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Title: Sand and Canvas: Narrative of adventures in Egypt with a sojourn among the artists in Rome

Author: Samuel Bevan

Release date: August 18, 2022 [eBook #68780]

Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: Charles Gilpin, 1849

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68780

Credits: deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAND AND CANVAS: NARRATIVE OF ADVENTURES IN EGYPT WITH A SOJOURN AMONG THE ARTISTS IN ROME ***

THE CERVARO CAVES.

SAND AND CANVAS;

A

NARRATIVE OF ADVENTURES IN EGYPT,

WITH A SOJOURN

AMONG THE ARTISTS IN ROME.

BY SAMUEL BEVAN.

LONDON:

CHARLES GILPIN, 5, BISHOPSGATE STREET, WITHOUT.

MDCCCXLIX.

LONDON:

RICHARD BARRETT, PRINTER,

MARK LANE.

TO

THOMAS WAGHORN, Lieut. R.N.,

WHO BY HIS OWN

ENERGY, AND INDEFATIGABLE EXERTIONS,

SUCCEEDED IN ESTABLISHING THE PRACTICABILITY

OF THE

OVERLAND ROUTE TO INDIA;

SACRIFICING HIS TIME AND FORTUNE IN DIVESTING THE EGYPTIAN PORTION

OF THAT ROUTE OF ITS VARIED DISCOMFORTS; FACILITATING BY

THE AID OF STEAM THE PASSAGE OF THE MAHMOUDIEH

AND THE NILE; AND RENDERING SAFE, AND

EVEN AGREEABLE, THE ONCE

DREADED DESERT,

THESE SKETCHES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.

PREFACE.

The matter contained in the following pages has been gathered from a diary, in which the incidents of each successive day had been regularly noted down, not with any intention of subsequently submitting them to the public, but from a belief that the practice, if not actually instructive, is at least sure to repay the little trouble it occasions.

As the writer had not been attracted either to Egypt or Italy, by any of the usual inducements which influence the generality of travellers, but had been suddenly transplanted, by a somewhat singular chain of circumstances, from the yellow fogs of the great Metropolis, to the bracing air and cloudless skies of the Desert, it was suggested that a relation of his experiences, might possibly present something new, even upon those countries, without encroaching upon themes already exhausted by able and experienced travellers. He has not therefore, carried the reader into the midst of scenes with which he is already well acquainted, nor are his pages filled with elaborate descriptions of churches, temples, and palaces—he has not indulged in rhapsodies upon the pleasant prospects which greeted him, as well as his predecessors, in a ramble through the garden of Italy, neither does he seek to parade his own opinions upon the many glorious works of art, it has been his good fortune to fall in with. All that awaits the reader, is a simple narrative of adventures during a few months’ active employment in Egypt, and a description of such places and things, in Rome and other Italian cities, as are more immediately connected with modern Art and its numerous votaries.

The writer trusts that the title of the present volume is too ambiguous to allow of any feeling of disappointment being engendered in the minds of those who may take it up for curiosity’s sake, and as Sand and Canvas are at the best but dry subjects, it will be hardly fair on the part of such as consent to follow him to the end, to retaliate on the score of any previous misconception.

London, December, 1848.

CONTENTS.

PAGE.

CHAPTER I.

The author meets with an advertisement in “The Times”—Finds an unexpected charm in his wig—Undergoes a cross-examination—Receives his credentials—Mistakes his road, and is set right by a friend—Eats a farewell dinner at Blackwall—And finally embarks in a new line of business

1

CHAPTER II.

Discomforts of the Channel—An unpleasant discovery—Horrors of the Rotonde—A traveller’s toilette—Chalons sur Soane—Lyons—A transplanted engineer—The Rhone—Arles—The Mediterranean—Marseilles

8

CHAPTER III.

The “Minos”—English and French appetites—Leghorn—Towting Jews—Civita Vecchia—Naples—Formalities of landing—Malta—Mr. Portenier—The “Lycurge”—Syra

16

CHAPTER IV.

The harbour of Alexandria—Mr. Furner—Scene at the Hard—A donkey stand—Triumphal entry into the Great Square—The “India agency”—The English Okella—Plague seals—Confidential talk—Mr. Raven—Hassan, the dragoman—The Bazaars—Arab shopkeepers—The Harraat—Pompey’s Pillar—The baths of Cleopatra

24

CHAPTER V.

The Café—Arab music—Artful expedient—The Ghawazee and Kowal—Change of costume—The lady from Beyrout—Odd procession—Showers of rose water—Arrival of the “Tagus”—The Overland Mail—Departure of the India-bound passengers—The Mahmoudieh—Atféh

35

CHAPTER VI.

The Nile steam boat—A deck dinner—Boulac—The Esbekier—The “Grand Eastern Hotel”—Mr. Raven’s office—The transit-business—Loading of the camels—Departure of the caravan—The Desert—The Stations—Water

45

CHAPTER VII.

Desert fare—The Bawaub—No. 4 Station—A siesta—The solitary tree—Pestilential breezes—A dry well—Suez—Waghorn’s Hotel—The “Berenice”—Return to Cairo—A thirsty driver—Cool reception at a warm bath—The pendant rag

58

CHAPTER VIII.

An Egyptian hammam—Inhuman tortures—The barber—The chiropodist—Delightful respite—Pale ale and Manillas—Raven’s collection—Dr. A.—Antiquities—Mr. Bell—His African adventures—The White Nile expedition

70

CHAPTER IX.

The Nile boat—Voyage down the river—Defensive preparations—Sudden squall—Narrow escape—Alexandria—Rival hotels—Lessons in donkeyship—Domestic cookery—The “Great Liverpool”—Physiology of the Seis

82

CHAPTER X.

Cairo—The Turkish bazaar—Test of a sword blade—The “Little Nile”—Recollections of the plague—The Eglintoun tents—Proceedings in the “Great Square”—Astonishment of the Pasha—A Mahomedan Dinner-party—Novel dishes—A Jewish wedding—Impertinent curiosity—The bride’s dower—A cunning Hebrew

93

CHAPTER XI.

Dwarkanauth Tagore—Storm in the Mahmoudieh—A chapter of accidents—The half-drowned cadet—Arab knavery—Effects of the murrain—Donkey-chairs—A midnight gallop—Alteration in prospect—My van and its occupants—An enraged Portuguese—Disagreeable situation—Christmas-eve—Midnight interruption—Goose and Champagne

106

CHAPTER XII.

Influx of travellers—Provision stores—The preserved “round”—New Year’s-day—Melancholy opening of New Year—Visit to the Pyramids—Old Selim—A moonlight walk—The Sphynx and German savans—Ascent of Cheops—The interior of the Pyramids—Unceremonious intruders—Trial of skill—A crack shot

123

CHAPTER XIII.

The village of Sakhara—Sheik’s house—The brick pyramids—Mummies—The sacred ibis—Return to Cairo—An agreeable billet—Preparation for a voyage—Disappointment—A parting—The last journey across the Desert—A dilemma—Bedouin Arabs—No. 4 Station—Departure from Cairo—Dinner at Mr. L.’s—Alexandria

140

CHAPTER XIV.

The “Minos” again—Café Francais—The Enfield stage—Departure from Egypt—Change of boats at Syra—A gale in the Mediterranean—Malta—The quarantine harbour—Fort Manuel—Inquisitive guardiano—Travellers’ collections—sanitary regulations and low diet—The parlatori—Resources in quarantine—Happy release

156

CHAPTER XV.

Choice of a route—The “Ercolano”—Syracuse—The Albergo del Sole—Sicilian cobbler—The ear of Dionysius—Beautiful gardens—Museum—Messina—Ancient fresco—Tropea—Stromboli—Naples—“Hotel de New York”—Herculaneum—Pompeii—Streets—Shops—Private houses—Progress of excavation

168

CHAPTER XVI.

The Campo Santo—Churches—The Miserere—Curious sculpture—Agnano—Grotto del Cane—Frogs—Pozzuolo—Cave of the sybil—Hot springs—Boiled eggs—Hot sand—No end of phenomena—Baiæ—Vesuvius—Resina—The hermitage—Fatiguing ascent—The crater—Coming down with a run—The “Mongibello”—Civita Vecchia—Rome

183

CHAPTER XVII.

The Roman Douane—The Hotel Cesarj—Meditations—The Caffé Greco—Its occupants—Morning walk—Wine carts—The Ruspoli—Bellamy’s toilet—Preparations for the Cervaro—The robing-room—Choice of a dress—The livery stable—Porta Maggiore—The Torre dei Schiave—A grand review—The quarries—Incantation to the sybil—The dinner—Return to Rome

199

CHAPTER XVIII.

The “Ponte Molle” club—Technical alphabet—Moccoletti—The black board—Election of candidates—The illustrated chorus—Harmonies—Change of domicile—The Via Sistina—The Pincian promenade—Trasteverini—The French Academy—High art and its votaries—Roman models—Pifferari—Pietro Pombo—The Via Margutta—L——, and his painting—Extraordinary model—Pictures and studios

216

CHAPTER XIX.

The “Greco”—Signor Giovanni—Frequenters of the Barcaccia—Pietro—The Roman cigar—Caffé du’ Bon Gout—“Punch a la Romaine”—Italian eating-houses—The Lepri—Old Aurelio—Terribile—Roman bill of fare—Sweets—English errors—Dessert—The Lepri Garden—The “Gabbione”—Its neighbourhood—Fried fish—Alessio—“Una Bomba Alla Cerito”

235

CHAPTER XX.

The tombola—Mausoleum of Augustus—The montgolfier—Curious finale—The bigliardo—Pool—Sir T. B.—An amusing acquaintance—The bewildered barber—The dog “Pincio”—Preparations for Carnival—Bombarding in the Corso—Characters—Charlatans—The Festini

247

CHAPTER XXI.

Journey to Florence—My friend Luish—A suspicious landlady—Monterosi—Nepi—The hotel—Luish’s hat—Civita Castellana—Otricoli—My washerwoman’s cousin—The merchandize cart—Narni—Terni—Pie-di’-Luco—The echo—Strittura—Egg diet—Fuligno—Perugia—Boarding-houses—Florence

264

CHAPTER XXII.

The “Porta Rossa”—Journey to Bologna—The Belli Arti—Arcades—Certosa—Our fellow-travellers—The parrot—Austrian Douane—Ferrara—Padua—Caffé Pedrocchi—Venice—The Casa Raffaelli—Gondolas—Luish’s professional pursuits—My friend D. again—Titian—Military salute—The Passeggiata

280

CHAPTER XXIII.

The Caffés of Venice—The “Florian”—The “Imperatore D’Austria”—Piazza—Venetian hawkers—Musicians—Merchants of Caromel—The Schiavoni—Italian cards—The Birrarie—San Moise—An accordeon player—Quintavalle—Queer fish—Dining-rooms—Serenades—Night on the Grand Canal—The Rialto—San Lazzaro—Malamocco—Chioggia—Captain Rovere in danger

298

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Ducal Palace—Bridge of Sighs—The Pozzi—Campanile—View from the summit—Swifts—The pigeons of St. Marks—Departure from Venice—The Ancona steamer—The Adriatic—Vicissitudes of a sea-voyage—The unfortunate friar—Pola—Its antiquities—The hotel—Ancona—The Custom-house—Disappointment—A village in the Appenines—Fuligno—Assisi—The boarding-house—San Francesco—Musical shoemakers—Spoleto—My countrywoman—Terni—Rome

313

CHAPTER XXV.

Change of domicile—Francesco—Friends from England—Picture-shops—Old painting—Artists and their patrons—Mr. Titmarsh—Anecdote of N—— —The dinner at Bertini’s—The English Academy—Table talk—Harmony—The Americans—Roman gaieties—Torlonia’s—The Festini—Hospital of San Michele—The Quirinal—Via Gregoriana—Mr. Raven again—The English church—The Friends’ meeting-house—Illumination of St. Peter’s

333

CHAPTER XXVI.

Tivoli—Country excursions—Ciciliano—Hospitality of the mountaineers—The Porta San Lorenzo—Visit to the Governor—Another start northward—Florence—The Uffizii—S——, and his head of Velasquez—The flood of the Arno—Mr. M.—Lord D.—Unexpected summons—Pisa—Leghorn—Genoa—The “Diligence”—Alessandria—Turin—The railway deputation—Expedition to the Mont Cenis—Susa—Bardoneche—My friend B.’s mountain ramble—Successful “Jodeln”—The valley of the Dora Susa—Departure from Turin—Conclusion

351

CHAPTER I.

THE AUTHOR MEETS WITH AN ADVERTISEMENT IN “THE TIMES”—FINDS AN UNEXPECTED CHARM IN HIS WIG—UNDERGOES A CROSS-EXAMINATION—RECEIVES HIS CREDENTIALS—MISTAKES HIS ROAD, AND IS SET RIGHT BY A FRIEND—EATS A FAREWELL DINNER AT BLACKWALL—AND FINALLY EMBARKS IN A NEW LINE OF BUSINESS.

On a sunny morning in the spring of 184—, I sat lingering over the remains of a late breakfast, at my lodgings in Regent Street. My deed of partnership with Messrs. —— having been cancelled but a few days before, I found myself left without any ostensible means of disposing advantageously of my time, which began to hang somewhat heavily on my hands, for although, in London more especially, there are a thousand ways of killing time, it is by no means so easy to hit upon the right method of making the best use of it. Whilst musing on this subject, my eyes wandered over the columns of the “Times” newspaper, which lay on the table before me, and having glanced over sundry announcements of “eligible opportunities,” and notices of various seductive offers of “Partnership,” my attention was suddenly arrested by the following: “Wanted immediately, for service in a foreign country, a gentleman of business-habits and good address. Salary £250. per annum. All expenses paid. Apply personally to Messrs. * * * *, Solicitors, Tokenhouse Yard.”

Whether it was that this particular advertisement seemed to me to possess a greater claim to good faith than others in the same column, or that the words “foreign country,” had some particular charm about them, I know not; all I can say is, that in a quarter of an hour after the third or fourth reading of it, I was on my way to Tokenhouse Yard, having paid a rather more than ordinary attention to the appearance of my outer man.

Arrived at the office of the solicitors, I found upon the staircase, some ten or more persons of various degrees of respectability, each of whom seemed to be regarding a scrap of paper which he held in his hand. With a similar document, I, in my turn was duly served, and found it inscribed, “* * * * of the Overland, 34, Cornhill, destination Egypt.” I followed the rest of my fellow-candidates, for such they doubtless were, into Cornhill, although by the time we got there, I remarked that the number of them was sensibly diminished; but not daring to enter the lists with so many individuals, who, if not exactly “gentlemen,” might possibly, in the terms of the advertisement, be more accustomed to “business habits” than myself, I took the precaution of waiting in ambush near the street door, until, one by one, I had counted them all out. As I watched their faces to mark what success they might have met with, I was not very greatly surprised to hear some such expressions as “No go,” “Walker,” &c., and gathered considerable encouragement therefrom. Having seen the last of them out, I presented myself and paper, and was ushered through an outer office, into the presence of the great “Overland” himself, who, receiving me with a bow, inquired if I came from his solicitors.

“I do.”

“Then go, Sir, and get your hair cut, and return here in a quarter of an hour.”

This cool reception might have damped the courage of any applicant not quite so hard up as myself, and probably if used, had its weight with many of those who had preceded me. I stood my ground however, and removing my wig, (rather an exuberant one, by Truefit,) I rammed it into my hat.

“Pray, Sir, be seated,” said the “Overland.”

I took a chair and screwed up my courage for a cross-examination.

“Can you drive an engine?”

“I can.”

“Can you speak French?”

“Yes.”

“German and Italian?”

I nodded affirmatively.

“Arabic?” I was about to assent to this query also, but suddenly recollecting that my interrogator might himself be an adept at that tongue, I seasoned my denial with the assurance that I could make myself master of it in a fortnight.

“Do you understand book-keeping by doubly entry?”

Here was a poser. I have since wondered how I ever got over it. I winked at the Overland, and replied, “I ought to.”

“I think you’ll do, Sir,” was his rejoinder; “come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning.” I bowed and withdrew, and whilst adjusting my wig in the outer office, I heard an order given to the head clerk to admit no more applicants. This I regarded as a sure earnest of an engagement, and began to feel myself a man of business again. I fancied myself a full head taller than before, and stooped very low as I threaded some narrow archways near the Bank. How I got home, I cannot distinctly remember, but I packed my portmanteau in readiness for an immediate departure, in spite of the remonstrances of my worthy landlady, who looked on a journey to Egypt in the light of a wanton sacrifice of my life, assuring me that I should die of the plague in less than a week after I got there, and making me promise that I would send her off a mummy immediately on my arrival.

I was punctual to my appointment next morning, and it was fortunate that I was so, for * * * * was never known to be a minute behind time in any thing, and was in the act of pouring out my cup of tea when I entered his apartment. Had I been four minutes later, I might have whistled for my new engagement. Our breakfast over, and some preliminary matters discussed, we hastened to the office.

“Is that letter ready, Mr. Wateley? Very good. Now, Sir, here are your credentials; deliver that document on your arrival in Alexandria, to which you are booked through, viâ Marseilles: call here to-morrow morning at eight for your despatches, take this cheque, and don’t bother me any more. Good morning!”

And the “Overland” vanished into the inner office—the door was shut, and I never saw him afterwards!

I suppose I must have stood transfixed for a few moments, for I caught a juvenile clerk grinning at me like a fiend. Feeling, that if I hesitated, I ran a chance of being recalled, and losing my new honours, I ran off to Lombard Street with the cheque; and had the banker’s clerk asked me if it were honestly come by, I believe I should have answered in the negative, being somewhat confused by the odd chain of events, brought about during the last twenty-four hours.

As I hurried through Cheapside, on my return from the Bank, a hand was laid on my shoulder, and a familiar voice inquired, “Where I was off to so fast?” “To Cairo,” I replied, and was again making away, when my friend politely insinuated that I was on the wrong tack, and ought to have gone down Leadenhall Street. He was right, and in return for his information, I consented to partake of some sherry and biscuit at his counting-house hard by. Here I fell in with one or two others, who, hearing of the turn my affairs had taken, insisted on my spending a last evening in their company, and carried me off to a white-bait dinner at Blackwall, from which we did not return until near midnight.

I was awakened early the next morning by one of my companions of the dinner-party, who had made up his mind to see me as far as Paris. He reminded me of what I had somehow or other totally forgotten, that passports might possibly be necessary, and in our hurry to secure these troublesome documents, we overlooked other matters of equal or even greater importance. I turned my back upon London with considerable pleasure, finding that the anticipation of novelty and change of scene, shut the door in the face of all the varied regrets and emotions which had accompanied my former leave-takings. I felt myself cast once more upon the world, to begin life as it were, over again among new scenes and fresh faces, and although I could scarcely be said to have a very distinct idea, either of my ultimate destination, or of the occupation in store for me, I felt prepared to view all en couleur de rose, and steer a straight-forward course through all difficulties.

CHAPTER II.

DISCOMFORTS OF THE CHANNEL—AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY—HORRORS OF THE ROTONDE—A TRAVELLER’S TOILETTE—CHALONS SUR SOANE—LYONS—A TRANSPLANTED ENGINEER—THE RHONE—ARLES—THE MEDITERRANEAN—MARSEILLES.

My friend and I embarked at Southampton about nightfall, in the “Robert Burns,” but had scarcely been an hour under weigh, before the breakage of a piston-key occurred, of which the necessary repair caused considerable delay. A fresh breeze too springing up, introduced us to all the horrors of a Channel trip, affording the ladies a good pretext for imbibing sundry steaming glasses of brandy and water, which, as I sat on deck, I remarked disappearing by twos and threes down the “companion.” One good lady solemnly protested that nothing should ever induce her to return to England by water. I fear it will be a long while before she gets back again.

On landing at Havre, it occurred to me that I had entirely forgotten to call at the Overland office for the despatches I was to carry out to Alexandria. A pretty sample this of my talent for “business!” I was at a loss whether to go forward or return to London for them, but finding that I had at least safely retained Mr. Wateley’s letter, which would serve as an introduction for me, I hurried my friend to the Diligence office, and secured the coupè for Paris.

Here I made a halt of one night only, finding, on inquiry at the bureau of Lafitte, Caillard, that my place was duly booked to Marseilles. Every one knows the misery of a protracted journey in the “rotonde” of a French diligence: the wearisome imprisonment of two nights and days, rendered doubly agonizing by the horrors of a middle seat, where the unfortunate traveller, lulled perchance by fatigue into temporary forgetfulness, seeks a pillow on the shoulder of one neighbour, to be gruntingly repulsed to that of another, equally inexorable. I need not therefore describe the coach breakfast at Auxerre, nor how we all fought for a pie-dish of cold water at Saulieu to lay the dust in our eyes; nor how the conductor, in a blue blouse, would insist upon squeezing himself in among us, to have a whiff at his pipe, because three out of the four in the rotonde were comely French lasses, and the only females in the vehicle.

We reached Chalons sur Soane at last, though only just in time for the steamer, which was on the point of starting as we drove on to the quay. My unfortunate portmanteau was in fact the last article which found its way on board after me, as I made a desperate leap to the paddle box, which I succeeded in reaching with difficulty. Paying immediate court to the steward, I obtained just enough water to relieve my face from its thick coating of white dust, and then sat down to some mutton and olives, which served, when moistened by a bottle of the Viu du pays, to restore my equanimity, though I did not feel fairly comfortable until after a warm bath at the Hotel de Provence at Lyons. Here I wrote a few letters, and read for the twentieth time my introductory letter to the agent at Alexandria, which consisted at the very most of five lines, and entered into no particulars of the service for which I had been engaged, referring for such, to the despatches I had so unaccountably left behind me.

The following morning dawned as brightly as the most fastidious traveller could desire, and the waiter having called me full two hours earlier than there was any occasion for, I had ample time to enjoy my matin of coffee before going down to the quay, where the Arles steamer lay at her moorings. Here all was bustle and activity, and every one seemed so busy, that I had explored nearly the whole of the ship before any one took any notice of me, and was proceeding to make a critical survey of the engine-room, when a surly voice inquired, “Now then, wot are you arter?” I had scarce time to reply, before I was recognized by the querist, one of M.’s old men, promoted to the drivership of a Rhone steamer. The conversation of this man, during the time occupied in getting up the steam, afforded me no little amusement, for he was full of the grievances of French habits and customs, and declared he should never be quite comfortable like, until he had taken a drink of beer “out of the pewter.”

On emerging from the hot and greasy engine-room into upper air, I found the deck completely covered with huge bales of merchandize, going to Beaucaire, where there is a very large annual fair. We had too a considerable number of passengers, and it was long past the right hour for starting, when we cast off, and floated quickly into the middle of the Rhone, which is extremely rapid, and carried us down at the rate of twelve or fourteen knots an hour. We touched at many large towns in our passage down the river, and the manœuvering of our captain to effect a stoppage in the right place was somewhat curious. His order (in English) to “ease her” would be given about a furlong above the particular point to be made, and our vessel’s head brought round towards the current, as she drifted downwards. Then followed the order “go on ahead;” and thus with about half steam on, and apparently retracing our course, we generally managed to hit the place to a nicety.

The banks of the Rhone, though generally but little wooded, are, in some places, highly picturesque. Here and there, an old castle in ruins, perched on a high and naked rock, forms a pretty feature in the passing landscape, though we shot so quickly by, that we had barely time to remark anything. As we neared the Pont du St. Esprit, the river became more rapid, and when I caught sight of the bridge, with its twenty or more arches, and compared their apparent width with that of our good ship, I confess to having shared rather largely in the general feeling of uneasiness, and selected a loose table to lay hold of in the event of a smash. We shot through, however, almost before we were aware of it, clearing the sides by a foot or two only. The dexterity with which the Rhone pilots manage these large vessels in so swift a stream is really remarkable. At Avignon we put on shore many of our passengers, who preferred proceeding by “diligence” to Marseilles, and at Beaucaire we were detained an hour in discharging our bulky merchandize, so that it was dark ere we made a final halt at Arles, a town of considerable antiquity, on the left bank of the river. There was a great scrimmage for beds on the part of some few of the English on board; for our countrymen, when on their travels, are very prone to betray a feeling of selfishness, which astonishes, and often disgusts, our neighbours on the other side the Channel. I stuck to my trunks, which I am never satisfied to leave to the tender mercies of a porter, and on arriving at the wretched inn, I found but one bed-room unoccupied, and this I was glad enough to appropriate, although my mattress of Indian corn was so filled with sundry unpleasant nocturnal disturbers, that I had no great reason to be elated at my good fortune.

I had no time to view the antiquities of the ancient city of Arles, so was fain to satisfy myself with a sufficiently lucid description of them, to be found in Murray’s hand-book. We had a delightful steam to Marseilles, though the change from the sweetness of the sea-breeze and blue water, to the stinks and exhalations of its closed harbour, was any thing but refreshing. From its very narrow outlet, the port of Marseilles is perhaps as bad in this respect as any in the Mediterranean. The custom-house was soon passed, for, contrary to my expectation, I had nothing to pay. How they manage to keep a watch over the whole of this large harbour, I can scarcely imagine; land where you will, at any of its numberless steps, or jump quietly ashore from between the hulks of two big ships, and you are equally sure to be popped upon by some sleepless custom-house official.

I took up my quarters at the “Hotel Paradis,” agreeably to a recommendation I had received before leaving London, and a more comfortable inn I was seldom at, though at many a more expensive one. On going down to the quay appropriated to the Levant steamers, I discovered that a berth had been secured for me as far as Alexandria, on board the “Minos,” and that she was not to sail for two days. These I employed in seeing what I could of the town and its environs, though there is but little to interest the passing stranger. I think the greater part of my time was spent in rattling about in “cabriolets,” for the heat was so oppressive that to walk with any comfort was impossible. On a hill above the town, there are some pleasant gardens, laid out by Napoleon, which command a beautiful sea-view. Here of an evening, one may meet the worthy Marsiglians, with their wives and daughters, who enjoy their coffee and small beer, away from the dust and heat of the city. I had the temerity to venture into the theatre, but before the end of the first act, was glad to make a precipitate retreat in favour of a neighbouring “cafè,” where, sipping raspberry-water, I was treated to a concert on the gratis principle, which I found nearly as good as “Les Diamans de la Couronne,” much cooler, and less expensive.

CHAPTER III.

THE “MINOS”—ENGLISH AND FRENCH APPETITES—LEGHORN—TOWTING JEWS—CIVITA VECCHIA—NAPLES—FORMALITIES OF LANDING—MALTA—MR. PORTENIER—THE “LYCURGE”—SYRA.

I quitted Marseilles in the “Minos” steamer on the evening of June 21st, in company with some twenty fellow-passengers, bound to various parts of the Mediterranean. Amongst them was the venerable Bishop of Antioch, with a numerous suite of attendant priests, and a sprinkling of my own countrypeople; but I soon discovered that I was the only passenger going to the far East. The “Minos” is one of a fine class of armed French steamers, which serve the Mediterranean, running from Marseilles to Malta, Syra and Alexandria, calling at most of the larger ports on the southern coast of Italy. The accommodation on board these vessels is perfect, and the discipline of the first order, and they are withal so strongly built, that they defy the ugliest weather, and are very rarely overdue. I found myself in possession of a snug berth in the second cabin, and at dinner-time made the acquaintance of my fellow-travellers, the ship’s doctor taking the head of the table. Two meals, the one a dejeuner à la fourchette at ten, the other, a plentiful dinner at five o’clock, were the only ones I ever got a sight of, such being included in the cabin fare; and as I was invariably ready for breakfast long before ten, and always hungry again after dinner, I became a pretty good customer of the cook on deck, who by the time I had finished my voyage, had a considerable score against me for sundry stray cutlets and “cornichons,” devoured at the door of the caboose, to the great surprise of the captain and his officers, who made no allowance for the appetizing effect of the sea-breeze and bracing air of the Mediterranean.

The sudden stopping of the monotonous jog of the engines, awoke me about half-past six on the second morning of our voyage. On gaining the deck, I found we had dropped anchor off Leghorn, famed as I rightly remembered, for straw-bonnets and Jews. Having taken the precaution at Marseilles, to have my passport properly visè, I accompanied two French gentlemen on shore, to wile away the few hours of our stay, and by way of a cicerone, we took into our service the loquacious old boatman who conveyed us to land. There are not many objects of interest at Leghorn, which can be visited within the compass of a few hours. The English cemetery possesses a melancholy sort of attraction, and is well worth seeing, though it is not the most cheering thing to loiter among the graves of one’s countrymen, and decipher epitaphs upon disasters at sea and cholera morbus.

The chief street of the town is lined on either side with excellent shops, abounding with wares from all parts of the globe; whilst perambulating vendors of razors and pocket-pistols, besiege you at every ten paces, not to mention the Jew drapers, who, like their brethren in Holywell Street, towt in person at their own shop-doors to entreat an inspection of their goods. One street is a perfect Bazaar of yellow-looking ornaments, in thin gold and filigree work, such as brooches, and enormous ear-drops, highly prized by the dressy Contadine.

The following day, we paid a similar brief and passing visit at Civita Vecchia, a papal port, of much less importance than Leghorn, although its contiguity to Rome causes considerable traffic. We passed afterwards close to the Island of Elba, reaching the Bay of Naples on the twenty-fifth, or in three days and two nights from Marseilles, including our protracted stoppages. The view from our anchorage was beautiful in the extreme, appearing very different from anything I had been led to expect from the accounts of travelled acquaintance, who are fond of comparing the Bay of Naples to that of Swansea, which latter, although pretty enough, lacks the all-important features of islands and volcano, and is seldom to be seen in the colours afforded by an Italian atmosphere. Previous to going on shore, our captain intimated that our stay was limited to four hours, a piece of information which decided me on making no effort to see anything of the town, resolving, however, to return to Naples at some future period, to feast at leisure on its beauties. I was not suffered to land without showing my passport in three several places, and being felt all over by a dirty underling officer, whose delight was extreme on finding in my case two cigars, the last of my small stock from England. He was making off, to hand them (as he said) to his superior, when I thought it better to make a compromise by giving him one, whilst I put the other in my mouth. Nothing can exceed the vigilance of a Neapolitan in his search after tobacco, of which the importation is strictly forbidden. I was detained so very long by the formalities of landing, that by the time I had edged my way through a densely crowded market, in a street contiguous to the shore, and made sundry stoppages at the little stalls where cooling drinks are sold, I found my furlough very nearly expired. At this time I could speak no Italian whatever, and know not how I managed to make myself intelligible in certain inquiries about the Toledo, which I was anxious to reach; but I am very sure that I never got so far, and that after walking a long way to no purpose, I was compelled to retrace my steps and return to the “Minos.”

Two more weary days of steaming brought us to Malta, and a truce to the miseries of passports and customs. I had no sooner finished dressing, for it was quite early when we entered the harbour, than a portly individual descended into the cabin, inquiring if Mr. W——n, were on board. The inquiry being made in English, I replied at once in the negative; and learning that my questioner was W——n’s agent in Malta, I showed him my letter of introduction to Mr. Portenier of Alexandria. “Hah!” said he, as he rapidly scanned it, “I shall then have the pleasure of introducing you, as Mr. Portenier is here at this moment on his way to England.” We then hailed a boat and rowed away to the quarantine harbour, where, on landing at the lazaretto, I was forthwith made acquainted with a gentleman, who was leaning over a rail in company with a dozen others, all busily engaged in sucking oranges—I was most politely received,—and upon hearing my letter, for I was not allowed to place it in his hands, my new acquaintance wished me a pleasant voyage, saying that I should find Mr. Furner in Alexandria, who would receive me in his stead, and give me all necessary instructions. I made some few inquiries as to the nature of my probable employment in Egypt, but received no more definite an answer than that I should find out when I got there! Telling me that he would be back again in September, we wished each other “good morning,” and Mr. Gallia, for such was the name of my Maltese friend, conducted me to his office in the town.

Malta is certainly not the most agreeable place to walk about in on a broiling hot morning, and we ascended so many steep steps, and had so much ground to get over, that I was heartily tired by the time we reached Mr. Gallia’s place of business, where I waited for a few letters, and then begged to be recommended to some good hotel, where I could find a warm bath and a breakfast. My request was met half way, by a very polite offer of the services of one of the juniors to shew me about the place, a proposal which I accepted with many acknowledgments. We visited the governor’s palace, and mounted to the telegraph tower, from whence is a good view over the island. It appears remarkably sterile, and exhibits little more than low ranges of naked hills, with here and there an insignificant village. The church of St. John abounds with interesting mementos of the Knights of Malta, and boasts some good tapestries and paintings, and an extraordinary altar-piece of lapis-lazuli, the which, all and sundry may be found described in detail in every guide book to the East, and need no further comment on my part. My kind cicerone dined with me at Baker’s Hotel, introducing me to some novel fruits and dishes. Altogether I was much gratified with my one day in Malta, where an English sovereign changes for twenty shillings and sixpence, and “Cote Roti” is only half-a-crown the bottle. Here I quitted the “Minos” for the “Lycurge,” another steamer of the same size, and once on board, I discovered that I was in quarantine, and entirely cut off from all further communication with the shore. My baggage was all stowed in my berth, even to the portmanteau, which is not generally allowed below; and I pounced with much delight upon a clean shirt and other luxuries, which I feared I should have difficulty in obtaining.

On touching at Syra, where we fell in with the line of steamers from Constantinople, we took on board a number of Turkish families, which gave our deck, for they were none of them cabin passengers, a very novel appearance. The men smoked away the time on their prayer carpets, watching the gambols of their children, and leaving unheeded and unnoticed the poor women, who sat huddled away in one mass as much out of view as possible, and veiled up to the eyes in black silk. At their mid-day meal, however, there was a general commotion, and a great scrambling round a large wooden bowl of mish-mish, into which all dipped their fingers most unceremoniously. In return for a pencil sketch which I made of one of the men, I was invited to partake of his coffee and pipe, and a seat on his mat—though I found the latter involved so very uncomfortable a position, that I could not long enjoy his company. The coffee and long chibouk were excellent.

CHAPTER IV.

THE HARBOUR OF ALEXANDRIA—MR. FURNER—SCENE AT THE HARD—A DONKEY STAND—TRIUMPHAL ENTRY INTO THE GREAT SQUARE—THE “INDIA AGENCY”—THE ENGLISH OKELLA—PLAGUE SEALS—CONFIDENTIAL TALK—MR. RAVEN—HASSAN, THE DRAGOMAN—THE BAZAARS—ARAB SHOPKEEPERS—THE HARRAAT—POMPEY’S PILLAR—THE BATHS OF CLEOPATRA.

We reached Alexandria on the 2nd of July, and long before our paddles had ceased moving, we were besieged by a clamorous set of savages in boats, who, clinging to the sides of our vessel, were plentifully greeted with hot water, by the captain’s order, and compelled to retire to a respectful distance, whilst they kept up a continued fire of Arabic, and caused us no little amusement. This was my first introduction to the Modern Egyptians, and when I looked from these half-naked fellows to the shore, and saw the long row-range of sand-hills, and the dismal looking habitations that studded the sides of the harbour, I thought my lines could hardly be said to be cast in pleasant places. Much time was not, however, given me for reflection, as the dropping of the anchor soon aroused me from my reverie. The passengers got away in small parties, reaching the shore in boats, and I was leaning over the ship’s side to make my selection, when a big-whiskered Frank underneath, startled me with a “Hallo! there; are you for Waghorn?” My reply was followed by an invitation to get into his boat. As we rowed ashore, I found that I had fallen into the hands of Mr. Furner, the very man of whom Portenier had made mention as his locum tenens.

I shall never forget the scene that awaited us on landing at the hard. Camels, donkeys, merchandize of every description, shrieking women, boys, and greasy Arabs, were jumbled together in indescribable confusion; the men fighting and cuffing one another, with the most violent gesticulations, in their anxiety to appropriate the luggage of the newly arrived passengers, in order to convey it to the city. Furner, armed with a huge whip, which I learnt to call by the name of “Korbash,” dealt his blows right and left on the heads and shoulders of the natives, and speedily cleared a way for us to where a group of donkeys were standing, all saddled and bridled. My friend, selecting the two which he considered the best, told me to mount; an injunction which I mechanically obeyed, for I scarcely knew what I was doing, and was querying with myself whether my Ramsgate and Blackheath experience in donkey-exercise would avail me aught on the present occasion. The saddles were of stuffed carpet, and very high, and my stirrup-leather broke with me on getting up, an accident no sooner remarked by Furner, than my donkey-boy was rewarded with a little of the “korbash.” To tie it up again, was the work of a moment, and then off we went at a gallop, with a boy at each tail, through some narrow streets, between high walls, where, in addition to the exertion required in keeping my seat, I had continually to bob my head to avoid being knocked off my perch by some passing camel, which, with its ponderous and enormous load, would fill up the whole of the street. Ever and anon, my donkey-boy, by a fearful thwack “a posteriori,” would give my animal a right or left-handed bias, sufficient almost to make me lose my equilibrium, while Furner, who rode behind, could scarce keep his seat for laughter. Five minutes hard riding brought us into the middle of a crowded bazaar, and we were forced to relapse into a trot, our boys clearing a space before us by repeated cries of “shimalek! aminak! ariglak!”[1] &c. The scrambling about of the poor Arab women, in their efforts to get out of the way, was at once ludicrous and painful; and I was unfeignedly glad when we suddenly emerged into the great square of Alexandria, and pulled up at the door of “Waghorn’s India agency.”

THE AUTHOR’S ENTRY INTO ALEXANDRIA.

Hitherto, I had had little or no opportunity of saying anything respecting my own business, to Furner, who had very naturally taken me for an India-bound passenger, and it was, therefore, with some degree of surprise that he perused Mr. Waghorn’s letter to Portenier. I was saved for the moment from the deluge of questions with which he seemed ready to overwhelm me, by his suddenly calling to mind that it was considerably past his ordinary breakfast hour; and having learned just enough to satisfy him that I was a duly accredited agent of the “Overland,” he politely asked me to share his morning meal. He was living, he said, in one of Waghorn’s houses in the English “okella,” where, as Portenier was away, there would be ample room for me, and thither accordingly, he sent my portmanteau. Crossing the Great Square, and entering a large gateway, we ascended to a covered gallery, extending round the inner sides of the “okella,” and forming a sort of common hall of entrance to the numerous houses therein comprised. I remarked on each door that we passed, one or more spots of red wax. This, Furner informed me, was the plague-seal, placed there by the authorities, to prevent the egress of the inmates, though he immediately relieved my now critically sensitive nerves, by adding, that they were at least of two years’ standing.

Furner’s dwelling consisted of a large upper-floor of five rooms, with kitchen and servants’ rooms above, the whole sumptuously furnished according to the Eastern notions of comfort, with elegant divans and polished stone floors. I was too hungry on entering to take more than a hasty survey of what I saw, the more especially as sundry tempting looking dishes of novel appearance stood ready on the breakfast table, beside a noble Britannia metal tea-pot, which possessed for me a peculiar charm, after having been debarred for a whole week from a taste of the grateful infusion. As we refreshed ourselves, I acquainted Furner with the circumstances under which I had arrived in Egypt, detailing to him my engagement with Mr. Waghorn, and receiving in return a description of my future companions in office, with divers hints of a friendly nature as to the position I ought to take up among them. This I found to be chiefly regulated by the nature of our several engagements, and had the satisfaction of learning from Furner that I was appointed to as good a post as any one, and equal in point of emolument to that of any English employè in Egypt.

We had scarcely finished our meal, when a loud thumping at the outer-door announced a visitor. This proved to be Mr. Raven, the resident partner, fresh from Cairo, to whom I was forthwith introduced. This gentleman was, in the first instance connected with a Mr. Hill, who is since deceased, and has done a great deal towards establishing and improving the communication between Cairo and Suez, having been indeed, in conjunction with his late associate, one, if not the projector of the original Transit Company. It needed however the enterprizing spirit and untiring perseverance of Mr. Waghorn, before the undertaking could be brought to assume any thing like a flourishing appearance; and now that the energies of both are united in one common object, the Egyptian portion of the Overland journey is as perfect as individuals[2] can make it.

From Mr. Raven, who had been apprised by letter of my anticipated arrival, I received orders to await the arrival of the next steamer from Southampton, and conduct the passengers to Cairo, which would, he added, give me a tolerably good insight into the routine of business. As it wanted nearly a fortnight to such time, I found I should have ample leisure to make myself acquainted with Alexandria, and to pick up, if possible, some few sentences of Arabic. For this purpose I enlisted into my service the most sagacious of our Dragomen, whom I found a very useful and intelligent fellow. As he possessed a good knowledge of English, he served me as a walking lexicon, and would render for me the more familiar words and sentences, taking great pains to ensure their correct accent.

Our first day’s ramble was confined pretty much to the Bazaars, which form the stranger’s chief object of attraction in an oriental town. Different quarters are devoted to the sale of the various sorts of merchandize, and you may pass successively through an avenue of tailors’ shops, a street of dried dates and quaint-looking groceries, a gaudy labyrinth of rugs and prayer-carpets, and a lane of pipe-sticks and tobacco shops. These are for the most part protected from the sun by a loose boarding over head, devoid of all nails or fastening, so that in blusterous weather, the passer-by is occasionally greeted with a falling plank or stray piece of timber, dislodged by the wind. It requires also considerable caution in threading your way through these narrow passages, as in endeavouring to avoid the heavy tread of a laden camel, you are possibly knocked down by a donkey, or receive an unwelcome salute in the side or stomach from the bony knee of its rider, who passes quickly onward without a murmur of apology.

The shops which compose these Bazaars, are neither more nor less than large wooden boxes, ranged along a raised platform on either side the way, open only in front, and furnished with shutters and wooden locks, which are secured at night and during the siesta. Some have a neat sort of railing, and are provided with little seats and stuffed cushions, to which a purchaser to any considerable extent is immediately invited and served with a chibouke. During the puffing that ensues, the buyer and seller are occupied in settling the price of the required commodity, the one offering half as much as he intends to give, and the other asking double what he thinks of taking, so that, at the end may be of half-an-hour, they contrive to meet, and a little cup of thick unsweetened coffee from a neighbouring shop, completes the bargain. The purchaser is expected to give a trifling present to the servant of the merchant, who helps him on with his slippers, left during the interview, in the street below.

The “Harraat,” or walking-auction, forms a most amusing scene, and in order to view it to the best advantage, Hassan got me a seat on the divan of one of his acquaintance in the Bazaar. The goods to be disposed of, are held at arm’s length above the head, and as soon as the owner has obtained a reasonable offer, he rushes up and down the Bazaar shouting “harraat, harraat!” getting every now and then a fresh bid until he finds no one is inclined to advance, when he is compelled to let his wares go to the last bidder. In this manner I saw silver-mounted pistols sold for fifteen shillings the pair; Arab scymitars, jackets and waistcoats embroidered with lace, scarfs, ink-stands, and red caps, and some amber mouth-pieces; of these some would fetch their full value, whilst others would go for a mere song: and on the whole I would rather purchase in the “harraat,” than run the risk of a lengthy bargain at a shop.

In the evening, Furner insisted on my taking another lesson in donkey-riding, so selecting two of the best looking from the stand close to our office door, we cantered through the square towards Cleopatra’s Needle, which forms a prominent object on the sea-shore, just outside the town. On our way, we passed through a dirty Arab village, where we were besieged by a crowd of urchins who begged of and then threw stones at us. We were compelled to gallop away as fast as our donkeys would go, to get out of the reach of the heavy missiles with which they occasionally obliged us, though had their numbers been less formidable, it is probable we should have stood our ground and shewed fight. For this sort of reception we were indebted to our Frank costume; for I found a few weeks afterwards, when I had adopted the dress of the country, that I could pass the same spot, and others equally notorious, unmolested.

From the Needles, we made a long round to Pompey’s Pillar and the Baths of Cleopatra. There is a good view from the base of the former over the Mahmoudieh Canal, which fertilizes in its course a narrow strip of country, and studded as it mostly is with numerous sails, forms a curious feature in the landscape. The pillar stands out in solitary grandeur from a vast plain of ruins and tombs, the site of ancient Alexandria. Hard by is a little building bearing some resemblance to a temple; this is a refuge for hard-pressed debtors, a strong-hold against all pursuit, and so long as they remain under its friendly shelter, neither law nor remorseless creditor has power to lay hands upon them. Our road to what are said to be the Baths of Cleopatra, lay through a bustling and most dirty street of low Arab dwellings, to a kind of quay or shipping place for corn, near to which is a group of quaint looking wind-mills with six or eight sails each, the whole in full motion, spinning round with a rushing noise that sorely alarmed our poor donkeys, although it served to prove to us that there was at least no lack of corn in Egypt. A dusty gallop of another mile then brought us to the shore, where we tethered our beasts, and proceeded to examine the spot where it is alleged that the “Queen of Beauty” used to perform her ablutions. The Baths consist of three or four rocky caves open to the sea, where sheltered from the scorching rays of the sun, the water acquires an enticing temperature, and ripples in and out at a depth of several feet. Close by the Baths, in a sandy cliff, are some excavations of prodigious size, which an old Arab informed us were Catacombs, but as they contain no bones or relics of mortality, and do not even boast of a stray skull or two, he found us somewhat sceptical; the old man conducted us through the outermost apartments, but having no candles, and the evening closing in, we could see but little of their dimensions, so pitching him a few paras we hastened homewards.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] “To the left; to the right; mind your legs!”

[2] Since leaving Egypt, I have learnt that the whole concern has passed into other and more powerful hands, who, by the employment of considerable capital, have succeeded in facilitating the passage of travellers across the Isthmus.

CHAPTER V.

THE CAFE—ARAB MUSIC—ARTFUL EXPEDIENT—THE GHAWAZEE AND KOWAL—CHANGE OF COSTUME—THE LADY FROM BEYROUT—ODD PROCESSION—SHOWERS OF ROSE WATER—ARRIVAL OF THE “TAGUS”—THE OVERLAND MAIL—DEPARTURE OF THE INDIA-BOUND PASSENGERS—THE MAHMOUDIEH—ATFEH.

Alexandria offers to the English stranger very little in the shape of amusement; at six, when the offices and shops are closed, the square becomes the public promenade, serving in fact as the “change,” where business-matters and the news of the day are discussed. A gloomy stillness, however, seems to reign everywhere, for the rumble of wheels is seldom heard save when the Pasha returns from his evening drive, or when the carriages belonging to the rival hotels are brought out of the dusty remises, on the arrival of some steamer. There is but one solitary Cafè in the town, and that by no means an excellent one. It possesses nevertheless a sort of casino or subscription-room, where for twelve dollars a year, one may see the principal papers of France and Italy, and get a chance rubber of billiards with some passing traveller. This Cafè occupies one corner of the English Okella, and at the opposite angle is a theatre, where occasionally some Italian corps, paid for by subscription, are wont to enliven the Alexandrian beau-monde, by the production of some badly sustained opera, or a few of Goldoni’s comedies; the orchestra, on such occasions, being composed of amateurs, with, maybe, a first fiddle of renown from La Scala or the Fenice. In respect of music, the Arabs are still in the dark ages, and the performance of Mehemet Ali’s native band, is a grievous infliction upon the listener, as Furner and myself can testify. A kind old Arab, who had invited us one day to dinner, had prepared an agreeable surprise for us, by borrowing the five royal musicians from the “Nile” steam-frigate, and for three mortal hours or more, we were compelled to listen to and admire the same air (!) from a combination of three drums, two whistles, and a nondescript sort of guitar. It is probable that the whole night would have been devoted to harmony, had not Furner hit upon the fortunate expedient of gradually inebriating the whole five with repeated doses of strong brandy and water, which proved a novel and most enticing beverage. The drums are easily described, being neither more nor less than diminutive grape jars with the bottom knocked out, and a bladder strained over the mouth; these vary in size and consequently in tone, and are played on by the fingers’ ends.

THE PASHA’S NATIVE BAND.

The Ghawazée or dancing-girls of Egypt, are now not often to be met with, having been banished to a distant part of the country by order of the Pasha. Their manœuvres are sometimes imitated, however, by a set of men or boys, called “Kowāl,” who, disguised in suitable apparel, are to be hired for the evening for a mere trifle, and these fellows exhibited one night at our house before a few English. Their manner of dancing is not easily to be described, inasmuch, as to a stranger, their motions are sometimes wholly unintelligible. There is also much that is unequivocally disgusting, and I never met with any who wished to witness the exhibition a second time. The scene in the present instance, lasted about an hour and a-half, with a perpetual accompaniment of drums and whistles, and I doubt whether the men themselves were much more weary than we by the time it was over, though they lay without movement on the floor in a state of profuse perspiration.

By the time I had been a fortnight in Egypt, I found the close fitting Frank clothes I had brought with me, almost insupportable, and I consequently threw them aside in favour of a linen jacket and wide trousers, à la Turke. Although the change was very agreeable in point of comfort, it was a long time before I learned to dress myself properly, for the loose trouser is a most unmanageable garment, and the silk scarf which encircles the waist is of so preposterous a length, that it is useless to attempt winding yourself into it, without the aid of a servant. My early endeavours to arrive at a complete toilet, were much assisted by a young lady from Beyrout, who being on her way from Cairo to Malta, was billeted upon us for a few days at the request of Mr. Raven. We found her, at first, extremely shy, and as she could by no means be persuaded to raise her veil, it was fully two days before we saw the light of any part of her countenance, except her eyes, which glowed out from above her long black nose-case, like two coals. By degrees this timidity wore off, and she was induced to take her tea and pipe in our company. She spoke Arabic and Italian, with a very few words of English, so that it was with considerable difficulty that we contrived to hold any conversation with her. We gathered from her, bit by bit, that she is running away from a French husband, who had once thrown her out of a window, besides attempting her life in other ways. We were consequently obliged to keep her as much out of sight as possible, as she was in great trepidation lest he should suddenly make his appearance and finish her.

I had at this time an opportunity of witnessing a curious Arab procession, occurring on the day of some yearly festival; though in honour of whom or what, I could by no means ascertain. Our dragoman, Hassan, secured me a good position in one of the narrow streets out of the square, from whence I was able to view it to advantage. The procession was led by a dozen men bareheaded, who, formed into a circle, were making a rapid succession of low bows towards its centre, chanting at the same time a mournful air; next came a band of native musicians, followed by a numerous body of men bearing long flags, similar to those used in the pilgrimage to Mecca; those who came next upon the scene were a score or more of half-naked fellows, all foaming and perspiring with excessive exertion, whose sole object seemed to be the endeavour to pull each other to the ground, by means of the little top-knot of hair on the crown of the head; a miscellaneous and unruly crowd of men and boys brought up the rear, whose incessant thumping of little copper drums, mixing with the shouting and doleful chant of those who had preceded them, produced as discordant a variety of noises as I ever remember to have heard. The women took no part in the procession, saving as lookers on, testifying their appreciation and enjoyment of the extraordinary display, by a loud gobbling noise like a chorus of frightened turkey cocks—a noise I believe which none but an Arab woman can produce;—as the exhibitors moved along, they as well as the bystanders were plentifully besprinkled with water of roses and lavender, which we were given to understand was a part of the performance. So plentiful indeed did Furner and I find this novel species of baptism, that, being unprovided with umbrellas, we were glad to beat a precipitate retreat.

On the evening of July the 18th, the mail steamer “Tagus,” arrived from Southampton, and from this day, I may date the commencement of my official duties. We were enjoying our after-dinner pipe in the verandah, when Hassan announced her near approach, so, making all speed to the shore, Furner and I rowed off to meet her. On gaining the deck, we found about two dozen passengers for the Overland, with a prodigious quantity of baggage piled up in one large heap, from which each was endeavouring to release his own particular property. The mail consisted of a number of square tin-boxes, which, when hauled on deck, it was my duty to see shifted into a barge alongside, destined to convey them to the mouth of the Mahmoudieh Canal, observing at the same time, that each individual case was duly ticked off upon the bill of lading. It is said there is a charm in every description of novelty, but I have yet to learn where to find that belonging to the landing of a large Indian mail on a dark and gusty night by the dim light of a ship’s lanthorn. The oaths of the sailors as they worked the tackle, mingling with the blowing off of the steam, the shouts of the Arabs, and the bumping together of boats alongside, formed a confusion of noises perfectly bewildering, whilst it was with some difficulty that I could maintain a firm hold at the top of the ladder, from whence I was obliged to watch the packages in their descent, until a welcome cry of “All out,” announced a temporary reprieve. Whilst the mail barge was making its slow way round to the Mahmoudieh, I had time to reach the shore, and join the passengers at Rey’s Hotel, as they were starting for Moharrem Bey, which is the point of departure of the passage-boats. The pushing and scrambling for donkeys, on such occasions, is sometimes highly amusing, and it is long ere the cavalcade is in motion. When there is no moon, the scene is lighted up by crackling pots of burning charcoal, raised aloft on poles, shedding a lurid light. The road to the Canal involves the passing of two or three gates, strongly fortified, having lofty tunnel-like arches, and paved with round stones. The pattering of hoofs as the motley train rushes through, awakens the lazy sentinel, who presents arms mechanically to those of the flaring pots, and, as the sound again dies away in the deep sandy road, once more relapses into slumber.

Half a mile’s ride brought us to the avenue of trees upon the banks of the Canal, where the covered passenger-boats were waiting to receive us, that containing the mails and luggage, having already gone on a-head. The choice of seats, for berths there were none, was of course given to the ladies, the rest accommodating themselves where best they might. Four strong horses, mounted by as many Arab riders, were attached to the one long iron boat, which contained us all, and the word having been given to cast loose, we bid a hasty adieu to our friends on shore, and by a little after midnight, found ourselves in motion. Our crew consisted of a fat Maltese pilot, two or three Arabs, and a cook, named Antonio, and it was gratifying to remark, that the latter had not forgotten several well-stored cafasses, or provision-baskets, with apparatus for making tea and coffee, and a large brazier of ignited charcoal for heating his kettles.

The dew was falling like rain, soaking every thing that was exposed to it, but this did not deter some of our party from throwing themselves at full length upon the roof, where, snugly shrouded in their cloaks, they ran a much better chance of getting a little rest, than when squeezed into a sitting posture below. Having given a look round to see that all was as it should be, I retired into my little cabin in the bows, where, after a cold chicken and a bottle of Bass’s ale, I was soon deep in my first packet of letters from England. Sleep however, overcame me before I had finished, and I was dreaming most agreeably of far-off persons and scenes, when a sudden shock and instantaneous stoppage of the boat, upset my candle and empty beer-bottle, and caused a dire commotion among the cups and spode-ware in Antonio’s pantry. I ran on deck immediately, and found, as soon as I could collect my scattered senses, that our precious Maltese captain had run us into the bank, having quietly followed the example of those around him, by dropping to sleep at his tiller. Fortunately for the horses, the rope had parted with the sudden check, or they would have been pulled into the Canal, which I afterwards found was not an uncommon occurrence. After a little delay, we were soon making way again at an average pace of seven or eight miles an hour, and met with no farther mishap before day-break. We were amused in the morning by the uncouth gambols of the buffaloes, who were taking their early bath in the shallow water at the sides of the Canal. Some of them seemed so accustomed to the passing of our rope, which often gives them an unpleasant rap over the horns, and sometimes completely upsets them, that they would duck under water at the approach of the horses, and rise again as soon as we had shot past. At mid-day we reached Atféh, a considerable village on the Nile, at the southern extremity of the Mahmoudieh Canal.

CHAPTER VI.

THE NILE STEAM-BOAT—A DECK DINNER—BOULAC—THE ESBEKIER—THE “GRAND EASTERN HOTEL”—MR. RAVEN’S OFFICE—THE TRANSIT-BUSINESS—LOADING OF THE CAMELS—DEPARTURE OF THE CARAVAN—THE DESERT—THE STATIONS—WATER.

The water in the Mahmoudieh Canal being at this season of the year very low, and the steep muddy banks extremely slippery, it was no easy matter to disembark all the heavy luggage belonging to our passengers. The Arabs, however, are excellent porters, and will carry enormous loads; so much so, that I was surprised at the apparent facility with which the shifting of so great a quantity of material was accomplished. One of Mr. Waghorn’s agents, who is located at Atféh, sends off a lot of camels to the landing place, which transport the heavier baggage to the river side, where it is immediately stored on board the Nile steamer. This agent, who is an intelligent Italian, must lead a weary life in Atféh, for of all places it has been my lot to visit, I never saw one so truly forbidding. It is a town of considerable trade, and the quays are covered with timber and bales of merchandize. Pigs by the thousand run about in all directions, whilst the path from the canal-boat to the steamer is through a perfect Slough of Despond. With the exception of the Pasha’s corn-store, there is but one decent-looking building in the place: this is, of course, the hotel, where, on extraordinary occasions they can make up three or four beds, though woe befall the unhappy wight who trusts himself to the tender mercies of its host. On the ground-floor is a sort of wine and spirit-store, where the traveller can be accommodated with all the various growths of the Levant, and this is perhaps the only redeeming quality in the character of the “Grand Hotel de France.”

In the course of two hours, we had everything removed on board a little steamer, which lay fizzing at the quay side, capable of carrying, at a pinch, fifty passengers with their effects. On this occasion, we did not muster much more than half that number, and therefore found ample accommodation. As for myself, I was so tired with my unusual exertions of the last few hours, that I had no sooner reached the deck of the “Cairo,” than I spread out my mat, and was soon in a sound sleep, from which I was ere long aroused by a great clatter of knives and plates at the hour of dinner. A long table on the after-part of the deck, was lined on either side with my voracious countrymen, and although Antonio tried hard to obtain me a corner seat, his efforts were unavailing, and instead of being greeted, as I had fondly anticipated, with an invitation to do as the rest, a long-whiskered officer with his mouth full of chicken, ordered me to change his plate, very naturally mistaking me for one of the Arab attendants. I obeyed the order at once, but fearing that if I staid at the table, I might be subjected to a renewal of these unceremonious commands, and thus establish a bad precedent, I beat a retreat towards the caboose, and made friends with the head engineer, who was in the act of sitting down to a steaming mess of savoury stew, laid out upon the head of a cask, with a garnish of sparkling pale ale. On the paddle-box above us, sat the old Reis or pilot, gazing at us with extreme complacency, whilst waiting for his turn at the dish. This individual is the most important in the ship, as, without his knowledge of the river, we should be continually running aground on one or other of the numerous shoals, which at “low Nile” render the navigation somewhat intricate and dangerous. There he sits by day and by night, always at his post, and ever wakeful, giving an occasional sign to the Arab at the helm.[3]

We had now progressed a long way up the river, and as yet ungratified by anything like a prospect, the high muddy banks shutting out from us all view of the adjacent country. Occasionally we passed within hail of a Fellah town, and could hear the joyous shouts of the little children, as they proclaimed the approach of the “Meerkib-al-nar,” or Fireship, as their own language expresses it. As night came on, our little deck was gradually deserted, very few of the passengers choosing to encounter a wetting from the dew which was now descending almost as heavily as rain. I gave one look below to see if there was a chance of making my bed on or under some table or other, but every available place was occupied, and I was forced to throw myself upon the deck, rolled up in a thick Bernous cloak, which defended me from both dew and mosquitoes, and had it not been for one of the boatmen, who very unceremoniously walked on my leg, I should have slept undisturbed until daybreak.

About ten o’clock on the day following, we were just able to see the Pyramids of Ghizeh, pointing faintly upwards in the distance, and at noon reached Boulac,[4] the port of Cairo, where we disembarked, and rode a mile-and-a-half into the city, some on donkeys, and others in a sort of donkey chair. Consigning the mail boxes to the care of an agent, who was in waiting to receive them, I cantered on into Cairo, under the guidance of the lad, who ran behind me; and passing through the outer gate of the city, found myself on the Esbikier, or “great square,” a vast area of dry, cracked mud, surrounded by deep canals, devoid of water, and bordered by a double row of dusty-looking trees.

Leaving the Esbikier, we entered a very narrow street, in the which, about half way down, an overhanging board directs the traveller to the “Grand Eastern Hotel,” and turning down a still narrower alley, rendered almost dark by the extreme contiguity of the upper parts of the houses, we passed under an arched gateway, and entered the court-yard. A grim-looking Maltese waiter ushered me into the presence of Mr. Raven, who was busy writing in his office, a little sort of sanctum on the first-floor, which I shall describe at length hereafter. This gentleman welcomed me very kindly, inquiring how many passengers I had, and if they had all found conveyances to the city, &c., but before he would permit me to answer him, he pointed to a goolah of water and brandy bottle which stood by, and would hear nothing until I had taken a draught.

I then gave him a detailed account of our journey so far, and handed him a parcel of letters and a passenger list, which I had brought with me from Alexandria. I had made up my mind to something like a day’s rest in Cairo, and was therefore somewhat surprised, though by no means disappointed, when told that I had better accompany the caravan to Suez, and make preparation for an immediate departure—“And,” added Raven, “if you want anything to eat, find your way to the kitchen, and lay hands on anything you most fancy, for if you wait till dinner-time and sit down with the rest, ten to one but you are called away before you can swallow a mouthful!” This advice was no sooner given than acted upon; so, guided by my nose, I passed through sundry passages and offices, and came upon a whole bevy of greasy Arab cooks, busy in dishing-up all sorts of good things, and too much occupied to take any notice of my invasion of their territory. Giving a hasty glance around, I made choice of a tempting looking chicken, just fresh from the spit, with which I made off, without apology, although I believe very greatly to the astonishment of the cooks, who made des grands yeux at my impudence. An agreeable looking English girl, belonging to the establishment, whom I encountered in my retreat, introduced me to a plate and roll of bread, and sitting down I made a capital dinner.

On my return to Mr. Raven’s office, I found him busy with a list of the passengers, arranging their various places in the carriages which were to convey us to Suez. On a divan, under the window, was seated a portly looking gentleman,[5] in a Turkish dress, very intently conning over the last batch of Galignani, and smoking a Manilla, whilst one or two of the passengers who had escaped from the dinner-table, were changing English money into nine-piastre pieces, and asking innumerable questions. Motioning me to a seat at a desk alongside him, and at the same time introducing me to the gentleman upon the sofa, Raven supplied me with a cheroot and a bottle of pale ale, and handed me a rough list of the transit accounts to be put into proper form, before collecting the monies. “When,” said he, “you have receipted all these, and returned them to me, you may get away as soon as you like.” I found each little bill to consist of a printed form; so much for transit from Cairo to Suez, so much for camel-hire for baggage, and a third item for hotel expenses, the whole very simple and easily comprehended. The taking of the money was not so readily accomplished, as I had some little difficulty in making people understand how the charge for luggage was regulated. The hire of a camel to cross the desert is about twelve shillings, and his load seldom or never more than two packages; one on each side. A lady, therefore, with a heavy portmanteau and two large paper bandboxes, might be called upon to pay a camel and a half, whilst her husband, with two enormous and weighty bullock trunks, would probably pay but for one camel. A hat-box and writing-desk have been assessed at half a camel, for the Bedouins have but little idea of properly balancing a load; and I have frequently seen a heavy iron-bound trunk, counterpoised by a huge, but light, paper bonnet-box, or a colossal carpet-bag and a bird-cage, in ludicrous contraposition.

The loading takes place in a spacious court-yard at the back of the hotel, the camels kneeling to receive their burdens, which are secured in rude net-work bags, and the noise and confusion at such times is almost distracting. The animals are very touchy, and manifest their displeasure by a child-like groan, which it is almost distressing to hear. The motion of their heads too requires constant watching, as they turn round to bite and snap at the slightest provocation, and seem to have a peculiar dislike to the Frank dress, which attracts them more than the blue smocks of the Bedouin. The distribution of the loads is superintended by different servants of the company from every quarter of the globe; and as each tries to make himself heard amid the general din, there is a perfect Babel of tongues.

With all this, just under the open window of the little room in which we were sitting, I found my labour in the way of accounts to progress but slowly; and it was no little relief to me, when the hubbub was exchanged for a state of comparative quiet, produced by the departure of the camels with the baggage, which generally precedes the rest of the caravan.

By five in the afternoon, everything was reported in readiness for a start, but as I had occasion to wait for some papers entrusted to me by Raven, I was almost the last who reached the place of departure. In a wide part of an adjacent street, I found five or six covered carts with two wheels, and four stout horses attached to each; these are capable of holding four persons comfortably, and as they are well balanced, and run on enormously large wheels, their motion is both easy and agreeable. Each passenger has his particular seat assigned him before starting, so that there is no confusion or scrambling for places, care being also taken not to separate the members of one family more than can be avoided; children and ladies are generally confided to the care of the most experienced English drivers, while the gentlemen are handed over to the tender mercies of some Maltese, or native knight of the whip, if the caravan be so large as to put all the carriages in requisition.

On looking over the list, I found myself booked with two missionaries and a reverend divine; a fact which manifested a kindly interest in my welfare on the part of Mr. Raven, who pushed in after me a couple of black bottles, and gave the order to go forward. Whisking round the Esbikier, we passed the outer gate and suburbs, and then after a jolting drive of near a mile through narrow lanes, bordered by hedge-rows of prickly pear and luxuriant aloes, emerged on to the smooth sand of the desert; half a mile on, are two curious looking erections of brick, called the Tombs of the Sheiks, and these once out of sight, there is nought to greet the eye but a vast expanse of sand, enclosed at the horizon on either side within a low range of sand hills, which extend almost without interruption the entire way to Suez. The route of the caravan is more direct than that taken by the Israelites formerly, (which is more to the southward, almost without wells, and hilly,) and with one exception, where it crosses a ridge of rock, runs due East and West in a straight line.

For the convenience of passengers to and from India, places of refuge or Stations, have been erected at uniform distances, where man and beast may find refreshment, and shelter from the scorching sun. Those travelling through the agency of Messrs. Waghorn,[6] are entitled to avail themselves to any extent of the accommodation afforded, saving as to wines, &c., which are charged extra; but should a party making the journey, independent altogether of such agency, neglect to provide himself with a ticket of admission to these Stations, he will find himself condemned to abstinence from food and water for the entire eighty-four miles, unless he carry with him a sufficient supply. Wells there are none, saving one of dirty brackish water near Suez, and this is more often dry than not. At the Stations, however, there is always an abundant supply of good water, kept cool under ground in iron tanks, and brought from the Nile in skins at a great expense; and should this by any untoward chance be wanting, the traveller may slake his thirst with the best of ale or beer at a shilling the bottle. If too fastidious to descend to vulgar malt, he will find a modest looking “carte des vins” in the dining-rooms of three out of seven of the Stations, from which he may make his selection, without risk of being compelled to complain either of quality or price.

I am aware that there are many who have found fault with the apparently high charge made for the transit between Cairo and Suez; but these may not have sufficiently considered the great trouble and expense necessarily incurred in providing due accommodation. They have scarcely any idea of the number of skins of water required to fill one tank, nor, perhaps, do they reflect, while filling out or polishing their own skins, and using as much of the precious fluid as they can desire, that the poor camel or donkey which brought it forty weary miles from the Nile, returns all the way back again, without having wetted its lips more than once, if even so much as that. Then again, should a goat-skin spring a leak, or burst while on the road, which not unfrequently happens, what is to recompense the poor Bedouin, who has tramped the whole way on foot, and whose donkey, on which he solely relies for a livelihood, is the bearer of but one skin of water at a time.[7]

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Our little vessel when originally sent out to Egypt by the Oriental Company, was fitted with a rudder-wheel, but as the native boatmen could never be induced to work it, a long tiller was substituted in its stead.

[4] The distance from Atféh to Boulac, by the Nile, is about 120 English miles.

[5] Dr. A., an eminent physician, long resident in Cairo, well known by most who have visited that city.

[6] 1842-3.

[7] A young officer, on his way out to India, having upon one occasion, ordered Champagne, really was, or appeared to be, extremely annoyed that it was sent up un-iced! I never found any one returning, make any unreasonable objections of this kind.

CHAPTER VII.

DESERT FARE—THE BAWAUB—NO. 4 STATION—A SIESTA—THE SOLITARY TREE—PESTILENTIAL BREEZES—A DRY WELL—SUEZ—WAGHORN’S HOTEL—THE “BERENICE”—RETURN TO CAIRO—A THIRSTY DRIVER—COOL RECEPTION AT A WARM BATH—THE PENDANT RAG.

But to return to our caravan, which we left on the margin of the desert. Our rate of travelling was about five miles in the hour, for the track, which in some places, lay over a smooth and tolerably hard gravel, was at others exchanged for a loose sand, in which our wheels became buried to the depth of a foot or more, causing a deal of labour to our horses. At such times, our Seis, or running-footman, one of whom accompanies each carriage, would apply his shoulder to the wheel and help us over the soft spot, whilst on occasions we found it necessary altogether to alight, and unite our efforts. We changed horses at No. 1 Station, which is nine miles from Cairo, and a mere stable, reaching No. 2, at about ten o’clock. This is a building containing a large saloon, with divans and a long table, three sleeping rooms, kitchen, &c., and here we found a good supper laid out, consisting of smoking dishes of Irish stew, cold turkeys and fowls, and eggs à discretion. During the meal, I was beckoned out of the room by the head driver, Mr. Hill,[8] to debate as to the length of time we should allow for resting. As there was a full change of horses for each carriage, I considered it would be as well to make the most of the cool night air, and secure a long halt the next day at the centre Station, and our passengers concurring in this idea, we were soon again en route.

No. 3 Station is a repetition of No. 1, being only a stable, tenanted by one old melancholy Arab, who, on our arrival, was found squatted over his little fire of camel’s dung, upon which he was baking his evening cake of Indian corn. This, with his pipe, and a drink of water, forms his only food. In the morning, in his scriptural little mill of two flat stones, he grinds sufficient flour to last him through the day, tasting nought else until his return to the city, which takes place when the transit season is over. Such, at least is the old fellow’s own account of himself; but as very few who cross the desert, pass by a Station without a call, it is more than probable, that he picks up something, more palatable than maise-bread, in return for the sundry half-pints of water and handsful of corn, which he distributes, sub-rosâ, among his Bedouin friends.

A HALT IN THE DESERT.

Early on the following morning, we came in sight of No. 4, the centre Station, forty-one miles from Cairo, which, with the one solitary tree that stands near it, is visible nearly six miles before it is made. This is a resting-place of much more pretensions than the others, having an upper-story, with a ricketty flight of stone-steps, and a tolerably spacious court-yard below, where, at the time of our arrival, a queer-looking sheep, and some lean shrivelled fowls were sniffing and pecking about, and scraping up their last earthly meal, whilst a turkey-cock, perched on an empty cafass or hamper, was dismally sounding his death-rattle. The live stock, and eatables of all sorts are brought from Cairo in sufficient quantity to supply the larders of all the Stations for several weeks, but occasionally, when the number of passengers to and fro is very large, a sort of famine takes place, and we have been compelled to subsist for a time upon dates and other dried fruits, of which there is always a good store; the change of diet proving rather agreeable than otherwise. Chickens, very lean and tough, and roasted to dryness, are a standing dish in Egypt, and these with the larger sorts of fowl, and plenty of curries and Irish-stew, form the principal fare of the desert.[9] A second course generally makes its appearance at dinner in the shape of huge rice-puddings, or a sort of sweetmeat called mish-mish, a favourite dish of the Arabs.

On arriving at No. 4, we found that the cool night air had given us considerable appetite, and our ablutions performed, there was a general rush to the long table in the common room, where sundry tea-pots and coffee-biggins were soon in rapid circulation, and boiled eggs disappeared by the score; bread there was none, as that becomes too much dried up by the heat when carried across the desert, but hard biscuits we found to be an excellent substitute, and the Egyptian butter is delicious. Breakfast over, I spread my carpet on the top of a long wooden sideboard, and soon fell fast asleep—my example being followed by the others who disposed themselves to rest, some in the bed-rooms, and others on the divans which extend round three sides of the room. In the middle of the day the heat was excessive—the thermometer standing at 100° of Fahrenheit—and the slight breath of air which was stirring outside was so very far preferable to the confined heat of the rooms, that I left my hard couch for a little patch of shade under one of the carts, where I was soon joined by one of my fellow-travellers, with whom I whiled away the hours in chat, until summoned by Ibraham the cook to another trial of his culinary art.

At the approach of evening, the horses were again attached to their respective carts or vans, and after some little jibbing on the part of the poor animals, who were evidently averse to moving, we were again upon the desert. The road near the centre Station is hard and gravelly, and affords most easy travelling for the first mile or two. We passed within a stone’s throw of the solitary tree before alluded to, with its sun-burnt branches all festooned with rags; the followers of the prophet who pass this object on their pilgrimages to Mecca, hang thereon an old shoe or some portion of a garment by way of peace-offering. If the wind is stirring, it is quite as well to take the weather-side of this hanging mass of old clothes, for as there are few devotees who care to part with anything really serviceable, the breezes which come athwart the tree are by no means of the most balmy.

About a quarter of a mile to the southward of this pestilential landmark, is a pit in the sand, of enormous dimensions, excavated by the French in the vain hope of obtaining water. Two or three of us went so far just to gratify our curiosity, but were obliged to use extreme caution in approaching the edge of the pit. Its diameter is so great that the well, although one hundred and fifty feet deep, appears rather shallow than otherwise, and the section of the ground exhibits a succession of layers of fine sand and gravel, but without the least appearance of water. Two or three dead animals, for which the well had served as a pitfall, lay at the bottom.

The road to No. 5 Station is scarcely to be distinguished, as the ground is so hard as to take no impress of wheels, and there would be great difficulty in making it out at all, were it not for the dead and dying camels and blanched skeletons, which strew the path and serve as finger-posts. Should a camel drop through exhaustion, and there be no means at hand of relieving it, the Bedouin removes its load, which is distributed among the others, and the poor beast is left to die, for to shorten its miseries by a coup de grace, would be at variance with the law of Mahomet. This is the more to be regretted as these animals are peculiarly tenacious of life, and when left in this manner, are sure to fall a prey to the jackal and vulture, who feast upon the body before life is extinct. A sly bullet from my carbine has often terminated the agonies of such as I have found thus abandoned in my frequent journeys, when I could use it without fear of detection, for the Arabs will not lightly pass over an infringement of their law in this particular; and as they have, if so inclined, the power of causing us much trouble, I have invariably sought to be on the best terms with them.

Passing the next Station, a mere stable, and still keeping between the two lines of hills, which increase in height as you approach Suez, we came suddenly upon No. 6, where, as it was now ten o’clock, we had to arouse the inmates. This Station is the counterpart of No. 2, and was tenanted by an agreeable and pretty Englishwoman, who, having in haste, united herself to an Arab, was now in the solitude of the desert, repenting at her leisure. Under her good care we remained several hours, doing ample justice to a plentiful supper, and refreshing ourselves with a comfortable nap. It was therefore broad daylight when we reached the well of brackish water, and came in sight of the walls of Suez, a desolate and miserable town, where there is no water, save that of the Red Sea, and such as is afforded by a casual shower, and not the most remote appearance of vegetation in any shape. The inhabitants, who appear to live exclusively upon fish, and dried fruits from the interior, consist principally of Jewish merchants and small Arab traders, for there is considerable traffic between Suez and the shores of the Red Sea, especially with Aden and Missouah, which latter, is the chief port of Abyssinia. The Indian steamers come up to within three or four miles of the town, and obtain a tolerably safe anchorage outside a perilous bar, which entirely prevents any nearer approach for vessels drawing more than five feet of water. Communication is effected, and merchandize shipped, by means of small lateen-rigged boats, which, if the wind be contrary, are also managed by oars; but in a high sea, I have sometimes been as long as six hours in getting out to the steamer.

Waghorn’s hotel is a quaint-looking low building close to the water’s edge, containing accommodation for thirty or forty people, and is managed by a clean bustling Englishwoman and her nephew. Two hundred yards or so nearer the gate, stands the old hotel, used only on extraordinary occasions, or when the steamer, not true to her time, causes a meeting at Suez between the India-bound passengers and those returning homewards. The little square before the door was filled as we drove up, with the baggage camels, which having disposed of their burdens in various heaps upon the ground, were now quietly chewing the cud, and resting themselves after their weary march, while their drivers were lolling near, either shrouded in their bernous cloaks and fast asleep, or lazily getting their morning meal. Portmanteaus, bullock-trunks, sword-cases, and three-cornered hat-boxes, with all the innumerable etceteras in the way of baggage, comprising an Indian outfit, lay scattered about in wild confusion, and it required no little skill on the part of our drivers to manage a four-in-hand through such a sea of valuables. Fortunately for myself, the boxes containing the mails lay all in one heap close to the door of the hotel, so that my task of counting and checking them was more easily accomplished than I had anticipated. Consigning them, therefore, into the hands of Mr. Manson, the agent at Suez, and obtaining from him a suitable receipt, I was left to discuss an excellent “dejeuner a-la-fourchette,” provided for me by the good-natured landlady, of whom I had contrived to get the blind side, by the opportune present of a few English needles which I happened to have in my valise.

I learned, on inquiry of the agent, that the “Berenice” Bombay steamer, which had the day before landed two or three homeward-bound passengers, and was now lying smoking at her anchorage, was to start at five in the afternoon; and as the shipment of the mails and luggage is a work of time and labour, the sooner they were got off the better. I found this by no means an unpleasant part of my duty, for as there was a delightful breeze blowing, and the weather of the finest, the sail down the arm of the gulf into the open water, was extremely pleasant.

By six o’clock every one was on board, and the “Berenice” under weigh; and at midnight, I had turned my back upon Suez, with the now nearly empty carriages, for there were only three passengers, and as it so happened that neither of these contemplated reaching Alexandria in time for the English steamer, there was no occasion for any extraordinary dispatch. We therefore jogged along quietly enough, and for the first few stages, I found an amusing companion in my driver, a countryman of my own, who, having been long resident in Egypt, was able to afford me a good deal of information. He was, however, no follower of Father Mathew, and falling into the popular error that brandy is the best and safest restorative in a hot climate, he indulged in such repeated pulls at the black bottle, that on leaving No. 4 Station, he was compelled to resign the reins to the attendant Seis, and sleep away the effect of his potations at the bottom of the cart.

Resting during the hottest part of the day, we reached Cairo at the close of the second afternoon, where having consigned my travelling companions to the attentions of the head waiter, I paid my respects to Mr. Raven, whom I found entertaining a large party of his English friends, resident in Egypt. Pleading my travel-worn and dusty condition, for he was leading me in to present me to the ladies, as a late arrival from England, I begged him to direct me to some good bath, where I could indulge in the luxuries of soap and hot water. “There was a good one,” he said, “at the end of the first Bazaar,” whither accordingly I bent my steps, and passing under a narrow stone gateway, from whence thin clouds of steam were issuing into upper air, I was making my way through a damp passage, when I suddenly found myself arrested by the gripe of a fierce-looking Abyssinian slave, who luckily perceiving that I was a stranger, drew me back again into the street with much gesticulation, and pointing to a dirty rag which hung suspended over the door-way, like a paviour’s wisp, gave me a shove, which sent me reeling into the Bazaar, considerably surprised at the curious mode of reception practised at a public Hammam. I had scarcely recovered my scattered senses, when a Frank tailor, who had seen the transaction, and evidently pitied my dilemma, emerged from his little shop, and explained to me that the pendant rag was exhibited as a sign, to show that the bath was at such times in the occupation of the ladies, and that in fact the hareem of some great man had but a short time before engaged the establishment. My forcible ejection was, therefore, no longer a matter of surprise, the only wonder being, that I had escaped so cheaply from the hands of the dusky Cerberus on guard.

My new friend, the tailor, now directed me to another bath at a little distance off, where I had no difficulty in effecting an entrance, as this time, and indeed always afterwards, I took especial care to look out for the rag! Although the Turkish bath has been so often described, as to have rendered its peculiarities familiar, I shall scarcely feel satisfied to give a casual glance only at this most gratifying of luxuries, and shall, therefore, simply relate my own experience, without venturing to hope that I may furnish anything very new upon the subject.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] A brother of the late Mr. Hill, before alluded to.

[9] I once met with a “loin of camel,” at No. 4 Station, a pièce de resistance, I am not ambitious of tasting a second time.

CHAPTER VIII.

AN EGYPTIAN HAMMAM—INHUMAN TORTURES—THE BARBER—THE CHIROPODIST—DELIGHTFUL RESPITE—PALE ALE AND MANILLAS—RAVEN’S COLLECTION—DR. A.—ANTIQUITIES—MR. BELL—HIS AFRICAN ADVENTURES—THE WHITE NILE EXPEDITION.

Entering a large vaulted chamber of stone, and delivering up my watch and valuables to a person appointed to receive them, (a precautionary measure against loss,) I was led by an obsequious and smiling Arab to one of the numerous little rooms which opened out of it, and shewn to a queer-looking bed upon the floor, which I forthwith appropriated, and casting my clothes thereon, they were rolled up in a bundle by my attendant, and deposited at the head. On parting with my last garment, I was enveloped in a gaudy carpet, which came up under my arms, and being drawn together tight at the back, was secured by a pin. A flowing-white turban, of the finest muslin, was now bound round my head, and thus accoutred, my feet were thrust into the thongs of a pair of wooden sandals, and I was led across the outer apartment into one of much larger dimensions, where, round a fountain of hot water which squirted up in the centre, were seated some dozen or more of naked Arabs, sousing and splashing each other like a lot of dolphins. The atmosphere of this chamber was of such a temperature, as to make me feel rather uneasy on first entering it, but this feeling soon passed off, and my guide, seeing that I was all right again, then conducted me into a little hole of a place, quite filled with dense steam, where I literally gasped for breath. Here I was committed to the tender mercies of a black bearded fellow, all reeking with perspiration, who, forcing me down on a narrow stone slab, where I lay gasping on my back, proceeded to curry me over with a hard sort of fibrous brush, like the outer husk of a cocoa-nut. The skin peeled off me in little rolls, to which my operator exultingly pointed, exclaiming, “taib, taib!”[10] at each stroke of his teazle, until I nearly roared with pain, though I felt at the same time a most pleasing and indefinable sensation creeping through me, accompanied by a delicious healthful glow over the whole of my body. Having pretty well tired himself, and reduced the whole superficies of my skin to a flaming red colour, he next made a fine bowl of suds with tow and yellow soap, and lathered over my whole person, filling my eyes and ears also, and completely preventing any attempt at expostulation, by the prospect of a plentiful gulp of the unsavoury compound, if I dared to open my mouth. Having concluded this portion of the ceremony, my Arab seized me by the nape of the neck, and settled me into a sitting posture; then from a fountain which gushed from the wall, he dipped up in a brass basin about half-a-gallon of scalding water, which he deliberately poured over my head. This I found to be too much of a good thing, and was taxing me beyond my powers of endurance, so seizing the brass pan, I refused to submit to any more of the scalding baptism, unless he could lower the temperature of the fountain. This was easily managed, as there was both a cold and a hot-water tap, and I could qualify the water to my liking.

At this stage of the bath, a man, whose insignia bespoke him a barber, thrust his head in at the door-way, and inquired if I wanted shaving, but being answered in the negative, made way for a second individual, who proved to be the chiropodist in ordinary to the establishment. He, in like manner, took his departure, evidently astonished at finding nothing to operate upon.

My ablutions were now finished, and my first attendant, bringing dry cloths and a clean turban, re-conducted me to the couch, where, covering me over with a light blanket, he left me to the enjoyment of a pipe of fragrant gibelee and a cup of coffee, administered by another of the numerous servitors. This is probably the most agreeable part of the whole proceeding, for the feelings which take possession, both of mind and body, are indescribably pleasurable. One seems to be inoculated with the genuine elixir of life, and the limbs feel restored to the elasticity of early youth, whilst the mind appears for the moment to be divested of all care and solicitude.

In the present instance, however, this enviable state of things was not suffered to be of long duration, for I was speedily recalled to a full sense of my position, by the pertinacious corn-cutter, who, under cover of my closed eye-lids, was scraping away at my heels with a piece of pumice-stone, and tickling me back into consciousness. Having previously declined his services, I thought it no harm to repeat my disinclination for them, by a well-directed kick, which sent him rolling. But my hopes of enjoying the pipe and coffee were destined to be signally defeated, for no sooner had I got rid of my Egyptian Eisenberg, than another tormentor made his appearance. As I lay, I was compelled to submit to the cracking of all my joints; my head was forced back farther than I ever fancied it would go, and then twisted both ways round, and again downwards: every finger and toe was pulled at and cracked, and, finally, the breath was nearly squeezed out of my body, by a convulsive jerk on the part of my executioner, who had encircled me with his two arms. I was then laid down again, and a small mirror being handed me, was suffered to invest myself once more in my own clothes, from which I must have been absent more than two hours.

The price of the Arab bath varies considerably, the more so, that each individual operator expects a fee, a practice which sometimes causes a deal of trouble and confusion. I paid generally ten piastres, (about two shillings,) to the door-keeper for distribution, and with this sum I found them abundantly satisfied. A Frank, however, is expected to pay better than a native, who would never think of giving more than three or four piastres.

At Cairo, I staid nearly a fortnight, making some very agreeable acquaintances, for Raven’s little office was a snuggery which every Englishman in the place considered he had a right to visit at least once in the day; and as a copy of “Galignani,” arrived three times a month, with an occasional “Times” or “Chronicle” addressed to myself, the divan under the window was generally occupied by Dr. A., or some magnate from the Consular Office, who would sit an hour to chat over the latest news, and tap a bottle of Moline’s “pale India.” One particular drawer in Raven’s desk was filled with a choice lot of Manillas, to which all had access, and so thoroughly was this liberal system of smoking appreciated, that a box of a thousand, generally disappeared in the course of a fortnight, for some, not content with the few they could consume in the room, made off with a bundle of ten or a dozen, to kill the musquitoes in their own quarters.

Raven’s office, though not more than fourteen feet by eight, contained an incredible number of drawers, and it was rarely that he was asked for anything, which he could not immediately produce from one or other of these receptacles. Travellers very often leave things behind them, in the hurry and confusion of packing, and thus it happened that a heterogeneous collection of articles from all parts of the globe, fell into the hands of Raven, who, if he failed to identify them, would deposit them carefully away, in the hope that some day or other, the owner might return and claim his property. It more often happened, however, that these stray properties were never afterwards inquired for, and many is the goodly cloak and well-stuffed carpet-bag, with now and then a watch or a snuff-box, which has thus found a protector.

Dr. A., the only English physician in Cairo, (and he by the way is an American,) to whom I have before alluded, lives in a quiet part of the city, in a large and straggling, but commodious house, fitted up in the Oriental style. The doctor has considerable practice amongst the townsfolk and Frank residents, who are pretty sure to call him in on any emergency; but I fancy, that one passing windfall, in the shape of an English traveller, or an invalid officer on leave from India, suits the book of the worthy Hakeem, better than a whole hospital of sick Mahometans.

When not occupied by his Esculapian duties, the doctor devotes a part of his time to the formation of a cabinet of Egyptian antiquities, and he is so well known to the Arabs as a collector of rarities, that relics of all descriptions find their way to him, the bearer being generally rewarded according to the outward appearance of the article, by a sum often strangely disproportionate to its real value. Among other objects of great interest, is a ring of solid virgin gold of great weight, which from its hieroglyph, is supposed to have belonged to one of the Pharaohs. By this, the doctor deservedly sets great store, and has repeatedly refused to part with it, although a very high price has been offered. Mummy ornaments of all descriptions, with holy beetles and scaribei, form a prominent portion of the collection, which is visited by most travellers as one of the sights of Cairo.

During my first sojourn in the capital, I was naturally anxious to get to the Pyramids, and satisfy the burning curiosity I had always felt to see these extraordinary monuments. I was dissuaded, however, from paying them an immediate visit, by a promise on the part of Mr. Raven, to get up and personally conduct an expedition to explore them at leisure, and as he had assisted Colonel Vyse in opening those of Ghizeh, which had been partially explored by Belzoni, and then once more closed, I was the more ready to submit to this arrangement and profit by his experience. The rising of the Nile too, which was now rapidly filling, was an obstacle, inasmuch as the distance from Cairo to the first Pyramids is but five miles, by the ordinary route when the water is off the plain, whilst at the time of the inundation, it is twenty miles or more, and the road rendered difficult and dangerous.

I therefore contented myself with visiting such objects of interest in Cairo and its immediate neighbourhood, as were within the compass of a walk, as the mad-house, and citadel, and the royal gardens of Shoubra and Rhoda, &c.

In these little excursions, I was accompanied by a gentleman named Bell, to whom I was introduced by Dr. A., at whose house he was a visitor. He had but just returned from a long journey into Abyssinia and the Galla country, where he had met with much hardship and adventure. It happened that a certain Colonel Ashton, who had ventured into that uncivilized part of the world, had died, as was asserted, of brain-fever, but his relatives, not satisfied with this account of the unfortunate gentleman’s death, had begged Dr. A. to send off some trustworthy person to ascertain the real state of the case. Bell, who, at that moment happened to have nothing particular to do, and found time hanging heavily upon his hands, volunteered his services, which were forthwith accepted. Taking with him a sufficient escort, he disembarked at Missouah, and penetrated as far southward as the spot where the Colonel died, finding the account, in the main, perfectly correct, and satisfying his relatives that he had not met with a violent death. Some of Bell’s adventures were curious and amusing, and it is matter of considerable regret to me, that I have not preserved a more complete record of his perils and escapes. By one chief he was detained as a sort of prisoner, and was not allowed to proceed on his journey until he contrived to purchase his liberty by some well-displayed feats of arms, which completely won over the heart of the old king. On one occasion, he was called upon to play (!) a tilting match with his majesty, who, doubtless proposed to himself great sport in knocking Bell off his horse, and maybe sending a long spear through his body. My countryman, who by the way, was a powerful athletic fellow of six feet one or two, young and full of vigour, and a perfect horseman, vaulted gaily into his saddle, and acting only on the defensive, happily succeeded in parrying the strokes of his adversary’s lance which glanced harmlessly off his shield, calmly awaiting a favourable opportunity to take his turn at the opposing target. This came sooner than he anticipated, for the chief, thrown off his guard, probably by a false estimate of Bell’s skill in this sort of tactics, slacking his attention for a moment, received a well-directed lance in the very centre of his shield, which sent him rolling on the grass, to his own infinite amusement, as well as that of such of his liege subjects as witnessed the sport. The old chief, was, in fact, so well pleased with the courage and address displayed by Bell, that he presented him with the white mule, from which he had but a moment before so ignominiously parted company, and conferred a sort of knighthood upon him into the bargain, by the gift of a splendid gold-embossed shield, ornamented with the lion’s tail, which is one of the insignia of royalty.

From this moment, our friend stood high in the favour of the Court, and attended the king on several excursions against a neighbouring tribe, with whom he was then at war. On one of these occasions, Bell was severely wounded by a lance through his hip, but was carefully nursed by the chief’s family, who, although very loth to part with him, suffered him at length to continue his journey, loading him with provisions and presents, and increasing the number of his escort. Farther south, he was attacked by robbers, who plundered him of everything save his arms, and left him for dead upon the ground, with a lance through his head, which entering the nose, came out at the back of the neck, and was eventually withdrawn without doing much injury.[11]

Having accomplished the object of his mission, Bell returned to Cairo, where it was that I fell in with him very shortly afterwards. A few months subsequently, he again set out for Abyssinia in company with two other gentlemen, with the intention of reaching the source of the White Nile, by which name the main stream is distinguished. It was a totally different branch which Bruce traced to its rise, and the true position of the sources of the Nile still appears to be unauthenticated. It remains to be seen what success has attended their efforts.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] “Good, good.”

[11] These facts I give to the reader as I had them from Bell, who subsequently suffered acutely from the wounds in his head.

CHAPTER IX.

THE NILE BOAT—VOYAGE DOWN THE RIVER—DEFENSIVE PREPARATIONS—SUDDEN SQUALL—NARROW ESCAPE—ALEXANDRIA—RIVAL HOTELS—LESSONS IN DONKEYSHIP—DOMESTIC COOKERY—THE “GREAT LIVERPOOL”—PHYSIOLOGY OF THE SEIS.

At the end of the month I accompanied Mr. Raven to Alexandria in one of his Nile sailing-boats, which are light and commodious little vessels, drawing but two or three feet of water, and especially adapted for the voyage into upper Egypt, to which purpose indeed they are principally applied. Having sunk it under water for a day or two, and cleansed it as much as possible of fleas and cockroaches, we shipped a goodly cafass of provisions, and taking with us an Arab cook, embarked at nightfall. The wind was unfortunately against us, obliging our crew to use their oars, and very much retarding our progress. Our boat, which was somewhat of a hobby of Raven’s, was very completely fitted with every possible convenience, and had two compact little cabins under the poop-deck, just long enough for a person to lie down in, one being furnished with bed-places. In the middle of the forward cabin, was a sort of tuck-up table, on which our supper was now laid out by our swarthy factotum, who had for some little time been tickling our appetites with the grateful odours of certain savoury ragoûts, concocted over a charcoal fire ’midships. Over our heads, suspended from the roof, swung a monstrous stable-lantern, shedding a dim yellow light, just sufficient to show us the way to our mouths, for to read or talk were equally impossible, owing to the unceasing song of the Arab boatmen, who accompany themselves as they row, with a rude melody, by no means grateful to English ears. All we could do, was to recline at our ease, and puff away at our chibouques, until the heavy dew, which wetted everything, as effectually as if we had been exposed to a drizzling rain, drove us to our couches.

I awoke several times during the night, and emerging from the cabin, found every one but myself fast asleep, the vessel gliding noiselessly down the stream. Even the head of the old Reis, who was perched upon the roof of the cabin, had dropped down upon his chest, and saving the ripple of the water under our bows, and the measured snore of some of our party, no sound was to be heard, and we moved imperceptibly onwards in perfect stillness. I had no heart to arouse any of the poor tired Arabs from their stolen slumbers, the more especially, as I knew the danger of running aground to be but slight; so once more seeking my hard bed, and covering myself completely in my cloak, I bid defiance to musquitoes and cockroaches, and was soon deep in pleasant dreams of home.

The two next days were passed in our boat, the monotony of the voyage being varied by occasional runs on shore, when we moored at some village or other, to take in a fresh supply of milk or vegetables. At other times, where the high banks afforded good walking, we indulged in a little shooting, for doves and small birds were very plentiful, and afforded excellent eating. As the third night closed in, a light breeze sprung up, which aided us considerably in our progress, and inspired our tired crew with fresh energy.

As we made our preparations for turning in, I remarked that Raven drew from his pocket a huge knife, which, after a careful inspection, he deposited with great gravity under his pillow, though whether as a precaution against intrusion, or any act of foul play on the part of our boatmen, I did not inquire, merely viewing such unwonted preparation with considerable curiosity.

I had not been long asleep, when I found myself suddenly rolled from my sofa on to the floor, our stable-lantern and dining-table bearing me company; and on opening my eyes, I could just catch a glimpse of Raven escaping from the door-way with his big knife, whilst the violent vociferations of the Arabs on deck, mingled with a confused rushing sound of both wind and water, and the alarming lurch of the vessel, left me in some doubt as to whether I was murdered or drowning. A moment more and tranquillity was restored; the boat righted, and I found my legs. Emerging from the cabin, I learnt that a sudden puff of wind had caught our huge lateen sail, which, in true Arab fashion, had been made fast to a ring in the deck, whilst the lazy sailor, who ought to have held it, was enjoying a comfortable nap. Had it not been for the promptitude displayed by Raven, who had severed the rope with the trusty knife from under his pillow, it is more than probable that he would have got a sound ducking, and I have served as a bonne bouche for some stray crocodile; for the Nile boatmen, who are amphibious, and look upon an unexpected dip rather as a treat than otherwise, have the unpleasant habit of extending assistance only to those in supreme authority. Thus, while they would have rescued Mr. Raven, I might have bubbled away my last breath in the cabin, or have floated down the stream, entirely unheeded and uncared for.

Providentially, however, we were saved from capsizing, and having bestowed two or three hearty kicks on the man who had caused the sudden alarm, we retired again to our couches, and reached Atféh about daybreak, without farther mishap.

Half-an-hour was passed here in preparing one of the iron track-boats to convey us down the Canal to Alexandria, where we arrived about three in the afternoon, and just in time for me to put off in a little boat to meet one of the French steamers, which was visible in the offing. Furner and I had a sharp race with a rival boat from Colomb’s Hotel, and as the French captain suffered their agent to come on board, whilst he politely saluted us with a copious sprinkling of warm water, it was some satisfaction to remark that there was not even one solitary passenger for either of us. There is considerable jealousy between the proprietors of the “Rey” and “Colomb,” by which names the two principal hotels are distinguished, and we hear that the opposing party is about to start some canal-boats, and a couple of desert carriages, at a lower rate of transit. This is doubtless all very fair, and as competition generally benefits the public, we shall watch with interest the progress of our rivals.

Mr. Raven quitted us again the next day to return to Cairo, taking with him Mrs. Hill and her little daughter, the widow and child of his late partner, who had been sojourning some time in Alexandria. We drove down to Moharrem Bey in one of Rey’s carriages, and the evening being very dark, we had much difficulty in picking our way through the ruins which mark the site of the ancient city, and ran many chances of an upset in one or other of the deep holes which skirt the track. Raven gave me instructions, upon this occasion, to look after and see to the safe conduct of the Marquis of ——, the newly appointed Governor of Madras, who is expected by the next steamer from England, and enjoined me to pay particular attention to the comfort of his lordship during the voyage to Cairo, and to place at his disposal the whole of one of our track-boats, that he may be delayed as little as possible. Having received my orders, I returned to the Okella with the agreeable prospect before me of a few days quiet, prior to the arrival of the next mail.

I shall spare the reader a detail of my every-day life at Alexandria, for my time when not taken up by office-duties, or the study of Arabic, in which I was now making some progress, was chiefly occupied in strolling through the bazaars, or in extended rambles with Furner on donkey-back, in search of the picturesque. Our rides were frequently productive of much amusement, for Furner excelled in donkeyship, riding at full gallop à la Franconi, or sitting with his face to the tail, in order to obtain a better command of his animal’s flank. Numerous also, were the tumbles we got, but as we never made use of our stirrups, we invariably pitched upon our feet, and by this very simple precaution, escaped the bruises which fall to the lot of such as place too much confidence in these little animals.

We were frequently accompanied in our rambles by our fair friend from Beyrout, who had shewn her appreciation of Raven’s offer of house-room for a few days, by permanently hanging up her cap in our hall, where she makes herself extremely useful in superintending our household affairs. Were she anything of a cook, it is probable that our own particular “chef” would take umbrage at her interference, but she is guiltless of even the most superficial knowledge of the art, and it was with much difficulty that I initiated her into the mystery of making an apple-pie. It is true that the first attempt on my part was any thing but calculated to impress her with a very exalted idea of my qualifications, but then I had so many difficulties to contend with. In the first place, I do not suppose that all Egypt could have furnished a pie-dish, for which I was compelled to substitute an Italian wash-hand basin. One of our tables served as a dough-board, and an empty wine-bottle for a rolling-pin, and having cut and cored my apples, I covered the whole over with what I thought an excellent paste, and sent it to a neighbouring oven, reserving myself during the first part of our dinner for the full enjoyment of the anticipated luxury. It came in due course, but somehow or other resisted all our efforts to get at the inside of it. Our knives made no impression whatever on the crust, which was of adamantine quality, totally shaming the old proverb about promises and pie-crusts, and after various ineffectual schemes, we found our only way was to turn it bottom upwards, and carefully break away the dish, revenging ourselves upon the apples, which were excellent. Succeeding attempts proved more satisfactory, and we became eventually rather famous for our productions in this branch of cookery.

On the 18th of the month, the “Great Liverpool” arrived at Alexandria, bringing the expected Marquis of ——, and about forty other passengers. We got away about three in the afternoon, reaching Atféh at midnight, but the quantity of luggage was so enormous, that it took us upwards of three hours to shift it on board the “Cairo” steamer, and two hours more would very likely have been occupied, but for the assistance of a French gentleman named Cler, connected in some way with the Company, who had accompanied us thus far. We did at last turn our backs upon Atféh, and after a brief stoppage at Cairo, arrived at Suez just in time to catch the “Berenice” steamer, although some of our party, who stuck fast in the sand, between Nos. 2 and 3 Station, had a hard push for it: these were the Governor of Goa and his suite, four gentlemen in one carriage, who were compelled to vary the monotony of their journey by a ride of sixteen miles on the bare backs of the horses, which brought them on to No. 4 in a deplorable condition. It was some consolation to them to find a good meal in readiness, for having seen their mishap, I had ridden quickly forward, in order to dispatch an empty carriage to bring them on, a procedure, now rendered useless by their appearance. So anxious were they about catching the steamer, that I could with difficulty persuade them to sit down while they swallowed their hot stew.

On reaching Suez, I went on board the “Berenice,” with Mr. Hill, who, having personally driven the Marquis of —— across the desert, obtained a flattering testimonial as to care and attention during the journey, which had in fact been made in little more than twelve hours, by those in the first three carriages. At the hotel, I met with a Captain J——, an officer on sick leave, from India, who bore me company on my return to Cairo; and as time was no particular object to either of us, we spent two days and nights on the way, changing horses only once. Our “Seis,” or running footman, kept up with us the whole weary eighty-four miles, relieving himself only by occasionally hanging on behind, and refusing our offer of a seat inside with stoical indifference. He, poor fellow, like the rest of his class, was a mere skeleton, his flesh being wasted away by undue perspirations, and a lack of such food as is essential to keep up the stamina during such continued exercise. Each set of horses, or team, has its attendant “Seis,” who, whilst the animals are resting, snatches a brief sleep, and swallows his unpretending meal of bread and water, with perhaps a relish in the shape of an onion, or a pull at the nargileh of the old bawaub, or door-keeper. As it sometimes happens that the same team of horses has to perform two or three stages, the poor “Seis” comes in for a double duty, which is, nevertheless, unhesitatingly accomplished, and even entered upon with joyful alacrity, should the prospect be seasoned with the promise of a trifle of bucksheesh on the part of any of the travellers. I have known them to convey a letter or message from Cairo to Suez with incredible speed, running all the way, and carrying with them in the bosom of their blue cotton shirt, just as much bread as would serve to sustain them on the journey.

CHAPTER X.

CAIRO—THE TURKISH BAZAAR—TEST OF A SWORD-BLADE—THE “LITTLE NILE”—RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PLAGUE—THE EGLINTOUN TENTS—PROCEEDINGS IN THE “GREAT SQUARE”—ASTONISHMENT OF THE PASHA—A MAHOMEDAN DINNER-PARTY—NOVEL DISHES—A JEWISH WEDDING—IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY—THE BRIDE’S DOWER—A CUNNING HEBREW.

On arriving at Cairo, I refreshed myself with a bath, and accompanied Captain J—— to see my friend Bell, who was still located at the house of Dr. A. We found him dressed in a loose silken garment, squatted cross-legged on a low divan, whilst he alternately puffed at a large sheesheh of the doctor’s, and sipped his morning cup of coffee. Having finished his toilet, which the addition of a pair of slippers rendered complete, we took a long stroll through the Turkish Bazaar, which is one of the chief attractions of Cairo, where jewels and gems of all kinds, with golden stuffs and embroideries, and the varied productions of Eastern ingenuity are displayed before the wondering gaze of the stranger. The more precious goods are enclosed in glass cases on either side of the narrow file of shops, and behind these is seated the smiling merchant, who invites attention to his costly wares, or, should you be personally known to him, points to a vacant cushion, and replenishes your pipe with gebelee. We had a long chat in the sanctum of one of these gentlemen, with whom Bell appeared on terms of intimacy, and very civil and agreeable he was, explaining to us, through the medium of our friend, the uses of various little objects of luxury connected with the hareem and the domestic habits of the Mooslim, which we might otherwise have had difficulty in ascertaining.

My own object in visiting the Bazaar, was to effect the purchase of a sword or scymitar, in order to complete my costume du pays, but as I found that those exposed for sale in the Turkish quarter were of a better quality than I needed, and of a price far beyond what I intended to give, we repaired to another portion of the Bazaar, where I could select from among some thousands of all kinds and qualities. As the weapon was to be used as an ornament only, and would have answered my purpose equally well, had the blade been firmly screwed to the scabbard, or altogether wanting, I selected an undeniable “Brummagem,” with a tastily ornamented horn handle, and goodly external appearance. For the silken cord and tassels which form the appendages, I had to walk to an entirely different quarter, where such articles are exclusively manufactured, and after a due proportion of bargaining, I succeeded in completing my purchase. On returning to the hotel, I submitted my weapon to the judgment of Raven and Dr. A——, who resolved to test its value by actual experiment. A sword-blade is considered to be of good quality, when it will sever a nail at one blow. Placing, therefore, a full-sized tenpenny on a wooden door-sill, Dr. A., who acted as Scharfrichter, took a deliberate aim, and let fly. The nail vanished, and I was about to pronounce my blade a genuine “Damascus,” when the doctor, lowering its point, coolly requested me to withdraw the nail, which was fairly notched therein, and was found unmarked by the blow. I then dared the doctor to a similar experiment with his own sword, which was unhesitatingly agreed to and tried, but with a very different result, the nail being severed; but as there is a knack in directing the blow, so as to fall at a particular angle, I doubt if he would have allowed me to perform his part in the ordeal.

As Captain J—— was anxious to be off to Alexandria, I ordered a cafass of provisions to be sent down to Boulac, and one of our best boats to be got in readiness. We set sail with a fair wind, and a tolerably high Nile, at seven in the evening, and were one day and two nights in reaching Atféh. I much regretted the loss of my travelling companion, whose society had proved most agreeable, although his health was so impaired, that he appeared to move with difficulty. I lost sight of him on reaching Alexandria, and imagine that he joined some one in an extended tour into Upper Egypt.

On making my appearance in the morning at the “Agency Office,” I was introduced by Furner to a Captain Proudfoot, who had just arrived in a small steam-vessel called the “Little Nile,” recently purchased by Mr. Waghorn, for the service between Cairo and Atféh. I was astonished, when I went on board, that so frail a cockle-shell could ever have lived in a rolling sea, like that of the Bay of Biscay. She is of iron, flat-bottomed, and used to ply on the Thames, above bridge, and it could scarcely have been any common inducement that tempted Captain Proudfoot and his little crew, to undertake so perilous a voyage. Off Cape Finisterre they encountered a severe storm, which lifted the very boilers from their fastenings, and drove her on shore almost a wreck, but they managed to repair her in such a way, that they reached Malta in safety, and there patched her up more effectually. Mr. Raven has now put her into the hands of one of the Pasha’s engineers, who is altering her to suit the nature of the Nile service, and when complete, she will be the fastest and most jaunty of the river steamers.

In the beginning of September, Mr. Raven paid us a visit, in order to see what progress had been made, and to carry out some ideas of his own, with respect to the interior arrangements of the new vessel. Finding that he intended to send back to England her binnacle and compasses, I remarked, that he might find them useful in the event of plague breaking out, as he could then make a run for one of the islands in the Archipelago, and so avoid a tedious imprisonment. The idea seemed to strike him as feasible, the more so, that he remembered being shut up for six months in a house at Cairo, without once being permitted to cross the threshold, the doors being sealed, and a watchman constantly on the look-out. Provisions were drawn up in baskets, and paid for by money let down in a bucket of water. These precautions were rendered necessary, by the critical state of one of the household, who was attacked with plague, but eventually recovered. Poor Raven aired himself on the house-top, and almost got by heart every book in the place, until the seals were knocked off, and he was suffered to escape; but, as may well be imagined, the remembrance of his captivity, and its horrors, is not easily to be effaced, and he will scarcely suffer himself to be entrapped a second time. The compasses were, therefore, safely deposited in our store, and I got Captain Proudfoot to explain to me the arrangement of the magnets, with which a sea-going iron boat is always furnished, so that I might be able to replace them, in the event of their being wanted.

Some person having mentioned to the Pasha, that some curious tents belonging to Mr. Waghorn, were lying in the custom-house, we have received intimation of a vice-royal wish to see some of them erected. It seems that the tents in question, formed part of those put up at Eglintoun Castle, on the occasion of the famed tournament, and that they were afterwards purchased by Mr. Waghorn, to serve as sheltering-places on the desert, between the Stations. Mr. Raven accordingly gave directions that the cases should be transported to the far end of the square, where a fit spot, near the Greek Consulate, was selected, Furner and I being deputed to unpack and overhaul them. We soon found this to be no easy task, as they appeared to have been huddled up together, without the slightest regard to arrangement; and although we possessed an invoice, which enabled us in a measure to identify them, we could only succeed in finding the component parts of one out of the whole half-dozen.

We commenced our operations, by laying down the poles, and digging a couple of deep holes to plant them in, but on attaching the roofs of the tent thereto, and raising them into perpendicular position, our edifice bore the appearance of two gigantic green umbrellas, and the sides, when rigged up, failed to approach the ground by seven or eight feet. We had therefore to shorten the poles, and erect a sort of scaffolding, in which latter operation, we were assisted by the crew of the “Little Nile,” but all our efforts to produce anything like a tent were unavailing. Our sailors too, soon discovered that pitching tents was very dry work, and struck for a supply of beer, which we were but too glad to furnish; so availing ourselves of the agreeable shelter afforded by the thick tarpaulin, we converted our marquee into a beer-shop, very much to the astonishment of Mehemet Ali, who, calling upon us as he took his usual afternoon airing, found half-a-dozen jolly tars smoking their clay pipes, and discussing bottled beer in the quondam shrine of the Queen of Beauty.[12]

We could not induce the Pasha to cross the threshold and inspect our handiwork, although some of his suite had the curiosity to take a peep at the interior. His Highness seemed fully satisfied with this one visit, as he never again honoured us with a call, and the tent was soon after taken down, and reconsigned with its fellows to the custom-house, where I think it not unlikely that they still remain.

A few days after this, I was invited with Furner and our Greek friend L——, to an entertainment at the house of a Mahomedan acquaintance, who wished us to partake of a dinner served in the Eastern way. On reaching his dwelling, situated in the most agreeable portion of the Arab quarter, or old town, we were ushered up some outside stairs, into a long room on the first floor, which was tastefully carpeted and fitted with low divans. As we entered at one door, there was a great rustling of silks and shuffling of feet through another at the far extremity, which we attributed to the rapid escape of a portion of our friend’s hareem, who had been taking a sly peep at us from a window above, as we stood talking in the court-yard. Placed on the carpet were half-a-dozen little octagonal tables of coloured reeds, about eighteen inches high, and upon these, as soon as we had squatted ourselves down, were deposited as many dishes of pewter, of enormous size, filled with a great variety of meats and poultry, baked, stewed, and roasted, from among which a whole kid and a gigantic turkey, greeted us conspicuously. Our host apologized to us for having the whole of the first course placed upon the table at once, as such is not customary, but he felt more satisfied that we should “see our dinner,” and thus partake of what pleased us best. It was impossible for us to make any objection to so excellent an arrangement, so, having carefully cleansed, or rather moistened our finger-ends with rose-water, we fell to without ceremony. In deference, however, to our European habits, knives and forks were placed within our reach, and I soon succeeded in making a hole in the kid, which was elaborately stuffed with raisins and pistachio nuts. It would be useless for me to attempt an enumeration of all the dishes, of which indeed I have but an imperfect recollection: I had already dined, when another course was brought in, consisting of sweets and vegetables, and a large rice-pudding, in a red sea of damson-juice; love-apples and pumpkins, elegantly farçies, and fruits both stewed and dried, completed our repast; and as it is said, that good eating requires good drinking, there was no lack of excellent wine. Pipes and coffee followed as a matter of course, and we were afterwards favoured with an instrumental performance by the Pasha’s private band, from which infliction, we made as speedy an escape as possible, although our host would not allow us to depart, until the whole five were put completely “hors de combat,” by Furner’s timely administration of brandy-and-water, alluded to in a former chapter.

Quitting our friend’s house, and gaining the more frequented portion of the city, we were astonished by the unusual appearance of an enormous crowd of persons of both sexes, and the still more uncommon sound of military music. Upon inquiry, we learned that the hubbub was caused by a long bridal procession, in celebration of the “noces” of a Jew and a Levantine girl, and being anxious to see all we could, Furner and I joined in with the rest. The band, composed of amateurs, led the way, followed by the bride and her attendants, with a “posse comitatus” from all quarters. We walked I suppose, about half-a-mile, accompanied by ambulating pots of fire, halting at every fifth or sixth house to perform a “serenata.” At length we reached the dwelling of the bridegroom, where the bride and her immediate suite were forthwith admitted, and I, having in vain looked round for my friend, was making an effort to cross the threshold with the rest, when the door was unceremoniously slammed in my face.

The old “bawaub,” however, was not proof against a nine-piastre piece, which is an infallible open-sesame, and having ascended the flight of stone-steps, which led to the upper story, I found myself in a large room, in presence of some fifty or more persons of all ages, and, to judge by their costume, from every part of the Mediterranean. I soon discovered that I was the only Englishman in the company, and with one or two exceptions, the only individual in a Frank dress, and my casual glance round the room failing to reveal one single face that was known to me, I began to feel in rather an awkward situation. It was too late to retreat, as I had been already noticed, and concluding that I should best avoid an appearance of singularity, by doing as the rest, I made a profound salutation to the husband, who escorted me to a divan at the upper end of the apartment, and in a manner the most obsequious, motioned me to a seat, and remained near me until I was served with sherbet and a pipe. I was at a loss to assign a cause for so much courtesy towards a pork-eating unbeliever, though the reason was shortly afterwards, rendered sufficiently obvious.

At midnight there was a great commotion at the other end of the room: the bride was introduced, and placed on a chair in the middle of the floor, covered with a very thin veil of pink gauze, and resplendent with jewels. All her attendants were more or less shrouded in veils, most of them weighed down with rows of gold twenty-piastre pieces, by way of fringe. The bride appeared, as well as I was able to judge, very beautiful, and was in a charming state of confusion, every now and then glancing stealthily at her husband, whom she now saw, in all probability, for the first time. No sooner were the company gathered round the trembling girl, than two of the attendants held up the corners of her apron, to receive the contributions of such as were inclined to make her a wedding present, and now my mind was enlightened as to the unlooked for politeness of the Jew bridegroom. I turned round, and encountered his gaze full upon me, but I felt myself a match for him. Keeping close to the side of a jolly old Alexandrian, who was fumbling in his girdle, and seizing the moment when he ostentatiously let fall a shower of gold coin, I suddenly put forth my hand and dropped my modest donation, in such a way as entirely to conceal its amount from the eyes of the wily Hebrew. Judging from the quantity of money collected, I should say that the newly-married couple made a very good thing of it, as every one contributed, and nothing but gold was offered. This ceremony over, the bride, half-fainting with fatigue and terror, was led away to her apartments; and not wishing to encroach farther on the hospitality of the Jew, I quitted the fantasia, and returned home.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Our invoice led us to infer, that the tent in question, was that which had been appropriated to Lady Seymour at the Eglintoun festival, but from the style of its furniture, we were compelled to judge differently, believing rather, that those purchased by Mr. Waghorn, though very substantial and costly, could never have occupied a very prominent place at the tournament.

CHAPTER XI.

DWARKANAUTH TAGORE—STORM IN THE MAHMOUDIEH—A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS—THE HALF-DROWNED CADET—ARAB KNAVERY—EFFECTS OF THE MURRAIN—DONKEY-CHAIRS—A MIDNIGHT GALLOP—ALTERATION IN PROSPECT—MY VAN AND ITS OCCUPANTS—AN ENRAGED PORTUGUESE—DISAGREEABLE SITUATION—CHRISTMAS-EVE—MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION—GOOSE AND CHAMPAGNE.

As it is not my intention to weary the reader with a description of each of my several journeyings across the Isthmus, I shall allude only to two more at the close of the year 184-, when my engagement with Messrs. Waghorn came to an end.

On one of these occasions, I had the pleasure of conducting the late lamented Baboo, (Dwarkanauth Tagore,) who was returning to India with a large retinue of friends and dependants, after a rather protracted stay in England. On our way up the Mahmoudieh, the boat of which I was in charge, encountered a very severe storm or tornado, the wind setting with extraordinary violence right in our teeth, and bringing us to a complete stand still. We lay-to whilst it lasted, for the space of half-an-hour or so, and as we had no sail, or other impediment, to offer any resistance, it passed over us without doing any injury; but its effects, on resuming our course, were very apparent. A mile farther up the Canal, we found a fine boat turned completely upside down, and floating in a sea of sesamen and grain; hen-coops and dead poultry, with half-emptied baskets of provisions, covered the surface of the now still water, whilst the banks were strewed with fragments of earthenware, and such valuables, as had been rescued from the wreck. Two little children had perished, and the distracted mother was wringing her hands and tearing her hair, in the intensity of her sorrow. Farther on, a second boat lay swamped, with a portion of the mast only out of water. A half-resuscitated English gentleman lay gasping on the bank, having been rescued by one of the boatmen, who had dived under to his assistance. A little brandy served completely to restore him, and I then recognised a Mr. L——, who had been staying for some time in Alexandria, having retired from India on a pension. We took him a mile or two with us, and then transferred him to another boat, deeply bewailing the loss of some valuable property, which the ducking would render useless.

This trip seemed destined to be replete with accident. A young cadet, who had vainly sought below for some place wherein to stow himself for the night, rolled himself up in two or three pea-jackets, and lay down to sleep on the roof. A sudden lurch pitched him over into sixteen feet of water, and had not some one who lay near him, heard the splash, and raised an alarm, it would have been all over with him, for the night was dark, and we were shooting rapidly a-head. The boat was instantly stopped, and I then bade one of our Arabs to jump in and rescue the unfortunate lad, promising him a liberal bucksheesh. No, he would not go—if it had been in the day time, a dip would have been of no consequence, but at night he was afraid. His companion was equally inexorable, so, seeing that farther delay must prove fatal to the cadet, I pushed the first in, when the other, fearing to lose a share of the bucksheesh, followed of his own accord. Then succeeded a few moments of very painful suspense, for they had a long way to swim before reaching the spot where the accident occurred, and it was probable that the cadet, encumbered as he was with three coats, had sunk at once to the bottom. Great was our relief, therefore, when the exclamations of the Arabs assured us that they had succeeded in landing him, although it was not very easily that animation was restored. As the young gentleman himself had little or nothing to offer in the shape of reward, to those who had been the means of saving him, and seemed indeed to regard his return to mother earth with perfect nonchalance, a subscription was got up among the passengers, and one of the dripping Arabs went round to collect the offerings, which were liberally showered into his greasy tarboosh. About three or four pounds were thus netted, which certainly ought, in equity, to have been divided between the two boatmen, but the glitter of the precious metals proved too strong a temptation for our worthy collector, who, as he emerged from the cabin, cast one glance towards the poop, where his companion was seated at the tiller, and then securing the cap with its contents, between his teeth, glided noiselessly over the side of the boat, and dived clear off with his booty. I afterwards learned, that he ran back to Alexandria, and invested his treasure in the purchase of a snuff and tobacco shop.

As Dwarkanauth travelled with many retainers, and there was also the usual average of Overland passengers, our party for Suez was rather a large one, and the murrain having robbed us of upwards of a score of horses during the last few weeks, there was but little accommodation in the way of carriages. The invalids, and most of the ladies, got seats, but the rest were obliged to have recourse to the donkey-chair or saddle, whilst I selected a light dromedary, and trotted along with the hindermost. We found it very difficult to keep together, and as the darkness increased, were guided only by the harsh cries of the drivers, as they urged on their unwilling animals. Every now and then some chair would come down with a run, from the unequal motion of the two donkeys attached to it, spilling the frightened occupant on to the hard sand, or, what was still worse, a portion of the wretched harness would give way, and cause the dropping of one corner of the sedan, which, if not speedily rectified, is sufficient to tire the patience of the most stoical. If the donkeys are well trained, no locomotion could be more agreeable than that of these machines, but should the foremost animal indulge in a canter, whilst his follower is not to be coaxed out of a trot, the effect is perfectly indescribable.

Our mishaps and delays were so frequent, that I at length grew weary of perpetually dismounting from my lofty perch to render assistance, and having fallen in with an interesting companion in the person of T——, of Anti-slavery celebrity, we made up our minds to push on together, the more especially as the Calcutta steamer was waiting for the Baboo and his party. At No. 5 Station, we exchanged our tired montures, for two of our van horses, which had been left by one of the foremost of the carriages, and thus, with halters of twisted straw, and without saddles, we galloped away through the darkness, very much to the amusement and satisfaction of my fellow-traveller, who declared he had seldom experienced anything so pleasurable in the way of a ride. It was certainly a glorious night, and the road, saving where an occasional stone or piece of rock, threatened to bring down our stumbling hacks, safe and pleasant. I could not, however, enter very fully into the feelings of my companion, for I was fearful that the steamer might have put to sea before we could reach Suez, and I had yet a good deal to receive from several of the passengers, who had quitted Cairo before I had collected their monies. There was nothing either to be got at the Stations in the way of provision, for the parties who preceded us, had demolished everything eatable, saving a few potatoes and onions, which we sliced up and made into soup.

By the time we reached the hotel, every one was gone to the ship, to which I also made the best of my way in a light skiff. They were raising the anchor as I gained the deck, and I had but little time to parley with such of the passengers as were on my books. With the Baboo I had no trouble, as he immediately handed me a cheque on his bankers, but with some of the others I was not so fortunate, for finding themselves in security, and the vessel almost under weigh, they would fain have taxed their bill. In this emergency, I pencilled a hasty note to our agent at Bombay, which I dropped into the letter-box on board, and having taken this precaution, quitted the ship.

I was driven back alone to Cairo in two days, staying the intervening night at No. 4 Station. As we approached No. 2, which is some twenty miles from the city, we came upon Messrs. F—— and D——, of the Peninsula and Oriental Company, making a trial of one of the new iron carriages, constructed for desert use, by the eminent builder, Andrews of Southampton. In respect of comfort and appearance, they are all that can be desired, but the account which I received of their go-a-head capabilities, was certainly not much in their favour. My two friends had quitted Cairo two days before I fell in with them, with four horses and a plentiful larder, and after countless stoppages, had at last come to a complete standstill, in the middle of a vast field of loose sand, in which the narrow iron wheels were effectually embedded, more than half way up to the axle, and still deeper they would have gone, but for the body of the carriage, which was resting on the sand. I found the two travellers and their driver lolling at great ease, over a fine ham and sundry chickens, and as they robbed my driver of two of his horses, we levied a counter contribution on them, and made free with their knives and forks. Soon after quitting them, they made another advance of half-a-mile, and then, finding the loose sand too powerful an opponent to their progress, turned their horses’ heads round, and returned to Cairo. These new carriages do not appear (to me at least,) adapted to the peculiarities of the desert, inasmuch as the wheels are too small, and the tyres not nearly broad enough, whilst the cranked axles are directly opposed to easy draught. I am not aware with whom the design originated, but it would have been wiser in my opinion, to have fairly established a fault in those already so long in use, than to have risked the expense of building half-a-dozen new ones, on a principle, which any one moderately experienced in Egyptian travelling, would have immediately condemned. The carriages used by Mr. Waghorn, in appearance, a cross between a bathing-machine and an errand-cart, are really constructed on good sound principles, and cost Raven a great amount of trouble and expense in their perfection. The wheels are six feet in diameter, and will clear a tolerably large lump of rock or stone, without breaking a spring; they are also so skilfully balanced, that when loaded, there is but little weight thrown on the shaft horse, and their motion is both easy and agreeable.

Two or three days after my return to Cairo, and during some conversation with Raven, I learnt that the affairs of the Company by whom I was employed, were likely to undergo a change, and that arrangements were about to be entered into, to dispose advantageously, of the whole concern. I should scarcely have received this information so soon, but for the kindness of Raven, who was anxious that I should be on the look out for some other mode of employing myself, as in the course of another month or two, the management would probably pass into other hands, and I should then be at loose ends in a foreign land. In the event of my wishing to remain in Egypt, he promised his best influence in my behalf with his successors, though it was not likely they would retain many English in their employ.

Thanking him very cordially, I promised to think the matter over, and proceeded once more to Alexandria, to meet the “Great Liverpool,” and make my last official trip across the desert. She arrived on the 29th of the month, and brought some thirty or more passengers, among whom were the Imaum of Muscat, and to my great satisfaction, my friend P——, with his amiable and accomplished wife, whom he was transplanting from the bogs of Ireland, to cheer his solitude in Egypt.

We reached Cairo without let or hindrance, but scarcely had we passed the tombs of the Sheiks, on the verge of the desert, than our horses began to gib, and I foresaw that a night of trouble was before us. The van in which I rode, contained rather a mixed party, in the persons of the Rev. Dr. T., a Frenchman, a Portuguese nobleman, and myself, together with two or three bottles of orgeât and eau sucrèe, and a heavy carpet bag, the property of the Hidalgo.

With considerable difficulty we got past No. 2 Station, between which and No. 3, we came to a complete standstill, and no efforts on the part of either the driver, Seis, or myself, could induce our poor horses to move: they were completely done up, and as ours was the last van of the six, there was no chance of assistance from any of our own people. After waiting for about an hour, the doctor and the French gentleman decided upon attempting to reach No. 4 Station on foot, which they might easily accomplish, though being late at night, and quite dark, it required some presence of mind. Fearful, however, that they might wander from the track and get into difficulty, I dispatched the Seis with them as a guide.

The Portuguese declared he would stick by his carpet-bag which contained all his valuable property, and we two, therefore, made what service we could of the two seats of the van, and rolled up in our cloaks, slept till near day-break; the Arab driver curling himself up as close as possible to one of the horses which lay on the sand, almost incapable of motion. At dawn we awoke and tried anew to get the horses on, but with no better success than before, and at this fresh disappointment, my companion’s slender stock of patience entirely forsook him, and he showered upon me a volley of abuse in such curiously broken English, that despite our unpleasant predicament, I could not refrain from laughter. “I sal soot yous,” said he at length, as quivering with rage, he unlocked his carpet-bag to put his threat into execution; and I think it very possible that he would have let the dawning day-light into me, had I not assured him, through the medium of my equally broken Italian, that in putting me out of the way he could gain nothing, and lose all chance of saving himself; that should the Bedouins come down on him, they would be sure to appropriate his carpet-bag, and perhaps carry him off as well. By degrees I managed to convince him, that instead of blubbering like a child, it would be more expedient to aid me in devising some means of locomotion, by which we might reach the next Station. Making a bundle of all the cloaks which had been left in the van, I slung them and the carpet-bag across one of the leaders, flinging my prayer-carpet over the whole by way of a saddle. My ferocious Portuguese was thus tolerably mounted, and sending with him the Arab driver, on a second horse, to show him the way, I bade him “good speed,” and particularly enjoined him not to omit sending me some assistance on arriving at the Centre Station. This he promised faithfully to do, although I afterwards found, he had abused me like a pickpocket, on finding himself once more in safety.

I was now left to the quiet enjoyment of the empty carriage, and a bottle of the eau sucrèe, left behind by the Frenchman. Upon a portion of the latter, and one or two limes which I had in my pocket, I made a sort of breakfast, and was thinking of composing myself to sleep, by way of shortening the weary hours which must elapse before assistance could reach me, when I was startled by the sound of voices. Looking out, I saw two Bedouins approaching, on dromedaries, to whom, when they came up, I at once explained my unpleasant position, soliciting their aid to set me once more a-going. There was, fortunately at this time, a very good feeling existing between our people and such of the Bedouin tribes as frequented this portion of the desert, as it was to them we looked for the supply of camels to convey the mails and baggage between Cairo and Suez, paying them according to an established tariff, varying with the price of provision. I had, therefore, no sooner explained to them who and what I was, than the good fellows dismounted, and drawing from their saddle-bags a feed of chopped straw, which they saturated with water, I very soon had the satisfaction of seeing my two jaded horses on their legs again. To myself they administered a few hearty whiffs of a chibouque which wonderfully animated me, and then, putting our shoulders to the wheel, we succeeded in moving a turn or two ahead. Having fairly started me,—my two friends, stoutly refusing any offer of remuneration,—gave me a parting blessing, and sent me on my way rejoicing.

I did not reach No. 4 Station until near two in the afternoon, when I found the Seis coming to the rescue with a pair of fresh horses. Dr. T. and the Frenchman had arrived safely on foot, and had been taken on in another van, whilst the Portuguese was sleeping off the fatigues of his ride in one of the bedrooms above. I called him down to partake of some refreshment, and at three o’clock, we again pursued our journey, reaching Suez at midnight, and becoming on the way, the best friends imaginable.

Having some business of importance to transact for Mr. Raven, I had no time to take any rest in Suez, and therefore, set off almost immediately on my return to Cairo. It was Christmas eve, and the night proved unusually cold, whilst I found it impossible to keep off the wind, which blew steadily through the open cart, piercing the ample folds of my bernous. On we jogged through the dark, the weary Arab fast asleep on his driving seat, bobbing his head to the measured creak of the springs; that, and the jingle of the harness, being the only sounds which disturbed the silence of the desert. Warming my inner man with a spoonful of brandy, I threw myself into the bottom of the cart, and giving my slumbering jehu an apparently accidental poke in the ribs to recall him to his duty, courted some short repose. We had, however, reached a portion of the desert, which one would think ought more properly to have belonged to Arabia Petrea, so covered is it with large round stones. Every now and then a wheel would come in contact with one of these, giving us a shock sufficient to drive the breath out of us, and recalling me from pleasant dreams of roaring fires and Christmas cheer, to a chilly sense of my uncomfortable position at the bottom of the cart, with the wind whistling through every crevice. Being however considerably fatigued, I again relapsed into an unquiet slumber, which gradually subsided into a complete state of repose, as we exchanged the stoney track for the fine hard sand. I slept long and uninterruptedly, until I was suddenly aroused by a shock which had well nigh thrown me out of the vehicle. Raising myself, I looked out and missed my only companion, the driver. The shaft horse had fallen over the body of a dead camel, and had brought the other down with him, whilst poor Hassan had been pitched clean off his perch, and was picking himself up with many lamentations. I scrambled out in front as well as I could, to assist him in getting under weigh again, for our contiguity to the carcass was anything but agreeable. Fortunately nothing had been broken, and after a delay of ten minutes or so, we were jogging on as before, although both of us were now thoroughly awake. A good supper awaited us at No. 6 Station, and as I had to perform half the journey with the same horses, I turned for a few hours into bed.

THE DEAD DROMEDARY.

Christmas-day broke as brightly and almost as frosty as in old England, but where was I to look for the compliments of the season? Certainly not from the old cook who brought me my coffee in the morning. He didn’t know the day of the month, nor the month of the year, nor his own age, nor anything else, except that it wasn’t Rhamadān, nor high Nile, the only two epochs he had been taught to identify, so I wished myself a merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all sorts of things, and pre-pictured the odd sort of cheer I should find at No. 4 to make merry upon, when I should halt there for my dinner. I was destined, however, to be agreeably disappointed, for on my arrival at the outer gate, I was hailed with a shout of welcome by an old friend from Alexandria, one T——, of the Peninsular Company. Leading me in triumph to the kitchen, he pointed to a goose which was frizzing and spitting at the end of a cord suspended from above, whilst a Maltese cook was chopping onions at a side table. In honour of the day, we next rescued from a cobwebby corner, a dusty bottle or two of Champagne, and prevailed upon Mrs. S. to make us some pancakes, and thus provided, we sat down to what we considered an excellent dinner, and although the goose had been grubbing about in the sand only an hour before, and the Champagne was all “Walker,” we pronounced them both faultless.

CHAPTER XII.

INFLUX OF TRAVELLERS—PROVISION STORES—THE PRESERVED “ROUND”—NEW YEAR’S-DAY—MELANCHOLY OPENING OF NEW YEAR—VISIT TO THE PYRAMIDS—OLD SELIM—A MOONLIGHT WALK—THE SPHYNX AND GERMAN SAVANS—ASCENT OF CHEOPS—THE INTERIOR OF THE PYRAMIDS—UNCEREMONIOUS INTRUDERS—TRIAL OF SKILL—A CRACK SHOT.

I reached Cairo the following morning, and thus ended my engagement with Messrs. Waghorn and Co. On resigning my office, I was gratified with a flattering testimonial from Mr. Raven, and an invitation to consider the hotel as my home, so long as I might incline to remain in Egypt. Being as yet quite undetermined what to do, I accepted his very kind offer, occasionally resuming my accustomed seat in the little office, and rendering what assistance I could, in expediting the mails and passengers. There was a good deal of business also, consequent upon the almost daily arrival of parties bound on a visit to Upper Egypt; and not only were all our own boats put in requisition, but many more were hired for the excursion from Boulac and other places. These latter, we were always compelled to sink for some days before they were fit for the reception of any civilized beings, to drive out the cockroaches and other vermin, with which they were infested; and as the temporary owners of these little craft, were naturally desirous of showing off to advantage, in the eyes of such of their countrymen as they would fall in with during their voyage, they sometimes went to considerable expense in having them newly decorated with gaudy arabesques, and quaint patterns, in the brightest colours.

Each boat sailed under a different flag, and a pattern card of such flags as were already up the Nile, was hung in the long room of the hotel, so that each succeeding adventurer might vary his device. For some weeks, the inn appeared as if converted into a sort of wholesale provision warehouse, such ransacking was there of stores and cellars, in quest of the necessaries to furnish the travelling cafass of each party. Great was the draw upon the bottled-ale department, and Messrs. Guiness and Bass, certainly owe a large debt of gratitude to old father Nile, who has so wisely tempered his waters with a mild aperient quality, as to place medicine-chests at a discount at the cataracts, and force even the teetotal traveller to slake his thirst in beer.

Preserved provisions of all sorts were dragged from the cob-webbed recesses under the stairs, where they had lain for many a long year, and the entrance hall was strewed with hermetic legs of pork, giblet-soups, and stewed breasts of veal, with every thing else in the culinary calendar. Among the red tin pots which contained these hidden delicacies, I found one of unusual size, of which the “etiquette” proclaimed the presence of a “round of beef.” Now, it was seven months at least, since I had taken a cut at anything, at all resembling a genuine “round,” and as this pot was the only one of its species, and certainly had no business among the lesser fry, I carried it to Raven. He had not, as it happened, ordered our dinner for that day, and it was therefore settled nem con, that we should dine off the round as soon as it was cooked, Dr. A—— being invited to join us, and share the delicacy. With hammer and chisel, I proceeded to make a breach in the well-soldered top, and drew blood in the shape of a jet of savoury juice, which saluted my face and shirt-front. “There, there,” said Raven, “don’t waste the liquor; call the cook, and let him transfer all to the stew-pan, a quarter of an hour’s simmering will do.” We sat down to table, and smacking our lips, awaited the arrival of Nasr, who made his appearance just as the doctor had finished whetting his knife. Never shall I forget the look of bewildered surprise depicted upon the countenances of my two companions, as Moosah set down and uncovered the dish. There was the “round” certainly, but alas! “quantum mutatus ab illo:” a thing like a Norfolk biffin greeted our astonished gaze, floating in a sea of mouldy gravy. Nasr hardly knew whether to regard it as a joke, or some species of foreign delicacy, with which he was previously unacquainted. As for ourselves, we waited until the cook had prepared us some dish not quite so recherché, whilst we all agreed, that although the “round of beef” might have been potted, it certainly had not been very well preserved!

THE “ROUND OF BEEF.”

New Year’s-day came in due course, but although Raven, on hospitable thoughts intent, had gathered all his English friends around him, our enjoyment was very much saddened by the alarming illness of Mrs. H——, an agreeable young countrywoman, in whom we were all much interested. With death, as it were, at the door, it was scarcely possible that the guests assembled in the long room should indulge in any feeling of hilarity, and thus, although the cheer was ample and excellent, and there was abundance of everything calculated to promote conviviality, our New Year’s dinner passed off in gloom and silence. As for myself, I was suffering so acutely from an attack of rheumatism, that I was glad to retire long before the rest, Bell, who was also on the sick list, bearing me company. The death of our poor friend, occurred early in the morning, and more suddenly than any of us had anticipated. I spent many hours in the house of mourning, to assist in performing the last melancholy duties. The body was consigned to the grave the same afternoon, in a Greek place of burial, near to Old Cairo, the mourners following in two of our desert carriages, drawn by eight white horses at a full trot. The Rev. R—— L—— read the burial service, and before dusk, the whole of the mournful ceremony was over, and we had returned to our homes. Poor H—— felt his bereavement so severely, that he could never be persuaded to return to his own deserted hearth; and his house, which formed a part of the Company’s premises, was afterwards fitted up for the accommodation of such travellers as could not obtain room at the hotel. As such, a portion of it fell to my lot, and I remained there until the period of my quitting Cairo.

Being now, as it were, an idle man, I resolved upon making my long-thought-of visit to the Pyramids, and had no sooner communicated my intention to Furner, who was staying for a few days at the hotel, than he volunteered to join me. Mr. Raven, for some reason or other was unable to accompany us, but we had in his place an English gentleman, who held a government appointment in Egypt.

Mounted on the best donkeys we could select, and followed by a train of attendant Arabs, loaded with the necessary provender, we quitted the hotel late in the afternoon, and rushing at a hand gallop through the narrow streets, and quaint-looking gardens of the suburb, reached, in less than half an-hour, the banks of the Nile, at Fostât, or Old Cairo. Those bound to the Pyramids of Ghizeh, usually cross just above the Island of Rhoda, where the current, owing to the great breadth of the river, is not so strong as to render navigation difficult. A flat-bottomed boat conveyed us to the opposite shore, landing us, donkeys and all, at the little village of Ghizeh. Here we laid in a stock of fruit, such as limes, dates and bananas, and swelled our cortége by the addition of two or three ragged-looking fellows, who persisted in following us, to help us over the various canals and dykes with which our path was intersected by the late inundation of the Nile.

It was dark when we left the village, and gained the open country beyond, and it required constant care on the part of our self-constituted guides to prevent our donkeys from stumbling into the wide cracks which stretched across our path. We had many dykes to ford, our animals being easily persuaded to take to the water, though we eventually came to a bonâ fide canal, which at first sight seemed to present an insurmountable obstacle to our further progress. We all mechanically drew bridle on the high shelving bank, gazing into the dark-looking stream below, with any thing but pleasurable feelings, and here we made a forced halt, whilst a scout ran off to ascertain if there was any other spot at which we could more easily effect a crossing. Not finding any such, one of our guides stripped himself and waded in, and it was some consolation to find, that at the deepest part, the water barely covered his shoulders. Seeing that there was no way of escaping a partial wetting, I divested myself of my nether garments, which I rolled round my gun and carried in my hand, and holding tight on by his top-knot, got safe across upon the shoulders of the tallest Arab of our party, sending him back for my companions. In this way we all reached the opposite bank with but little inconvenience, the donkeys swimming over after us, but as our saddles were soaked, and we ourselves somewhat chilled, we performed the remainder of our journey on foot, reaching the tomb in the neighbourhood of the Pyramids about ten o’clock, just as the moon was rising.

Old Selim had already retired for the night, but a shot fired from one of our guns gave him notice of our approach, and as we came to the bottom of the steps which lead to his hermitage, he was lighting up for our reception. The rock upon which the chief Pyramid appears to be based, crops out of the sand in the form of a gigantic step,[13] and in its face are several caverns, partly excavated, I believe by Colonel Vyse, which serve in the present day for the dwelling of one or two Arabs, and have been rudely fitted up as resting places for travellers.

Selecting the most commodious of these chambers, which, in addition to a low stone divan round three of its sides, boasted also of a tortuous hole in the roof by way of chimney, we got old Selim to light a fire of dried sticks and charcoal, and spreading our mats upon the floor, were quickly in enjoyment of an excellent supper, for which our nocturnal ramble had secured us a hearty appetite. Cold fowls there were, and pigeons galore, as well as piping hot potatoes, which we drew from out the embers. Thanks to our fair purveyor at the hotel, our cafass was abundantly furnished, and we found on inspection that there was no need to be so chary of our stock of meat and brandy, as to refuse a restorative to some of our dripping escort, who stood shivering at the door of the cavern whilst we were taking our meal.

Hitherto, neither Furner nor myself had seen the Pyramids, having been prevented by the extreme darkness of the night. Now, however, the moon had illumined the far-off Nile and the desert beneath us with a flood of brilliant light, which tempted us from our chimney corner, and ascending accordingly the last broken flight of steps leading to the summit of the rock, old Cheops and his two satellites burst upon our view. The angle nearest to us presented a tapering line of fantastic shadows, as the broken masses of stone caught the bright moonlight, the northern face of the Pyramid appearing from the contrast to be thrown into darkness, looking cold and gloomy, whilst the shadow cast by the enormous mass, undulated over the uneven sand in the foreground, and was lost far away in the desert. Beyond, as if guardian of the gigantic wonders around him, lay the Sphynx, crouched like some monster watch-dog, and turning his back most contemptuously upon a large party of German savans, who had pitched their tents within the very sweep of his tail. These gentlemen, in their inordinate thirst after knowledge, have grubbed holes in all directions, and with the exception of the three Pyramids, have turned nearly every thing topsy-turvy. Even the Sphynx has been partially undermined in the hunt after hieroglyph, and a splendid specimen has been exposed which is expected to throw some light upon the unknown tongue. At the time of our nocturnal visit to their bivouac, the literati had retired to rest, but hearing voices, a sentinel protruded his head from the tent and challenged us in Hoch-Deutsch, a language about as familiar to most of our party, as the hidden one of the Pharaohs. Managing, however, to prove to his satisfaction, that we were neither enemies nor thieves, the head was withdrawn, and we returned to our own sleeping-place.

We were out before sunrise in the morning, and after the usual and now necessary cup of coffee, commenced the ascent of the Pyramid of Cheops, the first and highest of the three, and the only one whose summit is easily attainable. Yielding to a common error, I resolutely resisted all offers of assistance on the part of the Arabs who accompanied us, but I had not scaled more than half-a-dozen of the lower steps, before I was glad to call three sturdy ruffians to my aid, one at either hand, and the other pushing behind. In this way we reached the half-way resting-place, which when viewed from the ground, appears close to the top. Here we halted a minute or two to take breath, and then again pushed upwards. The dexterity displayed by my guides was really wonderful, and although, as I used but little exertion myself, I must have taxed their assistance to the utmost, they never made a false step, nor paused to deliberate where they should plant their feet. Being early morning, the stones, which are breast-high, were slippery with the dew, and many an awkward stumble should I have made, but for the care of my faithful rear-guard, who hoisted me from one course to another, and over the sharp angles of the stones, with the greatest ease and good-will, putting out his knee or back as a stepping-place, whenever a block of unusual size presented itself.

Anon we reached the summit, an area of rather more than thirty feet square, and we now discovered that our toil had been thrown away, in-so-far as the enjoyment of an extended view was concerned. A thick mist obscured the distance, and left little to attract the eye, save the course of the Nile, and the tracts of land which were still under the influence of the inundation. These formed a silvery network, lighted up by the rising sun, and assisted the eye in embracing the enormous expanse of country commanded by our elevated position. Cairo lay as it were, close at hand, although obscured beyond the power of recognition by the misty vapours which rose from the river. On the south, the site of old Memphis and the adjacent Pyramids of Sakhara were distinctly visible. Whilst immediately beneath us, the two lesser Pyramids of Ghizeh towered upwards from the plain, from amid a confused jumble of tombs and ruins.

The uneven surface of the summit is completely covered with names and dates, each succeeding visitor deeming it necessary to leave some record behind him. This custom, which obtains more among the vulgar of our own nation, than with any other, is here adopted by travellers from all corners of the earth, and the renowned Mezzofanti[14] himself, would feel at a loss to identify some of the outlandish characters which are cut in the crown of old Cheops.

As we rested ourselves, water was brought to us by Fellah children, who for the uncertain chance of obtaining a few paras, will make the toilsome ascent of the Pyramid, in the wake of a party, laden with their dripping goolahs. We found their offering sufficiently well-timed, for the sun was now high above the horizon, and blazed upon us with such right good will, that we were glad enough to commence our descent. This is not to be accomplished without much caution, as one unlucky slip might prove fatal, and therefore, the aid of the Arabs is again called into requisition. As we neared the bottom we turned off to the left, and reaching the opening which conducts to the interior of the Pyramid, we lit our candles, and consigned ourselves to the care of the guides.

It is difficult, without reference to sectional views, to form any clear idea of the construction of such of the interior as has been explored, but there are few who have not studied with interest, and must therefore remember, the description given by Belzoni, of his remarkable discoveries. One after the other, and stooping down to avoid the low roof, we threaded a passage of considerable extent, inclining gradually downwards. This seemed as if cut out of the solid rock, and presented a polished appearance, from the contact of innumerable shoulders and elbows. The dust raised by our feet, and the heat and smoke of the torches, annoyed us exceedingly, and nearly suffocated me, who happened to be one of the hindermost. Before long, we reached a more open space, where we could stand upright, and eventually gained a chamber of large dimensions, which is supposed to be the very centre of the Pyramid. It contains a huge uncovered sarcophagus, long since rifled of its contents. The walls appeared perfectly black, coloured probably by the accumulated smoke of torches. Over this are four other chambers, access being only obtained to them by small steps of wood, let in at one of the angles of the wall. As many of these appeared to be wanting, whilst others were loose or broken, we retraced our steps without venturing to explore these upper regions.

On emerging again into daylight, we presented a ridiculous appearance: the heat had been so great, that the perspiration literally ran off us, streaking the soot that had been deposited upon our faces. Our clothes, too, were covered with dust, so that our ensemble partook both of the miller and the sweep. Our guides now informed us that we had by no means seen all, and that a well, and sundry subterranean passages had still to be explored. I was already so nearly choked with the lack of air and the bad odours, that I declined their kind offer to bury me a second time, and left the honour to my companion, awaiting his reappearance on the shady side of the Pyramid. His torch, however, dropped before he had proceeded two hundred yards, and he and his guide were compelled to grope their way out again, as well as they could, without having seen anything.

As we approached our resting-place of the preceding night, we became aware, from the unwonted noise of many Arabs and donkeys, together with an occasional hearty laugh, echoing from the cavern below, that some arrival had taken place during our absence at the Pyramid. This proved to be the case, and we found a party of our countrymen very coolly commencing an attack upon the breakfast which had been prepared for ourselves, by old Selim. Being in no mood to put up with any unwelcomed interference, we ejected the new comers without ceremony, although we afterwards relented in their favour, on discovering that by some mistake, they had left Cairo almost unprovided. Hearing that two of their party intended going on as far as the Pyramids of Sakhara, I volunteered to bear them company, leaving my companions, to whom a two nights’ absence would have been inconvenient, to return again to Cairo.

Our breakfast over, we set to work to clean our guns, in readiness for any stray sport we might fall in with by the way. To a comparison of our various arms, succeeded the usual boast of their excellent qualities, each of course thinking his own gun the best. This led to a trial of skill, and a beer-bottle having been placed in a conspicuous position on a point of rock, we blazed away for a considerable time, without any visible effect, for as the shot was a long one, the bottle was only to be broken by being struck exactly in the centre. Old Selim had been silently watching us at our sport, and thinking that he might possibly like to take his turn with the rest, I offered him my carbine, a choice Wesley Richards. Pushing it from him with the greatest contempt, he dived into one of the caverns, and produced a curious-looking implement, eight feet long, like an enormous pea-shooter, the barrel being bound to the stock in a dozen or more places, with brass wire, and having a flint lock of most primitive workmanship. The appearance of both Selim and his weapon, was so very outrè and ridiculous, that we could not suppress our laughter, and as none of us could believe that such a tool would stand the shock of a charge of powder, we instinctively got away as far as possible, when we saw it deliberately poised in the act of taking aim. After an interval of profound silence, came the click of the old lock, and a slight flash, then another interval, and a sharp report, the bottle, to all appearance, remained untouched, and in spite of the quiet, “fi fi,”[15] of the old man, we were about to indulge in a second laugh at his expense, when one of the donkey-boys brought it down from the rock, and we found two clean round holes in the very centre of the widest part just under the neck. Old Selim’s dexterity was rewarded with a full flask of good powder, one of the most acceptable offerings we could have made him.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] One hundred and fifty feet above the level of the surrounding desert.

[14] The learned Romish Cardinal, remarkable for his knowledge of languages, speaking and writing no less than twenty-one.

[15] “It is, it is.”

CHAPTER XIII.

THE VILLAGE OF SAKHARA—SHEIK’S HOUSE—THE BRICK PYRAMIDS—MUMMIES—THE SACRED IBIS—RETURN TO CAIRO—AN AGREEABLE BILLET—PREPARATION FOR A VOYAGE—DISAPPOINTMENT—A PARTING—THE LAST JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT—A DILEMMA—BEDOUIN ARABS—NO. 4 STATION—DEPARTURE FROM CAIRO—DINNER AT MR. L.’S—ALEXANDRIA.

Sakhara, within a short distance of the ruins of ancient Memphis, is about fifteen miles beyond the Pyramids of Ghizeh, and as we had not started until after mid-day, it was evening by the time we reached the village. The only place of entertainment, if indeed it can be so styled, is at the house of an aged Sheik, who accommodated us for a trifling gratuity, with four walls and a ceiling. The only thing which could pretend to be an article of furniture was a rough old table, whose legs were stuck tight into the mud floor. Here we deposited our cloaks and liarfs,[16] and then repaired to the house-top, where the old Sheik was plucking the two freshly killed fowls which were to serve for our supper. His daughter, a comely girl of fourteen, with a pair of eyes that might almost have resuscitated a mummy, rendered doubly attractive as they were, by a judicious application of kohl at the lids, concocted a mess of mish-mish, over a charcoal fire, and seemed delighted at the avidity with which we devoured it, for our long ride had produced a most enviable appetite. Our meal over, we smoked and talked until one by one our Arab hosts had disappeared, and we were left to the enjoyment of our mud divan. It was, however, long ere sleep deigned to visit us. We were besieged by a legion of fleas and musquitoes, whilst bats came wheeling in at the open windows, scraping our faces as they skimmed over us.

We were up with the daylight, and mounting our donkeys, trotted merrily through the palm-groves on to the desert. The Pyramids of Sakhara stand among a sea of ruins; the ground is cut up and excavated in every direction, and the discovery of hitherto unopened tombs is of constant occurrence. We passed one of these on our way to the chief Pyramid, and as the old Arab who was grubbing his way in, was most anxious that we should take a peep, we slid down the sand to the entrance, and wriggled ourselves through on our backs, into a chamber about twelve feet square, from which the sand had been removed to a depth of four feet. Here we all lay in profound darkness, until our guide had struck a light, and we could then perceive that the walls were covered with hieroglyphs, and bi-coloured frescoes, bearing an appearance of extreme freshness, the lapse of time having failed to diminish their brilliancy. We gazed and wondered, but feeling that this was indeed the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, inasmuch as we all lay gasping on our backs, half-buried in sand, and almost choked with smoke, we made as hasty a retreat as the mode of egress would allow, bestowing a few paras on the old Arab, and cheering him with the assurance that he might eventually arrive at something valuable, if he should escape burying himself alive in the attempt, a consummation which a trifling sand-slip might at any time effect.

The Pyramids of Sakhara differ from those of Ghizeh, both in shape, and in the material of which they are composed. When viewed from a short distance off, their appearance is anything but graceful, as the sides, instead of tapering gradually to the apex, are carried upwards about a third part of their height in a perpendicular direction, and are then rounded off towards the top. They are built of brick or clay moulded into blocks, and sunburnt, and though it seems hardly fair to assert this to be a perishable material, after having stood as it has, the lapse of so many centuries, it is certain that it is fast crumbling to dust under the rude finger of time.

We made a halt at the entrance on the south side, formed by a breach rudely excavated in the brick-work, at a depth of several feet below the level of the surrounding sand. There being nothing in the interior to repay the trouble of a long crawl upon hands and knees, we rested awhile among the ruins at the entrance, and opened our wallets. Whilst refreshing ourselves, one of the guides who had quitted us to visit and rifle a neighbouring tomb, brought us, carefully poised upon his head, a well-conditioned mummy. For this relic we paid two piastres, and amused ourselves by carefully unrolling it, but no sooner did our employment become known, than mummies came pouring in upon us from all quarters, and we had some difficulty in making our escape from this novel and unpleasant market. As we were leaving the place, a large fox made his appearance close to us. We gave chase immediately, but he took to the Pyramid, which he mounted in good style, and then, coolly turning round to look down upon us, took refuge in some crevice, and was lost to us altogether.

The tombs wherein the mummied ibis is found, lie about half-a-mile north-east of the Pyramids, and are curious, and easily explored. “Potstausend!” was our involuntary and pardonable exclamation, as the light of our torches fell upon, and illumined the countless thousands of earthen vessels containing the sacred bird. The pots stand on end, layer upon layer, and on bringing some into daylight, we found each to contain an ibis, (“in medio tutissimus,” of course,) carefully enveloped in cloth, the long bill turned down upon the breast, and the whole crumbling to dust on exposure to the air. The pottery is very brittle, the mummy having probably been encased in its mould of damp clay, and then rolled into shape, and deposited in the pit. Bringing away one or two as mementos, we turned our backs upon Sakhara, and as the sun was low when we quitted the caves, had barely time to reach Cairo before nightfall, by a road close to the bank of the Nile, rather more circuitous than that by the Pyramids of Ghizeh.

On returning to my house, I found billetted upon me, a gentleman from Calcutta, who was on his way to Italy, intending to take a long tour by way of recreation. We soon became intimate, and I found P——n a most agreeable companion, though I was not destined very long to enjoy his society. Hearing Bell and myself discussing a proposal which had been made to us some time before, to undertake a journey through Abyssinia and the Galla country, with a view, if possible, to throw some farther light on the rise and course of the White Nile, P——n could not rest until he had been received into the expedition as a volunteer, and being a fine well-built man, capable of great fatigue, and a good horseman withal, he promised to be an acquisition to the party. The perils of the journey, and the chances of ever returning from so comparatively unexplored a region, having been duly weighed, it was at length finally resolved upon, and as a great many presents would be necessary to ingratiate ourselves with the ruling powers of such states as lay on the line of our intended route, we paid a visit to Alexandria. Here we laid in a stock of guns, sword-blades, red cloth, powder, caps, &c., and other commodities of various kinds, sufficient to load four mules. It happened, however, at the very last moment, as it were, that I was prevented from taking my part in the enterprise, by the receipt of letters, which threatened to call me immediately to England. To say that I was disappointed, would but ill express my feelings on the arrival of these (then) unwelcome letters, although I have since been induced to regard the interruption of my plans in the light rather of a providential interference, for, worn-out as I was with the tortures of incessant rheumatism, I could scarcely suppose myself to be in train for an undertaking of such a nature.

All that I could do, therefore, was to assist the departure of my friends, by seeing them safely across the desert, for which purpose Mr. Raven lent us a van, the baggage going as usual upon camels. P——n rode a noble horse, which he had purchased in Cairo, and was now about to abandon, being unable to take it with him, and not liking to dispose of it. In this dilemma it was confided to the care of Dr. A——, whose property it had originally been. We journeyed easily along, going all the way with the same horses, and stopping at each Station, making excursions among the hills in quest of gazelles, which were sufficiently abundant, though extremely shy and wary.

On arriving at Suez, we put up at the house of a Jew merchant, until we could hear of some boat going down the Red Sea, possessing suitable accommodation for the party, and we had not been forty-eight hours in the place, before a messenger brought us news of a good boat about to sail for Jeddah, and this opportunity was at once embraced by the travellers, who were anxious to be on their way. Our last evening together was occupied in adjusting instruments, and regulating watches and time-pieces. The various presents and ammunition were all repacked in suitable forms, and in the smallest possible compass, whilst a great store of eatables had to be laid in for the sea-voyage; P——n resolutely refusing various things in the form of delicacies, which the well-intentioned Mrs. —— of the hotel pressed upon his acceptance, declaring that he would burthen himself with nothing which he could possibly do without, a maxim which many travellers would do well to profit by.

I shall pass over our leave-taking, which was more triste than such occasions commonly are, from the extreme uncertainty of our ever meeting again. I saw them on board of the Red Sea boat, where they spread their mats under the shelter of the raised deck, among many other travellers bound to the southward, some of whom sat calmly smoking, buried up to the neck, and almost concealed by their bales of merchandise and provender, while others less accustomed to the perils of the deep, were now prostrating themselves on their prayer-carpets, invoking Allah to send them propitious winds. Having paid to my friends a last and parting greeting, I returned to the hotel lonely and disspirited. Sounds of merriment which reached me as I approached the divan-room, seemed so very uncongenial to my feelings, that I turned to the square to select a dromedary for my luggage, consisting of one solitary carpet-bag, and having saddled P——n’s horse, which he had requested me to leave with Dr. A., I turned my back upon Suez.

Evening was setting in as I passed the well, and I had a long and weary jog in the moonlight, to No. 6 Station, where I was refreshed by turning into bed. Having no cause for undue haste, and not fearing the excessive heat, to which I was now accustomed, I did not leave the Station until ten the following morning, having previously instructed my Bedouin to come on after me to No. 5, where I would wait for him. The day was beautiful in the extreme; not a single cloud obscured the vast expanse of blue above and around, whilst a light breeze from the westward gently stirred the air. Deep in thought, I trotted leisurely onwards, paying but little attention to the course taken by my steed, a want of precaution which I soon had reason to regret. I was recalled to myself by the unwonted sight of a quantity of herbage, somewhat dry and sunburnt, it is true, but still sufficiently green to excite wonder in the desert, where vegetation is but scarce. This extended far and wide around me; a tuft here and there, with an interval of sand between. I had strayed from the track, and had lost myself, whilst my horse also seemed to be aware that something was wrong, as he all at once came to a full stop, and began to stare about him. Then he disturbed the silence by a loud and prolonged neighing, which was so sudden and unexpected that it frightened me considerably. In vain I gazed round for some landmark which might serve me as a guide in regaining the beaten track. Nothing was to be seen but an interminable expanse of sand. I was now really alarmed, and my imagination busied itself in conjuring up long-forgotten stories of travellers half-roasted by the sun, or dying of thirst, and although I had made a capital breakfast two hours before, I was now assailed with an irresistible longing for water. Thinking that the natural instinct of my horse might be of service in this predicament, I gave him the rein, and let him go where he listed; but after a few minutes trotting about, he stopped short with a neigh, that almost jerked me out of my saddle, and I found myself as much as ever at a loss.

It now occurred to me that if I had not strayed very wide of the route, a telegraph ought to be within sight, and I therefore made for the highest of the sand hills near me. Nor was I disappointed, saving that it proved a good two miles distant. Having reached it, I ascended, and looked in all directions for the Station, (No. 5,) which it was difficult to distinguish, from its close resemblance in colour to the surrounding sand. Being now relieved from the apprehension of having lost myself, I gazed round the horizon, in the hope of discovering the Bedouin who had charge of my carpet-bag, which was rendered doubly valuable, from the fact of its containing a tolerably large sum of money in gold, and some important documents entrusted to me by P——n. It was a long while past the hour when he should have reached No. 5, and I felt somewhat uneasy, as I reflected that the man was totally unknown to me, and that were he inclined to rob me, I possessed no clue which might aid me in recovering my property. Tired and parched with thirst, I gained the Station, and rousing the old Bawaub, or door-keeper, sent him off to the Telegraph, to reconnoitre, in the hope that his more practised eyesight might discover the truant Arab. When he was gone, I drew the strong wooden bolt across the door, and sharing with my horse a welcome meal of beans and water, lay down upon the straw to sleep.

I had not been many minutes in a state of forgetfulness, ere I was roused by the clattering of many hoofs, and the neighing of horses. Cautiously opening the door, I was surprised by the appearance of a dozen or more armed Bedouins, who seemed equally astonished at the presence of a Frank, and as it struck me as more than probable that they had meditated recruiting their horses at the expense of Messrs. Hill and Co., I saluted them profoundly, and accepting the proffered pipe of friendship, sat down with them at the threshold, closing the door after me, and resolved to await the return of the Bawaub from the Telegraph. I had no sooner explained the cause of his absence to my new friends, and the great trouble I was in at the loss of my camel, than one of them asked me to describe the colour of the animal, and the dress and turban of its rider. Having done so, he informed me that he had seen a party answering to my description, in the track on the other side the hills, and that he was proceeding in the direction of No. 4. Finding his statement confirmed by the rest, I waited to reward the old door-keeper for his weary walk, and mounting my horse, reached the centre Station as the sun was setting, and was not a little gratified to observe my truant camel quietly chewing the cud in the court-yard. It appeared that the Arab also had gone wide of the route, and missing the appointed place of rendezvous, had made the best of his way to No. 4.

A large party of travellers by the “Hindostan” steamer arrived in the course of the night, from Suez, amongst whom was Lord E——e, who had passed rapidly onwards towards Alexandria: I rode in company with the remainder to No. 2, where we stayed the night. The Hotel at Cairo was crowded with travellers, who had flocked in from all parts. Among those from Upper Egypt, I was glad to welcome my friend M—— P——, who seemed surprised to find me still in Cairo, and that I had abandoned the Abyssinian journey. He had made arrangements to start off after the others, so as to overtake them at Missouah, and had ordered from England an enormous box of valuables to carry with him, which, after much search, we succeeded in rescuing from a store, where it had been deposited on its arrival. Some of his instruments were unfortunately much injured, and from the impossibility of getting them repaired, rendered altogether useless.

I found that Mr. Raven had gone down to Alexandria in one of his small steamers, and not wishing to await the chance of another opportunity, I joined my friend D—— of the Peninsular Company, and two gentlemen who were returning to England, in chartering a Nile boat for our own use. Packing up my few valuables, and bidding a final adieu to my Cairo friends, I rode down to Boulac, where I found my companions all ready for a start. With a fair wind, we dropped silently down the river, and the long evening was beguiled by a recital of some of the adventures of M—— M——, who was fresh from Upper Egypt, and boiling over with the latest news from Thebes and the cataracts. It would have been better for us had we thus continued to amuse ourselves during the entire night, for on retiring to our sleeping-places, we found them swarming with rats and cockroaches, not to speak of the myriads of fleas which hopped over us in all directions, nor the perpetual sting of the not less troublesome musquitoe. It was in vain that I smoked pipe after pipe of tobacco, the combined nuisance continued unabated, and had I even succeeded in chasing away my tormentors, the tortures of rheumatism would have effectually banished sleep.

Early on the morning of the third-day, we reached Atféh, and were so fortunate as to find one of our iron track-boats, going empty down the canal. Whilst shifting our luggage, a second boat-load of travellers arrived in our wake, and joined us. Ten miles from Atféh we came alongside of the pleasure-boat belonging to Mr. L. of Alexandria, who no sooner caught sight of us, than he insisted upon our landing at his farm, and joining him at dinner.

From the conversation maintained at table, I was led to opine that the term of my quarantine at Malta was likely to be passed in very agreeable company, as most of the party intended taking the next French steamer. Among other visitors stopping at Mr. L’s house, was an English gentleman who had spent some months in a ramble through the fertile plains bordering on the Nile. In the course of his wanderings he had fallen in with Mehemet Ali, who, waiving all ceremony, had sent a Janissary to invite him to a tete-a-tete dinner. Such an honour had perhaps never before been conferred upon a Frank, in an ex-official capacity, and was even now enhanced by the fact of the impromptu meal being served as much as possible in the European style, at a table on which a white cloth was spread, chairs being also placed for the Viceroy and his guest. Between each dish, and there were many, the old gentleman took a deep draught[17] of the sheshè which stood on the ground at his side, insisting that our friend should follow his example. Agriculture formed the chief subject of discourse, the Pasha appearing quite at home in various farming operations, for which his guest would not previously have given him credit. With our relations with China too, he was very conversant, blaming us strongly for teaching the Chinese how to go to war, and confidently declaring, that with their extraordinary talent for imitation, the rascals would, one day or another, be turning round upon, and robbing us of India. The repast concluded with coffee, and a pipe was handed to the Englishman, to his no small astonishment, such being a compliment paid only to those of the highest military rank.

Our party sat talking over Mr. L.’s excellent wines, until so late an hour, that it was nearly dusk ere we returned to our boat, and we reached the quay at Moharrem Bey, long after the gates of Alexandria had been closed for the night. We were thus compelled to sleep in the boat, although some of our party refused to submit to this proceeding, until they had made trial of an expedition to the city walls, from which they returned after an unsuccessful attempt at parley with the sentinels on guard, in a language of which neither party understood ten words.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Coverlids of quilted cotton.

[17] The word ishrob, which is applied to the act of smoking, means in Arabic, to drink, a synonyme explained by the practice of swallowing or inhaling the smoke, peculiar to Orientals.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE “MINOS” AGAIN—CAFE FRANCAIS—THE ENFIELD STAGE—DEPARTURE FROM EGYPT—CHANGE OF BOATS AT SYRA—A GALE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN—MALTA—THE QUARANTINE HARBOUR—FORT MANUEL—INQUISITIVE GUARDIANO—TRAVELLERS’ COLLECTIONS—SANITARY REGULATIONS AND LOW DIET—THE PARLATORI—RESOURCES IN QUARANTINE—HAPPY RELEASE.

On inquiring of my friend Furner, at the office, I found that the “Minos” French steamer was to start on the 7th, and that I had only one clear day to make my final arrangements for quitting Egypt. The packing of my few boxes was speedily accomplished, and my passport, which had so long laid dormant, was now once more drawn forth, and sent to the Consulate for the necessary stamps and signatures. I spent a portion of my last evening in Alexandria at my old quarters in the English Okella, now occupied by Mr. Portenier and his wife, and so thoroughly repaired and decorated, that I should scarcely have recognised it for the same dwelling. The improvement had, however, been entirely confined to the interior of the house. The Okella and its dark-covered gallery were unchanged, and on the outer-door of Portenier’s house, I could still remark the red plague-seal, which, on my first arrival in Egypt, had often caused a shudder.

I could not resist the inclination, before the evening had quite closed in, to pay a final visit to some old and well-known spots, so I strolled through the Café Français, as yet almost untenanted, and down its dirty stone-staircase to the back of the Okella, close to the sea-shore. There, in its cobwebbed solitude, stood the old Enfield stage, umwhile the pride of Glover, who little thought, as he rumbled along to and from the Bank twice a-day, with his six insides, that his rickety old machine was ever destined to run from Enfield Wash to the Red Sea. Such had nevertheless been the intention of Mr. Waghorn in purchasing it, and sending it out to Egypt, though if it ever get there now, it must certainly be through the intervention of miracle.

I had a long chat with Furner, who told me that he also was meditating a change, and that he looked either towards Bombay or Calcutta as his next location, waiting only for the transit business changing hands, which would be the signal for his departure. He and Mr. Raven accompanied me the next morning on board the “Minos,” where I found Lord E. and his suite, and a good sprinkling of passengers, among whom I recognised most of those of the dinner-party at Mr. L.’s, on the Mahmoudieh. I had just time to bid my kind friends a hearty farewell, when the bell was heard, and we were off. I lingered to take a parting look at the quaint windmills and low sandy shores of Iskander, and then turned my back upon Egypt: with regret, it is true, for in that strange land I had been kindly received and treated, and had found friends, whose value appeared greatly enhanced now that I was leaving them behind, and with many of whom I should scarcely ever meet again. However, as the deck of a French war-steamer is one of the spots least suited to quiet reflection, I made my way to the cabin, where some of my countrymen had already betaken themselves to their sleeping-places, as a precautionary measure against mal de mer. There was in truth but little inducement to remain above, for the wind was high and in our teeth, giving promise of an unfavourable passage.

On the night of the 10th, we anchored at Syra, and were there transferred to another boat of the same enterprise, called the “Rhamses,” parting company at the same time with several of our fellow-passengers, who were bound for Constantinople. On again standing out to sea, the wind had increased to a gale, which tossed us about most unpleasantly, and I shall not easily forget the appearance of things on the morning of the 12th, when I ascended to the deck before the breakfast hour. The hatchways closely battened down, benches lashed together, and guns carefully encased in tarpaulin, while the pumps were got into readiness, and an extra tiller-bar fished up from below, looked, to my unpractised eye, like symptoms of an impending storm, whilst our skipper, having laid aside his gold-laced cap and swallow tails, had donned a stiff pea-jacket and indisputable sou’-wester, and was now darting a rapid but penetrating glance at the disposition of things aloft, as he held on to the rail of the companion-ladder. The aspect of the sea was terrific, and I really could scarcely venture to keep my eye upon waves, over which it seemed morally impossible that our ship could ride. Now, the horizon would appear limited to the compass of a few acres only, and then again, elevated upon the crown of some gigantic sea, we seemed poised, as it were, in mid-air, surrounded by an interminable boundless waste of waters. Our good ship struggled gallantly with the waves, but it was evident, with all her puffing and groaning, that she made no way whatever, and our captain at length reluctantly gave the order to put about and go before the wind. This proceeding altered things for the better: the heavy seas no longer broke over our deck, and the severe shocks against our bows, which had previously thrown the whole ship into convulsions, were felt less frequently. Thus we passed the ensuing day and night, by which time the gale had somewhat abated, and we resumed our course.

On the 14th, about midnight, we espied the friendly and cheering light of Malta, and I believe we all felt considerably grateful to find ourselves riding in the smooth water and safety of the quarantine harbour. We were however destined to pass another day and night on board the “Rhamses,” as the Lazaretto was not ready for our reception, but on the 16th, we were landed at Fort Manuel, and consigned in lots to the care of the health officers, every three persons having a separate Guardiano.

The first appearance of the Lazaretto is by no means pleasing to one who knows that he must there undergo a three weeks’ imprisonment, but I have often heard it affirmed, and can in my own case bear ample testimony to the truth of the assertion, that under ordinary circumstances, the term of quarantine may prove a period of great enjoyment. Of course, much depends upon the character of the persons with whom you are associated, but it would be strange indeed, if among the large and mixed party thus thrown together, there were not some one more gifted than the rest with the power and will to amuse or instruct his companions, whilst for the development of character, few places are better situated than Fort Manuel. Our steamer’s boats landed us and our baggage at the stairs, from whence we were escorted, by our guardians, through a formidable sort of fortification, and across a large quadrangle, to an opposite building, where we were shown into a series of empty rooms, and requested to make our selection. I found one in an angle of the building, containing an iron bedstead and table, and no sooner had I thrown my bag upon the brick-floor, in token of right of possession, than a functionary from below put into my hands the price-current of the furniture-broker of the Lazaretto, who undertakes to supply, for a trifling sum, the wherewith to furnish your chamber. Having made my selection, I was next waited upon by the cuisinier of the establishment, who likewise solicited my patronage. I got rid of him by ordering dinner.

The next visitation that I experienced, was on the part of my own particular guardian, who having begged the key of my portmanteau, most unceremoniously exposed the whole of its contents. My linen he unfolded and hung on a clothes-horse, whilst from pegs in the wall, he suspended an array of coats and trousers, giving my furnished lodging the appearance of an old-clothes shop. Nothing escaped his vigilance. Dressing-case and drawing-box were fished out and opened, and the secret recesses of my writing-desk, which it almost puzzled me to arrive at, flew apart as if by magic, at the “open-sesame” of my unnatural guardian, who finished up by taking the tops off my pill-boxes, and the stoppers out of my medicine-bottles. On visiting some of my neighbours, I found that they had been served in the same way, and the odd mixture of articles in an apartment called the mess (!) room, which contained five or six beds, was quite laughable, and as a museum, was perfectly unique, each individual’s private collection giving a sufficiently good clue to his tastes and character. There were enough of cherry-sticks and chibouques to have stocked a cigar-divan, whilst we might easily have managed a bal-costumè with the variety of Oriental dresses which were here brought to light. One of our company was highly indignant, and I thought, justly ashamed of the exposè made of a quantity of chippings from the glorious temples of Upper Egypt, which had been cracked off during his antiquarian ramble, to serve as trophies and mementos when he should regain his own fireside.

Whilst viewing his collection, we were summonsed by the sound of the dinner-bell, and repaired to the common-hall, somewhat curious to test the powers of the Maltese restaurateur, who was to feed us in quarantine, at the rate of four-and-sixpence for dinner, and fourteen-pence for breakfast. From the price of the former, we naturally expected a substantial meal, but finding the sanitary authorities decidedly in favour of low diet, such as weak broth with salads and sour-krout, and no end of gherkins and beet-root, and an appeal to the cook proving unproductive of better fare, I resolved to send over the way to my friend Baker, of the “Princess Royal,” and trust to his discrimination to send me something more substantial. Nor was I disappointed; the next morning witnessed the arrival of a well-stocked hamper, containing among other things, a formidable “piece de resistance,” in the shape of a boiled round of beef, and an apple-pie that excited the wonder of the whole establishment of Quarantine officers. Some of my companions followed my example, and thus by alternately dining with each other, we managed constantly to vary our bill of fare, and get our meal at less expense than when served by the Maltese cook, who viewed our private larder with great indignation, and no doubt regretted having voluntarily submitted to a term of quarantine destined to profit him so little.

The Lazaretto at Fort Manuel, consists of three separate buildings, each capable of accommodating from twelve to twenty persons, one of these being exclusively devoted to the use of such as may be reported under the yellow flag, or taken ill subsequent to their admission. In our case, we came with a clean bill of health, a fact which seemed in no way to influence the vigilance of our guardians, who never came nearer to us than was absolutely necessary; and during the whole period of our probationary imprisonment, treated us as though we had been really plague-stricken. On one occasion, I was severely reprimanded for having scattered some torn fragments of letters from my window, as, had the breeze been sufficiently strong to carry any portion over the water into Citta Vecchia, I should innocently have placed the whole island in quarantine. Each particle was carefully picked up and destroyed. All letters out were duly punctured and fumigated, and our converse with visitors from the island across the double bars of the Parlatori, where secrets of great import were necessarily confided in the loudest key, was curious enough.

On the Sabbath we attended Divine service in the church attached to the Fort, two clergymen of our party officiating alternately, but for our Catholic attendants there was no place of worship, from the fact, I suppose, that no priest could be found sufficiently zealous to devote himself to a perpetual quarantine. Morning mass, however, was not to be neglected, and our good Catholics resorted to the only means within their reach to secure its enjoyment. Rising one day somewhat earlier than usual, I was surprised to observe a number of persons kneeling on the stones at the end of the open corridor, extending along the front of the building we occupied. As they simultaneously made the sign of the cross, and appeared all to direct their attention to one particular object, I soon discovered that their altar and officiating priest were at least a good half-mile off on the opposite shore. Waiting until the ceremony was over, I fetched my glass, and could then remark a small chapel in the side of the rock, wherein the service had been conducted, and from which the priest and a little crowd of devotees were now departing. This was, indeed, silent worship, yet doubtless as acceptable as though it had been offered in a gorgeous temple, and accompanied with all the pomp and ceremony of the most elaborate Catholic mass.

Our walks and rambles in quarantine were necessarily very limited, being confined to the ramparts and fortifications which surrounded us, and the spacious court-yard in front of the Lazaretto. We had books from Muir’s Library to read, and, as Murray says, “drawings to finish, and journals to fetch up,” and these resources occupied the hours of daylight, whilst our evenings passed away round the tea-table of one or other of our company, either in social chat, and the relation of bye-gone experiences, or in the enjoyment of embryo tales and poems from the portfolio of one of our party, who has since given them to the world. We had besides, a very amusing companion, who had been everywhere and seen everything, and could perform the most astounding feats in legerdemain, so that with these resources, it is no wonder if our time passed away pleasantly enough, and that we almost regretted an unexpected piece of news brought to us one morning by a smiling guardiano. This was to the effect, that the Board of Health had decided upon cutting short our term of quarantine by several days, and that we were now at liberty. Soon afterwards a servant from the “Princess Royal” came for my luggage, and stepping into a gaudy-coloured little Maltese boat, I was ferried across the harbour, and was once more at large. I made the best of my way to the hotel, for I was conscious that my appearance was anything but calculated to excite respect in the eyes of the Maltese signory, whom I encountered in my passage through the town. One sleeve of my frock-coat was all but off, to say nothing of divers rents and holes in other parts of my dress. Boots I had none, their place being usurped by a pair of Arab slippers, whilst my head, which had not yet recovered its legitimate thatch, was crowned with a Fez tarboosh. My friend Borg, who had kindly met me at the water’s edge, though apparently ashamed of my acquaintance, insisted upon introducing me to a tailor, who might help me to assume a less questionable appearance, and with the prospect of some decent apparel on the morrow, I took refuge in the hotel.

CHAPTER XV.

CHOICE OF A ROUTE—THE “ERCOLANO”—SYRACUSE—THE ALBERGO DEL SOLE—SICILIAN COBBLER—THE EAR OF DIONYSIUS—BEAUTIFUL GARDENS—MUSEUM—MESSINA—ANCIENT FRESCO—TROPEA—STROMBOLI—NAPLES—“HOTEL DE NEW YORK”—HERCULANEUM—POMPEII—STREETS—SHOPS—PRIVATE HOUSES—PROGRESS OF EXCAVATION.

During my imprisonment in the Lazaretto, I had employed some of my leisure time in selecting the most agreeable route homewards, for towards England I had pretty much determined to go. My desire to revisit Italy increased in proportion as I approached its shores, and I determined to make the best of my way to Naples, and examine at leisure its manifold beauties and wonders. The “Ercolano,” a fine Sicilian steamer, touching at Messina and Syracuse, seemed to offer a good opportunity for visiting those cities, and catching a distant glimpse of Etna. I took leave of Malta on a beautiful evening in April. The accommodation on board this boat was superior even to that of the French line of packets, and I found my berth so comfortable when I turned in about the hour of ten, that I soon fell asleep, and enjoyed a night of uninterrupted rest, a gratification which the rheumatism had long before refused me. Nor did I wake until we were ready to drop our anchor in the harbour of Syracuse, when my friend P——s, whom I had been so fortunate as to meet on board, came down to arouse me.

The view from the deck of our ship was lovely. It was a most sultry morning, and the landscape with its glowing sky and blue water, positively rivalled, in intensity of brightness, the odd gummy-looking coloured lithographs in black borders, which one meets with in all the Italian printshops. In the distance towered Etna, faintly smoking, whilst the yellow-looking houses of Syracuse, coming down almost to the water’s edge, were reflected so distinctly therein, that had we stood upon our heads, the same landscape must have greeted us. There was not a breath of air, and the sun, even so early as eight o’clock, shone out as though it would scorch the very fish. No wonder that old Archimedes could set ships on fire with his burning-glasses, at half-a-mile off!

We had no sooner come to a stand-still, and commenced blowing off our steam, than there was a slight stir perceptible on shore, and two or three lazy boatmen pulled off towards us. At an inn near the shore, the Albergo del Sole, (for here the sun seems to influence everything, animate and inanimate,) we found a cool room and a breakfast, both of which were duly appreciated. But Syracuse is too rich in antiquities, to allow of much repose in-doors during a stay limited to twelve hours only, and therefore, though it was positive labour to walk about, I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and sought the street. At the door of the inn, I found a fierce-looking unshaven cobbler, who presented himself as a cicerone, probably finding the buona-mano of travellers yield a more profitable revenue than the stall under the windows of the “Sole.” Closing with his offer of service, I strolled off to visit the contorni of Syracuse, which abound with theatres, aqueducts and fountains, the relics of former greatness, whilst traces of the engineering labours of Archimedes are everywhere manifest.

Perhaps the greatest curiosity of the neighbourhood is the celebrated “Ear of Dionysius,” an excavation in the solid rock, occupying one corner of a large quarry. It measures about seventy yards in length, with an average height of forty or fifty feet, but was evidently at one time much more lofty, being now partially filled up. The external orifice is in its form something like a horse’s ear, and the sharp angle at the top, runs along to the extreme end, where it terminates in an opening of a yard square, leading to a chamber. Here, as the story goes, the tyrant used to secrete himself, and feast his ears with the groans of his victims, an assertion which our shoemaking guide declared to be beyond dispute. Those among the Sicilians, however, who have bestowed any thought upon the subject, conjecture that the ear was connected with an adjacent theatre, and that its natural acoustic properties were in some way made subservient to orchestral purposes. This supposition, far-fetched though it may appear, will not seem so improbable, when the relative positions of the ear and that portion of the theatre already excavated, have been duly considered. The mere tearing of a piece of writing-paper, is loudly echoed, and one is really afraid to cough, in consequence of the distressing asthmatic effects which ensue from the other end of the gallery. The noise produced by the discharge of a sixpenny cannon is absolutely deafening, and not only are you obliged to submit to it, but expected to pay also for the injury sustained by your tympanum. I felt glad to escape again into the bright sunshine, and was next conducted by my guide to a garden, the property of some Sicilian nobleman, one of the loveliest spots I ever set foot in. It lies sheltered in the bosom of an ancient quarry, which completely encloses it, and the eye is here greeted with rare shrubs, both foreign and indigenous, whilst the sense of smell is regaled with the odours of flowers and tropical fruits. Ripe lemons and citrons dangled amid the dark green foliage, and as this little Eden was not garnished with stiff-looking pieces of painted tin, requesting the visitor “not to touch,” we touched, handled, and tasted to our heart’s content, of the produce of the garden, the old gardener culling here and there for our gratification. He even insisted upon our carrying away with us some lemons of a strange species, of delicious flavour, the pulp being the eatable part. This was white and sweet, and of the consistency of cream-cheese.

Returning to the city, I visited a museum but recently established, possessing already some rarities of great value. The most striking, is a headless statue of Venus, of exquisite symmetry, dug up near some neighbouring catacombs. I never saw so beautiful a figure. Though carefully sought for, the head has not yet been discovered, but the statue was considered to possess such merit, that Canova was sent for to supply the missing portion. He died, however, before he could execute it.

In the evening, we were again summoned on board, and another night’s steaming brought us to Messina, where we had a similar leave of absence from our captain. Two or three of us took a calesse, and saw some of the curiosities of the place, but the town, noisy and bustling, and in respect of its quays and shipping, not unlike Rouen, was soon quitted by us for the more genial campagna, where we strolled at leisure among the hills which rise at the back of the city, from whence the view of the Straits and the Calabrian shore is very beautiful. In an old convent in the suburbs, we were shown a fresco of “the Last Supper,” bearing a striking resemblance to that of Leonardo da Vinci, at Milan, and in precisely the same relative situation at the end of the refectory. It is of very recent discovery, and was accidentally brought to light by the removal of a thick coat of plaster which covered the wall.

Tropea, on the Calabrian coast, seems a charming spot, embosomed in a little rocky valley. Here we took on board a large boat-load of the country people in their picturesque costumes, and amongst them, looking very much out of place, an English engineer, employed in the working of some newly-opened mines. Stromboli, which rises from the water like a vast cone, crowned with a perpetual wreath of thin smoke, was in view a great part of the day. To pass the night below, I found impossible, for a calm evening on the Mediterranean is productive of too much enjoyment, to be snored away altogether in one’s berth. All our passengers seemed alike inclined to shun the cabin, and long after dark, we sat lounging in groups upon the deck, listening to the songs of the Sicilian sailors forward, or watching the lights created under our bows, as we cleaved the water. I never saw the phosphorescent appearance to greater advantage than on this occasion. The froth produced by our paddles was altogether illumined, and looked like a shower of fiery sparks, whilst our wake, almost as far back as the eye could reach, seemed to be a reflection of the milky way.

Morning brought us to Naples, and I was once more landed at the custom-house. A solitary pound of Latakia, the last of my stock, was seized upon with evident avidity. I had foolishly imagined that by making no attempt to conceal it, it might escape notice. Two of my friends were more fortunate. They succeeded in running a couple of bags, containing a dozen or more pounds, by hanging them over the arm in their cloaks, the officers who handled their pockets omitting to notice those garments. I put up at the “Hotel de New York,” close to the quay, in preference to the more expensive houses of the Chiaja, usually patronized by our countrymen. Two of my fellow-travellers, one a Russian, the other a brave Belge, bore me company, and we had no reason to regret our choice. Here I had the good fortune to meet with a laquais de place, who could speak no broken English whatever, and finding that his French would likewise have stood a poor chance of being recognised in the Palais Royal, I engaged him immediately.

On the morning after my arrival at Naples, I arose with feelings akin to those of the school-boy, to whom the pedagogue has granted a whole holiday, and whose excitement at the consciousness of some extraordinary pleasure to come, prompts him to jump out of bed some hours before there is any occasion. I was about to visit Pompeii,—the very idol of all my wishes, since the day, when seated in my lofty cane-bottomed chair, I was allowed, by way of especial treat to see, but not to touch, the curious pictures in Sir William Gell’s book. Now, I was about to roam at will through its deserted streets, and realize some of those feelings which I had experienced as a child, when listening to the wondrous tales of travelled friends, or the more glowing pages of some pleasant author, whose imagination has enabled us to mix with its busy and unconscious multitudes at the very moment of its destruction.

A carriage with three stout black horses, unicorn-fashion, was at the door of the hotel by half-past seven, and providing ourselves with some cold fowl and Capri wine, we set off for Herculaneum, rattling over the hard stones at a pace which would have been alarming, had our horses been held in by any other than a Neapolitan coachman. A ride of an hour brought us to Resina, and we alighted at the stone steps which lead to an ancient theatre, freed only in part from the load of lava which buried it. The sinking of a well by a peasant is said to have led to its discovery, in the year 1713. The lad who provided us with torches, and showed us over the place, pointed to the various spots where such and such relics had been found, referring us to the Museum at Naples for the farther gratification of our curiosity, and seeming to agree with us that these interesting objects might, with equal propriety, have been left where they were first discovered, instead of being transplanted from the places with which they are associated, to swell an already over-stocked collection. Such, however, has been the fate of every moveable relic of antiquity disinterred at Pompeii and Herculaneum. There is thus comparatively little left to interest the visitor, and having strolled through the damp passages, and poked our torches into the dark comers, we proceeded down one of the little guttered streets of Resina, to the garden-gate, which serves as the portal to Herculaneum. Having passed the threshold, and descended a few steps, we stood upon the Appian Way. On each side of this, probably one of the chief thoroughfares, the houses have been cleared of the lava, which, like a boiling tide, flowed in upon and covered them, and the visitor may now walk at will among the roofless dwellings of the city, while his busy imagination vainly tries to invest them with the forms and figures of those who trod the same stones eighteen hundred years before. On some of the walls there are frescoes, which appear to have retained their primitive brightness of colour, notwithstanding the intense heat to which they have been exposed, and there are still many beautiful pieces of mosaic in the floors of some of the houses, which, from fear of breakage, have escaped translation to the Museum.

Owing to the great difficulty and expense of removing the solid lava, but a small portion only of Herculaneum has been laid bare, and though it is probable that a rich store of antiquities would be brought to light by further excavation, it seems unlikely that the Neapolitan Government will go to any more expense in that way.

Regaining our carriage, which had been waiting for us in the road above, we pushed on for three or four miles, through thick clouds of dust, to La Nunciata, catching an occasional glimpse of Castellamare and the blue mountains beyond, whilst Vesuvius, rising from among the cindery-looking vineyards of the rare Lagrima, formed the prominent feature on our left hand. At every step, the evidences of volcanic movement meet the eye. The foundations of the houses are of lava, lying in huge masses by the road-side, just as they have been rolled down from the mountain, and the carriage-way itself is so beautifully hard, that it needs only an occasional shower to wash away the dust, to retain it in perfect order.

Arrived at the gate of Pompeii, we regained the Via Appia, and leaving our carriage under the thick shade of some almond-trees, entered the street of tombs, or suburb of the ancient city. Here is the house said to have been tenanted by the wealthy Diomede, with its ground and upper floors, and walled garden, and a capacious cellar extending round three sides of the quadrangle. It was here that the skeletons of seven persons were found huddled together in a corner, most probably those of the females of the family, who had retreated to the souterrain, in the hope that they might be sheltered from the burning shower which issued from the mountain. But the ashy rain penetrated and pervaded everything, filtering through the crevices in the form of a fine dust, filling up the very amphoræ, with which old Diomede, doubtless a bon vivant, had plentifully stored his cellar. Farther on, are several tombs in excellent preservation, and then passing through the gate, we entered upon one of the chief streets of the city. The paved carriage-way still shows the wheel-marks of former times, although the street itself is so narrow, that it is difficult to believe there was much passing to and fro. It seems more probable that horses and vehicles were left at the Osterie, outside the gates, and that locomotion within the city was principally confined to walking, with the occasional luxury of a sedan.

The street in which we now found ourselves, appears to have been one of the busiest thoroughfares of the city, to judge from the line of shops on either side, which all bear more or less evidence of the business once carried on therein. In that of the baker, for example, who ground his flour, kneaded the dough, and baked his bread in one and the same little shop, we found the mill, the slab, and the oven. It appears, however, that so sudden was the alarm which seized the terrified inhabitants, that the poor baker fled with the rest, leaving his batch in the oven, whence it was drawn after a lapse of near two thousand years, and deposited in the Borbonico. At the counter of the wine-shop, the print of the measure is still apparent, whilst now and then the eye is greeted with a sign, either on the sill or over the door-way, of callings somewhat more objectionable. Shops and private houses stand side by side, and close to the splendid dwellings, of which the ownership has been assigned to Sallust, Cecilius Capella, and Modestus, may be seen the modest shop of a blacksmith, and the laboratory of a dispensing chemist. Farther on are baths, and an academy of music, with the house of the Edile Pansa; a hotel, the studio of a painter, and a crockery shop. The houses of private individuals are recognized by the inscriptions in red-letters, even now perfectly legible, whilst the identity of the particular business carried on in the shops is less doubtfully established by the relics continually found in them. The Terme, or baths, are in excellent preservation, from the bason of marble down to the leaden pipe and water-cock. The house of the Fauns has been lately discovered, and a number of interesting relics were in course of removal at the time of our visit, though it was some consolation to learn, that the beautiful tessellated pavement, which adorns the whole ground-floor of this building, is to remain intact. Each of our guides carried a large wet sponge, to bring out the colours of the mosaics and frescoes. The former, indeed, are kept sedulously concealed by a layer of dust and broken fragments, and would entirely escape the eye of any traveller, unaccompanied by a custode.

Having examined the most interesting houses in the heart of the city, we walked over an extensive tract of orchard-ground, to the amphitheatre, which is in a state of great preservation. Here, the range of benches appropriated to the Pompejan ladies appears to have been the uppermost tier, as far as possible removed from the arena, and therefore less exposed to risk from the accidental escape of any of the animals. From the nature of the relics here discovered, it seems probable that some spectacle was in course of performance, when the first shower of hot ashes gave the signal for flight, though it would appear that the danger was not so immediate, but that all had time to make good their retreat.

On returning to the city, we paused to examine the Temple of Isis and its oracle, a spot which the imagination of Sir E. B. Lytton has invested with such peculiar interest, and passing into the ruins of the Forum, we seated ourselves on some fragments of its chaste Doric columns, and opened our wallets. Here we took a retrospective glance at the wonders disclosed by our morning’s ramble, and fixed them upon our minds whilst the recollection of them was still fresh. For more than eighty years the process of excavation has been carrying on, and it is supposed, that at the present rate of disinterment, another eighty must elapse before the whole of Pompeii is uncovered. Not a third part, indeed, of the ground within the walls, which are two miles round, has yet been moved, and if the supposition be correct, that the whole of this area is built upon, there is labour in store for many generations.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE CAMPO SANTO—CHURCHES—THE MISERERE—CURIOUS SCULPTURE—AGNANO—GROTTO DEL CANE—FROGS—POZZUOLO—CAVE OF THE SYBIL—HOT SPRINGS—BOILED EGGS—HOT SAND—NO END OF PHENOMENA—BAIÆ—VESUVIUS—RESINA—THE HERMITAGE—FATIGUING ASCENT—THE CRATER—COMING DOWN WITH A RUN—THE “MONGIBELLO”—CIVITA VECCHIA—ROME.

I devoted the remaining three or four days of my stay at Naples to a round of sight-seeing, resigning myself with this purpose into the hands of my cicerone of the “New York.” I made frequent visits to the Campo Santo, wishing to see whether any of the varied accounts of the mode of sepulture there practised might accord with my own observation. I witnessed the interment of some scores of persons, of various ages and stations, and saw but little that could shock even a very fastidious person. About six in the evening, the iron gates of the walled inclosure are thrown open, and then may be seen arriving, either in plain hearses, at a rapid trot, or on the shoulders of some stout porter, the simple wooden coffins containing the dead. These are first carried within the little chapel at the gate, where a short mass is said, and then placed contiguous to the mouth of the particular pit about to be opened, there being one for every day in the year. No sorrowing relations are to be seen: they have paid the last tribute of respect to the deceased ere the coffin had left the house of mourning, and do not unnecessarily prolong their grief, by following the remains to the grave. The square stone secured with mortar, which covers the mouth of the pit, is now removed with the aid of a powerful lever, and an attendant drops in the bodies, one by one, never omitting to throw in after them the little wreath of flowers with which each is accompanied. Fresh mortar is then brought, and the stone firmly fastened down for another year; the coffins, which are again and again to serve the same purpose, are then carried away, and the ceremony of interment is concluded.

The churches of Naples are particularly well worth visiting, though to go the round of the whole three hundred, would require a greater amount of patience than I possess, and I succeeded, moreover, so badly in an attempt to hear the famed Miserere in the church of the Conservatorio, that my sight-seeing determination received a severe check. By dint of a great amount of pushing and squeezing through a dense mass of people, I managed eventually to secure standing-room, at a considerable distance from the choir, from which position I was soon compelled to retreat by reason of the suffocating heat, and peculiar Neapolitan odours, having lost nothing, except my handkerchief and the whole of Zingarelli’s sublime composition. For a clever pickpocket, commend me to the gamin de Naples, who will contrive, even in broad daylight, to ease a stranger of every thing worth stealing. After the loss of three handkerchiefs, I found that my only safeguard was to go entirely without one.

But to return to the churches, of which some will be found particularly interesting in the way of pictures and valuable marbles. In the cathedral of San Gennaro, are some matchless columns of Egyptian granite, (covered over by the way for some purpose or other, with a coating of stucco,) besides others of porphyry and cipollino, with bronzes and valuable paintings. The chapel of San Severo is remarkable for some specimens of sculpture, exhibiting a recumbent body covered with a thin veil, so dexterously worked in marble, that the development of the various muscles beneath the gauze is admirably managed, and there is another figure still more extraordinary, of a man entangled in a fine net. Here, the artist must have inserted his chisel between the meshes, which come in contact with the body of the statue only in a few places, the whole production evincing a vast amount both of skill and labour.

There is so much to see and admire in Naples and its neighbourhood, that I hardly knew which way to turn. I had yet to visit Baiæ, and the western shore of the Bay, whilst each time that my eyes rested on Vesuvius, I was reminded of an additional obligation. These, however, were scenes which I had no desire to visit alone, having always been of opinion, that the pleasures of travelling are materially enhanced by agreeable society, and though it may be all very pleasant to shoulder a knapsack, and walk a hundred miles on end with no other companion than one’s own thoughts, the charms of lake and mountain are not the less fully appreciated when shared by an intelligent fellow-traveller. Such was my friend P——s, upon whom I stumbled one evening in the Toledo, and a proposal on his part to visit Baiæ on the morrow, was hailed by me with pleasure.

The carriage of my host of the “York,” was again put in requisition, and quitting Naples, di buon ora, we rattled merrily through the Grotto of Posilipo, and then taking the dusty road to the right, reached the simmering lake of Agnano. Close by its shore is the famed Grotto del Cane, where of course we paid the fee, entitling us to reduce an unlucky hound to a state of syncope. Indeed, the poor animal seemed so habituated to the cruel infliction, that he sneezed and kicked himself back into life in the most good-humoured way imaginable, and ran away with a big bit of bread in his mouth to keep up his spirits until the arrival of some other party. The gaseous vapour, which has the same effect upon the nasal organs as when a bottle of soda-water is swallowed too hastily, rises to a height of eighteen inches above the floor of the little cavern. The poor dog is firmly held by the feet within the gas until he has ceased to move, and is then laid upon the grass outside, where the fresh air speedily restores him. The ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the lake is alive with small frogs, which jump about by hundreds at every foot-fall, and appear to thrive wonderfully well upon the noxious vapours with which the region abounds. Here are also some vapour-baths of great efficacy in chronic cases, and I believe they are much resorted to.

Returning to the road, we reached anon the ancient Pozzuolo, or place of wells, romantically situated upon the shore. The ruins of the city may be clearly observed beneath the blue water of the bay, which would seem to have encroached upon it suddenly, whilst on the other hand the earthquake has not been idle, the whole of the town having been more than once laid in ruins. Here are the remains of an amphitheatre of prodigious dimensions, with ruined villas, bridges and temples. As we passed through the town, our vehicle was besieged by a clamorous posse of young ruffians, laden with antiques of all sorts, both genuine and modern, who clambered upon the steps and wheels, and got up behind and before in their anxiety to relieve us of a few carlini in return for their terra-cottas. Our coachman’s whip was the only argument they would listen to, and having thus got quit of them, we skirted once more along the Gulf. Each fresh turn in the road disclosed views of the most enchanting character, saving where the beauty of the landscape was marred by the unsightly presence of an immense gang of forzati, or galley slaves, working at the repairs of the roadway. On our right arose the bare volcanic hill of 1538, with the vine-covered mountains embosoming the once dismal Avernus, now famed for the excellence of its trout, whilst sky-larks, and others of the feathered tribe, “warble o’er” it with impunity. Beneath us, Procida and Ischia, rising from the blue and motionless bosom of the bay, glittered in the noon-day sun.

A little bye-road leads to the lake and the Grotto of the Sybil, a spot deservedly celebrated by Virgil, in his day, but now infested by a lot of lazy fellows, who gain their livelihood by showing the subterranean chambers of the rock. Here we fell in with a party of our fair country-women, who for the last half-hour had been splashing about under-ground, in the brawny grasp of these uncouth ruffians, stifled with the smoke of torches, and sorely frightened at the echoing sound of the dark waters through which they had been hurried. It is needless to add that they had seen nothing, and indeed their report of the expedition was so very far from tempting us, that we regained our carriage with what haste we could.

Within a quarter of a mile of this spot, in the face of a high cliff overhanging the road, is another remarkable cavern, forming the entrance to a series of hot springs. Owing to the heat pervading the several corridors, which increases in intensity the farther you penetrate inwards, we found it impossible to get any great distance, but the old fellow in charge, who seemed to have sweated himself down almost to a skeleton, took in with him a couple of raw eggs, and returned with them very nicely boiled! not at all appearing to mind having undergone a similar process in his own person. We agreed, however, that the poor old man had well (not to say honestly) earned the trifling present we gave him, and begging him not to expose himself to the risk of catching cold, by showing us out into the scorching sun, we left him to his eggs and dripping. And now we fondly hoped that we had seen the last phenomenon of this sulphureous district; but no, we were again mistaken. On making our exit from Nero’s ovens, we were escorted by a party of juvenile exhibitors down to the margin of the sea, where, forcing our hands through the cold water into the sand beneath, we found it also at boiling point! This, with the distribution of a few grani, closed the entertainments of the morning.

On reaching Baiæ, we deemed it advisable to make a call at its little road-side Osteria, where we lunched on a queer-coloured omelette, and some Capri wine, our table being spread in a little raised gallery outside the house. From hence the view over the bay was very lovely, so much so indeed, that we were loth to quit the spot, and decided upon finishing our day’s ramble in exploring the ruins hard by, and climbing the hills above us, for the sake of a more extended prospect. In the cool of the evening we returned to Naples.

Being now anxious to proceed towards Rome, I determined that the last night but one of my stay at Naples should be devoted to the ascent of Vesuvius. Three of us quitted the city at dusk in a carriage, which was engaged to take us to Resina, and there await our return. Old François bore us company, in order to take care of our provisions and over-coats, which are both essential to the comfort of the undertaking. By the time we arrived at the little hostelry, where our vehicle was to give place to a set of saucy mules, it was quite dark, and the disposition of the little party, as we equipped ourselves by torch-light in the court-yard, formed a striking picture. We took plenty of guides, more perhaps than were necessary, but there is nothing like being upon the safe side, and sufficient light is a great desideratum whilst picking your way in the dead of night, over the execrable road worn amid the broken masses of lava and scoriæ, which cover the base of the mountain. A few hours of weary riding, of which the monotony was only broken by the stumbling of some sleepy guide, and consequent extinction of his torch, or by our own exclamations of surprise and wonder, as a more than ordinary shower of stones was discharged with a rushing noise from the still distant crater, brought us to the little halting-place, called the Hermitage. The night was bitterly cold, and there was a considerable breeze stirring, so that we hailed the welcome shelter with a shout of pleasure, and jumping off our mules, were soon extended on the homely couches in its little supper-room, whilst François busied himself in boiling a dozen or two of eggs. I was so tired by the rough jolting pace of the animal that had fallen to my lot, that I was no sooner seated than I sank into sleep. My companions, however, had possessed themselves of the visitors’ book, replete, as usual, with all manner of absurdities, and their merriment effectually spoilt my nap.

Our supper finished, we again summonsed our guides, who armed us each with an iron-shod pole, and thus equipped, we commenced the long up-hill walk, which leads to the more immediate base of the mountain. It required extreme caution to avoid coming in contact with the blocks of broken lava, and as we neared the steeper ground, we discovered that we had a severe task to accomplish, the flaring beacon above shedding upon us, at intervals, a faint bluish light, reminding us most unpleasantly of the amount of labour we had still to undergo. My guide now took hold of one end of the pole, bidding me to hold on tight at the other, and in this way we scrambled over a mile or more of outrageously large cinder-heaps, among which I pitched and floundered about in a way that threatened to dislocate every joint in my body. All this while we were rapidly ascending (barring the many falls we got,) and daylight began to break upon us as we approached the outer edge of the crater. Hearing a sort of joyous shout from the advanced guard of our party, I made a desperate stagger onwards, and fell suddenly into a charming little gully between two enormous cinders. Never did rest upon a feather-bed appear more welcome, than did mine at that moment upon the rugged spot where I had fallen. My attentive guide now approached his flaring torch to within six inches of my face, and finding that I was in a state of profuse perspiration, he insisted upon putting me on my legs again, promising me a fair time for recruiting a little further on. To have suffered me to lie there, would indeed have been a mistaken kindness.

I now joined the rest of my party, and found that we were at the summit, or in other words, on a level with the internal surface of the crater, leaving only the edge of the basin to be surmounted. The glorious spectacle which now greeted us, was one which we must ever remember. From the cone, there poured forth a continuous stream of fire, with every now and then a terrific discharge of red-hot stones, bursting upwards with a fearful rushing sound. This treble, if I may so term it, was accompanied by a rumbling bass like thunder, from the very bowels of the mountain, forming a combination of sounds wonderfully grand and awful. The red-hot masses of lava fell for the most part upon the outer surface of the cone, from which we were distant about a furlong, and rolled downwards into the crater. We were of course upon the windward side of Vesuvius, a precaution always borne in mind by the guides. As it was, some of the stones fell very near us, whenever the wind shifted to an opposite quarter, which was often the case, and at such times, their clatter as they fell upon the surface of the crater, was sufficiently alarming.

As soon as daylight had fairly dawned, we ventured upon the sea of hot lava which lay before us, sufficiently encrusted and cooled at the surface, to admit of our doing so with safety, though the placing of one’s feet required care, as any slip on our parts might have been attended with unpleasant consequences. Every now and then we had to cross some narrow fissure in the molten lava, produced by the contraction of the surface. Into these we thrust our poles and sticks, which came out again in a blaze. Being disgusted with the heat and sulphurous odours which assailed us on all sides, we were meditating a return to the point from whence we had started, when a change in the wind sent a shower of combustibles so alarmingly near us, that we retreated as quickly as we could, scrambling and falling about among the uncouth masses of lava, in a manner that under other circumstances, would have been highly amusing. In the present case, however, sauve qui peut, seemed the order of the day, and no one looked back to help his less fortunate companion.

At the edge of the crater we sat down to rest ourselves, preparatory to once more descending to the level of our fellow-mortals. I had, in my ignorance, supposed that we should return by the same path which we had taken in making the ascent, and was therefore surprised when our guides conducted us to the top of an immense cinder-shoot, looking like the combined siftings of all the cinders we had ever seen. Having deliberately given us our instructions, guide No. 1 made a sort of plunge forward, and with one single gigantic stride, cleared a space of some twenty feet of ground, and repeating this novel species of step, was presently out of hearing. No. 2 followed in his wake, and we after him, and once fairly started, pulling up was a difficult matter. After near a quarter of a mile of this work, I became aware of something wrong in the region of my boots, which had long been filled with fine cinders, productive of much uneasiness. There was no help for it however. Downwards we all went, with a gradually accelerating motion, and I was beginning to calculate on the certainty of losing my equilibrium in the course of another dozen strides or so, when I was suddenly brought up hard and fast against the broad back of one of the guides, and congratulated by my companions upon my safe arrival. Now for the first time I was able to look upwards, and certainly was greatly astonished at the quantity of ground we had traversed in so short a space of time. Here we emptied our shoes of the cinders accumulated in our progress, but as for myself, I was spared half the trouble of this operation, by finding the ample calf of one of my Maltese boots, lodged at my knee-cap, having been separated from the corresponding portion, now transformed into a shoe, by the unfair ordeal to which it had been subjected. As we had descended by a more distant part of the mountain, our walk to the Hermitage was proportionably longer, and I believe we were all heartily wearied by our nocturnal expedition. The mule-ride back to Resina seemed interminably long, and it was only after a warm-bath and an interval of refreshing sleep, that I could overcome the effects of my unwonted exertions.

Having engaged a berth in the “Mongibello” steam-packet, for Civita Vecchia, I got my passport properly signed, and repaired on board, taking care to see that my portmanteau was carefully consigned to the hold. This done, I stole away to my berth to secure a nap, and avoid the bustle and confusion of starting, and was already busily dreaming of cinders and lava, when I was rudely awakened and summonsed before a party of police on deck, to answer to my name, which had been repeatedly called without eliciting any reply. This formality over, I turned in once more, and at ten o’clock the next morning found myself in the harbour of Civita Vecchia. At the Dogana here, my effects were plombés, and again had my passport to undergo a visè, whilst my pocket contributed its mite to the coffers of his Holiness the Pope.

I found a diligence about to start for Rome, and had just time to swallow a hot omelette, before squeezing myself in with the conductor in front. This was a highly amusing fellow, and although I could scarcely put together ten words of Italian, we managed to keep up a tolerably animated conversation. He was particularly pleased with my Egyptian sword, which he insisted on keeping constantly drawn, flourishing it now and then out of the open window, to intimidate certain imaginary banditti, at times skirmishing with the driver aloft, who showed fight with his whip-handle. About dusk, we reached the Holy City.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ROMAN DOUANE—THE HOTEL CESARJ—MEDITATIONS—THE CAFFE GRECO—ITS OCCUPANTS—MORNING WALK—WINE CARTS—THE RUSPOLI—BELLAMY’S TOILET—PREPARATIONS FOR THE CERVARO—THE ROBING-ROOM—CHOICE OF A DRESS—THE LIVERY STABLE—PORTA MAGGIORE—THE TORRE DEI SCHIAVE—A GRAND REVIEW—THE QUARRIES—INCANTATION TO THE SYBIL—THE DINNER—RETURN TO ROME.

I could scarcely venture to believe, as I stepped out of the diligence in the court-yard of the dogana at Rome, that I had at length reached the spot, which of all others I had most wished to visit, the golden land of my earliest imaginations. My first impulse was to rush in the dark to St. Peter’s, and I should possibly have acted upon it, had not a civil functionary belonging to the customs, suddenly dissipated my romance, by a request that I would hand out my keys and open my baullo. After a loose inspection of my worldly effects, my new friend shouldered the portmanteau, and begged to know the place of my destination, a question somewhat difficult to answer, inasmuch as I was unacquainted with the name of any hotel, and for all I knew, with any individual of my own species in the city. Seeing that I hesitated, my douanier hinted that the “Cesarj” was at hand, where I might at least stay until I found one more suited to my taste. To the “Cesarj” therefore, we went. Arrived in my little bed-room, au quatriéme, and fatigued with the dusty journey in the diligence, I rang the bell and ordered some coffee. “We furnish nothing,” said my landlord, who had himself obeyed the summons, “but a bed and breakfast, and the house does not boast of a kitchen, but at the corner of the square hard by, the Signor will find a good trattoria.” The old adage of “when at Rome,” &c., occurred forcibly to my remembrance, and although somewhat disposed to grumble at a mode of treatment so unusual in a hotel, I groped my way out to the eating-house, resolving to seek a more hospitable roof on the morrow.

In the digestive interval which followed my meal, it occurred to me, that I might as well organize some plan for the best employment of the time I intended to devote to Rome and its neighbourhood, for at this time I had no idea that my stay would be so long protracted, as afterwards proved to be the case. That I ought, in fact, to look round at the various hotels, in the hope of falling in with the name of some quarantine acquaintance, or quondam fellow-traveller, who would bear me company, and give me the benefit of his experience. I have a peculiar aversion to the valets de place, who infest large inns, and an antipathy also to being seen gaping about in a foreign town, with a rosy “Murray” in my hand, which, albeit the ne plus ultra of hand-books, entails upon every unfortunate possessor who may appeal to it in the crowded highway, a host of petty annoyances, and in Italy more especially, stamps him at once Inglese, fair game for all kinds of imposition. Much of this might be avoided by the adoption of some less conspicuous binding: one of my friends, who had taken the precaution to ink his covers all over, attributed thereto the saving of some considerable quantity of petty cash, during a two months’ sojourn in Rome.

But to return. As I sat musing in the trattoria, I recollected with much satisfaction, that an artistical friend, whose acquaintance I had made in Egypt, had mentioned a certain Caffé Greco, as a likely place to find him in, on my arrival in Rome, and as it was not much past seven, I resolved immediately to begin my inquiries. One of the waiters showed me the way to this retreat, which is in the Via Condotti, and appears a favourite place of resort of artists of every nation. Making my way through a thick smoke to the bar or counter, I inquired if one Bellamy, an Englishman, were within, and was answered by an affirmative nod of the head, from a tall man engaged in filling, with black coffee, some two dozen or so of small cups. This operation, though simple enough, was performed with much dexterity by a rotatory motion of the arm, without breaking the continuous stream of liquid Mocha, which flowed from the enormous tin biggin. In accordance with the motion of the man’s head, which pointed to an inner room, I found myself in an atmosphere still denser than that I had just quitted, whilst my ears were assailed with a furious cross-fire of high Dutch. From this I emerged into a third room, where, though a smoker myself, I almost gasped for breath. Here I could see nothing whatever, save the light of a lamp suspended from the ceiling, which looked dim and red, like the sun on a foggy morning in London, but a rapid conversation in the mother-tongue, betokened the presence of sundry and divers of my countrymen, whose forms gradually developed themselves, in proportion as my eyes became accustomed to the atmosphere.

Touching the waiter, as he passed me in one of his journeys to and fro, I asked for coffee and a cigar, and proceeded at leisure to contemplate the group before me. Had it not been for the use of my native language, I should certainly not have guessed that I was in the company of Englishmen, inasmuch as they were for the most part, dressed in a costume varying in toto, save as to the nether integuments, from any I had previously seen. The chief speaker, who seemed to be expatiating upon some article in Galignani, of which he held a copy in his hand, was shrouded, like the rest, in a loose paletôt of black velvet, partly open at the sleeves, and relieved by the least glimpse of Irish at the arms and collar. A handsome beard and moustache, black as the coat, left but little of his features visible, and their obscurity was still farther increased, by a black hat of felt, with a brim of extraordinary dimensions, slightly turned up in front, but partaking essentially of the form of a sou’-wester behind. The rest of the company were dressed pretty much in the same way, the countenance of each seeming to take its cast from the beard, of which there was a variety of all forms and colours. By the time I had made my observations, I discovered that my friend Bellamy was not of the party, and entering into conversation with some one near me, learned that he was not likely to make his appearance that evening. Having obtained the number of his address in the Via Felice, I paid my score and returned to the hotel, where I dreamed about black beards and broad-brimmed hats, till a late hour in the morning.

The sun was high, when I rose and threw open my window, and the blue sky and freshness of the air seemed so inviting, that I decided upon dispensing with my host’s promised breakfast, preferring rather to take my chance at some neighbouring caffé. Leaving the inn, I shortly emerged into a square, that of the Colonna, and was more than half inclined to refresh myself with some of the cooling fruits and drinks, displayed around the fountain in front of the column, under tasty little arbours of evergreens. Now I entered the Corso, already filled with busy people passing to and fro, and noisy enough with its throng of jingling hackney carriages and wine carts. These latter are very picturesque looking vehicles, and the carrettieri seem perpetually under the influence of their own juicy freights, so lazily do they dangle their legs, and loll away their days, each under the shade of his own vine or fig-tree.

Sauntering onwards, I discovered the Caffé Ruspoli, once a palace, where, in a cool garden, amid lemon-trees and fountains, I enjoyed my cream and Galignani, and had moreover, the good fortune to make acquaintance with a countryman of the name of Savill, who, upon learning that I was a stranger in Rome, politely offered to shew me some of the most interesting parts of the city. My new friend wore the sombre dress of, and looked every inch an artist, and had already been several years resident in Rome, speaking its language with singular fluency. He seemed indeed, so thoroughly au fait at all that was going on, that I hailed with pleasure the prospect of a more intimate acquaintance with him, and having finished our breakfast at the Ruspoli, we proceeded together to the lodgings of Bellamy in the Via Felice. The house in which our friend had taken up his quarters, was of great extent, and elegant external appearance, and I was rather disappointed, on ascending the first two portions of its well-like stone stair-case, to observe that each floor was subdivided into many small sets of chambers. To every door was attached the card of the occupant, though there was barely sufficient light for deciphering the faint microscopic italics of the present day. Our announcement of “amici,” at that belonging to Bellamy, was responded to by him in person, half-dressed in so odd a style, that he seemed in the act of rehearsing for a masquerade. He had managed to squeeze himself into a pair of light blue pantaloons, garnished with a double row of bright steel buttons, whilst his legs were encased in enormous jack-boots, armed with long spurs. Seeing our look of surprise, he hastily completed his toilet with a somewhat tarnished lace jacket and courier’s cap, regarding himself at the same time with evident satisfaction, in a small glass upon the table.

Savill now appeared suddenly to remember what had hitherto unaccountably escaped him, that it wanted but two days to the Cervaro Fest, or annual fête of the Roman artists, and I was speedily informed that my arrival in the Holy City at the present moment, was most opportune, inasmuch as I should be enabled to assist at that ceremony,—“We’ll go immediately,” said Bellamy, “and put your name down on the list, and can then make choice of a dress,” for it seemed pretty fully decided upon that I should go in costume. My scruples, on the score of not being sufficiently qualified to join the body were speedily set aside by the assurance that my entrance fee of five pauls, would effectually silence any questions that might be raised. Repairing, therefore, to the Caffé Greco, I was introduced to the president of the fête, a German artist of celebrity, who very politely informed me, upon receiving my contribution, that I was thereby entitled to as much wine and cold sausage as I could swallow in one day. The Germans appear the chief movers in the affair, and the Cervaro Fest originated with a few individuals of that nation, who, years gone by, had a custom of repairing annually to some ancient quarries in the neighbourhood of Rome, where, with their wine and salame, they would pic-nic on the grass, and sing some of their native melodies, returning to the city at night-fall. By degrees, however, their party increased, and being joined by artists of other nations, eventually became so numerous, that it was deemed necessary to elect a president, and frame rules for the preservation of order. A club was also established in connexion with the Cervaro, called the Ponte Molle,[18] which held its meetings once a week, and now forms one of the most amusing of the attractions of modern Rome. But more of this hereafter.

On quitting the Caffé Greco, a walk of half-an-hour brought us to a species of robing-room, in the immediate neighbourhood of the Argentina theatre, where Carnival and stage costumes of every description are let out on hire. I found it difficult to make a selection, but at length, from among a heap of miscellaneous rubbish, managed to rescue a dress, which the meanest bog-trotter would have scorned to accept. So far gone indeed was it, that the shopman refused to make any charge for its hire, merely expressing a wish that I would return it if did not absolutely fall to pieces. It cost me a good two hours’ work in my bed-room, at the “Cesarj,” to sew on such buttons as were wanting, and stitch up some of the rents in the coat and knee-breeches, besides having to convert some old boots into a pair of high-lows, which, with the addition of a well-battered hat, imparted a very satisfactory degree of finish and reality to my tout ensemble. The waiter, who entered my room whilst I was rehearsing, seemed to imagine that I was some fellow in the act of plundering the hotel, for I had some difficulty in restraining him from giving the alarm. When satisfied of my identity, he burst into such an exaggerated fit of laughter, that I was quite convinced my appearance was all I intended.

The next day Bellamy accompanied me to the English livery-stables, as it was necessary that I should provide myself with some sort of a horse. My companions having previously picked out the best they could get, I found that I must either put up with a wretched animal, discarded by the rest, or go on foot. As its appearance was not ill-suited to the character I had assumed, I paid an earnest of half-a-scudo to the ostler, and begged him to give the poor beast an extra feed or two, by way of fitting him to undergo a day’s work.

The following morning, that of April 27th, proved bright and sunshiny, although sundry suspicious-looking clouds, which floated across the small patch of blue sky commanded by my bed-room window, seemed to threaten an occasional shower. It was striking seven as I finished my toilet, and throwing my long bernous cloak over all, save the ragged hat, I soon reached the stables, where I found Bellamy waiting for me, already mounted. We halted for a few minutes at a small shop in the Via Felice, to swallow some coffee, and then made the best of our way outside the city-walls, to the Porta Maggiore, where a numerous crowd of idlers attested the presence of something out of the common way. As we came up, the president of the Cervaro, in the midst of a group of a hundred or more artists, was in the act of ascending his triumphal car, a four-wheeled waggon of the country, drawn by two milk-white oxen, and ornamented with evergreens, and appropriate banners and emblems.

We now formed into something like a procession, the president taking the lead, at a pace more suited to a funeral than an occasion of rejoicing. On getting into motion, the coup d’œil was extremely interesting, and of a very amusing character. It was with difficulty that we could get on at all, so hemmed in were we on all sides, by the crowds of Romans and country-people who had come to see us start. We made a sort of forced march to the Torre dei Schiavi, a ruined temple at a couple of stones’ throw from the road, and nearly three miles from the gates. Here we consigned our horses and donkeys to the care of some ragged urchins, who had purposely preceded us, and had just time to avail ourselves of the partial shelter afforded by the ruin, when a heavy shower came on. Until now, breakfast had been overlooked by the majority of us, so a quarter-cask of red wine was broached, and slices of prosciutto, or uncooked ham, with hard-boiled eggs and salame, were handed round by certain of the artists, who had enrolled themselves as waiters for the day, thinking it on such occasions, by no means derogatory to wait upon the rest. The appointment, in fact, appears to be much coveted, probably either from the novelty attending “office,” or from the knowledge of a most convenient proximity to the provision-baskets. Cigars and pipes were now kindled, and some of the Germans sang in unison an illustrative song, composed by the president, printed copies of it being at the same time handed round for such as chose to accept them.

The shower being now over, there was a grand review of the mounted forces, these on donkeys forming the front rank, with the horsemen behind. We were put through sundry evolutions, which were utterly confounded by the stupidity of the former, which sidled, backed, and turned tail, and caused the greatest confusion, whilst many of those on horseback got awkward falls, from the collisions that were continually taking place. My animal, which was so very lame, that he had appeared to possess only three legs when I left the stable, had, now that he was a little warmed, recovered the proper number. The unwonted bustle, and strange colours around him, had made him so wild and unruly, that I lost all command of the bridle, and unwillingly cut some extraordinary capers under the very nose of the president, who was issuing as gravely as he could, his orders of “recht, links, züzammen,” &c.[19] A sudden command of “vorwarts” seemed far more to his taste, as he instantly turned tail and bolted for the road, where he pulled up of his own accord. The others came up shortly after, and we then formed into something like order again.

As the cavalcade trotted along, I had leisure to scrutinize the various groups, and a more motley collection of outrè figures, I think I never saw. First, came a huge French gen-d’arme, on a most diminutive donkey, armed with a tin breast-plate and backpiece, and a long wooden sword, with which ever and anon he belaboured his unwilling beast. Next to him a Bedouin Arab with naked legs, followed by a nondescript in a cocked hat and a blouse. Now, a well-mounted Spanish grandee rushed past, resplendent with foil and tinsel, giving chase to a ragged Irishman, with tattered hat and uplifted shillelagh, whose manner of sitting his white pony, told of other things than the brush and pallette.

A half-hour’s gallop across the Campagna, after quitting the high road, brought us to the Grottoes of the Cervaro, or deserted quarries, from which the stones of the Coliseum were obtained. They form romantic caves, and serve admirably for the annual picture of the artists. The adjacent meadow was already dotted with parties, who had preceded us to witness our arrival: carriages were drawn up in a line, the horses untethered, as at a race-course, whilst locomotive wine stalls, with their ample flasks of sparkling rosso, and tables laden with coarse bread, and the never failing salame, added to the gaity of the scene. Giving our horses in charge to the ragamuffins in waiting, we followed our president in great solemnity, into one of the very darkest of the caves, where a sort of opening incantation to the genus loci was to be delivered. The cavern was speedily filled, and it was with some difficulty that I managed to secure a footing on the loose rubbish that partially filled the opening. In the back-ground was a large cauldron of burning spirit, which betrayed the extent of the cave, shedding a dull light upon the faces of the innermost spectators, and revealing the presence of many ladies. Silence being enjoined, the incantation, in German, was audibly and impressively read, and its conclusion followed up by a loud report as of thunder, when the spirit of the cave appeared, and stirring up the contents of the cauldron, suddenly vanished in a blue flame. And now broke upon the ear one of those delightful German melodies, at its commencement, low, searching, and solemn; but wild and gleeful at the end. The effect it produced was extraordinary, and not to be easily forgotten. A few startling sobs, were, ’ere half uttered, drowned in a loud hurrah, and in another minute, we had all dispersed in different directions to prepare for dinner.

For this part of the ceremony, an airy but covered portion of the quarry was selected, and the ground thickly strewed with fresh-gathered leaves, the benches and tables being rudely formed of loose masses of stone. Each man seated himself where he listed, and wine, and cold viands were plentifully supplied by the attendant ganymedes. Our repast was soon over, for our seats were none of the softest, and we were glad to rise as soon as etiquette would permit, and eat our salad standing. This was served, ready-made, and carried round in large trays, like those used by our butchers in London, and as no forks were allowed us, each man put in his hand, and helped himself to an oily mouthful as it passed him. Then followed speeches from the president and others, in honour of the occasion; some healths were drank and responded to, and the strangers present invited to partake; and then our leader, with a mallet and chisel, proceeded to record on the smooth face of a rock, already bearing the mementos of many former years, the date of the present “Olimpiade.” This seemed the signal for a general dispersion, and the whole body emerged into the sunny fields above, to amuse themselves as best they might. All sorts of running and jumping matches were engaged in by such as felt inclined, and an extempore horse-race was got up by some of my countrymen, but as I did not care to place too much confidence in my (barely) four-footed acquaintance of a day, I tightened his girths, and took the road towards Rome, greatly amused by the “Cervaro.”

FOOTNOTES:

[18] So called from the bridge over the Tiber, about a mile outside the Porta del Popolo.

[19] “Right, left, together,” &c.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE “PONTE MOLLE” CLUB—TECHNICAL ALPHABET—MOCCOLETTI—THE BLACK BOARD—ELECTION OF CANDIDATES—THE ILLUSTRATED CHORUS—HARMONIES—CHANGE OF DOMICILE—THE VIA SISTINA—THE PINCIAN PROMENADE—TRASTEVERINI—THE FRENCH ACADEMY—HIGH ART AND ITS VOTARIES—ROMAN MODELS—PIFFERARI—PIETRO POMBO—THE VIA MARGUTTA—L—— AND HIS PAINTING—EXTRAORDINARY MODEL—PICTURES AND STUDIOS.

Connected with the Cervaro Fest, is a humorous artistical club[20] called the “Ponte Molle,” which also owes its origin to the Germans. The weekly meetings of this Roman society of odd-fellows, are held in the Palazzo Fiano, at the rear of the “Belli Arti” coffee-house in the Corso, and are of so curious a nature, that although I cannot hope to do them justice, I shall not be satisfied to let them go in silence. I also presume that as I know but little of the rules or regulations by which the club is governed, I can reveal nothing which may not be given to the public. I was introduced by an English artist, on an occasion when two candidates were to be initiated, and on entering a large room on the first floor, found myself in the presence of a hundred or more people of all countries, chiefly, if not entirely, artists, who seemed by the remains still scattered before them, to have just finished their supper. The tables were laid out round three sides of the room in the form of the letter E, the chairman’s seat being filled by Herr ——, the president of the late Cervaro: before him lay an auctioneer’s hammer, and a gigantic speaking trumpet, whilst behind, upon the wall, there hung a large black board.

We had no sooner taken our seats, and called for some sort of refreshment, than an individual on the right of the chair, nearly deafened us by an announcement in German, which he bellowed through the trumpet, to the effect that some ceremony was about to take place, and on looking towards the chairman, I found that he held in his hand an enormous illustrated alphabet, of which the first page presented a coloured sketch, bearing allusion to the letters, great A and little a, printed in large characters underneath. This exhibition was accompanied by a German rhyme, chanted by the company in chorus, each man standing on his chair, whilst the whole of the alphabet was expounded.[21] Then some one distributed to each person present, about four or five inches of wax taper, or moccoletti, and with these was also handed round a printed song. At a sign from the chairman, the tapers were ignited, each individual tied his napkin round his head, and forming into single file, promenaded around the room, singing in unison a melody written in honour of the “Ponte Molle.” The moccoletti seemed of service in enhancing the outrè appearance of such as aimed at making themselves as ridiculous as possible, for I noticed one tall fellow with a row of a dozen or more stuck round the brim of his sombrero, whilst another had attached a piece to the end of his nose. At the conclusion of the recitation, we resumed our places, and the wine bottles being replenished, the chairman and others sung a few songs, whilst preparations were making for the election of the two fresh candidates, who were shortly ushered in amid a deafening shout of applause, and stationed under the ominous black board before alluded to. The only qualification, which to me as a stranger, appeared necessary to ensure admission to the club, was that of being able happily to illustrate upon the board, the solution of some knotty enigmatical query, propounded by the chairman. If an architect or painter, the candidate would be required to sketch some device appertaining to his art, whilst a sculptor would be expected to exercise his skill upon a lump of wet clay, from which he would probably produce some grotesque figure that would set the room in a roar. Be this as it may, the parties on the present occasion, receiving at the hands of the president, the decoration of the order of the Bajocco,[22] were declared amid much laughter, to have acquitted themselves to the satisfaction of their judges, and to have “passed the Ponte Molle,” and then, the hieroglyphs having been obliterated, another part of the evening’s performance was gone through, which I was enabled more readily to understand, and will, therefore, endeavour to describe. The chief performer therein, was as usual the chairman. Marking upon the board with chalk, a short line, thus ——, he inquired—

“Ist das nicht der kürz ünd lang?”

to which all responded,—

“Ya! das ist der kürz ünd lang.”

Then adding a second line, his diagram assumed this form ——/—, with the query.

“Ist das nicht ein Schnitzelbang?”

(Tutti.)  “Ya! das ist ein Schnitzelbang!”

(Chorus.) “Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang

Eine Schöne, eine schöne

Eine Schöne Schnitzelbang.”

Then again with the chalk

“Ist das nicht der Ponte Molle?”

(Tutti.) “Ya! das ist der Ponte Molle!”

Adding some dots thus:

“Ist es nicht so gar zü volle?”

(Tutti.)  “Ya! es ist so gar zü volle!”

(Chorus.) “Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”

“Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”

“Eine Schöne, &c.”

Then a little mountain, thus:

“Ist das nicht der Monte Cavo?”

(Tutti.) “Ya! das ist der Monte Cavo!”

Adding a little figure on one side of it

“Ist das nicht der kleine ‘Bravo?’”[23]

(Tutti.)  “Ya! das ist der kleine ‘Bravo!’”

(Chorus.) “Monte Cavo, kleine Bravo”

“Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”

“Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”

“Eine schöne,” &c.

Then a little figure with a cocked hat:

“Ist das nicht Napoleon?”

(Tutti.) “Ya! das ist Napoleon!”

followed by a few strokes in his rear, intended to represent a city, though they were quite as much like an old comb:

“Der bei Leipsig laüft davon!”

(Tutti.)  “Der bei Leipsig laüft davon!”

(Chorus.) “Napoleon, laüft davon”

“Monte Cavo, kleine Bravo”

“Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”

“Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”

“Eine schöne, eine schöne”

“Eine schöne Schnitzelbang.”

and so on through a variety of similar illustrations, like a modification of “The house that Jack built,” until he had well nigh filled his board. These over, the chairman divested himself of a rat-catcher looking belt which he had worn throughout the evening, and giving a lusty tap upon the table with his hammer, knocked himself down for a song, of which he also acquitted himself admirably. Several others followed, one gentleman, a Swiss, favouring us with a genuine Vaterlander, in which the beautiful jodeln was charmingly introduced. On the whole, the harmonic portion of the Ponte Molle was by far the most gratifying, and I departed with my friend, much amused with what I had seen and heard, although almost at a loss to comprehend any portion of the evening’s exhibition.

ARTISTS ON THE PINCIAN.

Being most anxious to quit the comfortless four-pair-back of the “Hotel Cesarj,” I consulted with my friend Savill, and by him was recommended to some rooms in the Via Sistina, an airy street, near the Trinità de’ Monti, at one end of the Pincian hill. This neighbourhood had been chosen by Nicholas Poussin, whose house was next door to my new quarters, whilst that once occupied by Claude, was immediately opposite to me. Finding the apartment vacant, I engaged it forthwith, and my padrone undertook to get some old woman to make my bed, and bring me every morning a jug of hot water. The rooms proved very comfortable and sufficiently quiet, and I had moreover, the advantage of a shady garden, overlooking the street. Close to me on the right, was the Church of the Trinità de’ Monti, which contains the wonderful frescoes by Daniello of Volterra. A few minutes’ walk further on, would bring me to the Pincian, the favourite promenade of the Romans, who ride and drive round it in their badly-varnished, heavy carriages, with an assumption of ton, which often amuses their visitors. Here, however, there is no veto against hackney carriages, and the bracing air and fine prospects of the Monte Pincio, are common to the patrician and the basso-ceto. On Sundays the place is thronged with pedestrians of all classes. Groups of Trasteverini, the proud descendants of the ancient Romans, then venture hither, in their sky-blue pantaloons and short jackets, with low crowned white hats of the very longest nap. Their lasses accompany them, dressed in gowns of the gayest hues, their long hair plaited into all sorts of shapes, and secured by the silver spadino, sometimes a much less innocent instrument in the hands of the hot-blooded maidens of Rome.[24] These are attracted to the Pincian solely by the desire of seeing and being seen—their haunt after mass on the Sabbath being the Osterie, outside the gates of the city, where they will spend the whole day in dancing, and regale themselves on sour wine and uncooked ham.

On the Pincio stands the French Academy, whose beautiful gardens, replete with statues, fountains, and shady boschetti, are the delight of all romantic dispositions. From hence the eye ranges over the extensive grounds of the Borghese and Poniatowski, dotted here and there by an occasional villa, and thickly wooded with stone-pine and cypress, whilst the distance embraces views of the Soracte and Velino, and the broken range of the Sabine mountains.

I had now made the acquaintance of many artists, chiefly through the kind introductions of Bellamy and Savill, and began to feel an interest in the sublime arts, of which, until now, I had scarce believed myself capable. A great deal of my time was spent in their studii, or at the various galleries in their company, on which occasions, I was forced into the hearing of so many arguments and disquisitions upon “high art,” and “art” in all its ramifications, that I was at last fairly compelled to take up the pencil in self-defence; and the resolution was no sooner formed and expressed, than I got the offer of a table in the studio of a friend, and what was of far greater value to me, the opportunity of benefiting by his advice, during certain initiatory studies. Poor R——, who was so shortly afterwards taken away from us, will be in the remembrance of all who knew Rome and its English artists at the time of which I write. His career, though short, was a sufficiently brilliant one, the productions of his pencil being justly admired, and had he been spared, there can be little doubt, but that he would have risen to eminence in the profession. He it was who undertook, with the kindness for which he was remarkable, to guide my unpractised hand through the tedious routine of a commencement in what was to me almost a fresh career; and though at the time I frequently chafed at the monotonous detail it was necessary to wade through, I am satisfied that the system was a sound one, and ultimately repaid me the trouble.

As R—— mostly chose for his pictures, such subjects as were illustrative of the manners of the Roman peasantry, I had frequent opportunities of drawing from the best models. Grazia, Chiaruccia, and the Pifferari were among those who most suited his peculiar style, and as they were always willing to talk as long as we would sit to hear them, I soon picked up a tolerable smattering of Italian. The faces of these and other Roman models, must be familiar to most who frequent our modern galleries and exhibitions, and although the likeness may not in all cases be preserved, some one or other of their peculiar attributes is sure to reveal them to the practised eye. Who is there, for instance, that cannot claim acquaintance with the old Pifferaro, in the conical hat, and long white beard, whose face and figure have been made to play upon canvas nearly every rôle in the vocabulary. In one and the same apartment of a recent exhibition, I have seen that old man, jerking his bellows before a Madonna, and assisting his brother bandits to rifle a travelling carriage in the Pontine Marsh—casting his net into the Sea of Galilee, and playing at Morra in the Trastevere!

Perhaps the most amusing of the models, was Pietro Pombo, who made his appearance with his brother Pifferari on the steps of the Scalinata, about the beginning of Advent, staying until Christmas was over. Much of this man’s time was passed in sitting for my friend, who constantly employed him as a costume model, and Pombo was so tenacious of what he considered to be his own exclusive right in this respect, that few of the other Pifferari cared to interfere with him. “Io zono il modello del Zignorrr,” was his usual asseveration, when any of his brethren attempted to solicit a few hours’ employment. At eight in the morning, or thereabouts, he would make his appearance at the studio in the Via Margutta, saluting us in a voice of the most ultra-mountainous roughness. “Buon giorno, loro Zignorrr Mossieu,” and then introduce his little boy and inform us of the state of his health, “Bambino mio, zi Zignorr: zempre meglio, zempre meglio, zalute mia: zi Zignorrr!” K. an English artist, having sent for him one morning, and not happening to be quite ready to commence, motioned him to a seat at the far end of the room, to wait until he had put a few last touches to some sketch he was finishing. On looking up a few minutes after, he was thunderstruck on perceiving Pietro Pombo, and his minute fac-simile, the Bambino, who had divested themselves of their nether garments, fleaing them with the most impurturbable gravity and assurance. K. was too much amused to disturb them, but could no longer restrain himself, when the Pifferaro continued his toilet, by emptying a small bottle of drying oil on his black and matted locks, by way of Macassar.

The house next door to R——’s, in the Via Margutta, is famous as the birth-place of a picture which made a good deal of noise in the world. The particulars I had from an Italian acquaintance, and although it is possible he may have been generally correct, I will not vouch for the accuracy of the detail. The painting in question was the production of Mr. L——, one of the first English artists who took up his abode in Rome after the Peace, and was at first a simple picture, representing Joseph and the Virgin. By degrees, however, it became more and more allegorical, until its original dimensions were found insufficient, and fresh canvas was added from time to time. L—— now discovered that the dimensions of his studio forbade the further enlargement of his subject, inasmuch as they did not keep pace with the development of his intellectual vagaries, and a proposal was therefore submitted to the landlord to raise the roof of the house, which was politely declined. An appeal to sink the floor met with better success, and now the picture assumed a colossal form; the padrone, who had been admitted to L——’s confidence, and was the only person who had seen it, declaring it to be una cosa stupenda. Such indeed it ought to have been. Fifty dollars’ worth of ultramarine were swallowed up in the sky alone, besides a whole barrel of bitumen in the foreground. The materièl alone cost two hundred pounds a-year, and to meet this outlay, L—— lived chiefly upon bread and potatoes, whilst the colourman who supplied him, realized a fortune.

Among other flights of fancy which the picture exhibited, was that of a colossal horse suspended in mid-air, and in order to obtain the most suitable model for his purpose, L—— purchased a genuine dead animal, which he succeeded in securing in a suitable position, by attaching tackle to the roof of his studio. This, though a work of considerable engineering difficulty, was rapidly accomplished by L——, whose perseverance was a match for any obstacle. At this juncture, he was compelled to quit Rome for a week or so, and, as his custom was, carefully locked up his studio, and carried with him the key. He had not been absent many days, before his more immediate neighbours were annoyed by an unusual, and by no means agreeable odour, which emanated from L——’s quarters, and gradually increased to such a degree, that the good people assembled in dismay, fearful that nothing less than some foul murder had been perpetrated, whilst L——’s absence was now for the first time noticed. An application was then made to the Governor, who happened to be a personal friend of the artist, and therefore declined any interference. The nuisance increased, and at length became so unbearable, that a search was instituted, and the doors ordered to be forced. L—— arrived from the country just as a file of carabinieri entered the Via Margutta, and had no sooner learned the reason of their unwonted appearance, than he stationed himself at the top of his stairs, with a pistol in either hand, determined to resist to the death, the meditated violation of his sanctum. But the Governor’s orders were not to be lightly treated, and L——, finding that delay would avail him nothing, consented to admit one of the soldiers, selecting the least intellectual-looking of the lot, in the hope that his stupidity would prevent any revelations respecting the subject of the picture. No sooner had the poor fellow passed the threshold, than he fell back and fainted. And now the murder was out—the model horse had fallen to pieces, and no one could be found rash enough to approach such a mass of abomination as the carcass now presented. The helmet of Alonzo the Brave was nothing to it. The very facchini, who are proverbial for their willingness to undertake any job, however dirty, were in this instance inexorable, and it was not until L—— had promised them a reward, which their cupidity could no longer resist, that they consented to remove the body and consign it to the Tiber.

The picture was at length finished, and although from certain peculiarities in its detail, it was not suffered by the Pope to be publicly exhibited in Rome, it proved, with all its eccentricities, such a marvellous production, that it eventually found its way to the gallery in the Winter Palace of the Emperor of Russia, who purchased it for fifteen hundred pounds.

On another floor of the same house, in the Via Margutta, is the studio of the Italian artist V——, justly famed for his pictures of the chase, and more particularly that of the wild-boar, which he first hunts down for his amusement, and then transfers to canvas for his profit. V—— paints every hair with minute distinctness, and is never better pleased than when his productions are submitted to a microscopic test, which, to say truth, they will bear at any time. His anxiety about Landseer was sometimes very amusing, and though he had heard, and believed, that his rival could paint an animal asleep, he could not be induced to credit his ability to do justice to one in motion, until about a year ago, when he paid a visit to London, where I met him, just after he had been favoured with a sight of some of our great artist’s unrivalled pictures. The look of anguish with which he regarded me, when I reverted to the subject, I shall never forget. In P——’s studio, among many other valuable pictures, is the Magdalene of Correggio, which at one time excited so much interest, and caused a lengthy litigation. Its history is so familiar, that I need not here enter into it.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] The immediate object of the club, is the relief of sick or distressed artists of any nation, and in order to effect this purpose, each member pays a trifling annual subscription, whilst on a certain night in the year, there is a sale by auction, in the club-room, of sketches and drawings contributed by members, which are knocked down to the highest bidder. Thus it often happens, that a chance visitor becomes possessed of the productions of the most eminent artists, at a cost totally disproportioned to their real value, and which he might otherwise have been unwilling to purchase. New members pay for the whole of the wine consumed on the evening of their admission, and if it should so occur, that no fresh candidate is on the list, this expense is defrayed by one individual from among the body, who take it in turns. The election of President is a very interesting ceremony, and the same person is eligible more than once. Herr W——r, who is not only an eminent artist, but an accomplished musician, has, I believe, many times been elected President of the Cervaro Fest, and he it was who filled the chair of the Ponte Molle, during my visit to Rome.

[21] I was afterwards informed, that the tendency of the couplets was at once humorous and satirical, hitting, in rather a severe manner, the artistical peculiarities of certain men of eminence, as well as of many then present.

[22] The celebrated Thorwaldsen held this decoration in such high estimation, that discarding those which his fame and talents had procured him in every court of Europe, he presented himself before that of Denmark, wearing only the solitary and unimposing decoration of the “Order of the Bajocco.”

[23] The gentleman here named is well known in Rome, and acted I believe, at one time as secretary to the Danish sculptor before alluded to.

[24] Maria de’ Monti, one of the most popular models of Rome, who had frequently suffered annoyance from the importunities of a contadino, met him one day in the Piazza Barberini, when the solicitations were again renewed. Having indignantly rejected his addresses, and received at the same time, a provoking schiaffo, or slap in the face, she drew the spadino from her hair, and stabbed him in the breast. No sooner was the blow given, than the irritated girl ran to the French Academy on the Pincio to seek refuge, it being considered by the models as a sort of sanctuary. The man died shortly after, and on being brought before the police, Maria was immediately acquitted on the score of her youth and previous good character, and in consideration of the provocation she had received. This specimen of Roman justice may appear very lax to English minds, and its want of severity can only be reconciled by the reflection, that the criminal deed was entirely unpremeditated, and that a blow in the face is regarded by the irritable Romans, as an unpardonable insult.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE “GRECO”—SIGNOR GIOVANNI—FREQUENTERS OF THE BARCACCIA—PIETRO—THE ROMAN CIGAR—CAFFE DU BONGOUT—“PUNCH A LA ROMAINE”—ITALIAN EATING-HOUSES—THE LEPRI—OLD AURELIO—TERRIBILE—ROMAN BILL OF FARE—SWEETS—ENGLISH ERRORS—DESSERT—THE LEPRI GARDEN—THE “GABBIONE”—ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD—FRIED FISH—ALESSIO—“UNA BOMBA ALLA CERITO.”

As I could get nothing cooked in my new domicile, and do not even know whether it possessed a kitchen or not, I was compelled to take my meals at the Caffé and Eating-house. Of course I patronized the Greco, which was not only close to me in the Via Condotti, but the resort of most of my artistical friends. Signor Giovanni, its padrone, a good-humoured old man of eighty, was at one time a waiter in the establishment, but having married its mistress, may now be seen every day inside the counter, raking up the mezzi-paoli. The Caffé is also known by its original name of Barcaccia, derived from the adjacent fountain in the Piazza di Spagna, and was famous during the war, as the scene of some noisy political meetings. Having been hallowed by the constant presence of men, whose names can never be lost to fame, and will be remembered when their works have perished, the marble tables and well-worn benches of the Greco, possess a charm for the artist, which no other Caffé in Rome can boast. It opens at four in the morning, when it is resorted to by the Vetturini, who take their caffé rhummeggiata. After them, about daylight, come the Italian shopkeepers of the Condotti, who make their early breakfast of chocolate and little rolls called chiffa, in shape like the crescent of Diana. These give place to the Danish and German artists, men with fierce moustaches and grizly beards, who dim the grey-light of morning by the clouds of smoke inseparable from the proper enjoyment of mischio[25] and caffé latte. These frequent a middle room, to which they seem to possess an exclusive right, and there they lounge, all dull and gloomy, sipping and smoking. At about eight o’clock, the little round tables in the front room are occupied one by one, whilst at a side bench, over which the notice of “non si fuma qui,”[26] seems to promise a few cubic yards of atmosphere less densely impregnated than the rest, may be seen two or three individuals drinking thé á latte, and conversing confidentially in an under tone. These are great men, whose chisels and brushes have astonished all Europe. And yet the eye of the ministro with the coffee-biggin is no oftener directed towards them, than to the humble stalliere, who is smacking his rhummeggiata on the opposite bench, nor is the customary obeisance of the Signor Giovanni, a whit lower to one party than the other. And now Pietro, the waiter, who has been fanning himself at the open door-way, suddenly arouses us by a prolonged cry of, “dolcissimo,” and we know that in another minute we shall see ——, whose scriptural subjects have gained him so great a notoriety, whilst a similar call for “mezza crema con poco zucchero,”[27] betokens the approach of the less sweet-toothed author of the “Life of Raffaelle.” Pietro knows and never fails to remember the peculiar taste of each of his customers, and I have heard him give the order for my “pane bruscato,” or dry toast, the moment that I have turned the corner of the Piazza di Spagna.

About the middle of the day, there is a sprinkling of Frenchmen, who drop in to open their appetites by a taste of the “gialla bottiglia,” so called from the amber-coloured abscynthe, without which preparative, and the subsequent chasse, their mid-day meal would be considered incomplete. During the afternoon, there is a constant succession of applicants for caffè-noir, accompanied by the regulation weed at one bajocco, a cigar generally supposed to have been born in a cabbage-bed, and baked brown in an oven, and which, after lying a month on the shelf of a spaccio normale, returns to dust in the Greco. In the evening, the caffé is generally filled with a miscellaneous company from all quarters of Europe, who indulge in mezzi-caldi and hot discussions, mixing punch with politics, and debating knotty questions bearing upon “art,” until midnight, when the house is closed.

Whilst speaking of Roman coffee-houses, I must not omit to mention the “Bon Goût,” in the Piazza di Spagna, certainly one of the best in the city, and although not much frequented by the generality of artists, its benches are often occupied by the older stagers, who mumble through an elaborate breakfast, unannoyed by the combined odours of tobacco and abscynthe. Here too, will always be found some of that peculiar class, so justly idolized by the Roman dealers in bronzes, mosaics, and marbles, men who carry with them to England, boat-loads of giallo and rosso-antico, and fill their carriages with camei and green lizards. Then again, the “Bon Goût” is the resort of those who prefer a French roll and newspaper, to the monotony of a hotel breakfast in their bedrooms, and is therefore crowded in the visiting season. In the afternoon, its tables are arranged outside, under an awning, and there is a constant demand for ices and barley-water, and as the genuine punch a la romaine, ought, if it really does not, to date from the Bon Goût, and may there be had in perfection, the ladies can want no excuse for a free indulgence therein.

Having disposed of the Caffè, I will devote another page or two to the unintellectual subject of gastronomy, and beg my reader to accompany me into a Trattoria, or Italian restaurant. Those of Rome are numerous and generally good, but as it is with that of the “Lepri,” that I am more particularly concerned, and may hereafter have frequently to allude to it, I will endeavour to give a short description of it and its frequenters. The “Lepri” is in the Via Condotti, exactly opposite the Caffè Greco, and takes its title from the palace which adjoins it. The head of the establishment is, or lately was, a wealthy widow, who would never scruple to render a service to an artist, and would lend her stock of plate, or tend a sick couch with unhesitating kindness. Her son lives upon his rentes, which are sufficiently good, and enable him to keep his carriage and shooting-box.

On the ground-floor, are two public rooms and an enormous kitchen, but as the former are chiefly frequented by Italians, we will ascend the dark and greasy staircase to the first-floor, where we shall find three distinct entrances to as many tolerably spacious rooms. The presiding deity of the first, is the old Ferrarese waiter, Aurelio, with his attendant sommelier rejoicing in the high-sounding name of Ferdinando Terribile, who seldom sees a customer dine three times in his room, before he bestows upon him some appropriate soubriquet.[28] Aurelio is a character possessing some of the suaviter in modo of his Imperial prototype, and will also be found, if pressed for two consecutive portions of pudding, (which he stoutly maintains to be unnecessary,) equally fortiter in re. In Aurelio’s room are three tables, which, at twelve o’clock, or thereabouts, are appropriated by hungry yellow-haired Danes and Saxons, deep in the mysteries of purèe and giardinetto, their flowing beards and moustaches, lubricated and unctuous with the greasy fluid, which appears by its effects to be as conducive to a luxuriant growth, as the genuine Macassar. The application of a piece of bread puts them in train for the next course, and now Aurelio may be observed confidentially whispering, and touching upon the excellence of such items of his bill of fare, as he knows will suit the taste of each particular customer. To one he dictates a fritto misto, a sort of omnium gatherum, as its name implies, consisting generally of small portions of calve’s head, liver, brains, artichoke, cabbage leaves, cauliflowers, and young gourds, fried in fat. Then an Irishman interrupts him, with a demand for two mezzi-manzi, or bouilli, by which little dodge, he hopes to secure a larger portion, than if he had ordered a whole go. To another, Aurelio recommends an agrodolce, a villainous compound of sweets and sours, or a stufatino of beef and celery, stewed to rags. The rattling of knives and plates is now almost deafening. Terribile, in his capacity of canava, or butler, rushes about with wine-flasks and fogliette,[29] of the white and red nostrale,[30] having already taken care, like a ship’s purser, to withhold a thumb-toll from each bottle in the process of decanting. A course of sweets then follows, and of these, there is such an alarming variety, that the bill of fare rather puzzles than assists one in making a selection. Under this head, comes the Zuppa Inglese, a name which leads our uninitiated countrymen to suppose that ox-tail, or mutton broth, has got by chance into a wrong column, and if ordered, makes its appearance in the form of a flat sponge-cake, soaked in rum, with an upper coating of plaster of paris, and blue sugar-plums. Here also is the delicate ricotta, a curd much eaten by the Italians at their breakfast, but usually fried in oil or made into pudding, when served at dinner. Dessert is rarely eaten, and I should think never called for a second time by any one at the “Lepri.” I was once rash enough to express to Aurelio, my desire for some fruit. He assented, with a stare of astonishment, and brought me, on a plate, a shrivelled apple, two lumps of sugar, two figs, some unripe almonds, a piece of cheese, and four large green beans, in the furry pod. The latter are eaten as a delicacy, but I should think a taste for overgrown scarlet-runners, would be acquired with difficulty by an Englishman.

The adjoining rooms will be found very much to resemble that to which I have endeavoured to introduce the reader, saving that people of other nations will be found there, and instead of his mother-tongue or the silvery Italian, his ears will be greeted with the harsh gutterals of Germany, or the still less-intelligible Russian. Behind the Trattoria there is a garden, where we sometimes dined al fresco, under odd-looking trees, of questionable appearance. If the wind happened to be stirring, there would sometimes drop upon us and into our plates and dishes, a shower of green beetles or caterpillars, whilst our feet and legs were besieged by a legion of ants. As I never much enjoyed the forced presence of these little visitors, my rustic dinners were anything but frequent.

Such is a rough outline of the mid-day meal at the “Lepri.” With some this is called, and really serves as a dinner, though the hour of Ave Maria is generally the busiest at the various Trattorie. Besides the “Lepri,” there are other eating-houses frequented by artists, who are often capricious in their tastes, and will walk a mile or more in quest of some dish of particularly good repute. In the Corso, there is a Restaurant called the “Bertini,” used by such as prefer being served in a somewhat more ostentatious style, and who do not object to pay a trifle more for it. Here the wines are better, and there is more choice of them than at some other places, but the cuisine is very much the same. The Gabbione, the Falcone, and the Scalinata, are well-known houses, each remarkable in some way or other. The first, which was once a banking-establishment, is a cellar under a house, near the Fountain of Trevi, and is famed for its good wines, delicious water, and cheapness, but it has withal an appearance so murky and so very far removed from cleanliness, that the Germans have bestowed upon it the appellation of the “Dirty Spoon.”[31] The street which leads to it from the fountain, so celebrated by Madame de Stael, is a sort of vegetable shamble, and reeks with the perpetual odours of cabbage leaves and bad melons. A great deal of business is done here in thin lemonades and the opal-hued assensio, and it is the resort of Carbonari and big dirty men, who emulate the pieni of the Corso, in swallowing ices and cold bibite.[32] In winter the heaps of vegetables give place to fizzing cauldrons of fish, of queer shapes, indigenous only to the Tiber, among which the really delicate triglie[33] figures conspicuously, while vast tin waiters of fried fish, which tempt even the very Jews from the Ghetto, are here displayed in close rank on either side. But let us now explore the damp cellar of the “Dirty Spoon.” Having descended four or five steps, we find ourselves in a sort of vaulted chamber, whose intense gloom is only relieved by the doubtful white of the coarse cloths which cover the narrow tables. Alessio the waiter, will be found either busy with his customers, or fast asleep upon a bench. These are his only two conditions, and he fulfils each to the letter. It is wonderful, with what accuracy he will remember the precise quantity and value of the dishes consumed by each of his customers, without having recourse to pencil and paper. The chef of the Gabbione, like those of other Roman trattorie, appears to have an invincible objection to the introduction of any novel dish, and I was therefore much surprised one evening that I visited its subterranean, in company with Savill and “the Emperor,”[34] who were bent upon supping. We had hardly seated ourselves, ere Alessio pompously announced a new dish. “Signori, abbiamo Bomba alla Cerito!” The plat appeared well-timed, inasmuch as the great artiste was at that very moment delighting the volatile Romans at the Teatro Aliberti, hard by. “Vediamo,” was our reply, and the Bomba was introduced, but any thing less likely to recall even a faint recollection of a “pas seul,” I never saw. It proved to be a ball of rice, fried in green oil, and enclosing a solitary sparrow, of which the head alone was visible, and was remarkable only on account of its exalted name, and extremely ludicrous appearance. In taste it was excellent.

UNA BOMBA ALLA CERITO!

FOOTNOTES:

[25] Coffee and chocolate mixed.

[26] “No smoking here.”

[27] “Half a cream with little sugar.”

[28] A practice rendered in some degree necessary, from Terribile’s inability to pronounce our Saxon names.

[29] A Foglietto is a small decanter, holding nearly a pint.

[30] Nostrale, when applied to wine, means that grown in one’s own vineyards.

[31] Zum schmutzigen Löffel.

[32] Swizzle. (English Vernacular.)

[33] Red Mullet.

[34] Terribile had dignified one of our friends with the imposing title of “Imperatore.”

CHAPTER XX.

THE TOMBOLA—MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS—THE MONTGOLFIER—CURIOUS FINALE—THE BIGLIARDO—POOL—SIR T. B.—AN AMUSING ACQUAINTANCE—THE BEWILDERED BARBER—THE DOG “PINCIO”—PREPARATIONS FOR CARNIVAL—BOMBARDING IN THE CORSO—CHARACTERS—CHARLATANS—THE FESTINI.

Shortly after my arrival in Rome, I had an opportunity of witnessing the drawing of a lottery, or Tombola, as it is there called, an interesting and exciting scene. These are got up ostensibly for purposes of charity, and are so ordered, that many parties may be winners at one and the same time. No sooner is a tombola decided on, than a vast number of tickets are struck off, and distributed for sale at various authorized offices throughout the city. These are simply pieces of paper, containing fifteen spaces, which the applicant fills up with any fifteen numbers he may choose to fix upon, paying a moderate sum for the ticket and its registration. On the day appointed for the drawing of the lottery, I repaired with my friend R—— to the Corea, or Mausoleum of Augustus, an amphitheatre, now used as a circus for travelling showmen, and exhibitions à la Franconi. On the present occasion, its benches, and raised platforms were crowded with people of all degrees and classes, of whom there were perhaps scarcely fifty, who did not take a personal interest in the drawing of the numbers. The wheel of fortune was hung in front of a box on the highest tier, in a conspicuous situation, and we had scarcely taken our seats, ere a dead silence announced that the first number was about to be drawn. After a suitable whirling of the cylinder, a little boy drew forth the paper, and the number was immediately proclaimed by a herald to the expectant crowd, whilst at the same time, one of ninety squares, upon a large black board, turned suddenly upon its axis, and revealed the number to such as were too distant to hear it. All eyes were now bent upon the tickets; pencils and pins went to work wherever the number was held, and then an interval of talking and shouting succeeded, until another number was drawn and proclaimed. Three consecutive numbers constitute a terno, and command a small prize, while a quaterno of four in succession, and a cinquina of five, are still more advantageous. It was not long before a commotion at one particular spot in the crowd announced the holding of one of these, and the fortunate possessor then elbowed his way to the wheel, through the dense mass of people, to receive his prize. About an hour elapsed before “Tombola” was declared in two places. This only occurs when the declaration of the numbers drawn has enabled the possessor of a ticket to score off his whole fifteen, and this done, he became entitled, as in the present instance, to a prize of three hundred scudi, or a little more than £60. This concluded the lottery, but some additional amusement was promised to the crowd, in the shape of a montgolfier balloon, with a lot of fireworks attached to its hoop, which was inflated after the tombola was disposed of. Such a machine was probably new to many of the country-people assembled in the amphitheatre, who gazed at it, as it slowly filled, with extreme astonishment. Whether intentionally, or by accident, I know not, but no sooner had the retaining cord been severed, than the balloon rose a few feet above the heads of the gaping spectators, and then toppling over, first caught fire itself, and next ignited the combustibles which were tied to it. Squibs, crackers, and Roman candles, now burst forth in a fiery shower, which caused a dire confusion in the arena, whilst the miserable remnant of a balloon, ascending to the upper boxes, scattered burning fragments of thin paper amongst the silks and satins of the ladies. The women screamed, and the men yelled and hooted, and the uproar was at its height, when suddenly the sponge, which had been plentifully saturated with spirits, detached itself from the wires, and fell into the middle of a group of contadini, who had been staring upwards in awe-struck amazement. A bursting bomb-shell would have been nearly as welcome. The people cleared a space immediately, whilst one young fellow, more disposed for fun than the rest, hurled the flaming affair into a distant part of the arena, where its arrival, being equally unexpected, caused quite as great a sensation. Many persons had their clothes injured, whilst others were more or less burned, and it is probable that the fun would have ended in something less innocent, had not the soldiery put a sudden stop to it, by clearing the place.

In one of the rooms of the Fiano palace, was a Roman “bigliardo,” where I could always be pretty sure of meeting some of my countrymen, when dinner was over. On rainy days especially, it was satisfactory to know, that one might get a few hours’ exercise under cover, and we occasionally mustered a strong pool. In the Italian game, only two balls are made use of, and any number of persons can play, the marker giving out a lot of little figured counters, which are shuffled in a bag, and decide the particular number of each player. The cues are generally without leathers, the Italians having but little notion of the side stroke, and the handling of them is so noisy and disagreeable, that I prevailed upon the marker, as an especial favour, to point one or two for us, but his innocence proved so great, that he nailed on a few round pieces of shoe-leather, with a common tack, and fancied he had succeeded to admiration. After one or two more attempts, he acquired the right method of fixing the leather, and we could then enjoy our game. The pool was never higher than two bajocchi ahead, and each life of one bajocco, a moderation on our part, which astonished such stray English visitors, as dropped in occasionally upon us.

As we played purely for recreation, any thing like an innovation would have been regarded by the old frequenters of the room as an insult. Sir T—— B—— would have thrown down his cue in disgust, and his common exclamation of mi sento meglio would have given way to a groan of despair. Dedly would have greeted any such proposition with a stare of wonder at its extraordinary boldness, whilst Warmey would incontinently have “pitched into” the intruder. Such being the order of our game, the bigliardo became a general rendezvous, one of its two tables being vacated the instant that Sir T.’s well-known shuffle was heard at the glass doors. The other was always left to the Italians, who played neither for amusement nor exercise, inasmuch as they used to sit round the table, and watch by the hour together a game played by three or four of their party, with a number of minute balls set in motion by the hand. This was evidently a parti requiring considerable skill, heavy bets being laid upon the event. What this might be, I never could clearly ascertain, but the excitement produced by the game was so intense, that Sir T.’s exclamation from our table of “Bigliardiere, tacco qui” which he repeated on an average once every ten minutes, calling the attention of the marker from the other game, was received by the Italians with muttered imprecations upon the fat old Inglese, whose short legs rendered the butt or bridge, necessary at every second stroke. Sir T—— however, was proof against any insult, whether in English or Italian, sotto or viva voce, a good-natured indifference on his part, which often made him the butt of his brother-players.

Another game much in vogue in Italy, is that of the Pirole, where five little pins are set up in the centre of the table, through which a pallino, or small red ball, is doubled. The number of pirole knocked over by it are counted as so many points, as well as certain odd cannons and winning hazards, but as the pockets in an Italian table are preposterously large, and the great art seems to consist in avoiding them rather than otherwise, the pirole is a game not often played by foreigners.

In the bigliardo of the Fiano, I made the acquaintance among others of D——, a young Highlander, whose vagaries afterwards made him the terror of all the coffee-house and tavern-waiters in Rome. He was not an artist, but appeared to be travelling solely for his pleasure and amusement, lodging on the first floor of a house in the Condotti, and devoting himself entirely to the prosecution of practical jokes, and the study of German particles. His apartment looked like the den of some embryo Anderson, or Phillipe, so filled was it at all times with conjuring apparatus and machines for jerking obnoxious missiles. For many days the shopkeepers, and others in his immediate neighbourhood, but more especially those on the opposite side of the street, were astonished by continued showers of peas, which sometimes rattled in torrents against their windows, or popped per single pea, at ominous and regular intervals against one particular pane. In vain did the bewildered barber at the corner of the Via Belsiana, full ten houses off, wait in ambush at his shop-door to rush out against some wrongly-suspected bambinaccio.[35] No sooner did he expose his own block and wig outside the door-post than a stinging volley caused him to beat a hasty retreat. Every priest that passed along the Condotti was saluted with one or more peas, which rebounding with a sharp crack from off his stiff three-decker glanced away to a distance, leaving the unfortunate padre lost in a stare of amazement. These persecutions continued without intermission for a fortnight, and the Cock Lane ghost could scarcely have produced a more feverish excitement in its immediate locality, than did the twopenny pea-shooter of the waggish D——, from behind the jalousies of his bed-room window. It is difficult to say what might have been the end of these vagaries, had they not been suddenly put a stop to by the interference of D.’s landlord, who had acquired some clue to their author from the tinman on the ground-floor, who had made the pea-shooter, a weapon hitherto unknown in Roman warfare, and consequently regarded with curiosity.

This was one only in the catalogue of jokes perpetrated by our new friend. Hot bajocchi were thrown from his window, to be picked up and dropped again by the lad at whose feet they fell. His neighbours were kept awake half the night by the discordant notes of a badly-blown cornet-à-piston, whose melodies alternated between “Jolly nose” and “Ti voglio ben’ assai,” a canzonetta which D. had picked up at Naples. An old German Countess, who occupied the adjoining chamber in the next house, was compelled to quit her rooms and forfeit half a-year’s rent, from a firm conviction that the place was haunted. Little did she imagine that her next-door neighbour never retired to rest without indulging in the royal game of tennis, playing a match between his right and left hands against the party wall.

Though not himself an artist, D—— made some pretensions that way. An unfortunate dog, which appeared to exist alternately at the Lepri, and Caffé Greco, and seemed more particularly to attach itself to the English, was enticed in an evil hour to D——’s apartment. Our artist had provided himself with one or two bladders of oil-paint and some brushes, and having coaxed poor Pincio into a suitable position, converted him in about twenty minutes into a species of nondescript hyæna, and then let him loose into the Condotti, where he created considerable consternation. Such as first saw him, fled in terror to the open shop-doors, while the more courageous set off in pursuit, chasing the poor animal through a funeral procession, whose solemnities he utterly confounded, to the Greco, which he entered at full speed, and upsetting Antonio with two mezzi-caldi and a caffé nero, forced his way into the omnibus room amid the huèes of a tribe of raggamuffins of the Populusque Romanus, who imagined that some wild animal had escaped from the menagerie of Guillaume in the Corea. Here poor Pincio shuffled in and out among the legs of some ten or more of us, transferring broad streaks of burnt-umber and ivory-black from his coat to our trowsers, whilst the author of all the mischief had unconcernedly seated himself in a shaded corner, and was enjoying the success of his first essay in oils.

The period of Carnival was now at hand, and most of my friends were busy in making preparations for the coming festivities. In touching upon those incidental to this particular season, I shall jot down such occurrences as came under my own notice, relating chiefly to the operations of brother artists, who are, like all the rest, subject to the epidemics of fun and frolic. Transmogrified in dress and feature, their very mothers would fail to recognize their offspring; and immolating their last scudo at the shrine of the Swiss vendor of confetti and bon-bons, or sinking it at once in the shortlived incognito of mask and domino, they take their part in the triumph of Momus. “Who enters there, leaves hope behind,” as far as the financial arrangements of the future are concerned, and many a poor artist laments with empty stomach, the forced “farewell to flesh,” which his reckless expenditure, during the Carnival, obliges him to practise for weeks after the fun is over. But to proceed—I have already hinted that I shall not enter upon a lengthy description of the Carnival, and I will, therefore, note down only such little episodes of the few days of amusement as come most readily to hand. If the weather be fine, there is an unusual degree of excitement in the streets, before the anxiously expected hour of two, when the Governor of Rome, officers of state, dragoons, soldiers, and civic guard, march in stately pomp along the narrow Corso, and “opening the ball,” as it were, give the signal for a commencement of the festivities. The street has been newly gravelled for the occasion, whilst throughout its whole length, the balconies are decorated with crimson cloths, damasks, antique brocades and hearth-rugs, giving it an appearance which may be compared to a perspective view of a tailor’s pattern card, until the mingled colours are lost in the distance. The lower windows are fitted up like stage-boxes at a theatre, and the pavements exhibit long files of chairs, placed close together, for the accommodation of such of the fair sex as cannot resist a participation in the gaiety, though their timidity restrains them from mixing with the crowd.

It is difficult to say in what the peculiar delight of the Carnival consists—the avowed business of each successive day, is to carry about one, as great a quantity as possible of plaster of Paris confetti, for the purpose of indiscriminate pelting, wholesale or retail as the case may be. Some reserve their stores for general use, dealing the contents of their pockets and pouches right and left, with a recklessness quite exhilarating, and by no means dangerous; while those more up to the game, wreak private vengeance upon any unfortunate object they may single out as peculiarly adapted for a volley, especially if the individual be unmasked. These onslaughts do not always go unavenged, the assailant, when he least expects it, receiving in his face a half-pound of white canister, or may-be, a bonce compounded of chalk and sugar, which produces some new and very palpable phrenologic development. Everything, however, is supposed to be fair at the time of Carnival, and few are the insults offered which cannot be expiated by a hearty laugh, or a friendly interchange of missiles.

The most dignified-looking people in the Corso, are the Roman dandies, who seldom condescend to mingle in any of the active sport, but stand condensed in a mass at the doors of the various caffes, smoking their cigars, and turning to the right and left with a mingled expression of imbecility and good-natured contempt. The higher classes may be seen in the procession which threads its way, unending and at dreary pace, from end to end of the long street. These, and the lower orders, or basso ceto, are by far the most facetious, and keep up between them, the true spirit of the Carnival. But our grave and matter-of-fact country-people, seem of all others to enjoy themselves to the full extent, exaggerating to a ludicrous degree the authorized liberties of the occasion. For every handful of confetti cast by a Roman, the young Englishman from his first-floor balcony, returns a shovel-full, systematically raining upon the passing crowd, a continuous shower of lime, until the street below is whitened by his unromantic ammunition. But let us adjourn to a neighbouring studio in the Via Felice, where we may see the preparations making by some of our friends for their first appearance on the Corso. I arrived just as lunch was going on, and found a number of my acquaintance in various stages of their toilet, whilst others were busily rehearsing. R——s, as Figaro, was running through the “Bravo, bravissimo,” of the Barbiere, whilst T——, in “jacket blue, and tarry, tarry trousers,” was regaling himself with raw ham and a hornpipe in a corner of the room, whistling the air between each mouthful. Our refection was interrupted at intervals by the entrance of other brothers of the brush, each bedizened according to his own ideas of originality, in monstrous nose or mask of preposterous shape. Then came the sound of a guitar, and with his peculiar laugh and satyr-like figure, enters Alesandro, the model and shoemaker, for he serves by turns St. Luke and St. Crispin, and among other eccentricities, is given to music, ready for a consideration, either with a pose plastique, or a Neapolitan ditty. Our toilet finished, we passed through the small streets contiguous to the Corso and Piazza di Spagna, now all deserted and lonely. Every one seems attracted towards the grand scene of action, a few perhaps, stopping by the way to inquire of themselves, how they can reconcile it to their sound reason to join in such excessive buffoonery. Our companion R——d was not of this number; he revelled in the Carnival, anticipating each day’s fun with peculiar gusto, and grave and decided in his preparations. His arrangements were of the most perfect kind, and his success, as far as incognito went, undeniable. To this day, all but his friends remain ignorant of the identity of the merry sprite, now white, now red, with Mephistopheles-looking face, and like Porson’s devil, “backwards and forwards, switching his long tail.” To the Romans, he appeared a kind of myth, a being whose mysterious properties it were unsafe to pry into. I had heard of his pranks both here and at Florence, and I saw sufficient of them at this carnival, to convince me he was a very king of maskers.

But to return to the Corso. Elbowing through the crowd, and stoically submitting to the burst of mimic artillery, which is sure to assail every new comer, one glances timidly around, and upwards. It would fill a larger volume than this, were I to attempt even a cursory description of the scene which is there presented. The myriads of closely grouped heads, and faces of all expressions, bending over the moving mass below, all intent and animated, as if life and death depended upon some mighty issue, about to take place: the odd mixture of character and colour, every possible impersonation mingled up and confused with the Roman, οι πολλοι, formed a perfect tide of human beings, of whom each endeavoured to outstrip his neighbour in an excess of absurdity. Among these are conspicuous, the lawyer-like individuals, half-quack, half-notary, who amuse the passers by with extemporaneous advertisements, upon some fictitious nostrum, which their doggrel verse attempts to justify. Their effusions are satirical, and often unsuited to ears polite, but around them will always be seen a gaping crowd, who drink in with avidity their political allusions, and gaze on them with looks of veneration, far beyond their merits to inspire. Over-head, the air is almost darkened with the unceasing showers of confetti, flowers, and sweet-meats, while the face, if unprotected by a mask, becomes a butt for all sorts of missiles. The stream of carriages is continuous, one file passing each way, and the order of these is so well maintained by the mounted Carabinieri, who guard all the streets leading out of the Corso, that in a crowded Carnival, it is rarely that the same carriages meet each other twice in one day. At the hour of five, a single gun booms from the Castle of St. Angelo, and a troop of mounted dragoons rapidly clear the streets, the giddy masquers, and more sober observers, retreating to the protection of the curb-stone. Then follows the well-known race of the riderless Barberi, and subsequently the dispersion of the crowd.

During the Carnival, a Festino is held at either the Argentina or Aliberti theatre. These are pretty much the same as our masquerade, excepting for the variety of tongues, and the greater facility and cleverness displayed at Rome in dressing for and sustaining the characters assumed, whilst at the festino, the stranger will not remark any of the very equivocal morality which distinguishes our own bals masqués. The common-people, as usual, have the best of it, taking possession of the centre portion of the floor, and dancing indefatigably under the droppings of wax lights, and amid a suffocating cloud of dust, until literally pushed off the boards by an advancing platoon of gens-d’armes, who move slowly along, in close file, until they have entirely cleared away the nocturnal revellers.

FOOTNOTES:

[35] The Italian terminations,—accio and uccio are particularly expressive, one letter establishing a very wide difference in their signification. Bambino for example, means a little boy; Bambinaccio, with a powerful emphasis on the a, means a naughty, dirty little raggamuffin; whereas Bambinuccio is a sweet little duck of a boy!

CHAPTER XXI.

JOURNEY TO FLORENCE—MY FRIEND LUISH—A SUSPICIOUS LANDLADY—MONTEROSI—NEPI—THE HOTEL—LUISH’S HAT—CIVITA CASTELLANA—OTRICOLI—MY WASHERWOMAN’S COUSIN—THE MERCHANDIZE CART—NARNI—TERNI—PIE-DI’-LUCO—THE ECHO—STRITTURA—EGG DIET—FULIGNO—PERUGIA—BOARDING-HOUSES—FLORENCE.

The warm season was now coming on, and with its approach came my old tormentor, the rheumatism. I found that I had worn out the remedies prescribed by my friend Dr. A—— of Cairo, which had procured me considerable relief whilst in Egypt and under his immediate care, but now seemed entirely without effect. I therefore determined upon a farther change of air and scene, and having heard of a celebrated English physician at Florence, made up my mind to proceed thither and consult him, and as most of my countrymen quit Rome during the extreme heat of the summer months, I had no difficulty in meeting with a travelling companion. It happened that a young architect, named Luish, had long been meditating a journey northwards, and he and I agreed to set off on a walking tour together, preferring such a mode of locomotion, to either malleposte or vetturino. We were both anxious to see the country, and to have the option of making digressions from the beaten track, wherever some piece of scenery more than ordinarily beautiful might offer the inducement.

Our resolution was no sooner formed, than carried into effect, and bidding a temporary adieu to our Roman friends, a party of whom accompanied us to the Porta del Popolo, we entered on the Flaminian Way, and took the road towards Florence, provided only with trusty sticks, and our knapsacks, sending our portmanteaux by diligence as far as Perugia, there to await us. I believe our appearance was anything but remarkable on the score of good looks, as we both wore the velveteen jacket of the Roman artist, whilst my companion had marred the appearance of his ensemble, by the assumption of a wretched old white hat from Bread Street, which he regarded and stuck to, as a valued relic. In one respect, our questionable shape was an advantage, as no highway robber would have thought it worth his while to molest us; at least such was our fancied security. The day was insufferably hot, and the roads dusty, so that we could scarcely hope to get on very far at a stretch, and on reaching a little road-side osteria, called Il Fosso, a few miles beyond the posting station of La Storta, we began to feel so weary, that the landlady’s offer of beds at a paul each, was no sooner made than accepted. As our bed-room did not boast of any other furniture than the two beds, Luish and I made our morning toilette at a delicious fountain, just outside the house, where we soused and splashed away to our hearts’ content, my companion running about to dry himself, whilst I performed the same operation with an ample Egyptian towel, which I carried in my knapsack. This latter proceeding attracted the notice of our landlady, who had no idea of so unwonted a luxury on the part of a poor walking pittore, and ultimately arrived at the conclusion, that I had appropriated the supper-cloth of the previous evening. To disabuse the old woman of her odd suspicion, was the work of a moment, but the hard impeachment was by no means very flattering.

Having paid our little score, we pursued our walk, passing the miserable village of Borghettaccio, and the pestilential Baccano. Here a boy overtook us with two return horses, on whose bare backs we got a lift to the posting village of Monterosi, where we entered an osteria, and called for some refreshment. This we were not suffered to enjoy in peace, as a lot of rude fellows came in soon after, and endeavoured to provoke us into a broglio, with a view most probably to hustle and deprive us of our knapsacks. We managed to defeat their intentions, by taking their insults in good part, until we had settled our reckoning, and got clear into the street, where they were afraid to tackle us. A more villainous-looking set of people than those of Monterosi, I never saw. Ugly old women grinned maliciously at us as we passed by their filthy dwellings—the men were all dirty and unshorn, lame, blind, and crippled, and the very children hopped after us on crutches, to solicit a stray bajocco. We were heartily glad when we had quitted the village, and exchanged the dull and uncultivated campagna, for a thickly-wooded, hilly landscape.

A little beyond Monterosi, the road diverges; one branch leading to Florence, by Viterbo and Siena, and the other by Perugia. The first is the great post-road, shorter and more frequented, but the latter is by far the most interesting, and abounds with charming scenery. My companion and I had already made up our minds, and pushed onwards towards Nepi, a strongly fortified little town, in a picturesque situation, where we decided upon passing the night. I believe we went to the only, and therefore the best inn in the place, but the single bench for the accommodation of weary travellers, was in the great chimney of the kitchen, where our heads were exposed to an intense draught of smoke and wind, whilst our boots were nearly reduced to cinders. In this comfortable state of things, we hastily swallowed our supper, and were shown to the only bed-room in the house, which proved to be a general dormitory, two out of its four beds being already tenanted by snoring carrettieri. As we had determined before quitting Rome, to make the best of everything, and see all we could at any cost, we turned in without hesitation, tucking our trousers and valuables under our bolsters, by way of precaution.

Our intention was to have walked onwards early the next morning, but on quitting our little inn, we found ourselves the gazing-stock of the whole town, in consequence of the dilapidated condition of my friend’s hat, which now looked as if it also had been tucked for a night under his pillow. It was indeed such a truly “bad” one, that we resolved it should be replaced by something a little more respectable, although upon inquiry, we found that Nepi did not boast a hatter’s shop. The young man whom we interrogated, said he had at home a hat, which he thought might answer the purpose, and a bargain was soon struck, in the presence of some thirty of the townsfolk. The discarded gossamer was consigned to the gutter, where it served as a foot-ball for a crowd of idle boys, and eventually found its way to the head of a drunken shoemaker. In the shop of a little tobacconist, we met with an intelligent German, who, observing that we were foreigners, very kindly conducted us to some fine points of view, and so tempting did we find them, that the rest of the day was passed in sketching. We afterwards took a few random profiles in the cigar shop, and among others that of our new friend, who seemed very much delighted when I cut it out of my sketch-book and presented it to him.

The next day we took the mountain road to Civita Castellana, along a rocky bridle path, which saves a few miles, and is much more interesting than the carriage-road. The Mons Soracte, or as it is now called, St. Oreste, was constantly before us, rising from the midst of a fertile plain, and forming a pleasing part of the landscape. As we walked, we were waylaid by a couple of rough-looking customers, whose intentions were evidently dishonest. We gave them the slip by sheer good running, clearing the last mile into the valley below Civita in excellent style, but so knocked up and out of breath, that once within reach of friendly shelter, we took our time in ascending the zigzag steps which lead to the lofty summit of rock on which the city is built. A little inn called the “Moro,” furnished us with tolerable accommodation, and we were no sooner fairly housed, that the rain began to descend in such a determined drizzle, that we should have been disappointed had the next morning proved bright and sunshiny. Civita Castellana is about the last of all places in which a traveller would wish to be weather-bound, and Luish and I started off in the wet for Otricoli. Near a post-house called Borghetto, we crossed the Tiber, which is there a beautiful stream, fertilizing a wide valley between rugged hills, and navigable below the bridge for boats drawing only four or five feet of water. We had a very up-hill walk to Otricoli, a miserable little town with a locanda of the meanest description. As a set-off, however, against its various desagrèmens we found a most obliging landlady, who no sooner observed that our knapsacks were drenched, and that we must lie in our beds until a change of linen was ready, than she very kindly provided us with sundry articles from the wardrobe of her sposo.

As I stood at the door of the inn, under shelter of its rude and stuccoless piazza, eyeing the big drops which came splashing down before me, I was accosted by a dapper-looking young Roman in blue velveteen, who inquired if I were the Signor Bevano, adding, that he was charged, if he overtook us on the road, to give us a lift in his merchandize cart, as far as our way might lie together. Having acknowledged my identity, I learned that the order emanated from my Roman washerwoman, who upon hearing that her cugino was travelling our way on one of his monthly journeys, had begged him to give us a cast, and we agreed to accept his offer the next morning. Otricoli abounds with remains of former splendour, and it is said that the suburbs of ancient Rome extended thus far. I walked with Luish to see what was most interesting within the precincts of the town, but our landlord’s clothes and boots fitted us so badly, and the enormous red cotton umbrellas soaked in such a power of rain water, and were so very heavy, that our researches were soon concluded. Our friend having called us at five o’clock, we descended from the cloudy regions of Otricoli, and as the weather was now much improved, enjoyed one of the finest rides imaginable. As we approached Narni, the road skirted the edge of a tremendous ravine overhanging the Nera, a mountain torrent of the Appenines, rushing between rocky and beautifully wooded precipices, until swallowed up in the Tiber below Otricoli.

The merchandize cart was well-horsed, and driven in a way that would not have disgraced a more elegant turnout. The cugino would accept nothing by way of reward, save a breakfast at the “Lion of St. Marc,” in the little piazza of Narni, where he deposited us with many protestations of good-will, and a regret that his business did not call him farther on our road. Narni is an interesting town perched on the side of a steep declivity, and famed in history for the extraordinary valour of its inhabitants, who devoured their wives and families rather than surrender to the enemy! We remained there one day for the sake of sketching the ruins of a fine bridge erected by the Emperor Augustus, of which one arch is still perfect. Our road then lay through the valley of the Nera, and from its extreme flatness, would have been barely interesting but for the prospect of the blue Appenines in the distance before us.

Towards evening we reached Terni. The waiter at “Les Iles Britanniques” seemed rather to hesitate about taking an order for dinner from a pair of such seedy looking pedestrians as ourselves, and I believe was considering the propriety of informing us with the ready lie peculiar to his species, that the hotel was quite full, when we were seen and recognized by our friend A——, who had been staying there some days. This caused a diversion in our favour, and the waiter, who declared he had mistaken us for German “Handverke,” was now all smiles and attention.

The next day was of course devoted to the Falls, which are as well known to tarry-at-home travellers, as those of the Coliseum and Zoological gardens. I shall therefore, spare my readers the customary quotation from Childe Harold, which, as I could not call it to mind as we stood gazing at the cascade, and have not since had occasion to remember, I shall not now take the trouble to search after. Suffice it to say, that the Velino tumbles over the same rock as heretofore, in its own old-fashioned way, from the same “headlong height,” and with a tolerably considerable “roar of waters.” My friend Luish hinted something about “Phlegethon,” but as none of our fifteen guides had ever heard of such a thing, we agreed to drop the subject, and proceeded onwards to the small lake of Luco, where we were rowed out to a distant promontory to hear an extraordinary echo, repeating hexameter lines and sentences of ten or twelve words. Here we sat on a bench overlooking the lake and opposite village of Piè-di-luco, and treated its inhabitants to a sort of obligato concert. Among other choice morceaux, were some verses of the German Kuhreihe, or Jodeln, which I had picked up in some Tyrolese valley, and these seemed so much to astonish the unsophisticated villagers, that one old fellow put off in a boat and rowed over to us, to see what was the matter. Having repeated my song, he insisted upon taking us home with him to dinner, and introducing us to his family. A more jolly old fellow than the Signor Lazzaro I never met with, and his wife and daughters were equally agreeable. I suppose our attempts at Italian were of the queerest, for we seemed to afford the whole family a good share of amusement. We were not suffered to depart until after we had partaken of an early supper, when the kind old gentleman had his horse and cabriolet brought to the door, and drove us back again into Terni.

Strittura was our next halting-place, where we could get nothing to eat but eggs, the staple commodity of all small Italian villages:

“We’d eggs in all shapes, ‘a la coq,’ ‘in tegame,’

Eggs hard boiled, and soft boiled, and fried with salame.”

It was curious to observe the shifts that our good landlady was put to, in order to vary our oviparous entertainment. The tegame is a little earthen stew-pan, like the saucer belonging to our flower-pots, with a handle, and in this the eggs are stirred up with butter, forming a favourite Italian dish. As we swallowed our eggs in the kitchen, two empty one-horse waggons, which were proceeding in our direction, arrived at the door. On entering into conversation with the carrettieri, we found that they were going as far as Fuligno, and as their easy speed would exactly suit our own notions of getting over the ground, we struck a bargain with them for four pauls each, Luish taking one cart, and I the other. As they were roomy, and had each a good shake-down of clean straw, we found that we could either sit, stand, or lie down, as we listed, and with this ability to change our position, we greatly enjoyed our ride. Passing over the Somma, a lofty point of the Appenines, we drove round the walls of Spoleto, without entering the city, being anxious to reach the little village of San Giacomo to sleep. Here the inn proved almost a repetition of that at Il Fosso, already mentioned, our morning ablutions being made at a fountain in the yard: I was not however, this time, honoured by any suspicions on the part of the landlady.

Journeying onwards, we picked up a nail-maker of Fuligno, who proved a very chatty fellow, and furnished us in his own person, with a good specimen of the Fulignese character, remarkably for its intelligence and energy. He pointed out to us the beautiful little temple of Diana, near the source of the fertilizing Clitumnus, and quoted appropriately from the Georgics of Virgil. This once pagan temple, is now dedicated to some Christian saint, and though the sacrificial rites, have long since been forgotten, the architectural beauty of the building remains unimpaired, and the oxen of the Clitumnus are as white as ever.

Fuligno is an interesting and well-built city, and a place of considerable trade, with manufactories of silks and woollen stuffs. Being anxious to reach Perugia, my companion and I got two places in the “legno” of a Vetturino, in preference to walking over a long piece of road, offering but little that is interesting to the pedestrian. I shall not now describe the church of the “Madonna degli Angeli,” nor the neighbouring town of Assisi, at which latter, I subsequently made a sojourn of some weeks, but will at once pass on to Perugia, a large Etruscan town, romantically perched upon the summit of a lofty hill, and very strongly fortified. Our old Vetturino was obliged to avail himself of the aid of two heavy oxen to assist us up the steep ascent which had once frightened Hannibal, and it was near the hour of Ave Maria, when we were set down at the door of the Casa Zanetti, a private house to which we had been strongly recommended. These Italian boarding-houses, are a great accommodation to such as may not like the bustle and expense of an inn, and are much frequented by artists, who may thus find a quiet home and every possible attention, in almost any part of the country. From three to five pauls, or fifteen pence to two shillings a-day, is the price of board and lodging, including bed, breakfast, dinner and supper, the meals being taken with the family, and at regular hours.[36]

Perugia, independently of its being a fine city, and architecturally beautiful, offers great attractions to the artist, in the productions of the celebrated Perugino, Guido, Andrea, Sacchi, and others. In the church of St. Peter, which was one of my favourite haunts, is a fine copy by Sasso Ferrata of a picture of Raffaelle’s, and some good paintings by Vasari. In the choir are some specimens of wood-carving, from designs by Raffaelle, which are exceedingly bold and clever. Perugia is also the seat of a university, and boasts of many public institutions, besides a museum, rich in Etruscan relics. I staid a week with my friend Luish at the Casa Zanetti, where we were well entertained, and made some very agreeable acquaintance, but the rheumatism, which seemed in no degree alleviated by the exercise of walking, induced me to press onwards, that I might the sooner obtain medical advice. For a sum of eight scudi, including “pasta la sera,” or bed and supper, we hired a rickety old machine, and a surly driver, to convey us to Florence.

For many miles after passing Magione, the first village beyond Perugia, our road skirted the memorable lake of Thrasymene, famed for the bloody exploits of Hannibal, and then, passing without difficulty the Tuscan frontier, we breakfasted at the little village of Ossaja, which is said to have taken its name from the bones of the slaughtered Romans. The contrast between the rich vine-clad hills of Tuscany, and the barren wastes of the dominions of the Pope, is very striking to the traveller, whilst there is also a manifest difference in the appearance of the inhabitants. Instead of the ugly squalid-looking wretches, and fierce threatening looks, which had almost frightened us at Monterosi, we were now greeted with passing smiles and happy faces, betokening a feeling of contentment, quite unknown on the other side the frontier. As we approached Arezzo, the fields on each side of us assumed the appearance of a well-cultivated garden, and our ride was accompanied with such varied and pleasurable emotions, that the futile endeavours of our old coachman to urge on his jaded horse, and the miserably slow pace at which we advanced, served rather to amuse us than otherwise. At length we reached the clean and well-built Arezzo, the birth-place of Vasari and Petrarca, and having been almost jolted to a jelly in our miserable legno, were glad enough to swallow some supper and retire early to our beds, in the hotel of la Posta.

The following day brought us to Florence.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] At Amalfi, there is a locanda, where the above, with washing included, may be had at eight pauls, or exactly sixpence a-day, each person!!

CHAPTER XXII.

THE “PORTA ROSSA”—JOURNEY TO BOLOGNA—THE BELLI ARTI—ARCADES—CERTOSA—OUR FELLOW-TRAVELLERS—THE PARROT—AUSTRIAN DOUANE—FERRARA—PADUA—CAFFE PEDROCCHI—VENICE—THE CASA RAFFAELLI—GONDOLAS—LUISH’S PROFESSIONAL PURSUITS—MY FRIEND D. AGAIN—TITIAN—MILITARY SALUTE—THE PASSEGGIATA.

Arrived at “Firenze la bella,” we drove to an inn called La Porta Rossa, which had been recommended to us by a Roman acquaintance. Here I met my friends Bellamy and Dickson, who were on their way northward, and in an adjoining house, I discovered Vetch, of water-colour celebrity, who kindly undertook to introduce me to Dr. P——, an English physician, resident in Florence. This gentleman advised my proceeding without delay to Venice, to take mud-baths, and gave me an introductory letter to the Herr T——g, a German doctor of extensive practice. Luish, although loth to quit Florence with only a single day’s loitering in its wonderful galleries, was too kind to let me start off alone, and we accordingly booked two places in the Orchesi diligence to Bologna. It was late in the afternoon, when we quitted the Lung’ Arno, as the quay along the south bank of the river is denominated. As the evening closed in, we were accompanied by a swarm of fire-flies, which flew in and out of the open windows of the coupé, and were exceedingly brilliant. Luish caught one as we walked up a hill, and having kept it until it was quite dark, we found that it gave out sufficient light to enable us to see the time. We gradually lost sight of them as we approached the more lofty ground of the chain of Appenines, and it soon became so cold, that we were glad to use all the clothing we could muster.

At Bologna we staid one day, being anxious to see its Accademia. The Bolognese school of painting numbers among its disciples some of the highest professors of the art. The four Caracci, and their followers Domenichino and Guercino, as well as Guido and Albani, with whose death the art of painting declined in Italy, were of this school, and all natives of Bologna.

In the Accademia, are some beautiful pictures. The St. Agnes of Domenichino, the Madonna della Pietà, by Guido, and Raffaelle’s St. Cecilia, are wonderful. The Pere Eternel, by Guercino, said to have been commenced and finished in one night, although to my thinking, a subject none should dare to attempt, is an extraordinary production. Guido’s Massacre of the Innocents is also a beautiful composition.

The arcades which line both sides of nearly every street in Bologna, although very convenient in wet weather, render the town dark and gloomy, and having peeped into its finest churches, and clambered with much labour to the summit of the leaning tower of Asinelli, I spent with Luish a great part of the afternoon, in the interesting Certosa, or Campo Santo, formed by Napoleon, about a mile out of the city, from a destroyed convent of Carthusians. Its aisles and corridors are now filled with tombs and monuments, and the resting-places of the dead are interspersed with shrubs and flowers, forming an instructive, if not to all tastes, an agreeable promenade. The Bolognese are so fond of arcades, that they have constructed one three miles in length, a continuous covered portico, from the city to the summit of a hill called La Guardia, where there is a temple dedicated to the Madonna of that name. Luish would not be satisfied until he had explored the whole of it. I managed a portion of the distance, but finding it very up-hill and fatiguing work, returned to the carriage at the foot of the arcade, and waited for him.

At a caffé in the evening we were accosted by a smart-looking Vetturino, who offered us seats for Padua, to start at one the next afternoon, staying a night at Ferrara. He had already arranged with two other travellers, and finding his terms sufficiently moderate, we closed with his offer. The next morning was spent in the Accademia, and punctual to his appointment, Gioachino picked us up at the “Pension Suisse.” We found our travelling companions to be two of our own countrymen; one of them a Captain ——, returning from India, who was bringing home, among other curiosities, a valuable parrot, whose talking-qualifications caused us considerable amusement. We found Ferrara so crowded with travellers, that one room at the hotel was all our Vetturino could procure for us, and the honest fellow seemed quite mortified at the want of accommodation. The landlord, however, did all he could to serve us, and as we were disposed to make the best of everything, we did ample justice to his cheer, and drawing lots to see who should get the beds, and who the shake-downs, passed an undisturbed night, and were called by the parrot in the morning.

Soon after leaving Ferrara, we crossed the river Po on a flying bridge, propelled from side to side by the current, and entering the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom, were pulled up at the Emperor’s dogana, by the fierce whiskerando on duty. It was still early in the morning, and the head officer was in no very good humour at being knocked up at so unconstitutional an hour, and kept us a long time kicking our heels under the covered douane. We tried hard to conceal the parrot, which was a contraband article, and, enclosed as it was in a small cage, covered with a handkerchief, and on the top of the vehicle, I think it possible it might have escaped detection, had it not, on hearing its master’s voice, croaked out lustily in sound English, a desire for some hot brandy and water, bestowing at the same time some hearty curses upon an imaginary waiter. We exploded with laughter, whilst the chef de douane, who was ignorant from whence the strange voice proceeded, glanced around from under his shaggy eye-brows, and soon detected the hitherto unnoticed package. To hand it down was but the work of a moment, but the officer who untied the wrapper, received a bite that he would long remember. Poll’s vocal powers expanded with the restoration of daylight, and no sooner did she see her master, than she treated us with a variation from “Merrily danced,” in so shrill and amusing a key, that good humour was restored on all hands saving that of the bitten searcher. Captain —— having paid the necessary tax, and reconsigned his loquacious bird to the roof, we again resumed our journey, reaching Padua at five in the afternoon. We drove to the “Principe Carlo,” a hotel overlooking the Prato della Valle, where the accommodation is excellent. It is, however, at rather an inconvenient distance from the omnibus station, and busy portion of the city, for alas! the learned repose of “Fair Padua, nursery of Arts,” is now disturbed by the shriek of the locomotive, and the rumbling of railway traffic.

By the time our dinner was over it was quite dark, and we could therefore see little of this venerable city. We walked to the Caffé Pedrocchi, unquestionably the finest in Europe: no expense seems to have been spared in its decorations, which are of a style more suited to a regal dwelling than a place of public resort. It is one glare of mirrors, gilding, and polished marbles. Many are the stories current respecting the origin of the wealth which enabled the Signor Pedrocchi to raise so gorgeous a palace. Certain it is, that from a state of comparative poverty, he all at once leapt into possession of a large sum of money, and commenced the erection of the new Caffé, paying his workmen in good old Venetian sequins, a fact which led his friends to infer, that in demolishing the old establishment, he had stumbled upon one of those fabulous monsters, a crock of real gold. This is possibly the fact, but it is to be regretted that he placed this monument of his good luck in so mean a situation, where its architectural merits, (if it possess any!) are very much in the shade.

We took the first train the next morning to Maestre, from whence we embarked in a gondola-omnibus for the Venetian custom-house. The transition from the main land to the marshy Lagune, is almost imperceptible, and in the space of a few short months we shall be fizzed all the way into Venice, and this most beautiful of cities, this “Sea Cybele” will then have lost half its romance. It is to be hoped that this useful, but unpicturesque innovation will never be suffered to encroach beyond the outermost limits of the city, and that Venice may lose none of its originality by the somewhat unnecessary extension of the railway across the lagune. After passing through the Dogana, and bidding “a rividerci,” to our companions of the vettura, my friend and I hired a gondola to convey us to the “Leone Bianco,” a hotel at which I had passed a few pleasant days some eight years before.

In the evening we walked to the Piazza di San Marco, as the surest spot to meet with such of our acquaintance as might have arrived from Rome. It was unnecessary to make an elaborate search,—a white hat, whose capacious leaf might have roused envy in the breast of a West India planter, shone out conspicuously from among the thickly occupied benches of the “Florian,” and revealed to us the presence of our friend Mack, who had quitted Rome some weeks before us, on a summer-tour. This gentleman informed us where we should at once find apartments, and introduced us to his landlord, the Signor Raffaelli, living in a commodious house, at the Campo San Vio, about a stone’s-throw from the Accademia, on the Grand Canal. We rowed thither the next day, and taking possession of our rooms, had time to look about us. Not only is Venice unlike any other city in the world, in respect of its peculiar position; but every thing Venetian seems to possess a distinct and particular charm, that indefinable non so che, belonging to it only, even to the most ordinary common-places of life. No description could arouse in the mind of one who has not visited Venice, any adequate idea of the feelings of delight and enthusiasm excited by all around. These feelings are increased rather than diminished by a lengthened stay. Moore must have viewed Venice through a pair of very dull spectacles indeed when he wrote about—

“—— her true, real, dismal state,

Her mansions closed and desolate,

Her foul canals, exhaling wide

Such fetid airs as— * *

* * * * *

Seem like a city where the pest

Is holding her last visitation.”

An occasional bad odour may certainly be detected in some of the more obscure canals during hot weather, but there can be no reason for supposing that this was not always the case, even in the palmiest days of the Republic.[37] If we pitch poetry aside, and come to plain matter of fact, we shall find, that whatever Venice may once have been, it is still a port of very considerable importance. Merchant vessels from all parts of the world are to be found at the quays of San Giorgio and the Giudecca, whilst a brisk trade is kept up between it and the other ports of the Mediterranean. Nor are its manufactures to be forgotten; the busy furnaces of Murano supply the whole world with glass beads and dolls’ eyes; the region of the Rialto furnishes half Italy with jewellery, and the glittering Merceria dazzles the eye with its costly wares, and reeks with all the varied odours of extravagant perfumery.

It was on the second-floor of the Casa Raffaelli, that Luish and I were domiciled. A large saloon with a spacious balcony overhanging the Grand Canal, into which room all the other apartments opened, served as the sala commune for ourselves and the family of our landlord. This, as well as our bed-rooms, was paved with a plum-pudding-like scaliguola, which ensured a far cooler and cleaner floor than the dusty carpets of Rome, which usually have an underlayer of straw or hay to preserve them from wear against the hard brick or concrete. The room which fell to my lot, had a side view over the Campo or Square of San Vio, and the window commanded a good stretch of the Grand Canal, in the direction of the Rialto. My first care was to inquire for Herr T——g, the doctor to whom I had a letter of introduction, and I was agreeably surprised to find that he lived exactly opposite to us, on the other side the Canal, and that there was a traghetto or ferry, between the two houses. I paid him an early visit during a paroxysm of rheumatic pain, and though he did not recommend me to have recourse to mud-baths, he gave me some hope of relief.

The next preliminary was the procuring of a carta di sicurezza, without which the stranger in an Italian town would soon find himself in difficulty. It serves as a local passport, (the original document remaining in the care of the police authorities,) and requires a renewal every month. In order to obtain this, it was necessary that Luish and myself should possess a recommendation from some resident in the city, an obligation which was very kindly rendered by Mr. H., the American Consul.

As the Herr T——g’s treatment prohibited the use of more exercise than was necessary, I hired a gondola and barcaruolo, paying a Napoleon a-week for the boat and the man’s time. I was fortunate in my selection, inasmuch as I found Antonio steady, honest and skilful, and his gondola one of the very best description. It is only those who have tried it that can imagine the luxury of skimming the smooth water in a well-managed gondola. No other species of locomotion is to be compared to it. I almost lived in one, and during the course of my stay in Venice, there were very few of its canals that I did not thoroughly explore. Securely moored to one or other of the quaint-looking posts, which form so prominent a feature in the foregrounds of Prout and Canaletti, I passed the mornings in sketching. And what spot can furnish more beautiful and diversified subjects than Venice, where every turn reveals some fresh scene, and every canal abounds with palaces and churches, or picturesque masses of building. The chimney-pots alone are a study, and the genius of John of Bologna is apparent, even in the knockers and scrapers at the street doors. The former were the peculiar delight of my companion Luish, who passed all his mornings on the roofs of the Venetian palaces, perched astride on the leads, or half concealed in an eave-gutter from his fellow-mortals, himself exposed to all the fierceness of a vertical sun. The “piombi” of Silvio Pellico were nothing to the voluntary martyrdom of my friend, who daguerreotyped all the chimney-pots in “New Tyre,” and took portraits of all such knockers as had escaped the wrench of his countrymen, for, in shame be it spoken, the mania for midnight fooleries has extended even to the shores of the Adriatic.

I was returning one morning from sketching, when I was surprised, and almost alarmed by the apparition of our facetious friend D., who had just arrived from the South. He had already got into apartments on the Grand Canal, with two brother artists who had accompanied him, and seemed as fully bent as ever on the perpetration of new jokes. Stepping into his gondola, which was a peculiarly neat one, and manned by two red-scarfed Gondolieri in livery, we rowed off to the Accademia, where we hoped to fall in with Mack and others. This collection contains the finest specimens of the Venetian school of painting, famous more particularly for its perfection of colour. Of this school, Titian is the chief ornament. At the commencement of the sixteenth century, and before his extraordinary talent was much known, this great painter held an office under the Ducal government, and painted the portraits of several successive doges. One of Barberigo, a Venetian noble, is said to have first established Titian’s fame, and this at the early age of eighteen, but it was not until he had secured the patronage of Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, that he began to derive any pecuniary benefit from his works, and even this was so limited that he was always poor. It remained for Charles the Fifth, who honoured Titian with his personal friendship to establish thoroughly the renown of the great painter, and at the court of that monarch, he passed many years of his life, returning in his old age to his native land, where he was cut off by the plague which visited Venice in 1576.

The “Accademia dei belli arti,” contains Titian’s most celebrated picture—the Assumption of the Virgin. This is unquestionably one of the finest productions in the world, perhaps second only to the “Transfiguration” of Raffaelle in the Vatican. Many artists were engaged in making copies of this painting at the time of our visit. Most of these were very faithful imitations of the great original, but we were more particularly struck with one by an American artist, whose picture when finished, was to serve as an altar-piece in his native town of Cincinnati. The accuracy of the drawing was extreme, while the colouring of such portions as were finished was the admiration of all, and K—— had seldom the satisfaction of pursuing his art in peace and quiet. The facilities afforded to young artists at Venice, in the way of copying, are very great, and might be advantageously adopted by the authorities of some other and larger galleries in the north of Italy.

Besides the works of Titian, there are pictures by Paul Veronese, and Giorgione, Pordenone and Tintoretto, and a host of other painters of this particular school, which it is needless to describe. There are also many private galleries in Venice, all of which possess more or less attraction for the lovers of the art, and are easily accessible.

Having devoted an hour or two to the Belli Arti, I followed D. to his gondola, and was not a little surprised as we passed the soldiers on duty there, to see them formally present arms. Never before had the “cinque cento” beaver, and black velvet paletot produced so great a sensation. I had remarked a similar proceeding as we ascended the steps leading to the Accademia, but concluded that some great man had passed up unnoticed by us. The salute was now undoubtedly intended for ourselves, but what could possibly induce it. D. declared he had been treated in a similar way at the Police-office, and some other places, and thought the fellows were trying to make a fool of him. The cause was soon explained. The gondola which he had hired, at the recommendation of the waiter at his hotel, belonged to the Principessa G——, who had quitted Venice a few weeks previously on a journey, and the plate-glass windows were blazoned with the arms of her family. The mistake never occurred when the windows were not drawn out. It appears that when a family leaves the city, their gondolas, instead of being locked up in the boat-house, are let out on hire by their retainers: this is sometimes done with the consent of the owner, as in the present instance, but it more frequently happens that the servants turn the practice to their own account.

The Passeggiata, or promenade, is an interesting sight, and one may there witness the perfection of gondola management. These occur usually twice in the week, the spot chosen being either the clear portion of the Giudecca, opposite the Riva delle Zattere, or under the public gardens, in the Canal of St. Marc. The surface of the water is then covered with the noiseless and graceful vehicles of Venice, whose sombre-looking coverings have been removed, that the fair occupants may the more readily be seen and admired. Here also is the open barca, with its striped canopy of red and white, contrasting pleasantly with the sable hue of the old regime, whose colour no one has yet been sufficiently bold to depart from. All the boats are rowed by two men, as none would appear at the passeggiata with a single gondolier. Speed is a great desideratum, and all is rushing and gliding—the barcaruoli seem in their own proper element, and vie with each other in parading their skill, cutting and cleaving with their sharp prows, or dashing along in one mass, like a vast floating raft of gondolas. The forward rower having no room to ply his oar, quietly unships it, and leaves to the other the task of keeping up the motion, and now the forced propinquity to the fair occupants of other gondolas is agreeably perplexing, and a severe tax is imposed upon the watchfulness of maiden aunts, and sharp-sighted duennas, (who can detect in a moment the faintest occhiata,) for the hook of a walking-cane, if used as a grapnel, will keep you firmly alongside, and within whispering distance, of the fairest belle of Venice. At the turning point, all is confusion, as each gondolier is striving to tack as short as possible, and get the lead. The spray raised by the hundreds of busy oars, glistens in the rays of the declining sun, and splashes unceremoniously into the faces of the promeneurs. The strains of Mercadante and Verdi mingle with the salt breeze of the lagune, which may here be enjoyed in all its purity. It is untainted even by the presence of a solitary cigar. No one smokes at the passeggiata; it is not the thing. And then we all get fixed again into a mass, but on looking round, we find we have lost the fair face which had so charmed us during the last course. Our next-door neighbours are, on one side, the great French lady, who takes four daily breakfasts at the Florian, and on the other, a boat-load of Austrian officers, who are enjoying a forced reprieve from their pipes. The walking-cane is at a discount, so giving a wink to Antonio, and a sly push to the gondolas of the officers and fat lady, we hasten to take up a more advantageous position.

FOOTNOTES:

[37] For many months I had rooms in a court opening out of the Frezzaria, one of the most thickly populated thoroughfares of Venice, and although my bed-room looked out over a canal of most questionable appearance, I cannot recollect having ever remarked any unpleasant exhalation.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE CAFFES OF VENICE—THE “FLORIAN”—THE “IMPERATORE D’AUSTRIA”—PIAZZA—VENETIAN HAWKERS—MUSICIANS—MERCHANTS OF CAROMEL—THE SCHIAVONI—ITALIAN CARDS—THE BIRRARIE—SAN MOISE—AN ACCORDEON PLAYER—QUINTAVALLE—QUEER FISH—DINING-ROOMS—SERENADES—NIGHT ON THE GRAND CANAL—THE RIALTO—SAN LAZZARO—MALAMOCCO—CHIOGGIA—CAPTAIN ROVERE IN DANGER.

As I have devoted some few pages to the trattorie and coffee-houses of Rome, it would hardly be fair to leave those of Venice unnoticed. Every one knows the peculiar appearance of the Piazza di San Marco, with its oriental-looking church and lofty bell-tower, and its rows of glittering arcades. Under one of these porticoes, whose massive columns support the building called the Procuratie Nuove, is the Caffé Florian, a house which has been but once closed for the night, during the last hundred years. It has indeed no doors, unless a few glass frames, to keep out the cold winds of winter, can be so denominated. This is the quietest and most fashionable of the Venetian Caffés, and being also the most expensive, is much patronized by the English, and others who visit the city. There are others on each side of the Florian, and in other parts of the square, but none of equal repute. Near the south-west corner of the Piazza, is a modest-looking little house, with the imposing title of the “Imperatore d’Austria.” I tried almost all the caffés in the square before I could make up my mind which was the most eligible, and decided at last upon taking my morning meal at the quarters of the great Ferdinando, where I generally fell in with some one or other of my acquaintance.

The Piazza di San Marco, is the most agreeable of breakfast parlours: turn which way you will, something amusing is sure to present itself. Itinerant vendors of odd wares wait upon you every two or three minutes, and no sooner are you fairly seated, and commencing the perusal of some article in the day’s journal, than a dirty-looking fellow flings at your feet a large wooden box, and keeps a steady eye on your boots. This is your Venetian shoeblack. Then a handsome woman with a wide Leghorn hat, presents you with three pinks and a daisy, tied up with white thread, and retires with a low curtsey. This is your purveyor of flowers during the period of your stay, and clever indeed will you be if you can escape from Venice without paying a heavy flower-rate. Next comes a tray-full of shells and seaweed, with an announcement of “Doe Zwanziger tooto,”[38] on the part of a half-drunken old sailor, who will never cease to dunn and bore you until you have either purchased or capsized his trumpery. Do not think for a moment that you will be allowed to swallow that coffee in peace,—the short lady who has just turned the corner is the Jewess Carolina, and you instinctively feel that you are victimized to the extent of a cotton shirt and two or three handkerchiefs. This is your hosier and draper, “by appointment.” A cigar is next thrust close to your face, with a confidential whisper of “Contrabbando Signore!” This is your cigar merchant, who grows, manufactures, and brands his own tobaccos (!) in the neighbouring island of the Giudecca.

In the evening you will find that most of the hawkers have disappeared, although their places are usurped by others, whose mestieri are to some, quite as annoying. The new comers are for the most part musical, and fill up the interludes between the performances of the Kinski band, though there is one young lady, who presumes upon the strength of a shrill, false voice, and tinny-sounding guitar, to introduce a Venetian canzonetta into one ear, whilst “I Lombardi,” or “Nabuco,” are poured into the other. No sooner have the band finished the last piece on the programme, than a flute and two fiddles enter upon the scene. One of the latter, the violino primo, is exceedingly clever, and plays all over the instrument, and behind his back, and looks, and I have no doubt fancies that he is, a second Paganini. At all events, he is an admirable violinist, and if his harmony is correct, his marvellous ways of producing it are hardly to be censured. His companion is a young girl, who is also a clever performer, though to my mind, the violin seems out of place when in the hands of a female.

I must not omit to mention the vendors of Caromel, who glide about the caffés in the evening, with large dishes of this really eatable commodity. It consists of various sorts of ripe fruits, coated with a transparent covering of sugar, and that your finger-ends may not come in contact with the candy, the merchant presents you with a large tooth-pick of lance-wood, with which you impale a peach, plum, or bunch of grapes, as the case may be, paying about one halfpenny per pezzo. The scene in the Piazza about the hour of twilight, is very unique and striking,—the centre of the square and the arcades which surround it on three sides, serve as a promenade, the latter being brilliantly lighted with gas, both from the shops and caffés, and from lamps hung at the centre of each arch. At the “Florian,” and the “Militaire,” immediately opposite, there are chairs provided for such as prefer listening to the regimental music, and cooling themselves with acqua marena.[39] Nearer the Piazzetta is a small caffé frequented almost exclusively by Greeks and Smyrniotes, whose outrè costume contrasts strangely with the less showy dress of the Italians. These get away as far as they can from the music, which hath but little charms for them. Cherrystick pipes, and the rattle of dominoes are far more to their taste, and in these do they indulge, until the approach of midnight recalls them to their vessels.

Let us now wander from the Piazzetta, to the neighbouring Riva dei Schiavoni, where as soon as we have passed the Hotel Danielli, we shall come upon a scene quite as original and no less amusing than that of San Marco. Here is a whole host of coffee-shops of a second-rate character, frequented by mariners, and the lower order of Venetians. Forms are arranged under awnings of canvas, which serve as a shelter both from the fierce sun, and the cold sea wind. Here also may be seen the caromel merchant, but his appearance is less scrupulously clean than that of old Gigi of the Piazza, whose jean jacket and white apron are upon a par with the quality of his fruit. On the Schiavoni there are little open-air theatres and peep-shows, and Cassandro goes through his performance many times every evening, to amuse a laughing crowd of old women and boys. At the open doors of the marine store dealers, whole families play at cards, and squabble over greasy effigies of swords and spoons, instead of spades and diamonds, totally heedless of the crowd of persons who pass by them in a continued stream, between San Marco and the busy neighbourhood of Castello and the docks.

In connexion with other places of public resort, I may mention the Birrarie or supper-gardens, so much frequented by the middle class of Venetians. Of these, perhaps the most patronized is that of the Campo San Moisè, where, on a fine evening, the beer-shop of the Saint is filled with respectable citizens, and their wives and daughters. Venice is famed for its good beer, which, by the way, is a commodity very different from that brewed by us, being there a wholesome and refreshing beverage and used only as such. The Birraria of San Moisè, is a little plot of ground entirely hemmed in by surrounding houses, and ornamented with trellis-work and creepers. The walls are painted in the quaint style of fresco, peculiar to the gardens of Italy, representing lakes and mountains, and fierce bandits peeping over rocks, with delightful villas and terraces, and gigantic vases of aloes. At the far end is a Roman scene, painted by Signor Caffi, which is very cleverly executed, and throws into the shade the fabulous monstrosities of the side walls. Here one may meet with the bistecca Inglese, intended, as its name implies, to represent the genuine beef-steak, and is invariably the first item mentioned by the waiter, to every customer in a straw hat and a blouse. It ranks in the same class with the French “biftek,” and is served in molten butter. The musicians I have already mentioned, as well as a host of singers and improvisatori, make the round of the Birrarie, when they have finished with the Piazza, and I noticed for many weeks among other retailers of sweet sounds, an accordéon player who had arrived as near to perfection as the powers of his instrument would allow. I had the curiosity one evening to question him, and discovered to my astonishment, that he had manufactured it entirely himself. He had been bound apprentice to a barber in Padua, and had taken as a bad debt from some brother chin-scraper, an imperfect and damaged accordeon, one of the earliest that had found its way across the Alps from Germany. Thenceforward his whole time was devoted to the study of his new instrument. Having a quick ear and ready hand, he soon managed to repair it, and running away from his master, who was in truth quite tired of his perpetual grinding, he played about in the streets till he had earned enough to buy some tools, and then came to Venice, where he shortly manufactured a perfect instrument. I visited him at his house in the Castello, and found him busy at work, and to judge from the neatness of his rooms, and the appearance of his wife and children, I should say he blows his bellows at the various Birrarie to very good purpose.

The Blackwall of Venice is a spot called Quintavalle, where, at a dirty little house, close to the shore, the lovers of fish may find it in great variety. Sardelli will be found an excellent substitute for white-bait, and require neither punch, nor brown bread and butter, while the Calamajo is a delicacy which may be had here in perfection. This curious fish is caught in great quantity in the lagunes, and at the Lido. I have seen whole acres of them hung up to dry in the sun, while the ground has been stained black with their liquid seppia. We generally repaired to Quintavalle, after any little squall or interval of bad weather, at which times fish were plentiful, and not unfrequently would the landlord astonish us with the sight of some extraordinary monster of the deep, which had been driven into the shallows, and found its way into the nets with the smaller fry. The old man is a collector of these odd fish, which he preserves in spirits, to adorn his rooms.

No one would willingly leave his hotel to dine in a Venetian trattoria, saving for the sake of curiosity, as their appearance is, for the most part, anything but inviting. But with those that betake themselves to furnished apartments, and have neither kitchen nor cook, the case is different, and we on the far side of the Grand Canal, were necessitated either to get our meal at the cook-shop, or go without it. We tried, I believe, nearly all the eating-houses in Venice, and carried our researches to an extent, that in such a cause, would have been perfectly absurd, had we not, during these voyages of discovery, very thoroughly explored the city. We got, indeed, little other benefit by our trouble, as no restaurant proved so clean and comfortable, as that of the Caffé Haus, in a little square just out of St. Marc’s, and exactly opposite the house once occupied by Canova.

Shortly after my arrival in Venice, I was present at a grand passeggiata, got up by the Italian artists, in honour of Prince Frederic, and the Due de Modene. These nocturnal serenades occur only in the season, when Venice is full of visitors, and on this occasion, the display was more than usually grand, on account of the exalted rank of the strangers who were to assist. A large barge, suitably fitted up with seats, and having on board the necessary accommodation for a portion of the Kinski band, was towed from the Piazzetta at about ten o’clock, into the Grand Canal, surrounded by some hundred of gondolas. The night was literally as dark as pitch, but we had no sooner passed the Dogana, than a light was exhibited from the prow of the barge, which would almost have shamed the “Bude.” At the same time arose a burst of music, which re-echoed from the palaces on either side, attracting their inmates to the balconies. The noble Church of the “Salute” was illumined from the water’s edge to the figure of Charity surmounting the cupola, the more prominent portions of its architectural features, standing out in bright relief from the black shadows. But the effect was of short duration: in another minute we were again enveloped in the darkness, relieved at intervals by a blaze of light from the palace windows.

As we passed up the canal, our already large fleet of gondolas was increased by the accession of others, which put off from all quarters to join us. Vocal serenades were performed under particular windows, by a chorus of well-accorded voices, and the famous cantatrice La Frezzolina Poggi, was favoured with one of particular brilliancy, as well as a display of various coloured lights, which created a beautiful effect upon the surrounding objects. Continuing our course, we paused under the Rialto, illuminating its spacious arch with a blaze of fireworks, and causing it to resound with so formidable and doubly encored a barcarole, that I fear some of the more quietly disposed of that region, must have thrust their heads under the clothes, and grumbled “Seccatura!” even if they did not go so far as to wish us all consigned to the same watery depth as the fastidious Count in “Beppo.” Having made the giro of the Grand Canal, and back again to the Piazzetta, those on the barge adjourned to their supper, and Luish and I to our beds.

Venice is certainly the very spot of all others for serenades, and a summer night seldom passes, but the twanging of guitars and mandolins may be heard in her quiet canals. If the echoes of Tasso are no longer extant, the gondoliers of the present day are equally familiar with “Com’e gentil!” and “Or’ che in cielo,” one or other of which generally “meets the ear” of any one dwelling upon the Grand Canal, in the course of an evening. No matter how poor the voice, or wretched the melody, the Venetian lady never fails to acknowledge with courtesy the compliment thus intended, unless indeed, as sometimes happens, the serenade emanates from a pair of lungs too palpably coarse and plebeian to arouse any feeling of pleasure or obligation, in which case the nocturnal disturber either exhausts himself before bare walls and dark balconies, or is unhesitatingly told to move on.

During my sojourn in Venice, I made, with others of my friends, many excursions to the neighbouring islands. We visited Murano and its wonderful glass works, and the more interesting San Lazzaro, with its Armenian convent and happy brotherhood. It was here that Lord Byron spent a considerable portion of his time in the study of the Armenian language, and the brethren still speak of him in terms of much enthusiasm. We saw the library and printing office, and walked through the flower gardens, enjoying the delicious breeze, and the views which greeted us on all sides, of the bright islands of the lagune. An expedition which we made to Chioggia, a town so famous in the earlier annals of the Republic, and whose unintelligible patois, Goldoni has placed in the mouths of some of his characters, was a more formidable affair, as we had to make up a party, and charter a sailing barque with four gondolieri. Quitting the piazzetta at six, we soon passed the island of Malamocco, and coasted along under the extraordinary breakwater reaching from that island to Chioggia, a lasting monument of the spirit of enterprise possessed by the early Venetians. The voyage of eighteen miles occupied about five hours, and at eleven we landed at the grass-covered quay of the old town, now the abode of fishermen and a few little shopkeepers. Had our party been a show of wild beasts, we could scarcely have excited greater wonder among the Chioggians, of whom a posse accompanied us in our ramble through the town, watching our every movement as though we had suddenly dropped in among them from some other sphere. Nor were they to us less objects of curiosity; their quaint dresses and primitive appearance were very striking, and our friend Harlen found in the market-place some excellent subjects for his pencil. We searched in vain for an osteria where we might get something by way of lunch, but entering a house where a dry bush was hanging over the door-way, we found a good fire, and there fried some fish which we had purchased in the market. Whilst making preparations for our departure, we were greatly amused with the dexterity displayed by some little urchins, who dived for centesimi or halfpence, and staid so long under water, that they seemed amphibious. We had a crowd of a score or more, many of whom took to the water without waiting to throw off their clothing. He who was fortunate enough to find a copper, was compelled to swim away to a distance to hide his treasure, pursued by a shoal of his companions, who pressed after him like dogs in an otter hunt.

We had a brisk and favourable breeze on our return homewards, which filled our large sail, and bore us merrily along. The water looked so blue and tempting, that a dip was decided on, and as most of our party were good swimmers, they unhesitatingly plunged in from the roof of the covered cabin, having previously ascertained that the depth was sufficient for diving. Captain Rovére, who remained in somewhat longer than the rest, was unfortunately seized with cramp, and disappeared before he could call out for aid. He was at once rescued from his dangerous situation, by Flake, who had been watching him, and who, half-dressed, jumped in again to his assistance. We reached Venice about dusk.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] “Two Zwanzigers the lot.”

[39] A drink made of cherries, capillaire and iced water.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DUCAL PALACE—BRIDGE OF SIGHS—THE POZZI—CAMPANILE—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—SWIFTS—THE PIGEONS OF ST. MARKS—DEPARTURE FROM VENICE—THE ANCONA STEAMER—THE ADRIATIC—VICISSITUDES OF A SEA-VOYAGE—THE UNFORTUNATE FRIAR—POLA—ITS ANTIQUITIES—THE HOTEL—ANCONA—THE CUSTOM-HOUSE—DISAPPOINTMENT—A VILLAGE IN THE APPENINES—FULIGNO—ASSISI—THE BOARDING-HOUSE—SAN FRANCESCO—MUSICAL SHOEMAKERS—SPOLETO—MY COUNTRYWOMAN—TERNI—ROME.

I shall not describe the Ducal Palace with its pozzi and piombi, its magnificent staircase and the Lion’s mouth, and the once gloomy chambers of the Inquisition. All these have been too well handled by professed tourists, to require any further observation on my part, and I doubt not there are many living within five miles of St. Paul’s, who possess a much clearer idea of the interior of San Marco, with its apostle screen, gilt mosaics, and uneven pavement, than of the noble monument to their own Sir Christopher. Suffice it to say, that in company of some relatives whom I met in Venice, whose curiosity was proof against difficulties that would altogether have taken me aback, I succeeded not merely in peeping through the key-hole of the fatal door, but in standing on the Bridge of Sighs. To effect this negatively desirable object, we were compelled to penetrate to the bureau of some functionary, holding a situation in the prison on the other side, and having secured an old man with the key, we retraced our steps to the Palace, and passed through the portal.

The Ponte dei Sospiri consists of two distinct passages: by one the accused was led before the Inquisitors, from whose presence he was either conducted through the other to be strangled, or consigned by the brutal and cowardly policy of that dark tribunal, to the perpetual damps of the Pozzi, or subaqueous dungeons of the Ducal Palace. The number of those who left the inquisition to be restored to the light of day, was limited indeed: mercy or pardon were not among the attributes of the so called, “Justice of St. Mark,” and the miserable accused never experienced the benefit of a doubt. We shuddered in the state dungeons, and crept through the damp and tortuous passages, gazing with feelings of awe and horror at the iron grating, where so many innocent victims had gasped the last unavailing appeal for mercy, at the hands of their fellow-men.

It is well worth a little trouble to ascend the Campanile of St. Mark’s, from whose summit the view is unique, and should you happen to be upon the platform at the hour of sunset, you will allow it to be so to a very striking degree. The noise of the monstrous bells is indeed almost deafening. Although Venice is intersected with small canals, in every possible direction, it is extraordinary that but one is visible from the summit of the bell-tower, a fact only accounted for by the close proximity of the houses. Of the Grand Canal there are many glimpses, while the various islands of the Lagune are seen from hence to great advantage. All day and night there are watchmen at the top of the Campanile, whose duty it is to give the alarm, in case of fire, and from their great elevation, they are able at once to judge of its precise locality. These worthies employ their leisure time in letting fly small pieces of white paper, in order to observe the gambols of the swifts, which are certainly most amusing. No sooner is a piece let off, than it is pursued by a lot of these little birds, who appear to scuffle and fight for its possession most lustily. Occasionally it is impaled by the sharp beak of one of them, and thus forms a frill around its neck, which leads to its destruction. Its efforts to disengage itself are unavailing. No sooner has it donned its fatal necklace, than a crowd of its fellows enter on the pursuit, and the poor bird is then either pecked to death, or drops from sheer exhaustion on one of the neighbouring roofs.

The pigeons of St. Mark’s are proverbially respected, and many legends are told concerning them. Some one, it appears, left as a legacy, a sum of money to be exclusively devoted to the purchase of food for these Penates of the Venetians, which are exceedingly numerous, and swarm upon the roofs of the Church of St. Marc, and adjacent buildings. They are fed every day precisely at noon, and no sooner do the bronze figures on the Clock Tower swing round upon their pivots, in readiness for the first stroke of twelve, than the air is partially darkened by the clouds of pigeons, that sweep over the square, hitching and perching upon the ledges and window-sills of the Procuratie Veechie. Grain is then scattered from an open window, and although the sight is of every day occurrence, the table-d’hôte of the pigeons is watched with eagerness by the surrounding crowd. We were much struck with one circumstance in connexion with these birds. On a certain day in the year, all the clocks in the city are silent, and we expected that the pigeons would have been nonplused. Never were we more mistaken. No bell sounded, nor did the figures move, yet precisely as the gold hands on the dial of the Clock Tower reached their zenith, the pigeons, whose stomachs were not to be cheated, were seen flocking in from all quarters to their usual meal.

The weather becoming cooler, and having derived considerable benefit from the advice and attention of Dr. T——g, I began to think of turning my face once more towards Rome, and never having been at Ancona, resolved to take advantage of a little steamer plying between that port and Venice two or three times a month. My friend Luish had already set off with some acquaintance for Florence, and most of my other associates were dispersed in different directions. I therefore took leave of such few as remained, and engaged my berth at an office in the Piazza. It appeared that I had chosen an unfavourable time for making a sea-trip, as the weather had been for some days very stormy, and on repairing on board, I was told by the captain, that he could not venture to put out to sea that day. This happened three times in succession, until I began to regret that I had paid my fare, for I know few things more annoying than to be at loose ends in a place, with your portmanteau packed, your bedroom let to another occupant, and yourself uncertain at what moment you may be called upon to join your ship. On the third day we got off at the hour of noon, with about twenty-five passengers, all bound for Ancona, the majority of whom were priests and monks; but there was also a German artist with his family, of the name of Heinrich, whom I found very agreeable. We had not been long in the Adriatic, before our captain seemed bitterly to regret that he had left the friendly shallows of the lagunes. Our ill-built little steamer, rolled uneasily in the heavy sea, and as night closed in, we had anything but a pleasant prospect before us. Most of the passengers were soon rendered insensible to the peril of our situation: prostrated by sea-sickness they lay stretched upon the deck, careless alike of the combat of the elements, and of the torrents of salt water which swept over us, and poured down the badly-closed hatchways. Not being myself a sufferer in this respect, I was enabled to render some little assistance to the wife and little girls of the Herr Heinrich, and managed with some difficulty to get them stowed away, three in a berth, in one of the upper bed-places. The sailors declared that the monks, who had betaken themselves to their beads, were the cause of our ill-luck, while the captain, who appeared a poor weak-minded man, lost all command over himself and ship, and indulged in deep potations. The sailors, however, stuck unflinchingly to their duty, and in this state of affairs I went below to see if I could get any rest. The water was rolling about in the cabin, and hat-boxes and other light packages were carried hither and thither in the utmost confusion. The pitching of the vessel was quite fearful, and even had my fears allowed of my sleeping, any attempt thereat would have been absurd. I squeezed myself, however, into a berth, and had only just done so, when, by a sudden lurch, an enormously exaggerated friar, who had been lying in a state of semi-torpor immediately above me, toppled out of his berth, and upsetting in his descent the table, which was loaded with clothes and other articles, splashed heavily into the water beneath. A minute sooner, and I must have been annihilated. How the good man had ever managed to reach the berth from whence he had fallen, I cannot tell. But it was no time for reflection. Though a little stunned, the poor friar got upon all fours, in an attempt to find his legs, but fright and sickness had rendered him weak, and losing his equilibrium, he was speedily carried beyond my reach by another lurch, and as I had no mind to exchange my comparatively comfortable position for a wrestling-match with a sick Capuchin, in half-a-fathom of dirty water, I waited until a third lurch brought him back again, when I grappled him, and held on tight till he righted.

Whilst engaged in these little recreations, I suddenly became sensible that we had got into smooth water, and with the pleasing anticipation that we might by accident have hit Ancona, I was hastening on deck, when a slight shock which followed the stoppage of the engines, set us all off rolling again. Day was now just beginning to dawn, and as the light increased, a beautiful and well-sheltered bay was revealed to our view. The sailors had run us on a sandy shore, within sight of the town of Pola, on the coast of Istria, and I began to think the wind that blows nobody any good, must indeed be an ill one, inasmuch as many travellers have gone scores of miles out of the regular beaten track, to visit the ancient city, near which we were now safely stranded. The sight of terra-firma restored spirits to our whole party, though they were most of them considerably astonished at finding themselves as far as ever from Ancona. As soon as we could land, a proceeding rendered easy by the assistance of some of the good folk from Pola, we walked to the town, and entering by one accord its little church, each in his own way returned thanks for our deliverance from the perils of the deep.

Being told that our vessel would not again put to sea, until the swell had somewhat abated, we had ample time before us to view the antiquities of Pola. The amphitheatre or arena, is the great lion of the place, and stands about half-a-mile from the town, close to the shore, which in many places is rocky and precipitous. The outer wall of this relic of Roman magnificence, remains perfect, evincing the great extent of the building; but the interior is nearly all in ruins, saving a few of the masses of masonry, which formerly supported the raised seats. The whole interior is clogged up with heaps of rubbish, overgrown in parts with weeds and brambles, and possesses a most forlorn appearance. Viewed from the outside, the arena forms a splendid ruin, the effect being much enhanced by its peculiar and picturesque situation. Pola seems to have been once fortified with a strong wall, of which the remains are tolerably perfect in places, and there is also a Roman arch in good preservation, called, I believe, the Porta Aurea, but the worthy people of the place seem to know very little indeed either about its history, or the remains, which alone render it of consequence in the eyes of the few travellers who visit it. There is a miserable inn in the little piazza, but the sudden irruption of five-and-twenty hungry steam-boat passengers, whose appetites had been whetted to an alarming degree, by the inside-out experience of the preceding night, caused such a run upon the eatables, that by the time we had finished our breakfast, there was a partial famine in the place, and we had to make our dinner off fish and vegetables.

At five o’clock, our Captain, who had recovered his erring senses, recalled us on board, but it was ten at night before the steam was up, and our little vessel once more fairly afloat. Our voyage to Ancona, though stormy enough, proved less boisterous than that of the night before, and I believe we were all very glad to turn our backs upon the still agitated water.

At the custom-house, I had some little difficulty in passing my few valuables, without paying a heavy duty. The Pope’s douaniers were extremely curious, and a portable sketching apparatus, which I had with me, unfortunately attracted the attention of the whole posse of searchers. I thought the best way was to humour them, and therefore opened my camp-stool, drew out a ready stretched piece of prepared paper, squeezed a few dabs of paint upon the pallette, and might perhaps have finished by caricaturing the whole lot, had not a more considerate officer taken compassion on me, and desired me to shut up my shop, an order I obeyed with the greatest alacrity. The result of my delay was, that my travelling companions had appropriated all the rooms in the “Albergo della Pace,” and I had to seek a bed elsewhere.

I rose early the next day, in order to visit the old Cathedral church and a triumphal arch, erected on the Mole, in honour of Trajan. I also called upon my friend Heinrich, the German artist in acquarelle, who had already engaged a vettura, to convey himself and family to Rome. After some little bargaining with the driver, I secured a seat in the coupè as far as Fuligno, having pretty much determined to make a halt of a few days at Assisi, before returning to my old quarters in the Via Sistina.

We quitted Ancona at five in the morning, passing no fewer than three distinct dogana, at each of which we were overhauled, though fortunately without paying any duty. I found a trifling bribe go farther than a boat-load of quiet civility or resignation, a papal custom-house officer being devoid of all feeling save the modicum existing in his palms, which when tickled with a small coin, generally expand to the traveller’s advantage. On our arrival at Osimo, where our vetturino gave us some breakfast, we discovered to our chagrin, that our road would not lead us by Loretto, a disappointment for which we had to thank ourselves in not making a better bargain, and we had the mortification to catch a tantalizing glimpse only of the towers of “Our Lady,” to which we had all been anticipating a pilgrimage. Continuing our journey, we slept at Tolentino, at a most miserable and dirty inn, and were really glad when the waiter called us at the somewhat early hour of two (!) to resume our journey. It was of course quite dark, and moreover, was raining heavily. I went to the stable to call the driver, whom I found fast asleep between his jaded horses, and we experienced some of the shivering pleasures of vetturino travelling, as we waited for him to “put to.” The waiter endeavoured to increase our discomforts, by offering coffee and bread in the middle of the night, our coachman declaring that he had to pay for it, and that if we refused it, we should get no more. We enlightened him, however, by afterwards pulling up at a little inn at the foot of the Appenines, where we had our coffee, when we were able to enjoy it. About five in the afternoon we reached Fuligno, where I had to bid a temporary adieu to my friend Heinrich and his amiable family. The waiter of the hotel informed me that he had a little one-horse vettura, which would take me comfortably to Assisi for fifteen pauls, and closing with his offer, I agreed to set off next morning. It seemed, however, as if the rainy season had thoroughly set in—the water poured down in torrents, splashing in at the ill-closed windows of my old-fashioned vehicle, and I had a miserably wet ride, passing through the ancient town of Spello, and reaching Assisi about one o’clock. An old Roman acquaintance had recommended to me the Casa Carpinelli, whither I ordered the boy to drive, and found the family just sitting down to dinner. There were already two visitors in the house, one a countryman of my own, and the other a French artist, but I found excellent accommodation, and can offer a willing tribute of acknowledgment to the kind care of the Signor Lorenzo, who boarded and did for me, at the rate of three-and-a-half pauls per diem.

The Church of San Francesco is of course the lion of Assisi, and is a very fine specimen of early Gothic architecture, abounding also in rich frescoes, by Giotto and others. There are three distinct churches, one over the other, the lowest of the three being cut in the rock, which serves as the foundation of the entire building. Hundreds of pilgrims resort hither annually, to worship at the shrine of San Francesco, whose bones repose within this splendid temple. The convent of the order of Francescans is attached to the church, and standing out boldly as it does, from the face of the rock, has the appearance of a strong fortification. The church of Santa Chiara is also well worth a visit. It was formerly adorned with superb frescoes which, by command of some infatuated bishop, were covered with whitewash, and all but obliterated. There are yet a few remaining over the altar, and these serve by their beauty to increase the regret one feels at the fate of their companions.

I staid a few weeks at Assisi, spending the greater portion of my time in extended rambles through the neighbouring country, which, though offering but few subjects for the pencil, is beautifully wooded, and abounds with pleasing landscape. In the town I made many acquaintance, of whom the most entertaining was a musical shoemaker, whom I had called on with an order. I was I believe, whistling as I entered his little workshop, though I should hardly have known that I was so doing, had not my new friend exclaimed, “quello é un bel pezzo, Signore!” and I should still have been at a loss to know whether he alluded to my morceau, or to the leather in his hand, had he not, quick as thought, whipped out a Cremona, and played me the whole of the piece with remarkable precision and clearness. Giuseppe really did possess a soul above buttons, as I found out when I became better acquainted with him. He had fitted up a large room at the back of his house as a stanza di musica, where he instructed a number of young men of his acquaintance, in the mysteries of counterpoint.

The shoemakers of Italy are remarkable for their devotion to harmony, and my Assisi friends may be cited as a favourable specimen of the craft, who, if unable to afford money to purchase instruments, and time to use them, will sing glees as they sit at work, with a degree of proficiency that is sometimes astonishing. Nor do they confine their vocal powers to the shop only. When work is over, and they are about to separate for the evening, they will be seen with their hands rammed down into their pockets, and their heads close together, either singing at a street corner, or marking time with measured pace, as they take the road homewards. Giuseppe and his companions, who were all instrumentalists, devoted two nights in the week to the private performance of concerted pieces, to which as a stranger I was kindly invited, and it will be long before I lose the remembrance of these agreeable and unpretending little réunions.

I quitted Assisi on the day of Tuttisanti, or All Saints, making a bargain with the Fuligno postman to take me that far in his carrettina for the sum of four pauls. Taking a last peep into the Cathedral church of San Rufino, where some imposing ceremonies were going forward, I took leave of my Assisi friends, and got away about two. It rained hard all the way to Fuligno, but the monstrous campagna umbrella kindly lent me by the Signora Carpinelli, covered both myself and the postman, and saved us from a thorough drenching. On alighting at the “Croce Bianca,” I found a vetturino who was to start the next morning for Rome, and with him I soon came to an arrangement.

The waiter called me at five, bringing a cup of coffee, and having hastily dressed myself, I got into my corner of the legno. The rain was descending in sheets, and I wondered that our driver would venture out before day-break in such weather. As soon as the light had dawned, I discovered my travelling companions to be two priests and a lady, who soon commenced an animated conversation, that served to shorten the ride to Spoleto, where our vetturino pulled up at the hotel, declaring he would proceed no farther in such tempaccio. His half-dripping freight had nothing to do but to submit, and I therefore entered the inn and ordered a bed, determined to make the best of a forced halt. In the coffee-room, up stairs, I found a stout lady at a table, eating, with a lot of damp Italians gazing at her in astonishment. On a rainy day, a weather-bound traveller may be excused a trifling liberty, and I therefore stared with the rest, though I really did not observe anything remarkable until the lady addressed the gaping half-dozen. “Ah! you may stare; pity you ai’nt got nothing better to stare at!” The Italians seemed surprised and edified, and looked at each other in silence, and then again at the stout lady, who resumed. “Yes, I only wish looking at them cutlets ’ud make em bigger! Here, garsony, some salad!” “Eccomi qua Signora!” said the waiter, who emerged from behind a screen, at the far end of the room, where he had concocted a genuine insalata of highly lubricated beans, with a garnish of anchovies, which he now set down in triumph before the astonished lady. “Well, I never,” exclaimed she, “cold French beans with ile and vinegar—no, no, I aint quite come to that yet, neither, the very look on ’em makes me ill!” And my graceful countrywoman, producing a capacious case-bottle, drank her own health with infinite gusto, and then pledged the crowd of admirers, who bowed and took another long stare. At this juncture a good-humoured looking vetturino entered the room, whom she no sooner caught sight of, than she poured out for him another petit verre, and shaking her head ruefully, pointed to the dessert and remains of her repast which had evidently consisted of some few and very light materials, and had by no means come up to her understanding of the agreement made with the vetturino. But her wily driver, who swallowed the cognac, declined taking the hint, beckoning her away with a notice of “Siamo pronto, Signora,” and in defiance of both wind and water, they were soon again on their road northwards before I could get an opportunity of speaking the strange sail. The rain did not hold up until the moon rose, when it was too late to go forward; so we staid the night at Spoleto, and on the following day managed to reach Strittura, where we again met with a detention of some hours. At Terni, we dropped one of the priests, and took in his place a worthy sort of man, Governor of some little country district, and exceedingly self-important. On arriving at Narni, our vetturino drove to the “Campana,” or Bell Inn, a poor place enough, though said to be the best in the town. The waiter, who took us for a party of natives, from whom he would scarcely derive as much profit, as from a carriage-load of travelling “Inglese,” was impudent and abusive, but had no sooner detected a little badge of office worn by the Governatore, who unfastened his upper Benjamin to that intent, than he altered his tone, and shewed us excellent rooms. In the dining-room, I fell in with more than a score of English, principally ladies, and most amusing was it to me to hear their remarks upon our little party, our dress and personal appearance being freely canvassed, without the least affectation of whisper or concealment. I had my revenge upon them in the evening, when it was decided that we should amuse ourselves by having a song from every one present, the priests only being exempted. On its coming round to me, I selected something in the mother tongue, which, as the language was entirely unanticipated by certain of the young ladies, produced so strange an effect, that they left the room in confusion, and could scarcely be induced to return.

On reaching Otricoli the next day, we found a great number of vehicles, public and private, as well as the Corriera or mail, detained there by the overflow of the Tiber at the Ponte Felice. We were disposing ourselves to pass the remainder of the day in this miserable village, when a post-boy with some return horses, having brought the news that the water was not more than three palms over the road, we all decided to venture, and arrived at Civita Castellana without difficulty. At Rome I put up at an inn in the Via del Orso, with my Italian friend the Governor, until I could suit myself with a lodging, and on walking to the Lepri, fell in with many of my old artistical acquaintance at Aurelio’s table, who received me with many expressions of welcome.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHANGE OF DOMICILE—FRANCESCO—FRIENDS FROM ENGLAND—PICTURE-SHOPS—OLD PAINTINGS—ARTISTS AND THEIR PATRONS—MR. TITMARSH—ANECDOTE OF N—— —THE DINNER AT BERTINI’s—THE ENGLISH ACADEMY—TABLE TALK—HARMONY—THE AMERICANS—ROMAN GAIETIES—TORLONIA’S—THE FESTINI—HOSPITAL OF SAN MICHELE—THE QUIRINAL—VIA GREGORIANA—MR. RAVEN AGAIN—THE ENGLISH CHURCH—THE FRIENDS’ MEETING-HOUSE—ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER’S.

Being informed that my old friend Quatremolle, the artist, had taken a studio outside the Porta del Popolo, I called on him the day after my arrival, and found him snugly located in a Casino belonging to the Borghese Gardens, exactly opposite the building known as the English Church. I had no sooner made my appearance, and told him that I was roofless, my old rooms in the Sistina being occupied, than he introduced me to a fine unfurnished room, adjoining his own, of which he said I might at once take possession. The proposal was liberal, and the situation, if not the most convenient, was at least so agreeable that I hastened to an upholsterer in the Corso, who supplied me on hire with such few articles of furniture as were necessary, and in the course of a few days I was snugly settled in my new quarters. Francesco, the Barbarossa, served us in the capacity of factotum, lighting the fires in the morning, and running for red herrings and butter to the shop of a neighbouring pizzicarolo. Underneath my room was a decent coffee-shop, from whence two or three taps upon the floor would produce my breakfast, whilst for dinner I paid the usual mid-day visit to the “Lepri.”

I was busy one morning in finishing up a Venetian sketch, when I was surprised by the apparition of an intimate acquaintance, fresh from England. He was travelling in quest of health with two of his friends, to whom he introduced me at the Hotel d’Angleterre, and as they appeared resolved to see all they could of Rome, a week or more was passed in one continued round of sight-seeing. The galleries, however, were the great objects of attraction, and there were very few that escaped their notice, to say nothing of the host of picture-shops which they visited in search of bargains. Mack himself would hardly have displayed greater perseverance in ferretting among old worm-eaten and decayed rubbish, than did my London friends, who have to answer for the rubbing up of many an atrocious daub, which, but for their extraordinary resolution, would never again have known the smell of varnish. Small dealers, who had hitherto never possessed anything beyond a Sacchi or a Bassano, now suddenly became the proprietors of sundry undoubted Correggios, or maybe an indisputable Sebastian del Piombo, in a mahogany frame, with a lock and a glass window. Almost every one had a genuine Nicolo Poussin, an unfortunate who might now have been living had he painted two-thirds of the pictures ascribed to him. This poor man too appears to have possessed the queer habit of obliterating his own foregrounds with an over-coating of brambles and brushwood; the sagacious dealer never failing to declare, that by the merest accident imaginable, the genuine picture was brought to light by the removal of a thick over-stratum of paint.

After having pretty well visited all the sights of Rome, and filled a large deal case with plasters, bronzes, mosaics, and paintings, my friends started off one fine morning for Florence, leaving behind them one of their party who was in poor health. This gentleman had been strongly recommended to Dr. P., an English physician of great and deserved popularity, who had made Rome his residence, and the introduction was no sooner effected, than W. put himself into the doctor’s hands, and taking a commodious suite of rooms in the Via Gregoriana, settled down for the winter. I staid a month or more in the studio outside the Popolo, when my friend Quatremolle decided on giving up the place and going northwards, and I then joined W——, who had begun to weary of living alone. Christmas time was fast approaching, and Rome becoming every day more and more crowded with English and other strangers, and consequent upon their arrival was a rapid succession of evening parties and artistical réunions. The brothers of the brush are not less averse than others to glitter in the reflected light of such stars of great magnitude, as twinkle away the winter in the Holy City, and when one of them does manage to nail a great man, there is generally some little manifestation of exclusiveness. Patrons, however, are by no means so plentiful as to be held in very light estimation, and the feeling is therefore excusable, whilst there can be no harm in fête-ing a pseudo-connoisseur with his own scudi, or standing treat at the Aliberti to Lord this, or the Marquis of that, with a heavy draft on Torlonia in prospectu. Of the great men who visited Rome during this winter, M. A. Titmarsh was among the most popular. Himself an artist, he dropped down among us on his way from Cairo, no one knowing when he came or how he went away. Installed in a quiet bed-room at Franz’s, in the Condotti, he appeared to amuse himself, like Asmodeus, with peering into the studios of his countrymen, and while he rummaged over their dusty portfolios, or critically scanned the pictures on the wall, would unconsciously read their secret thoughts, and penetrate, as it were, the arcana of their pockets, without allowing them for a moment to imagine that he intended aught save a mere friendly visit. Many, however, were the poor devils who managed to push through the winter on the strength of the timely fillip administered by Titmarsh,[40] who was moreover one of those pleasant paymasters who get a bad character because they make their settlements beforehand. Painting, however, ought certainly to be a ready-money business, as artists seldom like to give, what they somehow always manage to take—long credits; and as they never approach nearer to the practice of book-keeping than a chalk or charcoal memorandum on the wall or door-post, possess the happy knack of never knowing how their accounts stand, or may take the same businesslike view of a transaction, as my friend Savill, who declared that Mr. Milnes owed him £25. for a picture, which he afterwards gravely admitted he had neither commenced nor thought about.

I met Titmarsh at many of the evening parties which were held at this season by the artists. Perhaps the greatest display of this sort was made on a certain holiday, when the whole of us dined together at Bertini’s, and he was voted into the chair. It happened unfortunately, that the dinner provided on the occasion was of a most indifferent character, and very ill-calculated to impress the F. C. with any great idea of Roman advancement in gastronomy. Our motive, however, for thus meeting in a social way, was not that of mere feasting: a great amount of elocution had to be got through, in addition to the usual round of song and sentiment. It happened just at this time, that there was a schism among the members of the English Academy in Rome respecting a proposition originating with Mack,—that an Italian Professor of drawing should be appointed to the Academy! This proposal had met with the most vigorous and animated opposition from the other faction, headed by O’Neil, who had proved himself a most able champion, having set forth in an eloquent and elaborate speech, the consequences of such a measure,—the impropriety of introducing an Italian style of drawing to the annihilation of all originality,—the injustice of placing a master over men who never would submit to his criticism, and the unenviable position in which such a master would necessarily be placed,—the reflection, in fact, upon the state of English art, and other weighty considerations. O’Neil was supported by men of eminence and standing, as well as by a very conclusive argument adduced by the Secretary, who proved that the funds of the institution would ill support the expense. Mack, however, like an able general, having canvassed the whole body beforehand, carried his motion by a majority of eight! The master therefore was appointed, not as Professor of drawing to the English Academy, but to give his assistance to such as might ask it, a qualification of the original measure, which it was hoped would meet the views of all parties.

With this important question fresh upon the tapis, it was no wonder that a considerable portion of the evening was consumed in long-winded speeches, and had it not been for a deeply guttural proposal on the part of our friend Beardman, “to take the basso part in a glee,” a harmonious feeling would scarcely have been arrived at. His instigation was succeeded by a call for a song from the chair, amid a vociferous shout of “Viva Titmarsh!” and a deafening clatter of dessert furniture. Our great friend assured us he was unable to sing, but would endeavour to make amends by getting up a recitation, if some one in the mean time would make a beginning. Whilst a few, therefore, on the right of the chair, were tantalizing the company by a tortured version of one of Calcott’s glees, the F. C., busy with his tablets under the table, produced the following affecting narrative, of which he soon after delivered himself in a fittingly lugubrious tone of voice.

THE THREE SAILORS.

There were three sailors in Bristol City,

Who took a boat and went to sea.

But first with beef and captains’ biscuit,

And pickled pork they loaded she.

There was guzzling Jack and gorging Jimmy,

And the youngest he was little Bil-ly.

Now very soon they were so greedy,

They did’nt leave not one split pea.

Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,

I am confounded hung-ery.

Says gorging Jim to guzzling Jacky,

We have no wittles, so we must eat we.

Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,

Oh! gorging Jim, what a fool you be.

There’s little Bill as is young and tender,

We’re old and tough—so let’s eat he.

Oh! Bill, we’re going to kill and eat you,

So undo the collar of your chemie.

When Bill he heard this information,

He used his pocket-handkerchee.

Oh! let me say my Catechism,

As my poor mammy taught to me.

Make haste, make haste, says guzzling Jacky,

Whilst Jim pulled out his snicker-snee.

So Bill went up the main top-gallant mast,

When down he fell on his bended knee.

He scarce had said his catechism,

When up he jumps; there’s land I see!

There’s Jerusalem and Madagascar,

And North and South Ameri-key.

There’s the British fleet a riding at anchor,

With Admiral Napier, K.C.B.

So when they came to the Admiral’s Vessel,

He hanged fat Jack, and flogged Jim-my.

But as for little Bill, he made him

The Captain of a Seventy-three.

It is needless to say that the recital of M. A. Titmarsh was received with all the applause it merited. Even the “Emperor,” stoically indifferent as he uniformly was to either music or moral, was betrayed into some expression of feeling, distinctly audible to those near him, whilst he repeatedly pledged the author of the interesting ballad. Other songs followed as a matter of course, but our ears were become so accustomed to the oft-heard and unvarying effusions of our brother artists, that few of them elicited farther comment than a faint “bravo,” or a few raps upon the table, and we were beginning to think of separating, when our chairman received a polite message from a party of Americans, who had been dining in another room. With a laudable wish to sink a certain feeling of national prejudice, which I believe some of the English entertained against “Brother Jonathan,” these gentlemen expressed a desire to fraternize and join us, a proposal which so aroused the bile of Vetch and Warmey, that they immediately quitted the apartment in a state of great excitement, whilst our esteemed chairman formed, and personally headed, a mission of peace into the quarters of the enemy, who afterwards gave us their company for the rest of the evening.

With the commencement of February came the Carnival again, a more brilliant affair this year than the last, in consequence of the great number of strangers wintering in Rome. Among the English, and others, there was a constant succession of evening parties in every grade of style and grandeur, from the grand crash at Torlonia’s to the quiet tea-drink of a first-floor in the Due Macelli. Great was the dismay of those unfortunate bachelors, who had been so unwary as to place their temporary accounts in the hands of one of the Condotti bankers, to find their names excluded from the long list of eligibles on the books of the Signor Spada. No large card with the attracting German-text of the Principe and Principessa, greeted them from the corners of their chimney-glasses, and unless they could squeeze themselves in under cover of the family invite of some large party of English friends, or suddenly transfer their accounts, the salons of the mighty banker were to them a terra incognita.

At one of the Festini in the Argentina, which were this time particularly gay, I made the acquaintance of an agreeable family, through the medium of the father, who puzzled me for many nights, by a well-dressed character, and extraordinary command of language. My new friends, having been long resident in Italy, introduced me to many Roman families whom I should otherwise scarcely have fallen in with, to whose kindness I am indebted for many subsequent obligations. In company with H. and his amiable wife, I visited, among other places, the Hospital of San Michele, for which purpose he had obtained a private order from Cardinal Tosti, the resident director of the institution. At this admirable establishment, five hundred of the Roman youth of both sexes are clothed and maintained, having also the advantage of a good education, and the opportunity of qualifying themselves for any trade that may appear most suitable to their tastes. A young Italian showed us over the building, which is situated on the right bank of the Tiber, below the Ponte Rotto. We found a number of youths busied at various artistical occupations, such as architectural drawing, engraving on copper, cartooning, music, tapestry, and the cutting of pietra dura and camei, whilst on the ground-floor were sculptors’ studios, and shops for weavers and dyers of cloth.

In another part of the establishment were the girls, likewise employed in various branches of useful labour, as spinning, weaving, and the manufacture of army ornaments. All those of the Papal troops are made here, from the coloured flames on the coat-tails of the recruit, to the pink plume of the Swiss guard. The bed-rooms are particularly neat and comfortable, some of the dormitories containing as many as fifty beds. In answer to an inquiry from one of our party, why some of these beds were larger than others, resembling in fact a genuine four-poster, the old lady who conducted us informed us that, in the event of a marriage taking place in the institution, the fortunate couple were presented with a good bed and its furniture by way of a portion. We saw the kitchens, which are admirably fitted up, the girls acting as cooks for the female department. In a spacious yard were an incredible number of hens, each girl keeping as many as she can afford to nourish, disposing of the eggs to furnish pocket-money.

From San Michele we drove back to the Quirinal, to view the palace of the Pope, which, of all the regal dwellings I ever visited, is decidedly the least ostentatious. Our guide informed us that stuffed chair-bottoms were forbidden, and certainly the seats in the reception room, which were of painted wood and of the most ordinary description, seemed to corroborate his assertion. The private rooms of the great Vicar were nevertheless somewhat more comfortable, and in one apartment, a well-appointed billiard-table evinced a degree of luxury ill-according with the rest of the furniture. Fancy Cardinal B——i, starring with two lives and pocketing the Pope!

As W. and I were one day dozing after dinner in the “Via Gregoriana,” Settimio silently ushered in a tall figure, whose face, as he peered at us over the baize screen, I recognized as that of my old friend Mr. Raven. He was on his way to England, after having spent many years of usefulness in Egypt, in the personal direction of the Overland transit, which had now passed into other hands. How he had managed to discover my whereabouts, was of no moment; few visitors could have been more welcome; and finding that he proposed spending some days in Rome, to give his protegeé and travelling companion an opportunity of seeing some of its wonders, I offered to assist him to the best of my ability. My friends had arrived just in time to witness some of the ceremonies of the Holy Week, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the grand processions in St. Peter’s, and hearing the solemn music of the Sistine. At the former, the King of Naples, although not wearing any uniform, was conspicuous among the crowd, which was dotted in all parts with our militia officers, whose cocked hats and gay coats, have a very imposing appearance in the eyes of the worthy Romans, who don’t know a recruiting sergeant from a field marshal.

The English Church, to which I have before alluded as being little better than a mere barn, is outside the Porta del Popolo. It seems strange that this manifestation of intolerance should exist in a capital like Rome, and it is to be hoped that the more enlightened policy which has marked the opening of the new Pontificate, will be allowed to extend to matters of greater moment than the licensing of itinerant hawkers, or the extension of iron-roads throughout the Papal states, and that before long, it will be unnecessary for those professing with the Church of England to pass beyond the walls of the city, to reach their place of worship. This veto, however, would hardly appear to extend to those who dissent therefrom, inasmuch as for many weeks, W. and I attended the little meeting of Friends, which was held in a small street leading out of the Piazza di Spagna. We met in a little room belonging to the apartment of our friend B——n, which opened at one side on to the leads of the house underneath, and at the back looked out upon the slopes of the Pincian Hill. I often thought (when my thoughts should have been better engaged) that, had any of the good friends from the benches of Devonshire House popped in accidentally upon us, they would have found some difficulty in recognising a gathering of their own particular people. Although few in number, we mustered some black moustaches, and, I believe, a beard or two, whilst our female friends, of whom we had the company of four or five, would, I fear, scarcely have passed muster at the great May Meeting in Bishopsgate. With respect to the hat, to which some attach so distinguished an importance, the most fastidious would hardly have found fault, for the remotest corners of Pennsylvania never gave birth to a more preposterous breadth of brim, than that possessed by my own cinque-cento, whilst those of my friends were of such dimensions as best suited the sunny climate of Rome.

FRIENDS’ MEETING AT ROME.

On one occasion of our meeting together, the sitting was somewhat abruptly concluded by a deafening salute from the cannons of St. Angelo, which shook the very piombi of friend B——n. It was Easter Day, and the Pope had just pronounced a blessing upon the thousands of souls assembled in the Piazza of St. Peter’s. After we had separated, I hunted up my friend Raven, who had just returned from the “Benediction,” and with him visited some of the Roman villas, going subsequently to the Ponte St. Angelo, to secure a convenient window for the fireworks of the following day. In the evening we drove to a favourable position in the great square of St. Peter, where, hemmed in by hundreds of vehicles, we had to wait until the illumination of the Duomo should commence. Being curious to see the method of lighting the lamps, I left the party in the carriage, and squeezing through the dense crowd, got as near as I could to the church. The whole façade was stuck over with bajocco candles, each having a little wooden stand and shade of stiff paper to keep off the wind, and these were arranged in such a way as perfectly to develope the architectural outlines of the building. The candles were ignited by men suspended from the top of the façade, looking, as they dangled on their ropes in mid-air, like the fowlers of the Orkneys, and plying apparently quite as perilous a pursuit. I now returned to Raven, but the pressure of the crowd was so great, that the lighting up of the cupola had commenced before I reached him. This seems to be effected by the simultaneous ignition of an immense number of small pots of tow and turpentine, placed in proper position, in belts around the dome, and in vertical lines between the gores, there being one man to about every ten lamps. These poor fellows have a very dangerous task to perform, being suspended by ropes passing through apertures in the dome. Sometimes, though rarely, one of them misses his hold, and extinguishes in his fall the row of lamps he has just lighted, which have been remarked to go out one by one, as the unfortunate scrapes them off in his rapid descent. Having satisfied ourselves with a near inspection of this really wonderful and costly exhibition, we returned to view it at a distance from the summit of the Pincian.

FOOTNOTES:

[40] That artists are sometimes grievously hard up, there can be little doubt. I happened one cold morning, to call upon N——, whose absence from his usual seat at the Lepri had been remarked by many of us. Instead of finding him, as I had anticipated, unusually busy with his chisel, he was engaged in shooting his dinner at the open window of the garret, which commanded an extensive range of leads, tiles and gutters. His sport, which he pursued in solemn silence, was the common sparrow, and his weapon a machine much in use among lawyers’ clerks when the principal has turned his back, known by the name of a puff and dart, from which any one with a good pair of lungs, can expel pin with great force. Having knocked over nearly a dozen birds, N—— walked out of window to collect them, and then plucked and spitted them, enjoying his repast with a thankful relish unknown to those who get a good dinner every day.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TIVOLI—COUNTRY EXCURSIONS—CICILIANO—HOSPITALITY OF THE MOUNTAINEERS—THE PORTA SAN LORENZO—VISIT TO THE GOVERNOR—ANOTHER START NORTHWARD—FLORENCE—THE UFFIZII—S——, AND HIS HEAD OF VELASQUEZ—THE FLOOD OF THE ARNO—MR. M.—LORD D.—UNEXPECTED SUMMONS—PISA—LEGHORN—GENOA—THE “DILIGENCE”—ALESSANDRIA—TURIN—THE RAILWAY DEPUTATION—EXPEDITION TO THE MONT CENIS—SUSA—BARDONECHE—MY FRIEND B.’S MOUNTAIN RAMBLE—SUCCESSFUL “JODELN”—THE VALLEY OF THE DORA SUSA—DEPARTURE FROM TURIN—CONCLUSION.

The “Holy Week” and its ceremonies concluded, and Raven having left for Marseilles on his way homewards, a few of us made up a party for Tivoli. Some rode, while the rest, preferring the dreary march over the Campagna, were overtaken by a Roman shower, which thoroughly soaked them to the skin before they reached the appointed rendezvous at Salvi’s hotel. We had intended to devote the next day to a walk as far as Vicovaro, but having chosen a most unfortunate time for our excursion, had got only about three-fourths of the way there, when such a drencher poured down upon us, whilst in a totally unsheltered part of the road, that we were compelled to take refuge in a little straw wine-house, about as big as a hay-cock, which was already occupied by the family of the proprietor, half-a-dozen surly dogs, and myriads of fleas. Amusing ourselves by transferring the faces of the children to our sketch-books, we remained until an opening in the black clouds above promised some abatement of the rain, and then, sallying forth, made a quick march back to the hotel, where a roaring fire welcomed us very opportunely. In the evening, our little party was enlivened by a visit from Count H. le Grice and Captain D——, who had for some months been enjoying the retirement of the Palazzo Santa Croce. The latter amused us with some exciting stories of a long campaign n the Peninsula, and proposed, if the morrow should prove more propitious, a donkey-excursion to the distant village of Ciciliano. We therefore ordered a number of animals to be in readiness, and finding, when we arose, that the clouds of the preceding day had entirely disappeared, we made a start after breakfast, and had a delightful, though somewhat wearying ride, to the little village, which lies embosomed among the mountains, at a considerable elevation above the valley through which our road had led us.

The scenery is of a wild and charming character, and it is extraordinary that these secluded regions are not more often visited by those who profess to travel in search of the picturesque. Toiling up the hill, which conducted us to the quaint little town, we halted before the best-looking house therein, and deposited at the door a mule-load of brocoli and lemons, which we intended as an offering to the padrone, who was personally known to some of our party. The good man was absent on business in a neighbouring village, but his wife, an agreeable and most intelligent-looking woman, gave us a hearty welcome, cooked us a large dish of home-made sausages, and supplied us with wine and cheese ad libitum. We staid but an hour or two, to recruit ourselves and the tired mules, but our kind hostess, with that liberality which distinguishes the peasants of the Appenines, had already prepared our beds and lamps, and would scarcely hear of our going away the same day. In order, too, that we might the more effectually enjoy ourselves, the kind creature had gathered about her all the rural beauty of Ciciliano, and one or two dark-looking fellows, with their guitars, in the hope of tempting us with an evening dance, and the excitement of a genuine Saltarello. It would be difficult to say whether they or we were the more disappointed, but we had made up our minds to return, and feeling also that the unexpected intrusion of a party of seven would be taxing her hospitality too severely, we saddled our mules and bade them addio. The next morning broke so temptingly, that we lounged it away at the Falls, whose cool grots and rushing waters were seldom enjoyed to greater advantage.

As I had ridden out to Tivoli, I varied the pleasures of the excursion by walking home. My friend Flake proved a most agreeable companion, and we walked and talked to such good purpose, that the weary length of road over the campagna was almost unnoticed, saving that I had become so lame, that I was obliged to take off one boot and suspend it by a string over my shoulder. At length we reached the Porta San Lorenzo, through which we were quietly proceeding, when some functionary, emerging from a chamber in the wall, arrested our farther progress by demanding our passports. We had none; and our carte di sicurezza were safe in our respective drawers where we had left them. We were therefore detained, and presently discovered that nothing short of a visit to the Governor of Rome would satisfy the officious gate-keeper. The good man evidently flattered himself that our seedy artistical garb disguised a pair of very dangerous foreigners, and having invested himself in a suitable habit, he appropriated an arm of each of us, and strode forward with becoming importance towards the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. Flake and I, however, were foot-sore and weary, and not relishing the eclat of being marched through the streets in the clutch of a dirty gate-keeper, we chartered the first empty coach that came in our way, and treated our body-guard with a ride to the “Polizia.” The Governor of Rome was, like other reasonable men, at his dinner; but a good-natured clerk who had eaten his two hours before, referred to his books, and finding that our names were duly inscribed therein, and that had we not forgotten our papers we should have been perfectly en regle, he dismissed us with many apologies for the inconvenience we had experienced, and bestowing a few words of approval on our friend of the gate, told him to get back as fast as he could to his duties.

W. now took it into his head to make a sudden start for the north, and proposed that I should accompany him. I had certainly not intended quitting Rome so early in the spring, but my friend was an invalid, and having but little knowledge of Italian, was hardly in a condition to trust himself to the tender mercies of uncouth Vetturini and exacting landlords. Under these circumstances I made up my mind to go with him, and after some little search, met with a light britzka and pair of horses, belonging to a cabman of Florence, who agreed to deposit us safe and sound in that city within four days from the time of starting, for a sum of fifty scudi, including beds, and two substantial daily meals.

I had now to bid a second adieu to my Roman friends, and not knowing how far I might be induced to accompany W., left the few heavy valuables I possessed in the care of a kind banker in the Condotti, taking with me such only as a long journey might render necessary. Travelling by way of Perugia, we reached Florence by easy stages, and located ourselves at the “Quatre Nations,” from whence I shortly removed to the house of the Signor Vital, on the Lung’ Arno, with whom I had been long acquainted. Here I staid two weeks or more, copying in the Uffizii and Pitti galleries, to which the access is sufficiently easy. In the former I made acquaintance with S——, an English artist, who was busily copying a head by Velasquez. Whether it was that he soon after got tired of his subject, or became disgusted with his production, he did not tell me, but I was much astonished one day, on paying my usual visit to his part of the gallery, to find him in the act of finishing off his study with a pair of prodigiously black eyes, which stared at me from the canvas with a fixedness that was excessively absurd. Remonstrance was useless. Adding two spots of white, which served to perfect the vagary, S—— turned his picture to the wall, where we left it. Some days afterwards, I happened to be in that division of the gallery, when it was undergoing the weekly visit of the sweeping brush. The head custode, who would suffer none but himself to touch such pictures as were in progress, was regarding the copy of Velasquez with a stare almost as intense as that which had been imparted to it by S——. In another moment, he had summoned the whole of his underlings; but to no purpose—they one and all pleaded innocent of the foul trick upon the Signor Inglese. The poor custode was in despair, and was wringing his hands and tearing his wig in anticipation of the dismissal which would inevitably follow S——’s exposure of the black eyes, when that gentleman himself entered the gallery, and immediately relieved the old man’s anxiety by adding a nose and mouth to match, and packing up his painting apparatus.

At Florence I met with my friend Edward M——y, who had gained so deserved a popularity by his courageous exploits in the flood which caused so much damage in 1845, when the Arno, swollen to a mighty torrent by the rains which poured into it from the mountains, encroached beyond its wonted bounds, and sweeping down the valley with irresistible rapidity, carried all before it. For days did the waters tear along, bearing upon their bosom the spoils of many a goodly homestal. Cattle and trees, chairs, tables, beds, pianofortes, and every possible description of household furniture, nay, the very body of the inmates themselves, were carried away by the ruthless torrent, which converted the streets of Florence into canals, and rose in some of the squares to a height of more than six feet. M——y was at this time living in the Palazzo P——, in the Borgo dei Greci, and on the morning of the first day of the flood was awakened by his landlady, who entered his room, wailing and beating her hands in a state of frightful agitation. It was not without difficulty that M——y managed to elicit that something unusually terrible had taken place out of doors, but in going to the window, he saw quite sufficient to enlighten him completely. A horse, nearly exhausted, was swimming about in the street below, among a quantity of flasks, barrels, and other commodities, which had floated from out the cellars. The good woman now gave him to understand that her son had left the house early in the morning, and was certainly drowned; but whilst M——y was in the act of assuming a pair of light summer trousers, a message was passed along the adjacent houses to the effect that the young man was on a plank at some distance off, and in imminent peril of being carried into the Arno. M——y was now at the steps of the palace, where several people were congregated. One old woman begged him “per l’amore della Madonna,” and as he valued his life, not to venture; but the afflicted mother stood by, and our friend did not hesitate a second. Being a man of Herculean frame, and possessed of incredible strength, he was able, whilst he touched terra-firma, to stem the force of the current with his head and shoulders above the water, and having cautiously waded to the young man, whose hold upon the plank was becoming every moment more feeble, he stretched forth his arm and rescued him.

This was not the only one whose life M——y was the providential means of saving, but the accounts I heard respecting the others were so varied, that I shall not farther allude to them. I often begged him to give me the particulars, but so uniformly averse was he to expatiate upon his own exploits, that I at last gave it up as a bad job.

Perhaps one of the most daring feats related in connection with this flood, was that performed by Lord D. This nobleman had engaged to dine with the Honourable C—— L——, and both occupied palaces in the same street, though at considerable distance from each other. The waters were too deep to allow of wading, and the act of swimming was rendered hazardous from the rapidity with which the torrent was raging. But his word had been passed, and the hour fixed for dinner having nearly arrived, his lordship unhesitatingly committed himself to the flood, and by making a rush from one window to the other, and clinging to the iron work with which almost all were furnished, succeeded in gaining the hotel of his friend, whose family he astonished in no small degree, by suddenly presenting himself at the first-floor window, just as they were about to sit down to table. Having borrowed a dry suit, Lord D., who evidently was not to be easily discouraged by trifles, enjoyed his dinner, and swam back again to his own domicile.

I had scarce been a fortnight at the house of the Signor Vital, when the plans which I had formed for my future guidance, were suddenly knocked on the head by the receipt of a letter inviting me immediately northward, to meet a deputation of railway potentates, among whom were one or two personal acquaintance of my own. These gentlemen, armed with powers to treat, and unfathomable purses, were invading Italy, fraught with a scheme which would defy the very Alps, and make footballs of the Appenines. The partial completion of the Lombardo-Venetian trunk, had already whetted the appetites of the Austrians, who were free to receive and take fire at the scintillations of the great railway firework which had recently exploded in Britain, and had scattered its sparks over the whole of the north of Italy, some blowing over into gentle Tuscany, whilst a very few fell into the dominions of the Pope. Although somewhat loth to close my colour box, in the uncertain expectation of having once more to shoulder a theodolite, I felt that it would be impolitic to refuse an invitation which had been extended through the interest of my friends, and might lead to important results.

I therefore once more packed up my portmanteau, and as W. was intending to proceed to Genoa, which would be all on my way to Turin, we hired a carriage for Pisa, and leaving Florence at ten at night, changed horses three times, and at six in the morning arrived at the birth-place of Galileo. We put up at a little inn near to the railway by which we were to reach Leghorn, and hastily dispatching our breakfast, walked out in a heavy rain to see the leaning tower or Campanile, and other interesting objects in its neighbourhood. A priest conducted us into the Baptistery, a circular building standing by itself, with a spacious and lofty dome. Here the good man, who possessed a rich and powerful voice, chanted a few verses, in order that we might hear the reverberation caused by the peculiar structure of the cupola, and almost startled us by the effect he produced. The Campo Santo is close by, and its covered galleries abound with frescoes and other valuable works of art, much injured by time. The earth in this burial-place is said to have been brought from Calvary by the Pisans, on their return from a crusade, and the name of Campo Santo, applied to all Italian cemeteries, probably owes its origin to this circumstance.

A railway trip of half-an-hour’s duration, brought us to Leghorn, where we engaged berths for Genoa. Repairing on board the steam vessel, we found, to our chagrin, that the rain which had prevented the discharge of her cargo, would be the cause of our staying a day in this dirty sea-port. We had, therefore, to pocket our soap and toothbrushes, and secure beds at a little hotel contiguous to the shore, passing the remainder of the wet and dismal day in strolling through the town, and poking about in the ware-room of Jewish merchants.

Arrived at Genoa, and having obtained pratique, we passed through the strict formalities of its custom-house, and located ourselves at the “Croce di Malta.” Being in expectation of hearing something decisive from my friend of the railway deputation, respecting the whereabouts of the party, I hastened to the post-office, but met with no success. Having taken every precaution respecting the due forwarding of any letters from Florence, I made up my mind to wait patiently in Genoa until some intelligence might reach me.

I had been six days at the “Croce,” when the waiter handed me a letter. It was from W——m, informing me that the parties were at Turin, and that I might there make sure of finding them. By half-past two o’clock I had taken my seat in the coupé of the diligence, between a Spaniard and a pretty Turinese lady, and my friend W. having wished me bon voyage, I was soon rattling away towards Alessandria, passing over the blood-stained plains of Marengo, where fell the brave Dessaix. We reached that city at ten at night. Some of the passengers partook of a hearty supper which was in readiness for them, but my fair fellow-traveller, who seemed to think that a few sweets and a cup of hot coffee would suit her better, at so late an hour, than a heavy meal, possessed herself of my arm in a way as unceremonious as it was agreeable, and hurried me off to a brilliant café in the square, where we passed one of the two hours which the conducteur had informed me must elapse before the arrival of the branch mail from Tortona.

At eight the next morning, we reached the Sardinian capital. On repairing to the “Hotel de l’Europe,” I was ushered by a loquacious waiter into the bedroom of a gentleman, who, being in the act of donning his corazza, was not a little surprised, as his head emerged slowly and carefully from out the well-starched front, to see a dusty fellow in a slouched hat disappearing with a carpet bag. As I found I had failed to escape his observation, I stammered an apology in my very best Italian, which I found provocative of nothing beyond a stare and an ejaculatory comment in sound English upon my impudence. This latter was enough for me; the mistake was speedily explained, and in another minute I had shaken hands with W——m, who occupied an inner apartment. In the breakfast-room I was introduced to the rest, and a more agreeable travelling party it certainly had never been my lot to fall in with. It was enlivened moreover by the presence of several ladies, whose charming society contrasted most pleasantly with the dull and prosy discussions of the rooms above, in which the business of the deputation was carried on.

In submitting these sketches to the world, it forms no part of my intention to detail the extraordinary efforts made by this body of gentlemen, to carry out the grand object which had led them to Italy, neither would it become me to describe the movements of a party by whom I was only regarded in the light of a visitor, and in no other way identified. But as an eye-witness to the unwearied exertions made by the well-known leaders of that deputation, in the face of obstacles, which at the very outset would have deterred less energetic men, I may be allowed to express my own admiration of the clear-headed tact which characterized their proceedings, and my firm conviction that their undertaking would have been crowned with the most complete success, had the exchequers of certain of the Italian states not been so much upon a par with the short-sighted policy of their rulers.

About a week after my arrival in Turin, I was invited to accompany Mr. B——e, on a little engineering expedition to the Mont Cenis. Fortified with an order from Marina, the Minister of the Interior, and furnished with some provisions, and a change or two of linen, we left the hotel at one o’clock, with a light carriage and pair of posters, reaching the town of Susa about an hour before dusk. We employed this interval in a walk to Jailliéres, a romantic little village commanding a view of the valley of the Dora Susa, and enabling B——e to chalk out a route for the ensuing day.

The next morning we mounted a couple of strong mules, and escorted by an intelligent guide, took our course up the Susa Valley, B——e, plan in hand, making his observations by the way, with a view to discover the most practicable course for a line of railway through or over some portion of the Cenis. We halted for an hour at the town of Exilés, where the valley, at that point very narrow, is guarded by a strong fort. From hence the views, both up and down the course of the torrent, are wild and beautiful. Farther on, at a little place called Oulx, the road diverges into two branches, that to the south leading through the valley of the Dora to Cesanno, and over the ridge to the French frontier, the other following the course of the Dora Susa stream to its rise under the Col de Frejus. This latter was our road. On leaving Oulx, the valley widens into an extensive plain: a stony bridle path, at one time lost in the stream, and at another skirting the edge of a precipice, formed by the rushing of the waters, led us through several pretty little villages to Bardoneche.

I arrived here alone, my companion having left me a couple of hours before, to explore another valley, whose direction he imagined might be favourable to his views. The guide conducted me to a curious old tumble-down sort of house, where an obliging individual, acting in the various capacities of landlord, waiter, chambermaid, ostler, boots and cook, set before me the knuckle-end of a cold leg of mutton, a piece of cream cheese, and a yard of Genoese bread. I made a hearty dinner, though I should have enjoyed my meal much more had B——e not been absent. Having sat a long while solus, I strolled away in the direction by which I had arrived. It was now dark, and fearing that my companion might have lost his way in the mountains, I was beginning to feel some alarm for his safety. Having walked upwards of a mile, I stopped to listen: not a sound, save the rippling of the Dora Susa over its broad and pebbly bed. At last I bethought myself that a jodeln might perhaps be of service. I managed so loud a one, that it almost startled me, but instead of being answered, as I fondly imagined it might have been, by B——e, it was responded to in one quarter by a series of echoes so beautifully perfect, that I tried it over and over again. Listening to the sounds as they died away in the far distance, I detected one which I felt sure was none of my own raising, and I had travelled too far not to know that an Irish echo is never heard south-east of Skibbereen. I listened again, and this time the sound was so distinct, that I was convinced it came from my friend. Walking onwards, I soon had the satisfaction of seeing him emerge from the Dora Susa, which it appeared he had preferred to wade, rather than make a wide detour along its banks. He had, as I had supposed, lost his way, and after descending from a lofty part of the mountain, over a tract of snow, which had wetted him nearly up to his middle, completed the ducking by a stroll after dusk in the channel of the torrent.

On returning to our quaint hostelrie, we discussed with the guides the possibility of crossing the Col de Frejus, whose head was still covered with a mantle of deep snow. Although quite ready to risk it with us, they dissuaded us from the attempt, on the ground of our being the first to venture, besides that the undertaking was by no means easy, and as we were both too tired to like the idea of turning out of bed at three in the morning, which would have been necessary to insure a frozen surface on the snow, we gave up the idea of taking a peep into France, and decided on a return to Susa.

We were about starting, after an early breakfast, when our landlord insisted upon showing us the new church, a mean little white-washed building, of the most primitive description, although possibly considered by the unsophisticated Bardonecchians as a gorgeous temple. The good man appeared much flattered by our praises of its architectural merits, and accompanied us beyond the precincts of the village. I became so tired of riding, that I got off my mule to walk, reaching Oulx long before my companions, and making acquaintance on the road with a chatty mountaineer, who was on his way to the town to make some purchases. He got on with my wine-flask very much better than I with his patois, which was nearly unintelligible. The ride to Susa was very charming, our guides striking into a bye-path which skirted the Dora, and disclosed occasional glimpses of most romantic scenery. On reaching the inn, I found a letter from W—m, recalling me immediately to Turin, and I was obliged to leave my companion to prosecute his researches alone, whilst I took a place in the next vettura for that city.

My sudden recall had arisen, it appeared, in consequence of a determination on the part of my friends at Turin, to visit other states through which the course of the proposed line lay. And here I may draw my somewhat unconnected narrative to a conclusion. It would be needless to conduct the reader a second time to Ancona, Florence, and Rome, at which last-mentioned city we made a stay of a fortnight, to effect certain arrangements with the late Pope, and the Prince Torlonia, by whom we were courteously received. From hence a party of us made a sally to Naples and Leghorn, taking the steamer to Marseilles, and travelling night and day to Paris in an open britska. Lingering a month or two in the French capital, I returned to England in the spring, after an absence of somewhat more than three years.

THE END.

RICHARD BARRETT, Printer, 13, Mark Lane, London.

Transcriber’s Notes

Errors in punctuation have been fixed.

Apparent errors in spelling and accentuation in languages other than English were not corrected.

Page 29: “projector of the orginal Transit Company” changed to “projector of the original Transit Company”

Page 30: “gaudy labrynth” changed to “gaudy labyrinth”

Page 154: “waving all ceremony” changed to “waiving all ceremony”

Page 191: “extended prespect” changed to “extended prospect”

Page 222: “geuine Vaterlander” changed to “genuine Vaterlander”

Page 263: “dispersiou of the crowd” changed to “dispersion of the crowd”

Page 267: “by Perngia” changed to “by Perugia”

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Table of Contents

SAND AND CANVAS;

PREFACE.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VIII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XIII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XVIII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XIX.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XX.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XXI.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XXII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XXIII.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER XXVI.

Transcriber’s Notes

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