work are unmistakeable — the crown of thorns,
the seamless coat, the scourge, the cup that held the
vinegar, the sponge, and the reed to which it was
fixed, the nails that pierced hands and feet, the ham
mer wMch drove in the nafis, the pincers that took
them out, the hand that struck, the sword that
smote, and the severed ear of the High Priest's
servant, the ladder by wMch the body of the Saviour
was taken down, and the cock whose loud clarion
pierced to the depths of the erring apostle's soul —
aU these, and other signs of the same description, are
constantly displayed on the road-side cross.
With the external emblems of faith thus abun
dantly displayed, it becomes an interesting point to
ascertain if the Roman CathoHc Church exercises
a real sway over the hearts and minds of the in
habitants of Italy. The aged tree wiU put forth
leaves when time has wasted its trunk to a mere
sheU; and the temple, with its marble front, may
still outwardly make an imposing show, whilst in
side it is mouldering to decay. How stands the
question, then, with the Roman CathoHc Church of
Italy ? Are the hoUow tree and the ruined temple
types of its position at the present hour in that
country ?
Though the answer might not differ with regard
to the position of the Church throughout the whole
of Italy, yet restricting the question to Tuscany, it

252 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
is only due to truth to say that, from what fell
under my observation during a ten months' resi
dence, it seemed to me that even the warmest op
ponents of the Church of Rome could not in feirness
but admit that, far from being a mouldering frag
ment of the past, the Church, though old, is still a
vigorous living plant, well rooted in the hearts of
the great bulk of the population of that country.
The evidences which point to this conclusion force
themselves plentifully on the stranger's eye. Before
the altar at which the priest says mass — whether in
the grand cathedral adorned with precious marbles,
costly pictures, and gfittering with gold, or in the
plain, unpretending whitewashed interior of the
village church — a throng of kneeling worshippers
is always seen. Though some, perhaps, may be
diverted from their devotions by the unwonted sight
of a stranger in their midst, yet these are few
compared with those whose bended heads, unwan-
dering eyes, and earnest looks attest the reality and
fervency of their faith. But whilst such is the
scene invariably displayed on every festa day —
when, amidst tinkling bells and swinging censers,
the richly robed priest offers up the sacrifice of
the mass — not less strikingly, on ordinary occasions,
does the city church give evidence of strong devo
tional feelings on the part of the humbler classes of
the land. Between dawn and night, the heavy
leather curtain that hangs before the entrance of

RELIGION. 253
every sanctuary is often raised to give admission to
the devotional visitant StriMngly impressive to the
eye are the kneeling forms which one sees scat
tered here and there over the vast pavement of
the grand columned aisles of Santa Croce, or bend
ing low at some side altar before the Madonna's
venerated picture. The servant on her way from
market with basket in hand, the tradesman's wife
with handkerchief-covered head, the mechanic, the
artisan in his work-stained dress, the beggar in his
tattered garb — each and all come, with earnest and
reverential mien, to offer up their prayers. In
country districts, a bunch of freshly-gathered flowers
is generaUy seen fo a niche in the road-side wall
before the image of the Madonna, attesting the
peasant's pious zeal; and stHl more forcibly is the
same spirit shown when, on the occasion of some
church festival, he presses forward to take a part
in the procession — to follow in the train of chanting
priests in a holy garb of black, carrying the wax-
taper or bearing aloft the ponderous image or sacred
banner. But, whilst the Roman CathoHc Church seems to
possess the respect and love of the lower classes of
Tuscany, its power amongst the upper ranks of so
ciety appears to be feeble and circumscribed. Judg
ing not only from what I saw, but from what I
heard, infidelity prevails in the upper cfrcles of so
ciety to a considerable extent. To enter a fashionable

254 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
church at Florence, at a fashionable hour, is to wit
ness a display of vanity, of show, and irreligiousness,
and to behold a sanctuary, built for communion with
God, degraded to a theatre, a lounge, a haunt of
idleness. The Florentine lady, dressed out to the
last extreme of the prevailing mode, comes not to
pray, so much as to exhibit her graces to the eyes
of admirers. Within the folds of the young lady's
handkerchief may not unHkely be found a letter
destined to be transferred clandestinely, if oppor
tunity offers, to the hand of the favoured lover.
The gentlemen on their part display, in the most
unambiguous maimer, how little religion has to do
with their appearance in the sacred place. They
stand together in groups of two or three, and turn
ing from the altar and the officiating priest, gaze
with effrontery on every lady's face ; they talk
together in loud whispers, smile, nod their heads,
and even indulge occasionally in a silent laugh.
Hypocrites they are not, certainly, for they do not
try to cloak by any affectation of devotion the pur
poses of mere amusement for which they came ; they
make no pretence to pray : to bow their head during
the elevation of the Host is the only religious act
they perform. Truly, a visit to a fashionable church
at Florence, at a fashionable hour, and a visit to a
more humble religious edifice frequented by the lower
classes of the community afford as great a contrast
as can be well conceived.

RELIGION. 255
" There was not one of all the leaders of our
party who was not an infidel," said the wife of a
gentleman who had taken a prominent part Hi the
republican movement in Tuscany; and this testimony
to the prevalence of infidelity was corroborated from
other quarters. Young men who hope to gain a
Government appointment, which is dependent in a
great degree on the favourable report of a minister
of the Church, adopt a stratagem to save them
selves from going to confession at the period obliga
tory on every CathoHc for this rite to be performed.
A short time before Easter, every house is visited
by a priest, not only to bless it, and sprinkle each
room with holy water, but to write down the name
of every grown-up individual therein, on each of
whom it is obligatory to appear in the confessional ;
and a ticket is given to each one who confesses, tes
tifying to the religious duty having been performed.
A short time after Easter the priest makes Ms round
again, to take back the tickets that have been given,
in order thus to ascertain if the ordinances of the
Church have in every instance been obeyed. A
register is kept of those who can produce no tiekets,
and the black mark affixed to then names effectuaUy
bars them from the chance of obtaining the smallest
government appointment; as, before such appoint
ment is conferred, reference is invariably made to
the minister of the parish in wMch the appficant for
office resides, to know if the reHgious duties of such

256 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
applicant have been properly fulfilled. To avoid,
therefore, the pains and penalties that follow on the
priest's unfavourable report, and, at the same time,
to escape from the abhorred obligations of the con
fessional, young men are in the habit of buying up
the services of not over-scrupulous consciences, who,
fulfilling the obligatory rite in the names of their
employers, receive a ticket, which is duly delivered
up at the required time. An Italian Catholic assured
me that this confessional agency business was a
thriving trade in Florence, and that in many in
stances one young man would, under the names
of his different employers, visit in the course of
a few days a dozen confessionals in Florence ;
and of course receive a dozen tickets purporting
that Giovanni, or Giuseppe, or Gaetano, or To-
maso, &c, as the case might be, had duly confessed
his sins.
But though amongst the mass of the population in
Tuscany the evidences of a warm faith in the tenets
of their Church may be discerned, their respect and
affection for the ministers of that Church by no means
seems to correspond. On the part of many who were
extremely strict in the performance of their religious
duties, who held implicitly every tenet of the Roman
Catholic faith, I have found a feeling towards the
priesthood very far indeed from a reverential one.
At the Baths of Monte Catini, the mistress of the
hotel where I was staying, a rigid Catholic, told me

RELIGION. 257
she avoided as much as she possibly could the admis
sion of the cose nere (black tMngs) into her house ;
and she gave me reasons for doing so, which were
anything but complimentary to the ministers of her
Church. I have heard avarice, stinginess, and im
morality imputed to them, by persons entirely free
from all Protestant tendencies. The very bitterest
enemy of them I knew was a zealous Catholic woman,
who had masses constantly performed for the benefit
of a deceased uncle's soul, who wore a medallion of
the VHgin next her heart, kept a bone of St. Anthony
in her purse, and had a memento of some other saint
suspended round her neck.
Ready credence is given by the gente bassa (lower
classes) to every tale of a nuraculous nature they
may hear. According to them, heaven still com
munes directly with humanity in various ways ; the
angel or the saint comes down from Paradise to
whisper into the slumberer's ears ; glances into the
land of spirits are obtained at times, by mortals
spirituaUy pure ; the Virgin smiles upon her devout
worsMppers tMough the painted canvas that bears
her name ; and the touch of the sacred relic restores
vigour to the paralysed limb, hearing to the deaf, and
sight to the blind. As a sample of one of tMs class
of modern miracles, the following tale may not be
uninteresting, narrated in the manner it was told me
by an ItaHan girl : —
" In a convent in Florence, called the Santa Rosa,,

258 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
there lives a nun, a very holy nun, by whose means
last year many a one dying of that terrible cholera*
was cured. The convent belongs to one of those
orders which shuts itself out most entirely from the
world ; and the nun about whom I am going to tell
you, passed her days almost wholly in her cell, where
she told over her beads, and repeated litanies to the
Virgin continually. She lived quite like a saint; and
surely she could not have been far from one either,
when a real saint came down from heaven to speak
to her, as you wHl hear. Well, quite away from the
world as this nun lived, she could not help hearing
about the cholera when it came to the town ; and
how, week after week, it was carrying off hundreds
to their graves. Death, you may be certain, was no
terror to her, for where should she go except to the
angels in Paradise? but she, knowing that many a
one, cut off in an hour perhaps by the cholera,
was ill-prepared to die, and had no time to make
peace with God, grieved very much at the news
she heard, and she prayed very fervently for hours
together that the scourge might be withdrawn.
" One night, after she had especially supplicated
the saints' and the blessed Virgin's aid, she awoke up
suddenly from her sleep, and saw before her a form
like that an angel might have, all radiant as the sun.
Trembling greatly, but filled with joy, she bowed her
* The cholera raged in Tuscany during the summer and autumn
of 1855.

RELIGION. 259
head with reverence; and then came words to her
ear that told her it was St Dominick who was her
visitor. After which, the saint informed her that he
had been sent down from heaven, in answer to her
prayers, with the power of conferring on the water
of a particular well in the neighbourhood the power
to cure all such as might be attacked with cholera.
Having said these words, St. Dominick disappeared,
leaving the nun filled with joy and thanksgiving ;
but when morning came, she, tMnking what a poor
sinful creature she was, and of the unlikelihood from
tMs cause, that any saint should be sent from Para
dise to talk with her, began strongly to doubt the
reality of the vision she saw ; and at last, persuading
herself that she had been deluded by a dream, she
determined not to breathe a word upon the matter to
her sister nuns ; particularly now that she recalled to
mind that the well referred to in the midnight vision
had long been dry.
" On the succeeding night, however, all doubts as
to the reafity of the vision she had seen were re
moved; for once more appeared the radiant light,
and the form of the glorified saint, and once more
he spoke to her, repeating what he had said be
fore about the powers conferred upon the water of
a particular well to cure ; and reproving her for her
incredulity, he told her to lose no time in making
known the good tidings to the world. Then, in
obedience to the holy saint, the nun on the next
s 2

260 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
morning communicated to her sisters and to her con
fessor what had occurred ; and on hearing the intel
ligence, the confessor going off to see the well, found
it, not dry as it had been for years and years before,
but filled up with water to the brim — a certafo proof
of the truth of all that the nun had told. The news of
the miracle that had been wrought spreading far and
near, the people, not only of the town, but from the
country, came flocking to the well with bottles to be
filled ; and the blessed water did indeed work many
miraculous cures."
The special intervention of the Virgin in cases of
danger and sickness, is thoroughly believed to be a
circumstance of almost daily occurrence. In the
church of the Annunciata in Florence, is a fresco of
the Annunciation, painted by angels (according to
popular belief), and possessing also, according to the
same authority, miraculous powers to heal. Con
fidence in the supernatural gifts popularly ascribed
to this picture must in all probability have recently
received a great increase, as the Virgin, in this piece
of angelic workmanship, has lately been crowned
with a glittering diadem, costing 8,000Z. This pic
ture is only exposed on extraordinary occasions ;
such, for instance, as the Feast of the Annunciation,
or during a period when death may happen to
be menacing the life of any of the members of the
Grand Ducal family : in whose behoof it is supposed
the uncovered face has power to expel from the suf-

RELIGION. 261
fermg frame the fell poison of disease. According
to the authority of the sacristan of the church, a
very recent manifestation of the miraculous healing
gifts of the picture had occurred ; a young archduke,
whose Hfe was despaired of by the faculty, being
restored to health by the unveiling of the Virgin's
face for a space of three days' time !
In the church attached to the monastery of Monte
Nero, situated fo the neighbourhood of Leghorn, may
be seen a celebrated picture of the Virgin, wMch
has been an object of veneration to the inhabitants
of the surrounding district for more than five hun
dred years. The Mstory attached to this picture is
a somewhat curious one ; for, according to the con
current testimony of different writers on the subject,
tMs picture, setting off on a long voyage fo the year
1345, sailed by itself from the island of Negropont
to the shores of Tuscany ; where, found by a shep
herd at a place called Ardenza, in the immediate
vicinity of Monte Nero, it was, by the direction of
the VHgin, carried to the spot where it may now
be seen.
Dimmed and darkened, by the effect of time and
the smoke of tapers, to a degree that renders the
VHgfo's features almost undistinguishable to the dis
tant gaze — tins picture, enshrined in costly marbles,
and occupying an elevated position above the high
altar of the church, calls forth in the humble Catholic
feelings of the most unHmited reverence. More

262 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
especially also is this the case with those whose lives
are passed amongst the perils of the deep — a circum
stance attributable, doubtless, to the maritime per
egrinations of the picture, according to the traditionary
tale. To the mariner from those coasts, that duU,
dim painting awakes the liveliest feelings of reve
rence and devotion in his breast : before it he
breathes his most fervent vows ; and amidst the roar
of raging winds and waves, and every danger to
which he may be exposed — the protection of the
holy "Lady of Storms " * is ardently invoked. The
menaced danger escaped, the sailor, returning to his
native coast, speeds to the Monte Nero church, and
there suspends a votive offering to the Virgin, as a
tribute of his gratitude to her who in the hour of
danger had saved him (as he believes) from death.
It is a curious sight to see those sailors' offerings,
mingled as they are with others contributed by the
neighbouring peasantry. A bunch of cable ends
hangs in close vicinity to various articles of feminine
attire ; old coats and muskets range together, and a
great stock of crutches cover a considerable portion
of the wall. Pictures, however, form the principal
portion of the offerings to be seen, and the sides of
three or four small rooms opening off the church
are covered with small pictorial representations of
the most tragic scenes. Here is a picture of a ship
* An-epithet applied to the representation of the Virgin in the
picture.

RELIGION. 263
ready, apparently, to be swallowed up by the devour
ing waves ; wMch picture, according to an inscription
underneath, was presented as a votive offering to the
VHgin by Angelo Biondi, who on the 4th of Sep
tember, 1843, was saved by the favour of the VHgin
from impending death. This painting, the type of
innumerable others of a similar kind, contafos, in the
corner, the representation of the Virgin and Child
appearing amidst the clouds.
Another class of pictures (if such rude daubs
deserve that term) are devoted to delineations of
perils escaped by dwellers on land. The dweUing
on fire, with the alarmed inmates descending from
the thHd story- by a rope, is matched Hi artistic
merit by a composition representing a man in the
act of tumbling from the roof of a Mgh house.
Very desperate, indeed, seems the position of the
poor wretch, over whose head the wheel of a carriage
is about to pass ; but it scarcely yields fo tragic
power to the representation of a scene where a hap
less individual is befog tossed up into the. air by an
infuriated buU. Surrounded by weeping relatives,
the sick, extended upon their beds, appear as if about
to take their departure from this world; and past
hope of cure most certainly it would seem are those
(and not a few are thus depicted) from whose mouths
there flows a gushing torrent of blood. But time
would faH to enumerate aU the various instances in
wMch Hfe (according to the evidence of these records)

264 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
has been preserved tMough the Virgin's gracious
aid. These few examples are enough to evidence the
prevailing popular belief in the daHy occurrence of
miraculous events.
To no doctrine of the Church of Rome do Italians
seem to cling so fondly as to that wMch inculcates a
particular devotion to the Virgin. To her, do sorrow-
laden hearts repair for consolation in the hour of
their distress ; to her, vows are offered up in times
of danger and sickness ; and through her, penitents
hope to gain pardon for their transgressions. The
sinner whom the thought of divine justice con
founds, turns from the presence of a justly offended
God to kneel before the shrine of a being whose
image rises before his mind as the incarnation of
kindness and mercy. In the Virgin's name the
beggar solicits alms, and the blind, the halt, the
sick, and the maimed invoke compassion for then?
infirmities. The first prayer the child is taught to
lisp, and the last upon the dying man's lip, is one
to Mary. The shrine before which the lamp is
burning in the city street, or the image set up on
high above the peasant's door, is that of the Ma
donna; her picture graces every church, and before
it bow down the young and old, the pure in heart
and the sin-stained soul : differing in all beside, they
yet agree in this, to do homage to the Virgin. On
no subject does the preacher love to expatiate so
.much as on her virtues and her glory; fondly he

RELIGION. 265
dfiates upon and depicts fo vivid words the sorrows
of the bereaved and heart-stricken mother on the
mount of Calvary : he paints her oppressed with
grief unspeakable, watching beside the cross to
wMch was naHed the form of her cherished Son,
listening to the low groans of suffering that escaped
Ms lips, and marking the slow waning of the powers
of life, amidst the intensest agony. In another
strain, and fo a perhaps still more forcible and
enthusiastic one, the preacher passes on from a re
view of the Virgin's sorrows to a description of the
glorious privileges wMch now are hers, exalted by
the Saviour's love to a power and dignity far beyond
that of the saintly and angelic tMong; and with
fluent eloquence he describes the pleasure that she
takes in exercising her influence, and the high pre
rogatives with wMch she is endowed for the reUef
and benefit of suffering, sinful man: interceding
for the erring but contrite soul, shielding youth
and innocence from harm ; protecting the fatherless
and the forsaken ; pouring balm into the bruised and
grief-stricken soul; and suspending the hand ot
Death, when his arm is raised to strike the fatal
blow. In the praise of Mary, language seems to have
exhausted every conceivable epithet of veneration,
eulogy, and fondness: — "Mother of piety," "of
clemency," "of holy love," "of consolation;"
" Supreme Queen of Heaven ; " " Star of the morn-

266 LD7E IN TUSCANY.
ing ; " " Queen of saints," " of angels," " of sin
ners ; " " Immaculate lily of purity ; " " Glass of
sanctity, " " of truth, " " of holiness ; " " Most
blessed," " most adorable," u most glorious Virgfo :"
such are a few of the many terms applied by the
devout member of the Roman Church to the mother
of the Redeemer. Everywhere one sees in Italy
signs and evidences of the most unlimited devotion
to the Virgin.
In the summer and autumn of 1855, the cholera
raged violently in Tuscany, and the victims of this
terrible disease were numerous amongst every class
of the community : young and old, rich and poor,
were alike stricken. When the cold of winter
came to arrest the progress of the malady, great
fears were entertamed that the check would be but
temporary, and that on the arrival of the warm
weather in the succeeding year the scourge would
be revived ; but the winter ended ; spring, summer,
autumn came in due succession, and no cholera
appeared. The boon of this exemption from the
dreaded scourge was then immediately ascribed to
the " Blessed VHgin," and solemn services of praise
and thanksgiving were ordered by the Church to be
celebrated in her honour throughout all Tuscany.
Of two of these services I was an accidental wit
ness, being a resident in the vicinity of the places, at
the period there fixed on for the thanksgiving service
to be performed. The religious rites which I had

RELIGION. 267
thus an opportunity of seeing, were celebrated suc
cessively at the Baths of Lucca, and at Monte
Nero, near Leghorn. At the Baths of Lucca the
service assumed quite the aspect of a festival, and
lasted several days; during which period the prin
cipal church was visited by many hundreds of the
country people from the neighbouring districts, to
perform theH* devotions before a large painted
wooden image of the Virgin, dressed for the occa
sion in a black velvet gown, and wearing on her
breast the simHitude of a heart transfixed with small
sHver daggers on either side, the symbol of " Our
Lady of Sorrows."
The concluding portion of the ceremonial took
place on a Sunday afternoon; and fo the church,
wMch was densely crowded, after a fervent preacher
had poured forth from the pulpit, in the rich, me
lodious language of Tuscany, a rhapsody in the
Virgin's praise, many were the candidates for office
who pressed forward to take a part in the pro
cession that had been ordained. In a short time
there issued from the church a number of stalwart
peasants, bearing aloft upon their shoulders, on a
wooden platform to wMch poles were attached, the
sacred image of the Virgin under an overarching
canopy. The image was borne triumphantly through
the vHlage, amidst two long files of peasant women,
girls, and men ; the latter dressed in a long loose robe
of black, the former wearing veils upon their heads,

268 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
and all with waxen tapers in their hands; whilst
priests, attired in then festival robes, chanted prayers
and psalms. The ceremony was a striking one to a
Protestant, and an edifying one, doubtless, to every
zealous Catholic, from the air of earnestness and
devotion that characterized the appearance of all the
participators in the performance of the pageant.
Although members of various monastic orders
abound in Tuscany, it would seem, judging from
the paucity of inhabitants in many of the large re
ligious edifices erected for their use, that, in com
parison with former times, conventual institutions
are on the decline. Near Florence, the extensive
monastic building called La Certosa, belonging to
the Carthusian friars, is occupied now by only
twenty-four. At Monte Catini there is a convent
of imposing size, giving shelter now to only one
nun, the solitary survivor of a sisterhood whom
death has called away. Poor lone old woman ! what
a forlorn existence must be that of hers, without
companions to cheer her solitude — without a being
save her confessor, with whom she can interchange
a thought or word ! Fancy represents her wander
ing with feeble steps through the long passages and
deserted cells, whose echoes are never awakened by
any footstep but her own, recalling the faces and
voices of those who have passed away in slow suc
cession from her side, and whose mortal forms are
resting below the sod, where before long her own

RELIGION. 269
may He. How heavily the burden of life must
weigh upon her soul ! Without human ties, without
aught but religious exercises to fill up her time —
feeble, infirm, half-blind — how fervently must death
be haUed as a deliverer, a benefactor, a friend —
longed for and asked for in earnest petitions ad
dressed to the TMone on high !
Fancy draws yet another, and perhaps a truer
picture of the solitary old nun. I see her sitting in
the sunshfoe with bent-down head, hands folded in
one another, and eyes half-closed ; not sleeping, but
looMng like one who sleeps, with no thought or
feeling save that of a consciousness of the grateful
warmth: torpid, listless: the present a blank, the
past brought up before her view only now and
again by the faint flickering flashes of an expHfog
memory : a human vegetable : a once reasoning,
thinking creature, transformed by years of idleness
and solitude, combined with the effect of age, into
a mere curious mechanism of flesh and bone.
AU monastic institutions very naturally tend to the
deterioration of the inteUect, the enfeeblement of the
mental faculties. Sofitude is, indeed, sometimes a
great teacher ; purifying the heart and elevating
the mind ; but solitude, to effect such ends, must
address itself to natures of a superior order : to
capacities above the range of those that fall to the
lot of the ordinary class of mankind. To those who
can find "sermonsrin stones," whose intelligence is

270 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
sharpened by education, and who have capacities to
foUow up long trams of thought, and the ability to
investigate into great moral truths — yet who, too
weak to resist temptation, find themselves dragged
into sin and its attendant sorrow by communion
with the world — seclusion is a real, undeniable
good, an unequivocal benefit. But to ordinary
intellects solitude is fraught with baneful conse
quences; since for such limited intelfigences a defi
ciency of ideas must necessarily be suppfied by a
variety of sensations, or else the human being de
clines into something akin to a mere vegetable. To
the common herd of men and women the discipline
of life is necessary; hopes and fears, joys and sor
rows, successes and defeats, affections, friendships,
rivalries, and all the changes and chances of ordi
nary existence are required by them to sharpen
perception and to supply nourishment to thought
and imagination. Vain is it to contend against
Nature and Providence ; the material and spiritual
portions of our being, blended together by its Crea
tor, cannot on earth be sundered with impunity :
the attempt to become wholly spiritual either turns
man into a fevered visionary, a fanatic, or else (as
is too commonly the case) degrades him to a mere
brute -Hke, unreasoning creature. In the counte
nances of the majority of the many monks and friars
that came under my notice in Italy, I saw most
uneqfovocally evidenced the evils that result from

RELIGION. 271
the isolation of man from his fellows. Hero and
there, indeed, amongst that class, I noticed a face
through which the mind shone forth ; but such were
few compared with those in whose dull, moody looks
and lustreless eyes I read the signs of a torpid or
a well-nigh blighted intellect
Though conventual life, with its loneliness, its
isolation, its paralysation of the affections, is even
more opposed to the nature of woman than to that
of man, and stHl more likely therefore to result in
baneful consequences to heart and mind ; there are
yet circumstances fo the position of most of the
religious sisterhoods of Italy wMch neutralize the
evH in a great degree, and give them, intellectually
and moraUy, eminent advantages over most of theH
cowled and cord-girt bretMen; for many orders of
nuns enjoy the privilege of converting then convents,
Hi a great degree, into educational estabHshments.
Numerous schools of this description exist in Italy,
and not a few fo Florence, where young gHls, under
the guardiansMp and instruction of nuns, are duly
initiated into all that is thought necessary for girls
to learn. The fashionable mother, harassed by the
requirements of the supposed maternal duty of keep-
fog a constant watch over the movements of her
young unmarried daughter, gladly makes over the
task to the pious sisterhood, whose Mgh-walled pre
cincts bid defiance to the approach of lovers. The
otherwise lonely and monotonous existence of the

272 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
nuns is thus enlivened by many sources of pleasure
and interest; and towards their young pupils they
become naturally bound by many ties of affection
and sympathy. Nor surely by this, and by the di
version of her thoughts for some hours of every day
from merely spiritual things, does the nun's nature
become less holy, or she herself less deserving of
mercy or salvation, than if from morn till mght she
sang hymns and repeated prayers continually.
But even within the walls of these conventual
seminaries there exist women, to whom the occu
pation of teaching does not suffice to fill up the void
which the severance of domestic ties has caused in
their being. " Many nuns seem very happy and
contented," said girls to me who had been educated
in convents ; " but there are some who never smile
or say a cheerful word, and who always wear a sad,
pining expression of countenance." A pining nun !
what painful ideas does such a term evoke: how
unspeakably mournful must be the existence of one
who, consigned by family influences to a life for
which she had no natural avocation, or who, aban
doned by the enthusiasm which had impelled her
to the act of worldly abnegation, finds herself bound
by Hrevocable vows to a lot which every moment
becomes to her more wearisomely monotonous and
dreary ! How vividly in the darkness of night, or fo
her many solitary daylight hours, must rise up before
her inward sight bright pictures of the world from

RELIGION. 273
which she is severed so entirely! Father, mother,
sisters, brothers, assembled around the domestic
hearth, their faces bright with smiles, with gladness
and enjoyment ; strolls in company of friends and
relatives under the overarching trees fo the summer
time, and seats by cooling fountains ; vows breathed
forth of love and adnfiration ; the kind husband, the
merry cMldren — ideas like these must often rise be
fore the vision of the pining sister. Each bird that
wings its flight from tree to tree in the convent garden,
each breath of wind that plays amongst the rustling
foHage, each filmy wreath of cloud that flits across the
bright blue sky, symbols of freedom as they are, must
all increase her longing, her craving, her intense de
sire for liberty.
An Italian lady told me of an incident that occurred
in reference to this subject which came under her own
personal knowledge — an incident of the same kind
that has given the name of the Fair Maid of Ron-
cesvaUes a place in song and story. A girl in the
higher ranks of life was betrothed to a young officer,
who, being sent off on a somewhat distant military
expedition, had not very long left the side of his
destined bride, when the inteUigence reached her
ears that he had fallen in an engagement with the
enemy. Despair seizing her at this news, she de
clared that for her the world henceforth had lost
every charm, and precipitately retired to a convent ;
where, as soon as conventual regulations would per-*
T

274 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
mit, she took the veil and vows. But far too hasty
she soon found out had been the act to wMch despair
had urged her ; for shortly after she became num
bered amongst the sisterhood, some relative, with
thoughtless cruelty, conveyed to her the information
that he whom she mourned as dead was still alive.
The effect of tMs inteUigence upon the mind of the
young nun was such as to drive her weU nigh mad.
From feefing her suffering spHit soothed by the
seclusion in which she lived, by constant communion
with the powers on high; the offices of religion be
came distasteful — the convent with its sHence, its
repose, a prison — her cell, a dungeon and a tomb.
Wndlydid she solicit freedom from those with whom
she was immured. The pale sisters heard with
horror and surprise the words which issued from her
lips. "Freedom, freedom! give me freedom — with
out freedom I cannot live," was the cry that, from
morning to night, resounded in their ears. What
was it to her that she was told there was wickedness
in that cry — that by such a demand, by the exhi
bition of such a rebellious spirit, she was committing
a terrible sin Hi the sight of God — that she was but
dooming herself to sorrow in this life, and to ever
lasting suffering in the next. To such remonstrances
she would not listen, much less heed.
Finding prayers and entreaties vain, and befog
refused permission to communicate with her fanuly
on the subject of her release, she resolved in her

RELIGION. 275
frenzy to endeavour to obtain the boon she sought
through the agency of hate and fear; and to make
herself so dreaded, so detested, that, for their own
sakes, the nuns would be glad to expel her from
their waUs. Poor girl! as well might the im
prisoned bird try to gain its Hberty by beating
against the strong bars of its cage, as for her to win
her way to freedom by such means. She might
rend, she might break, she might tear up the nuns'
favourite flowers, she might fosult and maltreat
them, and hurl imprecations in thefr ears; but all
she gained by every act of this kind was close con
finement fo a darkened ceU. At length, one day,
having fortunately found access to writing materials,
she wrote a note — a short, frenzied note to her father,
beseeching him to visit her ; and then, trusting to
Providence to befriend her, she clandestinely tMew
this note down from a high window of the convent
that looked out on the high road ; having previously
written on the cover of her note an entreaty that the
person into whose hands it might fall would send it
on to its destination with the utmost speed.
Little to be depended on as the success of such
an expedient must necessarily be, the father got Ms
daughter's letter, and in compfiance with her entreaty
hastened to her side ; when, worked upon by her
frantic prayers, by the sight he witnessed of her
distracted mind, he promised to do what he could
towards the furtherance of her desires. From his
t2

276 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
position, Ms rank, the father had no difficulty in
commumcating on the subject with the Pope; and
having represented strongly the circumstances of
the case — the impulses of despair that had driven
the girl to take the religious vows, her subsequent
discovery of the falseness of the news by which
she had been impelled to the renunciation of a
secular life, the reaction of feefing that had since
then set in, her regrets, her cravings for liberty —
all these points strongly urged on the father's part,
avaUed so far as to obtain for the rebellious nun —
not indeed a revocation of the vows of celibacy, but
a permission to change her residence from the con
vent to her father's house.
The convent in which this incident occurred was
in the neighbourhood of Terracfoo, from which place
my informant came ; and many a tale of sorrow
might perhaps be told, could one lift the veil that
hangs before the lives of the inmates of such out
wardly peaceful sanctuaries. It would be wrong,
however, to imagine that discontent, unhappiness,
and regret, as an invariable rule, lurk under the
religious garb. I have seen faces beneath the shade
of the white, spotless lawn, which looked to me the
very type of purity and peace ; of a quiet conscience,
a mind that knew no shadow of regret, and a heart
weaned truly from the vanities of this world.
But, whatever be the number of purified hearts
and spiritualized minds that may be found within

RELIGION. 277
the precincts of convent and monastery — though
every nun might be a saint, and every monk and
friar the same — the existence of such institutions
must stiU be a source of deep regret to all who
thfok and feel that the very essence of Christianity
is active charity. Amidst the turmoils of a stormy
age, when the strong hand of power smote down
the weak, the convent and the monastery had many
claims to reverence and regard; for in them alone
the helpless of either sex could find a refuge from
wrong and violence: in them, too, was the torch
of knowledge kept afive during the long night of
ignorance that darkened over the land. But with
the change of times, with the substitution of the rule
of law for that of brutal might, and the diffusion of
knowledge everywhere, monastic establishments as
sanctuaries for youth and age, or as calm retreats
for the scholar and sage, have become utterly use
less. On widely different grounds from those on
wMch they rested in former times, must they there
fore now put forth theH claims upon our sympathies.
Acts of charity and love, to extend a helping hand
to distressed and suffering fellow-creatures, being
the CMistian's appointed duty, fo conformity with
the teaching of the Gospel, the solitary recluse in
his narrow cell, shut out from aU communion with
Ms kind, excluded from all opportunity of doing
them good, faHs in the performance of the funda
mental obfigations of his creed: and fading thus,

278 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
however heavenward his thoughts may flow, deserves
more blame than praise. Like the servant who hid
Ms talent in the ground, he has turned to no pro
fitable account one single gift of God with wMch
he was endowed. What answer can he give when
caUed to the great account? What hungry has he
fed? what naked has he clothed? what poor has
he relieved ? what sick has he visited ? what sorrow
ful has he comforted ? That he loved his soul more
ardently than Ms body he can show ; but he cannot
bring forward a single proof as evidence that he has
cared for any one save himself.
But let justice be done. To deny our sympathy to
all the religious orders enrolled beneath the banners of
the Roman Catholic Church would be unfair ; since at
least one is to be found, the members of wMch devote
their lives to the fulfilment of the great requirement
of Christianity. It is pleasant to turn from the inert
inmate of the convent cell to her who is truly termed,
as her acts can prove, a Sister of Charity. From
bed to bed on which the sick lie stretched, she gfides
with quiet step on her errand of love and mercy.
Hers is the self-appointed task to watch beside the
couch of pain, to cool the fevered brow, to present
the ever-welcome cup to the parched Hps, to adjust
the pfilows for the aching head, to soothe the per
turbed and terror-stricken soul, and to close the
glazed eyes of death. Patient, enduring, untiring,
and unflagging fo her zeal, she is ready at every

RELIGION. 279
hour, by day or night, to respond to the call of
suffering. Through noisome streets, through pesti
lential lanes, the abodes of poverty and vice, she
takes her way; she climbs the ladder to the attic
where the sufferer Hes, or descending to the cellar's
damp-stained walls, she takes her seat on the oozy
floor, beside the bed of straw on which lies stretched
the victim of starvation or disease. She braves con
tagion fearlessly, and undauntedly, in the discharge
of her mission, she enters the haunts of crime, the
prison cell, and the beggar's lair ; the hospital wards
also know well the voice, the form of the Sister of
Charity. Surely no one can act more fully the
heroic part, or deserve more richly the applause of
man, than she, who uninfluenced by hopes of fame,
of a place in Mstory or verse, consecrates the flower
of her youth, the prime of her life to the relief of
suffering humanity; and we, who reverence and
applaud a Fry and Nightingale, should not with
hold our meed of praise from those whose acts are
in harmony with the deeds which have conferred
honour and renown on the names of our two noble
countrywomen.

280 LIFE LN TUSCANY.

CHAPTER X.
COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA.*
Of the many unfamiliar objects which arrested my
attention in the streets of Florence, none excited
so forcibly my feelings of curiosity and surprise as
the sight of the members of the Brotherhood of the
Misericordia. Certainly the garb adopted by this
fraternity when on duty is one more likely to sug
gest the idea of deeds of wickedness than acts of
virtue ; and when they are first beheld, clothed in a
long monastic dress — a mass of black from head to
foot — their heads entirely enshrouded in close-fitting
hoods, and their eyes glaring out tMough two small
apertures in the black calico veil which hangs down
loosely before their faces — they present a sight cal
culated to startle any individual afflicted with sensi
tive nerves. Hideous, however, as is the dress, it
yet has the merit of fulfilling the object for which
it was designed, as it shrouds completely the indi
vidual by whom it is worn. Under the folds of
* Brotherhood of Mercy.

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 281
that black dress, and beneath the cappa, as the
united mask and hood are termed, a wife could
not possibly recognise her husband, a sister her
brother, or a mother her son, so perfect is the
disguise. The Society of the Misericordia is a tune-honoured
institution in Tuscany, and tradition dates its origin
in Florence from an early period of the thirteenth
century. According to the authority I now follow
on the subject, this institution owed its origin to
the humanity of a certain Pietro Borsi, a common
porter, who, with others of Ms profession, frequented
the Piazza San Giovanni for the purpose of hHing
out then services to the merchants of the town.
Briskly, however, as commercial transactions were
carried on fo Florence at that time, the number of
porters was so much in excess of the number for
whom employment could be found, that the different
members of tMs fraternity had daily many unoccu
pied hours on theH hands. Seeing tMs, and think
ing it a pity that so much time should be wasted
unprofitably, it was proposed by Pietro Borsi, and
assented to by the rest, that a certain number of
their body should in turn take upon themselves
the duty of performing charitable offices towards
such sick and wounded of then fellow-citizens as
might be fo cHcumstances requiring aid. The
scheme prospered under the direction of Borsi, and
the porters went through the different districts of

282 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the city, carrying the sick and wounded on hand-
litters to such places as the sufferers might wish
to be transported to.
The benevolent association thus set on foot by the
porters, soon included members of other callings Hi
its ranks, and it was further consolidated and ex
tended in consequence of the great plague that
ravaged Florence in 1348. During those frightful
times, when the Angel of Death was knocking at
every door, — when corpses strewed the streets, and
the busy, cheerful hum of Hfe gave place to sighs,
groans, and the waUings of suffering and despair, —
the Brothers of the Misericordia discharged their
onerous and perilous duties with a zeal and assiduity
that won for them the protection of the authorities
of the town. For many years the society flourished,
and the wealth with which it became endowed from
various sources, reached to a considerable amount ;
but under the influence of a misdirected religious
zeal, the society was dissolved by a decree of the
Republic in 1425, in order that its funds might
go to increase the revenues of the Ospitalieri, a
fraternity instituted to supply the wandering pilgrim
with food and lodging on his road to the Holy
Sepulchre. The extinction of the society, however,
was a loss very sensibly felt in Florence, on account
of the accidents and sudden deaths that frequently
occurred ; and the services of the Misericordia soon
commenced to be very Mghly appreciated fo the city,

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 283
when events of daily occurrence proved the advan
tages that had arisen, and the evils that had been
avoided, through the existence of an organized
charity to look after the sick amongst the destitute
classes of the community, and to secure the decent
interment of the dead.
An incident, which happened in the year 1475,
was the means of restoring to Florence its higMy-
valued fraternity. As a spirited and benevolent
citizen was one day walking through the town, he
saw, lyfog fo the middle of a street, the corpse of
some poor friendless, destitute outcast of humanity.
Seized with indignation at tMs sight, the worthy
Florentine, raising up the corpse, placed it upon
Ms shoulders, and, laden thus, hurried off with
his strange burden to the Palazzo della Signoria;
where presenting Mmself, he demanded to speak with
the Gonfaloniere, the cMef magistrate of Florence.
The demand was granted, and the Gonfaloniere
having appeared, his visitor lost no time in entering
upon the object of his mission. Pointing to the
ghastly burden he had borne, and recounting from
whence it had been taken, he described in strong
and vivid language the evH consequences that had
arisen from the suppression of the Brethren of the
Misericordia. The representations of the zealous
citizen, enforced as they were by the mute but for
cible pleadings of the dead, had an eminently suc
cessful issue; the suppressed society was speedily

284 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
re-established on its former footing, and before very
long, the influence of its example spread to the
neighbouring cities. In the many pestilences which
ravaged the soil of Tuscany, during a space of four
centuries, suffering humanity was comforted and
relieved by the indefatigable zeal of the members of
the Compagnia della Misericordia.
Various are the works of charity to which the
Florentine fraternity dedicate their time and reve
nues. At any hour at which their services may be
wanted, they transport patients to the hospital; and
to the sick amongst the destitute poor they furnish
aid in money, linen, medicine, and attendance. The
poor mother in her hour of suffering, whilst herself
a particular object of the society's care, is indebted
to them for the clothes with which she covers her
new-born infant ; the convalescent owes to them the
soups, and wine, and nourishing food, by which Ms
strength and energies of mind and body are re
established. The case, in which rests the fractured
leg or arm of the poor labourer or needy artisan, is
the donation of the fraternity ; bandages for wounds,
leeches, cupping-glasses, baths, and medical appli
ances of every kind, all are supplied, as cfrcum-
stances require, by this truly useful and active
charity. Through the means of an excellent organization,
the services of the fraternity are available at any
moment. The members of the society, consisting

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 285
of all classes of the community, are divided into
sections, numbering about forty in each section ;
and to every section is assigned in turn a certain
period, fo which each member of its ranks must
hold Mmself in readiness — according to Ms vows,
taken generally for a limited period — to obey the
call of duty. At the sound of the loud toUing of
the great beU, the brother of the Misericordia, whose
appointed period of service has arrived, must hasten
to the place of rendezvous of his fraternity : it mat
ters not at what hour, whether in broad mid-day or
in the dead of night, at morning's dawn or evening's
dusk, he must instantly obey the summons. The
warm bed must be left in the cold night of whiter,
and the scorching heat of the mid-day sun must be
encountered in the height of summer ; the rich man
must start up from the dinner-table around which
his guests are seated, the shopman must leave his
counter, the shoemaker must put down Ms awl, the
taHor Ms needle — each and all must, in accordance
with the obligations entailed upon them by their
vows, hasten off without delay to perform various
offices of charity for distressed and calamity-stricken
fellow-creatures. Now the bell summons to convey
a fever-struck patient to the hospital ; then it rings
out for the same purpose fo behalf of some brick
layer or mason who may have suffered grievous
injuries by falfing down from a Mgh scaffold; at
one time it is for the resuscitation of some half-

286 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
drowned creature; at another, for succouring the
inmates of a house on fire ; and more commonly it
is for transporting a corpse to its last resting-place
in some neighbouring church or cemetery. Various
are the functions to be performed and the duties to
be discharged, for which the bell of the great tower,
that once called the citizens to arms, now sends out
by day or night its mandatory summons to the mem
bers of the Misericordia.
The manner in which the fraternity discharge the
offices of charity towards the sick is deservfog of
particular description. As soon as that member of
the society to whose turn it comes to fulfil the office
of director — as soon as tMs head watch (capo guardia,
as he is called) receives a certificate from a medical
man that a certain person, labouring under disease,
should be removed to the hospital — the customary
signal is made, and at the sound of the summoning
stroke, such members of the fraternity as are at the
time liable to be caUed out for duty hasten to their
church, the appointed place of meeting.
TMs church, situated in the Piazza del Duomo
— formerly the Piazza San Giovamn — is almost as
ancient as the community to which it belongs. It
is said to stand on the margin of the gulf whieh was
dug to receive the numerous victims of the pestilence
of 1348. On the altar, a few tapers burn mght and
day continually, whilst six members of the order
keep watch in the sanctuary. On the walls are

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 287
hung the dresses of the community, as well as the
torches which are made use of at night and in fune
ral solemnities ; and along the floor are ranged biers
and litters for conveying the sick and dead to their
respective destinations. Hither to this church, Avhose
pavement is never trod by any foot but that of a
member of the fraternity, the summoned brothers of
the Misericordia repaH, to receive and execute the
orders given to them by thefr capo guardia.
Enveloped in the black vestments of thefr order,
the members of the Misericordia issue from then
church, marching two by two; preceded by what
may be termed a marshal (bidello) and by four
brothers bearing a Utter on then* shoulders. This
litter is adapted with great forethought to every
exigency of the service fo wMch it is used. On
a framework of wood, spanned by girths from side
to side, He the ordinary appurtenances of a bed : the
mattress is always as soft a one as can be found ;
the sheets are ever clean and white; the blanket
either heavy or light, according to the requHements
of the season ; and the pHlow, by an ingenious
contrivance, can be made to take the particular
slant desHed. A light low arching canopy, com
posed of fine iron wHe, over wMch is extended a
quHt, or, if occasion needs, a waterproof covering,
serves as a protection against the weather for the
occupant of the bed. To the lower part of the
litter torches are fastened, in case night should over-

288 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
take the brotherhood whilst discharging the offices
of charity to the sick without the city walls; for
to a circuit of three miles, measured from the centre
of the town, extend the self-imposed duties of the
fraternity. Besides the torches, the lower part of
the litter contains a box, in which is to be found
everything that the sick might desire or need during
transportation to the hospital: water, wine, lemon,
sugar, vinegar, hartshorn — all are in readiness for
service when required. Provision is even made
for the performance of the last rites of the Roman
Catholic Church in case any occupant of the litter
may be placed in a position to reqmre them; for
in the same box with the restoratives is found the
Holy Oil, with which .the dying may. be anointed.
Arrived at their destination, the Utter is deposited
on the ground, and the brothers, entering the sick
chamber, prepare to effect the removal of the patient
in a most tender and considerate manner ; by means
of a long, thin, smooth piece of bone, four strong
strips of linen are quickly and easily inserted below
the sick man's body, at short intervals, from under
neath his shoulders downwards. At a sign from
the capo guardia, the brothers, who each hold an end
of the several strips, raise up the patient sufficiently
high to allow a quilt, which is held ready by other
members of the society, to be extended beneath.
The sick man is gently lowered again, so as to rest
upon the quilt, and conveyed in it slowly and

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 289
carefully to the litter wherein he is deposited ; the
greatest care being taken that he should be placed
in a position of the utmost possible ease. The
bed-clothes adjusted, and the protecting covering
properly fixed, the object of the fraternity's solici
tude is borne upon the shoulders of the brethren
to the hospital; two of the number wanting one
at either side of the litter, on the watch to see if
the sick man has need of anything on the way.
The transportation, however, of the sick to hos
pitals forms but a small part of the self-imposed
obligations undertaken towards that class by the
brethren of the Misericordia. To every district of
the city is assigned a certain number of individuals
belonging to the order, who, taking their name from
the functions they fulfil, are termed Convisitatori.
Acting singly, each on his own judgment and re-
sponsibHity, the Convisitatore is bound to see that
aU the sick people committed to his care are well
provided with everytMng they may stand in need of,
in regard to linen, nourishment, baths, and medi
cine. To him also is committed the duty of fur-
nisMng the sick with mghtly attendance, if such
should be requisite ; and it is on his attestation to
the fact, joined to the certificate of a doctor to the
same effect, that a nightly watcher from the ranks of ..
the society is supplied.
Thus, not only do the fraternity transport the sick
to hospitals, and look after the wants of that helpless

290 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
elass in their own homes, but they leave their com
fortable, perhaps luxurious abodes, to watch during
the night in cheerless dwellings, by the bedside of
the suffering poor. This service is discharged by
one member of the company, on ordinary occasions ;
but by two, if the disease be of an aggravated cha
racter, and danger to life is feared. In case it may
be a woman who requires assistance of this kind, the
night watcher also is a female (for several indivi
duals of that sex are included in the ranks of the
Misericordia); but if the sick woman be danger
ously ill, a brother of the order comes to the sister's
aid. Nor are the benevolent operations of the so
ciety entirely restricted to the destitute poor, as far
as nightly attendance is concerned; for not unfre
quently in the dwellings of the upper classes the
pillows of the sick are adjusted by the hands of
members of the Misericordia : and in all such cases,
however humble the renderer, and however rich
the recipient of such services may be, the nightly
watcher is not permitted to receive the smallest
thing, either food, or drink, or money, from the
family served, under the penalty of a sudden and
ignominious expulsion from the ranks of the society
to which he or she belongs. In order to ascertain
if the sick are tended with due care and zeal,
inspectors and sub -inspectors go out nightly from
the ranks of the society to visit those dwellings of
the poor to which the night watcher has been sent.

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 291
Amongst the various benevolent acts of the fra
ternity deserving of special notice, are the offices of
charity they perform towards imprisoned criminals.
Theirs is the self-appointed task of visiting the gaols,
and of seeing that every regulation connected with
the salubrity of these abodes is duly attended to.
The food provided for the prisoners comes under
their inspection, and not unfrequently clothes and
linen are supplied by them to those who, by a long,
weary term of exHe from the world, are expiating
past crimes or misdemeanors. Under the sanc
tion of the Government authorities, they also take
measures to provide that class of criminals with
the means of profitable employment; and, deduct
ing only the prime cost of the various articles
suppfied, they leave to the worker the full value
of Ms work. On certafo occasions, such as the
great religious festivals of the Church at Christ
mas, Easter, Quinquagesima, Pentecost, and Ascen
sion Day, the inmates of the prison are provided
with a feast at the expense of the fraternity. The
conveyance of this feast forms also a portion of the
duty of the brotherhood ; and at the periods above
mentioned, a troop of black-robed brethren may be
seen issuing from the head-quarters of the company,
walking two and two, each couple bearing between
them a large basket filled with provisions of excel
lent description, covered over with branches of
myrtle and laurel. Arrived at the prison- door, the
V 2

292 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
baskets are deposited on the ground and speedily
emptied of their contents; each brother taking a
dish and carrying it with his own hands to the pri
soner's cell. Who can doubt the good effects ex
erted on the prisoner's mind by each and every
benevolent act of which he is the object, on the
part of this charitable association? The hearts of
the most abased of human kind still vibrate to the
touch of kindness and sympathy: gratitude is a
powerful moral agent, a purifier of the mind, a
softener of the heart. Could the inner life of the
inmates of a Florentine prison be unfolded to the
view, it is more than probable we should find that
many a virtuous resolve, or many a kindly feeling,
has owed its origin to the little myrtle-covered
dish presented by the hand of a Brother of the
Misericordia. The interment of the dead forms a very important
part of the functions of the society; and the com
pany charges itself especially with the duty of carry
ing to the grave the corpse of any poor friendless
stranger whom death has struck down in some
humble lodging or tavern. But though such un
fortunates commend themselves particularly to the
sympathies of the society, the burial charities of
the brotherhood are far from being restricted to this
class; for funeral rites are performed by them for
those that die in their own homes and amongst their
kindred, in every instance in which the family of the

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 293
deceased is too poor to provide the means of decent
interment for their dead. For such, as well as for
other occasions on wMch the services of the frater
nity are needed, the bell rings out its summoning
peal ; and at that sound, the members whose period
of active duty has arrived hasten to obey the call,
generaUy issued for this particular purpose at half
an hour before sunset, and, marching in files, of two
and two, they bear the bier with its lifeless burden
to the place of sepulchre, after having previously
assisted at the performance of the customary funeral
rites fo the church.
On the occasion of the death of any distinguished
member of the order, the society assembles in great
numbers to accompany the departed brother to his
grave. During my residence in Florence I was
witness of a funeral of the society conducted on
a scale of imposing magnitude; the Misericordia
having to lament the loss of one of its members
in the person of the Bishop of Fiesole, who had been
suddenly stricken down in the midst of health by
a stroke of apoplexy. From the house where the
dead bishop had lain in state, dressed out in his epi
scopal robes, the lifeless body was removed by the
black-hooded brethren, and, elevated upon a bier, was
borne by them to its last resting-place at Fiesole.
The procession was a very imposing sight, seen
from the elevation of the steps in front of the cathe
dral, before which passed the funeral array. In

294 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
vivid contrast with the shifting, stirring crowd, and
the many forms of animated life with which the
piazza of the cathedral was densely filled, was the
motionless figure of the . dead ecclesiastic, as with
face uncovered, and decked out with all the insignia
of his mortal dignities, he was borne aloft extended
on a bier, upon the shoulders of a certain number
of the fraternity. The rigid features of the deceased
ecclesiastic, and his recumbent form, dressed out in
all the pomp of ecclesiastical vestments, the chant
ing priests, the flaring of countless torches, and the
long train of black-hooded brethren that filed along
through the midst of the bustling throng, formed
altogether a picture of a very impressive character.
A charity of an essentially Italian character re
mains yet to be enumerated amongst the phUan-
thropic acts of the Compagnia della Misericordia.
It is provocative of a smile to find that young por-*
tionless girls are reckoned amongst the class of un
fortunates requiring assistance from the funds of
the charitable society. The hapless case of the
undowered maiden who, for want of the heart-
subjugating power of money to forge the nuptial
bonds, is doomed to a life of single blessedness,
appeals strongly, it would seem, to the sympathies
of the Misericordia ; for on one particular day in
every year marriage portions are distributed, with
edifying solemnity, to various girls belonging to the
lower classes of the community. It is to be hoped

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 295
that the money* thus bestowed really benefits the
recipients, and that the commodities purchased by
such means do credit fo some instances to the pur
chaser's sense and discrimination ; but as Italian girls
generaUy select theH lovers on a principle far dif
ferent from that which actuated the Vicar of Wake
field's wife fo the choice of her wedding-gown, this
hope is of very doubtful realization.
The source from which the Misericordia derives
the greatest portion of theH revenues is from beg
ging: la questua, as it is termed. TMs questua is
made once a week by ten brothers of the order, who,
dividing the town between them into so many parts,
take each his way tMough his allotted district to
seek for alms. Attired fo the black dress of the
fraternity, and shrouded in its impenetrable disguise,
the questuante may be seen at an early hour of the
day pursuing his mission through the streets of
Florence with a begging-box in Ms hand. In ghostly
silence he carries on his work, the only mode of sofi-
citation used being the presentation of his begging-box
to the passer-by, accompanied by the appealing gaze
of eyes, that peer through two small apertures in the
black mask he wears. Into every shop the questuante
has free access; for him the doors of public offices
and monasteries unclose ; into his box drop the silver
of the rich and the copper of the poor : the quattrini
* The amount of the girl's portion, though not received hy her
until the wedding-day, is known beforehand.

296 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
of the working-man mingle with the paoli of the
noble. Where the palace rears its proud front on
high, or where the dark, damp cellar gives shelter
from the midnight air to poor wretches of either sex
and of every age, in streets where wealth parades
its silken robes, or in noisome lanes where poverty
shows its rags, the black-shrouded form of the
begging brother of the Misericordia may be seen.
Seldom does the begging box remain unfilled, for
rarely does either avarice or poverty refuse to the
questuante the small coin he seeks. On the evening of
the day on which the questua is made, the ten ques
tuante meet together in the rooms of the director of
the society, and, each box being opened and its con
tents examined, the amount obtained is duly regis
tered and transferred to the general funds of the
(Community. Besides the regular weekly questua there ai'e other
•collections made occasionally for particular purposes ;
at one time, money is reqmred for the sufferers in
some public or private calamity ; at another, it is
wanted to give relief to the poor family on whom
some great calamity has fallen unexpectedly: now,
the collection is taken for prisoners ; and, again, for
procuring masses to be said for the benefit of some
suffering soul fo purgatory.
In addition to the contributions raised by the
means described, the funds of the society are sus
tained by a small annual tax imposed upon the

COMPAGNIA DELLA MISERICORDIA. 297
members of the fraternity. This tax, varying within
certain limits at the pleasure of the contributor, can
never be less than one paolo (5£(f.), or exceed five
of that coin. On the holiday of their patron saint,
or during the course of the eight following days,
the pecuniary obligations of the members of the
Misericordia are annually discharged.
I have entered into the foregoing account of the
history and proceedings of this charitable society, not
only from the intrinsic interest of the subject, but on
account of the estimation in which the Compagnia
della Misericordia is held in Tuscany. Before a
procession of the black-robed brethren, the crowd
respectfuUy open and give way, whilst every hat,
from the noble's to the beggar's, is reverentially raised
as they go by ; and as each man bares his head, he
knows not but that he uncovers in the presence of
the Grand Duke himself, or some of Ms family: for
not unfrequently the highest in the land has donned
the garb of the Misericordia for a stated period,
either from a motive of a penitential kind, or from
one of a purely philanthropic nature.
But if to make atonement for evil done and for
wrongs committed, be the motive which chiefly
swells the ranks of the Misericordia in Tuscany —
if in general the impeUing impulse to take the vows
be remorse of conscience — who would not prefer
the acts of self-mortification of the Misericordia
penitent to those of any contrite sinner shut up in

298 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the seclusion of monastic walls? Far beyond the
merits of sighs, and tears, and fastings, and peni
tential psalms, surely are the lone midnight, watch-
ings by the sufferer's bed, the cup presented for
the parched Hps to drink, the pillow adjusted for the
aching head, the visit to the prisoner's cell, the gift
by which the pangs of cold and hunger are relieved,
the prompt answer to the summoning peal which
calls, perhaps, from the chamber of mHth and feast
ing to the cheerless home of poverty or death. A
truly noble fostitution is the Misericordia, one that
reflects credit on the nation amongst whom it is
found.

299

CHAPTER XI.
GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO.
By the remembrances wMch its name invokes Flo
rence powerfully commends itself to the sympathies
of every cultivated mind. Distinguished in war, in
power, fo industry, and, above all, fo literature and
art, Florence shines out in the prevailing darkness
of the mediaeval times with a lustre peculiarly bril
liant The wooUen stuffs, the gold and silk bro
cades, the produce of Florentine looms, were prized,
renowned, and sought for tMoughout the western
world ; and to Florence especially belongs the merit
of making the merchant's an honoured name, and of
raising the industrial arts to digmty and esteem.
Of aU the repubUcs of Italy to wMch the Middle
Ages gave birth, Florence was the one in which the
love of liberty was the strongest, the cultivation of
the inteUect the greatest, and the laws the best
framed and the best administered. Noted for the
genius of its citizens, and the intelligence of its
people, to Florence belongs the glory of having
given to the world, during the Middle Ages, a greater

300 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
number of illustrious men than all the rest of Italy
was able to send forth. Whilst the darkness of
barbarism still hung densely over the British Isles,
while knowledge there could find no resting-place
save in the monastic cell, and art and artists there
were terms almost unknown, the poet, painter,
sculptor, and scholar daily met together, as honoured,
cherished guests at the rich and noble Florentine's
board. But amongst the many sons of Florence who shed
honour on that republic in bygone days, there are
none who have left behind them names so well
deserving of our respect and homage as Galileo and
Michael Angelo : the first, astronomer and philo
sopher combined — the teacher of great truths to an
incredulous world ; the latter, an artist whose works
in painting, sculpture, and architecture occupy a
foremost position in the domain of art.
Florence is full of the memorials of her two great
sons ; and in Pisa, where Galileo lived for several
years as teacher of phHosophy fo the university
there, his memory is indissolubly associated with
the far-famed Cathedral and Leaning Tower of that
city. Their very stones are eloquent to us of him,
for with both these structures are connected inci
dents of no small moment in his history.
To the philosophic mind, trifles are often fraught
with teachings of wisdom. The swinging of a large
bronze lamp suspended from the roof of the Cathe-

GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 301
dral at Pisa was apparently an incident of the most
trivial description, but to Gafileo that sight evoked
a train of thought which resulted fo the discovery of
the theory of the pendulum. Hanging yet where it
hung in the days of that great man, that lamp can
never be looked on without interest: perhaps, too,
this interest is heightened by the accessories of the
surrounding scene. For very beautiful is the inte
rior of the Cathedral of Pisa, seen, as I have seen it,
when the bright beams of a midday sun, streaming
tMough richly coloured windows, Hluminated the
nave with its rows of splendid columns, lit up the
ricMy carved and gUt panels of the roof, the age-
dimmed pictures, and the decorated altars. But still
more beautiful was it in the evening hour, when
the long aisles seemed to lengthen out, and the lofty
columns to grow more lofty fo the twilight gloom;
when here and there, from the distant chapel, the
taper shot forth its small starry gleam, and all details
of arches, columns, altars, pictures, sculptures and
carving lost to view, the soul was inly touched by
the solemn influences of vastness, silence, and soli
tude. StHl more suggestive of Galileo than the Cathe
dral is the far-famed Leaning Tower adjoining it; for
here it was that he proved by a simple experiment
that the doctrines of Aristotle, which he had been
appointed to teach in the university of Pisa, were
fundamentally wrong. Denounced by his brother

302 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
professors as an ignorant pretender in the school of
philosophy, as the defamer of an iUustrious and
unerring sage and the disseminator of untruths,
Galileo eagerly called out, " Bring my doctrines to
the test of experiment, and by this prove whether
Aristotle's theory or mine in regard to the law of
falling bodies is true." The challenge was accepted,
and the Leaning Tower of Pisa was selected as the
place where the demonstration was to be made.
Let us bring up the past before our view, and
see assembled round that wonderful Leaning Tower
grave professors and solemn sages, who have come
confident of triumphing in the approaching discom
fiture of an ignorant pretender in the paths of
science and philosophy. Around them cluster an
eager crowd, looking with curiosity at that obscure
young man; who, though alone and friendless, the
object of reproach and scorn, yet strong in the
power of truth, stands up before them with sparkling
eye and undaunted bearing.
The experiment is to be made by means of two
balls, one of which is twice as heavy as the other.
If Aristotle be right in his theory of the velocity
of falling bodies, the heavy ball, when dropped
from the summit of the tower, should reach the
ground in exactly half the time taken by the lighter
ball to pass through the same space, both being
dropped at the same time. If Galileo be right, the
two balls should not differ one instant in the rate of

GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 303
their respective descents. Nothing can be simpler
than the experiment, and nothing more cleai'ly and
easily ascertainable than its result.
The moment comes when the issue is to be deter
mined, and at a given signal, down drop the baUs
from the tower: they strike upon the earth in the
same moment of time. A proud moment was it
for that young sage, and exulting was the look he
cast on the discomfited phHosophers. Again and
again the experiment was repeated, with the same
uniform results ; and from that day Aristotle lost
the sway that he had exercised for centuries over
the human mind.
But the pioneer of knowledge, the discoverer of
truths, needs a brave heart to sustain him in his
battle against error and ignorance in this world ; and
no one more than Gafileo requHed the endowments
of a daring spirit and unflinching mind. TMough
his whole life he had to contend with determined
incredulity, and with ignorance that pertinaciously
refused to be enHghtened. " Oh, my dear Kepler,"
writes GaHleo to Ms friend, " how I wish we could
have one hearty laugh together. Here at Padua is
the principal professor of phHosophy, whom I have
repeatedly and urgently requested to look at the
moon and planets tMough my glass, which he per
tinaciously refuses to do!" Unhappily for Galileo's
lot in Hfe, the Paduan pMlosopher was only a fair
sample of the pseudo-scientific sages of Ms day.

304 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
But bravely as Gafileo bore himself, for the
greatest part of his long life, in a continuous contest
with error and bigoted ignorance, he was in his old
age guilty of an act of cowardice that has left a
deep stain upon his memory. Who does not grieve
at the thought of that old man on his bended knees
before the Cardinals of the Roman Church, swear
ing that he abjured, cursed, and detested as erro
neous and heretical the doctrine he had held and
taught, that the earth moved round the sun ; whilst
in his heart he knew that the words he spoke
with his hand on the Holy Gospels were utterly
untrue ? for on rising up from, his humiliating act
and attitude, he turned and said to some one near,
" E pur se muove," — "For all this it moves." Still,
recalling to mind the dreadful torture of the rack,
to which the aged phHosopher was subjected ere
he publicly abjured his belief in the great and
eternal truths he had proclaimed, we must not judge
him hardly for this deed.
Florence warmly cherishes the name and memory
of the great astronomer, and exhibits to this day
many memorials of him. Attached to the Museum
is a temple erected by the present Grand Duke to
Galileo, and here may be seen the telescope which
revealed to him the satellites of Jupiter. The Obser
vatory, where most of his observations on the moon
were made still exists ; and the stranger is shown the
residence where, blind, infirm, and weighed down by.

GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 305
years and humHiation, his vexed and suflering spirit
passed away.
But Florence possesses a still more touching me
mento of her great son than any of those described.
In the church of Santa Croce, the stranger's step is
arrested by the tomb that bears Galileo's name ;
and insensible is the heart that does not do homage
to the Hlustrious dead — a teacher of truths which
can never die, and who by years of obloquy and
persecution, by imprisonment, torture, and a shat
tered frame, paid a heavy penalty for the distinc
tion he enjoyed of being the greatest genius of
Ms age.
But, however we may be disposed to compas
sionate the sufferings of Galileo, and great men like
Mm, our pity for the hardships and trials of their
lots in life is probably fo most instances misplaced.
Outwardly unfortunate as his career may be, the
man of genius bears that within his mind which
probably far more than compensates to him for the
hardships he endures. The lonely study, wherein
the midnight lamp burns on through the changing
year, is the scene, perhaps, at times of joy more in
tense, of triumph more perfect than any which the
world — through the means of wealth, rank, power,
and distinction — can offer to the common herd of
men. Glorious must be the moment when the long
sought-for truth flashes vividly across the deeply
meditating mind, and the " Eureka" of every inquir-

306 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
ing sage on whom the day-star of discovery dawns
must be fraught with the most exquisite happiness.
And though such moments in the lifetime of even the
most gifted student must be rare, there is for him
a constant source of enjoyment in the exulting sense
of power which accompanies the exercise of the
higher faculties of his mind. Withal then, exposed,
as the great astronomer was through his long life,
to calumny and reproach — though a torture-forced
recantation of the truth escaped his aged lips — yet
in the grand triumphs of his intellect, in the proud
consciousness that was his, of having given forth
truths which the world would not let die, the life
and lot of Gafileo stand forth before our gaze as
one deserving not of pity, but of envy.
In Santa Croce also lie the mortal remains of
Michael Angelo. His tomb is one of the first that
meets the eye on entering the church ; and it is said
that before his death he chose that particular spot of
sepulture for himself, for the whimsical reason
that when the doors were open he might, even in
Ms grave, as he said, be able to see the Cathedral's
towering dome ; of which his admiration was so
great that he took it as a model for the construc
tion of the cupola of St. Peter's. A fine and noble
nature was that of Michael Angelo. Amidst an age
of general moral corruption and laxity of principle,
his life, by its unsullied purity and its unblemished
integrity, stands out in brilliant contrast with the

GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 307
lives of most of his contemporaries, and challenges
our respect and admiration. An ardent patriot, he
threw aside his brush and chisel to join the ranks of
those who strove to save the independence of his
native soil ; and on the battlements of Florence he
proved that Italy's greatest architect, painter, and
sculptor, had qualities that might well confer on
him the title of being one of her greatest heroes
also. The memorials of Michael Angelo in Florence
are numerous : for in its churches, its palaces, and
its public squares, we are brought face to face with
the mighty creations of his genius. And yet, with
all their excellences so universally acknowledged,
and with all the homage now paid to that mind
which gave them birth, Michael Angelo, in his
early days, had to contend against that detraction
and envy wMch denounced his noble works as
things of Uttle worth. An amusing incident is
recorded, in connection with this subject, of the
means he took to heap confusion on his adver
saries, by proving that their disparaging criticisms
were founded on prejudice, and not on truth or
justice. In the seclusion of his studio, with a secrecy he
took care no one should penetrate, Michael Angelo
sculptured the marble group of a Fawn and Bacchus.
The work being completed, he broke off the right
hand a little above the wrist, and laying it carefully
x 2

308 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
aside, he conveyed the mutilated figure to a hole
previously excavated fo the ground, and there buried
it. After the lapse of some little time, judging that
the damp earth would then have conferred upon his
work a decidedly venerable appearance, he ordered
workmen to make certain alterations in the grounds ;
which would, he knew, lead necessarily to the dis
covery of the buried piece of statuary. The event
answered his expectations : the mutilated statue was
found; and as Michael Angelo took care that this
great discovery should be at once noised abroad
through the city, his bitterest critics rushed to the
spot ; and, on the earth being cleared from about
the figures of the Fawn and Bacchus, they speedily
pronounced the group to be an antique of the finest
description ; warmly congratulating themselves on the
fact that of this masterpiece of antiquity only one
hand was missing. Amongst the group that sur
rounded the statue, eagerly engaged in enlarging
on the beauties of the work, stood Michael Angelo,
who gave but a very faint assent to the general
encomiums it called forth; and on being pointedly
asked his opinion on the subject, he replied, in
a careless, disparaging way, it was a pretty thing
enough. "Oh, doubtless you can make as good a
statue yourself," was the reply, uttered in a satirical
tone : and Michael Angelo, continuing the conver
sation in a strain which led on his adversaries to say
all that he could wish, suddenly startled them by the

GALILEO AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 3091
question — " What will you say if I made this? " To
the idea thus suggested, smiles of incredulity and
derisive laughter were the response ; in the midst
of wMch, begging theH patience for a little while,
Michael Angelo went to his house, and speedily
brought back with him, as evidence of the truth
of his words, the hand which he had broken off;
and it was found, to the confusion and discomfiture
of his antagonists, to correspond exactly with the
mutilated arm of the newly-discovered Bacchus.
This memorial of the triumph of Michael Angelo
occupies a conspicuous position in the GaUery of the
Uffizi at Florence ; the seam which marks the place
where the arm was fractured being very distinctly
visible. Michael Angelo himself was far from being nig
gardly of praise of the artistic productions of his
immediate predecessors or contemporaries. " Meglia
di te non posso" (Better than thee I cannot make),
he exclaimed, in reference to the great cathedral
dome of BruneUeschi fo Florence. In a similar
spirit he stopped before the statue of St. Mark by
Donato, and exclaimed, in allusion to its life-like-
expression, "Mark, why don't you speak to me?"'
Of the bronze gates, the masterpiece of GMberti, he
said — " They are so beautiful, that they are worthy
of being the gates of Paradise." On seeing the
medals of Caesari, he declared, " Art has reached
its last hour, for beyond this it cannot go ; " and on

310 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
looking at Bigarini's fine statues in terracotta, he
exclaimed, " Woe to the antique statues, if these
should become marble ! "
In the same house where Michael Angelo lived
in Florence, some descendants of Ms family still live
at the present day ; much of the furniture remains
in its original position, unchanged, and many per
sonal relics of the great sculptor and painter are
there to be found. His sword, his crutch-handled
walking-sticks, his slippers, and the table at which
he used to write, challenge the stranger's notice;
whilst some of his vigorous sketches adorn the walls
of the various apartments, which have been fitted up
in a style to do honour to his memory. Right is
it, indeed, that in Florence, Ms native town, and for
whose independence he vainly fought, every memento
of him should be preserved and venerated.
"I commend my soul to God, my body to the
earth, and my property to my nearest of kin," were
the terms of Ms last will and testament, dictated by
Mm on Ms death-bed. He breathed his last in Rome,,
on February 17th, 1563, witMn a fortnight of enter
ing on his ninetieth year ; and Ms remains, were, at
Ms express desire, conveyed to Florence, where they
were buried, with every circumstance of pomp and
solemnity, in the church of Santa Croce.

311

CHAPTER XII.
THE LATE REVOLUTION.
Although the events wMch took place fo Paris on
the 24th of February, 1848, exercised an immense
influence on Italy as well as on other European States,
the revolutionary era commenced Hi the Peninsula
considerably before that time. At Rome, in the
year 1846, when Pius the Ninth was at the height
of his popularity, amidst the shouts which resounded
of " Viva Pio IX," there were voices heard to say,
" Abbasso H Pontefice ! " * Under the triumphal arches
that were raised to the reforming Pope, the progress
of the carriages belonging to prelates forming part of
Ms cortege was impeded, or stopped ; and returmng
from St. Peter's he was often followed by bands of
students from the university, demanding with loud
voices their political rights.
At tMs period Florence began to show symptoms
of the same spirit of disquiet that prevaUed at Rome.
Public demonstrations were made which had for theH
* " Down with the Pontiff."

312 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
avowed object the acquisition of a civic guard and
the liberty of the press. In the middle of January
the people of Leghorn, with Guerrazzi for their
leader, rose in mass. The rebellion was repressed ;
and in the fortress of Porto Ferrajo the imprisoned
chief had ample leisure for meditation over his de
feated plans.
In 1847 fresh disturbances occurred. The whole
of Italy was agitated in every part; throughout
the peninsula there were symptoms that a storm
of no ordinary violence was about to break forth.
Day by day the clouds grew darker overhead ; and
popular tumults, like premonitory gusts, gave evi
dence that a great conflict between the opposing
forces of power and numbers was nigh at hand,
Bologna and Ferrara demanded and obtained a civic
guard. The same demand was echoed at Rome
with clamorous cries ; and by a papal decree issued
on the 5th of July, the privilege of forming a na
tional guard was conferred not only on Rome, but
on every city in the States of the Church. Tumults
commenced at Naples; Sicily and Calabria were
stirred with the first throes of popular discontent;
and Genoa, also. From north to south, Italy was a
smouldering volcano.
The eventful year of 1848 was ushered in by a
revolution at Palermo. Sicily declared itself inde
pendent ; and Ferdinand II. found the fairest portion
of his dominions wrenched away violently from his

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 313
grasp. Naples rose up in arms to demand a consti
tution, wMch was granted through the influence of
fear. The commencement of February was signal
ized by commotions at Turin ; and, following the
prevafiing example, Tuscany extorted from its in
timidated ruler, on the 18th of February, the con
cession of political rights.
The revolution of the 24th of February in Paris
acted on the impulsive Italians as a strong blast on
a glowing flame. Milan, after five days' desperate
fighting, threw off the Austrian yoke. Charles II.,
Duke of Lucca, found himself constrained to fly
from his dominions to save his fife. Venice, on the
22nd of March, declared itself a republic ; and in a
few months afterwards, fo the ancient capital of the
Caesars, amidst the joyous shouts of thousands, a
simHar form of government was proclaimed.
Yielding to the spirit of the times, the Grand
Duke of Tuscany ceded to his subjects a Constitu
tion, which was for the most part founded on the
model of that of France. This concession was fol
lowed by an amnesty, in right of which Guerrazzi
issued forth from the fortress of Porto Ferrajo to
play Ms part fo the great political drama ; in the first
act of which he had lost his Hberty and perilled his
life. Of unbounded ambition, of distinguished talents,
orator and author, he was a man certain to occupy
the foremost place upon the pubhc stage in troubled
times. His release was hailed with acclamation, and

314 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
his return to Florence was greeted as a triumph to
the liberal cause. The current of popular enthu
siasm in his favour ran high and strong. Three
separate constituencies chose him for their represen
tative, when, under the new Constitution, the election
for the Chamber of Deputies began. Amongst Ms
colleagues there was no one but MontaneUi who
seemed in a position to dispute with him the post
of cMef.
In the month of September the people of Leghorn
once more rose up in arms ; this time with the view
of castfog off the supremacy of Tuscany, and of
raising theH town to the dignity of an indepen
dent State. A serious conflict seemed at hand ; for,
with the view of reducing his rebeUious subjects to
submission, the Grand Duke repaHed to the camp
of Pisa, where was assembled a numerous portion
of the national guard. But after some days of war
like preparation on either side, the opposing parties
showed a disposition to avert the effusion of blood
by coming to terms ; the insurgents abating theH
Mgh pretensions, demanded that MontaneUi should
be appointed to the post of Governor of Leghorn.
This demand was granted by the Grand Duke, on
the faith (it is alleged) of Montanelli's plighted word
to do his utmost to restore order and peace. If such
a pledge was given, it was badly kept by MontaneUi ;
for his words and acts were ill calculated to calm down
the excitement of the popular mind. From Ms bah*

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 315
cony in the public square of Leghorn, he harangued
the people in favour of an Italian constitution, the
plan of wMch he had drawn up. Little as it may
be supposed the Grand Duke approved of the newly
elected Governor's proceedfogs, he was not, or did
not feel Mmself in a position to cancel the appoint
ment made. Destitute of that firmness of character
which is so essential for a ruler to possess in critical
times, Ms deficiency fo tins particular was not sup
plied by the advisers whom he called to his side.
Frightened at the aspect of affairs, Gino Capponi,
the president of the Tuscan Cabinet, resigned ; and
an unsuccessful attempt to form another Ministry
under another head was foUowed by the hazardous
step of devolving this task on the democratic Go
vernor of Leghorn. Accepting with alacrity the
offered post, MontaneUi called on Guerrazzi to aid
him fo Ms work. The Chamber of Deputies, which
had given a strong support to the late Ministry, was
dissolved; and in all the posts vacated by the Duke's
adherents, supporters of the revolutionary cause were
placed. The ducal ride was vHtually at an end.
Impelled by fear, and coerced by pressure from with
out, Leopold allowed the reins of government to slip
from his trembhng hands ; and it was easy to per
ceive that it required but a slight colfision to hurl
Mm from the seat he so insecurely maintained.
On the 9th January, 1849, the Representative
Chambers of Tuscany were opened in person by

316 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
the Grand Duke. The session commenced with
clamour and dissension ; the echo as it were of
the voices that prevailed outside. The discussion
that ensued on the draft of the " Italian Constitu
tion," submitted to the Chambers for approval by
MontaneUi, grew violent in the extreme. A strong
party arrayed itself in opposition to the creation of
the federal power which MontaneUi proposed ; but a
powerful party out of doors gave a clamorous support
to the Minister's plan. The populace and the jour
nals were on his side; and, yielding to the demo
cratic voice, the Italian Constitution received the
assent of the Legislative Assembly.
This triumph, however, was far from allaying the
fevered spirit of excitement wMch prevailed out of
doors. Day by day disorder and disturbances in
creased in Florence. With difficulty could Guer
razzi restrain within bounds the revolutionary club
of which he was the chief. Drunk with the excite
ment which a startling series of events and a new- ,
born consciousness of power are so Ifoely to produce
in minds unused to reason and reflect, new grievances,
new demands, speedily took the place of those to
which concession had put an end yesterday. The
revolution, not only fo Tuscany but fo all Italy, came
to be looked upon fo the light of a drama enacted
upon the stage ; and a paucity of events, or a slight
delay between the acts, gave birth to cries of im
patience and discontent. " Onward, — onward!" was

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 317
the cry; and those who, from theH talents or position,
might have possessed the power to check the headlong
progress of democratic violence and unrest, allowed
themselves to be swept onward with the stream.
Renewed disturbances took place at Leghorn ; the
populace of that town clamorously demanding that
a Republic should be at once proclaimed. The
Governor, appointed by MontaneUi, openly declared
his sympathy with the popular views. On the last
day of January there ran a rumour through the
streets of Florence that the Leghornese were on the
eve of marching on the Tuscan capital in arms.
Penetrating to the recesses of the Pitti Palace, that
O *•*
rumour, fraught as it was with scenes of approaching
violence and bloodshed, determined the Duke to
withdraw himself from the peril he was powerless to
avert. His famfiy had some months previously re
tired to Sienna; and thither now, with haste and
secrecy, Leopold repaired.
The fugitive monarch was welcomed with enthu
siasm by the Siennese. In place of the tricoloured
insignia of revolution, the white and red flag of
Tuscany was publicly displayed ; cheers for the
Grand Duke resounded tMough the streets, and
clamorous demonstrations of attachment in words
and acts were unmingled by revolutionary cries.
The republicans of Florence, Hl-satisfied with this
state of tilings, called upon Leopold to return ; for
tifying their demand with the intimation that, in

318 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
case of his refusal to comply with the public wish,
his dethronement would be proclaimed. Hastemng
to Sienna, MontaneUi sought an audience of the
Grand Duke, to urge a compliance with the popular
desire. But Montanelli's mission proved fruitless ;
for Leopold, terrified by the ever-darkening aspect
of affairs, fled with his family to the seaport town
of San Stefano, on the morning of the 7th of Feb
ruary. Two official letters announced to Monta
neUi this proceeding of the Duke, and the Minister
immediately returning to Florence, communicated to
his colleagues the event that had occurred.
Florence was instantly fo commotion on the receipt
of the news. The official letters of the Prince were
sent to all the civil and military authorities of the
State ; and by Guerrazzi's orders the tocsin of alarm
was sounded, the garrison was called to arms, and
the Chambers were convoked. The storm, that had
been so long looming in the distance darkening the
horizon, had burst over Tuscany at last.
Terror, consternation, and confusion prevailed at
Florence. No sooner had the deputies assembled to
deliberate on the state of affairs, than their proceed
ings were interrupted by the unlicensed intrusion
into the Chambers of a deputation from one of the
revolutionary societies of the town. The leader of
this band, a man of the name of Niccolini, immediately
commenced an harangue — " Citizens, legislators ! "
he exclaimed, " the people of Florence  "

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 319
" Silence ! " interrupted the President of the
Chambers; "it is not for you to speak within these
walls. If you have a petition, it will be received by
the Secretary of the Assembly, according to proper
form." " I bear not a petition, but an order from the
people ! " said Niccolini ; who then proceeded to state
that nothing else but a Provisional Government, com
posed of Guerrazzi, MontaneUi, and Mazzoni, would
satisfy the inhabitants of the town.
The tumult increased ; the President put on his hat
and declared the sittfog at an end. A considerable
number of deputies left the hall ; at seeing wMch, a
deputy of the name of Socci, rising up and striking
his hand violently on the desk, called out after his
departing comrades — " Stay! let us die upon our
chairs." The President Zannetti gave the signal for the
sittfog to be resumed, and then foUowed a debate of
the most tumultuous kind. Some deputies tried to
stHl the clamour that prevailed ; but amidst the cries
that penetrated to the chamber from without — cries
of " Viva U Governo Provvisoria ; viva MontaneUi,
Guerrazzi, e Mazzoni ! " — cries wMch stimulated their
partizans fo the Assembly to exhort compliance with
the popular demand — every expostulation, every ap
peal to reason was in vain.
" Let us respect the voice of the people," said the
deputy Trinci; "as for me, I have full confidence

320 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
in the men who would form the government pro
posed." With words such as these resounding in tones of
menace from different portions of the hall, the adhe
rents of the fugitive prince finally gave way to the
popular demand; and by a vote of the Chamber, a
Provisional Government, composed of Guerrazzi,
MontaneUi, and Mazzoni, was installed.
Passing from the Chamber of Deputies, the trium
virate presented themselves before the Senate, to
have the election of the Lower House confirmed;
theH appearance was received in sUence ; indicating
plainly consternation, disapprobation, and distrust :
the Duke of Casigliani alone gave utterance to the
sentiments generally felt by the senators.
" This new power," he said, " cannot be ratified by
us, since it does not profess to govern in the name of
the Prince."
"Elected by the people, I shall govern in the
name of the people," returned Guerrazzi ; and how
ever distasteful this reply might be to the Assembly,
fear was a too predominant sensation amongst their
members to admit of their putting themselves in
opposition to the popular will. The vote of the
Chamber of Deputies was confirmed.
Tumultuous popular demonstrations of joy in
Florence accompanied the instalment of the Pro
visional Government. Under the leadersMp of the
same Niccolini who had invaded the precincts of the

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 321
Representative Chamber, a crowd of people traversed
the city, and in every public square proclaimed the
deposition of the Grand Duke. Trees of liberty
were planted in every street, in every lane, in the
vicinity of every church, amidst cries of joy and en
thusiastic Evvicas, mingled with the martial strains
of the revolutionary hymn of France. The statues
of Leopold were thrown down, and Ms heraldic
insignia injured or defaced.
The first act of the Provisional Government was to
dissolve the Chambers and to caU a new Parliament;
but before the latter had entered upon its duties,
speedHy as the elections took place, the tide of
popular feefing had begun to turn in favour of the
old form of government, which had been so roughly
overtMown. In truth, it was no wonder it should
be so ; for from the day that the Provisional Govern
ment was installed, riots, dissensions, and commotions
prevailed tMoughout the most part of Tuscany.
Irritated by the aspect of affaHs, the Government had
recourse to stringent measures to restore order and
calm. Arrests were made upon suspicion; and the
prisons were fiUed with persons charged with political
crimes. Too impatient to wait for the opening of the
new Parliament, which was to decide upon the form
of government Tuscany should have, the citizens of
Leghorn, on the 17 th of February, with the concur
rence of their Governor, proclaimed the Republic with
sound of trumpet tMough the streets of their town.

322 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
The Grand Duke of Tuscany, in his retreat at
San Stefano, had received tidings of the movement
in Leghorn ; and the report of cannon at Orbetello,
fired in honour of the republican victory, reached Ms
ears. The sound was one that brought terror and
perplexity to him ; for he had been informed that
MontaneUi had given orders to the Tuscan troops to
march on San Stefano without delay, and obtain
possession of his person by every practicable means.
It was, therefore, absolutely necessary for his safety
that he should leave his present abode; but with
that indecision which is the characteristic of weak
minds, Leopold could not determine in what direc
tion he should bend his steps. Unable to act in this
exigency for himself — hesitating to accept the offer
that was made him of an asylum in Piedmont — he
resolved to seek the counsel of the Pope. Commu
nication with the Pope, at that time a refugee at
Gaeta, was difficult ; but through the gallantry of a
young officer, who undertook a voyage of a hundred
and eighty miles in a small fisMng-boat, the difficulty
was surmounted ; and in conformity with the advice
received, Leopold embarked for Gaeta, to share with
Pius the protection of the Neapolitan King.
To the courage and resolution which the Grand
Duchess displayed, she was alone indebted for the
means of joining her husband in his flight. Being
apprised by Leopold of his intention to embark for
Gaeta, she set off instantly for San Stefano, accom-

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 323
panied by her children, two ladies of honour, and
two officers belonging to her suite. Without troops,
without guards, without any means of resisting popu
lar violence, the attitude assumed by the populace of
Orbetello, a city through which she had to pass, was
one calculated to strike her with alarm. Scarcely
had her carriage entered the town, when it was
surrounded by a crowd that effectually blocked up
the way ; while from every side resounded cries that
plainly indicated to the Princess the intention of the
people to prevent her from journeying on. To move
them from their purpose, she tried remonstrances
and entreaties ; but in vain. Suddenly, however,
changing her bearing, at the moment when the cries
around her had reached their highest pitch, she
started to her feet, and with a queenlike gesture,
look, and tone of voice, cried out — " Back I I will
pass on. Now, I no longer entreat — I command."
Surprised, confused, and overawed — acted on by the
magnetic influence of a resolute will — the crowd
with one accord drew back, and the Grand Duchess
proceeded triumphantly on her way.
The new Parliament, convoked by universal suf
frage, opened its deliberations at the end of March.
The first act of this body was to nominate Guerrazzi
head of the executive power, and to invest him with
almost dictatorial sway. As between him and Mon
taneUi, one of his late colleagues in office, much
dissension and altercation had prevailed, Guerrazzi

324 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
profited by his new dignity to free himself from the
presence of a formidable rival, by sending Monta
neUi on an embassy to Paris. But though supreme
in Tuscany, and placed fo a position grateful to an
ambitious spirit like his, Guerrazzi was too clear
sighted not to feel that his reign could not last
long. Signs of a reactionary movement grew more
apparent every day. The Florentine populace, lately
such ardent republicans, grew so lukewarm in the
cause, that Guerrazzi considered it necessary to draft
to Florence a band of staunch adherents from the
democratic town of Leghorn to execute his com
mands. TMs measure, however, was productive of
results little in conformity with the projector's views.
Instead of strengthening his hands, it weakened them
in an eminent degree. His popularity with the
Florentines, already on the wane, dwindled away
rapidly day by day, through the malpractices of the
Leghornese. Composed of the lowest of the people,
the dregs of a seaport town, excited by evil passions,
the wish to tyrannize, and a thirst for gain, this band
soon drew upon itself the hatred of every class
within the town. Threats of vengeance for insults
offered, and injuries inflicted, were daily uttered by
the Florentines. Scowling looks and contracted
brows awaited the band of mercenaries on every
hand ; in the public-houses where they refused to
pay, in the streets, where their rude, insolent bear
ing was conspicuously displayed. So evident was

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 325
the danger of a collision between the hostile parties,
that the municipal authorities of Florence solicited
Guerrazzi to withdraw the band of strangers from
the city. Assenting to this request, Guerrazzi
ordered his unpopular adherents to depart; and in
obedience to this command, the Leghornese, on the
11th of April, marched in a body towards the station
of the railway that led to their native town.
But even in the moment when the danger of a
conflict seemed to be at an end, the long-brooding
mischief occurred. To which of the opposing parties
was attributable the blame of precipitating the fray
is not known. Both probably, in this respect, were
-equally fo fault — both, probably, burned with the
same desire to come to blows; the Leghornese, exas
perated by the triumphant looks, words, and gestures
of those around — the Florentines, by the desire to
seize on the last opportunity that remained to them
to chastise the offending band. Where such feefings
exist, where such inflammable materials prevail, the
smallest spark is sufficient to kindle a devouring
flame. In the Piazza of Santa Maria Novello, the
combat between the Leghornese and Florentines
began. A general consternation prevailed, for a
horrible massacre seemed likely to ensue. The
National Guard were called to arms, and repairing
to the scene of battle, they put an end to the con
flict before long : overpowered by numbers, the de
feated Leghornese took to flight

326 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
This victory exercised an important influence fo
Florence over the course of events. Several mem
bers of the municipal council, emboldened by the
defeat of the Leghornese, decided at once to put
themselves at the head of the reactionary move
ment that had begun, and which showed itself un-
mistakeably in the acts of the populace of the
town. Loud as had been the cries of " Viva la
Republica!" amongst which the emblems of demo
cratic power had been reared on high, were now the
shouts of " Viva Leopoldo Secondo ! " amongst which
those obnoxious symbols were overthrown. A more
striking instance of the fickleness of popular feeling
can scarcely be afforded in the records of any na
tion than that which at this period took place in
the Tuscan capital. In two months' time, an un
reasoning enthusiasm for republican sway had passed
into an equally unreasoning enthusiasm for despotic
rule. Victims of their own extravagant expectations,
which had made liberty appear to them a synonym
for plenty, cheapness, idleness, ease, they now
trampled under foot the tricoloured insignia of
the goddess at whose shrine they had so lately
bowed — victims, too, of the fatal error which had
raised to power a man unfit to hold the helm of a
state fo troubled times, they now revenged them
selves for their mistake, by heaping on their late
worshipped cMef epithets of hate and scorn. Voices
which had grown hoarse a short time before, in lead-

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 327
ing the chants in Guerrazzi's praise, were now the
loudest to demand his expulsion from the seat he
held. "Abbasso Guerrazzi!" was the cry that, caught
up by hundreds of voices, now resounded through
the same squares and streets which had but a few
weeks previously re-echoed with his praise.
Those members of the upper classes who had only
given a reluctant or forced consent to the deposition
of the Grand Duke, were not slow in avaHing them
selves of the reaction of pubfic opinion in his favour
to restore him to his throne. In the name of Leo
pold, one of the members of the municipal councH
assumed the reins of government; and several in
fluential persons, amongst others the commander
of the National Guard, ranged themselves on Ms
side However disheartened Guerrazzi might be at the
aspect of affairs, he met the danger with an un
daunted mien. Summoning to his side tMee hun
dred of the National Guards as a protection against
popular violence, he at the same time convoked the
Chamber of Deputies. Sixteen members alone,
however, of the legislative body responded to the
appeal. From these few stHl faithful adherents,
Guerrazzi demanded the impeachment of the muni
cipal councH, as a body guHty of treasonable acts
and designs. The discussion on this momentous
question had scarcely commenced, when the depu
ties were startled by the sudden appearance before

328 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
them of one of that very body whose acts had been
arraigned. " Gentlemen," said the intruder, " you have taken
the resolution to impeach us, — You!" he added, in
a tone of scorn. " Nevertheless, I come here in the
name of the municipality, to assure you that your
cause is hopeless, and that unless you change your
views and conduct speedHy, we wHl not answer for
your lives."
At these words, some of the deputies made a
movement to reply, but before they could execute
theH intention, the bold speaker had resumed — ¦
" Open the windows ! " he said ; " look at that
throng of citizens ; listen to theH cries. They are
demanding theH sovereign; they are calling down
curses on your heads ! "
Looks of fear and disquietude were visible in the
faces of many of the deputies at these words, and four
of their number, rising from their seats, declared
theH adhesion to the monarchical cause, and offered
the aid of theH services to the municipality to effect
the restoration of Leopold. Disheartened by defec
tion, Guerrazzi, abating his pretensions, sought now
to effect a compromise with the monarchical party.
Demanding and obtaining an interview with the
municipality, he offered, oh certain terms, the aid
of himself and his adherents to forward the object
proposed. Much time was spent in negotiations on
this head, for the deliberations of the assembly were

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 329
influenced in a great degree by the aspect of affairs
outside. Both parties, republican and monarchical,
awaited with anxiety a more undoubted, a more uni
versal manifestation of the public will than had yet
occurred; so a wordy debate dragged on till evening,
when the partizans of the Grand Duke forming the
majority of the assembly, assured by intelligence re
ceived that theHs was certainly the victorious side,
refused point-blank the compromise proposed.
With the standard bearing the ducal arms, and in
solemn state, the members of the municipal council
repaired to the Palazzo Vecchio, from the ancient
waUs of wMch had issued Guerrazzi's mandates
during Ms ephemeral reign. Amidst shouts a thou
sand times repeated of "Viva Leopoldo Secondo!"
"Abbasso Guerrazzi!" the municipal authorities took
possession, in their sovereign's name, of tMs seat of
repubUcan rule. At the foot of the same dark walls
which have witnessed so many mutations of popular
feefing in theH day, where only two months before
the ducal arms had been trampled fo the dust, a cry
for a bust of the absent Prince clamorously arose;
and when, in compliance with this demand, an effigy
of the Duke was shewn, the air was rent with enthu
siastic cheers.
Guerrazzi, deserted by Ms former zealous adhe
rents, and rudely dispossessed of the authority which,
with popular sanction and approval, he had so re
cently assumed, though conscious that his cause was

330 LIFE TN TUSCANY.
hopeless and his power at an end, refused to take any
measures to assure Ms safety by flight, and calmly
surrendered himself up to the officers of justice, who
came to execute the decree of arrest issued by the
new authorities against Mm. Brought to trial, and
pronounced guilty of treasonable practices against
his sovereign, he was condemned to expiate, by a
long imprisonment within the walls of the fortress
of the Belvedere, the triumph of the brief term of
power and popularity he had enjoyed. With the
day that witnessed Ms arrest, the revolution, of
wMch he had been the chief animating spirit, may
be said to have terminated ; for notwithstanding the
Leghornese contested with arms the entrance into
their town of the Austrian troops whom Leopold
had called to his side, the conduct of Leghorn in this
particular was not imitated by any other large city
of Tuscany; though many towns, both small and
large, were well known to look with disfavour on
the Grand Duke's recall. In truth, the restoration
of Leopold to his throne seems to have been brought
about, not by a love of the Government that had
been overthrown, but by a hatred of that anarchy
which had resulted from democratic rule. In the
minds of the respectable classes of the land, of all
those who were interested in the security of life and
property, the government of the Grand Duke was
viewed simply as preferable to the government of
the mob. Of the two Mnds of despotism, the former

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 331
seemed the best — the least of two evils, between
which there appeared to many no alternative but
to choose.
Though the authority of the Grand Duke was
nominally established in Florence on the 12th of
April, the day after the expulsion of the Leghornese,
Leopold did not return to his capital until the 28th
of July, when not only Florence, but every town in
Tuscany, had its good behaviour fully secured by
the presence of Austrian troops. Throwfog himself
thus avowedly on a German army for support, and
declaring thus openly how little dependence he
placed fo the affection and loyalty of the people
over whom he ruled — augmenting taxation, too, in
various ways, to defray the cost of supporting that
large band of foreign soldiers on whose aid he
leaned — it cannot be a matter of surprise that the
reactionary feefing fo his favour, which gave him
back his throne, has died out utterly, and that what
ever feelings may now be found operating in favour
of the maintenance of Ms rule, affection is not one.
Even to the stranger tMs is evident, who happens
to be present on some public occasion when the
Grand Duke is brought into immediate contact with
the inhabitants of Florence. Amidst the crowd that
Hnes the streets on St. John's Day, to witness the
grand parade of Grand Ducal and aristocratic equi
pages, the few hats uplifted as the sovereign passes
serve but to make more marked, more striking, the

332 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
absence amongst the general mass of any kind of
courteous salutations.
To the thought of the future of Italy, who does
not turn with interest ? — who would not proffer their
best wishes for the prosperity of a country the
parent-land of European law, art, literature, and
civilization? In the progress which the world is
making at this present day, Italy, so blessed by
Providence, so bounteously endowed by nature with
everything that can minister to a nation's riches and
prosperity — a country that shone out so brightly
during the prevailing darkness of the middle ages —
Italy, surely, is not destined to lag behind in the rear
ward ranks of onward marching nations. Through
out the whole peninsula there are many signs that
the existing state of affairs will not be of long con
tinuance : and the termination cannot come too soon
of a state of things which blights both heart and
mind, which blasts all intellectual growth, fosters
idleness and self-indulgence, and is fatal alike to
private and public virtue. Brought up in a state of
intellectual slavery as Italians were, unused to liberty
of thought and speech, unhabituated to the exercise
of self-government — no wonder it was they abused
those privileges when, a few years ago, they wrested
them from theH rulers. Remembering the source
from which the errors of the revolutionary period
flowed, they should be treated leniently, as the errors
of cMldren, who, from befog perpetually guarded,

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 333
checked at every step, hedged in by restrictions,
suddenly, at one bound, find themselves emancipated
from control. Though individuals will sometimes,
from the strong bent of nature, rise superior to the
power of cHcumstances, yet as a general rule, it may
be said, national institutions form the national cha
racter. It was of Italy Napoleon declared, " Out of eigh
teen milUons of people I have with difficulty found
two men." As it was half a century ago, when these
words were spoken, so it is now : the same influences
are at work to make men rare in Italy — men in the
full sense of the word — reasoning, reflective, intelli
gent, strong-wHled, Mgh-principled, active, energetic
human befogs — capable of taking fortune at its tide,
of bending circumstances to theH will, and of pur
suing in the face of opposing obstacles a fixed aim
and a definite course of action. But natures such
as these, fitted to guide and govern, to reassure the
timid, to overawe the turbulent, in times of popular
commotion — such natures are not the products of a
country where thought is shackled, speech is gagged,
and every path is closed to honourable ambition.
EvUs act and react upon one another : an unworthy
government makes an unworthy people, and an un
worthy people perpetuates an unworthy government
But Italians, long as they have been trodden down,
and heavy as is the yoke fixed upon their necks,
have now awakened fully to a sense of their abased

334 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
condition ; and with that consciousness will come re
generating influences: a patriotism which, purified
from selfish aims, will make politics something
else than a trade, or a market of competing
venalities. Italy, now more than twenty-five millions strong,
has but to will to be free — to will unanimously,
determinedly, self-sacrificingly to be free — to be
come so speedily. Relying now too much on
foreign aid and foreign intervention for an ameliora
tion of their condition, the people as yet do not
fully see or feel that freedom, to be lasting, must be
attained by their own efforts ; and that the waU of
inability on their part to win liberty for themselves
involves a confession of their incompetency to main
tain it, if gained by them through the means of
foreign succour. " Aide-toi et le ciel t'aidera " is a
proverb embodying sterling truth and sage counsel.
For Italy to take her place amongst the foremost
nations of the world — to cover the seas with her
merchant ships, to rear emporiums for human in
dustry, and to produce such minds as wiU extend
the landmarks of human knowledge — minds which,
penetrating into Nature's secrets, will turn its
mysteries to man's profit — minds exerting by wis
dom, learning, fancy, pathos, eloquence, wit, an
enduring dominion over the intellect of succeeding
generations ; to do all this — an ambition to which
she may well aspire — Italy must not receive her

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 335
freedom as a gift, but must work it out by her own
energies, through the purifying agencies of suffering,
sacrifice, devotion, and perseverance.
In the present juncture of affaHs, when a collision
between France and Austria seems imminent, it be
hoves Italians to act with caution ; for the expul
sion of the Austrian from their land, if accomplished
by foreign aid, would be an act from which they
could not reasonably hope to derive the least advan
tage. The freedom of a nation has never yet been
achieved, nor ever will be obtained, through the
assistance of a despot. PhHantMopy abides not with
the wearer of an imperial crown, nor hatred of op
pression with the master of the lives and fortunes of
mHlions. To uproot one tyranny merely to have
another planted fo its stead, would be no gain to
Italy. On the contrary, the yoke last imposed
would prove in all probability more grievous than
the one that it succeeded. The fable of the horse
wMch asked the man to mount him, to avenge him
on Ms enemy, affords a salutary warning, in refer
ence to the course which would inevitably be pur
sued by France in the character of avenger of Italian
grievances; for the service done, the position occu
pied by its doer would still be retained, and Italy,
curbed by the strong hand of her selected champion,
would find, ere long, that there could exist for her a
still greater evil than the rule of Austria. To in
vite assistance is, on the part of nations, to invite

336 LIFE IN TUSCANY.
oppression. A people who cannot win freedom by
their own exertions, must resign themselves to a
state of servitude and dependence ; for the well-
known "Rob Roy good old rule,"* though banned
and scouted in private life, is the doctrine still acted
on by kings and nations; and whilst Might makes
Right, in their estimation, weak states will ever fall
victims to the stronger. In this, however, as well as
in other affairs of life, we may in general trace a law
of retributive justice ; for in a nation which consists
of mHlions, weakness is a disgrace, a degradation.
There is a Nemesis ever attending on human error,
either as regards states or individuals. No fault or
folly can be committed that does not involve some
penalty, and Italy is now not one nation chiefly
because its millions have no unity in thought,
feeling, and aspiration; for throughout the land,
miserable petty jealousies divide the inhabitants, not
only of states but of cities, from each other. During
the late revolution in Tuscany, Leghorn, with a view
of establishing itself as an independent republic, rose
up in arms against Florence; and Genoa, enjoying
a large measure of liberty under the rule of the King
of Sardinia, is ready now to fight, as it fought a few
year's ago, to attain a distinct national existence.
Florence is jealous of the pretensions of Rome, and
Naples has no true sympathy with either. Whilst
* " That those should take who have the power,
And those should keep who can."

THE LATE REVOLUTION. 337
such a state of things continues, the dream, so dear
to the Italian patriot, of making Italy something
more than " a geographical expression," can cer
tainly not be realized. Without unity of thought
and action, resistance is hopeless ; but with com
munity of aim and purpose, the overthrow of foreign
or domestic tyranny would be unfailingly and speedily
accomplished. In the next attempt which Italians make to acquire
the privileges of freemen, let them avoid those errors
which blighted the fair promise that characterized
the commencement of their last endeavour. The
wisdom derived from suffering and experience should
now be theHs; and if they profit by its teachings,
Italy wHl exhibit Hi the succeeding century a pic
ture differing widely from the aspect it presents in
this, of a people burning with resentment and hatred
towards its rulers, and rulers regarding with terror
and distrust the millions beneath their sway.

THE END.

London:
Fkinted by Smith, Eldeb and Co.,
Little Green Ahboub Coubt, Old Bailey, E.C

In 2 vols., Post 8vo, price bs. cloth.
REVOLUTIONIZED ITALY.
A VISIT TO MESSINA AND A TOUE
THROUGH NAPLES.
BY CHARLES MACFARLANE.

NOTICES OF THE PRESS.

"These two amusing and unpretending volumes give more
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By Samuel Sharpe, Esq.
Third and Revised Edition.
" An inestimable aid to the clergyman, reader,
city -missionary, and Sunday-school teacher.
—IUitstrated News of the World.
"There can be no question as to Hr. Sharpe'a

Post Svo, 7s. cloth.
competency to undertake such a work as this."—
New Quarterly.
"A learned and sensible book."— National Re
view.

Religion in Common Life. By William Ellis.
Post Svo, price 7s. 6d. cloth.

" A book addressed to young people of the
upper ten thousand upon social duties. —
Examiner.

Lessons in Political Economy for young people
by a skilful hand."— Economist.

The Sea Officers Manual. By Captain A. Parish,
of the East India Merchant Service.
Second Edition, SmaU Post Svo, price 5s. cloth.

"A very lucid and compendious manual. We
would recommend youths intent upon a seafaring
life to i .

"A little book that ought to be in great renucst
among youne seamen."— Examiner.

-WOUICS PTTBI-ISIiEID BY

NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST.
Personal Adventures during the Indian Rebel
lion, in Rohilcund, Futteghur, and Oude. By W.
Edwards, Esq., B.C.S-^
Fourth Edition. Post Svo, price 6s. cloth.
"For touching incidents, hair-breadth 'scapes,
and the pathos of suffering almost incredible,
there has appeared nothing like this little book of
personal adventures. For the first time we seem
to realize the magnitude of the afflictions which
have berallen our unhappy countrymen in the
East. The terrible drama comes before us, and we
are by turns bewildered with horror, stung to
fierce indignation, and melted to tears 
We have here a tale of suffering such as may have
been equalled, but never surpassed. These real
adventures, which no effort of the imagination
can surpass, will find a sympathising public."—
Athencewm. "Mr. Edwards's narrative is one of the most
deeply interesting episodes of a story of which
the least striking portions cannot be read without

emotion. He tells his story with simplicity and
manliness, and it bears the impress of that
earnest and unaffected reverence to the will and
hand of God, which was the stay and comfort
of many other brave hearts."— Guardian.
" The narrative of Mr. Edwards's suffering and
escapes is full of interest ; it tells many a p-flnful
tale, out it also exhibits a man patient under ad
versity, and looking to the Rod and Father of us
all for guidance and support."— Eclectic Review.
"Among the stories of hair-breadth escapes in
India this is one of the most interesting and
touching."— Examiner.
"A fascinating little book."— National Review,
" A very touching narrative."- Lit. Gazette.
" No account of it can do it justice."— Globe.

The Chaplains Narrative of the Siege of
Delhi. By the Kev. J. E. W. Rotton, Chaplain to
the Delhi Field Force.
Post SvOy with a Plan of the City and Siege Works, price 10s. 6d. cloth.

" Mr. Rotton's work commends itself to us as a
clear, sucefnet. and most instructive narrative of
the siege of Delhi. It brings vividly before us the
scenes and dread realities of military life in the
encampment before the beleaguered city, and
makes us familiar with many interesting events
which find no place in the usual military de
spatches." — Observer.
"We shall rejoice if the 'Chaplain's Narrative'
re-wakens attention to the incomparable merits
of the army of Delhi ; and we think it is well cal
culated to do so, being a simple and touching
statement, which bears the impress of truth in
every word. It has this advantage over the ac
counts which have yet been published, that it sup
plies some of those personal anecdotes and
minute details which bring the events home to the
understanding."— A thenmum.
"' The Chaplain's Narrative' is remarkable for
its pictures of men in amoral and religious aspect,
during the progress of a harassing siege and
when suddenly stricken down by the enemy or
disease. . . . The book contains many anec
dotes exhibiting human nature under trying cir
cumstances, and not unfavourably standing the
test; it presents a picture of the social and
physical evils the gallant army of Delhi had to en
counter, and it well exhibits the incessant nature
of the attacks made upon the key to its position."
— Spectator. "A plain unvarnished record of what came
under a Field Chaplain's daily observation. Our

author is a sincere, hardworking, and generous
minded man, and his work willbe most acceptable
to the friends and relations of the many Christian
heroes whose fate it tells, and to whose later
hours it alludes."— Leader.
"A book which has valuo as a careful narrative
by an eye witness of one of the most stirring
episodes of the Indian campaignj and interest as
an earnest record by a Christian minister of
some of the most touching scenes which can come
under observation." — Literary Gazette.
"The speciality of Mr. Botton's narrative con
sists in his testimony, not to the reckless valour
of our men when actually under fire : of that we
hardly require to be reminded ; but in his com
memoration of their steady constancy and en
durance under privation, and the spirit of
religious earnestness which alike inspired effort
in the field, and resignation on the deathbed."—
Press. " A close record of the events of the siege, by an
eyo witness."— Examiner.
" The military operations are detailed with clear
ness, and the most conspicuous deeds of heroism
are fully described. We have several deathbed
scenes."— Economist.
"These pages are full of matter which cannot
fail to interest a large number of readers of all
classes,"— Globe.
"Perhaps the most complete account of that
great military operation whichhasyec appeared.1
—Critic.

The Crisis in the Punjab. By Frederick H. Cooper,
Esq., C.S., Umritsir. Post Svo, with Map, price 7s. 6d. cloth.

" The book is full of terrible interest. The nar
rative is written with vigour and earnestness,
and is full of the most tragio interest."—
Economist. 6

" One of the most interesting and spirited books
which have sprung out of the sepoy mutiny."—
Globe.

SMITH, ELDER AND CO.

NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST—
Continued.
Eight Months Campaign against the Bengal
Sepoys, during the Mutiny, 1857. By Colonel George
Bourchier, C.B., Bengal Horse Artillery.
With Plans. Post Svo, price 7s. 6d. cloth.
minence to his own aotions, andnever withholding
praisofrom the gallant deeds of others. '—Critic.
" None who really desire to be more than very
superficially acquainted with the rise and pro
gress of the rebellion may oonsider their studies
complete until they have read Col. RouroMer. The
nicely engraved plans from the Colonel's own

" Ooi. Bourchier has given a right manly, fair,
and forcible statement of events, and the reader
will derive much pleasure and instruction from
his pages." — AtJtenceum.
"Col. Bourchier describes the various opera-
lions with a modest forgetfulness of self, as
pleasing and as rare as the clear ma ly stvle in
which they are narrated."— Literary Gazette.
"Col. Bourchier relates his adventures m a free
and graceful manner, never giving an undue pro-

sketohos coufer additional value uinn his contri
bution to the literature of the Indian war."—
Leader.

Narrative of the Mission from the Governor-
General of India to the Court of Ava in 1855. With
Notices of the Country, Government, and People. By
Captain Henry Yule. Bengal Engineers.
Imperial Svo, with 24 Plates (12 coloured), 50 Woodcuts, and 4 Maps. Elegantly
bound in cloth, with gilt edges, price 2l. 12s. 6d.

"A stately volume in gorgeous golden covers.
Such a book is in our tunes a rarity. Large,
massive, and beautiful in itself, it is illustrated
by a sprinkling of elegant woodcuts, and by a
series of admirable tinted lithographs 
We have read it with curio-dry and gratification,
as a fresh, full, and luminous reoort upon the
condition of one of the most interesting divisions
of Ana beyond the Ganges."— Athe ceum.
"Captain Yule has broneht to his narrative a
knowledge of many things, which is the main
help to observation. He has a taste in archi
tecture, art, and the cognate sciences, as well as
much information on the history and religion of
the Burmese. . . . His description of these

things, especially of the antiquities, are not only
curiuus in themselves, but for the speculations
they npeu up as to origin of the Burmese style,
and the splendour of the empire, centuries ago."—
Sj. ectator.
" Captain Yule, inthepreparation of the splendid
volumebefore us. has availed himselfof the lahours
of those who preceded him . To all wiio aredf-sirous
of possessing the best and fullest account that
has ever bppn given to the public, of a great, and
hi'berto little known region of the globe, the
intere-ting, conscientious, and well-written work
of Captain Yule will have a deep interest, while
to the political economist, geographer, and mer
chant it will be indispensable,''— Examiner.

The Autobiography of Lutfullah, a Mohame-
dan Gentleman, with an Account of his Visit to England.
Edited by E. B. Eastwick, Esq.
Third Edition, Small Post 8vo. Price 5s. cloth.

"Thank you, Munshi Lutfullah Khan ! We
have read your book with wonder and delight.
Your adventures are more curious than you are
aware. . . . But your book is chiefly striking
for its genuineness. . . . Tha story will aid, in
its degree, to some sort of understanding of the
Indian insurrection. The adventures of Munshi
Lutfullah, however strange, are of less interest
than his views and opinions. The first tells us
chiefly of an individual, the others present to us
a race. Professor Eastwick has done a grateful
service in making known this valuable volume."—
Athenceum. " liead fifty volumes of travel, and a thousand
imitations of the Oriental novel, and you will not
get the flavour of Eastern life and thought, or the
zest of its romance, so perfectly as in Cut Julian's
book. The book, to be appreciated, must be read
from the first to the last page."— Leader.
"This is a remarkable book. We have arto-
biographies in abundance of Englishmen, French
men, and Germans ; but of Asiatics and Mahome
tans, few or none. ... As the autobiography
of a Mahometan mulla, it is in itself singularly
interesting. As the observations of an eye
witness of our Indian possessions and our policy
and proceedings in the peninsula, it possesses a
valueof its own, quite distinct from any European
memorials on the same subjects."— Standard.

"This is the freshest and most original work
that it has been our good fortune to meet with for
long. It hears every trace of being a most genuine
account of the feelings and doings of the author.
The whole tone of the book, the turn of every
thought, the association of ideas, the allusions,
are all fresh to the English reader; it opens up a
new vein, and many will be astonished to find
how rich a vein it is. Lutfullah is by no means an
ordinary specimen of his race. . . . Everything
which contributes to give us a right under standiug
of the character of our Indian subjects is of im
portance; in this light we consider Lutfullah's
autobiography no less valuable thau entertaining.
It gives, too, a few indications of the character
we bear in the eyes of the natives."— Economist,
"This veritable autobiography, reads like a mix
ture of the Life and Adventure of Gil Bias, with
those of the Three Calendars. . . - Every one
who is interested in the present state of matters
in India should read Lutfullah's own account of
himself and his people, as well as their peculiar
ai d general feeling towards the Feringees."—
Globe. "It is readable, Instructive, and entertaining,
and it is most creditable to its author."— Saturday

As an autobiography, the book isvery curious.
It bears the strongest resemblance to Gil Bias of
¦"¦¦^¦¦¦¦"' ™,» *»«"»» ^ver read."— Spectator. 7

"V-ZOBICS PUBLISHED BY

NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST—
Continued.
Life and Correspondence of Lord Metcalfe,
By John William Kaye.
New and Cheap Edition, in 2 Vols., Small Post Svo, with Portrait, price 1 25. cloth.

" Lord Metcalfe possessed extraordinary oppor
tunities of making himself acquainted with the
native character, and of estimating at its correct
value the nature of the tenure ay which our
Indian possessions were held: and at tho present
time we can value more highly the great practical
discernment of one whose fortune it was to be
laughed at by the superficial, because he believed
iu the insecurity or our Indian empire. Some
additions which liavc been made to the present
volumes, place in a strong light the sagacity and
food sense of Lord Metcalfe. . . . The present
emaud Tor a new edition is a sufficient commen
dation of a work which has already occupied the
highest rank among biographies of the great men
of modern times."— Observer.
"A new and revised edition of the life of one
of the greatest and purest men that ever aided
in governing India. The new edition not only
places a very instructive book within the reach of
a greater number of persons, but contains new
matterof the utmost value and interest."— Critic.
" One of the most valuable biographies of the

present day. This revised edition has several
fresh passages of high interest, now first inserted
from among Lord Metcalfe's papers, in which his
clear prescience of the dangers that threatened
our Indian empire is remarkably shown. Both in
size and price the new edition is a great improve
ment on the original work.'*— Economist.
" Mr. Kaye's life of Lord Metcalfe is a work too
well known to need an extended notice; but there
is something to bo said for this republication. It
is an edition revised with care and judgment.
Mr. Kaye has judiciously condensed that portion
of his original work which relates to the earlier
career of the great Indian statesman. Another
improvement in the work will be found in the
augmentation of that part setting forth Lord Met
calfe's views of the insecurity of our Indian empire.
The insecurity which cast a gloom over Metcalfe's
predictions has been fearfully verified by the
events of 1857."— Globe.
"A much improved edition of one of the most
interesting poliiic<il biographies in English
literature."— National Review.

The Life and Correspondence of Sir John
Malcolm, G.C.B. By John William Kaye.
Two Volumes, 8vo. With Portrait. Price 36s. cloth.

"The biography is replete with interest and
information, deserving to be perused by tho stu
dent of Indian history, and sure to recommend
itself to the general reader."— Athentsu-m.
"One of the most interesting of the recent
biographies of our great Indiau statesmen."—
National Review.
" This book deserves to participate in the popu
larity which it* was the good fortune of Sir John
Malcolm to enjoy."— Edinburgh Review.
" Mr. Kaye has used his materials well, and has
written an interesting narrative, copiously illus
trated with valuable documents." — Examiner.
"There are a great many matters of general
nterest in these volumes. Not a little of the

spirit of Arthur Wellesley runs through the book."
—Globe. "Thoroughly agreeable, instructive reading."—
Westminster Review.
" A very valuable contribution to our Indian
literature. We recommend it strongly to all who
desire to learn something of the history of
British India."— New Quarterly Review.
"Mr. Kaye's biography is at once a contribution
to the history of our policy and dominion in the
East, and a wortliy memorial of one of those wise
and large hearted men whose energy and prin
ciple have made England great."— British Quar
terly Review.

The Par sees :
and Customs.

their History, Religion, Manners,
By Dosabhot Fkamjee.
Post Svo, price 10s. cloth.
"Our author's account, of the inner life or the | "An acceptable addition to our literature. It
Parsees will lie read with interest."— Daily Newi. gives information which many ivill be Klad to
A very curious and well written book, by a Rave carefully gathered together, arid formed into
young Parsce, on the manners and customs of a ahapely whole."— Economist
his own race."— National Review!.
Suggestions Towards the Future Government
of India. By Harriet Martineatj.
Second Edition. Demy 8vo, price 5s. cloth.

"As the work of an honest able writer, these
Suggestions arc well worthy of attention, and no
doubt they will generally be duly appreciated."—
Observer. "Genuine honest utterances of a clear, sound

understanding, neither obscured nor enfeebled by
party prejudice or personal selfishness. We cor
dially recommend all who are in search of the
truth to peruse and reperuse these pages."—
Dazly News.

British Rule in India. By Harriet Martineatt.
Sixth Thousand. Price 2s. 6d. cloth.

"A good compendium of a great subject."—
National Review.

" A succinct and comprehensive volume."—
, Leader.
A reliable class-book for examination in the history of British India.

s^riTH. elder ^visrn co.

NEW WORKS ON INDIA AND THE EAST—
Continued.
The Defence of Luchiow : a Staff-Officer's Diary.
By Capt. Tuos. F.Wilson, 13th Bengal N.I., Assistant-
Adjutant-General.
Sixth Tliousand. With Plari of the Residency. Smalt post 8vo., price 2s. Gd.

" Unadorned aud simple, the story is, neverthe
less, an eloquent oue. This is a narrative not to
be laid down until the last line has been read."—
Leader. "The Staff-Officer's Diary is simple and brief,
and has a special interest, inasmuch as it gives a
fuller account than wo have elsewhere seen of
those operations which were the chief human
means of salvation to our friends in Luck now.
The Staff-Officer brings home to us, by his details.

the nature ofthat underground contest, upon tho
result of which, the fateofthe beleaguered garrison
especially depended."— Examiner.
nWe commend the Stau'-Offloer'a Diary for its
unostentatious relation of facts, reoorded with a
degree of distinctness that vouohes for the au
thenticity of the writer's statement."— Press.
" The Staff-Officer supplies exact military infor-
— ,"— Globe,

mation with brevity and distinctness.'

Tiger- Shooting in India. By Lieutenant William
Rice, 25th Bombay N. I.
Super Royal Svo. With Twelve Plates in Chroma-lithography. 21-s. cloth.

" These adventures, told in handsome large
print, with spirited chromo-lichographs to illus
trate them, make the volume before us as pleasant
reading as any record of sporting achievements
we have ever token in hand?' — Athenceitm.
"A remarkably pleasant book of adventures
during several seasons of 'large game ' hunting
in B-ojpootana. The twelve chromo-lithographs

are very valuable accessories to the narrative ;
they have wonderful Bpirit and freshness."—
Globe. "A good volume of wild sport, abounding in
adventure, and handsomely illustrated with
coloured plates from spirited designs by the
author,"— Examiner.

The Commerce of India with Europe, and its
Political Effects. By B. A. Irving^ Esq.
Post 8vo, price 7s. 6d. cloth.

"Mr. Irving's work is that of a man thoroughly
versed in his subject. It is a historical hand

book of the progress and vicissitudes of European
trade with India."— Economist.

Views and Opinions of Brigadier- General
Jacob, C.B. Edited by Captain Lewis Pelly.
Demy 8vo, price 12s. cloth.

"The statesmanlike views and broad opinions
enunciated in this work wouldcommand attention
under any circumstances, but coming from one of
such experience and authority they are doubly
valuable, and merit the consideration of legis
lators and politicians."— Saw.
" The facts in this book are worth looking at.
If the reader desires to take a peep into the inte
rior of the mind of a great man, let him make

acquaintance with the ' Views and Opinions of
General Jacob.*"— Globe.
" This is truly a gallant and soldierly book ; very
Napierish in its self-couftdence, in its capital
sense, and in its devotedness to professional
honour and the public good. The book should be
studied by all who are interested in the choice of
a new government for India."— Daily News.

Papers of the late Lord Metcalfe. Selected and,
Edited by J. W. KAYE. Demy 8vo, price 16s. cloth.

"We commend this volume to all persons who
like to study State papers, in which the practical
sense of a man of the world is joined to the

speculative sagacity of a philosophical statesman.
No Indian library should be without it,"— Press.

The Life of Mahomet and History of Islam to
the Era of the Hegira. By William Muir, Esq., Bengal
Civil Service. Two volumes 8v'o, price 32s. cloth.

"The most perfect life of Mahomet in the
English language, or perhaps in any other. , . .
The i. ¦ i \ ' - ',[' ¦ ''

\ it cannot fail to be eagerly perused by all persons
| having any pretensions to historical knowledge.'

"WORKS DPTJBX.ISHED BY

MR. RUSKIN'S WORKS ON ART.

The Elements of Drawing.

Second Edition. Crown 8vo. With Illustrations drawn by the Author.
Price 7s. 6d., cloth.

" The rules are clearly and fully laid down; and
the earlier exercises always conducive to the end
by' simple and uuembarrassing means. The whole
volume is full of liveliness."— Spectator.
" We close this book witli a feeling that, though
nothing supersedes a master, yet that no student
of art should launch forth without this work as a
compass."— A thewsum.
" It will be found not only an invaluable acqui
sition to the student, but agreeable andinstructive

reading for any one who wishes to refine his per
ceptions of natural scenery, and of its worthiest
artistic representations." — Economist.
" Original as this treatise is, it cannot fail to be
at once instructive and suggestive."-— Literary
Gazette. , , .
"The most useful and practical book on the
subject which has ever come under our notice."—
Press.

Modern Painters, Vol. IV. On Mountain
Beauty.
Imperial 8vo, with Thirty-Jive Illustrations engraved on Steel, and
116 Woodcuts, drawn by the Author. Price 21. 10s. cloth.

"The present volume of Mr. Ruskin's elaborate
work treats chiefly of mountain scenery, and
discusses at length the principles involved m the
pleasure we derive from mountains and their
5 notorial representation. The singular beauty of
lis style, the hearty sympathy with all forms of
natural loveliness, the profusion of his illustra
tions form irresistible attractions."— Daily News.
" Considered as an illustrated volume, this is the
most remarkable which Mr. Ruskin has yet issued.
The plates and woodcuts are profuse, and include
numerous drawings of mountain form by the
author, which prove Mr. Ruskin to be essentially

an artist. He is an unique man, both among
artists and writers."— Spectator.
" Tho fourth volume brings fresh stores of
wondrous eloquence, close and patient observa
tions, and subtle disquisition. . . . Such a
writer is a national possession. He adds to our
store of knowledge and enjoyment."— Leader.
" Mr. Ruskin is the most eloquent and thought-
awakening writer on nature in its relation with
art, and the most potent influence by the pen, of
young artists, whom this country can boast."—
National Bevieiv.

Modern Painters, Vol. III. Of Many Things.
With Eighteen Illustrations draion by the Author, and engraved on Steel.
Price 38s. cloth.

Every one who cares about nature, or poetry,
or the story of human development—every one
who has a tinge 6f literature ov philosophy, will
ftnd something that is for him in this volume."*—
Westminster Review.
"Mr. Ruskin is in possession of a clear and
penetrating mind; he is undeniably practical in
his fundamental ideas; full of the deepest
reverence for all that appears to him beautiful
and holy. His style is, as usual, clear, bold, racy.
Mr. Ruskin is one of the first writers of the
day. — Economist.
"The present volume, viewed as a literary

achievement, is the highest and most striking
evidence of the author's abilities that has yet
been published."— Leader.
" All, it is to be hoped, will read the book for
themselves. They will find it well worthacareful
perusal."— Saturday Review.
" This work is eminently suggestive, full of new
thoughts, of brilliant descriptions of scenery,
and eloquent moral application of them."— New
Quarterly Review.
"Mr. Ruskin has deservedly won for himself a
place in tho first rank of modern writers upon
the theory of the fine arts."—; Eclectic Revieio,

Modern Painters. Vols. I and IL

Imperial 8vo. Vol. I,3 5th Edition, 18s. cloth.
Price 10s. 6d. cloth.

Vol. II., 4th Edition.

"A generous and impassioned review of the
works of living painters. A hearty and earnest
work, full of deep thought, and developing great
and striking truths in art."— British Quarterly

"A very extraordinary and delightful book, full
of truth and goodness, of power and beauty."—
North SrttisJt Review.
10

Mr. Ruskin's work will send the painter more
than ever to the study of nature; will train men
who have always been delighted spectators of
nature, to be also attentive observers. Our critics
will learn to admire, and mere admirers will learn
how to criticise : thus apublicwillbe educated."—
ElacJcwood's Magazine.

SMITH, ELDER .AJSTD CO.

WORKS OF MR. RUSKIN— continued

The Stones of Venice.

Complete in Tliree Volumes, Imperial 8vo, with Fifty-three Plates and
numerous Woodcuts, drawn by the Author. Price 5 J. 15s. Qd., cloth.
EACH VOLUME MAY BE HAD SEPARATELY,
Vol.I. THE FOUNDATIONS, with 21 Plates, price 2/. 2s. 2nd Edition.
Vol. n. THE SEA STORIES, with 20 Plates, price 2l 2s.
Vol. HI. THE FALL, with 12 Plates, price 1/. Us. Qd.

" The * Stones of Venice ' is the production of an
earnest, religious, progressive, andinformed mind.
The Huthor of this essay on architecture hi s con
densed it into a poetic apprehension, the fruit of
awe of Uod. and delight m nature ; a knowledge,
love, and just estimate of art; a holdiug fast to
fact and repudiation of hearsay; an historic
breadth, and a fearless challenge of existing social
problems, whose union we know not where to find
paralleled."— J&ectator.

" This book is one which, perhaps, no other man
could have written, and one for which the world
ought to be and will be thankful. It is in the
highest degree eloquent, acute, stimulating to
thought, and fertile in .suggestion. It will, we
are convinced, elevate taste and intellect, raise
the tone of moral feeling, kindle benevolence
towards men, and increase the love and fear of
God."— rimes.

The Seven Lamps of Architecture.

Second Edition, with Fourteen Plates drawn by the Author. Imperial 8vo.
Price ll. Is. cloth.

"By fThe Seven Lamps of Architecture.* we
understand Mr. Ruskin to mean the Seven tunda-
mentsland cardinal laws, the ot»ervance of and
obedience to which are indispensab'etothe archi
tect, who would deserve the name The politician,
the moralist, the divine, will find in it ample store
of instructive matter, as well as the artist. The
author of this work belongs to a class of thinkers
of whom we have too few amongst us."—
Examiner.

" Mr. Ruskin's book bears so unmi-stakeably the
marks of keen and accurate observation, of a true
and subtle judgment and refined s-nse of beauty,
joined with so much earnestness, so noble a sense
<jf the purposes and business of art, and suoh a
comman i of rich and glowing language, that it
cannot but tell powerfully in producing a more
religious view of the uses of architecture, and a
deeper insight into its artistic principles."—
Guardian.

Lectures on Architecture and Painting.
With Fourteen Cuts, drawn by the Author. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.
Price 8s. Gd. cloth.

"Mr. Ruskin's lectures— eloquent, graphic, and
impassioned — exposing and ridiculing some of the
vices or our present system of building, and
exciting his hearers by strong motives of duty and
pleasure to attend to architecture— are very
successful."— Economist.

" We conoelve it to be impossible that any intel
ligent persons could listen to the lectures, how
ever they might differ from the judgments asserted,
and from the general propositions laid down,
without an elevating influence and an aroused
enthusiasm."— spectator.

The Political Economy of Art. Price 2s. <6d. cloth.

"We never quit Mr. Ruskin without being the
better for what he has told us, and therefore we
recommend this little volume, like all his other
works, to the perusal of our readers."— Economist.
"This book, daring, as it is, glances keenly at
principles, of which some are among the articles
of ancient codes, while others are evolving slowly
to the light."— Leader.

" A most able, eloquent, and well-timed work.
We hail it with satisfaction, thinking it calculated
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mend it to our readers."— Witness.
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world's wealth, and to show how these may be
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tributed."—^ thenmwm.
Notes on the Pictures in the Exhibition of
the Royal Academy, fyc, for 1858. By John Ruskin. »
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ANNALS OF BRITISH LEGIS
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tion is Two Guineas, payable in
advance. The Twenty-eighth Part
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"A series that will, if it be always managed as
it now is by Professor Levi, lose as long as tiiere
remains a Legislature in Great .Britain. These
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guide. It will satisfy those persons who refer to
it merely for general purposes, while it will direct
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ANTIQUITIES OF KERTCH,
AND KESEARCHES IN THE CIM
MERIAN BOSPHORUS. By DUNCAN
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" To those who refer to these pages for solid and
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able."— Globe.
" The best book on the subject."*— Critic.
12

TAULER'S LIFE AND SERMONS.
Translated by Miss Susanna Wink-
worth. "With a Preface by the
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"Those who would understand what Mor-
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DOUBLEDAY'S LIFE OF SIR
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14

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THE ENGLISH IN WESTERN INDIA :
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LIFE IN ANCIENT INDIA. By Mrs.
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aunts where they drank their wine and tapped
one another's wit."— Athenceum.
THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF
ART. By John Ruskin, M.A.
Price 2s. Gd. cloth.
"A most able, eloquent, and well-timed work.
We hail it with satisfaction, thinking it calculated
to do much practical good, and we cordially recom
mend it to our readers." — Witness.
" Mr. Ruskin's chief purpose is to treat the
artist's power, and the art itself, as items of the
world's wealth, and to show how these may he
best evolved, produced, accumulated, and dis
tributed. "—A tli enazum.
"We never quit Mr. Ruskin without being the -
better for what he has told us, and therefore we
recommend this little volume, like all his other
works to the perusal of our readers."— Economist.
"This hook, daring an it is, glances keenly at
principles, of which some are among the articles
of ancient codes, while others are evolving slowly
to the light."— Leader.
BRITISH INDIA. By Harriet
Martineau. Price 2s. Gd. cloth.
"A good compendium of a great subject,"—
National Review. . . x i.
"Lucid, glowing, and instructive essays."—
" As a handbook to the history of India it is tho
best that has yet appeared."— Morning Herald.
17

CHEAP SERIES OP POPULAR FICTIONS.
Well printed, in large Type, on good Paper, and strongly hound in cloth.

JANE EYRE. By Correr Bell.
Price 2s. Gd. cloth.
" ' Jane Eyre ' is a remarkable production-
Freshness and originality, truth and passion,
singular felicity in the description of natural
scenery and in the analyzation of human thought,
enable this tale to Btaud boldly out from the ma- s,
and to assume its own place iu the bright field of
romantic literature."— Times.
" ' Jane Eyre ' is a book of decided power. The
thoughts are true, sound, and original: and the
style is resolute, straightforward, and to the
purpose. The object and moral of the work are
excellent."— Examiner .
" A very pathetic tale; very singular, and so
like truth that it is difficult to avoid believing
that much of the characters and incidents are
taken from life. It is an episode in this work-a-
day world, most interesting, and touched at once
with a daring and delicate hand. It is a book for
the enjoyment of a feeling heart and vigorous
understanding."— BlacTcivood's Magazi/ne.
" Eor many years there has been no work of
such power, piquancy, and originality. Its very
faults are on the side of vigour, and its beauties
are all original. It.is a book of singular fascina
tion."— Eainbwgh Review.
" Almost all that we require in a novelist the
winter has;; perception of character and power
of delineating it; picturesqueness, passion, and
knowledge of life. Reality — deep, significant
reality— is the characteristic of this oook." —
F raser's Magazine.

SHIRLEY. By Currer Bell. Price
25. Gd. cloth.
" The peculiar power which was so greatly
admired in ' Jane Eyre ' is not absent from this
book. It possesses deep interest, and an irre
sistible grasp of reality. There is a vividness and
distinctness of conception in it quite marvellous.
The power of graphic delineation and expression
is intense. There are scenes which, for strength
and delicacy of emotion, are not transcended in
the range of English fiction."— Examiner.
"'Shirley* is an admirable hook; totally free
from cant, affectation, or conventional tinsel of
any kind; genuine English in the independence
and uprightness of the tone of thought, in the
purity of heart and feeling which pervade it;
genuine English in the masculine vigour or rough
originality of its conception of character; and
genuine English in style and diction."— Morning
Chronicle. " The same piercing and loving eye, and the
Bame bold and poetic imagery, are" exhibited here
asm Jane Eyre.' Similar power is manifested in
the delineation of character. With a few brief
vigorous touches, the picture starts into distinct
ness."— Edvnburgh Review.
" ' Shirley' is very clever. It could not be other
wise. The faculty of graphic description, strong
imagination, fervid and masculine diction, ana
lytic skill, all are visible. . . . Gems of rare
thought and glorious passion shitfe here and
there."— Times.
" ' Shirley' is a hook demanding close perusal
and careful consideration."— Atlienceum.
" ' Shirley ' is a novel of remarkable power and
brilliancy; it is calculated to rouse attention,
excite the imagination, and keep the faculties in
eager and impatient suspense."— Mornvng Post.
" ' Shirley ' is the anatomy of the female'heart.
It is a book whioh indicates exquisite feeling, and
very great power of mind in the writer. The
women are all divine."— Daily News.
18

VILLETTE. By Currer Bell. Price
25. Gd. cloth.
" * Villette ' is a most remarkable work— a pro
duction altogether sui generis. Fulness and
vigour of thought mark almost every sentence,
and there is a sort of easy power pervading the
whole narrative such as wo have rarely met,"—
Edinburgh Review.
" This novel amply sustains the fame of the
author of ' Jane Eyre * and ' Sniri ey ' as an original
and powerful writer. 'Villette' is a most admi
rably written novel, everywhere original, every
where shrewd."— Examiner.
" There is throughout a charm of freshness
which is infinitely delightful: freshness in obser
vation, freshness in feeling, freshness in expres
sion."— Literary Gazette.
" The tale is one of the affections, and remark
able as a picture of manners. A burning heart
glows throughout itf and one brilliantly distinct
character keeps it alive."— Athevceum.
" ' Villette ' is crowded with beauties, with good
things, for which we look to the clear sight, deep
feeling, and singular though not extensive expe
rience of life, wliich we associate with the name
Of Currer Bell. '—Daily News.
" ' Villette ' is entitled to take a very high Dlace
in the literature of Action. The reader will find
character nicely conceived and powerfully de
picted: he will discover much quiet humour, a
lively wit, brilliant dialogue, vivid descriptions,
reflections both new ana true, sentiment free
from cant and conventionality, and bursts of elo
quence and poetry, flashing here and there."—
Critic. " The fascination of genius dwells in this book,
which is, in our judgment, superior to any of
Currer Bell's previous efforts. For originality of
conception, grasp of character, elaboration and
consistency of detail, and picturesque force of
expression, few works in the English language
can stand the test of comparison with it."— Morn
ing Post.
WUTHERING HEIGHTS AND
AGNES GREY. By Ellis ^and
Acton Bell. With Memoir by
Currer Bell. Price 25. Gd. cloth.
" There are passages in this book of * Wuthering
Heights ' of which any novelist, past or present,
might be proud. It has been said of Shakespeare
that he chew cases which the physician might
study ; Ellis Bell has done no less."— Palladium.
" There is, at all events, keeping in the book:
the groups of figures and the scenery are in har
mony with each other. There is a touch of Sal
vator Rosa in all."— Atlas. >
" * Wuthering Heights ' hears the stamp of a
profoundly individual, strong, and passionate
mind. The memoir is one of the most touching
chapters in literary biography."— Nonconformist.
A LOST LOVE. ByAsHFORD Owen.
Price 25. cloth.
"'A Lost Love' is a story full of grace and
genius. No outline of the story would give any
idea of its beauty."— A thenceum.
"A tale at once' moving and winning, natural
and romantic, and certain to raise all the finer
sympathies of the reader's nature."— Press.
" A real picture of woman's life."— Westminster
Review. "A very beautiful and touching story. It is
true to nature, and appeals to all who have not
forgotten love and youth."— Globe.
"A novel of great genius; beautiful and true as
life itself."— New Quarterly Review.
"A striking and original story; a work of
genius and sensibility."— Saturday Review.
'This volume displays unquestionable genius.
and that of a high order."— Lady's Netvspaper.

SMITH, ELDER AND CO.

CHEAP SERIES

OF POPULAR
Continued.

FICTIONS—

DEERBROOK. By Harriet
Martineau. Price 25. Gd. cloth.
"This popular Action presents a true and ani
mated picture of country life among the upper
middle classes of English residents, and is re
markable for its interest, arising from tlie
influence of various characters upon each other,
find the effect of ordinary ciroumstnnces upon
them. The descriptions of rural scenery, nud the
dally pursuits in village hours, are among the
most charming of the author's writings ; but the
way in which exciting incidents gradually arise
out of the most ordinary phases of life, nnd the
akUl with which natural and every-day characters
are brought out iu dramatic situations, attest tho
power of the author's genius."—
"A pure and beautiful moral feeling pervades
the work, and recommends it to families whore
novels are not generally admitted."—

Fourth edition,

PAUL FERROLL.
price 25. cloth.
" We have seldom read so wonderful a romance.
We can find no fault in it as a work of art. It
leaves us in admiration, almost in awe, of the
powers of its author."— New Quarterly.
"The art displayed in presenting Paul Ferroll
throughout the story is beyond all praise." —
Examiner. "The incidents of the hook are extremely well
managed."— Athenteu m .
" ' Paul Ferroll ' is a hook that will he very much
read, talked about, and marvelled at."— Globe.
"The fruit of much thoughtful investigation is
represented to us in the character or Paul
FerrolL .... We do not need to he told how
he felt and why he acted thus and thus ; it will
be obvious to most minds firom-^he very opening
pages. But the power of the story is not weak
ened hy this early knowledge : rather is it
heightened, since the artistic force of contrast is
grand and fearful in the two figures who cling so
closely together in their fond human love."—
Morning Chronicle.
" 'Paul Ferroll ' is a most strikingly original
production. It may he regarded as apnenomenon
in literature— a hook that must he read, and
cannot be forgotten."— Morning Post.
"To all the elements of powerful effect, the
story adds the merit of being ably and forcibly
written."— John hull.
" ' Paul Ferroll ' is an original conception
wrought out with marvellous skill and mastery
of language. It is by far the mo-^t extraordinary
work of modern times."— Illustrated Neics of the
World. *c* Paul Perroll* is one of the novels of this
generation that will be read by the next."— Globe.

SCHOOL FOR FATHERS.
By Talbot Gwvnne. Price 25. cl.
" 'The School for Fathers ' is one of tho oloverost,
most brilliant, genial, and instructive stories that
wo have read since the publication of ' Jane
Eyre.'"— Eclectic Review.
" The pleasontest tale we have read for many a
day. It is a story of the Tatler and Spectator
days, and is very fitly associated with that time
or good English literature by its manly feeling,
direot, unnilVcted manner of writing, and nioely-
managed, well-turned narrative. Tho descriptions
are excellent; some of the country painting is as
fresh as a landscape by Alfred Constable, or an
idyl by Tennyson." — Examimer.
"A capital picture of town and country a
cent'iry ago; and is emphatically the freshest,
raciest, and most artistic piece of fiction that has
lately come in our way " — Nonconformist.
"A moro masterly performance than this has
rarely appeared in the world of fiction,"— John
Bull. '"The School for Fathers' 'is at once highly
amusing and deeply interesting— full of that
genuinenumour which is half pathos — and written
with a freshness of feeling and raoiness of style
which entitle it to be called a tale of the ' Vicar of
Wakefield* school."— Britannia.
"A hale, hearty, unaffected, honest, downright
English tale. A vigorous painting of Engfish
men and manners, by an artist who is thoroughly
national in his genius, taste, education, and
prejudices."— Globe.
"A capital story, illustrating our town and
country life a hundred years ago."— British
Quarterly.
TALES OF THE COLONIES.
By Charles Eowcroft. Price
2s". Gd. cloth.
"'Tales of the Colonies ' is an able and interest
ing book. The author has the first great requisite
in fiction— a knowledge of the life he undertakes
to describe; and his matter is solid and real."— •
Spectator. "It combines the fidelity of truth with the
spirit of a romance, and has altogether much of
De Foe in its character and composition."—
Literary Gazette.
"Sincethetime of Robinson Crusoe, literature
has produced nothing like these "Tales of the
Colonies.' *' — Metropolitan Magazine.
" This is a singular work. No mere romance,
no mere fiction, liowever skilfully managed or
powerfully executed, can surpass it. The work
to which it bears the nearest similitude is
Robinson Crusoe, and it is scarcely, if at all,
inferior to that extraordinary history."— John
Bull.

PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION.
DOMESTIC STORIES. , Author „ John H , &c
ROMANTIC TALES. /
KATHIE BRANDE. By Holme Lee.
AFTER DARK. By Wilkie Collins.

BOOKS FOR THE BLIND.
Printed in raised Eoman letters, at the Glasgow Asylum
».« A List of the books, with their prices, may 6e had on application.

19

WOEKS PtTBLISHED BY

NEW NOVELS.
(TO BE HAD AT ALL LIBRARIES.)

ELLEN RAYMONDj or, Hps and
Downs. By Mrs. VidAl, Author
of "Tales for the Bush," &c.
3 vols. (Now ready.)
LOST AND WON. By Georgiana
M. Crajk, Author of " Riverston."
1 vol. 2nd Edition.
AN OLD DEBT. By Florence
Dawson. 2 vols.
" A powerfully written novel ; one of the best
which has recently proceeded from a female
hand. . . . The dialogue is vigorous and
spirited."— Morning Post.
"The author possesses great and varied powers :
her originality is unquestionable. Overthewhole
work is spread the delicate and indefinable charm
of feminine taste and purity."— Illustrated News
of the World.
SYLVAN HOLT'S DAUGHTER.
By Holme Lee, Author of " Kathie
Brande/' &c. 2nd edition. 3 vols.
"The well-established reputation of Holme
Lee, as a novel writer, will receive an additional
glory from the publication of 'Sylvan Holt's
Daughter.' It is a charming tale of country life
and character."— Globe.
"There is much that is attractive in 'Sylvan
Holt's Daughter,' much that is graceful and re
fined, much that is fresh, healthy, and natural."
— Press.
MY LADY : a Tale of Modern
Life. 2 vols.
"'My Lady' is a fine specimen of an English
matron, exhibiting that union of strength and
gentleness, of common sense and romance, of
energy and grace, which nearly approaches our
ideal of womanhood."— Press.
" The story is told throughout with great
strength of feeling, is well written, and has a plot
that is by no means commonplace."— Examiner.
" A novel which may be read from beginning to
end without skipping or fatigue, and with an
interest that never flogs. "—Literary Gazette.
"A novel written by au author of distinction,
who for the nonce assumes the anonymous." —
Illustrated News of the World.
" ' My Lady3 evinces charming feeling and deli
cacy of touch. It is a novel that will bo read with
interest."— Athenaium.
EVA DESMOND ; or, Mutation.
3 vols.
" A more beautiful creation than Eva it would
be difficult to imagine. The novel is undoubtedly
full of interest."— Morning Post.
" There is power, pathos, and originality in con
ception and catastrophe."— Leader.
"This interesting novel reminds us more of
Mrs. Marsh than of any other writer of the day."
—Press.
THE CRUELEST WRONG OF ALL.
By the Author of " Margaret ; or,
Prejudice at Home." 1 vol.
" The author has a pathetic vein, and there is a
tender sweetness in the tone of her narration."—
Leader. "It has the first requisite of a work meant to
amuse : it is amusing."— Globe.
"This novel is written with considerable power;
its tone is high, and the moral sound."— Morning
Herald, 20

THE MOORS AND THE FENS.
By P. G. Trafford. 3 vols.
"This novel stands out much in the same way
that 'J aue Eyre' did. . . . The characters are
drawn by a mind which can realize fictitious
characters with minute intensity."— Saturday
Review. "It is seldom that a first fiction is entitled to
such applause as is 'The Moors and the Fens,'
and we shall look anxiously lor the writer's next
essay."— Critic.
" The author has the gift of telling a story, and
'The Moors and the Fens' will he read."—
Athenmum. " This is one of the most original novels we
have lately met with. . . . The characters
really show a great deal of power."— Press.

GASTON BLIGH. ByL.S.LAVENU,
Author of " Erlesmere." 2 vols.
"'Gaston Bligh' is a good story, admirably
told, full of stirring incident, sustaining to the
close the interest of a very ingenious plot, and
abounding in clever sketches of character. It
sparkles with wit, and will reward perusal."—
Critic. "The story is told with great power; the whole
book sparkles with esprit; and the characters
talk like gentlemen and ladies. It is very enjoy
able reading."— Press.
" A charming work of fiction."— Morning Chro
nicle.

THE THREE CHANCES.
By the Author of "The Pair
Carew." 3 vols.
" This novel is of a more solid texture than
most of its contemporaries. It is full of good
sense, good thought, and good writing."— States
man. " Some of the characters and romantic situa
tions are strongly marked and peculiarly original.
. . . It is the great merit of the authoress that
the personages of her tale are human and real."—
Leader. " The authoress has a mind that thoroughly
appreniates the humorous in lii'e and character."
—Globe.

THE WHITE HOUSE BY THE SEA:
a Love Story. By M. Betham-
Edwards. 2 vols.
" A tale of English domestic life. The writing is
very good, graceful, and unaffected; it pleases
without startling. In the dialogue, people do not
harangue, but talk, and talk naturally .''—Critic.
" The narrative and scenes exhibit feminine
spirit and quiet truth of delineation."— Spectator.
"A novel made up of love, pure and simple, in
the form of an autobiography. '— Leader.

MAUD SKILLICORNE'S PENANCE.
By Mart C Jackson, Author of
"The Story of My Wardship."
2 vols.
" The style is natural, and displays considerable
dramatic power."— Critic.
"It is a well concocted tale, and will be very
palatable to novel readers."— Morning Post.

SMITH, ELDEK -V3STD CO.

NEW NOVELS— co««n««7.

By Currer

THE PROFESSOR.
Bell. 2 vols.
"Wo think tho author's friends havo shown
somul judgment In publishing tho * Professor,'
now that she is gone. ... It shows the first
germs of conception, whtoh afterwards expanded
and ripened into the great creations of her imagi
nation. At tho same time her ndrisers were
equally right when they counselled her not to
Sublish it m her lifetime. . . . But u abounds
i merits.*'— Saturday Review.
" The idea is original, and we every here and
there detect germs of that power which took the
world by storm in "Jane Eyre." The nyection of
the 'Professor* was, in our opinion, no less ad
vantageous to theyoungauthoress than creditable
to tho'discerument of tho booksellers."— Press.
"Any thing which throws light upon the growth
and composition of such a mind cannot be other
wise than interesting. In the ' Professor ' we may
discover the germs of many trains of thinking.
which afterwards came to be eulorged and
illustrated in subsequent and more perfect
works."— Critic.
"There is much new insight in it, much ex
tremely characteristic geuius, and one character,
moreover, of fresher, lighter, and more airy
grace."— Ec onom ist.
"We have read it with tho deepest interest;
and confidently predict that this legacy of Char
lotte BrontC's geuius will renew and confirm the
general admiration of her extraordinary powers."
—Eclectic.

RIVERSTON. By Georgiana M.
Crate. 3 vols.
" It is highly moral in its tone and character, as
well as deeply interesting, and written in an
excellent style." — Morning Herald.
"A decidedly good novel. The hook is a very
clever one, containing much good writing, well
discriminated sketches of character, and a story
told so as to bind the reader pretty closely to the
text."— Examiner.
"MissCraikis a very lively writer: she has wit,
and she has sense, and she has made in the
beautiful young goveruess, with her strong will,
saucy independence, and promptness of repartee,
an interesting picture."— Press.
"Miss Craik writes well; she can paint cha
racter, passions, manners, with considerable
effect ; her dialogue flows easily and expressively."
—Daily News,
" A production of no little mark, and qualified to
interest old as well as young."— Leader.
"Decidedly a clever book; giving hopes of a
capacity in the writer for better things in the
future."— Economist.
" The author shows great command of language,
a force and clearness of expression not often met
with. . . . We offer a welcome to Miss Craik,
and we shall look with interest for her next
work."— Atheneeu m. ^

FARINA. By George Meredith.
I vol.
"A masque of ravishers in steel, of robber
knights; of water-women, more ravishing than
lovely. It has also a brave and tender deliverer,
and a heroine proper for a romance of Cologne.
Those who love a real, lively, audacious piece of
extravagance, by way- of a change, wiU enjoy
' Farina.' " — Atfienceum.
"An original and entertaining book."— West
minster Review.
"We cordially recommend it for general pur
chase and perusal."— Daily News.
"'Farina* cannot fail to amuse the most sober
minded reader."— Critic.
" It has atrue Bhenish flavour."— Press.

BELOW THE SURFACE. 3 vols.
"Tho book is unquestionably olover and onter-
tniuing The writoi- develops from first to last
his double view of human 1116, as coloured by the
manners of our ago. . . . h is a talo superior
to ordinary novels, in its prm-Ucal application to
the phases of actual hfo,"—jt/u- notum.
" There is a groat den lor cleverness in this story ;
a nmoh greater knowledge of country life and
character in its various aspeots and conditions
than is possessed hy nine-tenths of tho novelists
who undertake to desorlbe it."— spectator.
" Tho novel is one that keeps the attention fixed,
and it is written in a genial, often playful tone.
The temper is throughout excellent."— Examiner.
"This is a book which possesses the rare merit
of being exactly what it claims to be, a storv of
English country life ; and, moreover, a very woll
told story."— Daily News.
" *Bolow the Surface' merits high pralBe. It is
full of good thines ; good taste— good feeling —
good writing— good notions, and high morality,'
— Globe.
"Temperate, sensible, kindly, and pleasant."—
Saturday Review.
"A more pleasant story we have not road for
many a day."— British Quarterly.
THE ROUA PASS. By Erick
Mackenzie. 3 vols.
" It is seldom that we have to notice so good a
novel as the 'Roua Pass.* The story is well con
trived and well told ; the incidents are natural and
varied; several of the characters are skilfully
drawn, and that of tho heroine is fresh, powerful,
and original. The Highland scenery, in which
the plot is laid, is described with truth and feeling
—with a command of langnage which leaves a
vivid impression."— Saturday Review.
"The attractions of the story are so numerous
and varied, that it would he difficult to single out
any one point of it for attention. It is a brilliant
social picture of sterling scenes and striking
adventure s."—Sun.
" 'The Roua Pass ' is a work of very great
promise. It is beautifully written. The romance
is ingenious and interesting: the story never
flags."— Critic.
"The peculiar charm of the novel is its skilful
painting of the Highlands, and of life among the
Highlanders. Quick observation andatrue sense
of the poetry in nature and human life, the
author has."— Examiner.
"A capital fiction. As a landscape novel, it is
altogether delightful."— Globe.
" ' The Roua Pass ' is a good novel— the best of
the season."— Westminster Review.
" This is a very good novel."— Gua/rdian.

THE NOBLE TRAYTOUR.
A Chronicle. 3 vols.
"The 'Noble Tray tour' is a chronicle, interest
ing for its facts, interesting for its association,
and, above all, interesting and important for tho
clear views which it gives of the modes of life in
' merry England,' at the eventful period to which
it refers."— Observer.
" It is an Elizabethan masquerade. Shakespeare,
the Queen, Essex, Raleigh, and a hundred nobles,
ladies, and knights of the land, appear on the
stage. The author has imbued himself with the
spirit of the times."— Leader.
" The storv is told with a graphic and graceful
pen, and the chronicler has produced a romance
not only of great value in a historical point of
view, but possessing many claims upon the atten
tion of the scholar, the antiquary, and the general
reader."— Post. •
" The book has great merit. The portraits of
Elizabeth and Essex are well and finely drawn."—
Critic. 21

^VT>RI£S rPTJIBLISIIEID BY

NEW NOVELS— continued.

KATHIE BRANDE. By Holme Lee.
2 vols.
" * Kathie Brande * is not merely a very interest
ing novel— it is a very wholesome one, for it
teaches virtue hy example."— Critic.
"Throughout 'Kathie Brande' there is much,
sweetness, and considerable power of description."
—Saturday Review.
" ' Kathie Brande * is intended to illustrate the
paramount excellence of duty as a moving prin
ciple. It is fuU of beauties."— Daily Neios.
" Certainly one of the best novels that we have
lately read."— Guardian.
PERVERSION ; or, The Causes and
Consequences of Infidelity. By
the late Rev. W. J. Contbeare.
3 vols.
"The ablest novel that has appeared .for many
a day."— Literary Gazette.
"This story has a touching interest, which
lingers with the reader after ne has closed the
book."— A t Jienamm.
"The tone is good and healthy; the religious
feeling sound and true, and well sustained."—
Guardian. "This is a novel, written with a strong sense
both of what is amusing and what is right."—
Examiner. " It is long, very long, since we have read a
narrative or more power than this."— British
Quarterly Review.
"This is a good and a noble book."— New
Quarterly.

FRIENDS OF BOHEMIA:
or, Phases of London Life. By
E. M. Whitty, Author of " The
Governing Classes." 2 vols.
"Mr. Whitty is a genuine satirist, employing
satire for a genuine purpose. You laugh with him
very much£out the laughter is fruity and ripe in
thought. His style is serious, and his cast of
mind severe. The author has a merriment akin
to that of Jaques and that of Timon."— Atlieneeum.
" ' Men and women as they are, and life as it is '
might be the motto of Mr. Whitty's 'Friends of
Bohemia.' Mr. Whitty is a satirist, and seldom
forgets it. His dialogues are rapid and dramatic
as those of a French novel, and perfectly natural."
—Westminster Review.
" ' Friends of Bohemia' has the rare merit of
painting clever pictures and of being sparkling
and dramatic from beginning to end."— Daily
•News. "The book is fresh and vigorous; tho style is
terse and lively."— New Quarterly.

THE EVE OF ST. MARK. By
Thomas Doueleday. 2 vols.
" ' The Eve of St. Mark ' is not only well written.
but adroitly constructed, and interesting. Its
tone is perhaps too gorgeous ; its movement is too
much that of a masquerade ; but a mystery is
created, and a very loveable heroine is pour-
tray ed."—At7ieniBttm.
" ' The Eve of St. Mark' is an interesting story,
vividly coloured, and not a little dramatic iu its
construction. ... . The book is really a ro
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24

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