Produced by Chris Curnow, MWS and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)









TOURING IN 1600

[Illustration: DEPARTURE OF A TOURIST]




 TOURING

 IN 1600


 _A Study in the Development of
 Travel as a Means of Education_

 By E. S. BATES

 With Illustrations from Contemporary Sources

 [Illustration]

 BOSTON AND NEW YORK
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
 1911




COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY E. S. BATES

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

_Published September 1911_




TO

HED




CONTENTS


    I. Some of the Tourists                          3

   II. Guide-Books and Guides                       35

  III. On the Water                                 60

   IV. Christian Europe

       PART I. EUROPEAN EUROPE                      95

       PART II. THE UNVISITED NORTH                154

       PART III. THE MISUNDERSTOOD WEST            162

    V. Mohammedan Europe

       PART I. THE GRAND SIGNOR                    182

       PART II. JERUSALEM AND THE WAY THITHER      205

   VI. Inns                                        240

  VII. On the Road                                 284

 VIII. The Purse                                   313

 Special References                                381

 Bibliography                                      389

 Index                                             407




ILLUSTRATIONS


DEPARTURE OF A TOURIST                   _Frontispiece_

(_British Museum MS. Egerton 1222, fol. 44._)

A PILGRIMAGE SCENE       18

_From a woodcut by Michael Ostendorfer (1519-1559) or
perhaps by his master, Albrecht Altdorfer. Both lived
at Regensburg, where the scene of this picture is laid, this
shrine of Our Lady of Regensburg being a regular pilgrimage
centre (British Museum)._

THE CHEAPEST WAY       22

_"Les Bohémiens" (no. 1) by Jacques Callot (1594-1635).
The artist ran away from home to Italy when a
youngster and fell in with company of this kind on the
road. The second state (1633; British Museum) has been
reproduced in preference to the first as being in no way
inferior and having the advantage of the verses appended
to them by another traveller of the time, the Abbé
de Marolles._

A TYPICAL TOWN-PLAN       52

_Map of Venice, illustrating especially the disregard of
scale. From H. de Beauveau's "Relation journalière,"
1615._

A TYPICAL MAP       54

_Part of Flanders, from Matthew Quadt's "Geographisch
Handtbuch," 1600. Illustrates the approximateness of
detail and the absence of roads, especially as contrasted
with the indications of waterways. But it must be noted
that cartography made as great advances during the
period here dealt with as surgery during the nineteenth
century._

A CHANNEL PASSAGE-BOAT       64

_From Münster's "Cosmographie," 1575 (ii. 865—part
of the map of Germany)._

SHIP FOR A LONG-DISTANCE VOYAGE       72

_Dutch vessel, showing the open cabins at the stern in
which Moryson preferred to sleep. From J. Fürtenbach's
"Architectura Navalis," 1629._

LOCK BETWEEN BOLOGNA AND FERRARA       82

_From J. Fürtenbach's "Newes Itinerarium Italiæ,"
1627. There were nine of these in thirty-five miles. Fürtenbach's
sketch shows an oval basin as seen from above,
with lock-gates at the down-stream end only. He gives
its measurements as large enough for three vessels, with
walls twenty ells high._

GATE OF ST. GEORGE, ANTWERP       122

_The gate as it appeared about the middle of the sixteenth
century (Peter Bruegel the elder: Bibl. Royale de Belgique),
showing also the long covered waggon which was
practically the only land conveyance in use, apart from
litters._

VENETIAN MOUNTEBANKS       134

_Painted between 1573 and 1579; from a Stammbuch
(British Museum MS. Egerton 1191). Concerning
these mountebanks the French traveller Villamont writes
in 1588, 'And if it happens that they [i.e. the 'sights'
of Venice] bore you, go and look at the 'charlatans'
in St. Mark's Place, mounted on platforms, enlarging
on the virtues of their wares, with musicians by their
side.'_

PUBLIC EXECUTIONS       136

_The "Supplicium Sceleri Froenum" of Jacques Callot
(1592-1635). The first state of the etching seems to be
unobtainable for reproduction, this being from a photograph
(the only one hitherto reproduced?) of one of the
better copies of the second state, almost equally rare in a
good condition (Dresden Museum)_.

DANGERS OF THE NORTHERN SEAS       156

_According to Münster's "Cosmographie" 1575 (ii.
1724)._

AT MONTSERRAT       164

_Montserrat and its hermitages, with the Madonna and
Child in the foreground and two pilgrims. From British
Museum Harleian MS. 3822, folio 596. The two
pilgrims are obviously the writer of the manuscript,
Diego Cuelbis, of Leipzig, and his companion, Joel
Koris. They visited Montserrat in 1599._

AN IRISH DINNER       178

_Referring more particularly to the MacSweynes, "whose
usages," says the author, John Derricke, in his "Image
of Irelande," 1581, "I beheld after the fashion there set
down." From the copy (the only complete one known)
in the Drummond Collection in the Library of the University
of Edinburgh. The cut also illustrates the contrasts
in Irish life as seen by the foreigner, referred to in
the chapter on Ireland._

AN EXAMPLE OF TURKISH FINE ART       190

_Miniature illustrating some of the characteristics of
Turkish art which Della Valle and other contemporary
travellers prized so highly. The brilliant colouring of
the original throws into relief much detail in the flowers
which is necessarily lost in reproduction. (From Brit.
Mus. Add. MS. 15,153; a copy of the Turkish translation
of the Fables of Bidpai, dated 1589.)_

PILGRIMS LEAVING JAFFA FOR JERUSALEM, 1581       210

_From the MS. of Sébastien Werro, curé of Fribourg
(Bibl. de la Société Economique de Fribourg). Showing
also the fort at Jaffa, the caves in which pilgrims had to
lodge until permission was given to depart, and the peremptory
methods of the Turks when a pilgrim got out of
the line of march_.

AT MOUNT SINAI       222

_From Christopher Fürer's "Itinerarium" (1566)._

ARMS OF A JERUSALEM PILGRIM       238

_Arms of Sébastien Werro, curé of Fribourg, Switzerland,
surmounted by the arms of the Knights of the Holy
Sepulchre, showing that he received that knighthood on
the occasion of his pilgrimage thither, 1581. The title-page
of the account of his journey written by himself
(Bibl. de la Société Economique de Fribourg)._

TWO GERMAN KITCHENS       254

_The 'fat' and the 'lean.' Plates 58 and 63 of J. T. de
Bry's "Proscenium Vitæ Humanæ" ("Emblemata Sæcularia").
From the copy of the first edition (1596) in
the Bodleian Library at Oxford._

GERMAN BATHING-PLACES       268

_From Münster's Cosmography; two of the woodcuts
are from the French edition of 1575 (ii. 1020-21), the
other from the Latin edition of 1550. Visitors to Berlin
will find the subject more artistically illustrated by the
"Jugendbrunnen" of Lucas Cranach the younger, too
large for reproduction here to do it justice._

THE RED GATE, ANTWERP       272

_As it was about the middle of the sixteenth century (plate I
of Peter Breugel the elder's "Prædiorum Villarum ...
Icones"; Bibl. Royale de Belgique), showing also the inn
which, according to the custom so convenient to late arrivals,
was usually to be found outside the gate of a town._

A MAIN ROAD IN ALSACE       284

_Showing ruts and loose stones. From Münster's "Cosmographia"
(1550; p. 455)._

A SIGN-POST       294

_From the 1570 edition of Barclay's translation of
Brandt's "Ship of Fools."_

"_The hande whiche men unto a crosse do nayle
Shewyth the way ofte to a man wandrynge
Which by the same his right way can nat fayle._"

BENIGHTED 'SIGHT'-SEERS       312

_From Josse de Damhouder's "Praxis Rerum Criminalium,"
1554._

A PASSENGER-BOAT FROM PADUA       328

_From the "Stammbuch" (1578-83) of Gregory Amman
in the Landesbibliothek, Cassel._

RABELAIS RECEIVES SOME MONEY       342

_Rabelais' receipt for money received by him against a
bill of exchange such as travellers used. Photographed
(with M. Heulhard's transcription) from the latter's
"Rabelais, ses Voyages, et son Exil."_

LITHGOW IN TROUBLE       348

_From the 1632 edition of his "Rare Adventures."_

TRAVELLERS ATTACKED BY ROBBERS       354

_No. 7 of Jacques Callot's "Misères de la Guerre"; a
photograph of the British Museum copy of the second
impression (1633). The second state has been chosen in
preference to the first, as including the verses of the
Abbé de Marolles, himself a traveller; the clearness of the
etching not having suffered in the second impression._

"WOLVES"       356

_Another wood-cut from Derricke's "Image of Irelande,"
or rather, part of one, the size of the original. It represents
Derricke's best wishes for Rory Oge, the 'rebel,' but
is none the less applicable generally._

A SOUVENIR       360

_A letter which was on the way between Venice and London
in October, 1606, when the bearer was attacked by
robbers in Lorraine, showing the tears and damp-stains
it received in consequence. The letter is from Sir Henry
Wotton, then ambassador in Venice; it was picked up
and forwarded to Henry IV of France, who sent it on to
London. It is now in the Public Records Office, No. 74
in Bundle 3 of the State Papers, Foreign (Venetian).
The bearer, Rowland Woodward, was paid £60 on Feb.
2, 1608, as compensation and for doctor's expenses, but
had not fully recovered from his injuries by 1625. (Cf.
L. P. Smith's "Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton,"
i, 325-8, 365 note, and ii. 481.)_

A SCHOLAR TRAVELLER       390

_François de Maulde (1556-97); portrait by J. Sadeler
(Bibl. Royale de Belgique). He was only about thirty
when this portrait was done, but his sufferings as a traveller
(see Bibliography) would alone account for his weary
look. The inscription belonging to it runs_:—

    "_Tristia sive secunda fluant, in utrumque parato
    Dulce mihi in libris vivere, dulce mori est._"




TOURING IN 1600




"Che Dio voglia che V. S. abbia pazienza di leggerla tutta."

      _Pietro della Valle, "Il Pellegrino."_




TOURING IN 1600




CHAPTER I

SOME OF THE TOURISTS

 But thus you see we maintain a trade, not for gold, silver, nor
 jewels; nor for silks; nor for spices; nor any other commodity of
 matter; but only for God's first creature, which was Light; to have
 Light (I say), of the growth of all parts of the world ... we have
 twelve that sail into foreign countries, ... who bring us the books,
 and abstracts and patterns of experiments of all other parts. These we
 call Merchants of Light.

      F. BACON (1561-1626), _New Atlantis_.


First, M. de Montaigne.—When Montaigne found himself feeling old and
ill, in 1580, he made up his mind to try the baths of Germany and
Italy. So he set out; and returned in 1581. And sometimes the baths
did him good and sometimes they made no difference; but the journeying
never failed to do what the baths were meant for. He always, he
says, found forgetfulness of his age and infirmities in travelling.
However restless at night, he was alert in the morning, if the morning
meant starting for somewhere fresh. Compared with Montaigne at home,
Montaigne abroad never got tired or fretful; always in good spirits,
always interested in everything, and ready for a talk with the first
man he met. And when his companions suggested that they would like to
get to the journey's end, and that the longest way round, which he
preferred, had its disadvantages, especially when it was a bye-road
leading back to the place they started from, he would say, that he
never set out for anywhere particular; that he had not gone out of the
way, because his way lay through unfamiliar places, and the only place
he wished to avoid was where he had been before or where he had to
stop. And that he felt as one who was reading some delightful tale and
dreaded to come upon the last page.

So, no doubt, felt Fynes Moryson, for much of his life he spent either
in travelling or in writing the record of it. Starting in 1591, when
he was twenty-five, he passed through Germany, the Low Countries,
Denmark, Poland, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy, spending his winters
at Leipzig, Leyden, Padua, and Venice, learning the languages so
thoroughly as to be able to disguise his nationality at will. Returning
through France, he was robbed, and consequently reached home so
disreputable-looking that the servant took him for a burglar. He found
his brother planning a journey to Jerusalem. On the 29th of November,
1595, they set out, and on July 10, 1597, he was back in London, in
appearance again so strange that the Dogberry of Aldersgate Street
wrote him down for a Jesuit. But he returned alone: his brother Henry,
twenty-six years old and not strong, fell ill at Aleppo, how ill no
one knew till too late, and near Iskenderún he died in his brother's
arms, while the Turks stood round, jeering and thieving. Fynes buried
him there with stones above him to keep off the jackals, and an epitaph
which a later traveller by chance has preserved.[1]

    To thee, deare Henry Morison,
    Thy brother Phines, here left alone,
    Hath left this fading memorie.
    For monuments and all must die.

Fynes himself hurried home and never crossed the Channel again. But he
extended his knowledge of Great Britain by a visit to Scotland, and
by accompanying Sir Charles Blount during the latter's conquest of
Ireland. Then he settled down to write all he knew and could get to
know about the countries he had seen, and wrote at such length that no
one till quite recently has had the courage to reprint his account,
although what he printed was by no means all that he wrote. For this
reason his work has remained practically unused, even by writers whom
it specially concerns. It must form the basis of any description of
the countries he saw, at any rate, as seen by a foreigner, going, as
he does, more into detail than any one else, and being a thoroughly
fair-minded, level-headed, and well-educated man, whose knowledge
was the result of experience. His day was not the day of the 'Grand
Tourist,' whose habit it was to disguise single facts as general
statements, and others' general statements as his own experiences.

Yet however irreplaceable may be Montaigne's subjectivity and Moryson's
objectivity, it is desirable to find some one who combines both.
Such a one is Pietro della Valle, of Naples and Rome. He is the
impersonation of contemporary Italy at its best; of, to use his own
phrase, "quella civiltà di vivere e quello splendore all' italiana,"
and to read his letters is to realise, as in no other way can be so
readily realised, the reason why Italy held the position she did in
the ideas of sixteenth-century people. If you separate the various
characteristics that account for much of the attractiveness of his
writings; the interest in things small and great, without triviality
or ponderousness; the ability to write, combined with entire freedom
from affectation; the lovableness of his Italian and a charm of phrase
apart from his Italian, which might even, perhaps, survive translation;
learning without arrogance and hand in hand with observation; and
refinement and virility living in him as a single quality—if you
isolate these, there still remains something to distinguish him from
contemporary travellers, the product of gifts and character, it is
true, but only of gifts and character as moulded by contact from birth
with the best of a splendid civilisation, of which all the gentlemen of
Europe were students, but none but natives graduates.

Still, in one respect, contemporary travellers may claim he has
taken an unfair advantage. Not one of them has a romantic love-story
as a background to his journeyings; Della Valle has two. After a
twelve years' courtship at home, his intended bride was given by her
parents to some one else. This was the cause of his wanderings. At
San Marcellino at Naples, a mass was sung and the nuns prayed, the
little golden pilgrim's staff he wore round his neck was blessed, and
a vow made by him never to take it off until he had visited the Holy
Sepulchre.

Thus he became Pietro della Valle, "Il Pellegrino" (the Pilgrim); and
started. Venice, Constantinople, Cairo, Jerusalem, Damascus, was his
route; but his next letter thereafter is "from my tent in the desert":
he has disappeared over the tourist horizon, and become a traveller on
the grand scale. But he returns, and has much to say on the way back.
Meanwhile, in Babylon, he has met another lady-love, Maani Gioerida,
eighteen years old, daughter of an Assyrian father and an Armenian
mother. Marriage with her was soon followed by her death; for the
remaining four years of his wanderings he carried her body with him,
laying it to rest in the end in his family tomb: and married again,
this time the girl who had attended his first wife, alive and dead,
Maria Tinatin di Ziba, a Georgian. And with her he lived happy ever
after, and by her had fourteen sons.

Another type of traveller is the philosopher philosophizing. Sir Henry
Blount set four particular aims before himself when he started for
southeastern Europe with the intention of increasing his knowledge
of things human, choosing the southeast because the west too closely
resembled England. He went to note, first, the characteristics of
"the religion, manners, and policy of the Turks" in so far as these
threw light on the question whether they were, as reputed, barbarous,
or possessed of a different variety of civilisation. Secondly, to
satisfy the interest he felt in the subject-races, especially Jews;
thirdly, to study the Turkish army about to set out for Poland; and
fourthly, Cairo, which being the largest city existing, or on record,
had problems of its own whose solutions he wished to note, much as
foreigners might come to study London County Council doings now. This
was in 1634.

But besides those who were born travellers and those who achieved
travel, there were those who had travel thrust upon them; Thomas
Dallam, for instance. Dallam was the master organ-builder of
Elizabethan England. When, therefore, the Queen wished to send such a
present to the Grand Turk as should assure her outshining all other
sovereigns in his eyes and assist the Levant Company (who probably
paid for it) in securing further privileges, an organ was the
present, and Dallam had to make it and to take it. In 1599 he set out,
and in 1600 praised God for his return. He, too, was an excellent
Englishman: shrewd, interested, and interesting; and with an ability
to express himself just abreast of his thinking faculty. His organ was
a marvellous creation; played chimes, and song-tunes by itself, had
two dummy-men on it who fanfared on silver trumpets, and, above, an
imitation holly-bush filled with mechanical birds which sang and shook
their wings. The Grand Turk sent for Dallam to play on it, which he did
rather nervously, having been warned that it meant death to touch the
Signor, and the latter sat so near behind him that "I touched his knee
with my breeches.... He sat so right behind me that he could not see
what I did, therefore he stood up, but in his rising from his chair,
he gave me a thrust forward, which he could not otherwise do, he sat
so near me: but I thought he had been drawing his sword to cut off my
head."

The organ was so great a success that Dallam became a favoured man.
One attendant even let him look in at a grating through which he saw
thirty of the girls of the harem playing ball, each wearing a chain of
pearls round the neck, a ring of gold round the ankle, velvet slippers,
a small cap of cloth of gold, breeches of the finest muslin, and a
scarlet satin jacket.

Dallam was more in favour than he liked, for he was urged to settle
there. "I answered them that I had a wife and children in England who
did expect my return, though indeed I had neither wife nor children,
yet to excuse myself I made them that answer."

Besides the business man who became a tourist without knowing it, there
were the tourists who became so because home was too hot for them. Of
their number was William Lithgow, whose "Rare Adventures" is the record
of nineteen years' travel, ended in 1620 by the severity of the torture
he endured in Spain through being taken for a spy. Although fifty years
of age when he started writing his account, a fair sample of his style
is,—"Here in Argos I had the ground to be a pillow, and the world-wide
fields to be a chamber, the whirling windy skies to be a roof to my
winter-blasted lodging, the humid vapours of cold Nocturna to accompany
the unwished-for bed of my repose." And this was accompanied by so much
second-hand history and doggerel that the printer rebelled and saved us
from much more of it. The trustworthiness of his facts may be gauged by
his stating as the result of his personal experience that Scotland is
one hundred and twenty miles longer than England. On the other hand,
he visited more places in Europe than any other one tourist, besides
having some experience of Palestine and North Africa; and what he wrote
he wrote after he had seen all that he did see. His comparisons are,
therefore, worth attention, and these and the personal experiences
which his verbiage has not crowded out of his book give it a permanent
value and interest to those who have the patience to find them.

All this while we are forgetting the ladies; very few in number,
but three at least possessing personality,—two princesses and an
ambassador's wife. Princess number one was the eldest daughter of
Philip II of Spain, the Infanta Doña Clara Eugenia, who crossed Europe
with her husband, to take up the government of the Low Countries,
in 1599, and wrote a long letter to her brother about the journey
from Milan to Brussels, bright and pithy, one of the most readable
and sensible letters that remain to us from the sixteenth century.
Princess number two is the daughter of a king of Sweden, who had
trouble in finding a husband for Princess Cecily, inasmuch as she
would marry no one who would not promise to take her to England within
a year from the wedding day; for the great desire of her life was to
see Queen Elizabeth. A marquis of Baden accepted the condition, and
on November 12, 1564, they started, by which time she had spent four
years learning English and could speak it well. The voyage took ten
months, the winter was a severe one, and much of their way lay through
countries whose kings were hostile to her father and the inhabitants
to every stranger. Leaving Stockholm while her relatives expressed
their opinion about her journey by lamentations and fainting-fits,
she crossed to Finland in a storm, in which the pilot lost heart to
the extent of pointing out the rock on which they were going to be
shipwrecked. Finland they left in four days, to escape starvation,
during another storm; crossed to Lithuania; thence by land through
Poland, North Germany, and Flanders, to Calais. Even from here it was
not plain sailing, in any sense of the words; the sea was high when
she started; all were sick ("with the cruel surges of the water and
the rolling of the unsavoury ship"), except herself, standing on the
hatches, looking towards England. But it proved impossible to get into
Dover and they had to turn back. "'Alas!' quoth she, 'now must I needs
be sick, both in body and in mind,' and therewith taking her cabin,
waxed wonderful sick." A second time they tried; and again all were
sick but herself; "she sitting always upon the hatches, passed the
time in singing the English psalms of David after the English note and
ditty." But again they had to turn back and again that made her sick,
so sick that they thought she was going to be confined, for she had
become pregnant about the time of her starting. A third attempt was
successful; and on September 11, 1565, she arrived at Bedford House,
Strand; on the 14th Queen Elizabeth arrived there, too, to see her;
and on the 15th came the baby. This story ought to end like Della
Valle's, that she lived happy ever after; but that cannot truthfully
be said, because of what is recorded about Princess Cecily and certain
unpaid London tradesmen. Much more would there be to say of her as a
tourist, had she written an autobiography; for the rest of her life
she continued travelling, spending all her own money on it and much of
other people's.

The third, the ambassador's wife, is Ann, Lady Fanshawe. Her travels
belong, strictly speaking, to dates just outside the limits (1542-1642)
with which this book is concerned, but for all practical purposes may
be referred to with little reserve. Her experience was great, for her
journeys were even more numerous than her pregnancies, which numbered
eighteen; and being cheerful, clear-headed, and sincere in no ordinary
measure, her "Memoirs" are almost as excellent a record of travel as of
character.

It is a matter for regret that her husband, Sir Richard, has not left
us an account of his own, but in this he resembles practically all his
kind. There is Sir Robert Sherley, who went ambassador to two Emperors,
two Popes, twice to Spain, twice to Poland, once to Russia, twice to
Persia: yet of Sir Robert Sherley as tourist, we know next to nothing.
So also of Sir Paul Pindar, who says in a letter that he has had
eighteen years' experience of Italy; and De Foix, a man greatly gifted,
who wished to serve his country as far as possible distant from its
Valois Kings, and consequently chose a series of embassies as an
honourable, useful form of self-exile. Yet of these last two and others
there remains some record by means of men who accompanied them. Part
of the travels of Peter Mundy, whose name will often recur, happened
in the train of the former; and when De Thou, the historian, paid the
visit to Italy which he recounts in his autobiography, it was with De
Foix that he went.

Among the exceptions, most noticeable is Augier Ghiselin de Busbecq,
a Fleming. After representing the Emperor in England at the wedding
of Philip and Mary, he was sent to Constantinople (1556-1562),
and afterwards to France. His letters from France that have been
preserved are semi-official; of minor interest compared with those
from Constantinople, which, not meant for publication but addressed to
friends who were worthy of them, in time became printed. They belong
to the literature of middle age, that which is written by men of fine
character and fine education when successful issues out of many trials
have made them wise and left them young. A many-sided man: the library
at Vienna is the richer for his presents to the Emperor; many are the
stories he tells of the wild animals he kept to while away the hours
of the imprisonment which he, ambassador as he was, had to endure; the
introducer into Europe of lilac, tulips, and syringa; a collector
of coins when such an occupation was not usual as a hobby. His
opportunities, indeed, were such as occur no more; in Asia Minor coins
one thousand years old were in daily use as weights; and yet Busbecq
missed one chance, for a brazier to whom he was referred regretted he
had not met him a few days earlier, when he had had a vessel full of
old coins which he had just melted down to make kettles.

Turning from the personalities to the causes of travel, we find that
the class to which Busbecq belonged, that of resident ambassador, was
of recent growth, and that it, and the tendencies of which it is one
symptom, are responsible for creating the whole of the motives and the
facilities for travel which characterise journeyings of this time as
something different in kind from those which preceded them. The custom
of maintaining resident representatives was developed in Italy during
the fifteenth century, but it did not spread to the rest of civilised
Europe till near the beginning of the next; German research, indeed,
has even narrowed down the dates within which it established itself
as an international system to 1494-1497.[2] The change was partly due
to the consolidation of sovereignties, which increased the distances
to be traversed between neighbour-princes, partly to the insight of
the three great rulers who achieved the consolidations,—Ferdinand of
Aragon, Louis XI, and Henry VII, who abandoned the idea of force
and isolation as the only possible policies, and attempted to gain
the advantages, and avoid the disadvantages, of both by means of
ambassadors. Henry VII regarded them as in no way differing from spies;
the most efficient kind of spies, from the point of view of the sender;
and unavoidable, from that of the receiver. The latter's only remedy,
Henry VII thought, was to send two for every one received. This alone,
regarded, as it must be, considering who the speaker was, as indicating
what the practice of the future would be, suffices to explain, even
to prove, a great increase in diplomatic movements. But what further
compels the deduction is that the foregoing is reported by Comines, who
was probably, next to Francesco Guicciardini, the most frequently read
historian throughout the sixteenth century.

Side by side with these official spies was the secret service; bound
to grow in proportion to the increase among the former, implying a
certain cosmopolitanism in its members, which, again, implies touring.
This class of tourists is naturally the least communicative of all,
but so far as England alone is concerned, if the history of the growth
of the English spy-system between Thomas and Oliver Cromwell ever
comes to be written, it is bound to reveal an enormous number of men,
continually on the move for such purposes, or qualifying themselves
for secret service by previous travel. And while there is a certain
amount of information concerning tourists and touring to be gathered,
in scraps, among State Papers which concern spies as spies, there is a
great deal available, often first-hand, from them during this period
of probation. Many, also, would be termed spies by their enemies and
news-writers by their friends; persons who are abroad for some other,
more or less genuine, reason, whose information was very welcome to
those at home in the absence of newspapers, and was often paid for by
politicians who could acquire a greater hold on the attention of those
in power by means of knowledge which was exclusive during a period when
the Foreign Office of a government existed in a far less definitely
organised form than at present. It was in the course of such a mission
that Edmund Spenser saw most of Europe and gained that intimate
knowledge of contemporary politics which gives his poems a value which
would have been more generally recognised had not their value as poetry
overshadowed other merits. The traveller, then, still fulfilled what
had been his chief use to humanity in mediæval times, that of a "bearer
of tydynges," as Chaucer insists often enough in his "House of Fame."

It is worth while turning back to Chaucer's time to see how far the
classes of travellers then existing have their counterparts in 1600,
and how far not. Omitting students and artizans, as not varying,
the types to be met on the road then may be collected into those of
commerce, pilgrimage, vagabondage, and knight-errantry.

With regard to commerce, it may safely be guessed that the absence
of the modern inventions for communication at a distance implied, in
1600 as in Chaucer's day, a greater proportional number of journeys in
person than at present: and the enormous extension of commerce involved
in the discoveries of sea-routes must have involved an increase in
commercial traffic within Europe. As for the particular forms of trade
that were responsible for taking men away from their homes, within
the limits of Europe, it would probably be found, if statistics were
possible, that dried fish came first, with wine and corn bracketed
second. The Roman Catholic fast-days had produced a habit of eating
dried fish which was not to be shaken off, in the strictest Protestant
quarters, directly; and it was largely used for provisioning armies.

[Illustration: A PILGRIMAGE SCENE]

The second class of mediæval traveller, the pilgrim, is often in
evidence about 1600, usually indirect evidence; the pilgrim who is
nothing but pilgrim leaves practically no detailed record of himself
except when he goes to Jerusalem. Yet Evelyn was told at Rome that
during the year of Jubilee, 1600, twenty-five thousand five hundred
women visitors were registered at the pilgrims' hospice of the Holy
Trinity there, and four hundred and forty thousand men. Also, one
who was at Montserrat in 1599, was told that six hundred pilgrims
dined there every day, and at high festivals between three thousand
and four thousand; while another (1619) learnt that whereas the monks'
income from their thirty-seven estates stood at nine thousand scudi
(say, thirteen thousand pounds at to-day's values) annually, they
spent seven times that amount, the balance being derived from the
sale of sanctified articles or from gifts.[3] On the whole, however,
a decrease must be presupposed during this period on account of the
cessation of pilgrimage among the Protestant half of Europe. Moreover,
the kind of journeying which is specially characteristic of this
period incidentally tended to further Protestant ideas and discredit
pilgrimage. For pilgrimage was, of course, towards some relic. Now
relics which mutually excluded each other's genuineness, such as two
heads of one saint, were not likely to be met with on the same pilgrim
route: the establishment of one such on a given route would hinder
the establishment of a second for financial, as well as devotional,
reasons. But when a believer travelled for diplomatic or educational
purposes, his direction was quite as likely to lead across pilgrim
routes, as along them. In which case he would be morally certain to
come across these mutually exclusive relics, on one and the same
journey, and the doubts thus started might be cumulative in their
results.[4] On the other hand the very fact of opposition stimulated
pilgrim zeal among the orthodox, as, _e. g._, to the still flourishing
shrine of Notre Dame des Ardilliers near Saumur, as a result of
Saumur itself becoming a headquarters of the "Reformed" creed. There
abided of course the permanent features of life which make pilgrimage
as deep-rooted as the love of children, and one of the epidemics of
pilgrimage that occur periodically burst out in France about 1585, so
Busbecq writes. Whole villages of people clothed themselves in white
linen, took crosses and went off to some shrine two or three days'
journey away. The special cause of this epidemic may perhaps be sought
in the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Chartres by their queen, in 1582, to
beg for relief from her barrenness. One incident of this journey ought
not to be left buried in the Calendar of Foreign State Papers, the only
place where it has hitherto been printed. On being told why the queen
was going thither, a countrywoman said, "Alas! Madame is too late; the
good priest who used to make the children has just died."

An example of the pilgrim we have already met in Della Valle.
Bartholomew Sastrow in his autobiography reveals a man travelling in
search of work, a very unpleasant man, perhaps, but so strikingly
true a picture of the every-day life and every-day thought of a lower
middle-class man of the sixteenth century as not to be surpassed
for any other century, past, present, or future, not even among
autobiographies.

But for the man who is trying to avoid work, the third of the mediæval
types, the vagabond, it would be out of place to select an individual
to stand for the class in Renascence days, seeing that it became a
stock literary type; vagabondage in general being epitomized for the
time in the Spanish picaro. The picaro was one who saw much of the
seamy side of life and remembered it with pleasure—it was all life
and the true picaro was in love with life. The only enemy he had
permanently was civilisation; yet he and it became reconciled in his
old age: a picaro who grew old ceased to be a picaro. Meanwhile he
was always forgiving civilisation, and being forgiven; both had equal
need of forgiveness. Yet there is one picaro characteristic hard to
overlook—his passion for being dull at great length when he drops into
print: Lazarillo de Tormes and Gil Bias being the only ones of whom
it may be said that from a reader's standpoint they were all that
they should have been and nothing that they should not. The rest,
when met between the covers of a book, resemble the parson whom one
of themselves, Quevedo's Pablos, caught up on the way to Madrid and
whom he hardly prevented from reciting his verses on St. Ursula and
her eleven thousand virgins, fifty octavetts to each virgin; even
then he could not escape a comedy containing more scenes than there
were days in a Jerusalem pilgrimage, besides five quires concerning
Noah's Ark. This same Pablos explains incidentally what his kind talked
about to chance companions on the road, for meeting another making for
Segovia they fell into "la conversacion propia de picaros." Whether
the Turk was on the downhill and how strong was the king: how the Holy
Land might be reconquered, and likewise Algiers: party politics were
then discussed and afterwards the management of the rebellious Low
Countries. There were, too, picaros of high degree, but these were all
men of war, whereas nothing but hunger made an ordinary picaro fight.
High and low, however, had this in common, that they preferred living
at others' expense to working, and consequently shifted their lodgings
as often as any other class of tourist, in deference to local opinion.

Of the fourth mediæval type, the knight-errant, it is hard to say
whether it was extinct or not: all depends on the extent to which the
knight-errant is idealised. It is certainly true in this degree, that
contemporary fiction must be reckoned as a cause of travel. Don Quixote
is not to be ignored as a traveller and he was not alone. The first
Earl of Cork's eldest son was so affected by the romances that the
"roving wildness of his thoughts" which they brought about was only
partially cured by continual extraction of square and cube roots.
But perhaps the knight-errant of this date is better identified with
the picaro of high degree, and as such the class may be exemplified by
Don Alonzo de Guzman, the first chapter of whose autobiography gives a
better insight into the psychology, and life on the road, of the picaro
than the whole flood of nineteenth-century comment on the subject. At
the age of eighteen he found himself with no father, no money, and a
mother pious but talkative; after having provided for his needs for a
while by marriage, he left home with a horse, a mule, a bed, and sixty
ducats. And though what follows belongs more to the history of lying
than the history of the world, it throws side-lights. And at any rate,
any excuse is good enough to turn to it, for Don Alonzo has much in
common with Benvenuto Cellini.

[Illustration: THE CHEAPEST WAY]

Now we have passed beyond the mediæval types and come to such as are
somewhat more prominent in this, than in the previous, centuries.
Exiles, for instance. The economic changes that took place during the
sixteenth century made it increasingly difficult for the equivalents
for Chancellors of the Exchequer to meet the yearly deficits. The
legal authorities were therefore called upon to assist, and a working
arrangement was established in practically all European countries
whereby the political ferment of the time was taken advantage of
for the betterment of the finances. Instead of the slow process and
meagre results of waiting for death-duties, a man of wealth suffered
premature civil death, or was harried into civil suicide. He was
exiled, or fled: he had become a tourist.

Inseparable from political is religious self-exile. What happened very
often in England was this. A youngster is seized with that belief in
the likelihood of an ideal life elsewhere and that desire for a change,
which are characteristic of the age of twenty. The theological cast of
the age gives the former a religious bias. He escapes. After a time
it seems to him that human characteristics have the upper hand of the
apostolic, even in Roman Catholics, to a greater extent than he once
believed, and that he would like to go home. He lands, is questioned
by the Mayor, reported on to the Privy Council, in which report his
experiences are to be found summarised.

One class of men, however, which might be expected to provide many
examples, is for the most part absent,—missionaries,—occupied at home
converting each other at this date, or re-converting themselves. The
chief, in fact, the Jesuits, were confined each one to his nation by
order, and only in respect of their early training days do they appear
as foreigners abroad. Acknowledgements are due, on the other hand,
for information received, to captives set free, soldiers, artists,
herbalists, antiquaries, and even to those who, so far as we know, only
looked on, like Shakespeare; and to many others led abroad by special
reasons, such as the Italian Marquis who felt it necessary for him to
have a long holiday after the privations of Lent.

But with all these varieties of tourist, we still have not come to
the Average Tourist. The type is extinct, killed by reference-books,
telegraphy, and democracy. For the Average Tourist left his fatherland
to get information which he could not get at home, and he wanted this
information because he was a junior member of the aristocracy, at that
time the governing class more exclusively than at present. In feudal
days isolation was, comparatively, taken for granted, and the fact of
that voluntary isolation implied many hindrances to touring. The need
of acquiring information of every kind that affected political action
had been therefore less realised and the difficulty of acquiring it
greater. These years near 1600 are the years of transition, transition
to a custom for travellers to

    ... seek their place through storms,
    In passing many seas for many forms
    Of foreign government, endure the pain
    Of many faces seeing, and the gain
    That strangers make of their strange-loving humours:
    Learn tongues; keep note-books; all to feed the tumours
    Of vain discourse at home, or serve the course
    Of state employment....[5]

Herein lies the unity of subject of this book; not in its concern with
a given class of experiences during a given period. Roughly speaking,
in the two half-centuries preceding and succeeding the year 1600, the
practice of the upper classes of sending sons abroad as part of their
education became successively an experiment, a custom, and, finally, a
system. By the middle of the seventeenth century this system had become
a thoroughly set system, and the "Grand Tour" a topic for hack-writers.
Of the latter, James Howell was the first. His "Instructions for
Foreign Travel" (1642) may serve to date the beginning of "Grand
Touring" in the modern sense of the phrase, while the publication of
Andrew Boorde's "Introduction of Knowledge" a century earlier, does the
same for this preceding period, that of the development of travel as a
means of education.

Delimiting the movement by means of English books suggests that it was
a merely English movement, but it was in fact European, though true of
the different countries in varying degrees. The increase of diplomatic
journeys,[6], already mentioned, the core of this development and its
chief instrument, was common to all divisions of Europe in proportion
to the degree of the civilisation attained. In the Empire and Poland
the custom grew up less suddenly; it had begun earlier. In Italy, it
began later, since it was not till later that there was much for an
Italian to learn that he could not learn better at home. Sir Henry
Wotton[7] noted in 1603 that travelling was coming into fashion among
the young nobles of Venice. In France, an early beginning was broken
off by the civil wars, not to start afresh till Henry IV's sovereignty
was established. As for Spaniards and Portuguese, they alone had
dominions over-sea to attend to.

In England, on the other hand, political reversals being at once
frequent, thorough, and peaceable, migrations were very common and
usually short. That touring would result from migration was certain,
because it familiarised English people with the attractions and the
affairs of the continent and with the uses of that familiarity, and
established communications. Other special causes existed, too, truisms
concerning which are so plentiful that there is no need to repeat them
here.

But the certainty of the change did not prevent it being slow. Andrew
Boorde, who knew Europe thoroughly, found hardly any of his countrymen
abroad except students and merchants, and for the following half
century it is the tendency rather than the fact that may be noted, as
indicated, for example, by Sir Philip Sidney, who started in 1572,
writing later to his brother that "a great number of us never thought
in ourselves why we went, but a certain tickling humour to do as
other men had done." In 1578 Florio could still write in one of his
Italian-English dialogues published in London:[8] "'Englishmen, go they
through the world?' 'Yea some, but few.'" Yet in 1592 and again in
1595 the Pope complained about the number of English heretics allowed
at Venice,[9] and in 1615 an Englishman, George Sandys, leaves out of
his travel-book everything relating to places north of Venice, such
being, he says, "daily surveyed and exactly related." Three years
earlier James I's Ambassador at Venice writes[10] to the Doge that
there are more than seventy English in Venice whereas "formerly" there
had been four or five; and when he adds that there are not more than
ten in the rest of Italy it must be remembered that he is making out a
case and even then refers to Protestants only: between 1579 and 1603,
three hundred and fifty Englishmen had been received into the English
College at Rome.[11]

The development, then, of the English tourist may be synchronised with
the rise of the English Drama and the expansion of English Commerce.
In other words, the preparation for it came before the failure of
the Spanish Armada; the actuality directly afterwards. But it could
not have followed the course it did except in conjunction with wider
causes, which emphasise its place as but part of a European movement.
These may be sought in (1) the slight, but definite, advance in
civilisation which made people more accessible to the ideas which peace
fosters; (2) the greater area over which peace prevailed round about
the year 1600: (3) the increase in centralisation in government, which
decreased the obstacles in the way of the traveller, and increased the
attractiveness of particular points, _i.e._, where the courts were held.

At the same time the increase in touring which really took place
would be greatly over-estimated if one considered the evidence of
bibliography as all-sufficient. Almost all that the latter proves is
an increase in writing about it, due to the greatly increased demand
for the written word which was the outcome of printing. Morelli, in
his essay[12] on little-known Venetian travellers, quotes Giosaffate
Barbaro as writing in 1487, "I have experienced and seen much that
would probably be accounted rubbish by those who have, so to speak,
never been outside Venice, by reason that such things are not customary
there. And this has been the chief reason for my never having cared to
write of what I have seen, nor even to speak much thereof." Yet by 1600
there were probably few countries in Europe in which recent accounts
of the regions visited by Barbaro could not be read in the vernacular,
accounts out of which some one expected to see a profit. Indications,
on the contrary, of enormous numbers leaving home may be found in
this one fact; that the names are known of twelve hundred Germans who
passed beyond the limits of civilised Christendom during the sixteenth
century.[13] What must then be the number of Europeans, ascertainable
and otherwise, who were going about Europe then?

As regards the Average Tourist, however, we are not left to our
imagination. He is often to be found in person, young, rich, abroad to
learn. Yet—why should he, rather than his contemporaries of the lower
classes, need teaching? The answer will come of its own accord if we
stop to consider the similarities and divergences existent between the
Jesuits and the Salvation Army. Both are the outcome of the same form
of human energy, that of Christianity militant against present-day
evils; it is circumstances that have caused the divergence. The Jesuits
were as keen at first for social reform as the Salvation Army have
become; the Salvation Army used to be as much preoccupied with theology
as the Jesuits. In details the resemblance is more picturesque without
being any more accidental. The Salvation Army describe themselves
after the fashion of the Papal title of "servus servorum Dei," as
the "servants of all"; and the first thing that Loyola did when his
associates insisted on his adopting the same title that "General" Booth
has assumed, was to go downstairs and do the cooking. The two societies
with one and the same root-idea essentially, have been drawn into
ministering to the lower class in the nineteenth century and the upper
class three hundred years earlier: the identity of spirit consisting
in the class that was ministered to being that which possessed the
greatest potentialities and the greatest needs.[14] And in all the
prescribed occupations of the Average Tourist we shall find this
implied, that the future of his country depended on the use he made of
his tour.

Let us take two specimens; one in the rough, the other in the finished,
state: No. 1 shall be John Lauder of Fountainhall; No. 2, the Duc de
Rohan. The former's diary is not to be equalled for the insight it
gives into the development of the mind of the fledgling-dignitary
abroad; not a pleasant picture always, not the evolution of a mother's
treasure into an omniscient angel, but of a male Scot of nineteen into
the early stages of a man of this wicked world; but—it happened. We
note his language becoming decidedly coarser and an introduction to
Rabelais' works not improving matters. Still, the former would have
happened at home, only in a narrower circle; and for Rabelais, who that
has read him does not know the other side? Then, he did not always
work as a good boy should: he was studying law at Poictiers, and a
German who was there twenty years earlier tells us that at Poictiers
there were so many students that those who wanted to work retired to
the neighbouring St. Jean d'Angely. Lauder stopped at Poictiers and
writes, "I was beginning to make many acquaintances at Poictiers, to
go in and drink with them, as,"—then follow several names, then a note
by the editor that twenty-seven lines have been erased in the MS. It
continues: "I was beginning to fall very idle." Later on: "I took up to
drink with me M. de la Porte, de Gruché, de Gey, de Gaule, Baranton's
brother, etc."; [twenty-two lines erased] "on my wakening in the
morning I found my head sore with the wine I had drunk." Even if one
was wrong-headed enough to agree with what the minister at Fountainhall
would feel obliged to remark about such occurrences, nothing could
counterbalance the advantage to a Scot of learning that the Scottish
opinion of Scots was not universally accepted. Lauder is surprised,
genuinely humiliated, to find his countrymen despised abroad for the
iconoclasm that accompanied their "conversion."

Lauder wrote a diary: the Duc de Rohan a "letter" to his mother,
summarising the valuable information acquired in a virtuous
perambulation through Italy, Hungary, Bohemia, Germany, the Low
Countries, England, including a flying visit to Scotland; an harangue
of flat mediocrity, imitative in character, thoughtful only in so far
as, and in the way, he had been taught to be thoughtful. But, read
between the lines, it is most interesting; better representing the
Average Tourist in his nominal every-day state of mind than any other
book. He embodies the sayings and doings of hundreds of others whose
only memorials are on tombstones or in genealogies; he endures the
inns in silence; never ate nor drank nor saw a coin or a poor man,
for aught he says; passed the country in haste, ignoring the scenery
except where "classical" authors had praised it, considered the Alps
a nuisance, and democratic governments a degraded, albeit successful,
eccentricity; and hastened past the Lago di Garda, in spite of the new
fortress in building there, to Brescia, the latter being "better worth
seeing." It was just 1600 when he travelled, and the ideas of the year
are reflected in his opening lines with an exactitude possible only
to one who has the mind of his contemporaries and none of his own.
"Peace having been made, I saw I could not be any use in France." So
he employed his idleness in attempting to learn something, in noting
the differences in countries and peoples. Yet he would not be the
Average Tourist made perfect that he is if there was not some idea of
the future hovering in him—he is the only traveller, except Sir Henry
Blount, the philosopher, who notes, or even seems to note, that the
chief factor of differences between human being and human being is
geography.

Yet underneath all the special characteristics which distinguish
everyone of these tourists from every other, there remains one that
all share with each other and with us, that expressed with the crude
controversial Elizabethan vigour in some lines which Thomas Nashe
wrote towards the close of the sixteenth century—"'Countryman, tell me
what is the occasion of thy straying so far ... to visit this strange
nation?' ... 'That which was the Israelites' curse we ... count our
chief blessedness: he is nobody that hath not travelled'"—the sense
of the inexhaustible pleasure of travel. Had it been otherwise they
would not have cared to write down their experiences; nor we to read
them. And if at times it is hard to find a reflection of their pleasure
in what they have written, it is certainly there, if only between
the lines, manifesting how this continual variety of human beings is
brought into touch, even if unconsciously, with the infinite change and
range of the ideas and efforts of millions of persons over millions
upon millions of acres, each person and each acre with its own history,
life, fate, and influence. If, too, in the course of summarising
what they experienced, the more trivial details seem to occupy a
larger proportion of the space than is their due, it may be suggested
that that is the proportion in which they appear in the tourists'
reminiscences.

The permanent undercurrent I have tried to suggest where circumstances
bring it to the surface in some one of its more definite forms.




CHAPTER II

GUIDE-BOOKS AND GUIDES

 Now resteth in my memory but this point, which indeed is the chief to
 you of all others; which is, the choice of what men you are to direct
 yourself to; for it is certain no vessel can leave a worse taste in
 the liquor it contains, than a wrong teacher infects an unskilful
 hearer with that which will hardly ever out.

      SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S advice to his brother
      (about 1578).


From what has been said already, two conclusions may be drawn: first,
that the Average Tourist was given much advice; secondly, that he did
not take it. Let us too, then, see the theory for one chapter only;
and, in all chapters after, the practice.

It must have amused many a youngster to hear the down-trodden old
gentleman, whom his father had hired, setting forth how the said
youngster must behave in wicked Italy if he was to grow up in favour
with God and man; all the more so if the old gentleman, whose name,
perhaps, was the local equivalent for John Smith, published his advice
in Latin under a Latin pseudonym, say, Gruberus or Plotius. Gruberus
and Plotius suggest themselves because they are the very guidiest of
guide-book writers. They, like all the orthodox of their kind, begin
by a solemn argument for and against travelling. They bring up to
support them a most miscellaneous host: the Prophets, the Apostles,
Daedalus, Ulysses, the Queen of Sheba, Theseus, Anacharsis, the "Church
of Christ," Pythagoras, Plato, Abraham, Aristotle, Apollonius of Tyana,
Euclid, Zamolxis, Lycurgus, Naomi, Cicero, Galen, Dioscorides, him who
travelled from farthest Spain to see Livy ("and immediately," as some
one most unkindly says, "immediately he saw him, went away"); Solon
also and St. Paul, and Mithridates, the Roman Decemviri, Diodorus
Siculus, Strabo, Pausanias, Cluverius, Moses, Orpheus, Draco, Minos,
Rhadamanthus, Æsculapius, Hippocrates, Avicenna, the physicians of
Egypt and the gods of Greece. But there is not a word about Jonah;
perhaps his luck and experiences were considered abnormal; or perhaps
because, as Howell says, "he travelled much, but saw little."

Then there are those who have to be refuted or explained away:
Socrates, Seneca, the Lacedaemonians, Athenians, Chinese, Muscovites,
Psophidius, Elianus, and Pompeius Laetus. Cain, also, the first
traveller, creates a prejudice. Likewise, the argument from experience
has to be met. Some return from travel, they say, using phrases
without meaning, pale, lean, scabby and worm-eaten, burdens on their
consciences, astounding garments on their backs, with the manners of
an actor and superciliously stupid. Yet is this not due to the thing
itself, but to the abuse thereof; peradventure he shall be corrupted
more quickly at home than abroad, and there is less to be feared from
universities and strange lands than from the indulgent mother. Moreover
"non nobiliora quam mobiliora"; the heavens rejoice in motion, and
transplantation yieldeth new life to plants. And shall the little
sparrow travel as he pleases and man, lord of the animals, be confined
to a farm or a hamlet?

Reason, erudition and emotion having thus conquered, instruction
begins. The forethought necessary is as great as if he were choosing
a wife. For tutors and horses, it seems, the most that can be
expected from them is that they shall not imperil his soul and body
respectively. First among requisites is a book of prayers and hymns
effective for salvation without being so pugnacious, doctrinally, as
to cause suspicion. Next, a note-book, a watch, or a pocket sun-dial;
if a watch, not a striker, for that warns the wicked you have cash; a
broad-brimmed hat, gaiters, boots, breeches (as if his friends would
let him start without any!), gloves, shoes, shirts, handkerchiefs,
"which come in useful when you perspire"; and if he cannot take many
shirts, let those he takes be washed, he will find it more comfortable.
Also, a linen overall, to put over his clothes when he gets into bed,
in case the bed is dirty. Let him get to know something of medicine
and, "like Achilles," learn to cook before he leaves home. Travel not
at night, and, in daytime, be guarded by the official guards which
German and Belgian towns provide; or travel in company.

Now, the aim of travelling is the acquisition of knowledge; stay,
therefore, in the more famous places rather than keep on the move.
Enquire, concerning the district, its names, past and present; its
language; its situation; measurements; number of towns, or villages;
its climate, fertility; whether maritime or not, and possessing
forests, mountains, barren or wooded; wild beasts, profitable mines;
animal or vegetable life peculiar to itself; navigable or fish-yielding
rivers; medicinal baths; efficient fortresses. And concerning towns:
the founder, "sights," free or otherwise; what the town has undergone,
famines, plagues, floods, fires, sieges, revolutions, sackings; whether
it has been the scene of councils, conferences, synods, assemblies,
gatherings, or tournaments.

It should be mentioned that in this last paragraph I am paraphrasing
Gruberus only, and presume he is confining himself to what the
young tourist should discover before breakfast; otherwise he is but
a superficial instructor compared to Plotius. The latter draws up
a series of questions, which include enquiries about weights and
measures; about the clergy, how many and what salaries; religion, is
it "reformed"? if so, what has happened to monks and nuns; how often
Communion is administered; and whether strangers are received thereat;
arrangements for burial. This last question would seem more in place at
the end, but it is only number thirty-six, and there are one hundred
and seventeen questions altogether. Then, is there a University?
and, if so, may the rector whack the students? and concerning the
professors, what they teach and what they are paid. As for local
government, the enquiries exhaust possibilities. Also, how many houses;
and what about night-watchmen; legal procedure; "ancient lights," the
right to use water, executors' duties, grounds for divorce, dress,
military training? Furthermore: are the roads clean, and can children
marry without their parents' consent? concerning methods of cookery,
and antiquity of the town; whether the position of an officer of
justice is a respected one or not; concerning notaries public; and
whether the water used in cooking comes from river, fountain, well, or
rain; how many varieties of grain are used in bread-making; and what
means have they for dealing with fires; their sanitary arrangements
and public holidays, with the reasons for the latter; care of paupers,
orphans, and lepers; what punishments for what crimes.

It must not be imagined that Gruberus and Plotius thought of all this
by themselves: they copied others, being but two among many. Where the
copying reached its most uncritical extreme was in the origins ascribed
to towns: Paris, the guide-books say, was founded by a Gaul of that
name who lived two hundred years before his namesake of Troy; Haarlem
is also named after its founder "Herr (_i.e._, Mr.) Lem"; Toulouse
dated from the time of the prophetess Deborah; and so on.

But to consider the foregoing instructions, and even these three
"facts," on their humorous side only, is to miss much of their
interest. Two, for instance, of these etymologies are but examples
of what is not only continually coming into notice in books of this
date, but is especially noticeable in guide-books and tourists'
notes, in which latter the habit of mind of the time is more exactly
mirrored in its daily attitude than in any other class of books. They
exemplify the two sources of knowledge of antiquity, the two standards
of comparison, then available: classical and biblical; of more nearly
equal authority than they were before or have been since; and they
were the only ones. So with the objects of enquiry: they are implied
by that lack of reference books from which not only the tourist, but
governments also, suffered; it is clear, for example, that in 1592
much elementary information was not at hand, even in manuscript, in
England.[15] The Tsar, moreover, about this time addressed a letter to
the "Governor of the High Signiory of Venice," his advisers thinking
that Venice was governed by a nominee of the Pope; and Rivadeneyra,
who was very well-informed about affairs English, says in his "Cisma
de Inglaterra," written thirty years after the reform of the English
currency under Elizabeth: "The gold and silver currency is not so pure
nor so fine as it was before heresy entered into the kingdom, for in
the time of Henry VIII and his children Edward and Elizabeth, it has
been falsified and alloyed with other metals, and so the money is worth
much less than it used to be." Camden again, who wrote his Annals of
Elizabeth's Reign early in the next century to correct misconceptions
to which foreign scholars were liable, thought it necessary, when he
mentioned Dublin, to explain that it was the chief city of Ireland; and
very reasonably, too, considering that one of Henry VIII's officials
in Ireland wrote home: "Because the country called Leinster and the
situation thereof is unknown to the King and his Council, it is to be
understood that Leinster is the fifth part of Ireland."[16] And there
was a certain gentleman at the court of King James I, supposed to
be an authority on things Continental, who answered, when asked for
information about Venice, that he could not give much because he had
ridden post through it—and it was not till the questioner got there
that he became aware that Venice was surrounded by water; just as the
secretary of a Spanish duke in England writes that his master took ship
from "Calais, because, England being an island, it cannot be approached
by land."

It may perhaps seem that the absence of knowledge which is ordinary
now, indicated by the above illustrations, was extraordinary rather
than ordinary even then. But the fact was that, besides the available
books being practically always too much behind the times for any but
antiquaries' purposes, the writers themselves had so little information
at hand that it was only here and there their writings were anything
but hopelessly superficial, even when obtained; and to obtain them was
no easy matter. There were at least three men who published practical
handbooks in English for Continental travelling later than Andrew
Boorde and earlier than Howell; yet they, and Howell also, each claim
that theirs is the first book of its kind in English. Whether the
statement is made in good faith, or for business purposes, it proves
equally well that even if a book was written, it was not easy to find.

Or again, take a book which was so often republished as to be easy
to obtain, the "Viaggio da Venetia al Santo Sepolcro," for instance,
the authorship of the later editions of which is ascribed to one
Father Noë, a Franciscan. The first edition seems to be that of 1500,
and it continued to be reprinted down to 1781; at least thirty-four
editions came out before 1640, when the period under consideration
ends. It was not, however, an Italian book originally, having been
translated from a German source which was in existence as early as
1465, if not earlier.[17] Since, therefore, its information was never
thoroughly revised, at any rate, not before 1640, sixteenth-century
and seventeenth-century pilgrims went on buying mid-fifteenth-century
information. They were recommended, for instance, to go by the pilgrim
galley, which ceased to run about 1586; and also to take part in a
festival held yearly on the banks of the Jordan at Epiphany, which must
have been abandoned far earlier even than that.

Still, books about what there was to notice in given places did exist
just as there were treatises of the Gruberus and Plotius kind unfolding
what should be noticed in general, and why. Best known of the earlier
kind was Münster's gigantic "Cosmography," which Montaigne regretted he
had not brought with him; and by the middle of the seventeenth century
several other first-rate geographers, besides minor men, had compiled
books of the kind. But the bearing of such books on our subject is
only in so far as they reflect the thoughts, and ministered to the
needs, of the tourist; and they may therefore be best considered in
the works of those who wrote "Itineraries," which not only recorded
journeys but were meant to serve as examples of how a journey might be
made the most of. Such a book was Hentzner's, a sort of link between
Gruberus and Fynes Moryson. Hentzner was a Silesian who acted as guide
and tutor to a young nobleman from 1596 to 1600. They began, and
ended, their journey at Breslau, and toured through Germany, France,
Switzerland, Italy, and England; the "Itineraria" being based on notes
made by the way. His account of England does him rather more than
justice, for there is some first-hand experience there, which is just
what is lacking in the rest of his book. Practically everything he says
is second-hand, and the fact of his being at a place is merely a peg
to hang quotations on. When he is not quoting from books he seems to
be quoting from people; and half of what we expect from a guide-book
is absent: means of conveyance, for instance. This is an omission,
however, which can be explained: he was only concerned with the most
respectable form of travelling, and that meant, on horseback. And
the rest of his omissions, taken all together, throw into relief the
academic character of the book, due, not to himself individually so
much as to the period. His preface cannot, naturally, differ much from
Plotius, nor add much, except in recommending Psalms 91, 126, 127, and
139 as suitable for use by those about to travel, forgetting, it would
seem, the one beginning, "When Israel went forth out of Egypt," which
Pantagruel had sung by his crew before they set out to find the "Holy
Bottle"; and being a Protestant he cannot recommend the invocation of
St. Joseph and St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saints of travellers;
all he can do is to pray at the beginning for good angels to guard
his footsteps, and, at the end, to acknowledge assistance from one,
although it does not appear that he ever went to the length of Uhland's
traveller:—

    Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee,—
    Take, I give it willingly;
    For, invisible to thee,
    Spirits twain have crossed with me,

and paid a fare for the good angel. On the way, having reached, say
Rome, he does not, in Baedeker's merciful fashion, tell you the hotels
first, in order of merit, but begins straightway: "ROME. Mistress and
Queen of Cities, in times past the head of well-nigh all the world,
which she had subjected to her rule by virtue of the sublime deeds of
the most stout-hearted of men. Concerning the first founders thereof
there are as many opinions, and as different, as there are writers.
Some there are who think that Evander, in his flight from Arcadia,"
etc. Yet no one could write over six hundred pages about a four years'
tour in sixteenth-century Europe without being valuable at times;
partly in relation to ideas, partly to experiences into which those
ideas led him and his pupils.

It was less than twenty years after Hentzner that another German
published a record of travel which was also meant as a guide. But time
had worked wonders; it was not only a personal difference between
the former and Zinzerling that accounts for the difference in their
books; it was the increase in the number of tourists. The latter
sketches out a plan by means of which all France can be seen at the
most convenient times and most thoroughly without waste of time, with
excursions to England, the Low Countries, and Spain. Routes are his
first consideration; other hints abound. At St. Nicholas is a host who
is a terror to strangers; and remember that at Saint-Savin, thirty
leagues from Bourges, is the shanty of "Philemon and Baucis" where you
can live for next to nothing; and that outside the gate at Poictiers is
a chemist who speaks German, and so on. Frequently, indeed, he notes
where you may find your German understood; and also where you should
learn, and where avoid learning, French.

Advice of this last-mentioned kind calls to mind a third class of
guide-books, intended to assist those who, without them, would realise
how vain is the help of man when he can't understand what you say. The
need for such became more and more evident as time went on and Latin
became less and less the living and international language it had been
but recently. The use of vernaculars was everywhere coming to the front
as nationalities developed further, and in many districts where it had
been best known its disuse in Church hastened its disuse outside.

The extent to which Latin was current about 1600 varied in almost every
country. Poland and Ireland came first, Germany second, where many
of all classes spoke it fluently, and less corruptly than in Poland.
Yet an Englishman[18] passing through Germany in 1655 found but one
innkeeper who could speak it. The date suggests that the Thirty Years'
War was responsible for the change. It is certainly true that France
in the previous half century was far behind Germany in the matter of
speaking Latin, as a result of the civil wars there. Possibly the
characters of its rulers had something to do with this too, just as
in England, where Latin was ordinarily spoken by the upper classes,
according to Moryson, with ease and correctness, the accomplishments of
Queen Elizabeth as a linguist had doubtless set a fashion. This much,
at least, is certain: that in 1597 when an ambassador from Poland was
unexpectedly insolent in his oration, the Queen dumbfounded him by
replying on the spot with as excellent Latinity as spirit, whereas at
Paris once, when a Latin oration was expected from another ambassador,
not only could not the King reply, but not even any one at court. With
Montaigne the case was certainly different, but then his father had had
him taught Latin before French, and consequently, on his travels, so
soon as he reached a stopping-place, he introduced himself to the local
priest, and though neither knew the other's native language, they
passed their evening conversing without difficulty.

Very many were the interesting interviews that many a tourist had which
he owed to a knowledge of Latin; the extent to which knowledge was
acquired orally having led to its being an ordinary incident in the
life of the tourist to pay a call on the learned man of the district;
a duty with the Average Tourist, a pleasure for the others. And Latin
was the invariable medium, part of the respectability of the occasion.
At least, not quite invariable: when the historian De Thou visited the
great Sigonius, they talked Italian, because the latter, in spite of a
lifetime spent in becoming the chief authority on Roman Italy, spoke
Latin with difficulty.

It seems curious that Latin should have been less generally understood
south, than north, of the Alps, but such was the fact. Italy was,
however, ahead of Spain, where even an acquaintance with Latin was
rare. In the first quarter of the sixteenth century Navagero found
Alcalá the only university where lectures were delivered in Latin,
and, according to the best of the guide-book writers on Spain, Zeiler,
the doctorate at Salamanca could be obtained, early in the seventeenth
century, without any knowledge of Latin at all; while it has been shown
by M. Cirot, the biographer of Mariana, that the latter's great history
of Spain, published in Latin at this time, and as successful as a book
of the kind ever is in its own day, was unsaleable until translated
into Spanish.

Among those, too, who did know Latin there was the barrier of differing
pronunciation. Lauder of Fountainhall was very much at sea to begin
with, in spite of his Scotch pronunciation being much nearer to the
French than an Englishman's would have been, and there is an anecdote
in Vicente Espinel's "Marcos de Obregon" which is to the point here.
The latter is a novel, it is true, but the tradition that it is
semi-autobiographical is borne out by many of its tales reading as if
they were actual experiences, of which the following is one. One day,
the hero, a Spaniard, found himself in a boat on the river Po, with a
German, an Italian, and a Frenchman, and to pass the time they tried
to talk Latin so that all could understand each one; but they soon
abandoned the plan, as the pronunciations varied too greatly.

Nevertheless, the passing of Latin out of European conversation is to
be attributed rather to the growth of Italian, and later of French,
as international tongues. Gaspar Ens, who wrote a series of guides
to nearly every part of Europe, says in his preface to the volume on
France, "At this day their language is so much used in almost every
part of the world that whosoever is unskilled therein is deemed a
yokel." This was in 1609, at which date, or soon after, it was as true
as a general statement can be expected to be; just as much so as the
assertion in the preface to an English book in 1578: "Once every one
knew Latin ... now the Italian is as widely spread."[19]

It was only in the north that French came to rival Italian during this
period, for the "lingua franca," also known as "franco piccolo," the
hybrid tongue in which commerce was conducted along the shores of the
Mediterranean, was so largely Italian that to the average Britisher,
from whom Hakluyt drew his narratives, the two were indistinguishable;
but an Italian would notice, as Della Valle did, that no form of a verb
but the infinitive was used. If any one was met who knew more than two
languages, he would oftenest be a Jew, who usually knew Spanish and
Portuguese; the latter because the tribe of Judah, from which their
deliverer was to come, was supposed to be domiciled in Portugal.

Another hybrid language, as well established in its own area as the
"lingua franca," was Scot-French, so constantly in use as to have an
existence as a literary dialect as well as in French burlesque. These
mixed languages have no place in the ordinary book-guide to languages,
but were left to personal tuition; yet in the lists of the most common
phrases which Andrew Boorde appends to each of his descriptions of
countries may be noted a curious instance from this borderland of
philology. In both the Italian and the Spanish lists he renders "How do
you fare?" by "Quo modo stat cum vostro corps?"

While we are on this subject we may stop to sympathise with awkward
misunderstandings like that of the Jesuit Possevino at Moscow, when
invited to (Orthodox) Mass ("obednia") with intent to compromise him;
he went, thinking it was dinner ("obed") to which he had been asked.
Then there are those, too, whose efforts were hopelessly below even
this standard, such as Alonzo de Guzman, who suffered hunger in Germany
because he only knew Spanish, and was put on the road to Bologna when
he wanted to get to Cologne; or the Englishman who was trying to
find that same road and went along staggering the peasantry with the
question, "Her ist das der raight stroze auf balnea?" the peasantry
replying by signs that he interpreted as directions, but the road led
him further than ever from Baden. To which class belonged a certain
friend of Josias Bodley, younger brother of the founder of the Bodleian
library and author of by far the liveliest account of a tour at this
period,[20] will never be known, but that is no reason why the tale
should not be re-told. "Not long ago I was in company with some boon
companions who were drinking healths in usquebagh, when one was present
who wished to appear more abstemious than the rest and would not drink
with them, to whom one of them, who could not speak Latin as well as
I do, said these words, 'Si tu es plus sapientis quam nos sumus, tu es
plus beholden to God Almighty quam nos sumus.'" And finally there are
those who find themselves reduced to sign-language, such as the Roman
Catholics who found a sumptuous dinner awaiting them at a Protestant
inn on a fast-day, when, to add to the trial of refusing it, was the
apparent impossibility of making their wants understood, until one of
their number, a priest, by the way, imitated a hen's cackle and "laid"
a piece of white paper the shape and size of an egg!

While conversation-dictionaries existed which claimed to be useful
their claim has no other basis than that of their own prefaces;
the tourists do not own to indebtedness to them. But taking it for
granted that primary needs must be served by persons, not books, for
further acquirements Moryson recommends the romance of "Amadis de
Gaule" which was being read by every one in his own tongue. Probably
the conversation-books are of more use now than at the time of their
publication, from the light they occasionally throw on customs, and,
through their phoneticism, on pronunciation. Yet the tourists' own
evidence as to this is more valuable, as being more authentic, when an
Englishman writes "Landtaye" for "Landtage" and "Bawre" for "Bauer."
As for sixteenth-century maps, they seem meant for gifts rather to
an enemy than to a friend. In every department, then, the tourist had
recourse to persons.

[Illustration: A TYPICAL TOWN-PLAN]

The qualifications for a first-rate guide, then and now, differ in one
respect only,—that a "religious test" should be applied was taken for
granted on both sides. In fact, in Scotland in 1609 an edict was issued
forbidding young noblemen to leave the country without a Protestant
tutor: the reason being that the great danger of a tour abroad lay in
a possible change in the youngster's religion, or inclinations towards
tolerance developing, with the result that his political career on his
return might be dangerous to his country and himself through his being
more than the just one step ahead of his fellow-countrymen which is
necessary to political salvation.

The prevailing state of mind may be illustrated by one or two
anecdotes. The following one Lauder tells of himself is characteristic
of his kind. He had entered a church where all were on their knees: "a
woman observing that I neither had gone to the font for holy water,
neither kneeled, in a great heat of zeal she told me 'ne venez icy
pour prophaner ce sainct lieu.' I suddenly replied: 'Vous estez bien
devotieuse, madame, mais peut estre vostre ignorance prophane ce sainct
lieu d'avantage que ma présence.'" William Lithgow is proud to say
he quarrelled with companions simply because they were Papists, and
had often seized opportunities to tear in pieces the rich garments
on images rather than "with indifferent forbearance wink at the
wickedness of idolaters." And an Englishman of good education and
breeding and character, says that being at Malaga cathedral during High
Mass "so long as we were bare-headed and behaved ourselves civilly
and gravely, we might walk up and down and see everything without the
least molestation." One extreme was naturally accompanied by another
extreme. Sometimes the tourist's return never took place. This was the
more likely when the Papacy was in a militant mood, at which times the
Inquisition developed a taste for tutors; whose arrest served a double
purpose, a hot antagonist was secured, unimportant enough to create
no serious trouble, and the young nobleman was left undefended on his
sectarian side, probably a vulnerable one. One case of many is that of
John Mole,[21] who died in the prison of the Inquisition at Rome in
1638 at the age of eighty, after thirty years' imprisonment; his ward,
Lord Roos, having been credited with no particular desire to get him
out.

A visit to Rome, however, and to other places, such as St. Omer,
where "seminaries" existed for English Roman Catholics, was usually
forbidden in the licence to go abroad which every Englishman had to
obtain unless he was a merchant, and which was not granted without
good reason shown. This contained ordinarily a time limit also, one
year's leave, or three; and prohibition of communication with disloyal
countrymen or entry into a State at war with England: supervision of a
kind which was exercised by practically every European ruler. A Roman
Catholic, for instance, incurred excommunication if he passed into a
country at war with the Pope.

[Illustration: A TYPICAL MAP]

The precautions of Protestant sovereigns were against Roman Catholicism
inasmuch as there lay political dangers, but so far as religion was
concerned, as much precaution might reasonably have been taken against
Mohammedanism. In no European country did ability bring a man to the
top so readily as in Turkey, and being a foreigner was in a man's
favour; not even at Venice was there such a mixture of nations as at
Constantinople; the majority of the Grand Signor's eminent subjects
were renegade foreigners. Dallam might refuse the invitation; many
accepted it; and a Turk considered it only humane to give an unbeliever
at least one definite invitation to salvation. An occasion which many
would make use of to turn Turk was during the fortnight preceding
the circumcision of the Sultan's heir. One traveller saw two hundred
circumcised at such a time, many of them adult, one said to be as old
as fifty-three. As a particular instance of an English "Turk" there
is the case of the English Consul at Cairo in 1601. He was "taking
care" of much belonging to English merchants at the time, in the
possession of which the Turks no doubt confirmed him. At the same time
there was an exactly similar case of a Venetian, for the same purpose.
But besides the causes of the chance to rise in the world, or the
attractions of others' property, there was another reason for apostacy,
the chief one—mitigating the sufferings of captivity.

But the renegades came mostly from the lower or the commercial class,
and did not come home, so that the fact that a guide was required to be
a sectarian, in contradistinction to a Christian, is another comment on
the characteristics of the Average Tourist. Sir Walter Ralegh, however,
did not make that a qualification, for he chose Ben Jonson to chaperon
his son. There is only one anecdote about Ben Jonson in that capacity,
the one he told Drummond himself. "This youth" [_i.e._, Ralegh's son]
"being knavishly inclined, caused him to be drunken, and dead drunk,
so that he knew not where he was; thereafter laid him on a car, which
he made to be drawn through the streets, at every corner showing his
governor stretched out and telling them that was a more lively image
of the Crucifix than any they had: at which young Ralegh's mother
delighted much (saying his father when young was so inclined), though
the father abhorred it."

Another sixteenth-century guide immortalised by another's pen is Jean
Bouchet, "Traverseur de Voies Perilleuses" as he called himself. Not
that Rabelais, to whom the pen belonged, names him, only he applies
this nickname to the guide of Pantagruel and company, Xenomanes (_i.
e._, "mad on foreigners"). No easy task to be an orthodox guide with
Friar John at one's elbow; for guide-book etymologies Friar John
had no taste; only asked, "What's that to do with me? I wasn't in
the country when it was baptised!" A guide to suit Friar John would
have been some disciple of Montaigne, who while agreeing with the
others that travelling was one of the best forms of education thought
that it was not "pour en rapporter seulement, à la mode de nostre
noblesse françoise, combien de pas a 'Santa Rotonda,' ou la richesse
des calessons de la signora Livia; ou, comme d'aultres, combien le
visage de Neron, de quelque vieille ruyne de là, est plus long ou plus
large que celuy de quelque pareille medaille, mais pour rapporter
principalement les humeurs de ces nations et leur façons, et pour
frotter et limer nostre cervelle contre celle d'aultruy."

Others, too, like Montaigne, without setting out to write guide-books,
have guidance to offer as a result of experience of life and travel;
sometimes in letters, sometimes in chance remarks. Letters of this
kind which have survived are many, but so much alike are they as to
suggest that the fathers shrunk from explaining to the sons how
they themselves had made the most of their time and fell back on
unacknowledged quotations from a Gruberus. Of the few frank ones the
two best are by Sir Philip Sidney to his brother, and by the ninth
Earl of Northumberland to his son Algernon.[22] Although the latter
is nearly as encyclopædic as Plotius, it is so merely in the way of
suggestion, discussing only motives and ideas and insisting on his
son's freedom of choice, in general as well as in detail; with one or
two remarks added that would have scandalised the guide-book writer,
but leaven the whole of the letter. It is especially interesting as
showing how the idea of travel as a factor in life brought out the best
of a man who was a failure at home from a day-by-day point of view.

As for chance remarks: one likens travelling to death in so far as it
means separation from friends, letters, moreover, yielding as little
satisfaction as prayers; and whereas the wise say that death is the
entrance to a happier life, there is the opposite prospect with travel,
so that it has all the disadvantages of hell as well as of death. And
here may follow a few more remarks of theirs, chosen as suggestive of
the characteristics of sixteenth-century travel in so far as it differs
from our own, not neglecting proverbs:—

A traveller has need of a falcon's eye, an ass's ears, a monkey's face,
a merchant's words, a camel's back, a hog's mouth, a deer's feet. And
the traveller to Rome—the back of an ass, the belly of a hog, and a
conscience as broad as the king's highway.

Line your doublet with taffetie; taffetie is lice-proof.

Never journey without something to eat in your pocket, if only to throw
to dogs when attacked by them.

Carry a note-book and red crayon (_i. e._, lead pencils were not in
regular use).

When going by coach, avoid women, especially old women; they always
want the best places.

At sea, remove your spurs; sailors make a point of stealing them from
those who are being sea-sick. Keep your distance from them in any case;
they are covered with vermin.

In an inn-bedroom which contains big pictures, look behind the latter
to see they do not conceal a secret door, or a window.

Women should not travel at all and married men not much.




CHAPTER III

ON THE WATER

  Chi può venire per mare non è lontano.

      Paolo Sarpi, 1608.[23]


Hentzner, in his preface, acknowledges that the troubles of a traveller
are great and finds only two arguments to countervail them: that man is
born unto trouble, and that Abraham had orders to travel direct from
God. Abraham, however, did not have to cross the Channel. Otherwise,
perhaps, the prospect of sacrificing himself as well as his only son
Isaac, would have brought to light a flaw in his obedience. There
was, it is true, the chance of crossing from Dover to Calais in four
hours, but the experiences of Princess Cecilia, already related, were
no less likely. In 1610 two Ambassadors waited at Calais fourteen
days before they could make a start, and making a start by no means
implied arriving—at least, not at Dover; one gentleman, after a most
unhappy night, found himself at Nieuport next morning and had to wait
three days before another try could be made. Yet another, who had
already sailed from Boulogne after having waited six hours for the
tide, accomplished two leagues, been becalmed for nine or ten hours,
returned to Boulogne by rowing-boat, and posted to Calais, found no
wind to take him across there and had to charter another rowing-boat
at sunset on Friday, reaching Dover on Monday between four and five
A. M. It was naturally a rare occurrence to go the whole distance by
small boat, because of the risk. Lord Herbert of Cherbury was the most
noteworthy exception; after he had made three attempts from Brill
and covered distances which varied from just outside the harbour to
half-way, arriving at Brill again, however, each time, he went by land
to Calais, where the sea was so dangerous that no one would venture,
no one except one old fisherman, whose boat, he himself owned, was one
of the worst in the harbour, but, on the other hand, he did not mind
whether he lived or died.

But finishing the crossing by rowing-boat was a very ordinary
experience because of the state of the harbours. Calais was the better
of the two, yet it sometimes happened that passengers had to be carried
ashore one hundred yards or more because not even boats could approach.
In 1576 an ambassador to France complains that Dover harbour is in such
utter ruin that he will cross elsewhere in future; in 1580 Sir Walter
Ralegh procured reform, which was perpetually in need of renewal. In
time a stone pier was built, small, and dry at low water, as indeed the
whole harbour was; the entrance was narrow and kept from being choked
up only by means of a gate which let out the water with a rush at low
tide. The ancient, quicker route to Wissant, more or less the route
which "Channel-swimmers" make for now, had begun to be abandoned when
the English obtained a port of their own on the opposite coast, and had
been completely dropped by this time. Boulogne had no cross-channel
passenger traffic worth mentioning. Dieppe, on the contrary, was as
much used as Calais, the corresponding harbour being, not Newhaven,
but Rye, which was also the objective on the rarer occasions when the
starting-place was Havre. So unusual was the Havre-Southampton passage
that among the suspicious circumstances alleged against a Genoese who
landed in 1599, one was his choice of this way across.[24]

Going by the North Sea the usual havens were Gravesend, and Flushing
or Brill, in spite of Brill's shallow harbour-bar, passed on one
occasion with only two feet of water under the keel when "Mr. Thatcher,
a merchant of London, who had goods therein, was so apprehensive that
he changed colours and said he was undone, 'Oh Lord,' and such-like
passionate expressions." Harwich was reputed so dangerous a harbour
that when Charles I's mother-in-law came to visit her daughter in 1638
and put in there, she found no one to receive her; it not being thought
within possibility to expect her to land there. The fact that she did
was probably due to her having been seven days at sea in a storm; not
that the courtier-chronicler of her voyage allows she was any the worse
for it, although he owns of her ladies that "they touched the hearts
of the beholders more with pity than with love." A forty-eight-hour
passage was nothing to grumble at: Arthur Wilson, the historian of
James I's reign, left Brill in an old twenty-five-ton mussel-boat, at
the bottom of which he lay, sea-sick and expecting drowning, for three
days and three nights until he came ashore at—the Hague.

Among many other experiences of the kind, that[25] of John Chamberlain,
the letter-writer, may be chosen. Setting out from Rotterdam, after
twenty-four hours' sailing, he had been within sight of Ostend and was
back again at Rotterdam. There he stayed a fortnight, putting to sea
at intervals and coming back. Then the wind came fair for Calais, but
veered round rather too soon and the first haven they could reach was
that of Yarmouth, after two days' running before the storm. It was low
tide; they went aground while entering, and for some time it looked
like being lost with all hands, but getting off again, the waves took
the ship against the piles at the head of the breakwater. Some thought
it worth while trying to jump ashore, three of whom the others saw
drowned and one crushed to death against the piles. But in the end
the rest landed safely in boats, and buried the dead; and Chamberlain
himself, after a winter evening spent wandering about Newmarket heath
in the rain and wind through the guide losing his way, arrived in town
at 11 P. M. on the twentieth day after first leaving Rotterdam.

On this route the ownership of the vessel might be guessed by the
amount of swearing that went on. Dutch ships had no prayers said,
rarely carried a chaplain even on the longest voyages, but swearers
were fined, even if it was no more than naming the devil. Psalm-singing
would go on on any vessel manned by Protestants on account of the
popularity of the music written for the Reformers, but if a vessel had
a garland of flowers hanging from its mainmast that again would show it
a Dutchman; it meant that the captain was engaged to be married.

[Illustration: A CHANNEL PASSAGE-BOAT]

The passage-boats were about sixty feet long, which then meant a
tonnage of about the same figure, and had a single deck, beneath
which the passengers might find shelter if the merchandise left them
room. The complement of passengers may be taken as seventy. The
highest total of passengers I have found mentioned for one ship is two
thousand, of whom Della Valle was one, but that was when he sailed from
Constantinople to Cairo, the vessels employed on official business
between those two places exclusively being the largest in the world
at that date. Apart from these, the maximum tonnage was about twelve
hundred, and a 500-ton ship was reckoned a large one; an average
Venetian merchantman measured about 90 feet × 20 × 16, a tonnage, that
is, of about 166, according to English sixteenth-century reckoning.[26]
The French traveller Villamont says the ship in which he left Venice in
1589 and which he was told cost fifty thousand crowns (say eighty-five
thousand pounds of our money) to build and equip, had for its greatest
length 188 feet and greatest breadth 59 feet.

As for accommodation in the larger boats, neither Dallam nor Moryson
changed their clothes or slept in a bed while at sea, and there is no
reason to suppose that any one else did who travelled under ordinary
conditions. Cabins were to be had in the high-built sterns; even
in Villamont's moderate-sized ship there were eight decks astern,
the fourth from the keel, the captain's dining-room, accommodating
thirty-nine persons at meal-times, all of whom, it is clear enough,
slept in cabins above or below. Moryson, however, refused a cabin,
preferring to sleep in a place where there was cover overhead but none
at the sides.


The chief exception to ordinary conditions was the pilgrim-ship for
Jerusalem in the days, which ceased during this period, when special
galleys ran from Venice to Jaffa and back, in the summer. Here alone
could the passenger have the upper hand, since these galleys alone
were passenger-boats primarily. The captain would be willing, if
asked, to bind himself in writing before the authorities at Venice,
to take the pilgrim to Jaffa, wait there and bring him back, call at
certain places to take in fresh water, meat, and bread, carry live
hens, a barber-surgeon, and a physician, avoid unhealthy ports such
as Famagosta, stay nowhere longer than three days without the consent
of the pilgrim, receive no merchandise which might inconvenience or
delay him, provide two hot meals a day and good wine, and guarantee
the safety of any belongings he might leave in the galley during his
absence at Jerusalem. No agreements, however, seem to have insured the
pilgrim against starvation diet, and therefore it was prudent to store
a chest with victuals, especially delicacies, and lay in wine; for,
Venice once left behind, wine might be dearer or even unobtainable.
Taking victuals implied buying a frying-pan, dishes, big and little,
of earthenware or wood, a stew-pot, and a twig-basket to carry when he
landed and went shopping. Likewise a lantern and candles and bedding,
which might be purchased near St. Mark's; a feather-bed, mattress, two
pillows, two pairs of sheets, a small quilt, for three ducats; and all
of these will be bought back at the end of the voyage at half price.
Medicines he must on no account forget. Care had to be taken, too, in
choosing a position, not below deck, which is "smouldering hot and
stinking," but above, where both shelter, light, and air were to be
had; this, of course, for the benefit of such as were unable to secure
a place in the stern-cabins.

If the passenger did not find himself in a position to get these
counsels of perfection carried out, this is what he would experience:
"In the galley all sorts of discomfort are met with: to each of us was
allotted a space three spans broad, and so we lay one upon another,
suffering greatly from the heat in summer and much troubled by vermin.
Huge rats came running over our faces at nights, and a sharp eye had to
be kept on the torches, for some people go about carelessly and there's
no putting them out in case of fire, being, as they are, all pitch. And
when it is time to go to sleep and one has great desire thereto, others
near him talk or sing or yell and generally please themselves, so that
one's rest is broken. Those near us who fell ill mostly died. God have
mercy on them! In day-time too when we were all in our places busy
eating and the galley bore down on the side to which the sail shifted,
all the sailors called out 'pando,' that is, 'to the other side,' and
over we must go; and if the sea was rough and the galley lurched, our
heads turned all giddy and some toppled over and the rest on top of
them, falling about like so many drunken yokels. The meals the captain
gave us were not exactly inviting; the meat had been hanging in the
sun, the bread hard as a stone with many weevils in it, the water at
times stank, the wine warm, or hot enough for the steam to rise, with a
beastly taste to it; and at times, too, we had to do our eating under
a blazing sun....[27] Bugs, etc., crept about over everything."[28]
Another, after many similar complaints, of cold food and warm drink,
and of sailors who walked about on top of him when he wanted to sleep,
and so on, adds a fresh one, quite unmentionable, and then goes on that
he passes over the more disgusting features so as not to discourage
intending pilgrims.

The disappearance of the pilgrim galley was more gain than loss, but
it had the advantage of more variety in the company and the voyage,
and probably, of a bigger ship; Moryson's ship was 900-tons and Della
Valle's Gran Delfino was a great war galleon, with forty-five cannon
and five hundred passengers,—too many, it proved; in the end twenty or
thirty fell ill every day and some died. And the mixture that there
was! Men and women, soldiers, traders, Greeks, Armenians, Turks,
Persians, Jews, Italians from almost every state, French, Spanish,
Portuguese, English, Germans, Flemings. In Moryson's boat there were
Indian sun-worshippers as well. In another, Moors and Muscovites.
Every day in the Gran Delfino a bell was rung for prayer, when each man
prayed in his own way; prayer over, the sailors, all Greeks, turned
bareheaded to the East and cried three times, "Buon' Viaggio!!!" and
the captain preached a non-sectarian sermon. With the Gran Delfino,
moreover, the start was an impressive function; the vessel, belonging
as it did to the State, being towed beyond the lagoons by thirty-three
eight-oared boats, directed by a venerable signor deputed by the
authorities. Once outside, however, and left to itself, it was less
impressive, at the mercy of a wind so uncertain that it crossed the
Adriatic from shore to shore twenty-five times.


In reckoning the length of voyages it would not be sufficient to
multiply the delay by bad weather that took place in the Channel
crossings by the extra mileage of a given distance; there was the
additional delay due to the difficulty of obtaining a ship at all, even
in the best of weathers, a difficulty proportionate to the length of
the voyage. The first-mentioned difficulty must not be minimised; it
was reasonable caricature for Sir John Harington, Queen Elizabeth's
godson, to represent his Rabelaisian hero as returning from "Japana
near China" in a "24-hours sail with some two or three odd years
beside." And by way of illustration it may be added that one and the
same voyage—from Messina to Smyrna—took one man thirteen weeks and
another thirty-five days; and that whereas the usual length of the
pilgrim voyage from Jaffa to Venice was under five weeks, one band of
pilgrims whose return journey was delayed till the winter storms caught
them, were continuously at sea, or continuously trying to be at sea,
from September 19th till January 25th. Yet another cause of delay,
in the Mediterranean, at least, was the Italian custom of paying the
sailors by the day; English ships, payment on which was at so much a
voyage, were by far the quicker.

To return to difficulty number two, that of obtaining any ship,
instances of it are continually occurring. Consider the complaint that
one Greenhalgh writes to his friend[29]—how he wished to go by sea to
Naples or elsewhere in Italy, went to the Exchange at London almost
daily for a month to read the ships' bills hanging there; could find
none to take him; took passage at Blackwall on one that was bound
for Dunkirk, but which the wind carried along the coast of Norfolk;
reached Dunkirk in four days and four nights; no ship to be found there
Italy-bound; nor at Gravelines; nor at Calais; so came back: seven
weeks wasted.

But it may reasonably be asked, why didn't he go by land? Well, that
is a question without an answer; but for any journey where the mileage
by sea was near the mileage by land, men of experience of these days
reckoned it safer and quicker and consequently cheaper to go by sea.
Once when Sir Henry Wotton, who exhaled sixteenth-century wisdom
whenever he spoke, was at his favourite occupation of holding forth to
the Venetian Signory on things in general, we find him taking it for
granted that Poland and Hungary were far from Venice as compared with
England and Holland; an exaggeration, no doubt; but an exaggeration
that stood no chance of being believed would not have served his
purpose. And it would be just plain fact to say, with regard to Danzig
and Paris, and every other similar journey, the sea for choice; even
from Genoa to Rome, amid all the danger of captivity for life by
Barbary pirates, there was a daily service of boats in 1588 according
to Villamont; it was the more usual route. Howell, indeed, leaving
Paris for Spain, went to St. Malo to find a ship, but the ordinary
route was to go down the Loire to Nantes, and by sea thence.

In the same way, from Rome to Barcelona was usually made a sea-trip,
although the sailors coasted instead of going direct. All voyages in
fact were coasting voyages whenever possible; no landsman was more
scared of the open sea than the average sailor during this period, the
greatest for the exploration of oceans that the world has ever seen,
except, perhaps, that unknown age when the islands of the Pacific were
colonised. The fear was based on an accurate knowledge of their own
incapacity, revealed to us by one or two travellers who were interested
in the science of navigation. A certain Frenchman embarked at Vannes
for Portugal; no bearings were taken, and the pilot had no chart;
trusted to his eye for his knowledge; which resulted in his coasting
along Galicia under the impression it was Asturias. So with the master
of the Venetian ship that Lithgow sailed in; he had no compass, cast
anchor at night and guessed his whereabouts in daytime by the hills
he recognised; on his way back from Alexandria a storm drove them out
of their course and he describes, in his doggrel verse, the sailors
spending hours identifying headlands, only to find themselves mistaken.
Indeed, there was no satisfactory method of ascertaining longitude at
sea; although European rulers were offering rewards to the inventor of
a method, no one was successful in trying to solve the problem, not
even Galileo.[30] So habitual a practice was coasting that if a ship
was intent on avoiding a pirate the surest plan was to keep to the open
sea.

[Illustration: SHIP FOR A LONG-DISTANCE VOYAGE]

But for the most part they seem to have trusted to luck with regard to
piracy, knowing pirates to be as likely to be met with as storms. The
two chief centres were Dunkirk and Algiers, and as the Dunkirkers and
Algerines met in the Atlantic, the Baltic was the only European sea
free from them, during the latter half of this period at least. In
the earlier, war was so continual as to provide employment, or pretext,
for the bulk of the scoundrels and unfortunates of the continent whom
the comparative peace that succeeded turned loose on commerce, and
consequently on tourists.

It was bad enough in the Channel before this. In 1573 the Earl of
Worcester crossed with a gold salver as a christening present for
Charles IX's daughter; the ship was attacked by pirates; eleven of his
suite were killed or wounded and property worth five hundred pounds
stolen. In 1584, Mr. Oppenheim states, the French ambassador complained
that in the two preceding years English pirates had plundered Frenchmen
of merchandise to the value of two hundred thousand crowns: the answer
was that the English had lost more than that through French pirates. So
in 1600 we find the Mayor of Exeter writing up about the Dunkirkers,
"scarce one bark in five escapeth these cormorants."[31] Repression
that was exercised by the governments on both sides of the Channel had
the effect of making the Mediterranean worse than it had been, for the
pirates, especially English, not only followed their occupation there
themselves but taught the Turks and Algerines far more about navigation
than the latter would have discovered by themselves. Which, by the way,
had a further result adverse to English tourists, for the Italian
states that had previously been favourably inclined to England, Venice
and Tuscany, both of European importance, grew unfriendly; Tuscany
becoming definitely hostile.

But the state of the Mediterranean for men of all nationalities was
such that it would probably be difficult to find a detailed account
of a voyage during the first half of the seventeenth century which
does not mention meeting an enemy. What might happen then is best
illustrated in the experience of a Russian monk of rather earlier date:
"half-way, a ship full of pirates attacked us. When their cannon had
shattered our boat, they leapt on board like savage beasts and cut the
ship's master to pieces and threw him into the sea, and took all they
found. As for me, they gave me a blow in the stomach with the butt-end
of a lance, saying 'Monk, give us a ducat or a gold piece.' I swore by
the living God, by God Almighty, that I had none such. They bereft me
of my all, leaving me nought but my frock and took to running all about
the ship like wild beasts waving glittering lances, swords and axes...."


Storms also were accompanied by incidents out of a present-day
tourist's experience, to a greater extent than would readily be
imagined; and this especially in the Mediterranean, where a large
proportion of the sailors were Greeks with vivid superstitions, and
courage but one day a year, that of St. Catherine, the patroness of
sailors, when nobody ever got drowned. Other days it required very
little danger to make them abandon themselves to despair and to all
the signs of it which were most likely to distract and demoralise
the more level-headed; one by one their relics would go overboard in
attempted propitiation, and the tourist was in danger of following in
person if he was suspected of being no good Christian and therefore the
probable cause of the storm. Such is the recorded experience of more
than one; and a priest who had been in the habit of reading a Bible
was threatened with ejection as a sorcerer, and his books with him;
fortunately the storm abated when the sailors had reached that point.

It may safely be said that control of the weather by sorcerers was
altogether disbelieved in by very few persons then, but if the belief
was held more strongly along one coast-line than another, it was round
the Baltic rather than elsewhere. As late as 1670[32] a traveller tells
us how being becalmed off Finland, the captain sent ashore to buy a
wind from a wizard; the fee was ten kroner (say thirty-six shillings)
and a pound of tobacco. The wizard tied a woollen rag to the mast, with
three knots in it. Untying the first knot produces just the wind they
want; S. W.; that slackening, untying knot number two revives it for
a time; but knot number three brings up a fearful northeaster which
nearly sank them. "Qui nescit orare, discat navigare" was a much-quoted
phrase; truly enough of one traveller, it would appear, seeing he is
reported to have prayed during a storm; "O Lord, I am no common beggar;
I do not trouble thee every day; for I never prayed to thee before; and
if it please thee to deliver me this once, I will never pray to thee
again as long as I live."

Shipwreck had an additional danger when it happened to a galley
rowed by forced labour. Cardinal De Retz gives a vivid picture of
what happened when the one he was in ran aground. The whole bank of
galley-slaves rose; in fear, or to escape by swimming, or to master
the vessel amidst the confusion. The commander and other officers took
double-edged swords and struck down all whom they found standing. Even
a mere landing was not without risk, for the custom in force almost
universally of asking every new-comer officially his business, home,
destination, was still more the rule at the coast; this same cardinal,
when a fugitive landing in shabby clothes at St. Sebastian, was told by
the soldiers he would probably be hanged in the morning, inasmuch as
the ship's captain had mislaid his "charte-partie," in the absence of
which every one in the ship could legally be hanged without trial.

And if they had their special sea-troubles of pirates and Greek
sailors and small boats in high seas, how much more certain was
sea-sickness and the length of its enduring. Lauder remembered leaving
Dover at 2 A. M.—"What a distressed broker I was upon the sea needs not
here be told since it's not to be feared that I'll forget it, yet I
cannot but tell how Mr. John Kincead and I had a bucket betwixt us and
strove who should have the bucket first, both equally ready; and how at
every vomit and gasp he gave he cried 'God's mercy' as if he had been
about to expire immediately." For preventives nobody has anything to
suggest except, appropriately enough, one Father Noah, a Franciscan,
who prescribes pomegranates and mint; and Rabelais, who says that
Pantagruel and company departed with full stomachs and for that reason
were not sea-sick; a better precaution, he goes on, than drinking
water some days beforehand, salt or fresh, with wine or meat, or than
taking pulp of quinces, or lemon-peel, or pomegranate juice; or fasting
previously, or covering their stomachs with paper.

Yet Panurge, who was always full or filling, became sea-sick when the
storm came. As a picture of sea-sickness, Rabelais' account of Panurge
sea-sick is probably unsurpassed. "He remained all of a heap on Deck,
utterly cast down and metagrobolised. 'What ho, Steward, my Friend,
my Father, my Uncle; ... O, three and four times happy are those who
plant Cabbages ... they have always one Foot on Land and the other
is not far from it.... This Wave will sweep us away, blessed Saviour.
O my Friend, a little Vinegar; I sweat again with sheer Agony.... I
am drowning, I am drowning, I am dying. Good people, I drown.... Ah,
my Father, my Uncle, my All, the water has got into my Shoes, by my
Shirt-collar. Bous, bous, bous; paisch; hu, hu, hu, ha, ha, ha, I drown
... eighteen hundred thousand Crowns a year to the man who will put me
ashore.... Holos, good People, I drown, I die. Consummatum est; it is
all over with me.... My good man, couldn't you throw me ashore?'"[33]

Sea-sickness was probably more common then than now because the
discomforts were so much farther from being minimised. Moryson
recommends passengers to take rose leaves, lemons or oranges, or the
roots or the leaves of angelica, cloves, or rosemary, to counteract the
evil smells of the boat; he might have added, of the company too, more
particularly with reference to river traffic, because there the company
was specially liable to be mixed by reason of the cheapness of that way
of travelling as compared with horseback; and because the contact with
each other was close.

It is not without signification that practically all district-maps of
this date mark the courses of rivers, but not of roads. Probably few
records could be found of any touring of this period worth calling a
tour which was not partly conducted by river. One advantage of river
travel was that that way was more regularly practicable than the roads,
which bad weather soon rendered barely passable. Moreover, it was the
pleasantest mode of journeying, especially if the boat was towed;
for travelling in a sixteenth-century waggon produced something like
sea-sickness in those unaccustomed to it. On the other hand, to get
the benefit of the cheapness of river travelling, as compared with
riding, one had to wait, at times, for fellow-travellers to fill the
boat; also, the choice of route was, of course, more limited; and on
the swifter rivers it was not usual, or worth while, to attempt an
up-stream journey.

On the Loire, for instance, at Roanne, where it began to be navigable,
boats were all built for sale, not for hire, as they were not expected
to come back; and the same practice was in use elsewhere. But this must
be taken as a rule with many exceptions. On the lower Loire towing was
in regular use and Lady Fanshawe, who tried it, right from Nantes to
Orleans, says, "of all my travels none were, for travel sake, as I may
call it, so pleasant as this." They went on shore to sleep, but kept
to the boat all daytime, for it possessed a "hearth," a charcoal fire
on which they did the cooking. Where towing was most frequently used
was probably Russia, all by hand; sometimes as many as three hundred
men were being employed at once by Charles II's ambassador for the six
barges and one boat between Archangel and Vologda.

When rowing was to be done, the tourist found himself expected,
practically compelled, to take his share on the Elbe and the Rhine, and
often on other rivers too. The diarist Evelyn reckoned that he rowed
twenty leagues of the distance between Roanne and Orleans, and no doubt
Edmund Waller, the poet, did the same, as he was one of the party. If
any exemptions were made, it was the boatman who exempted himself.

Another poet, or, at least, verse-writer, was deserted altogether by
his boatman. This was John Taylor, on his way back from Prague. He had
taken to the river at Leitmeritz, with his two companions and some
one else's widow and her four small children, they having jointly
bought a boat forty-eight feet by three. It was at the Saxony boundary
that the man ran away, whence there were six hundred miles to cover,
past one thousand "shelves and sands," eight hundred islands, and
numberless tree-stumps and rocks, two hundred and forty of the islands
having a mill on one side, but which side was not visible beforehand.
His figures, however, need not be taken too literally as he went
"gathering," to use his own words, "like a busy bee, all these honied
observations; some by sight, some by hearing, some by both, some by
neither, and some by bare supposition."

Equally exciting was Busbecq's passage down the Danube in a boat roped
to a 24-oar pinnace. He was behind time, so they rowed night and day,
pulling hard against a violent wind. The bed of the river was uncared
for, and collisions with tree-stumps were frequent; once it was with
the bank, so hard that a few planks came away. But the ambassador got
no further answer to his remonstrances than "God will help" from the
Turkish rowers. The Danube was mainly a Turkish river then.

On the lakes there were, of course, storms to contend with, two of
which nearly drowned two of the most gifted men of the century, De Thou
the historian, and the artist Cellini. It is fairly clear, too, that
their almost identical experiences took place on the same lake; that
of Wallenstadt, although neither of them gives the name. The boat De
Thou crossed in was made of fir-trunks, neither sound, nor tarred, nor
nailed; a German was in it, too, with his horse, which fell about; the
helmsman left his post, called out to all to save themselves if they
could; nothing was to be seen but rain and lake and perpendicular rock,
until a cave was sighted towards which all joined in an effort to row.
A way up the rock was found, at the top, an inn, just where Cellini had
found one nearly half a century earlier.

On the rivers themselves there were two further disadvantages to
meet; delay through running aground and danger in shooting the
bridges. The latter was very great: the bridge which gave its name to
Pont-St.-Esprit on the Rhone was as notorious a place for shipwrecks
as any headland, and no doubt it happened then, as it used to happen
later, at Beaugency, on the Loire, that all card-playing and talking
ceased from the moment the boatmen began to prepare for the passage
underneath till the passage was safely over. As for running aground, it
did not happen so often as might have been expected, to judge by what
is left unsaid by the travellers: one must not strike any average from
Peter Mundy's feat of doing it forty times in two days.

[Illustration: LOCK BETWEEN BOLOGNA AND FERRARA]

Both these drawbacks were present, nevertheless, to a serious extent,
and for the same reason; the total absence of regulation of the flow
of water. Locks, or "sluices" as they were termed then, were being
introduced exceedingly slowly; how slowly is evident from a Frenchman
explaining[34] the working in detail in his journal (without the use of
any specialised terms) of one on the Reno, between Bologna and Ferrara.
Considering that he must have had much experience of France and had
by that time traversed all the waterways generally used for passenger
traffic in Italy, it may be concluded that locks were at least very
rare in both countries. Some such deduction may also be made for
England and France from an Englishman doing the same when at Montargis
on the Loire, nearly seventy years later.[35] Even in Holland, the
nursery of the lock-system, its development was slow. In 1605 a
Venetian ambassador mentions that the lock-gates between Brussels and
Antwerp were only opened once a week, when the weekly trade-barge went
along; at other times every one had to change boats at every lock; just
as was done on the series of canals formed out of the marshes between
the Reno and the Po, according to the Frenchman just quoted. In the
middle of the seventeenth century, the same arrangement was in force
between Antwerp and Brussels, so Evelyn says, whereas, he implies that
between Bologna and Ferrara a lock system was fully in use.

In canals, the great achievement of the period was the cutting of one
for nine miles between Amsterdam and Haarlem in six months at a cost
of £20,000, finished not long before Sir W. Brereton passed through
it in 1634; the previous route had been by a canal in the direction
of Haarlem Meer, the boat having to be lugged by hand past the dam
which separated the canal from the Meer. Here, in Holland, too, was
by far the best passenger service in Europe; in many cases boats were
towed, or sailed, between town and town every hour with fares fixed
by the local authorities, and the only complaint that is to be heard
concerns the drunkenness of the boatmen, who frequently landed the
passengers in the water. But there is an isolated complaint, by an
Italian chaplain, which shows what the others accepted as no more than
reasonable. Nearing Amsterdam, he and his passed the night in the open
barge, unable to sit up, much less stand, because of the lowness of the
bridges, but forced to lie, in pouring rain, on foul straw, as if they
were "gentlemen from Reggio," a phrase that is still used in Venice as
a synonym for pigs.

Practicability, comfort, cheapness, and speed—for all these qualities
the water could more than hold its own against the land under even
conditions; and a traveller from Italy to Munich finishes his journey
by raft down the Iser and reckons himself a gainer in time by using
that means in preference to horseback.

It is in France, however, that the importance of waterways reaches its
maximum. Almost every tourist's way from Paris, except that by Picardy,
lay along a line which a river traversed; the windings of the Seine did
not prevent it being quite as convenient as the road; while the Loire
and the Rhone were far more so; and for approaching Paris, the Garonne
was very frequently part of one route, even up to its mouth; the upper
Loire of another. An even clearer idea of the importance and amount of
usage of riverways in France is gained by considering how Lyons has
maintained a high and steady degree of prosperity before, during, and
since the rise and fall of Venice and of Amsterdam, and how at this
period the only neglected parts of France were those which lay between
the chief rivers, which have, in fact, so far dictated the course to be
followed by the main road routes that the neglected parts of France are
the same now as then. To Lyons the Rhone gave access to Italy, Spain,
and Africa; twelve leagues away the Loire becomes navigable, and from
Gien on the Loire was one day's journey to a tributary of the Seine,
the Loing: which three rivers put Lyons in touch with North Spain, most
of France and all northern Europe. Neither was Lyons very far from the
Rhine and the Danube.

In Spain alone were the rivers unused by the traveller. In southern
Italy they were less used than in Roman times, when passenger traffic
was customary on the Tiber and smaller rivers,[36] which certainly was
not the case three hundred years ago; the disuse of the lower reaches
of the Tiber is accounted for by the fear of the Turks, to prevent an
attack on Rome by whom the mouth of the river was closed. In North
Italy on the other hand, the Adige, Brenta, and Po are frequently
mentioned; the Po, indeed, from Turin must have been as constantly in
use as any river in Europe in proportion to its length. From Mantua to
Ferrara in 1574[37] a boat sailed every night as a matter of course;
between Mantua and Venice communication by water was regular in 1591,
and even from Milan to Venice it was quite an ordinary thing to travel
by the Po, finishing the journey along the Adige to Chioggia by means
of a canal which linked up the two rivers. As for the Brenta, it had
its own proverb, that the passenger boat (between Padua and Venice)
would sink when it contained neither monk, student, nor courtesan,
which is as much as to say that the tourist would always find company,
as well as a boat, ready.

It is in connection with the waterways of North Italy that one of the
debated questions of Shakespeare's life has arisen: as to how much, or
how little, he knew of Italy first hand. But hitherto the commentators
have been contented with so little evidence that his references to them
have been misinterpreted and the accuracy of the impression that they
give, and would give still more distinctly had his editors done him
justice, has been denied. A recent writer[38] has set out the facts and
some evidence so clearly that there is no need to add to the latter
further than has already been done by the few instances just mentioned:
a few out of an almost indefinite number which are to be found in the
writings of these tourists contemporary with Shakespeare, who are
surely the most satisfactory witnesses in a case like this, wholly
concerned with what he, if a tourist, would have seen. What they show
is that in practically every North Italian town passenger traffic by
water formed part of the daily life, and that is the impression clearly
shared by Shakespeare. When he represents the passenger traffic in an
Italian river being dependent on the tide, it must be remembered that
he lived near old London Bridge, where the tidal rush was tremendous;
and that for his purpose in writing accuracy did not matter in the very
least. Neither is any mistake of his over routes to be compared with
one of the careful Villamont, who asserts that he reached Este from
Padua by the Brenta and that the Brenta is navigable no farther than
Este. Now Este is southwest of Padua and the Brenta reaches the latter
from northwest and never gets within seventeen miles of Este; but what
is more particularly to be noted is that Villamont's "Voyages" was the
book of European travel most frequently reprinted in Shakespeare's
lifetime and that the error was never corrected. At the same time, it
is, perhaps, worth while laying stress on the fact that no deduction
can be made from all this as to whether Shakespeare ever left England
or the reverse, because his capacity for using second-hand knowledge
was so unique that it may be said of him as can be said of probably no
other writer, that it is impossible to make a reasonable guess as to
when his knowledge is first-hand and when it is not.

Another subject which needs to be treated here, although at first
sight it also seems out of place, is that of the characteristics of
the islands of Europe as seen by foreigners; for among the advantages
of choosing the sea must be reckoned acquaintance with those places
which one would never get a glimpse of without a voyage; that is,
those which ships touched at but which did not form parts of the
tourist's objective. Far and away the chief of these were the islands
of the Levant. The opinion that the tourists have of them is probably
rose-coloured by the fact that these broke the monotony of a longer
voyage than they had need of otherwise; but the fact remains that
all agree in depicting them as the spots where human life was at its
pleasantest. Of Chios, in particular, might be used the childlike
phrase which the Italians used to express the height of happiness,—it
was like touching heaven with one's fingers. Nowhere was there greater
freedom or greater pleasure. Such was Della Valle's opinion, who calls
it "the pleasure-place of the Archipelago and the garden of Greece";
nothing but singing, dancing, and talking with the ladies of the isle,
not only in daytime but up to four or five in the morning. Their
costume was the only thing in Chios that could have been improved and
this seems to refer to the style only, for Lithgow says that they
were so sumptuously apparelled that workmen's wives went in satin
and taffety, and cloth of gold, and silver, with jewelled rings
and bracelets; and when he goes on to say that they were the most
beautiful women he ever saw, it is worth remembering that he not only
covered more ground in Europe, but visited a greater number of the
islands of the Mediterranean than any of the others. Besides, there
are so many to confirm it; and although three hundred years ago there
was little of what we call appreciation of nature, or rather, of the
modern custom of definitely expressing such appreciation, there was no
lack of appreciation, and expression of appreciation, of nature when
taking a human and feminine form. Singing, too, seems to have been
part of living hereabouts: in Crete, for instance, the men, women, and
children of a household would usually sing together for an hour after
dinner. When there was a seamy side to their life it was associated
with politics; in this same Crete Lithgow stayed for fifty-eight days
and never saw a Greek leave his house unarmed: generally it was with a
steel cap, a long sword, a bow, dagger, and target-shield. In Zante,
too, labourers went to the fields armed; but then it must be taken
into account that the men of Zante were peculiarly murderous; if a
merchant refused to buy from them his life would be in danger: and
also, it was under Venetian rule, a double evil; first, because it had
no other object than that of benefitting Venetians, and secondly, it
implied opposition to the Turks, which was worse, much worse, than the
rule of the Turks. Chios was under Turkish rule; so was Coos, the next
happiest place, very rarely visited, but well worth it, partly for what
Della Valle calls the "Amorevolezza" of that generation, partly because
there were still to be seen the houses of Hippocrates, Hercules, and
Peleus, Achilles' father. At Corfu was the house of Judas; also his
descendants, however much the latter denied their ancestry; and near
Lesbos, the islet called Monte Sancto because it was thither that the
Devil had borne Christ to show him all the kingdoms of the earth. Then
there were all the natural curiosities which the tourist might see
in the Levant and nowhere else; asbestos at Cyprus, likewise ladanum
"generated by the dew," and at Lemnos the "terra sigillata" famed
throughout Europe for its healing properties, an interesting example of
an ancient superstition taken over by Christianity; for the priestess
of Artemis who had the charge of the sacred earth in Pliny's time had
been succeeded by the Christian priest whom the Turkish officials
watched at work without interfering, in case there might be some rite
which they did not know of and on the use of which the efficacy of the
earth depended.


So also, with volcanoes; it was only he who went by sea who saw any
other than Vesuvius; and in addition to their scientific, they had
also a theological, attraction, being generally considered as mouths
of hell, Stromboli, in particular, more continually active than the
rest. Concerning Stromboli there is a curious tale which is worth
borrowing from Sandys, how one Gresham, a London merchant, ascended the
volcano one day, at noon, when the flames were wont to slacken, and
heard a voice call out that the rich Antonio was coming. On returning
to Palermo where there was a rich Antonio, well known, he learnt that
the latter had died at the hour the voice had been heard, and the fact
and hour were confirmed by the sailors who had accompanied Gresham, to
Henry VIII, who questioned them. Gresham himself retired from business
and gave away his property.

Another Levant incident, characteristic, mysterious, and one of
Sandys' telling, moreover, is this. He was at Malta one day, alone
on the seashore, and what he saw seemed like a part of a masque. A
boat arrived; in it, two old women. Out they stepped with grotesque
gestures, and spread a Turkey carpet, on that a table-cloth, and on
that victuals of the best. Then came another boat which set "a Gallant
ashore with his two Amorosaes, attired like nymphs, with Lutes in their
hands." But the "gallant" turned out to be a French captain and the
nymphs far from spiritual.

Or again; once, on the way to Constantinople, they were near land and
he made a day's excursion. Returning at evening, he found the captain
lying dripping wet, struggling, it seemed, with death. The crew were
all quarrelling, some on board, some on shore. "Amongst the rest there
was a blind man who had married a young wife that would not let him
lie with her and thereupon had undertaken this journey to complain
unto the Patriarch. He, hearing his brother cry out at the receipt of
a blow, guided to the place by the noise and thinking with his staff
to have struck the striker, laid it on with such force that, meeting
with nothing but air, he fell into the sea, and was with difficulty
preserved from drowning. The clamour increased; and anon the captain,
starting up as if of a sudden restored to life, like a madman skips
into the boat, and drawing a Turkish scimitar, beginneth to lay about
him (thinking that his vessel had been surprised by pirates): whereupon
they all leaped into the sea, and diving under the water ascended
outside the reach of his fury. Leaping ashore, he pursues my Greek
guide, whom fear made too nimble for him, mounting a steep cliff which
at another time he could have hardly ascended. Then turning upon me
(who was only armed with stones) as God would have it, he stumbled,
and there lay like a stone for two hours, that which had made them so
quarrelsome being now the peace-maker. For it being proclaimed death
to bring wine into Constantinople and they loath to pour such good
liquor into the sea, had made their bellies their overcharged vessels."

But it would be doing the Levant injustice to let the last word on
it be an explained miracle, and therefore you may be informed on the
testimony of John Newberie, citizen and merchant of London, who, "being
desirous to see the world," has become enrolled in the band of Purchas,
His Pilgrims, that there was a small isle near Melos, to wit, the Isola
de' Diavoli, uninhabited but by devils; and if any vessels are moored
thereto, as may be done, the water being deep by the shore, the ropes
loose their hold unless the sailors make a cross with every two cables.
And once upon a time, when a Florentine galley was moored there without
a cross, a loud voice was heard warning the sailors to row away.

And lastly, this is what happened when a funeral had to take place at
sea; an inventory of the deceased's goods was made, the ship's bell
was rung twice, a fire-brand thrown into the sea, and the announcement
made: "Gentlemen mariners, pray for the soul of poor —— whereby,
through God's mercy, he may rest with the souls of the faithful." But
it is pleasant to say that on the only occasion this form of burial is
recorded the deceased was alive, if not kicking; he was at his post,
the "look out," curled up asleep, as he had been for forty-eight hours
previously, sleeping off the effects of Greek wine.

The amount of attention given to the other islands of the
Mediterranean, Sicily, which may be considered part of Italy, excepted,
might well be represented by saying nothing about them, but Cardinal
de Retz's remark about Port Mahon, Minorca, is too characteristic of
his age to be passed over; he praises it as the most beautiful haven of
the Mediterranean, so beautiful that its scenery surpassed even that
employed at Paris for the opera!




CHAPTER IV

CHRISTIAN EUROPE


PART I

EUROPEAN EUROPE

 From the report of divers curious and experienced persons I had
 been assured there was little more to be seen in the rest of the
 civil world after Italy, France and the Low Countries, but plain and
 prodigious barbarism.

      Evelyn, _Diary_ (1645).

The route of the Average Tourist being determined by the considerations
above-mentioned, he was naturally directed to those countries whose
situation enabled them to influence the course of events in his
fatherland, whose development and conditions contained the most
pertinent lessons for him as a man and as a statesman, and whose
climate, accessibility, and inhabitants were such as hindered
travellers least. These countries were: Italy, France, the United
Provinces (_i. e._, Holland), the Empire, the Spanish Netherlands
(corresponding to Belgium), England, Poland. This order is that in
which they would probably have appeared to arrange themselves according
to their importance for the purposes under consideration. The omission
of England in the chapter heading is due, of course, to Evelyn having
started thence; of the Empire and Poland, to the date at which he is
writing, near the close of the Thirty Years' War; a date which, while
within the period with which this book has to deal, is later by nearly
half a century than the central date, 1600, to which all its undated
statements should be taken as referring.

Whatever criticism might have been passed on this order of importance
by this or that adviser, not one would have been found to dispute the
preëminence of Italy. Whereas now there is no form of human effort in
which the inhabitants of Italy have not been equalled or surpassed,
it seemed then as if there had never been any in which they had been
surpassed and very few in which they had been equalled. So far as Art
and antiquities go, there will be no need to persuade anybody of the
likelihood of that; nor probably, with regard to venerableness of
religion or romance of history. But the very easiness of imagining the
supremacy which would have been conceded Italy on these points tends
to close the enquiry into the causes of its hold on men in times gone
by, and consequently to obscure the fact that Italy then not only stood
for all that Italy stands for now, but also in the place, or rather,
places, now occupied by the most advanced States in their most advanced
aspects; for everything, in fact, that made for progress on the lines
considered most feasible or probable at the moment; for progress, not
only in culture, but in commerce and commercial methods, in politics,
in the science of war, in up-to-date handicraft, and, especially, in
worldly wisdom. Even a baby-food was assured of greater respect if
made from an Italian recipe, such as the paste made of bread-crumbs,
wheat-meal, and olive-oil, of which De Thou nearly died. In short,
if the value of Italy as the colonizer of Europe in regard to mental
development belonged by this time to the past rather than to the
present, its reputation as such must not be ante-dated, as is generally
done, and ascribed to the age when it most thoroughly deserved that
reputation. Here, on the contrary, as usually, merit and credit are not
contemporary.

And there was plenty to deceive those who did not look far below
the surface. In discussing politics the newest set-phrases would
be those brought into use by Italian writers; "balance of power,"
"reason of state," etc.; the word "status" itself, as a substitute
for "Respublica," was both a sign of the times and of Italian
influence.[39] So with commercial terms, we find, for instance, the
word "provvisione" (commission) being used as late as 1648,[40] by an
Englishman who had never been to Italy, while the control of Italy
over one of the later forms of the Renascence, that of the art of
gardening, is indicated by the introduction of the word "florist" from
the Italian during the seventeenth century. The only modern author,
moreover, whose acquaintance a European schoolboy was certain to
make, was the Italian versifier whom Shakespeare calls "good old
Mantuan," and even if we look at things from to-day's standpoint the
most remarkable professorship of the period would surely be accounted
that of Galileo at Padua, 1592-1610. In another respect, too, connected
with education, the relative maturity and crudeness of civilisation
south and north of the Alps is even more apparent to-day than it was
then. The "Trans-alpine" shared more or less Erasmus' belief in the
power of words as a means of education, whereas in Italy, and in Italy
alone, was it insisted that the influence of environment, personal and
physical, is the factor compared to which all else is of but little
account. The first theory is abandoned now by all who can afford to do
so, the second is that of the best effort of to-day.[41]

As for the technique of war, more than half-way through the seventeenth
century, when Louis XIV wanted the very best available talent to design
the completion of the Louvre, it was to Rome that he sent, and the
artist, Bernini, is recorded[42] as saying, to allay jealousy, that
there was no need for Frenchmen to be ashamed of an Italian being
called in for this purpose, seeing that in the kind of knowledge in
which they excelled all Europe, that of war, their teachers were still
Italians. And the modernity of the latter's reputation for supremacy in
military knowledge is thrown into relief by a remark of Bertrandon de
la Brocquière, writing in 1433, taken in conjunction with the above.
The latter was a clear-headed Fleming of wide experience who, when
drawing up a plan for the right composition of an army which should
suffice to drive the Turks back, only mentions French, English, and
German soldiers.

As regards applied science, again, we find Evelyn writing of the
harbour-works at Genoa, "of all the wonders of Italy, for the art
and nature of the design, nothing parallels this." Now Evelyn was
certainly not a man to underrate the rest of the wonders of Italy. As
for comparisons outside of Italy, all Europe had by his time settled
down to compete in the application of science to every-day life. And
as to the products of the soil, is it not probable that if, nowadays,
Europeans left the soil to take care of itself, and the day-labourer to
take care of the seed and the preparation of the product, Italy would
regain the first place as a producer of luxuries?

Such points as these, just a few that have chanced to suggest
themselves in the course of reading for other purposes, are merely put
forward as typical of the relations existing between Italy and the rest
of Europe; the Italians themselves admitted their own superiority by
the slightly contemptuous meaning that attached itself to their word
"Transalpini," and very rare is it to find one of these "Transalpini"
taking the view that Sir Philip Sidney and Fynes Moryson did, that the
first characteristic of Italy was pretentiousness. On the contrary,
it was assumed that little but experience could be so easily, or so
satisfactorily, acquired elsewhere. Diverse forms of government, at
least, could not be met with elsewhere in the same variety within such
narrow limits. The south was what they termed a "province," _i. e._, a
dependency held down by force, belonging to Spain; so, too, was Milan,
with its surroundings. In the centre was a monarch, the Pope, who was
both elected and "absolute," a term which had a specialised meaning,
that of power unlimited except by the extent to which the holder made
himself disliked. Further north were free cities, Lucca, Genoa; six
hereditary principalities, Tuscany, Mantua, Urbino, Savoy, Modena,
Parma; and lastly, the Republic of Venice with its miniature empire in
Lombardy. And concerning Venice, there is this to be noted, that it
was exhibiting solidity combined with elasticity to a degree all the
more astonishing in "an impossible city in an impossible place"; which
gave it a position not unlike that of England to-day, namely, that
peculiarities of its "constitution" received an even greater degree
of respect than they were entitled to and tended to be imitated by
constitution-formulators of the period who expected to reproduce what
had been achieved by geography and a national temperament, by means of
reproducing some of the formulas that the latter had adopted. All of
which was of great interest to the Average Tourist; and in consequence,
if you happen to be reading one of his accounts of a tour, at the first
mention of the word "Doge," skip twelve pages.

What remains to be seen concerning Italy is—what were the details that
mainly occupied the foreigner as student there. In which connection
the chief fact to be noted is that his stopping-places were invariably
towns; and this not in Italy only, but throughout Europe. As regards
the Average Tourist, this is fully accounted for by the objects he
set before himself, but it is equally true of all. Bathing-places
excepted, the only holiday resorts lay in the very last places where
we should think of looking for them—in the suburbs. The Riviera,
for instance, was no spot to delay in when Mohammedan pirates were
forever coasting along in search of Christian slaves; and so on. But
the essential explanation is to be sought in a census of Europe. The
population of London exceeds that of most sixteenth-century States,
and there are London suburbs which house more than any but the biggest
sixteenth-century cities. Many villages consisted of no more than three
or four houses; and even near Paris, of six or seven or eight; in
Spain one might journey eight leagues without seeing a house at all.
Whereas, therefore, the difficulty, and the pleasure, of a modern tour
consists in escaping from people, the difficulty, and the safety, of
all tourists in 1600 lay in reaching them.


Crossing the Alps, then, and making for the towns, one came, say, upon
Turin; not a town that would detain one, but a point of the parting of
the ways. Hence to Rome, the direct way lay through Genoa; a second viâ
Milan and Bologna, a day's journey longer but yielding the advantage
of seeing those two cities; while the third way, the longest but most
comfortable and no more expensive, lay down the Po to Ferrara, thence
to Venice, thence by sea to Ancona, by land to Loreto, and so to Rome.
The two former routes converged at Florence. Of these two the longer
would be chosen either going or returning. Milan must no more be
missed than Rome. It was the city of all Europe on which the question
of peace and war permanently depended; being the key to the most
debateable district. And as such, it may be imagined what the castle
was then from what it is even in its present state as a sort of museum
of military architecture. Then it was alive with the finest soldiers
of the age, Spaniards; a small town, complete in itself, with rows of
shops and five market-places. And the city itself was recognised as
unsurpassed as a school both for the accomplishments that befitted a
gentleman and for craftsmanship; for everything, in fact, that made
life possible or pleasant. Yet Bologna had the advantage of it in one
respect, in possessing a University; to matriculate in an Italian
university continued an inexpressible honour to the "Transalpini,"
evident though it was that the merest smattering of book-knowledge was
sufficient to pass; and even though the Italian said openly, "We take
the fees, and send back an ass in a doctor's gown." Florence again, had
its own supremacy; the most attractive town in the district where the
best Italian was supposed to be spoken. Siena was preferred by purists
for language, but the slight distinction was outweighed by just those
charms which have not been impaired by age. One more has indeed been
added that might be expected to have existed then, but did not; what
Ben Jonson wrote in "Volpone" in summing up the qualities of the poets
of Italy and eulogising Guarini.

    Dante is hard and few can understand him

was but an echo of the Italians' own opinion. "Like Dante's 'Inferno'
which no man understandeth" was a Venetian Senator's description of
Henry IV's policy in 1606.[43]

Assuming the third route to be the one chosen, there was Ferrara to
pass, but not to stay at when Venice was almost in sight—Venice in
1600! to have been a witness of that would make it well worth while to
have been dead for the past three hundred years. The essence of the
change is best expressed in the words of Mr. L. P. Smith in his "Life
and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton," when he speaks of it as "a shell on
the shores of the Adriatic deserted by the wonderful organism that
once inhabited it." Outward and visible signs of the vividness and
breadth of its life were two in particular; the infinite variety and
number of persons and nationalities that filled its streets with colour
and contrast and a sense of new worlds and of mystery in the midst of
commerce; and secondly, the Arsenal. In all Europe there was not such
another organisation as the Arsenal; not one so completely prepared
with everything that went to the fitting out of a fleet, and very few
so well able to fit out an army. Villamont was shown twenty-five great
galleasses and eighty-five galleys, all of them so new that they had
not been out to sea. Probably, also, its managers were the greatest
direct employers of labour in Christendom; 2880 is one of the more
moderate estimates of those permanently at work, including the 200
old women always mending sails, a number increased to 700 at times;
and all these employees were assured of a pension from the State when
past work, an otherwise unheard-of custom then, in practice, at least.
It had its place, too, in the tourist's mythology; one after another
repeating the tale how when Henry III of France visited Venice, a
galley was built and three cannon turned out while he was at dinner.

Yet Montaigne has something to say about Venice that cancels all the
intervening years and changes, and brings him into touch with us. He
went his way towards it with the highest expectations, explored it
eagerly, recollected it with the keenest pleasure: yet at the end of
his second day there his feeling was one of disappointment. It may
be taken as characteristic that he alone should experience then what
seems more appropriate to the present; more probably, other visitors
shared it but were too much subject to convention to say so; or,
perhaps, re-writing their experiences later at home, as they generally
did, they record their later thought only, whereas Montaigne left his
unrevised and unashamed. This explanation seems the more reasonable
inasmuch as the causes of the feeling had already come into being. On
the surface the sight rested satisfied, while the imagination remained
as hungry as ever. In a country, France, for instance, the tourist
always had a consciousness of towns and districts unseen, all of which
had contributed to the past, for evidence of the existence of which
the imagination looks, however unconsciously; but after two days in
Venice, all that is important and visible may seem to have been seen;
no suggestion of anything beyond, not even the ruins of a half-buried
city, as at Rome. It is true it was clear then that the word "Venice"
meant an Empire as well as a city, though by the time the tourist
had reached the city, he had passed through the conquests, barring
an island or two in the Levant which the Turks were in course of
subtracting. Yet the third meaning of the name was as dim to him as
both the second and the third are to most of us, that of the source of
an Empire, the whole collection of islands in the lagoons, whose larger
life had already been drained away into the central settlement, but
where Venice and its history were equally discoverable—but not in two
days.

Another similarity between Venice of old and of to-day lies in the
fact that the gondoliers knew much better than the visitors whither
the latter wanted to go and took them there, with, or against, orders;
only with this difference, that then it was always to the house of the
courtesan in whose pay he was.

When the tourist had released himself and was proceeding on his way
to Rome there were the beacons dotted along the coast for him to
notice, beacons for signalling the sighting of a Turk or corsair vessel
from south to north in a few hours. Ravenna received little notice,
Rimini less, but Ancona was kept in the memory by one of those rhymes
characteristic of the contemporary guide-book.

    Unus Deus, Una Roma,
    Unus turris, in Cremona,
    Una portus, in Ancona.

And then Loreto. Here it must be remembered, first of all, that it was
unpardonable to ask for a meal before visiting the "Santa Casa." The
town was little more than one long street, well fortified by reason
of the treasure that the offerings represented. Bassompierre relates
in his memoirs how he was invited to be one of the witnesses at the
quarterly offering of the poor-box one Christmas; the contents amounted
to 6000 crowns (in our money about £7500); this for one quarter only.
Many men, and towns too, were represented by models of themselves
in solid silver. As to which votive offerings Montaigne makes an
assertion, unconfirmed by any one else but with this in its favour,
that no tourist but himself gives any details concerning a valuable
offering from himself made at Loreto. He says that the craftsmen refuse
to take any payment for such articles beyond the cost of the materials.
It seems incredible that a town which had been the resort of pilgrims
for more than two centuries should not have become demoralised, but
Montaigne adds that the officials refused tips, or received them
unwillingly; and certainly no one complains of extortion.

If the tourist was lucky enough to see a shipload of pilgrims arriving
from the farther coast of the Adriatic, it would be worth while to stay
and watch, for as soon as Loreto came in sight they rose and cried
out without ceasing from that moment until they reached the "Santa
Casa," beseeching the Madonna to return to Fiume, where, once upon
a time, so the tale ran, her house had stood. Leaving Loreto, not
forgetting, of course, to wear the pilgrim's badge peculiar to the
shrine—a leaden image of Our Lady surmounted by three porcupine quills
fastened together with a silk thread, a tiny flag on each quill—leaving
Loreto, then, a détour was often made to visit Assisi, joining the main
road again at Spoleto. And so to Rome, where the new arrival, if a
Roman Catholic, should first make his way to the Scale Sante to return
thanks for his preservation during the past journey; where, too, at his
departure, he should pray for assistance on the one to come.

It made considerable difference to his recollections of Rome what date
it was within this period that he arrived. If at the beginning, he
would have found St. Peter's half-finished and the interior in a state
better suited to a pig-sty; and the rest of the city to match; the most
confident Protestant would be gratified to find himself scandalised
beyond expectation. By 1601 St. Peter's was practically in all its
glory, the city unsurpassed in its care for the needy and sick, and
of average morality. In the interval, too, the catacombs had been
discovered, and though Bosio, the explorer of them, did not publish
the results of his explorations till 1632 they became more accessible
meanwhile; continuing, however, to be regarded as isolated "crypts."
It was his book "Roma Sotterranea" that first caused them to be
considered collectively; and it was under that name that Evelyn paid
his visit to them in 1645, the first of these tourists to make anything
that can be called an excursion among them. He entered through a burrow
in a cornfield two miles from the city, so small that he had to crawl
on his stomach for the first twenty paces. But the main feature of the
Rome of 1600 was still its power. Not simply influence in the present
as a result of power in the past, but the strength of age, middle-age,
and youth existing in unison. To begin with, their reverence for
Ancient Rome was greater than ours; an effect partly of their theory
of history, partly of the narrower limits of their acquaintance with
the materials of history. For the former cause, it was bound to be
an axiom of history as long as the Bible remained authoritative as a
statement of historical fact, that mankind had proceeded from good to
bad, and from bad to worse, as time had advanced. And whatever, in
the thought of the age, tended to shake this view, was held in check
by the discoveries, in different, previously unexplored, parts of the
world, of communities which seemed to be possessed at once of a higher
morality and also of a more primitive civilisation, than the European.
It is probably impossible for us to realise the alteration that the
theory of evolution has introduced into current ideas about history.

For the second cause, the greatness of the Roman Empire appeared the
greater for their having so little with which to compare it. The empire
of the Ottomans had, it is true, by now eclipsed it; but Spain's was
a vague wilderness, inhabited by savages; the Persian of old they
only knew through the doctored accounts of the Latin writers; and of
the overwhelming antiquity and extent of the Chinese they had no real
knowledge at all. All, the Turkish excepted, that were not shadowy
to them, were what Rome had obliterated, the moral effect of which,
associated, as it must needs be, with the name of the city, endured
as the chief asset of the Papal power. If any one then had taken
Gibbon's view, that the remains of the Roman Empire were approaching
dissolution, it would only have been because he thought that the end of
the world was equally near. And this unbroken continuity of power did
not merely exist, but was alive with fresh life. Nothing had replaced
Rome; there was nothing to replace it; there was no need to replace
it, since there was nothing effete nor slack about it, however much
corruption was patent to the "Reformed."

The relations between visitors who were "Reformed" and Rome is another
interesting feature of the tourist-life of the time when both were
militant and a large proportion of tourists anti-Catholic. Much
depended on the reigning Pope. In the time of Sixtus V (1585-90)
Protestants came in fear, lived in disguise, and sought protection;
Englishmen from Cardinal Allen, who readily granted it for a few days,
to enable them to see the antiquities. Clement VIII (1592-1605) was
much more lenient, yet Moryson thought it advisable even then to pass
for a Frenchman, and to safeguard himself through Cardinal Allen, as
well; also to leave before Easter, when there was a house-to-house
visitation to enquire if all were communicants. Precautions, on the
other hand, might be overdone. It was all very well to make a practice,
as one did, of going through a church on the way to his morning drink,
in case spies were about, but to tell one's host, as a certain German
did, on returning home from an afternoon walk, that he had just been
to mass, when all the masses were said in the morning, was going too
far! And conforming to custom had its own dangers, too, when it formed
a habit, as Moryson found, who, on entering a church at Geneva, reached
out his hand towards the poor-box in mistake for the holy-water stoop
to which he had accustomed himself; all the more embarrassing a mistake
for his being in the company of Theodore Beza.

Gregory XV (1621-3)—to return to the Popes—forbade even the other
princes of Italy to admit any but Roman Catholics to their dominions;
and there were, besides, the already-mentioned prohibitions from the
authorities at home. The state of affairs in general may be taken as
that suggested by the localisation of Shakespeare's plays. Two-thirds
of his scenes are laid abroad, in Italy more frequently than elsewhere
outside England: yet his contemporary Italy is practically always
the North, the South being reserved for the "classical" period.
Nevertheless, it may safely be assumed that the danger was not quite so
great as the fear, and that where the former was incurred, the sufferer
had only himself to blame. Whether or no the high officials at Rome
were faulty in dogma or in virtue, they were usually both men of the
world and gentlemen. Montaigne's belongings, for example, provided the
searchers with plenty of material for a charge of heresy, but a short
conversation overcame all difficulties. And one William Davis, an
English sailor[44] who fell ill at Rome in 1598, found by experience
that a Protestant who was civil would be cared for in a hospital free
and given food and money on leaving. The more usual kind of behaviour
has already been illustrated; only it must not be imagined that the
incautiousness and incivility which turned the Protestant into a
martyr were less conspicuous among other sects. By the law of Geneva
a three-days stay was permitted to travellers of every creed. The
poet-philosopher, Giordano Bruno, and the Jesuit missionary, Parsons,
both rested there; their zeal prescribed the extremes of controversial
outrage in return for tolerance and courtesy.

But Rome and its associations have had more than their share of
attention. Imagine, then, the traveller started on the invariable
excursion to Naples, the equal of Milan as a finishing school, and one
of the few cities with underground drainage. Some, but not many, might
go on to Sicily; to Syracuse for the feast of Santa Lucia, for choice.
But what with robbers and corsair-raids, there was no travelling there
without a strong guard, and the towns were so unsafe that Messina seems
to have been the first of European towns to evolve a combined bank
and safe-deposit under municipal guarantee; established by 1611, when
Sandys noticed it. Those who did reach Sicily usually visited Malta as
well; small boats with five rowers left about two hours before sunset,
and if no Turkish sail was sighted, went on, reaching Malta about dawn.

But the foregoing presupposes the Mont-Cenis route into Italy, and
leaves out three towns which must be included: Padua, Verona, and
Bergamo. Padua had its university, the most-visited in Europe; Verona,
its relics of Roman times, which commanded an attention that they now
have to share with the romantic aspects of mediæval history, romance
that sixteenth-century people were not inclined to be attracted by,
having too first-hand an acquaintance with feuds to look at their
picturesque side. Moreover, the visible remains of these feuds,
here and in every Italian city, showed a ludicrous side, for in so
far as they did not take the form of assassination by the foulest
means, they consisted in the two parties of retainers parading the
town, armed with an absurd completeness, each one confining itself to
certain quarters of the town by tacit agreement in order to render
collisions impossible. The habits dramatised in the first scene of
"Romeo and Juliet" are those of Londoners, in so far as they are at all
contemporary. The third town, Bergamo, thousands pass by now, year by
year, within a few miles, never knowing what they miss by not stopping,
but then it lay on the north-and-south road as much as any town in
Italy, and not even the Frankfort fair surpassed that of Bergamo,
August 25 and the following week, when lucky was he who could find
sleeping-room in a stable.


Yet however complete was the outfit obtainable across the Alps,
there remained other countries which were factors in politics; and
which possessed, moreover, histories, courts, universities, and men
of learning; fewer temptations, possibly, and more "true religion."
Of these France was the one the most easily accessible to a greater
number. As to its boundaries, they were somewhat narrower in almost
every direction than at present; especially southeastwards; Lyons
was a frontier-town. Its attractions lay principally in Paris, the
only city north of the Alps comparable to Milan as a centre for the
training of a man for a courtly, or an international, life; and in
the government, which, in its extreme centralisation and in its
idealisation of monarchy, corresponded most closely with the more
practicable ideals of the day.

In planning a route through France it was advisable to go straight
to Paris, if only for a few days, since to have been in Paris gave
one a position in the provinces. As a place to stay at, Orleans was
really far more frequently chosen by foreigners than Paris. Its
university was as international as any in Europe, and ahead of any
other in maintaining a circulating library for students, which lent
any book on a receipt being given for it; "an extraordinary custom"
says Evelyn. Here, too, began the district reputed best for spoken
French, which brought strangers to stay at Blois and Tours and Saumur
as well; to Saumur, perhaps, more than to the other two, by reason
of the number and quality of its teachers on all subjects; it was
a centre for Protestantism and learning in combination. Poictiers
for law, Montpellier for medicine; and there is an end of the towns
that the student-tourist abided in. For the country in general it
should be added that just here, where centralisation and autocracy
were developing most rapidly and thoroughly, was reckoned as the
most decidedly free region of Europe, "liberty," according to
sixteenth-century standards, depending not on administration being
either lenient or constitutional, but on the extent to which the
individual was not interfered with by social conventions. Political
tyranny was not regarded as objectionable on principle, except by
authors.

The United Provinces differed in no noteworthy respect from Holland
of to-day, so far as territory goes, and during the earlier part of
this period attracted but little attention; but as time went on and
from imminent destruction they escaped into independence, they drew
the tourist, first out of curiosity and subsequently as a State which
compelled the study of every one who needed to observe the present and
foresee the future. Many minor interests, too, brought individuals
thither, as a result of Dutch enterprise. We find, for example, Sir
William Brereton surveying the country in order to understand their
methods of decoying wild-fowl; and Sir Richard Weston, who introduced
locks into English rivers and the rotation of crops into English
agriculture, learning both these novelties there. And though no one as
yet went abroad to study the possibilities of practical philanthropy,
there were many who noted, with an admiration that doubtless bore
fruit, their charitable institutions of all kinds, unequalled then
outside Rome. In one respect they were ahead of Italy: the suddenness
of their prosperity resulted in the latest improvements in laying out
towns—wider streets and greater regularity being more in evidence
there than elsewhere. So uniform was the appearance of the houses,
says one, that they seemed to have been all built by the same workmen
at the same time; whereas the Italian towns, even in re-building,
made no such experiments, because the old narrow streets formed the
best safeguard against the surprise-attack of which they lived in
constant dread, especially from the Turks' corsairs. No one town could
claim precedence, though Amsterdam, even as early as 1600, struck
De Rohan as equalled by few in Europe for wealth and beauty; it was
rather the excellence and frequency of the towns that occasioned
remark—twenty-nine fine ones within sixty leagues of boundary; together
with the number of storks which the municipalities cherished, as
animals known to harbour a preference for places where representative
government flourished.

As for the Empire, it meant many different things to different
visitors. The variety of territory and government was absolutely
bewildering, yet certain marked cross-divisions presented themselves,
such as the triple division of it into upper Germany, Hansa League
(with Saxony), and frontier; the frontier being those districts
which were forever either meeting, or fearing, a Turkish invasion.
Then there was division according to politics, Catholic, Reformed,
Protestant, to be studied by the Average Tourist for purposes of
alliance, and a third classification according to form of government,
the imperial authority, venerable and increasingly vague; princes;
"free" towns. The first system of division has, however, most in common
with the greater number of foreigners' interests, and of its three
sub-divisions upper Germany was paid the greatest attention, partly
because it lay across so many routes, partly because there was so much
to see. It gives the dominant note to references to German-speaking
countries in the travel-literature of the day, a note of peaceful
energy and hopeful prosperity. While not recommended to these
travellers' notice by a well-known past such as the greater coherence
of France and Italy had enabled historians to evolve for them, those
who lingered there, as most did, saw that its possessions, human and
non-human, gave it a present interest and a promise not surpassed
elsewhere. The Germany of the last fifty years of the sixteenth
century is practically ignored by modern English historians: the
story of its continual activity and of its continuous relations with
England contain none of those sensational hindrances to the advance of
civilisation with which historians concern themselves, but the frequent
references to those relations by the contemporary historian of Queen
Elizabeth's reign, William Camden, bear witness to the current opinion
and knowledge which found expression in the number of visitors from
all quarters and the attention they devote to it in relation to that
accorded to other countries.

Among the towns of the Empire Augsburg was easily first; its finest
street was the finest street in Europe, with roofs of copper; Nuremburg
ran it close in many ways but had nothing to show in comparison with
that one street. The cause of Augsburg's preëminence was its being
the home of the Fuggers, the greatest financiers of Europe, but with
their decline one function of the town that meant much in the way
of attracting wayfarers, that of being the General-Post-Office for
correspondence between Italy and Central Europe, passed to Frankfurt.
The frequency of the use of stone as house-building material in these
towns of Upper Germany and the show of burnished pewter and brass
that was the pride of each inhabitant of standing, who let his huge
hall-door lie open all day to exhibit it, were details which the
Average Tourist would not overlook if he was observing as he ought
where the wealth and security prevailed that were valuable in an
ally. Thus did Strassburg fix itself in De Rohan's recollections.
Democracy, to him, was a barely credible superstition; yet nowhere was
he more courteously treated, nowhere did he see completer preparations
against a long siege, nor any better arsenal, a model of cleanliness,
orderliness, and efficiency. Neither was it lost on him that amongst
all their collection of cannon there was not one for siege purposes;
their aim was defence, not offence. As little to be ignored as the
others was Ulm. A feature of the age was the development of the methods
of water-supply in towns; Ulm was the centre for this industry; even
Augsburg's water-supply had been planned there. And it was equally the
leader in woodwork.

Similar characteristics would be found repeated on a somewhat less
striking scale among the Hansa towns, with Lübeck ranking first in
pleasantness by general consent. A specially charming feature lay in
the number of swans swimming in the moats, though no Englishman so much
as mentions them; doubtless because the one town that excelled it in
this respect was London. Going east, the various capitals would provide
each its own object-lesson, and, collectively, would illustrate the
absence of avarice among German rulers as contrasted with the princes
of Italy. Saxony formed the only exception and Dresden showed it. In
spite of it being the last big town that Hentzner visited, its armoury
aroused more enthusiasm in him than anything except the gardens of
Naples and the all-sufficiency of Milan; and Moryson confirms this,
adding also that the stable was the finest he had seen, with its
136 horses, all foreigners (the German horses had another stable to
themselves), each with a glazed window and a green curtain in front
of his nose, a red cloth, an iron rack, a copper manger, a brass
shower-bath, and a separate cupboard for his trappings.

No Protestant who reached Dresden would miss Wittenberg, but the
contrast must have been painful; poor and very dirty; the dwellers
therein mainly students, prostitutes, and pigs, recalling the verses in
use concerning Angers—

    Basse ville, hauts clochers,
    Riches putaines, pauvres escoliers.

Leipzig was in favour for the purity of its German and Munich for
pleasure, but Prague was another disappointment in spite of the Emperor
living there; few stone houses and the wooden ones rough, and so filthy
that the saying ran that the Turks would never take it despite the
feebleness of its fortifications, because it was so well-guarded by its
stenches; much as a Frenchman remarked at this time of Massa, between
Genoa and Pisa, that it had a castle, but its chief defence was its
fleas. Vienna was likewise far too well defended to attract visitors; a
frontier-town against the Turks, always garrisoned by mercenaries and
its streets unsafe in consequence.

To go on to the Spanish Netherlands, they were bound to be passed
and re-passed in the course of the work of Europe, for geographical
reasons, but still more so as a storm-centre of European politics.
Nevertheless, the tourist, however serious, did not stay there long.
The viceroy's business was generalship, and consequently there was no
settled court: little to note, in fact, but the Spanish infantry at
work and the effects of that; towns in ruins, dwindling trade. Yet the
localisation of the war was intermittent enough not to interfere with
the travellers from Upper Germany making a practice of reaching France
through this district, according to Zinzerling, rather than direct, a
habit resulting not only from the attractions that remained to Flemish
towns, but still more from the direct route through Burgundy having
become a highway of German mercenaries into France.

[Illustration: GATE OF ST. GEORGE, ANTWERP]

Moreover, no one who knew his business as a sight-seer omitted Antwerp.
Trade and political importance had for some time been deserting it
until it suggested to Howell in 1619 "a disconsolate Widow, or a
superannuated Virgin that hath lost her Lover," but in 1600 it had
not passed a state of mellowness without stagnation, with traces of
its greatness fresh. Every visitor repeats the same idea—"the most
beautiful town in Europe"; and not in the same formula, as would result
from the idea being a guide's commonplace, but in words drawn from his
own experience: "as seen from the cathedral tower the most beautiful
town after Constantinople," says one; or Lithgow, extolling
Damascus, "the most beautiful city in Asia," compares it, for every
respect save style of architecture, to "that matchless pattern and
mirror of beauty, Antwerp." It would seem to have been the first town
to turn its fortifications into promenades, laid out in walks and
planted with trees.[45] The citadel, too, was the finest out of Italy,
on the word of a Venetian ambassador.

Elizabethan England, on the other hand, was rendered still more
remarkable by possessing no fortresses at all. Two exceptions, Berwick
and the Tower of London, served but to call attention to the rule,
the Tower in particular, whose out-of-date character in the matter of
defences greatly amused connoisseurs. One Venetian ambassador, indeed,
with this fact in his mind, together with the miscellaneous character
of its contents, describes it as not so much a fortress as a "sicuro
deposito"—a safe-deposit.[46] The peacefulness which brought about this
state of things is still borne witness to by the large glazed windows
on the ground floors of Elizabethan country-houses, but no foreigner
remarks on that in the presence of the other more striking points that
testified to it then. Foscarini, the successor of the ambassador just
referred to, had occasion to traverse the length of England in 1613.
Writing home[47] he remarks on five facts concerning the country he
passes through which seemed particularly noteworthy: (1) No unfruitful
land throughout; (2) Every eight or ten miles a town comparable to a
good Italian town (this was on the post-road to Scotland); (3) Number
of navigable rivers; (4) and of beautiful churches; (5) No mercenary
soldiers.

To make it clear why the visitor should be so specially struck by these
features, it is necessary to recall how differently matters stood
abroad.

During this period two thirty-year civil wars broke out in Europe, one
in each half of the period, the first in France while the Empire was
at peace, the second in the Empire while France was at peace. Between
these two came twenty years of comparative quiet, but never a year
when war was not to be seen in progress, or its effects still horribly
new, in the course of a Continental tour. Incidentally, it may be
pointed out that this peculiarly even distribution of peace and war
gives the writings of travellers in Europe at this time striking value
in relation to the effects of war and peace, not only in themselves
but also as to their special characteristics in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. No tourist came into contact with both wars;
almost every tourist saw something of one district under the influence
of war or of peace, while some other is seeing another district in
an opposite state. There remains, therefore, in their writings, a
continuous comment on each other; so continuous and so unconscious as
to leave no room for this or that man's bias to influence the general
impression.

Yet striking as the peacefulness of England was, it probably lessened
rather than heightened what degree of attraction England possessed;
since with war so normal a condition, war and its incidentals became a
primary object of study even to those who did not profess soldiership.
Neither did any but the Dutch need to learn the language of the
country, which was what induced so many to make a lengthy stay in
Tuscany and in Touraine. Neither was England a thoroughfare. Nor, even,
were the recent achievements of Englishmen more than a minor cause of
the considerable influx of visitors; not, at least, apart from the
idea which is best expressed, perhaps, in the private letter of an
Englishman writing from Aleppo: "Your last letter made me exceeding
sorrowful, for therein you acquainted me with the death of blessed
Queen Elizabeth, at the hearing whereof not only I and our English
nation [_i. e._, the residents] mourned, but many other Christians
who were never in Christendom, but born and brought up in heathen
countries, wept to hear of her death, and said that she was the most
famous queen that ever they heard or read of since the world began."[48]

For the "Virgin Queen" was a far greater marvel to contemporaries than
to posterity. Except for her namesake of Spain, a century earlier,
who throughout her political life had been the ally and wife of one
of the cleverest statesmen of the age, there was no instance since the
mistiest past of a queen-regnant a leader of men. At her accession
civil war or conquest seemed inevitable and insolvency was a fact:
yet before her death the bond of London "is," writes one of the chief
financiers of the time,[49] "the first to-day [1595] in Europe," and
she had added victory abroad to peace at home. To say "she had added"
suggests nowadays the phraseology of the lady's paper, but it does
really express not only the convention which the tourist may be taken
as accepting but also the belief of reasonable men of the time.

It is true that many denied her right to the title of "Queen," or,
indeed, to that of "Virgin"; but no one had the opportunity of doubting
that both claims belonged to that secondary order of facts known as
"historical." And just as her position as sovereign, and a strikingly
successful one, was more wonderful then than it seems to-day, so
too did her celibacy assure her of more reverence than we should
instinctively concede. The mediæval idealisation of virginity, one of
the most beneficial, perhaps, of all the ideas of the past that the
Reformation killed, ensured a place in the life of the world, and the
self-respect contingent on that, for all the unmarried women whose
counterparts since have had no assistance socially from any convention,
from nothing but their own individuality. But this idea, though dying,
was not dead; and, as is the way with ideas, challenged attention all
the more definitely for ceasing to be taken for granted.

These two facts, then, glorified Elizabeth in the eyes of foreigners;
first, that she was a queen and a great ruler when effective
queenship was half a myth; secondly, that she remained unmarried when
virginity, considered as a virtue, was, so to speak, due to have its
last flicker before finally dying down. The reign of James I was a
sort of after-glow, except in so far as he had a reputation as a
philosopher-king.

These ideas have a marked effect on the visitor's itinerary. He
hurried, as a rule, to London, and thence, if the court was away, to
that one of the palaces which was in use for the time being. The other
country palaces, none far from London, would receive a visit, at any
rate Windsor and Hampton Court; Oxford probably, Cambridge possibly,
and there an end. Of Scotland and Wales it can only be said that the
former was practically ignored except by a few Frenchmen, as a result
of the ancient alliance; while to Wales they paid as little attention
as the semi-Welsh queen did—none at all.

Among the foreigners who have given us their impressions of England are
several who have much that is of interest to say and yet who seem to
have been entirely overlooked. Nevertheless, these pages are already
more numerous than the relative importance of England warrants. Let us
therefore take but one, and that one the briefest; the more so since
he is the likeliest to continue to be overlooked, writing as he did in
Polish, from which hitherto no translation seems to have been made, not
even in paraphrase.

Jakób Sobieski, the only man who was ever four times Marshal of the
Polish Diet, travelled all over Europe in his youth. Henry IV of France
made a personal friend of him, and it was at Paris that he spent more
time than elsewhere, where, eventually, he witnessed the assassination
of the king and was nearly lynched himself on the spot by the mob who
took it into their heads to regard him as the murderer. However, he
not only escaped, but after justice had been done on Ravaillac by his
being torn asunder by horses, Sobieski had an invitation to dinner
from a bootmaker who had collected certain pieces of Ravaillac and was
arranging a loyal dinner-party at which they were to form the chief
dish.

It was in the previous year (1609) that he visited England in the train
of Myszkowski, the Marshal, negotiations being then in progress for
the marriage of James I's daughter Elizabeth to Wladislas, son of the
King of Poland. Sobieski, very young and very Catholic, was easily
enough taken in by appearances to speak of James I as a model king, and
to accept without question the declaration of the English Catholics
that things had improved greatly since the death of the "severe and
overbearing Queen Elizabeth." But it must be borne in mind that the
King had not yet come to the bottom of the Treasury. One of Sobieski's
remarks—that the Palace at Westminster is finer inside than outside—is
an interesting comment on the impoverishment of the Crown that set in,
if taken in conjunction with the remark of Gölnitz of Danzig, less
than ten years later, who says exactly the opposite. In comparing the
palaces around Paris with those of the English king, he says that
the former are fine externally, but contain many rooms in which a
respectable German would not care to receive an acquaintance; cobwebs,
unpolished woodwork, walls in disrepair. One thing that scandalised
Sobieski greatly was that in St. Paul's he found buying and selling
going on, a statement confirmed by a Venetian ambassador here in 1607,
who says that London possesses many fine churches but that these are
mostly used for nothing but driving bargains in.[50]

Sobieski's business, however, lay at the court, and the court was
out of town: the King at one palace, the Queen at another, Princess
Elizabeth at a third. On paying their respects to the last-named a
curiously characteristic thing happened; her chamberlain met them and
asked in what language they would speak with the Princess, French,
Italian, or Latin; she was equally at home in all three. Myszkowski
chose Italian. The occasion, of course, was not a decisive one, but
the conversation turned on Wladislas, the most anxious enquirer being
an elderly lady-in-waiting who wanted to know if he was tall; the
Princess, she would have them know, was tall, really tall, not made
so artificially, with high heels, etc., to prove which she raised her
mistress's skirt until they saw not merely blue stockings, but also
saffron garters and white lace.


The last country of "European Europe" is Sobieski's own country, but
only the last because, like England, it led nowhere. If omitted from a
tour it was omitted with regret and consciousness of loss, being the
largest monarchy in Christendom, 600 miles by 800, with a frontier
reaching to within 150 miles of Moscow and 100 of the Black Sea; always
on the verge of war, moreover, and a paradise of aristocracy, three
good reasons for claiming the Average Tourist's attention, especially
as among this aristocracy was always to be found a welcome and as high
an average of attainments and qualities as anywhere north of the Alps.
The statement, too, that it was not a thoroughfare must not be taken as
absolute. Negotiations between the Tsars and the Papacy were frequent
and these of course implied journeys through Poland by the friars whom
the Papacy was wont to use as emissaries for long distances, as being
more accustomed to endure privation and fatigue than bishops.

Besides, from southeast to northwest stretched the high road from the
Black Sea through Kamienietz to Danzig, which one of these travellers
assures us was the most thickly-populated highroad in Europe.[51]
Danzig itself was one of the great centres of world-commerce; so great
that its citizens were well justified in one detail of their daily life
that Moryson records, that of taking off their hats as they passed the
town hall. The commerce was very varied, but its main export seems to
have been grain and its main import, Scotchmen. Of these latter there
were certainly thousands;[52] in fact, from some date in the reign of
Stephen Bathory (1575-86) till 1697, perhaps later, a "brotherhood" of
Scots existed, recognised officially; and boys of fifteen to seventeen
came over in such quantities and so often with such disastrous results,
that in 1625 an edict was issued in Scotland prohibiting skippers
taking over any who had not been sent for or had not 500 marks. But
these can hardly be reckoned as tourists, travelling, as they did,
Scot-fashion, on the "ubi panis, ibi patria" principle, with the object
of sharing the retail-trade with Jews, so successfully that there has
long lingered in Eastern Prussia the proverb, "Warte bis der Schotte
kommt," alluding to the annual visits of these pedlars. Many, too, can
be traced as becoming burgesses of Danzig, or of Posen.

Of visitors of the type with which this chapter is more specially
concerned, the reign of the Henry who afterwards became Henry III
of France marks a starting-point, judging partly from the evidence
available before and after that date, partly from the statement in
the report of the first resident Venetian ambassador there, Girolamo
Lippomano, who came in that reign, that Poland was at that time an
unknown land to Venetians.


So much for the Average Tourist at work. Let us now see how he spent
his spare time. It goes without saying that the degree to which the
foreigner enjoyed himself was more or less dependent on the behaviour
of natives. Let us see, first, then, what reception he might expect.
Small boys, of course, are the same yesterday, to-day and forever, but
they were, if possible, somewhat more outspoken then. An ambassador's
wife went to the Hague once, never again, "by reason of the boys and
wenches who much wondered at her huge farthingales and fine gowns, and
saluted her at every turn of the street with their usual caresses of
'Hoore! hoore!'" Concealing herself from view was impossible, no cart
would hold her farthingale. And although with all the detail that is
poured forth concerning the Venetian constitution, the feature in it
which, though informal, has outlasted all the others, that of the
limited despotism of the small boys, is ignored, yet in practice it
was felt; Sastrow, for one, did not forget being pursued with "Tu sei
tedesco, perciò Luterano."

As regards the adults, Frenchmen, or any one dressed in French
fashions, had to beware of the Italian towns where the French had been
masters for a time, and although Strassburg had a gate on the west,
any one coming from the French side had to enter by the east gate.
Commercial quarrels were even more bitter than political. When, for
instance, the English removed their "staple" from Hamburg to Stade,
nearer the mouth of the Elbe, it was not safe for an Englishman to be
seen at Hamburg after the citizens had reached their mid-day stage of
drunkenness. As for theological enmity, a Roman Catholic was saying
his prayers one evening in Frisia with the windows open; an old woman
marked it and came across the street to spit at his inn; the next
morning she came again, to spit at him, and he had to put up with it
for fear of worse happening.

With such exceptions as these there was not much to be feared from
the upper classes; nor even, on the main routes, from the lower; in
Dauphiné, for instance, all classes were pleasant enough, whereas at
Rochelle strangers were liable to be pulled off their horses if they
did not remove their hats when passing the guard at the gates. The two
worst towns for brutality towards foreigners were, by general consent,
London and Toulouse. In the former, according to Giordano Bruno, whose
account only differs from every one else's in being more picturesque,
the shop-people and artizans, on seeing a stranger, make faces, grin,
laugh, hoot, call him dog, traitor, foreigner, the last name being
the rudest they can think of, qualifying him for any other insult.
Should he take the offensive, or put his hand to his weapon, an army
of ruffians seems to spring out of the ground, flourishing a forest of
sticks, poles, halberds, and partizans. In a more playful humour, one
will pretend to run away behind a booth and come out charging on the
stranger like an angry bull; if an arm gets broken, as happened to one
Italian, the bystanders shout with laughter and the magistrate sees
nothing reprehensible in the affair.[53] Oxford was a change for the
better, for there it was only the students who behaved like brigands;
as they did at Carcassonne, too, where the law-students insisted on
tribute from visitors,—they called it a "bienvenu,"—or if it was not
forthcoming, the contents of the visitor's trunks were shaken out. Yet
among those of Oxford, Zinzerling makes an exception in the case of
Queen's College, where as soon as a foreigner is recognised as such, he
is brought an ox-horn full of beer.

[Illustration: VENETIAN MOUNTEBANKS]

Such presents were customary on a very large scale on the continent;
in France they generally consisted of wine and were presented to
persons of high rank only, but in Germany every gentleman received
gifts of drink and food which usually cost more than their value in
tips and dinners. The higher the rank of the visitor, the greater
the quantity; the Infanta Clara Eugenia writes home that at the
stopping-places in her passage through Switzerland the gifts require
thirty or forty men to carry them, who lay them at her feet until
she is surrounded by barrels and has the greatest difficulty in
preserving her gravity. At Lucerne she received barley as well as
wine, and two oxen, both too fat to move. Many other local customs
had to be submitted to which have died out since; such as ceremonies
of initiation into the freedom of Hansa League towns, which were
accompanied by practical joking; the obligation on Protestants staying
at Geneva to attend service at 7 A. M. whenever there was a sermon; and
so on.

Among these exceptional customs and regulations should be mentioned
those concerning weapons in Italy. At Lucca no knife might be carried
unless blunted at the point; in the Papal States, a sword was allowed,
but no short, easily hidden, weapon; in Venetian territory fire-arms
only were forbidden; elsewhere a license from the local authorities
had ordinarily to be obtained for wearing a sword, and in Florence the
license only referred to day-time. This is Moryson's account of the
regulations; before his time the regulations were laxer, and later they
became stricter, which gave a great impetus to the poisoning trade; in
fact, the bakers in Lombardy were mostly Germans, and those of Rome,
Jews, the Italians being unwilling to trust their fellow countrymen.


Such subjects naturally suggest executions, which formed one of the
commonest and principal "sights" throughout Europe. Lithgow landed at
the Piazzetta at Venice just when a friar was being burnt alive there
for getting fifteen nuns with child in a year. It was in Venice, too,
that Moryson saw two young senators' sons, who had had too uproarious
a night, have their hands cut off at the places where they had done
the mischief, their tongues cut out where they had sung blasphemous
songs, and finally beheaded by a sort of guillotine in the Piazza. And
when he was staying at Leipzig, where, as was the custom in Germany,
adultery was punishable by death, a case had recently occurred of
a girl giving birth to an illegitimate child in a church, during
service. It was under consideration when he left whether an ancient
precedent should not be revived to meet her case, that she should be
tied up in a sack with a cat, a cock, a snake, and a dog, all alive,
and so drowned. To quote one more as a sample of many, there is the
detailed description of a man being broken on the wheel at Hamburg,
by Taylor the "water-poet." The place of execution was on a mound,
so that the enormous crowd could see well; moated, to keep the people
at a distance, and approached by a drawbridge which was raised during
the execution; the criminal was drunk, according to custom. In Germany
exceptional criminals were on view for some days before execution,
nailed by the ears to posts. Torture accompanying execution was common,
and branding and mutilation things that no traveller could well avoid
seeing. But none seemed to want to avoid them: Evelyn went to the
Châtelet prison at Paris to look on while a prisoner underwent legal
torture. The only occasions that seem to have struck them as too
horrible was when the headsman bungled matters: a Dutchman at Paris
saw one try sixteen times and then have to be assisted. And as in the
towns, so by the wayside. Gallows and wheels bearing the bodies of men
and sometimes of women, dying, dead, or decaying, were continually
to be seen: Taylor says he counted seven score between Hamburg and
Prague, and Moryson mentions a criminal hanging in chains near Lindau,
starving to death, with a mastiff at each heel, in order that he might
be partially eaten before death.

[Illustration: PUBLIC EXECUTIONS]

No less awful a sight, and no less frequent in certain places, such as
Marseilles, was the galley-slave, naked except for a pair of breeches,
shaven, dragging behind him when ashore the chain fixed to his feet,
treated worse than a beast, and yet not necessarily criminal: at
Leghorn was a tent, at Naples a certain stone, where a man might stake
his liberty against a few shillings on a throw of the dice. Among the
few who obtained their release by being bought out were those who, on
that condition, acted as deputies in the processions of flagellants
which tourists often mention: Montaigne witnessed one at Rome with five
hundred persons in it. He, like others, was astonished to note their
unconcern; the scourging was genuine: their backs were raw and bloody,
the thongs of the scourges adhering to each other with the blood; yet
so far from showing signs of pain, they marched along, careless and
talkative, in an every-day mood.

Other forms of slavery were ordinarily met with: at Naples an open
slave-market was held; at Lisbon, too, where men and monkeys were sold
side by side. And here and there one might come across settlements
of those who could not claim all the benefits of the law. Zinzerling
picked up a cagot servant near Toulouse, a young man, well-informed,
who told him how his brother-outcasts had just petitioned for
permission to marry whom they chose, offering to have their blood
tested to prove it no different from other men's. Those who did not act
as servants, lived by handicraft, carpentering mostly; they were forced
to dwell in the suburbs, and nothing they owned was heritable except
furniture, which was looked on as sharing their taint.

But he does not mention the goose-foot badge which distinguished
them from "clean" persons. The badge of the Jew, on the other hand,
often seen, is often mentioned, varying according to the extent they
had acquired influence and used it. In Poland, thanks to the Jewish
mistress of one of their kings, they had almost equal rights with
Christians. Elsewhere, except in those places, such as England, which
they were nominally forbidden to enter, a badge was compulsory;
lightest in Mantua, merely a bit of yellow lace tacked on inside
their cloaks, but generally a red hat for the men and a red garment
for the women: red as betokening their guiltiness of Christ's blood.
An alternative colour was yellow, as in Rome, where a short-sighted
cardinal once mistook a red-hatted Jew for a brother cardinal and
obtained a change of colour in order to safeguard himself against being
so polite again.


But the tourist's leisure, so far, has been too much occupied with
blood and social damnation; let us look for a lighter mood: let us see
him at the Zoo. Florence seems to have been the best stocked. Rabelais
saw two Zoos there, and this was not an optical illusion of a credible
kind, for he localises them differently; one at the Palazzo Strozzi
with porcupines and ostriches as the "stars"; one near the Belfry,
boasting lions and tigers. Moryson mentions one only, the Duke's,
containing five lions, five wolves, three eagles, three tigers, one
wild cat, bears, leopards, an Indian mouse which could kill a cat,
and wild boars. After another fifty-year interval comes Evelyn, who
looks down upon all the animals housed together in a deep court, a
pleasanter confinement, he thinks, than the narrow cages of the Tower
at London. But I have forgotten Audebert, who should have come between
(1576) Rabelais and Moryson, and who found a Zoo near the "Annunziata,"
possessing fourteen lions, a tiger, an eagle, and a vulture therein.
In 1592 at Prague there were twelve camels in the Emperor's Zoo, very
probably the sons and daughters of those whom Busbecq brought back from
Constantinople in the hope of naturalising them in Europe as beasts of
burden,—not the only attempt of the kind, for Sir Wm. Brereton saw some
so used in Holland, and a German others near Aranjuez. The leopards,
moreover, in this same Imperial Zoo, were taken to assist in hunting.

Experiments and novelties such as these, of course, provided a larger
part of the interest of a journey then than is the case now, when
such news is communicated immediately through the newspapers. We find
Tommaso Contarini, ambassador to Flanders, greatly struck by the value
of peat as fuel, and bringing back some to Venice to assist him in
ascertaining if anything of the kind is obtainable near. Then there
was "Der Einlasse," the complicated night-entrance to Augsburg, worked
by mechanism which allowed a person to be admitted without seeing any
one,—such a mystery that many allowed themselves to be locked out
on purpose to see it work, and Queen Elizabeth sent a special agent
to acquire the secret; in vain. But in Augsburg front doors were
habitually opened by pulleys from some room, and shut automatically; it
was at Augsburg, too, that a coach was to be seen "driven by engines"
within it by the occupant so that it seemed to go of itself; it had
been driven about the city.[54] This occurs in the year 1655; three
years later fountain pens[55] were on sale at Paris for ten francs
each, twelve to those whom the inventor knew to be eager to have one;
that is, £5 to £6 in our money. Even an Italian might learn: like the
Florentine who discovered in England what garden-rollers were, in their
early solid-stone-cylinder form. But Tasso had the chance to learn
something important and not only passed it by but places it first among
the three customs in France which he strongly condemns. It is that in
some districts the people nourished the children with cow's milk. How,
he asks, can any good come of feeding infants with the produce of an
animal that is a beast of burden and has to endure blows daily? An
Englishman in Italy noted the method of stripping hemp with wooden
instruments instead of with the fingers, the laborious English way;
and fans, forks, and umbrellas would be new to every one who crossed
the Alps; but a learned physician warned Moryson against using the
last-mentioned, "things like a little canopy," as concentrating the
heat of the sun on the head.

In Flanders, again, every one might learn what kind of a thing a
door-mat was, and a Dutch barber had only to cross the Channel to find
that he was behind the times in using dregs of beer as a lather. And
if it was possible for a twentieth-century Englishwoman to cross into
sixteenth-century Germany she would find out what a convenience it was
for an invalid to have a towel attached to a wheel running along the
head of the bed, to assist him or her in changing position. Where, too,
except from travel, his own or some one else's, did Sir John Harington
get his ideas concerning the introduction of real water-closets, with
gold-fish visible swimming about in the cisterns, just as they are to
be seen at railway stations to-day?

A greater discovery than all these put together lay in the differences
in the position of women in the above countries. Take the United
Provinces and Italy, as the two where the contrast was greatest. In the
former, girls of good birth and looks might not only settle down in the
common-room of an inn instead of hiring a private room for meals, but
would sit round the fire and share the after-dinner drink of the men
as a matter of course. All-night skating-parties were so common that
the liberty was not misused; whereas in Italy the strictness was as
extreme as the Dutch freedom, and its result, too; only, in Italy, the
result was the demoralisation of both sexes. Chioggia was an exception,
where Villamont was surprised to see the women and girls sitting at
their doors, needle-working; and where French influence had made itself
felt some relaxation had taken place, especially at Genoa, where one
foreigner even notes that the women walked with a longer stride than
most Italian women. But the unmixed Italian convention gave most girls
no choice between becoming either prisoners or prostitutes, that is, of
course, like everything else in this book, from the foreigner's point
of view. Of the former class the tourist saw next to nothing; the men
of the household did even the marketing themselves; while the latter
formed one of the best-known features of Italian life. The numbers may
seem at first sight incredible—30,000 is the figure always quoted for
Naples; but there was some check on such statements inasmuch as every
government licensed each one for a fixed sum and therefore could reckon
the total. Moreover, Sir Henry Wotton writes in 1592 that a census
just taken in Rome counted 40,000, and he had it on good authority;
and in 1617, that the Espousal of the Sea at Venice had been spoilt
as a sight because the courtesans, offended at an edict directed at
them, had abstained from taking part in it. Those at the head of the
profession lived "like princesses," not only so far as expenditure
went, but also in their command of marks of respect in public, except
that every now and then some sumptuary edict would create, and perhaps
enforce, some distinction between those who populated and those who
depopulated Italy. It is pleasanter to turn back to Holland again, to
the homely arrangements of Thursday in Delft fair week, when the women
who had had enough of waiting for husbands sat in the church and the
men who had waited long enough for wives came to look at them. A few
questions, a pot of beer, a few details to be settled; and then the
wedding.

There were plenty of these fairs, Lyons had four a year, so had Rouen;
but the attraction they possessed for the sixteenth-century human being
lay rather in the amount of wholesale and financiers business done than
in homely picturesqueness; sentimentality is the last vice he can be
charged with. Who, for instance, nowadays, would dare to say he saw
nothing charming in a Breton festival? but Brittany was left to itself
in those days, and a travelling doctor who chanced on one leaves it
with the remark that the Breton girls singing their folk-songs reminded
him of "the croaking of frogs when they are in love." Yet St. John's
Eve was a festival that gave plenty of pleasure to lookers-on as well
as those who took part in it; at Paris, in particular, where there was
hardly a citizen named after the saint who did not light a fire at his
door that night. And it is perhaps worth mentioning how they kept that
feast at Naples, according to Audebert, in 1577; how the custom was to
bathe in the sea previous to paying one's devotions at "S. Giovan' a'
Mare," seeing that he adds that the custom was dying out, the younger
people scorning it as a pagan survival.

A larger proportion of the public pleasures of Europe were bound up
with religious ceremony than is the case at present; and as regards
pilgrimage, the reference above to the subject in general needs to
be supplemented by some details concerning the relics, since there
is no room for doubt as to whether or not they held their ground as
"sights," the more so inasmuch as a sceptical attitude did not become
a conventional habit of mind until, to judge by tourists' books,
about the third quarter of the seventeenth century. At the abbey of
Marmoutier, near Tours, for example, was shown a vessel which had been
sent from Heaven filled with oil for the healing of St. Martin's leg,
a breakage of which the devil had caused by taking away the stairs.
They also showed a vast barrel wherein St. Martin kept his wine; but
not till 1675 does any one remark that that was probably the fiend
who stole away the stairs. Disbelief finds expression in plenty, it
is true, but it is always that of the Protestant who disbelieves,
not because his reason tells him the tale must be false, but because
Roman Catholicism affirms it to be true. When there was no suspicion
of a friar at the back of the story, there was nothing they would
not swallow: even Evelyn accepts Mettius Curtius and his chasm as if
all four evangelists had guaranteed both; or, to take a still better
example, that of the monument near Leyden to the lady who had 365
children at one birth—(she had laughed at a poor woman's tale that the
latter's two babies were twins, and the woman had expressed a hope that
the lady might give birth to as many children at one confinement as
there were days in the year)—Münster, the great Protestant geographer,
repeats the story without throwing doubt, and consequently one tourist
after another has no hesitation about it.

So happy a frame of mind must have increased the interest of many a
resting-place. Breaking one's journey at Angers, for instance, there
was a porphyry vase to be seen, one of those used at the wedding feast
at Cana in Galilee; others were preserved at Famagosta, Magdeburg, and
the Charterhouse at Florence. At Angers, also, at St. Julian's, was
a copy of the portrait of Our Lady which St. Luke had painted; at
Arras, manna which had fallen in the days of St. Jerome, looking like
white wool; at Milan, the brazen serpent which Moses set up in the
wilderness; at Vienna, one of the stones wherewith St. Stephen had been
stoned, another at Toulouse; and at the monastery of the Celestines at
Louvain, one of the thirty silver pennies for which Christ had been
sold, bearing the head of Tiberius on one side, a lily on the other.
It is well known how Mary Magdalen came to Provence to live after the
Crucifixion, but less known that at Maximilien near Marseilles the tip
of her nose used to be on view: no more than that because she had been
cremated, but the tip of her nose remained imperishable because there
Christ had kissed her. Pontius Pilate also ended his life in Europe: in
exile at Vienne, where the tower in which he had been imprisoned was
pointed out to the visitor, likewise the lake wherein he had committed
suicide, although it was on the shores of another lake, one in the
territory of Lucerne, that he was to be seen walking once a year in
his official robes. But this every one was content to take on hearsay,
since he who saw him then died within the year.

The monastery of St. Nicholas at Catania, in Sicily, had an excellent
collection: a nail from the Cross, one of St. Sebastian's arrows, and
pieces of St. George's coat of mail, of St. Peter's beard, and of the
beard of Zachary, father of John the Baptist. This, and the places
previously mentioned, serve to show what treasures would surely be
met with on the road; great relic-centres like Venice and Rome would
require pages to catalogue their wealth; even a secondary centre
like Trier held as many bodies of saints as there are days in the
year, besides the well by which Athanasius sat when he composed the
"Quicunque Vult" and the knife wherewith St. Peter cut off Malchus' ear.

As for their belief in relics, it is only fair to point out what may
not occur to every reader, that they had the same reason, neither more
nor less, for believing so, as we for believing that the earth moves
round the sun: it is common knowledge. 'Common knowledge'—is not all
of it, whether scientific or theological, equally an act of faith? and
is it more reasonable for us to quote Baedeker to ourselves than for
pilgrim Nicholas to put his trust in friar John? "Howbeit (if we will
truly consider it), more worthy is it to believe, than to know as we
now know"—that is not a quotation from a theologian but from Bacon's
"Advancement of Learning." Of two things we may be sure, that the true
history of a relic would probably be far stranger than its legend,
and that whatever marvels the southerner saw or heard, he came across
nothing more novel or more miraculous than the ebb and flow of the
northern tides.

In speaking of relics, the secular ones must be remembered, too:
foremost among them the original Ephesus statue of Diana, which
Hentzner saw at Fontainebleau and Evelyn at the Louvre. Most frequently
mentioned is the buck's head at Amboise. It bore antlers of enormous
size, and for that reason had enjoyed Francis I's special protection
while alive. By Sir John Reresby's time (1654) it had been ascertained
that the buck was of English birth, having reached France by swimming
the Channel; while thirty-three years later it had been dead for three
hundred years and at the date of its death was nine hundred years old.
These details need no explanation; any caretaker can equal them under
pressure. The writer once asked the sextoness of the church where
Spinoza lies buried how he came to be laid there considering he was not
exactly orthodox: the answer was, without hesitation, that he became a
Protestant before he died!

These secular relics cannot possibly be left without a digression
concerning unicorn's horns, which were more prized than any other
kind of exhibit. St. Mark's Treasury at Venice seems to have been the
only museum that possessed more than one; it contained three. Dresden
owned one, which hung by a golden chain; that at Fontainebleau,
three yards high, was valued at one hundred thousand crowns. It was,
however, a wise unicorn that knew its own horn: the Danish sailors
kept their secrets quiet and prices high, the more easily since,
owing to disasters, there were temporary cessations in the Greenland
whale-fishery, of which unicorns' horns were a by-product, thus
rendering the supply small and fluctuating. It was an open secret by
this time that sea-unicorns existed, but the heraldic animal had the
overwhelming advantage of support from Pliny, Aristotle, and the Bible
and therefore fought for the "crowns" so to speak, with every success.
It was not till this time, in 1603, that the unicorn was introduced
into the arms of the King of England; and its horn was in the greater
request because of its supposed quality of an antidote to poison. To
the lore of this part of the subject Zinzerling makes an addition.
At Tours lived a lawyer who had travelled in Spain and India, and
had brought back three great rarities: "Rolandi gladium, Librum in
pergameno Geographiæ et Hydrographiæ, membrum masculum Monocerotis
majoris contra toxica efficaciæ quam cornu."

He did not see these personally, but mentions them because it would be
a pity for any one to miss them for lack of a word or two from him. For
himself, he could not find the lawyer, a kind of trouble from which
these tourists ordinarily suffered, for it was part of their experience
to make acquaintance with private collections. Not that there were any
public ones to the extent we are accustomed to, except the churches,
which, as picture galleries, had this advantage, that the pictures
were seen in the setting for which they were designed. Practically
all the official "treasuries" were only public to the extent that a
remarkable country house like Compton Winyates is so now; yet on the
other hand, and for that very reason, it was somewhat more customary
for private collections to be accessible to strangers than is the case,
probably, at present. What attracted the greatest number of visitors,
however, was water-mechanisms.

Up till the beginning of the seventeenth century these were found at
their best only in Italy; and of the Italian, those at Pratolino ranked
first, belonging to the Duke of Florence, who was reputed to spend more
on his water than on his wine. The invariable custom of secret devices
for soaking the visitor as he sat down or walked about was there
carried further, and with greater variety, than elsewhere. Besides,
there was Fame blowing a trumpet; a peasant offering a drink to a tiger
who swallows it and then looks all round; Syrinx beckons to Pan to
pipe, whereupon Pan gets up from his seat, puts it aside, pipes, pulls
his seat towards him and sits down again with a melancholy look because
Syrinx has not rewarded him with a kiss. And so on, with a multitude
of devices for making music and attracting attention, only equalled by
those at the Villa d' Este at Tivoli.

It is noteworthy how long it took to introduce them into France, where
everything Italian was fashionable. Marguerite de Valois speaks of
those she saw in Flanders in 1577 in a way that implies no previous
acquaintance with anything of the kind, but when peace was restored, we
find St. Germain-en-Laye stocked with a poet who plays on a lyre, and
with various animals which gather round him, and trees which bend down,
as he plays; and the king passes by with his suite. On the other side
of the Rhine ingenuity seems to have been devoted rather to clock-work.
The clock at Strassburg, one of the chief marvels of Europe, was
outdone by one in a private house at Augsburg: for besides displaying
all the clever puerilities which the seventeenth century rejoiced in,
it reproduced the movements and stations of the planets and the advent
and effect of eclipses, all in their due time. Somewhat later, at
Lübeck, the striking of the hour by the town clock was accompanied by
the Virgin kissing her Baby, and St. Peter dropping his key and picking
it up again, while at Hamburg could be seen a marvellous Annunciation,
with a most gorgeous Gabriel and five attendant cherubim who flapped
gilded wings, and a Blessed Virgin dressed in the French fashion who
was discovered reading a book and ended by dropping a curtsey.

Of amusements which required people to take part in them, card games
were rarely seen in Germany, and in Italy were banned as much by
public opinion as by law, whereas in England they were an occupation
rather than an amusement. So also with hawking and hunting. In six
years abroad Moryson saw hawking but twice, once in Bohemia and once
in Poland, and implies that in England it was common; while of hunting
he definitely says, "England lacks not Actæons, eaten up by their own
dogs." The same contrast he observes with regard to itinerant musicians
and plays, of which latter he is sure that more are performed in London
than in all the other parts of the world that he had visited put
together. A variety of angling, on the other hand, he notes as peculiar
to Italy: that with bait and hooks fastened to corks and held out of
window for birds; while golf was only played in Scotland, Holland, and
Naples; and the most frequently played game in Europe, pallone, was as
unknown in Britain then as now. The piazza S. Stefano at Venice was
reserved for pallone every Sunday evening, and in the disused papal
palace at Avignon one room was given up to pallone and another to
tennis, which came next in popularity, the chief centre being Paris.
In 1577 it was credited with 1800 courts, but the Dutch ambassador
resident there eighty years later had them counted and only discovered
118.

And so the list might go on and on and on—in all its seeming
irrelevancy! And yet, when it is borne in mind that every detail is
one that some tourist or other noticed, to the point of thinking it
worth recording, a certain, at least symbolic, relevancy comes into
view, even though it be nothing more vital than that of a 16th-century
variety of subjective imbecility under the stimulus of a jog-trot. On
the other hand, all this comes under the heading of

                            ... things
    Which cannot in their huge and proper life
    Be here presented.

So the scenery must be shifted.


PART II

THE UNVISITED NORTH

 " ... a few days earlier I had read certain News-Sheets printed here
 in Venice by these good fathers [the Jesuits], relating their progress
 in Muscovy, the conversion of a King in Africa, and so on. I said to
 myself, all right about Muscovy, it's a cold Country, far away, few go
 there—and few return...."

      Sir Henry Wotton,[56] 1606.

Andrew Boorde has something to say about Iceland in his guide to
Europe. He puts into the mouth of a native the words,—

    "I am an Icelander, as brute as a beast,
    When I eat candle ends, I am at a feast."

And that is all they knew about Iceland. As a country with a political
history and a literature it was no more present in their minds than
as a holiday resort. Nor were any of the countries that bordered the
Baltic, except on the South. But Danzig alone was enough to keep the
Baltic a busy sea, and consequently Denmark was not as much ignored as
would otherwise have happened; for both sides of the entrance to the
Baltic belonged to the King of Denmark, whose extortions in the way of
tolls kept his name before the public.

Norway was thus practically isolated from Europe. Sweden, however,
during the Thirty Years' War, attracted some attention, partly on
account of its share in the war, partly on account of the development
of its silver mines. There is an interesting account of a visit to
those at "Sylfbergen," twenty leagues from Stockholm, in 1667, which
may serve as an indication of experiences that might have been met
with at an earlier date. The visitor, a Frenchman,[57] descended,
half-naked, in half a cask, which was attached to a cable by three
iron chains, accompanied by two workers whose grimness, flavour, and
unpleasant personalities, gave him an attack of nerves. Among the
miners he found French, Germans, English, Italians and Russians, all,
as he says, digging their own graves, for the conditions of mining in
those days was terrible. A traveller through Hungary in 1615[58] notes
that the miners there could not work more than four hours at a stretch,
and that few reached middle age, what with the number of casualties
and the conditions of the mines. One result of this was that they
usually married at fifteen. Yet weekly wages, after making allowance
for the cheapness of living in Hungary, were equivalent to no more than
twelve to fourteen shillings at present values. It was a most natural
question at the time to ask whether, working as they did in the bowels
of the earth, they ever came across demons. To which question a miner
answered that sometimes they did, and on those occasions they appeared
in the shape of little black boys, chattering, but doing no harm beyond
blowing the lamps out.

Returning northwards and continuing the journey to the other side of
the Baltic, the dominions of the Grand Duke of Muscovy would not be
reached immediately. Riga, the port most usually aimed at, belonged to
Poland; the alternative harbour of Revel to Sweden. The choice of Riga
is another instance of the contemporary preference for travelling by
water rather than by land. However far out of the straight line between
Danzig and Moscow, it was both the nearest coast town to the latter and
also at the mouth of the river, the Dwina, which is navigable for the
longest distance west of Moscow. One other route remains, discovered
by the English, left wholly to them and to the Dutch, and only used by
them because of commercial quarrels with the rulers of the Baltic.
This was the sea-voyage of about two months from London to Archangel,
then up the Dwina and Suchona to Vologda, and thence by land to Moscow.

[Illustration: DANGERS OF THE NORTHERN SEAS]

Moscow then possessed about forty thousand houses. It may be doubted
if any town in Europe surpassed that number. Yet it was not size
that caused going to Muscovy to be practically identical with going
to Moscow, but the fact that the latter was the residence of a ruler
whose despotism was so unlimited that every other settlement became
insignificant compared with that where he dwelt. This is typified by
the prominence given by all foreigners to the banquet they generally
attended as the guests of the Tsar, a display of barbaric magnificence
that must evidently have been one of the most striking sights of
Europe. Unfortunately the magnificence was apt to stop short at the
door of the banquet-hall. One Italian[59] in particular could not
forget leaving after three hours, picking his way through the outer
rooms, pitch dark and strewn with courtiers in the weeping-stage of
drunkenness, down the stairs. About twenty yards away from the foot
of the stairs a crowd of servants were waiting with horses to take
their masters home. Towards these they had to wade, knee-deep in mud,
still in pitch-darkness, and so continue a good part of the way home,
since no one was allowed to ride till he had passed out of the palace
precincts.

Nowhere was this despotism more felt than in relation to travel: every
foreigner was half a prisoner from the day he entered the kingdom to
the day he left, even though he were an ambassador. The very Jesuits
sent by the Pope, in 1581, at the Tsar's own request, to negotiate a
peace between himself and the King of Poland were under surveillance to
such an extent that they were not allowed to water their own horses.
Neither was any subject allowed to leave the land: the penalty for
unlicensed travel being death. It is clear that leave must have been
more freely granted than one might imagine from the general statements
of visitors, since Russian pilgrims and merchants are by no means
uncommon, and indeed, at this period, Peter Mogila, Metropolitan of
Kiev, and Boris Godunov, ruler at Moscow, endeavoured to encourage
travel by Russians as a means of education.

Godunov's efforts, in fact, beginning as they did with his accession
in 1586, synchronised with the growth of the same idea in England. But
his efforts failed through being too far ahead of public opinion; those
whom he sent stayed away permanently, those who stayed at home remained
unconverted.[60] Two instances of public opinion as regards foreigners
may be quoted, both occurring on the direct road to Moscow at the very
end of this period, during the whole of which the number of visitors
goes on increasing. The first is the experience of some Dutchmen
who came by invitation of the Tsar and consequently had a house
commandeered for them. The wife of the owner, seeing no help was to be
had from the local authorities, rushed to St. Nicholas and would, she
believed, have obtained a miraculous expulsion of the visitors had not
her husband tired of the length of her prayer and stopped it by force.
The second is that of a Danish gentleman who, with his companions,
was prevented from entering a village by bees which the peasants had
irritated for that purpose.

So, too, with the Muscovites and travel on their own account. Whereas
other Europeans only thought of dying when they travelled, the
Muscovite only thought of travelling when he died. Then his friends
shod him with a new pair of shoes for the long journey that he had to
go, and put a letter in his hand to St. Nicholas, by way of passport,
testifying that the bearer died a Russian of the Russians in the one
true faith.

The distinctive characteristics of the people as seen by strangers
were drunkenness, endurance of heat, cold, and torture, and slavish
obedience to the Tsar. Drunkenness in particular. As the English
verse-writer, Turberville, who went there, puts it,—

    Drink is their whole desire, the pot is all their pride,
    The soberest head doth once a day stand needful of a guide.

The habit went the farther since it was encouraged by the government,
for the recent taking-over of the drink-traffic by the State was but
a reversion to the state of affairs in 1600, though then it was an
offence against the State to urge a man to leave one of the State-owned
taverns, even though he was pledging the clothes off his back: a
common custom. At every season of public rejoicing in winter two or
three hundred died in the streets of Moscow as they lay there naked
and dead-drunk, and the stranger might see the bodies brought home by
tens and twelves, half-eaten by dogs. One traveller tells a tale of a
Muscovite whom he saw come out of a tavern in shirt and breeches only,
meet a friend, return, and come out again with no shirt. The traveller,
who knew Russian, expressed sympathy with him as if he had been robbed,
but was answered, "No, it's the man at the bar and his wine that have
brought me to this, but as my shirt's there my breeches may as well
keep it company." And accordingly, a few minutes afterwards, he came
out once more with nothing to cover him but a handful of flowers picked
at the tavern-door!

There had been a Tsar who tried to repress drunkenness, but he became
a dead failure in every sense of the phrase shortly before the above
incident happened, and even during his lifetime achieved nothing more
than preventing people going about the streets naked. Neither was it
just the average man who could not endure life sober, but the priest
frequently needed a lay-helper on either side of him in order to get
through the marriage service, a result of the festivities preceding the
wedding. And the women were no better than the men. When a Russian lady
entertained her friends, it was etiquette to send round afterwards to
know if they all got home safely. Yet one traveller unconsciously gives
the Muscovite's own point of view: there was a quarter of Moscow known
as the "drunken" quarter: that was where the foreign soldiers lodged.

The excessive misuse of tobacco was also bound to be noticed,
considering that smoking became general more quickly there than
anywhere else outside England and Turkey. But the Tsar who failed to
check drunkenness succeeded against smoking, which he prohibited, under
penalty of slitting the nostrils, in 1634, on the ground of it being a
frequent cause of fires among the houses, all wooden ones, and of the
unholy state of the Muscovite's breath when he addressed the saints.

Along with other accusations which the travellers have to lodge,
such as that of a grossness of indecency without parallel in their
experience, is hardly to be found one note of pleasure, except with
regard to the charm of the Russian spring. It may be doubted if
foreigners' opinions underwent much change until such writers as
Turgenev compelled attention to the point of creating sympathy. But
yet, if their tales be few and their enjoyment scanty, their records
possess all the greater comparative value from the very fact of their
fewness. That the pre-Christian Slav religion still remained in memory,
if not in use, at Pskov as late as 1590 would probably never even have
been guessed but for the remark of one Johann David Wunderer, who was
there at that date, that he saw two stone statues there, one holding a
cross, the other standing on a snake with a sword in one hand and fire
in the other, idols, he was told, who were still known as "Ussladt" and
"Corsa."[61]


PART III

THE MISUNDERSTOOD WEST

 Et si pur effecti quasi miraculosi vi trovasse, come ja vi sono, V. S.
 non l'imputi al scriptore, ma a la variatione et deità de la natura.

      Antonio da Beatis, 1518.

It will have been noticed that the tourist was nothing if not
unsympathetic. Yet nowhere does this stand out so sharply as in regard
to the two countries farthest west. So far as the Spanish peninsula was
concerned, a reason may be sought in the route usually chosen, a route
which treated the peninsula as part of "European Europe" and implied
seeing a little of it, seeing that little in a one-sided way, and
mistaking it for an epitome of the whole.

Starting from the southwest corner of France, the most direct way
was taken for the Escorial and Madrid, whence the return journey led
past Barcelona to Montserrat and so over the Pyrenees again to the
southeast corner of France. The objective, of course, was the capital
and the court. And it was taken for granted, here as elsewhere, that
the other chief objects of interest were the towns, which claimed an
even greater proportion of attention than in other countries, inasmuch
as the hardships of travel in Spain were more trying to a foreigner
than those experienced elsewhere, and his mental energies were often,
in consequence, the less free for observation in Spain as long as he
kept on the move. Now it unfortunately happened that the seamy side
of Spanish life thrust itself to the front in undue proportion in the
towns. Moreover, the French districts which lay nearest to Spain were
those whose characteristics contrasted most favourably as against those
of the Spanish districts that lay nearest to France. The liveliness
and gaiety of the Bayonnais, playing bowls all day on the carefully
levelled, sanded court between his house and the street, was thrown
into relief by the sternness of the Pyrenees and the poverty and gloom
of the Vizcaino.

The injustice done by these first impressions was deepened by
almost all that caught the attention on a journey like that just
outlined, whatever the momentary point of view, whether historical,
geographical, social, superficial, or political,—especially political.

The Spanish king was looked on as the most powerful Christian monarch
of the time, in prestige, in financial resources, and as the head of an
empire whose limits were the more impressive for being mathematicians'
lines imagined in the midst of the Unexplored. It was natural, then,
to consider his capital the centre of each, as well as of all, of his
dominions, and as the Holy of Holies of European kingship; and this,
too, at a date when monarchical ideals were so strong that a highly
respectable middle-class man like William Camden could allude to Simon
de Montfort, who figures in modern school-books as the ever-glorious
founder of "representative" government, as—"our Catiline."[62] In
addition, the annexation of Portugal in 1580, and its revolt in 1640,
accentuate such ideas more in this period than in any other as the only
one during which the whole peninsula was under one king.

Neither was this illusion of solidarity merely a traveller's mirage
which those on the spot would rectify. Philip II's people loved to have
it so; witness one of Sancho Panza's favourite proverbs: "Un rey, Una
fe, Una ley"; and how was the tourist to know that the Spaniard did not
appreciate his differentiation between ideals and facts? The voice of
Sancho Panza is, of course, the voice of Castile, but then Castile has
always the monopoly of forming foreign, and leading Spanish, opinion
on things Spanish.

[Illustration: AT MONTSERRAT

Ave Maria stirps castitatis. Ave profunda viola valis humilitatis.
Ave lata rosa campi divine charitatis. Ave abyßalis omnis gratiæ et
misericordiæ coeli ros fructifer omnis divine suavitatis er devotionis.
Intercede pro nobis gloriosa dei genitrix virgo Maria ad dominum deum
nostrumvt ipse misereatur nostri. Pater noster Ave Maria]


The choice of route, then, predetermined by the usual considerations,
applicable only to other countries, failed to do justice to Spain. Yet
it was accompanied by these special assumptions, as regards political
supremacy, at the back of the tourist's mind, no evidence in favour of
which was forthcoming; at least, no evidence of a kind which he came
prepared to recognise as such. On the contrary, he could not avoid
being struck by the insignificance of Spanish buildings, especially,
curiously enough, at Madrid itself, where the houses were mostly of
one story; a result of it being necessary to obtain a license from the
King for anything higher, the conditions imposed by which license,
such as that of housing ambassadors in the second story, would prove
too burdensome. This particular impression was deepened in the latter
half of the period by the linen window-panes, which made the interiors
seem gloomy at a date when the use of glass in windows was spreading in
the countries which the visitor had come from and had passed through.
And so with many other matters, until one Dutchman who had travelled
viâ Italy, after being taken to see a water-mill as something quite
out of the common, makes the general deduction: "What is very common
elsewhere, here often passes for miraculous."

Furthermore, as has been said, there were the historical illusions,
too, which would be shaken. What Montaigne experienced at Venice took
place on a larger scale in the minds of all who visited Spain. The
deeper the previous study, the deeper the disappointment; but the
latter was felt nevertheless by him in whom it was unconscious; and
in both cases the recovery was slower than at Venice where all that
was visible was so near. In fact, it is clear enough that with most a
recovery never happened.

The histories they depended on were a variety of heroic fiction
whose theory of causation consisted of immediate causes and God.
National limitations only appeared, therefore, in so far as they
had contributed to national achievements. But to the tourist these
limitations, and even the qualities which were simply strange to him,
stood out as defects, and the necessary minutiæ of daily life as the
unworthy preoccupations of degenerate descendants; while the people,
accordingly, whose ancestors were represented as having done nothing
but conquer for centuries, showed up as ordinary human beings, muddling
along in the way customary among one's own countrymen. Yet successes of
Spanish diplomacy were so recent, and the supremacy of Spanish infantry
so terribly obvious, that strangers could not account for all this
disillusion by assuming degeneration to be the sole reason; while it
was likewise too sudden for them to see in it nothing but an example
of the falsification of proportions inherent in all knowledge drawn
from books or other second-hand sources. Their attitude to Spain when
they revised their journals was thus mystification rather than contempt
or disgust, though both the latter are usually present.

This same unpreparedness to take a totally fresh point of view is
even more marked in relation to religion. However greatly at odds
the matter-of-fact foreigner and the matter-of-faith Castilian might
be over details, both were equally unwilling to accept the illusions
of to-morrow on that subject in place of the illusions of yesterday.
The tendency to accept the face values of things theological was then
as strong as to-day it is weak; but, with the possible exception of
seventeenth-century Ireland, it was nowhere so strong as in Spain. The
latter's place in Europe was bound up with leadership of the cause of
Roman Catholicism; foreigners took this for granted, and the Spaniards
unconsciously set a value on their creed apart from its relation to
theological logic or religious experience—it had so long been the only
rallying cry which could bring about a sinking of differences and
achieve the temporary unity which was essential to success in war. But
to the contemporary stranger, the varnish of the water of baptism was
opaque, and the Celt, the Moor, the Pre-historic, the Outrageous-Pagan,
and the all-pervading Jew, seemed all one thing, ultra-Holy-Roman.
Another source of mystification—except to the Protestant, who knew
exactly what it all meant and so went further astray than the rest, in
the same direction.

Socially, the unintelligible contradictoriness was as great. Witness
one whom a Burgos gentleman invited to dinner. The dining-room was that
in which the hostess lay ill in bed with a fever; and he remembered
afterwards that he had behaved with grossly bad manners inasmuch as he
had taken off his hat at meal-time.

To go on to the means whereby geography also contributed to strain the
sixteenth-century tourist's easily ruptured sympathy, there was the
climate. The majority started in fear of the heat and suffered only
from cold, expecting to find an Andalusian spring perpetually reigning
at, say Burgos, instead of its "ten months of winter and two of hell"
(or, to retain the pun, "diez mezes de invierno y dos de infierno");
whereas the visit to the South which was so rarely paid would have
restored beliefs which had foundation enough. Besides, through this
fear of the heat they traversed what they did traverse at the seasons
when what fascination it possessed was least in evidence.

Among other conditions, the economic seem to have scandalised
observers most. Perhaps the student will have noticed that whatever
year during the last three hundred he may chance to be reading about
in the history of Spain, the country will always at that moment have
reached the last stage of economic exhaustion. Another quarter of a
century or so, and, curiously enough, a lower stage will have been
reached; yet another twenty-five years and one still lower; and so
on until one would think the most hypothetical zero of bankruptcy
must belong to a happier past and the population can consist of no
more than a few emaciated grandees licking the rocks for sustenance.
The natural attempt will be to go farther and farther back to trace
the steps of the decline; and in time one will come upon these whose
accounts are under consideration; but it will be without satisfaction.
There is nothing for it but to go right back to the golden age.
But in Guicciardini (1513) there is just the same tale, scarcity
of inhabitants; poverty; mean aspects of daily life; stagnation in
commerce owing entirely to Spanish aversion from work; industries under
foreign control. It suggests that possibly the same phenomena have been
in existence early and late, and that what earlier writers describe
as an undeveloped country is the same as the "exhausted" one of later
days; the difference, if this is the case, lying not in the conditions
seen but in the extent of the stranger's expectations, moderate when
the power of Spain had just become of international account; too high,
later, when it was assumed that political power of long standing could
not have grown up except in association with economic strength of equal
greatness. To travellers of this period any unsoundness or "exhaustion"
seemed the more incomprehensible in that Spain was by far the chief
importer of bullion, the universal value of which they were accustomed
to overrate.

Guicciardini, however, says nothing about the misbehaviour of Spanish
women by which the next three or four generations of travellers are
invariably shocked, with one exception, that of Lady Fanshawe, who saw
much to admire in them and nothing to condemn, and had she seen what
the men saw there is no doubt whatever her scorn would have been very
pronounced. According to the men, neither the Italian fashion of the
men restraining the women, nor the transalpine fashion of the women
restraining themselves, was used in Spain. But it must be remembered
that the male tourist tends to see the womenfolk of the country he
visits nearer their worst than their best.

Too warm a welcome was not a fault into which the males fell. In Madrid
a Protestant might feel safe, and in centres of international trade,
such as Medina del Campo, free from insult; at Burgos there was even
courtesy, and at Barcelona civility, although it went hand in hand with
robbery. But for the most part, it was needful to be both callous and
plucky. In particular, the traveller must take care to get his hair cut
short at Vittoria at the latest. French and many Germans as well as
English wore their hair long, and nothing laid them open to insult, and
even injury, so much as that; if they were clean-shaven as well, it was
taken as certain that they carried effeminacy to extremes; neither were
they the last to hear of it. "Rogue" and "thief" were ordinary terms,
even after a hair-cut, and when the queen was a German, one of her
countrymen, a man who could be trusted not to give offence, had to buy
a new hat at Toledo because the one he was wearing bore too many traces
of cow-dung; at Seville he was stoned.

Yet considering the average elsewhere, the individual Spaniard stood
to gain by comparison; one of the most prejudiced and illiterate of
the tourists admits being treated with great courtesy, and there is a
general agreement that the standard of honesty was remarkably high. It
is amusing, too, to notice what disconcerting answers were sometimes
received by the gentlemen from abroad who thought that the peasantry
of a Roman Catholic and poverty-stricken country only needed to be
questioned in order that the pitiable state of their mind should become
apparent, even to themselves.

To one question, why extreme severity should be reserved for heretics,
the reply was that heresy was the only crime which had not the excuse
of giving pleasure; while another who was asked why a saint's day
should be honoured so highly and Sunday practically ignored, pointed
out that the saint's day came but once a year and Sunday every week.
So, too, it came as a surprise to the Protestant to find Spanish nuns
neither neurotic, depressed, nor prim, but bright and attractive, and
their education "infinitely beyond all our English schools."[63]

Nevertheless, what with the above experiences, together with others
which will be more in place farther on, it is not surprising if Spain
was considered a country of especial danger and difficulties, where
there was nothing to be learnt that had not better remain unlearnt, nor
anything worth seeing.

The best guide, in answering this last objection, urges that the court
at Madrid and the church of San Lorenzo at the Escorial are alone worth
the journey, and names fifty-eight towns to complete the answer. It
would be superfluous to enter into details; it is more difficult for us
to doubt it than for them to believe it. But Seville must not be passed
over altogether, the Seville of Cervantes' "Novelas Ejemplares," the
Seville which was what Madrid pretended to be, the Spanish capital of
Spanish Spain. Half the buildings that the modern visitor goes to see
there were new in 1600, but the great sight, as great a sight as any in
Europe both in itself and for its associations, was the arrival of the
silver fleet from the "Indies."

Of the two chief places of pilgrimage, Montserrat, being on a main road
from France and not far from Barcelona, is very frequently mentioned,
but an account of a journey to Compostella is far rarer. Concerning
the former, one account contains a particular of which there is
perhaps no other record. The occupant of the highest of the almost
inaccessible hermitages around the monastery, that of St. Jerome, in
1599, could bring the wild birds flocking round him when he called
them, in such numbers that the writer, who had been throughout the
peninsula, mentions the sight as the most wonderful in all Spain. Two
ravens lived with the hermit in his cell.[64] As for Compostella,
Andrew Boorde tells how he met nine men leaving Orleans on the way
thither, and how he tried to dissuade them, saying he would rather go
from England to Rome five times than once to Compostella, and that the
government might well set in the stocks persons who proposed going
thither without special leave, as being a waste of valuable lives. They
persisted, and he accompanied them. Not one of the ten survived the
journey except himself; and he was a doctor. Only one account preserves
much detail of a stay at Compostella, that of a German soldier,[65]
in 1581, who confessed to an Italian priest, nicknamed Linguarius for
knowing Italian, Spanish, French, German, Latin and other languages;
and saw all that a good pilgrim should see, including the two great
bells whose sound was so terrific as to frighten lady pilgrims into
miscarriages. At Santo Domingo de la Calzada on the road, according to
a Pole,[66] there remained a curious survival of divination by birds.
In the church porch white capons were reared in a copper-wire cage, to
which the pilgrim used to offer bread on the end of his staff; if the
bird refused the bread, it was held an omen that the pilgrim would die
on the journey.

Among the other things that Spain had in common with "European Europe"
may be mentioned the royal Zoos: one at Madrid, where a crocodile was
to be seen, also the first rhinoceros that had been brought to Europe;
the other at Valladolid, containing four lions, an eagle, four seals,
and canary-birds. In water-works Aranjuez could hold its own against
Italy, with its brazen statue of Priapus, casting forth water from
every extremity, a cave with two dragons and many birds, the birds
being made to sing by the movements of the water; with satyrs and
savages, and artificial cypresses and white roses which soaked the
visitor who touched them. Neither were the horribles kept out of sight:
at Seville some one speaks of seeing a thief shot to death with arrows,
and two other criminals beheaded with swords, the bodies being laid up
against a church-wall to attract alms to pay for their burial.

The coupling of Ireland with Spain does not result from the mere
chance of westernmost position, nor even from the political needs
that they shared, or from the supposed kinship of the peoples. While
other countries aroused curiosity and then gratified it, these two
occasioned, successively, illusion, disillusion, mystification.
Which often led to abuse, but not so often, as regards Ireland, by
Englishmen, as is represented by experienced controversialists who well
know the effect of sixteenth-century phrases torn from their context
and set up on a background of journalese, where the flavour of the
original spelling fixes their seeming harshness in the memory of those
controversialists cater for.

There can be no more effective counterblast to this than a study of the
books of the time recording journeys from everywhere to everywhere, for
from these it will be evident that what the Englishmen say of Ireland
and the Irish is more favourable than what contemporary foreigners
usually say of the countries and nations that they visit; and also
that where the English are unfavourable they are borne out by other
foreigners. All adverse comment may be included under the charge of
barbarism. Now Captain Cuellar, as unprejudiced a witness as could be
required, being a Spaniard wrecked there from the Armada and a man who
took everything as it came, invariably speaks of each Irishman as "el
selvaje," which cannot be translated as anything but "the savage."

But here lies the fact which supplies the contrast between Spaniards
and Irish, a contrast within the similarity which classed the two
together, as countries seen by foreigners. The latter's disillusion
was produced by the barbarism interwoven with the civilisation of
Spain, but, in Ireland, by the civilisation co-existent with the known
barbarism. It was a perpetual surprise to all visitors to find many of
the individuals of a society that persisted in the crudest and rudest
way of living, showing a force of intelligence and character, and in
certain ways a refinement and a degree of education, which seemed to
presuppose all the advantages that the best of European surroundings
and training had to give.

Most are content just to note these and other contrasts; the sum
of their opinion as regarded the people being: "If they be bad you
shall nowhere meet with worse; if they be good you shall hardly find
better."[67] Of experience of this, Captain Cuellar's narrative stands
out as a quintessential example. It is equally handy for those who wish
to prove the Irish the most charming, or the most abominable, nation
that ever existed. He found them equally ready to strip him and to
feed him, to wound and to heal, to betray and to shelter, to make him
at home and to make him work. Compare with this the conclusions of an
impartial Italian[68] seventy years earlier. The women he found very
beautiful and white, but dirty; the people generally, very religious,
yet do not consider stealing a sin. He was given to understand that
Irish people looked down on such as were averse to share and share
alike as regards the blessings of fortune, and certainly came across
many on the road anxious to give effect to communistic theories; these
he terms robbers.

Aliens of a philosophic turn of mind, after passing through the state
of surprise, not so much, even, at their being this or that, as at
their being content or able to continue to be both at once, turned to
looking for reasons. The foreigner who brought to bear on this question
as great an amount of knowledge, experience, and fair-mindedness as
any was Sir John Davies, who, in his "Discovery," after referring to
the Irishman's "contempt and scorn of all things necessary for the
civil life of man," goes on, "for though the Irishry be a nation of
great antiquity and wanted neither art nor valour and ... were lovers
of music and poetry, and all kinds of learning, and possessed a land
abounding with all things necessary; yet ... I dare say boldly that
never any person did build any stone or brick house for his private
habitation, but such as have lately obtained estates according to the
course of the law of England. Neither did any of them in all this time
plant any gardens or orchards, enclose or improve their lands, live
together in settled villages or towns, nor make any provision for
posterity; which being against all common sense and reason, must needs
be imputed to those unreasonable customs which made their estates so
uncertain and transitory in their possessions."

If Sir John Davies thought thus, it is not surprising that hastier
foreigners who had less knowledge of the ancient Irish civilisation,
thought so too. We have just seen how, with regard to Spain, a history
made up of the imaginary glories of an imaginary past helped to give
the foreigner so high an idea of the individuals of the nation that
the reality came as a shock. Here in Ireland, in this matter as in
others, was a similarity with a difference. However true it may be
that the Irish suffered from a radical lack of adaptability to modern
conditions, the defects of it were undoubtedly heightened in the eyes
of strangers by the latter's ignorance of the conditions that the Irish
could accept, the Brehon laws, for instance, and all that they imply,
especially the check on their misuse by means of public opinion.

[Illustration: AN IRISH DINNER]

Two features, however, were almost invariably commended: Irish harping
and Irish girls. And the latter were at no disadvantage among the
foreigners, since even in the far west which Captain Cuellar visited,
they spoke Latin fluently, although content with one garment, often
with less. The only fault that could be found with them was that of
growing older as years went on, for to see an old Irishwoman before
breakfast was, says Moryson, enough to turn a man's stomach. The
country, too, received unlimited praise, with one abatement here also:
in respect of its wetness; greater then than now, it may be said with
some certainty.[69] Lithgow, in particular, when he visited "this
sequestrate and most auspicuous monarchy," in 1619, discovered there
"more Rivers, Lakes, Brooks, Strands, Quagmires, Bogs, and Marshes than
in all Christendom besides." In five months he ruined six horses and
was himself more tired than any of them.

Great, however, were the fetiches, and they prevailed. The essentials
of life, as they appeared to the Irishman, and as they appeared to
most Europeans, differed so utterly, and the reasons underlying
the differences were so unrealisable to each other, that Ireland
remained comparatively unvisited on account of its lack of the kind
of interest for which travellers felt themselves bound to look. So,
at least, the balance of the evidence seems to show, but the evidence
is as conflicting here as in relation to everything else to do with
Ireland. While the Bollandist fathers affirm that fifteen hundred
foreigners made the pilgrimage to St. Patrick's Purgatory during the
"Counter-Reformation,"[70] the native contemporary Catholic, Phillip
O'Sullivan, living at Madrid, had to go back beyond the memory of
living man for the written account of such a pilgrimage with which
he wished to preface his history of the struggle against England. Or
again, the excellent knowledge the Irish leaders in this struggle
received of foreign affairs presupposes a great deal of going to and
fro; yet De Thou, in a letter dated 1605,[71] by which date he had been
working at his history of his own times for many years and was well
known as a man worth helping to correspondents all over Europe, writes
that he has not hitherto come across any one who has personal knowledge
of Ireland nor even any one who has talked with some one who has been
there.

Neither are there nearly so many casual references to visitors as one
chances on with regard to other countries. Two exceptions which suggest
the likelihood of others are, however, to be found mentioned in the
correspondence between the English Privy Council and the Deputy at
Dublin.[72] In 1572 the latter announces the arrival of three German
earls with one Mr. Rogers, their guide, adding, to Lord Burghley,
"according to your directions, they shall travel as little way into the
country as I can manage." This is explained by the second reference,
seven years later, when three more Germans come across with letters
of introduction from the Privy Council, who half suspect them, young
though they are, of being spies. But after the close of this period,
in 1666, we find a Frenchman[73] noting that the Provost of Trinity
College "seemed astonished that out of mere curiosity I should come
to see Ireland, which is a country so retired and almost unknown to
foreign travellers."




CHAPTER V

MOHAMMEDAN EUROPE


PART I

THE GRAND SIGNOR

 "He who would behold these Times in their greatest glory, could not
 find a better scene than Turkey."

      Sir Henry Blount, 1635.

From an historical point of view, a continent consists not only of land
but also of the seas from which attacks on the land can be made at
short notice. For this reason Mohammedan Europe used to be far wider
in extent than the Turkish territory, although the latter, indeed,
bordered the Adriatic and stopped but a few miles short of Vienna. The
Mediterranean was under Mohammedan, rather than Christian, control.
Independent, too, in varying degrees, as were the rulers of North
Africa, a bond of union existed among them owing to the peoples of
the opposite coasts professing a creed different from theirs; a bond
which was not interfered with by jealousies, inasmuch as the Sultan,
or as he was usually termed then, the "Grand Signor" (or the "Grand
Turk"), was so infinitely superior that there was never any question
as to who should take the lead. His fleet, in fact, resembled that of
Queen Elizabeth, being made up of crews who pursued the same course
of life in peace and in war—that of attacking wherever attacks seem
likely to pay—with no more difference than this, that their behaviour
was official in the second case and unofficial in the first. These
corsairs, then, were all part of Mohammedan Europe, carrying out the
foreign policy of the "Grand Signor" whether they had been previously
adopted or were subsequently to be disowned.

For the tourist, it has already become evident that he was almost
certain to be confronted with the subjects, or the agents, of the
Ottoman Empire, sooner or later; and then was to be made aware that,
if one of the two existed on sufferance, that one was himself. Here
is the beginning of a prayer introduced into the English liturgy in
1565;[74]—"O Almighty and Everlasting God, our Heavenly Father, we
thy disobedient and rebellious children, now by thy just judgment
sore afflicted, and in great danger to be oppressed, by thine and our
sworn and most deadly enemies, the Turks...." Historians agree that
it was in the third quarter of the sixteenth century that the Turks'
power reached its height. Rarely, later than that, are they mentioned
otherwise than incidentally in the books from which modern Christendom
draws its information, and their earlier appearances are rather on
account of sensational events and minor indirect influence than as one
of the Powers of Europe. Yet throughout this period, that is, for
three-quarters of a century after decline, according to historians, had
begun, the Turks were not only one of the Powers, but the chief one,
equal with any in diplomacy, superior to any by land and by sea.

At a date when our text-books represent England as wresting the
supremacy on the water from Spain, contemporary opinion regarded
Turkey as the first naval power. The chief of the sensational events
just referred to, the battle of Lepanto, is made to stand out, as that
of Agincourt in English history, not because it typifies the course
of events, but because it is a bright spot for the Christian pupil's
eye to rest on. Within one year afterwards the Turks were ready to
meet the Christians again: within two years they had the biggest
fleet in the world: within three the Venetians agreed to pay 300,000
ducats (worth now about £500,000) as indemnity; and the fifth year
afterwards the Venetian Lippomano takes it for granted, in speaking
before the Signory—in other words, a man representing the pick of the
diplomatists of the day speaking, after full consideration, to the most
critical of audiences—that without the joint help of the Muscovites and
Poles Christendom can never hope really to get the upper hand of the
Turks.[75]

It must be remembered, too, that the Atlantic then was what the Pacific
is now, the ocean of the future; "command of the sea" meant, to the
average sixteenth-century man, command of the Mediterranean, from the
basin of which had risen all the civilisations of which he had any
knowledge, through which lay the most used trade-route, and round which
lay the biggest cities known to him: Cairo, Constantinople, Aleppo, and
Fez (all Mohammedan).

But when this period of their supposed decline had set in, the
Mohammedans, for the first time, ceased to be content with the
Mediterranean and began to practise—

    Keeping in awe the bay of Portingale
      And all the ocean by the British shore,

as Marlowe phrases it on behalf of Tamburlane. In 1616 Sir G.
Carew writes to Sir T. Roe that the Turks are passing out of the
Mediterranean now, had just carried off all the inhabitants of St.
Marie, one of the Azores, and might be looked for round England
soon.[76] In 1630 they took six ships near Bristol and had about forty
of their vessels in British seas.[77] In the following year they sacked
Baltimore in Ireland; but so far was the English government from
being able to assert itself that Robert Boyle writes of his passage
from Youghal to Bristol past Ilfracombe and Minehead in 1635, that he
passed safely "though the Irish coasts were then sufficiently infested
with Turkish galleys,"[78] while in 1645 they called at Fowey and
carried off into slavery two hundred and forty persons, including some
ladies.[79]

Where the English were fortunate was in the raiders having made so
late a start. Throughout the previous century the inhabitants of
south-Europe coasts were always expecting the Turks. Philip II kept
sixteen hundred coast-guardsmen always patrolling on the lookout
for them: but then he was their chief enemy. More remarkable is the
league[80] of the south of France maritime towns in 1585 to take steps
to prevent their ruin from this cause; seeing that France had been
the ally of the "Grand Turk" for half a century. In 1601 the Duke of
Mantua and his sister, the Duchess of Ferrara, were captured close to
the shore near Loreto by a Turkish galley.[81] As for the tourists
themselves, Moryson passed a village near Genoa destroyed by Turks just
before his arrival, when the belle of the district had been carried
off the day after her wedding; and had Montaigne been but a few miles
nearer to the coast than he actually was on a certain date we should
perhaps never have had the "Essais"—thanks to the Turks. This would
have been no more than a parallel case to that of Padre Jeronimo
Gracián, St. Teresa's confessor, who was captured between Messina and
Rome in 1592, stripped naked, and made to row on the benches of a
galley. He had with him his book "Armonía mistica," which he had just
finished, and had to look on while the pirates cleaned their firearms
with leaves from it.[82]


Some preface of this kind is necessary to explain the view tourists
habitually take of the Ottoman power, because the naval strength is
less often alluded to than its achievements by land and its position as
an Eastern conqueror. But even these latter call for a word or two to
complete the picture.

While it is true that the phrase concerning "the empire on which the
sun never sets" had been invented by this time, in reference to that
of Spain, the Turkish was regarded as, to quote a traveller of 1612,
"the greatest that is, or perhaps ever was from the beginning," just
as the phrase "the sick man of Europe" had also been employed, but in
reference not to Turkey, but to England (in 1558).[83] To these words
may be added those of another level-headed, well-educated Englishman,
Sir Henry Blount, "the only modern people great in action and whose
empire hath so suddenly invaded the world and fixed itself on such
firm foundations as no other ever did." Whereas, late as Blount's
visit to Constantinople was, he found the wiser Turks considering the
Christians not so strong as they used to be; not so strong as the
Persians. Busbecq, too, in his earlier days, sums up the outlook in
despair, concluding that the worst feature of it all is that the Turks
are used to conquering, the Christians to being conquered; and confirms
it later (when he was sixty-three and had had thirty-eight years'
experience of European politics, mostly official, including eight
years at Constantinople), by writing that the object of the Turks' war
(1585) with the Persians is to leave themselves freer to extinguish
Christendom, and that, the former war over, "they will fight us for
existence and empire; and the chances are greatly in their favour." As
late as a century after this the Turks were besieging Vienna with an
army 200,000 strong.

But the test of the hold of a given idea on the minds of ordinary men,
such as these tourists mostly were, is the frequency with which it
recurs in the works of their favourite writers. Now, badly off indeed
would the seventeenth-century novelist have been without the Turkish
corsair to defer the wedding-day for a respectable number of pages;
and the echo of the convention has attained immortality in the stock
quotation from Molière, "Mais que diable allait-il dans cette galère?"
There is a passage, too, in "Othello" which illustrates the above
beliefs still better—Othello's last words:—

                  Set you down this—
    And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
    Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
    Beat a Venetian and traduced the State
    I took by the throat the circumcised dog
    And smote him, thus—

There are an infinite number of passages in Shakespeare, whose meaning
in relation to the plot seems so obvious and so sufficient, that the
further half-unconscious sub-meaning is never enquired into, and is,
in fact, passed by until some special knowledge, like that of the
author of the "Diary of Master William Silence," throws light on it.
In this case, an acqaintance with sixteenth-century Christian travel
in Mohammedan lands compels the idea that Othello's mind turns at the
last to what he knows his hearers would unhesitatingly recognise as his
greatest deed, the killing a Turk in Turkish territory; as the greatest
possible claim to forgiveness and to fame. Moryson left his sword
behind him at Venice, as a thing which it would be madness to use.

The state of mind, then, of the Christian of this period in face of the
Turks may be compared to that of a Chinaman towards Europeans between
the fall of Pekin and the victories of Japan. As for the reasons of the
Turks' success, as noted by tourists, they refer primarily to the army,
since it was on the army that the Turks were, and had been, dependent
for their greatness. First, in regard to the soldiers' behaviour to
their own people, discipline was so severe that the country people took
no precautions against robbery, "whereas," says one (an Englishman),
"we cannot raise two or three companies but they pilfer and rifle
wheresoever they pass." Teetotalism, again, was prescribed by their
religion, and although the prohibition was losing its force, the
infractions were secret and not practicable in camp. The benefit of
this lay not merely in the freedom from disorderly behaviour but in the
fact that the carriage of wine was a serious item in the expenses of a
Christian army. Then besides orderliness and sobriety and the absence
from the camp of gambling and women, there was personal cleanliness and
sanitation. On these two last points the "Franks," as Europeans were
generally known in the East, had much said to them to which there was
no effective reply, even on their own showing. It was common knowledge
among Europeans who stayed at home that they were despised in the East
for their carelessness about drainage, and a typical case concerning
cleanliness is that recorded of one Englishman. One day he fell
overboard: "Now God has washed you," said the Turks.

Another characteristic that rendered the army more efficient was the
extent to which autocracy was in favour among them, a principle which,
applied throughout all grades, caused discipline to be a matter of
course. Among European armies there was nothing that could be termed
discipline, only personal influence. In this respect, both the cause
and the effect, the striking resemblance, in relation to the Europeans
contemporary with them, of the sixteenth-century Turk with the
modern Japanese, stands out. Other respects were courtesy, frugality,
cleverness in handicraft and the fine arts, and, on the other side,
lower ideas about women. It was only, likewise, where the copying
of the human form was concerned that the Turk technique fell below
Western achievement; Della Valle, who was used to the best that Europe
could produce, further notes their relative excellence in cooking,
bookbinding, tailoring, gardening, and, especially, all leather work.

[Illustration: AN EXAMPLE OF TURKISH FINE ART]

From our point of view the Franks had also much to learn from the Turks
as to kindness to animals, but that did not even appear a superfluous
virtue to the former, who only mention it as a curiosity, except
Busbecq, who remarks that Turks' horses lived the longer for it, were
more useful, and were companions as well as useful.

It may be noted, further, that the Turks had acquired the use
of pyjamas ("linen breeches and quilted waistcoats," says Fynes
Moryson), while Western Europe was in process of being converted to
night-dresses. Says the contemporary playwright, Middleton, in his
"Mayor of Queenborough," "Books in women's hands are as much against
the hair (_i. e._ against the grain), methinks, as to see men wear
stomachers, or night-rails" (_i. e._ night-shirts). Even with ladies
the process was not a short one. N. Brooke, in Southern Italy, late in
the eighteenth century, discussed night-wear with a lady there; it was
not the custom to wear anything, she explained, in the warmer months;
for one thing, it was cooler so; and for another, so much easier to
catch the fleas.


It would be strange if among all these visitors some were not found
noting signs of demoralisation. The chief of these is Moryson, who,
without explaining what means he has of comparing past and present,
finds the Emperors less warlike, their whole forces not available
through fear of internal rebellion, the pick of the troops not equal
to the pick of times gone by; a shortage of firearms; a decrease in
religious zeal; an increase in extortion and oppression. This latter
Della Valle notes, too, on his return-journey, when, at Cyprus, a
governor had left, and while a successor was on the way out, orders
came reinstating the former; which implied bribery and outbidding.

More general are the references to the increase of wine-drinking in
defiance of the prohibition of it by their religion; a habit which
was bound to be noticed by the traveller, since the ambassadors'
houses were used for the purpose principally, at first solely. One
old gentleman in Busbecq's time tried to evade his conscience, too;
he gave a great shout before each drink, to warn his soul to stow
itself away in some far corner of his body lest it should be defiled
by the wine he was about to enjoy and have hereafter to answer for his
sin. Towards the end of the next century concealment was abandoned,
and at a Greek village outside Adrianople, whither an Englishman went
during plague-time, he found the population living by the sale of wine
to Turks, who came in troops to get drunk: the parson did the biggest
trade because he had the biggest warehouse—his church.

It was frequently noticed, moreover, that their most capable workmen
were mostly foreigners, and that two inventions which attracted
everyone's notice—carrier-pigeons and incubation, both practised
exclusively in Turkish territory and the latter on a scale which would
qualify the proprietor for knighthood to-day—were not of Turkish
origin. Nevertheless, the fact remained that many of the products of
civilisation existed mainly, or at their best, in Turkish dominion
alone; and this, and the prestige it implies, have to be recognised and
remembered as two of the main facts in sixteenth-century history. It
may be added that in no way can this be so satisfactorily ascertained
as through travellers' narratives.

Yet the Turks were deemed barbarians by the Frank; he and they
practically never spoke each other's language, which put out of the
question those casual conversations which pave the way to mutual
understanding. Their faith remained to him a "filthy error"; and to
the Christians, whose chief bond of unity had just been riven by the
Reformation, the remaining one, that of a common literature, was all
the more to be prized. No Turk, as one observer remarks, would write
history because no Turk would believe it; it being unsafe to record the
truth, and impracticable to ascertain it. Accordingly, the complete
Livy which the Grand Signor was reputed to have inherited from the
Byzantine Emperors had only its selling value to Christians for him.
He had refused one offer of 5000 piastres (about £6500 now) for it,
thinking that the offer proved it was worth more. But Della Valle knew
better than to make offers to the Grand Signor: the way to buy his
books was to bribe his librarian, and he only missed securing it for
10,000 crowns (say £12,500) through the librarian at Constantinople not
being able to trace it.


Constantinople—the change from Byzantine Emperors' days was striking.
But the gloriousness of the position was unchangeable, and the sight of
it from the sea was more glorious than ever, the finest city to see,
then, that earth held. With its various levels, each one descending as
it was the nearer to the shore, a marvellous proportion of the roofs,
and even windows, came in view; and the waywardness of the designs, and
the balconies with their lattice-work, were thrown into relief by the
brilliance and the variety of the colouring; while the colouring itself
stood out against the white of the walls, the green of innumerable
cypresses, and the darkness of the leaden domes.

But once inside, and all was spoilt. The streets were very narrow and
ill-kept; a raised foot-path each side took up two-thirds of the way,
and the other third was barely practicable for asses; carcasses of
animals, and even of men, were left lying there till they rotted. The
only street which was a pleasure to pass was the long straight one
which led from the gate of Adrianople to the Palace, and was used for
all occasions of state, such as the entrances of ambassadors. Dignity
was a thing that the Turks understood; it was characteristic that
the most impressive procession to be seen ordinarily in Europe was
that to the Grand Signor's Privy Council, more impressive even than
the Cardinals going to Consistory at Rome. Yet the private houses,
as seen from the streets, were no more attractive than the streets
themselves: of wood mostly, or wood and mud. Some fine houses remained
from pre-Mohammedan days, but besides those, only the mosques, and some
other public buildings, were other than repulsive. The palace that was
called Constantine's was already in ruins, abandoned but for one great
room used as a tent-factory. Even the baths were not in all respects
superior to those of dirty Christendom, but that was because the rich
men had private ones. In Turkey none but the poor used the public
baths; in Christendom few but Germans and the ailing rich used any. The
reason the houses were so wretched was "that they might not be worth
taking from the child when the father died"; for the property of a dead
man was the Sultan's; the latter's palace was free from restrictions;
only, few there were who saw it.

This happened sometimes when the court was away and the tourist could
bribe the right man. Then, besides all that might be expected, he saw
the best Zoo in Europe; and, in the middle of a wood, a certain pond,
all lined with porphyry, wherein it was one "Grand Signor's" diversion
to send the girls of the harem and shoot at them with bullets that
stuck to their skins without doing harm; and he could regulate the
depth of the water till they had to keep afloat to breathe; tiring
of that, he let the water down and sent the eunuchs in to fetch them
out—if alive.

The only recognised means, however, of seeing the inside was to
accompany an ambassador on one of the two occasions when he saw the
Grand Turk; when he came and when he left. This happened on a Sunday or
a Tuesday, and could be but hurried glimpses while going to and from
the audience chamber to kiss the robe of the great sovereign whose
position was such that the ambassador was taken off his horse at the
gate and searched and led to the audience by two men, each one holding
a hand. When the English ambassador, in 1647, at his first audience,
did not bow low enough, the men on either side of him thrust his head
down to the required level.[84] He was further obliged to be lavish
with his presents and content that they should be received as tribute,
and that no present should be given in return but a garment. In the
estimate for the cost of the embassy which the above-mentioned French
league proposed to send to Constantinople 2000 écus d'or au soleil
(over £4000), one twelfth of the total cost, is allotted for presents
and tips. Neither did the Grand Signor ever speak to a Christian.

The interest of life in Constantinople was largely discounted by
the ways of the natives, for courteous as the Turk was as a man, as
a Mohammedan things were very different. While, on the one hand,
incredible as it may sound, a Turkish sailor was always civil even if
you got in his way on board ship, a Christian his nation "regard no
more than a dog," and if the Christian wore green, which was reserved
for Mohammed's kindred, he was lucky to escape injury. One stranger
with a pair of green breeches had them taken away from him in the
street. In any case, there was a likelihood of ill-usage. No one dared
to refuse, or even hesitate, when a Turk commanded, without regretting
it, except Della Valle, who carried a passport from the Grand Turk
himself, and even then, upon his refusal to pay his respects to a
certain governor in the customary way, which was both undignified and
costly, the whole company were so proud of him that the Greek nuns
could not refrain from kissing him in public. Typical experiences were
those of Moryson, whose hat struck a Turk one day as so quaint that
he borrowed it for a few minutes for his own use—not as a hat—and
returned it to Moryson's head; and of one Manwaring[85] in Aleppo;—"we
could not walk in the streets but they would buffet us and use us very
vilely: ... one day I met with a Turk ... saluting me in this manner:
... took me fast by one of the ears and so did lead me up and down the
street; and if I did chance to look sour upon him he would give me such
a wring that I did verily think he would have pulled off my ear and
this he continued with me for the space of one hour, with much company
following me, some throwing stones at me, and some spitting on me; and
because I would not laugh at my departure from him, gave me such a blow
with a staff that did strike me to the ground."

But that is not the end of the story. Manwaring went home and
complained to the Janizary who acted as guardian to his party. The
latter took a stick, found the Turk, who was of high enough position to
go about in cloth of gold and crimson velvet, and thrashed him till he
could not stand.

This was a form of protection open to all. The payment was low; the
Janizary's standard of honour and honesty very high, their power
practically unlimited. Moryson was one of a band of a hundred, who
accidentally set fire to the grass while cooking their supper. Out came
a Janizary from the local governor and compelled them to use their
clothes to quench the flames; which done, he drove them all, priests
and armed men included, before him to the governor, with no weapon but
a stick, and whoever lagged behind he cried, "Wohowe Rooe," and hit him.

But with regard to insults, it must be remembered that certain
characteristics of the Frank the Turks never ceased to despise. They
wished their enemies "no more rest than a Christian's hat." Four things
especially puzzled them, why (1) the latter walked about when he might
sit down, (2) wore his hair long when he might get it cut short, (3)
shaved instead of growing a beard, refusing sometimes to do business
with beardless Christians, believing such to be under age, (4) bought
material for clothes and then cut bits out; themselves wearing their
garments plain.

Barring the results of misunderstanding and contempt, there was plenty
of interest in life in Constantinople. The Greeks, at any rate, whom
Della Valle visited, were not grievously oppressed, considering that
while among the Turks to be reputed rich was more dangerous than any
crime; he found the ladies at a wedding dressed in stuff that cost
twelve zecchini a "picco" (at least £20 a yard) and, as their custom
was, they frequently retired to change their dresses, of which they
brought eight or ten. There were the market places to see, which were
used as a promenade, especially by the ladies, who in this respect
had a decidedly better opportunity to make acquaintances than was
generally supposed; their veils did not prevent them making themselves
recognised, and the press of people was sufficiently great to allow of
an "unintentional" dig in the ribs as a means of introduction to an
attractive foreigner. Tommasetto, Della Valle's servant, was even more
favoured because he conformed to Turkish standards by growing a beard,
and accordingly, in passing the streets, the ladies frequently touched
his cheeks, saying always the same word, which he found meant "handsome
man!" If, in the market or elsewhere, a Christian wanted to buy food,
there was no such thing for him as a fixed price or a bargain; he gave
the Turk money and the Turk gave what he chose to give. Every Friday
was a slave market, where the tourist might see his countrywomen for
sale; a virgin would fetch about £25, and an average widow £9, as money
is now, and if the tourist was not careful of his company, he would
find himself sold as he walked through the streets; Fynes Moryson,
when very ill, was told by the Janizary who was his guide that an old
woman had just offered 100 aspers (thirty shillings) for him.

For the population of Constantinople and what the population consisted
of, nothing more can be stated than the beliefs on the subject, of
which this one may be mentioned, that in less than three months in 1615
there died of plague 120,000 Turks, 2000 Jews, and 18,000 Christians.
Plague was always present in Constantinople; no precautions were taken
against it; when a man died from plague, his clothes were put up for
auction immediately, and bought, and worn. But the fatalism which
decided the Turks' attitude towards plague did not manifest itself
in all directions; their behaviour in danger at sea was the reverse
of what might be expected on Christian-manned ships. After they had
taken Cyprus, moreover, which suffered greatly from locusts, it was
prescribed that every farmer should bring a fixed quantity of locusts'
eggs yearly to a stated official, who was to see the eggs ground to
powder and the powder thrown into the sea. They had their medicines
too, and were the only people in Europe who had hitherto managed
to make medicine-taking pleasant, because they alone had sherbets
and took medicines in their sherbet. Moreover, what may be said of
drinks applies equally to games. For swings, they were part of every
Turkish festivity; likewise roundabouts and "great wheels"; how well
acquainted Christians were with all these may be judged by the fact
that both an Englishman and an Italian describe them all in detail. Yet
with all that we have imported, there still remains one hint to take.
A Mohammedan crowd kept itself in order for the most part then; George
Sandys, in nine months' stay in Constantinople, never saw a Mohammedan
quarrel with one of his own creed; but to restrain the excitability
that might occur in a crowd, they had policemen in leathern jackets,
bearing bladders, both bladders and jackets being smeared with oil and
tar, which commanded the respect of the cleanly Turks in their most
youthful moments.

The relations between Turks and Christians being what they were, it
is not surprising that one feature of life in the sixteenth century
as seen by travellers should be more often under notice in Turkish
dominion than elsewhere, at any rate to the traveller who was a
Christian—examples of human misery. Many such there are scattered about
the pages under notice, such and such a name comes up, probably for
the only time in any writing that remains, just an incident connected
with it, or a life-history in a few lines; nothing else known of the
man or ever likely to be, oblivion before and oblivion after; just
that one glimpse of utter misery. There is the merchant of Ragusa in
Blount's caravan who was defiant towards some Turks; beaten with axes
and iron maces, two ribs broken; left behind helpless; of him it is
very unlikely there was anything further to tell beyond what the wolves
knew. Then there was another whom Blount came across by the side of
the Danube, formerly a man and a Christian, now castrated and a Turk;
enduring degradation and remorse only so as to be able to revenge
himself by throwing Turkish children into the river at night; every
week had its victim. One John Smith, again, became a Venetian soldier
and was sent to Crete, where he borrowed forty-eight shillings (say
twelve guineas) from his officer. Being unable to pay it when the five
years' term of service was up, he was turned over to the officer's
successor with his debt; so again at the end of the tenth year. There
Lithgow found him at the end of fifteen years, no nearer release, and
paid his debt and obtained a passage back for him. Then there was the
sailor-traveller who was made a galley slave by the Turks and was
placed beside an old Russian. Twenty-four years had the latter been
there; attempts to escape had been without result beyond the loss of
ears and nose, and he was under threat of burning for the next attempt;
yet he was only waiting for a man who was ready to be his companion.
The sailor-traveller was ready; and they succeeded, after swimming two
miles with a three-headed arrow right through the old Russian's thigh.

But, indeed, these individual Turks and Christians were no more than
carrying out in person the general relations that existed between the
races. That the former's navy reached the Atlantic, their army to
Vienna, and their shadow over all Europe, has already been illustrated;
and also that they were setting an example in many of the directions
which imply being ahead in civilisation, summed up in verse which
Gruberus-of-the-guide-book quotes as an aid to remembering the
notabilia of Turkey.

    Meschita, maratium, charavansaraja, lavacra,
    Fontes et pontes fluviorum, et strata viarum.

More than all these, in sixteenth-century eyes, was the fact that they
possessed Constantinople, recognised as the city whose possession
necessarily carried with it the political headship of the world
by reason of its situation taken in conjunction with its imperial
associations. They dominated Greece, also, the source of intellectual
light, and Egypt, the home of science. More than all these, they ruled
at Jerusalem.


PART II

JERUSALEM AND THE WAY THITHER

[Illustration:PILGRIM-SONG IN 16th-CENTURY SETTING[86]]

From all points of view except that of geography Jerusalem was forming
part of Europe; the spot where was localised what was recognised as the
prime factor in their mental and spiritual ancestry, life, and future.
What it is now to a convinced Zionist, it was then to the average
Christian. But the idea of securing Jerusalem as an axiom, almost an
incidental axiom, of practical politics requires, perhaps, a word or
two of explanation, considering how far the modern habit of weeding out
theology from all politics but party-politics has gone; and this the
more so since little help is to be had from histories, written, as they
naturally are, to defend, attack, or explain the present rather than
the past, and dealing, consequently, with the past, only in so far as
it throws light, not on itself, but on things current.

History having become specialised into accounts of the political events
of the past in relation to to-day and to-morrow, the interest of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has come to be concentrated on the
development of national and centralised governments. It is therefore
left out of account that the ideas at the back of the average sixteenth
century man's mind were such as assumed that the world, and Europe in
particular, was under theocratic government; and consequently that what
seem to us independent sovereigns developing national monarchies seemed
to him so many deputies of the Almighty—"many," because of the sins of
the world—ruling by permission until the appointed time should come for
the unification of Europe under the one true head, the completion of
whose work would be a final gigantic Crusade which would pulverise the
Turk and secure Jerusalem for Christianity, world without end. In fact,
the conquest of Jerusalem held much the same place in international
politics as "disarmament" with us; just so far ideal as to make
discussion of it interesting, and sufficiently impracticable to be
common ground. If these ideas seem too mediæval to be attributed to the
sixteenth century, it is because their more "modern" ideas have been
disproportionately insisted on since; seven-eighths of their life was
mediæval—and a large part of the remaining eighth the majority would
have wished to disown.

Where the leaven of new ideas was showing itself was not in a
cessation, but in a decrease, of pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The state of
transition is definitely marked by the diversity of the preoccupations
which men carried thither; the change itself by the discontinuance of
the pilgrim galleys. This took place between 1581 and 1586. It had been
usual for two galleys to sail to Jaffa and back each year specially for
pilgrims, from Venice, starting on different dates between Ascension
Day and early in July; the latter date being dictated by the weather,
the former doubtless by everybody's desire to wait to witness the
Espousal of the Sea. In 1581 a boat[87] started on May 7 or 8 with
fifty-six on board, all told; this was wrecked in the Adriatic, thirty
persons only being saved. On July 14, another left, but the pilgrims by
this had to change into a smaller vessel at Cyprus. In 1587, however,
a guide-book writer,[88] advising on the basis of his experiences the
previous year, tells the pilgrim to take the first boat to Tripoli in
the spring, before Easter if possible, otherwise there may be none
towards Palestine till August, since the pilgrim-galleys have ceased
sailing, although the procession is still kept up at Venice in which
every intending pilgrim had the honour of walking on the right hand of
a noble, bearing a lighted wax candle. That this discontinuance was
sudden and recent may be assumed from the fact that a priest who was
visiting the shrines of Christendom as the deputy of Philip II, who had
vowed such a pilgrimage when his son was ill, hurried[89] on his way to
Italy in 1587, expecting to find a pilgrim-galley ready to start. But
that this discontinuance was not merely temporary is clear enough from
all subsequent writers.

The complement of a pilgrim-galley may be taken as about one hundred,
although in 1561 one carried four hundred. After 1581 nobody mentions
finding more than twenty-three "Franks" at Jerusalem together, not
even at Easter, when "indulgences" were doubled. Possibly the attack
on "indulgences" which prefaced the best-known schism of the century
suggested, or testifies to, an incredulity concerning them which
might be felt far outside the districts which persisted in schism. If
felt, this would re-act on pilgrimages, the nominal object whereof
was to secure "indulgences." On the other hand, there is no reason
for assuming a decline in devotion; the non-Catholic point of view
is well expressed by Moryson:—"I had no thought to expiate any least
sin of mine; much less did I hope to merit any grace from God—yet I
confess that through the grace of God the very places struck me with a
religious horror and filled my mind with holy motions." One reason for
the decrease is certain, however, and sufficient to account for it
alone; the increase in the dangers and the cost of the journey through
the stopping-places on the route falling into the hands of the Turks,
and, still more, the changed attitude of the Turks towards Western
Christians as a result of these victories.


Yet this abolition of the direct and speedy route was not all loss to
him who was as much tourist as pilgrim. He saw the more. There was a
pleasant choice of routes, too; for, of course, thenceforth each one
had to make his own arrangements. The main routes numbered three; on
each of them further choice was possible. The three were viâ (1) Jaffa,
(2) Damascus, (3) Cairo.

The starting-point was sometimes Marseilles, but rarely; almost
invariably it would be Venice. Here, too, information was obtainable
better than elsewhere. At the Franciscan monastery "Della Vigna" was
a travel-bureau in charge of the "Padre Provisore di Gierusalemme"
who survived the galleys: in 1609 he was a Venetian noble. The post
had a semi-official character, since its holder was charged to view
the permit to visit Jerusalem, the "Placet" as it was called, lacking
which a Roman Catholic would incur excommunication; and also to assure
himself that the pilgrim had one hundred zecchini to spend, in the
absence of which the permit was cancelled. The respect in which this
"Placet," which required eleven signatures, was held was immense;
one soldier, even, who had touched at Tripoli and Jaffa in the course
of serving Ferdinand de' Medici, came back to Leghorn to get leave
before visiting Jerusalem. But the warden of the friars at Jerusalem
had authority to absolve from the excommunication such as did not pass
through Italy. No "Placets" were granted to women.

These preliminaries over, a start for Jaffa would be made by taking
ship for one of the islands in the Levant on the chance of finding
another ship thence to Jaffa itself, which extended the four-five
weeks' voyage of earlier days into one of unknown duration. Arriving at
Jaffa, past the rock from which St. Peter had his fishing-lesson, no
city was to be seen; little but two towers.

[Illustration: PILGRIMS LEAVING JAFFA FOR JERUSALEM, 1581]

In times gone by when the pilgrims arrived in bulk, word was sent to
the warden of the monastery of San Salvatore at Jerusalem, and they did
not start the land journey till he came to supervise it. But now the
traveller had to arrange as best he could with Turk or Arab and reach
Rama somehow or other; probably on an ass without saddle, bridle, or
stirrups. At Rama he would find Sion House, built by Philip the Good on
the site of the house of Nicodemus, and nominally a monastery; all the
monks had gone, but it remained a lodging for pilgrims. At Rama dwelt
the official Christian guide to Jerusalem, into whose charge you had
no choice but to commit yourself; if any one tried to evade his control
and charges, the dragoman could send word to the Arabs, and life passed
the limit of barely endurable, which was the pilgrim's ordinary lot.
The dragoman dwelt at Rama for the reason that the routes to Jerusalem,
west, north, and south, converged there; and for that same reason we
will go on to consider route No. 2, viâ Damascus.

There was at times the chance of approaching by the Damascus road,
and yet going mainly by sea; that was when there was a ship bound for
Acre or some port on the coast of the Holy Land other than Jaffa.
But in practically all cases the Damascus route meant getting to
Constantinople first, and this is equally true of route No. 3.

From Europe to Constantinople there were several main routes. Two
tourists took the trade route from Danzig through Lemberg to Kamenetz,
the frontier town of Poland, then down the river Pruth to Reni, a
centre of the caviare trade, and so down the Danube to its mouth and
by sea to Constantinople, which last part coincided with the route of
the Russian pilgrims who sailed down the Dnieper or the Don and coasted
along the Black Sea shore. A weird crew on a weird journey, in boats
which, big or little, were used to being mounted on wheels, through
country where nothing living was to be seen but wild beasts and nothing
to mark distances save the mouths of tributary streams. Then there was
Busbecq's way, who used the Danube, but not to the mouth; leaving it
soon after Belgrade had been passed and travelling by the great road
through Sofia and Adrianople along which the Grand Signor marched to
bring war and Christian ambassadors came to buy peace. From this road,
going westward, diverged the roads to Spalato and to Ragusa, the two
most direct ways to Venice. Yet but few tourists travelled by these two
roads. It was not that they were little used. Besides the ambassadors
to Constantinople from Ragusa itself, which meant at least two journeys
each year on account of the tribute, Della Valle speaks of the
ordinary post taking that direction and the Venetian representative at
Constantinople keeping forty Schiavonians for post work, who travelled
on foot. The mountain passes were terrible, and the danger from wolves
and dogs in Servia considerable; also from robbers. At certain points
on Mount Rhodope, for instance, men were stationed to beat drums
when the road was supposed to be clear of them, and a feature of the
district was the "Palangha," a roughly fortified enclosure large
enough for sixty or seventy Turks to live within and to serve as a
temporary shelter to those who lived roundabout; for the robber bands
sometimes numbered three hundred. Except at the regular stopping places
few people were seen, for the Christians established their villages
off the main road for fear of the Turks, who were so far uncertain
of their control over them as to use continual severities. A French
ambassador, whose guide led him astray near one of these villages,
saw all the inhabitants making off to the mountains, mistaking him
for a Turkish official. And their houses he says were no better than
"gabions couverts." But with these, as with all people who live under
a despotism, especially a foreign military one, their chief protection
consisted in appearing more miserable than they were; there was no part
of Europe where food was better or cheaper; neither did the people
treat strangers with the ferocity produced by extreme wretchedness, and
at Sofia, in fact, Blount found the opposite extreme—"nor hath it yet
lost the old Grecian civility, for of all the cities I ever passed,
either in Christendom or without, I never saw anywhere where a stranger
is less troubled either with affronts or with gaping."

Still, it was borderland, and mainly Mohammedan; the sea route was
common ground and frequented by Christians. But there was a compromise
which was often in use—to travel by sea to Zante and thence through
Greece, finishing the journey either by sea or land. It might seem that
this direction would appeal to a considerable proportion of tourists
during the period that is called "Renascence," but the extent to which
the acquaintance with, and interest in, Greek thought, first-hand,
at this time has been exaggerated may be accurately estimated by the
fact that not a single one of these travellers visited Athens except by
accident. It must be admitted, however, that things were not made easy
for them; one of those who traversed Greece was Dallam, in company with
seven others; part of the journey they were stalked by natives trying
to arrange with their guide to cut their throats: and every time they
slept but once it was in their clothes, either on the ground or on the
floor. One of the most interesting places that might be visited on this
route was Salonica, a Jew republic under the suzerainty of the Grand
Signor, with a training-school for priests; here and Safed near Galilee
were the only places where Hebrew was supposed to be spoken.

All these ways to Constantinople have been mentioned in the order
into which they fall according to the extent to which they were used
by European tourists, the least frequented first. Last comes the most
usual, by sea all the way from Venice. And here, however different
might be the experiences of this one and that one, two points of
interest were invariable. First, they passed Abydos and Sestos, where
out must come the note-book, and Leander must be dragged into it.
Secondly, Troy. The learned say that these tourists located Troy on
the south, instead of on the north, bank of the river, but the more
important point is that what they did see stirred their feelings: it
was no mere mild interest. The Trojan heroes were as real to them as
Barbarossa and Don Juan, not only because no doubts had blurred their
individuality, much less darkened their existence, but because there
was less competition for the position of hero owing to the narrower
range of their knowledge. Another characteristic of theirs, was that
Virgil was clearer in their association of ideas, Homer dimmer, at the
moment of seeing Troy's ruins, than would be the case with a modern
tourist: the quotation that arises most naturally in the mind of the
finest scholar of them all was

    Hic Dolopum manus, hic sævus tendebat Achilles;
    Classibus hic locus; hic acies certare solebant.

And so to Constantinople. But not the pilgrims' Constantinople of
former days, as marvellous a centre, perhaps, of ecclesiastical
civilisation and dignity, and of relics, as has been seen. St. Sophia
was still there and its doors still of the wood of Noah's ark, but it
was a mosque where the inquisitive Christian was allowed to look round
on sufferance. Only two churches in the city were allowed to remain in
Western Christian hands, St. Nicholas and Our Lady of Constantinople,
the latter still a place of pilgrimage though served by one solitary
Dominican friar. Gone was Moses' rod; gone from the neighbouring
village of Is Pigas was the fresco of St. John from whose head, in the
first week of each Lent, had blossomed a milk-white rose; gone was the
trumpet that sounded at the fall of Jericho and the horn of Abraham's
ram. But the last two must be safe somewhere, for they are to be used
by the summoning angel on Judgment Day.

As a pilgrim, then, the tourist reached Constantinople only by the
way. And setting out thence for Jerusalem, viâ Damascus, he might go
by land in one of three ways, either by trading caravan, in which
case he should contract with some one in it for all expenses and
necessaries by the way, besides engaging a Janizary, necessary under
every possible condition, who is to report his passenger's safe arrival
to an ambassador or some merchant residing at the point of departure;
or he might accompany a governor on his way to take up his duties (and
changes were very frequent), in which case the governor had better be
required to swear by his head to see the pilgrim safely through; or
for the third, and quickest way, on the return journey, accompany the
carriers of revenue to Constantinople. But it was far commoner to make
a sea-journey of it, which meant taking ship to "Scanderoon" and thence
by land, viâ Aleppo, to Damascus. Nobody ever went to Scanderoon except
to get to Aleppo; sometimes not even then, for during this period the
port of Aleppo was as often as not Tripoli. The objection to Scanderoon
was its unhealthiness, lying, as it did, as Peter Mundy says, "in a
great marsh full of boggs, foggs, and froggs"; of the English who went
there as apprentices scarcely five per cent lived to go into business
for themselves. Aleppo was worth seeing: a pleasant town with its
approaches all gardens, like Damascus, and the medley of nations must
have been marvellous to watch; a sign of its cosmopolitanism was that
Christians were allowed to ride horses there, an unusual privilege in
Mohammedan dominion; probably nowhere outside Venice were so many sects
represented, whose churches were in what was called the new suburb;
two Armenian, a Greek, and a Catholic Maronite were actually side by
side, with a Syrian Jacobite church just near. It is not out of place
to add that at the Jews' synagogue there was not the usual division of
sexes, but that the only separation was that one side was reserved for
the families who had been long resident there, the other for strangers:
because although the repulsion felt for the Jews was greater at this
time than at present, the interest in them was likewise greater, and
any information concerning their customs was regarded by the tourist
as matter for his readers—a surprising number of these tourists give
eye-witness accounts of circumcisions of Jewish babies.

To return to Aleppo; it was equally remarkable for its trade. Dealings
to the extent of 40,000 to 100,000 crowns were ordinary, and this
implied frequency of caravans to take the pilgrim on to Damascus. On
the way he would pass the district in which Job was supposed to have
lived, which may well have been so, says Moryson, for no spot possessed
such conveniences for getting robbed, even of 100,000 head of cattle,
nor any better suited to develop patience.

It was here the pilgrim became acquainted with the Arabs. How far the
latter were independent of the Turks was left an unsettled question,
but it is fairly certain that on many, perhaps most, of the occasions
when a European traveller of the time relates an encounter with the
Arabs, the latter were not the robbers he thought them but keepers of
the roads demanding not more than treble what they were entitled to.
But it is equally clear that hostilities were perpetual. In 1601 a
caravan guide told an Englishman at one defile that he had never passed
by there without seeing bodies of murdered men; and from Damascus to
Jacob's bridge—so called because just by was the spot where Jacob
wrestled with the Angel—the caravan travelled by night for fear of
the Arabs and no talking was allowed without the captain's special
permission. But there was much to divert the attention of the faithful
from their trials. At Damascus was Ananias' house, and soon after
starting an ill-informed tourist would be surprised to see all his
fellow travellers fall on their knees for prayers: it would be the
spot where the conversion of St. Paul took place. Before reaching
the Sea of Galilee they came upon a field with a little well in it,
at which all dismounted for worship as well as for a drink; there had
Joseph been hidden by his brethren. Between Cana and Mt. Tabor was a
little chapel to call at, built on the spot where Christ had multiplied
the loaves and fishes, and after this the road turned westwards to
Nazareth and the church on the site where the Virgin Mary's house
had stood before it had been spirited away to Loreto; two porphyry
columns were standing on the places occupied respectively by the
Archangel and by the Virgin at the moment of the Annunciation. For
those who were not Roman Catholics there was the actual house there
to be identified on its original site, so far as it had been left
intact by previous pilgrims; Lithgow, the only Western Christian in
the caravan he travelled with, asserts that his companies carried away
above five thousand pounds' weight of the house in remembrance. Then
southward, joining the road from Tripoli, more frequented, but not by
pilgrims, who chose this Damascus road as passing through Galilee.
And so to Rama, where they may await such as journey by route 3 from
Constantinople viâ Cairo.

Reaching Alexandria it was found to be about the size of Paris; besides
the ruins, the greatness of which was attested by the intolerable dust
which was all that remained of much of the building materials of the
past.

Leaving Alexandria for Cairo, it was a matter of course to go by river,
passing an attractive town every four miles or so, a very pleasant
journey except when the Nile was low, which made it more practicable
for the Arabs to attack. On landing at Bulak, the port, there would
be asses ready, the wonderful asses of the East celebrated of old in
Western Europe, as the canticle witnesses which used to be sung at
Beauvais cathedral at the feast of the Circumcision when the ass enters
in the procession.[90]

    Orientis partibus
    Adventavit asinus
    Pulcher et fortissimus
    Sarcinis aptissimus
        Hez, Hez, sire asne, Hez!!

The asses of Bulak fortified tradition by carrying passengers into the
city, unattended by any boy, and taking their way back as soon as the
ride was over.

The characteristics of Cairo which impressed themselves most on the
seventeenth-century traveller were its size, and, notwithstanding its
size, its populousness, so great that it was difficult to move for the
press of people. Allowances must be made, however, for their standard
regarding streets; a large proportion of the ten thousand streets
were in reality passages built over, dark and dangerous to an extent
which probably exists in few European slums nowadays. The number ten
thousand sounds suspicious as a statement of fact, but there was a
certain check on it, inasmuch as each "street" was shut at each end
by a gate at night and each gate had a guardian as well as a lantern
burning; and the number of guardians was twenty thousand besides the
four thousand soldiers who patrolled inside the city at night. For the
antiquities, there were still to be seen many houses bearing a chalice
and two lighted candles, witnesses of Louis IX's captivity in Egypt and
the tale of his leaving the sacrament as security for the payment of
his ransom on his release; for the rest, knowledge was not in a very
advanced state; everything that was not credited to "Pharaoh" was put
down to Joseph.

The interest to the tourist centred equally in the excursions. It was
but a few miles to Matarea—to use the Italian spelling, preferable with
many of the names that occur, especially in this chapter, as a sign of
the times—and no Roman Catholic omitted it, seeing that there stood
the house where Our Lady dwelt for some years after her flight from
Palestine; at Cairo itself was preserved some of the water in which she
washed her baby-clothes. Neither, naturally, was any one inclined to
pass on without a visit to the Pyramids; no doubt Della Valle's name is
still to be found cut on the top of the Great Pyramid on the facet that
looks towards Italy. He entered the Great Pyramid, the only one into
which entrance was effected at this date; but had no opportunity of
saying anything regarding it out of the ordinary; it is when he moved
on to what were known as the "Pyramids of the Mummies" that his account
of his doings again becomes one of the most remarkable, as well as one
of the best written, of research in Egypt. He made a halt at "Abusir,"
and then after entering one of these minor Pyramids, moved on to
"Saccara," the centre for mummy-hunting, which formed the occupation of
the boys of the village. On Della Valle's arrival they had a stand-up
fight for the privilege of taking him home, and the next morning about
fifty were at his door. A procession having been formed, all were set
to work in different places probing for tombs, for Della Valle was bent
on examining such as had never been opened hitherto. His trouble and
expense were well rewarded, for the two mummies he brought away intact
were pronounced at Cairo to be the most remarkable that any one there
remembered seeing. They cost him three piastri—less than five pounds
in our money at present values—each, and are now in Dresden Museum. It
was rare for any to be seen intact, for hunting for mummies was not
carried on for museums, but because of their supposed medicinal value,
greatest, it was thought, in virgin-mummies; one of the rare qualities
of Othello's handkerchief consisted in its having been

    ... dyed in mummy which the skilful
    Conserved of maiden's hearts ...

Mummies were therefore broken up as soon as found, and sold piecemeal;
sometimes also to painters, who by means of them obtained certain
shades of brown otherwise unattainable. There was, nevertheless, an
Englishman, named John Sanderson, who brought one away intact, besides
six hundred pounds of fragments to sell to London apothecaries, in
spite of mummy being contraband export from Egypt.

[Illustration: AT MOUNT SINAI]

A third, and the chief, excursion was to Sinai and the Red Sea. It is
no exaggeration to say that for most it was a terrible experience;
there were many who visited Mohammedan lands often and some who saw
Jerusalem more than once, but not one went a second time to Sinai. No
big caravans travelled that way, few were the merchants who traded to
Suez; it meant, then, being subject to the pleasure of the Arabs. There
privation was the best that could be looked for, they were dependent
for their lives and the endurance of life on their own enforced
liberality and the chance of forbearance from others; and very thankful
must they have been when they caught sight of the two great towers,
since pulled down, which stood in the suburbs of Cairo for landmarks
to those coming from Suez, although they might expect to receive a
welcome, as they had probably had a send-off, from the boys of Cairo in
the shape of dirt, bricks, and bad lemons. Two Germans were reduced to
such a state as to become subject to hallucinations.

Especially strange did the journey seem to a Russian who passed by the
Cairo route to Jerusalem. So totally different a desert from those he
knew,—neither forests nor vegetation, no people, no water; nothing but
sand and stones, except for the Red Sea. And it happens that here, in
particular, does he show how far more second-hand was his knowledge
of the Bible stories than was that of other Europeans. The function
of the cloud which is said to have accompanied the Israelites by day
on their flight was, to him, to hide them from pursuers, and at the
Red Sea there were still visible to him the twelve ways that Moses had
opened up for his people, one for each tribe, marked on the surface of
the water by a deeper tint, and the prints of Pharaoh's chariot-wheels
were as indelible as ever for him, whereas Christians from farther west
ceased to see them soon after the beginning of the sixteenth century.
Some facts were even more exclusively his own, as that Pharaoh's
soldiers were changed into fish after their drowning; and were to be
known when caught by having human heads, men's teeth and noses, though
their ears had grown to fins; nobody eats them. Pharaoh's horses were
likewise fishified; hairy fish with skins as thick as your finger.

It goes without saying that every scene from Hebrew history was
localised to a square foot; but there was, besides, a rock to be seen
written over in characters that none could decipher, yet identified
by tradition as the writing of Jeremiah the prophet done with his
finger. This rock was near the monastery. Hither came the pilgrim, to
find the gate barred, whether he had sent word of his approach or not;
the monastery was surrounded as a rule by two or three hundred Arabs,
howling day and night, and sometimes threatening, for food; let down
every now and then from a window high up. Once inside, there was the
monks' well to see, the very same one at which Moses watered Jethro's
sheep, and a chapel behind the choir built over the spot where had
stood the burning bush that Moses saw; with Our Lady and her Baby
standing in the middle thereof unharmed, say the Russian pilgrims.
Then to bed; and in the morning, after being wakened, maybe, by a monk
calling his brethren to "offices" by striking spears of wood and iron
with a stick, for bell they had none, a start would be made up what
was assumed to be Mt. Horeb, at the foot of which, on the side nearest
Cairo, lay the monastery. Not far from the top were four chapels, one
dedicated to St. Elijah, at the back of which was the grotto where he
hid from Jezebel, forty days, fasting. At the top was the rock behind
which Moses lay while God passed, and, hard by, the church of the Holy
Summit and a mosque—it was a pilgrimage place for Mohammedans, too.
Then down again the farther side to the valley between Mts. Horeb and
Sinai, to the hospice where pilgrims stayed the night.

Before reaching Sinai, and after leaving it, these travellers are in
the habit of making assertions so flatly contradictory that some of
them will be hardly put to it on Judgment Day; but when at Sinai, there
is only one opinion—to get to the top thereof was the most terrific
struggle they had ever gone through. Only one account has the least
suggestion of enjoyment in it, Della Valle's; and yet his ascent was
made under worse conditions than any other's.

It was one Christmas. In the night snow had fallen; the morning
promised more snow. Only one monk was found to act as guide; but Della
Valle was ready, and his servants would go wherever he chose to lead
them; two Arabs were bribed into carrying food. So a start was made;
Della Valle in the pilgrim's tunic which he always wore in holy places,
but tucked up high this time; and all with sticks cut from the tree
whence Moses cut his rod. First went the monk, taking the rocks like a
young deer; and he must have known his way well, for the stones which
marked the way could not have been visible for snow. At first it was
just wet; then they met the snow; higher up it came to mid-thigh; still
higher, still deeper. Farther still, where in the best of weathers it
was a place for hands and knees, it was all frozen; more snow was
falling and the wind terrific. The interpreter gave himself up for
dead, cursed the monk who encouraged the ascent, commended himself to
God and St. Catherine, remembered his sins, and forswore meat on every
Monday that he might live to see. However, they did reach the top,
where, once upon a time, the angels laid St. Catherine's body for a
while; and saw the hard stone which retained the imprint of her body
where she had lain and of the angels' posteriors where they sat, one
at each side of her head, and one at her feet. They prayed, eat, and
forthwith started to descend, to reach the hospice that night. What
with snow and mist they could often see but a foot or two before them,
and their idea of descending under the conditions was to toboggan on
their backs; the only risk being, he says, that of getting buried in
snowdrifts, which was no real risk, because they never all got buried
at the same time. However, once he found himself sitting on the edge of
a precipice with his legs dangling; and yet, in the end, no casualties
occurred except to one of Della Valle's shoes, and he and his servants,
after buying some of the little rings the monks provided by way of
souvenirs, made of gold, of silver, and of bone, went back to Cairo to
prepare for the other journey across the desert, to Gaza and Rama.

Cairo to Gaza was twelve days' journey by caravan, but an Arab could
do it in four days. A merchant-pilgrim who had to rejoin his ship at
Alexandria by a certain date in 1601 could find no way of return except
under the escort of the Arabs to whom a friendly Moor introduced him.
They travelled on dromedaries at first, but he changed to horseback
towards the end to save his life from death by jolting. One evening
his dromedary ran away, and the two Arabs pursued it out of sight,
and there were the Moor and the merchant alone in the desert with
night descending on them, not to mention other Arabs who had taken no
oaths to respect their lives and pockets, but who eventually postponed
beheading them till their guides returned.

An Arab guide meant safety from the chief danger of the desert, that
of the Arab bands who laid in wait for every caravan and attacked
small ones; in 1611 a caravan of three hundred camels was carried
off bodily. The average number of persons in a caravan seems to have
been about one thousand and the number of camels three for every four
persons, besides the extra ones that would be required for merchandise;
a camel carried two persons, and one camel luggage for four,—no small
load, for each one had to provide for himself as if he was about to
set up housekeeping. The camel had this advantage over the horse,
that the latter and his fodder were more coveted by the Arab than the
former; and it was all one whether the Arab took horse and fodder
or fodder only, for there was none to be bought and the horse would
starve if left with the owner. The camels used for caravan purposes
were not the small ones the Arabs were accustomed to, but the large
ones, on which alone, at that time, at any rate, was it customary to
travel in cradles, one cradle slung each side of the camel. They were
comfortable, these cradles; comfortable enough to sleep in, hooded
and lined to defend the traveller from sun and weather, with a secret
pocket in the seat for valuables. The camels themselves were protected
against the evil eye by charms written by dervishes slung round their
necks in leathern bags; and on special occasions they were painted
orange from head to foot, like the Polish horses.

Three of the halts were beside castles maintained by the Turks;
elsewhere there was always the chance of an Arab chief enquiring if
there were Franks in the caravan and then inviting himself to dinner;
after dinner he would want a present, would probably name his needs,
and lucky was one particular tourist whose guest only asked for some
sugar and a pair of shoes. That the Arab was born to command and the
Frank to obey, was an axiom with Franks and caravan-leaders, except to
Della Valle, who always showed fight and always won; it is to be hoped
that none of the other tourist-pilgrims came to know later how much
money they would have saved had they known the effect of gunpowder,
even minus the bullet, on an Arab.

At Gaza the caravan would split. The tourist would accompany those
who were for Damascus, whose way lay through Rama, where, as already
mentioned, all pilgrim ways met. Then to Jerusalem. At the gate the
pilgrim's weapons were taken from him and his name registered in a
book, to assure that his tribute should not be overlooked. Then the
resident representative of his sect took charge of him; if he was
a Frank he went to the Roman Catholic monastery of San Salvatore,
whether Protestant or not. There was one Calvinist at this time who
preferred to deal direct with the Turks rather than endanger his soul;
but this meant money to the monks and he found himself in prison, from
which he was only released by influence. The fact was that none of
the Protestant rulers contributed to the upkeep of any foundation at
Jerusalem and all Western Europeans were consequently classed together
as in days gone by. At the monastery he would be fairly certain to make
the acquaintance of Giovanni Battista, the monastery guide, for by
1612 he had filled that post for twenty-five years; and he it was from
whom pilgrims derived most of their information during their stay—in
Italian; if their knowledge of Italian was hazy, it probably added one
or two marvels to those he meant to tell them. And, indeed, this may be
said of most of these tourists on most of their journeys; much of the
information they retail, in their own books and in this, they acquired
by word of mouth in a language they only half understood.

Of Jerusalem as a town they say that the walls were the best part of
the building; that there were three Christians living there to every
Turk; that the Christians dwelled there for devotion and the Turks for
the income derived from the Christians, and that otherwise it would
have been wholly deserted. Partially deserted it actually was, since
for the scarcity of human beings in its streets it is compared to
Padua, the emptiest city in Europe, by one Englishman. All the trades
driven there were elementary ones, shoemakers, cooks, smiths, tailors;
and Moryson, on being seen walking about with gloves and a shirt, was
taken for a prince in spite of his being poorly dressed otherwise;
although that did not prevent the natives egging on their children to
leap on to his back from upper stories and snatch things from him.

But just consider the sights in these streets! Passing over the
localisations of New Testament incidents (such as where the Apostles
composed the Creed and Christ the Lord's prayer) so exact and frequent
that one must have had to walk slowly to avoid missing them when
the guide pointed them out, there were besides the houses of Annas,
Zebedee, Caiaphas, Veronica, Dives, Mary Magdalen, Uriah the Hittite,
Pilate, where nightly were heard noises and whippings and sighs, and
of the school which Our Lady attended; the orchard where Bathsheba
bathed and the terrace from which David beheld her; the fountain where
Our Lady used to wash her baby-clothes; the stone on which the cock
stood to crow at St. Peter's downfall, and another which had been the
seat of the angel who told the Marys of Christ's resurrection, etc.,
etc.

These were every-day matters. To see Jerusalem at its best one had
to go at Easter, when the concourse of pilgrims was greatest for two
reasons: first, the only excursion to Jordan took place; secondly,
the descent of the Holy Fire from heaven into the church of the
Holy Sepulchre. The incidents of the season are described in detail
by George Sandys, Lithgow, Coryat and Della Valle, who were there
at Easter in the years 1611, 1612, 1614, and 1616 respectively. On
Palm Sunday the warden of the monastery set out for Bethphage in the
afternoon and returned riding on an ass, the people shouting "Hosanna,
etc.," and strewing the way with boughs and garments. When Lithgow
was there they made too much noise to please the Turks and therefore
returned black with bruises and somewhat bloody, the warden not
excepted. In the evening the warden had recovered far enough to give an
address to the Frank pilgrims, entreating the Protestants to refrain
from reviling what they did not agree with, and concluding with the
advice that three things were preëminently needful for a Jerusalem
pilgrim; Faith (to believe what was told him), Patience (with the
Turks), and Money.

On Maundy Thursday came the ceremony of washing the pilgrims' feet by
the warden, and great was his disgust if he found that he had washed
and kissed the feet of a Protestant. Some spent the next three nights
in the church of the Holy Sepulchre, some only Easter Eve; a survival
of the pre-Christian idea of the healing influence of passing a night
in a temple.[91] Those who could not afford, or borrow, the heavy
entrance-fee, never entered but stood outside and wept, or looked
through the round hole in the door through which food was passed.
Inside, it made all the difference whether or no the Oriental Palm
Sunday or Easter Day fell on the Frank Easter. If so, the Frank would
find the number in the church of the Holy Sepulchre anything between
one and two thousand, many belonging to nations he had never heard
of, all frantic with excitement, dancing, leaping, and lamenting by
torchlight, in garments that he had never dreamt of, to the sound of
kettle-drums and horns and other instruments as strange to him as their
languages and manner of singing; all combining, with their flags and
banners, in a general cumulative effect of inexpressible weirdness,
without a single touch to bring it into relation with ordinary life,
except the Turks bringing to reason with sticks those who were really
too outrageous even for the occasion. And so the pilgrims spent the
three nights, on the floor, in as utter disregard of decency and
sanitation, and sometimes of morality, as of silence.

The descent of the Holy Fire was no more than an interesting sight to
the European tourist; Roman Catholic and Protestant alike expressed
disbelief in its actuality as openly as the Turk.

On Easter Monday the monks journeyed to Emmaus, passing the house of
Simeon and the spot where David slew Goliath, returning by another
road past the valley where Joshua commanded the staying still of the
sun, and the house of Samuel. It was on the Tuesday preceding the
Oriental Easter that the great excursion of the year took place, to
Jordan; the only one in the year because the danger from the Arabs was
considered prohibitive unless an escort of Turkish soldiers accompanied
the pilgrims, so strong that only the Easter concourse could pay
them. It was more than a day's journey, so Tuesday night was spent in
the open, starting again however before dawn at the pace set by the
escort's horses; of the poorer pilgrims who could not afford a mount,
many died either from exhaustion or from fear. So says Della Valle,
and it is confirmed by Lithgow; the latter, who walked, sometimes
was up to his middle in sand, and "true it is, in all my travels, I
was never so sore fatigued, nor more fearfully endangered than that
night." At dawn they arrived where Christ had been baptised, to see the
medley of nationalities, all distinct from each other in some striking
detail or other, once more in the highest state of excitement; some
drinking, some being baptised by friends, some dipping their clothes,
some renouncing clothes altogether, scores, perhaps hundreds, of men
and women stark naked, there in the chilly spring morning, douching
themselves till their teeth chattered and their bodies turned blue,
while others who came to pray remained to laugh.

On the way back some diverged to visit Mt. Quarantana, the scene of
the forty days' fast; very few ascended it. The way up was a narrow
path along precipices; broken by forty-five steps, each from five to
ten feet high, where there was little foothold and slipping meant
death. This ended at the little cave where Christ was tempted by the
Devil; the way thence to the summit, from which Christ had surveyed the
kingdoms of the world, was not attempted by any one: Lithgow says he
reached the top but proves that he did not; and Della Valle says that
the only means of reaching it was that used by Christ, being carried up
by the Devil.

Easter, too, gave a good opportunity for a visit to Hebron, for the
largest caravan went thither at that time also. But this was as much a
Mohammedan pilgrimage as Christian, and Abraham's house, another of
the remarkably well-preserved buildings of Palestine, was shut against
Christians and Jews. Of these latter there were many who journeyed
to the Holy Land; how many cannot be guessed, but they certainly
outnumbered the Christians of the West, and equally certainly were too
many to be omitted from a record of Europeans then, though the only
piece of direct evidence at hand is from the itinerary of one Samuel
Jemsel[92] with whom, in 1641, one hundred sailed in one ship of the
regular fleet from Constantinople to Egypt, some bound for Jerusalem,
some for Safed. They come into notice chiefly when a caravan is on the
move on their Sabbath, when they remain behind and make up the lost
ground as best they can.

From other pilgrims they differed in this; the Christian was leaving
home, the Jew was going home. When they reached Palestine, besides,
some of the spots they visited were famous among Christians; but mostly
they were not. In the best Jewish guide-book in use in 1600, are
mentioned one hundred and sixty-eight of their famous ancestors whose
tombs were localised. If a Christian visited Abraham's, his duty to the
Old Testament was done with; and even then he invariably omitted to
observe the stone on which the patriarch sat when he was circumcised.
And as for the tomb of Adam and Eve, and of Jacob and Leah, and the
prophet Hosea (may his memory be blessed), and of Isaiah (may Salvation
be his), and of Rachel (with whom be peace), and of the Rabbi Jeremiah
who was buried upright, and, at Ras-ben-Amis, of the wife of Moses our
master, and of the wife of the high-priest Aaron, and, on Mt. Ephraim,
of Joshua the son of Nun and of Caleb the son of Jephunneh (may God, in
his mercy, be mindful of them and of all other righteous men)—why, of
all these the Ishmaelites knew nothing, nor even that at Rama was to be
seen the spot where the Messiah shall appear, nor that there should be
rending of garments when Jerusalem is first seen and again on reaching
the place where once stood the Temple, now, for our sins, destroyed.

Outside Palestine, too, was much that the uncircumcised knew not of. He
passed through Cairo without hearing of the copy of the law of Moses,
written by the hand of Esdras the scribe; though, indeed, no man might
see it, not even, incredible as it may sound, if he offered the keeper
thereof silver (partly because the holy volume had by now been stolen,
and lost, with the thief, at sea). And Damascus Hebrew and Frank might
equally remember as the city where fresh fruit was never lacking, but
only the former remembered that hard by Esdras himself lay buried, any
more than the merchant who reached Baghdad heard that there rested
Ananias, Mizael, and Azarias, and also, with the river flowing over
his head, Daniel, of glorious memory,—unless the merchant wished to
catch some of the great fish which swam thereabouts, for fishing was
prohibited at that spot lest harm might befall the greatest fish of
all, Zelach by name, who had abided there since Daniel's own time and
was fed from the royal table.

And if any of the twentieth-century uncircumcised hesitate to believe
that so much could be satisfactorily identified, the twentieth-century
Hebrew may answer that there are other tests of identification
than those of the "research" that has achieved such wonders at
Stratford-on-Avon and that tradition can be traced back, unvarying even
in trifles, for centuries.

He might go on to point out that Christian tradition might well be more
stable. It is curious how much that is mentioned by fifteenth-century
Christians is habitually omitted by those who came after. That the
taking of Rhodes by the Turks should cause the disappearance of the
basin in which Christ washed his apostles' feet is intelligible; but
why, e. g., should the table disappear from Bethany at which the
disciples were sitting when the Holy Ghost descended? And why should
it have dropped out of remembrance that the torrent of Cedron had
been bridged with stone by St. Helen to replace the wooden one from
which the wood for the Cross had been taken and over which the Queen
of Sheba had refused to walk, saying in a spirit of prophecy, that
the Saviour of the world was to die on it? It seems as though there
had occurred a diminishment of devotion resulting in the concentration
of what devotion remained on fewer objects; or else a widening of
interests diverting the attention from minor objects. Sometimes, of
course, transference took place; which may, or may not, account for one
traveller being shown the pillar of salt which had once been Lot's wife
at a monastery near Trapani in Sicily in 1639, whereas in 1613 Coryat
was told that she existed on the farther side of "Lake Asphaltitis
with her child in her arms and a pretty dog, also in salt, by her."
Still, no doubt Giovanni Battista and the warden did their best, and
the latter was willing, in addition, to confer knighthood of the Holy
Sepulchre on all and sundry, with no questions asked as to lineage, not
even of a Dutchman in the grocery business; and at least there was the
certificate of the pilgrim's visit to Jerusalem to be received—and paid
for.

[Illustration: ARMS OF A JERUSALEM PILGRIM]

And now the tourist's last and longest journey has been told; he is at
home safe, leaving us with nothing fresh to tell except the incidentals
of his journeyings, and leaving us, one tourist, at least, with his
blessing: "In the meantime I leave thee, gentle reader, travelling
towards the heavenly Jerusalem, where God grant at length we may
all arrive, Jesus Christ being our pilot and Janizary to conduct us
thereunto."




CHAPTER VI

INNS

  _Servus._ ... Però con licentia, quando
  quierese ir vuessa merced?

  Sed bona venia,
  quando vult recedere
  T. D.?

  _Viator._ Mañana, plaziendo à Dios, en
  caso que pueda madrugar

  Cras, si Deo placet,
  si possim diluculo
  surgere.

  _Servus._ Paraque no se queda aqui aun
  algunos dias?

  Quare non manet
  hic adhuc per
  aliquot dies?

  _Viator._ El huesped y el pesce en tres
  dias hiede

  Hospes et piscis
  post triduum foetent.

        Müller, "Linguæ Hispanicæ Institutio," 1630.


It is a most unsatisfactory thing—reading about what you would like to
see; but if seeing sixteenth-century Europe implied spending the nights
in sixteenth-century inns there is much to be said for preferring the
experience in print only. Luxury of a kind certainly was to be had.
At the "Vasa d'Oro" at Rome were gorgeous beds, hung with silk and
cloth of gold, worth four to five hundred crowns each; at the "Ecu" at
Châlons silken bedding, too; and Germany occasionally provided sheets
trimmed with lace four-fingers'-breadth wide in panelled rooms, while
by 1652 Amsterdam possessed a hotel reckoned the best in Europe, every
room in which was floored with black and white marble and hung with
pictures, with one room containing an organ and decorated with gilded
leather in place of tapestries. But these superfluities did not imply
that a comfortable medium was easily found. In any case, accommodation
divided itself into bedroom and dining-room; of anything approaching
a sitting-room there is rarely a word. The chief exception to this is
the five or six halls, decorated and furnished like those of a rich
gentleman, at the inn outside Sinigaglia. This was the finest hotel
in Italy when built, shortly before 1578, by the Duke of Urbino, who
allowed no other there. Its forty bedrooms, with no more than two beds
in each, all opened on to one long gallery by separate doors.[93]

The Italian host the traveller would often see before the inn came in
sight; sometimes the latter would have touts as far away as seven or
eight leagues to buttonhole foreigners, carry their luggage, promise
anything and behave with the utmost servility—till the morning of
departure. But with all this to expect them to provide clean sheets was
expecting too much, and as the nation was grievously afflicted with
the itch, it was desirable for the visitor to carry his own bedding.
In many cases, too, we find the tourist sleeping on a table in his
clothes to avoid the dirtiness of the bed, or the vermin. Still, in
Italy, you shared your bed with these permanent occupants only, as a
rule; in Spain you were sure to do so; one man, one bed, was the custom
there—a result of the enforcement of the penalty of burning alive for
sodomy. In Germany the custom was just the reverse; in fact, if the
tourist did not find a companion for himself, the host chose for him,
and his bedfellow might be a gentleman, or he might be a carter; all
that could safely be prophesied about him was that he would be drunk
when he came to bed. The bed would be one of several in a room; the
covering a quilt, warm enough to be too warm for summer, and narrow
enough to leave one side of each person exposed in winter. This is
supposing there were beds: in northern Germany rest for the night
would be on a bench in a "stove," as they called the room, because the
stove was so invariably part of the furniture that the words "room"
and "stove" became synonymous. Windows were never opened at night,
to retain the heat in the room; all the travellers lay there, men
and women, gentlemen and "rammish clowns," as near the stove as they
could manage. The heat was such that the effect on one unaccustomed
to it was "as if a snake was twining about his legs." Further, if
several met together, says a Frenchman, one might as well try to sleep
in a market-place on market-day. In upper Germany, the bedrooms were
separate, without fires or the means of making one, and the change from
the one temperature to the other was very trying. As many beds were
put in a room as the room would hold; fairly clean ones, however, as
the Germans treated them with some disinfectant. In Saxony there were
no beds, no benches, no stove, even. All lay in the straw among the
cows, the chief disadvantage of which was that your pillow was liable
to be eaten in the night. So in Poland, too, where it meant a cold and
dangerous night, in the country parts, at least, for any one who did
not adapt himself to the custom of the country by using the long coat
lined with wolfskins which served the Pole as cloak by day and bedding
by night.

As a relief from the general statements, a particular instance may be
quoted to exemplify a night by the way in Poland. The sleeping-room
struck the writer as something between a stable and a subterranean
furnace. Six soldiers lay on the ground as if dead; the peasant-tenant,
his wife, children, and servants, lay on benches round the walls, with
coverings of straw and feathers; in one corner slept a Calvinist,
a baron's secretary; in another, on the peasant's straw pallet, an
ambassador's chaplain, a Roman Catholic; and between the two, to save
each, it seemed, from the heels of the other, was lying a huge Tartar,
a captain in the Polish army, who had made up a bed of hay for himself.
About the room were dogs, geese, pigs, fowls; while the corner by the
oven was conceded to a woman who had just given birth to a child. The
baby cried, the mother moaned, the tired servants and soldiers snored;
and early in the morning the writer rose from the shelf he was sharing
with some leggings, spurs, and muskets, and escaped.[94]

Speaking generally, there were no beds to be found in the North.
In Muscovy everything had to be carried along; without a hatchet,
tinder-box, and kettle there was no hot food for the wayfarer till he
reached a monastery or a town, much less shelter; unless by chance
he came across somebody's one-story cabin which would have no outlet
for the smoke except the door, and accommodation below the level of
the average stable, one room shared between the family, visitors, and
live-stock. When Sir Jerome Horsey was at Arensberg, in the island of
Oesel, near the gulf of Riga, in 1580, snakes crept about bed and table
and the hens came and pecked at them in the flour and the milk.

Crossing over to Sweden the absence of inns was equally noticeable,
but no disadvantage, for one of the conditions on which the parson
held his living was that of showing hospitality to those in need of
it. In Denmark, too, while taverns existed for supplying victuals,
the wayfarer was dependent on the citizen for lodging, again not to
his loss; he was sure of decent food, a clean bed, and a welcome.
Foreigners in England are singularly reticent about the inns, except
for reviling Gravesend for swindling; which may, perhaps, be taken
as confirming Moryson's opinion that the English inn was the best
in Europe. As to Ireland, there is the usual diversity of opinion;
the absence of inns is accounted for by the traditional idea that
the possession of an inn was a disgrace to a town, a slur on the
hospitality of its inhabitants; yet the hospitality itself was most
uncertain, since the natives were not in a position to believe in the
neutrality of a visitor.

The _personnel_ question, of course, is one that has to be allowed
for throughout. It was in France that this method of discounting
dissatisfaction was most in use, but it is in a dialogue printed in
the Low Countries, a conversational guide for travellers in seven
languages, that the following (an excerpt from the English version)
occurs:[95]

"My she-friend, is the bed made? is it good?"

"Yea, sir; it is a good feather-bed; the sheets be very clean."

"Pull off my hosen and warm my bed; draw the curtains and pin them with
a pin. My she-friend, kiss me once and I shall sleep the better.... I
thank you, fair maiden."

The German host was too apt to think that a heavy meal and honesty were
all that could be expected from him. The honesty was indeed remarkable;
more than one stranger was astonished by the recovery of property
mislaid; sent after him, sometimes, before he had discovered his loss
and no reward taken; but it was paid for dearly indirectly through
the insolence born of virtue in a class that is naturally below the
Ten-Commandment standard. The customer was made to feel that the favour
was to, not from, him. An exception to this is the experience of Van
Buchell, who found German hosts sending hot water up to a traveller's
bedroom, if it was noticed he was tired, with herbs in the water, such
as camomile, for strengthening the feet; and this even at Frankfurt
a/M. in Fair-time as well as elsewhere. But there was no such thing as
hastening on, or delaying, a meal-time, or dissatisfaction with the
food; the bill must be paid without question, not a farthing abated.

And generally, indeed, the help of the law did not seem to avail
against the innkeeper. Tourists speak of successful appeals to the law
on other points and curse the inns without ceasing, but a successful
tourist's lawsuit against his host remains to be found. In Tyrol,
in fact, the plaintiff would find the defendant not only on, but
controlling, the bench; and in Spain most innkeepers were officers
of the "Santa Hermandad," a "Holy Brotherhood" whose forgotten ideal
and raison d'être was that of acting as country police, with the
result that the complainant would probably be arrested at the next
stopping-place on some trumped-up charge. Neither was the local
authority of assistance so far as prices were concerned in spite of
the latter being fixed by it and posted up; because the local authority
was open to bribery, and the innkeeper had known that as long as he had
been in business. In short, when the bill came to one hundred per cent
too much in Spain, the cheapest way was to pay it.

Of all the ill-feeling that the tourists harboured against Spain, the
bitterest was on account of the inns; from the earliest, Andrew Boorde,
who says "hogs shall be under your feet at the table, and lice in your
beds," and another who relates how he preferred to hire three Moors to
hold him in their arms while he slept. Those who come midway through
the period tell the same tale; at Galleretta, on the border of Castile,
a German finds the stable, the bedroom, the kitchen, the dining-room,
the pigsty, one and the same room, and a Papal envoy sleeps on straw
one snowy night without a fire. The latest writes that the sight of the
inns was more than enough. There was but one way to reconcile one's
self to the wayside inn of Spain; and that was—trying those of Portugal.

Over all these inns the Turkish "khan" had this advantage, that there
was no host. A "khan" was a building which some compare to a barn,
and one to a tennis-court, with a platform running round inside the
walls about four feet broad and usually three to four feet high, but
sometimes ten. At intervals of about eight feet were chimneys. The
platform was for the travellers; the inner space for their beasts;
the chimneys for each party to cook food at. That was the normal form,
seeming to an uninstructed traveller just a stable, in which idea he
would be confirmed by the scents in the early morning. The average
Christian found that the noises and the lights prevented sleep, but
the Turk carried a rug to sleep on, used his saddle as a pillow and
his great rain-cloak as a covering and found it comfortable enough
till daybreak, when he thought it suitable to get up, greatly to the
disgust of the Christians present. Or if the moon was very bright, he
might arise earlier by mistake; for he carried no watch, nor believed
one when he saw it. Even in the ordinary "khan" there was often a room
over the door to which the traveller might retire if he chose, but the
Turk seldom used this, preferring to keep an eye on his beasts; and the
Frank consequently might remain unaware that there existed any escape
from the camels. Most "khans," built of hewn stone roofed with lead,
would accommodate from eighty beasts to one hundred and fifty; and
practically always had their fountains for the washings prescribed by
the Turks' religion: but as time went on, far more magnificent places
arose, with covered ways leading to mosques across the road, and many
rooms, capable of holding nearly one thousand travellers and their
belongings. The finest lay along the road leading from Constantinople
to Christendom. The fact that "khan" is indiscriminately applied to
all by most Franks is evidence that they were not on speaking terms
with the natives, to whom many were known as "Imaret," those, that
is, which provided food free. All lodgings were a form of good works
among the richer Turks, a practical attempt to disarm the customary
suspicions of the Grand Signor or the well-justified wrath of Allah;
and free food was an extension of this appeal. The food was barley
porridge mostly, or of some other grain, with meat in it; and bread,
and sometimes honey; nor was there any idea of poverty associated with
taking it; Jew and viceroy alike were recipients. Of all the marvellous
provision for travellers, and even for the care of stray animals,
in Constantinople, free food, free lodging, free medical attendance
for men of all creeds, as unfolded in detail by the Turk traveller,
Awliyáí Efendí, there is no need to dwell on, since the Frank knew of
its existence but rarely and dimly, by hearsay only, for he would be
lodging over the water at Pera with his nation's ambassador.

The Turk himself never travelled alone. Had he done so, he would
have found the non-existence of the innkeeper troublesome. Near
Constantinople there was a "khan" for every stage of every journey; but
not so farther away; from Aleppo to Damascus was nine days' journey
and only five "khans" on the way. But accompanying the caravan, he was
taken care of; a quadrangle was formed, the travellers inside, among
the waggons; the lines of the square formed by the beasts, their heads
tethered inward; and at night-time was an outer line of fires; by the
side of the fires, the watch; outside the fires, the patrol, until the
three loud strokes on the drum which gave the signal for starting.

For out-of-door lodging, "at the sign of the Moon," as their phrase
ran, there was much to be said; but then, how about food? Their guns
were short in range; inaccurate within their range; and how much ran
about that they might not touch on pain of death. The deer in Germany
knew their immunity so well that they would lie in the road and have to
be persuaded to leave room for the waggon; and to keep your hand from
picking and stealing was an effective commandment where an economical
duke of Florence lived who had planted those mulberry trees by the
wayside and looked for profits. And so we return to the inns, leaving
the bedroom to consider the fare.

But first—how to find them? By the sign when there was one; but
supposing there was none? In most parts of Germany inns were
distinguished solely by the coats of arms which visitors had put up to
commemorate their progresses. The best inns could show, inside and out,
as many as three hundred or more. For the signs themselves, it may be
interesting to know what were the commonest signs and what were the
exceptions. Out of a total of three hundred and fifty-eight different
inns which these travellers mention by their signs, the "Crown" occurs
most frequently (thirty-two times), mainly as a result of "Ecu de
France" being so favourite a name in France. "White Horses" and "Golden
Lions" seem to have been about as popular then as now; where changes
have taken place is rather in connection with ecclesiastical signs.
The "Cross" occurs twenty-two times, eleven of which are "White"; the
"Three Kings" (fourteen) and the "Red Hat" or its equivalents, the
"Cardinal's Hat" or the "Cardinal" (seven), are other examples; but of
saints there are no more than twenty-five altogether, including five of
"Our Lady." Barbara (three), Magdalen, Christopher, and John are the
only other names that are used more than once. Among those who have but
one of the three hundred and fifty-eight inns dedicated to him or her,
is St. Martha, the patroness of those who stay at inns. The only form
that is found coming into fashion is that of "Town of ——" a fashion
set, apparently, by Paris during the first quarter of the seventeenth
century, to establish a special clientèle: the "Ville de Brissac,"
there, for instance, catered for Protestants, the "Ville de Hambourg"
for Germans. But there existed at many towns inns which specialized in
this way under ordinary names. At Lübeck were English inns; at Calais
the "Petit St. Jean" was a meeting-place for Scotchmen; and Germans in
Italy were directed to the "White Lion" and "Black Eagle" at Venice,
the "Two Swords" at Rome, and the "Black Eagle" at Naples. Signs which
occur but once and have something picturesque about them are the
"Scarlet Siren" ("Serena Ostriata") at Venice, the "Mille Moyens" at
Antwerp, the "Good Friend" at Leghorn, the "Fish Cart" of Cologne, the
"Bacchus" at Cracow, the "Nereids" at Noyon; Paris had a "Four Winds"
and a "Pineapple," Boulogne a "Tin Pot." Neither should "St. François
de la Grande Barbe" at Agen be forgotten, if only on account of the
host, who never slept there; every night he was taken away to prison
for debt, says the Pole Gölnitz. It is curious, too, that in only one
case out of so many should a name come up with any reference to the
heroes of romance ("Les Quatre Fils d'Aymon"), which suggests that the
acquaintance with them was less common among the lower classes than is
generally supposed.

Next, since in nine cases out of ten a sign-board spells a drink,
consider drinks. Spaniards and Turks drank water; the rest of Europe
thought it unhealthy; in fact, as often as not cleaned their teeth with
wine. Still drinking-fountains were not unknown; at Paris Zinzerling
sampled sixteen. The consumption of cider, wines, and light beer, and
heavy beer seems to have been localized with no material difference
from to-day. The Turks alone had coffee and sherbet; and only the
Spaniards chocolate, drinking which, however, was no more than a
recently introduced fashion for its supposed medicinal qualities; it
was only to be had where the most expensive kind of business was done.
Among spirits, Irish was reckoned the best whiskey, but was seldom
found outside Ireland, where it was known as the "King of Spain's
Daughter." In Muscovy aqua-vitæ was the favourite drink; every meal
began and ended with it; but for quantity consumed hydromel came first,
with mead second. Besides being prepared plain, hydromel was often to
be had made with water in which cherries, strawberries, mulberries or
raspberries had been soaked for twenty-four hours or more; if aqua-vitæ
had been substituted for water with the raspberries, the taste is
recommended as marvellous.

For wines, each one was practically confined to the district that grew
it. The export trade seems to have been for private buyers, little
to inns with the exceptions of Muscovy, where Spanish wine was well
known, of Poland (Spanish and Levant) and of Venetian territory, in the
various parts of which a considerable variety of wines were grown and
between which there had grown up the habit of interchange of products
which extended to inn-custom. To be deducted from this is the fact that
Greek wine was the name of a kind cultivated as much, perhaps more,
outside Greece than within it.

As to the relative quality of sixteenth-century wines there are many
independent opinions to be had, and they all agree—Italy was first in
that, too. Among Italian wines, preëminent was the Lagrime di Christo
("tears of Christ"), concerning which a Dutchman was heard to lament
greatly that Christ had not wept in his country; what has just been
said concerning the localization of wines should be modified with
regard to this kind which was to be found in many Italian inns outside
its native Liguria. Second may be counted Montefiascone, with the
help, maybe, of its own particular anecdote, which illustrates the
second-hand character of travellers' information, since no two versions
of the epitaph agree, and yet most accounts read as if the traveller
had read the original. The tale is of a bishop who loved wine, was
going to Rome, and had a servant whose taste was to be trusted. The
bishop sent him in advance to test the wine at each inn and chalk the
door-post with "Est" where the wine was good. When the servant arrived
at Montefiascone he chalked "Est, Est, Est"; and so thought the bishop,
for he drank till he died. And the servant wrote his epitaph.

    "'Est, Est, Est;' propter nimium Est
    Dominus meus mortuus est."

Drunkenness was infinitely more common than to-day, especially in
Germany. Laws had, it is true, been passed, more stringent, during
the past century, a result of the victories of the teetotal Turks;
but there was no one to enforce them. Every German's conversation was
punctuated with "I drink to you" "as regularly as every psalm ends in
a 'Gloria,'" says Moryson, and among a number of princes whom he saw
at a funeral feast, not one was sober. He queries—what would they have
done at a wedding? adding that during the year and a half he spent
there, attending churches regularly, he never heard a clergyman say a
word against intemperance. The national reputation abroad was to match;
even, when once some Germans halted at a village in Spain, there was a
riot; the peasants were really afraid, beforehand, that the price of
wine would go up!

[Illustration: A FAT GERMAN KITCHEN]

[Illustration: A LEAN GERMAN KITCHEN]

Turning to meals, we find breakfast less of an established custom
than it is at present. In France it was more, in Germany less, usual
than elsewhere. In fact, in Germany it was not taken at the inn, but
bought in the shape of "brannt-wein" and gingerbread at shops, existing
partly for that purpose, at the town gates. French customs generally
were more considerate towards the new-comer; something to go on with
would often be brought him as he dismounted and water for a wash, just
as in Flanders a bright-faced girl would frequently be ready at the
door with beer or wine, very ready, too, to drink at his expense and
to start first; whereas elsewhere he would be expected to wait till
dinner as dusty, inside and outside, as he came in. A French breakfast
consisted of a glass of wine and just a mouthful of bread; sometimes,
as in Normandy, buttered toast, sometimes even meat was kept ready;
but the sole instance of a traveller finding himself expected to eat
a substantial meal first thing in the morning was at the inn of St.
Sebastian, "the best inn," says Gölnitz, "on the Paris-Lyons road,"
kept by a mother and two daughters. The English custom of its being
taken for granted that the guest saved some of his supper to serve
as breakfast next morning, does not seem to have been in use abroad.
In Italy it was ordinary to begin the day at a wine-tavern, where
boys waited to serve cakes as well as wine, on which foundation the
economical Italian would many days last till supper.

Practically, eating resolved itself into two meals a day, just what
they were used to at home, and very fortunate it was they were used
to it; to us it seems like alternately starving and over-eating.
In Germany the latter extreme was the more common; in fact, it is
not easy to see how the second meal was fitted in, considering the
time one took, three to four hours. At Berne there was a law against
sitting at table more than five hours; at Bâle 10 A. M. to 6 P. M. was
the maximum, but the town council were unable to practise their own
counsels of perfection and on great occasions finished in private. In
Saxony the innkeeper was forbidden to serve more than four dishes at a
meal; and there public opinion was perhaps some check, inasmuch as the
common saying was to compare the Saxon dishes, served as they were, one
by one, to the tyrants of Sicily, each one of whom was a more fearful
monster than his predecessor.

Their neighbours, on the contrary, set all on the table at once in a
two-decker on three iron feet; in the top story was the inevitable
sauerkraut and beneath, roast meat, poultry, puddings, and whatever
else was to be had; so that an Englishman likened this two-decker to
Noah's ark, as containing all kinds of creatures. As to these German
"puddings" there is no hard-and-fast rule to be drawn between them
and sausages; and accordingly one cannot say for sure whether it was
pudding or sausage which was the food Moryson had for supper one
night near Erfurt; but the description is of no importance compared
with the size, for it was as big as a man's leg, conforming to the
phrase in which the German expressed his idea of happiness, "Lange
Würsten, Kurz Predigen" (long sausages, short sermons). One who
journeyed through Hessen describes his diet as "mostly coleworts,"
but a Saxony dinner ordinarily began with stewed cherries or prunes,
continued with poultry or meat, the pot for which was set on the fire
but once a week; and concluded with bacon to fill up the corners, as
important a consideration for the host as any one, for there was no
greater reproach to hurl at the host than "Ich hab' mich da nicht satt
gefressen" ("I didn't eat my belly-full there").

Bacon was of great account in Germany, so great that the owners were
wont to bless their pigs when the latter trotted out of a morning, to
ensure their safe return; and told off a servant to wash them as they
passed the fountain on their way back, which they took of their own
accord. But while a well-fattened sow commanded a fancy price—as much
as the equivalent of fifty pounds was paid at Heidelberg in 1593 for
one who had become unable to eat a whole raw egg at a meal—sucking pigs
were unknown as eatables; an Englishman who bought one for food was
forced to kill and prepare it himself on account of the unwillingness
of the servants to touch it. What Saxony did lack was everything that
was dependent on the yield of a cow; throughout Germany there was
little cheese except that made from goat's milk.

A common hors d'œuvre was what were called "Neun Augen"—little lampreys
that had nine eyes. Birds other than poultry were unusual: of veal and
beef there was a moderate supply, of dried venison rather too much, as
was the case at Hamburg with salmon. Dried fish you might expect, with
many sauces, all designed to create thirst; fresh fish was expected
to be on view alive beforehand in the kitchen; no German inn lacked
a wooden fish-tank, kept under lock and key and supplied with running
water. Supposing, however, that the sauces failed of their effect, the
thirst was sure to come at the end of the meal with the help of little
bits of bread, sprinkled with pepper and salt. Fruits were preserved
habitually; especially apples and pears, which they halved, dried in
the oven, and served up with cinnamon and butter. Black cherries they
put in a brass pot, mixed with the best pears cut into small pieces
and boiled and stirred till the contents were thick; then pressure was
applied which sent the juice through holes in the bottom of the pot;
it cooled solid, kept well, and was in every-day use as sauce for meat
after it had been liquefied again.

Italians had a sauce of their own, according to Moryson (who has also
supplied all the above German recipes), made of bread steeped in broth,
walnuts, some leaves of marjoram pounded in a mortar, and gooseberry
juice. Much need they had of a sauce, too, for by the "lex Foscarini"
it was forbidden to kill an ox until he was unfit for work in the
fields. It may be suggested that it is time the "lex Foscarini" was
repealed. In the north was plenty of mutton and veal; variety of fish
and poultry, mushrooms, snails, and frogs; in Tuscany, kid and boar.
First and last everywhere came butter and cheese; everywhere, that
is, where any pretence was made of catering for tourists; at Carrara
Moryson found the inns only fit for labourers, and dined on herbs,
eggs, and chestnuts, while Peter Mundy, near Turin, had to pay the
equivalent of six shillings for "an egg and a frog and bad wine." De
Thou, moreover, using a main road, that from Naples to Rome, became so
done up through the badness of the inns as to seem to have completed a
long and troublesome illness rather than a journey. But something might
be said for the average Italian inn as seen from the street. Through
the great open windows—really open, for there was rarely glass in
Italian windows except at Venice—the tables were in view, always spread
with white cloths, strewn with flowers and fig-leaves and fruits, with
glasses set filled with different coloured wines; during summer, the
glasses would be floating in an earthen vessel, for coolness.

In France, for some reason, Normandy seems to have made foreigners
more comfortable than elsewhere, yet Picardy, so little distant, was
just the opposite. Picardy, however, at this time was stamped with the
character of border-country more disastrously than any other district
of France. Nothing remained, indeed, to the country as a whole, as
regards cooking, but a reputation for entrées, or, as they were called
then, "quelques-choses." "A hard bed and an empty kitchen" was a common
experience in different districts; one party arrived at Antibes, on the
Riviera, in 1606, to find one melon constituting all the provisions of
the only inn.

Comparison of the fare in the various countries of Europe shows no
more striking inequalities of supply than is the case with butter: in
Poland so plentiful as to be used for greasing cart-wheels; in France
so scarce and so bad that English ambassadors used to import theirs
from home; in Spain still scarcer, except in cow-breeding Estremadura.
A German, when he wanted to buy butter, was directed to an apothecary,
who produced a little, and that much rancid, preserved in a she-goat's
bladder for use as an ingredient in salves, telling him there was not
such another quantity in all Castile.

It was not merely on account of the sleeping accommodation that those
who had been to Spain thanked God for their return and wondered at it.
The wine, they said, was undrinkable, owing to the flavour imparted
to it by the skins that held it; and as for eatables, all had to be
bought separately by the traveller and cooked by him when he was tired.
A still greater trouble was to find any to buy. One complains that
his stomach roared for want of victuals and had to be answered with
nothing but roast onions; and so on. But here again can be traced the
effects of their buying their experience in the north: what the south
thought of the north may be guessed from the Andalusian hero of a
picaresque tale recollecting how the food of a Catalan acquaintance
of his consisted of hard bread once every three days. The force of
prejudice may be exemplified by a note or two from the journal of a
courtier[96] who followed after Prince Charles when the latter went
incognito to Madrid. His chief complaints as to food are: At the first
stopping-place past Santander, whither notice of their coming had been
sent a fortnight earlier, they had a plank instead of a table, a few
eggs, half a kid burnt black, and no table linen. At a tavern in a
wood, the woman laid a cloth on a stool by way of a table, and placed
two loaves on it while she fried eggs and bacon for them: enter, from
the wood, two black swine who knock the stool over and depart with a
loaf each. And yet, although he has noted having enjoyed a good fat
turkey at one place and very good hens at another, when he lands at
Weymouth he says that there was more meat on the table than he had seen
in two hundred miles riding in Spain.

But even in the north different tales are told sometimes. Charles II,
when in exile, writes from Saragossa,[97] "But I am very much deceived
in the travelling in Spain, for, by all reports, I did expect ill
cheer and worse living, and hitherto we have found both the beds, and
especially the meat very good.... God keep you, and send you to eat as
good mutton as we have every meal." Lady Fanshawe is more detailed. "I
find it a received opinion that Spain affords not food either good
or plentiful; true it is that strangers who have neither skill to
choose, nor money to buy, will find themselves at a loss: but there is
not in the Christian world better wines than their midland wines are
especially, besides sherry and canary. Their water tastes like milk;
their corn white to a miracle, and their wheat makes the sweetest and
best bread in the world; bacon beyond belief good; the Segovia veal
much larger and fatter than ours; mutton most excellent; capons much
better than ours.... They have the best partridges I ever eat, and the
best sausages; and salmons, pikes, and sea-breams which they send up in
pickle to Madrid, and dolphins, which are excellent meat and carps, and
many other sorts of fish. The cream, called 'nata,' is much sweeter and
thicker than any I ever saw in England; their eggs much exceed ours;
and so all sorts of salads and roots and fruits. What I most admired
are melons, peaches, burgamot pears, grapes, oranges, lemons, citrons,
figs, pomegranates; besides that I have eaten many sorts of biscuits,
cakes, cheese, and excellent sweetmeats I have not here mentioned."

Both these quotations, it is true, refer to the middle of the
seventeenth century.

England was a land of plenty in these days; Poland no less so. The
sum of the experience of those who had first-hand means of comparison
suggests that Poland was as great an importer of luxuries as
any country in Europe. Muscovy did not import, but was well off,
nevertheless; plenty of beef, mutton, pork, and veal, and all the more
of them for foreigners seeing that, with fast-days so numerous as they
were, the natives had become so used to salt fish that they ate little
meat, although the salt fish, insufficiently salted, was often in a
state like that of the fish which the good angel provided for Tobit to
protect him from a demon, the scent whereof was so terrible that it
drove the fiend into the uttermost parts of Egypt. In Lent butter was
replaced by caviare. An ambassador's secretary has a pleasant picture
to draw of wayside fare; when they reached a village, the local priest
would appear with gooseberries, or fish, or a hen, or some eggs, as a
present; was rewarded with aqua-vitæ, and generally went home drunk.

As for food at sea, on small boats no fires were allowed. Then you
were limited, in the Mediterranean, to biscuit, onions, garlic, and
dried fish. On the bigger ships there was garlic again, to roast which
and call it "pigeon" was a stock joke with the Greek sailors. On an
Italian ship of nine hundred tons one traveller fared well: there were
two table-d'hôte rates; he chose the higher one: knife, spoon, fork,
and a glass to himself were provided, fresh bread for three days after
leaving a harbour, fresh meat at first and afterwards salt meat, and
on fast days, eggs, fish, vegetables, and fruit. An English idea[98]
of victualling a ship included wheat, rice, currants, sugar, prunes,
cinnamon, ginger, pepper, cloves, oil, old cheese, wine, vinegar,
canary sack, aqua-vitæ, water, lemon juice, biscuit, oatmeal, bacon,
dried neats' tongues, roast beef preserved in vinegar, and legs of
mutton minced and stewed and packed in butter in earthen pots; together
with a few luxuries, such as marmalade and almonds.

Finally, there is the food to be met with in Ireland, concerning
which it is enough to quote:[99] "Your diet shall be more welcome and
plentiful than cleanly and handsome; for although they did never see
you before, they will make you the best cheer their country yieldeth
for two or three days and take not anything therefor."

Except in Italy, fingers invariably did the work of forks; and often
of knives, too. The French were the only people who were in the habit
of washing before they sat down to table; but this is by no means
so much to their credit as it seems at first sight, for it was the
result of their getting into such a state previously as to render them
intolerable even to themselves. Except for the effects of drunkenness,
the Germans appear to have been the pleasantest table companions, in
spite of all sitting at one round table; or rather, because of it, for
men were the more careful of behaving in a way to which they would have
no objection if their neighbours imitated it. Moreover Germans made a
practice of having a bath every Saturday night. From this common table
no one was excluded in Germany except the hangman, for whose exclusive
use a separate table was reserved. The rest of the dining-room
furniture consisted of a leather-covered couch for those who were too
drunk to do anything but lie down.

As to plates and vessels, no general statement would serve, not even
for one country, owing to the rapidity with which the supply of silver
increased during these centuries. In 1517 an Italian[100] notes of
Flanders that all their vessels, of the church, the kitchen, and the
bedroom, were of English brass, but that statement no one confirms
later. Wood was common in proportion to the unpretentiousness of the
inn; except in Muscovy, where it was almost invariable through the
frequency and thoroughness of destruction by fires which caused the
use of the most easily replaceable material; the few silver tankards
they possessed were rendered unattractive by their custom of cleaning
drinking vessels but once a year.

The transition from pewter to silver is most clearly marked in France.
The former was in general use as late as Montaigne's time; even he,
who owns to making himself in a horrid mess at meal-times, was glad
to escape from its greasiness. By the middle of the next century an
Italian priest notes that the inn-utensils were mostly of silver,
although the chalices which he was given for mass were mostly tin; and
De Gourville, in his autobiography, mentions that, on being asked by
the government for an estimate of the total amount of silver in France,
gave a higher estimate than the other experts because he based his on
what he had noticed in the course of his frequent journeys about the
provinces, in the middle of the seventeenth century, how every tavern
had spoons and forks of silver and some a basin and ewer. And as silver
drinking-vessels were common among the English middle-classes earlier
than this, it may be assumed that inns were so provided, too; in fact,
in England silver was considered somewhat vulgar for drinking purposes,
gentlemen preferring Venetian glass. The Venetians themselves used
glass, as did other Italians; likewise the French; Germans drank from
pewter or stone, and their plates were often of wood, when they had
any; it would give an altogether too high idea of sixteenth-century
luxury to imagine that every one was given a plate. Certainly no one
had more than one at a meal, though there is nothing to show that he
might not turn it over to use the clean side—unless he was at sea, in
which case he would risk being thrown overboard, because every sailor
knew that a plate upside down signified shipwreck.

Inseparable from the inns are the bathing-places; in most cases the
baths formed part of the inn premises. At Abano, near Padua, the chief
bathing resort of Italy, were private rooms with a "guarderobbe"[101]
adjoining, through which latter a stream of the water could be turned
on. Baden in Switzerland was exceptional in having baths under public
control, for poor as well as for rich, besides those in private hands.
The inn Montaigne stayed at had eleven kitchens, three hundred persons
were catered for each day, one hundred and seventy-seven beds made,
and every one could reach his room without passing through any one
else's. His party engaged four rooms, containing no more than nine
beds; two of the rooms had stoves; and a private bath adjoined. Swiss
Baden possessed sixty baths, German Baden three hundred. Spa was
much visited, but most of the watering-places have been practically
forgotten, so far as the water is concerned, Pougues-les-Eaux, the
chief centre in France, for instance, and Aachen, where there existed
forty baths outside the town, although the chief ones were within.

[Illustration: GERMAN BATHING-PLACES]

The object of the visitors was as much medicinal nominally and as
little so really, as might be expected. "Many come thither with no
disease but that of love: and many times find remedy."[102] The
conditions seem somewhat free and easy: in Rome it was customary to
go accompanied by a lady friend in spite of the masseurs being male;
of Plombières Montaigne says that it was reckoned indecent for men to
bathe naked or for women to wear less than a chemise; from which it
may be gathered what ordinary conditions were. The bathing there was
"mixed," as at the German baths where these restrictions were not
in force and where, consequently, the sight of scores of young couples
and parties, some family parties, some not, in a state of nature,
or very nearly so, amusing themselves with games played at floating
tables, or without any help at all, excited the shame, the interest,
and the participation of foreigners from all quarters. Ladies, however,
who needed baths and preferred decency, were provided for at Swiss
Baden, where private baths were for hire, well lighted by glazed
windows, painted, panelled, and clean, with conveniences for reading.
The building of Turkish baths seemed to Della Valle to afford more
likelihood of a chill than the Italian; but it was, he says, all one
could expect for the price, which was much lower. How much lower is not
clear, but evidently considerably so, the result of a difference of
habit; in Italy the poor did not bathe, in Turkey the rich bathed at
home.

Quite apart from bathing customs, however, the position of the lady
traveller must frequently have been embarrassing. Many a nephew,
perhaps, may disbelieve that they ever did travel in the days when
no hot-water bottles existed; but that would be a mistake; there is
record of at least two substitutes: (1) a bag of semolina, or millet,
heated, (2) a dog. A more serious objection is that the privacy of
the bedroom was not respected. Even in France, a murderer was lodged
in Gölnitz's room for the night together with the six guardians who
were escorting him to the place of trial, and in Picardy bedrooms were
merely partitioned off; doors and windows lying open all night with
no means of fastening them. But a permanently open window would have
been welcome on occasions; as when in 1652 Mademoiselle de Montpensier
lodged at an inn in Franche-Comté with no window at all in her room,
and consequently had to do her hair at the door.

Again, respectable women would not be travelling alone, and as bedrooms
were so few they would always have to be prepared to share the room
with their escort, even if with no other man, a condition which
persisted up to far more recent times. In 1762, writes M. Babeau, a
lawyer, travelling through Périgord with a lady client, her son, and
a girl, had to put up at an inn which owned but two beds and those
both in one room. This room, by the way, possessed two doors, one
opening on a meadow, and with joinery so imperfect that a dog could
have crept in underneath it; no dog took the chance, it is true, but
the wind did. In the previous century was often reprinted a "Traité de
la civilité qui se pratique parmi les honnêtes gens" which established
the procedure to be followed in these embarrassing circumstances. The
escort must allow the lady to undress and get into bed first, and, for
himself, take care to undress at a distance from her bed and remain
"tranquille et paisible" through the night. In the morning he ought to
be well advanced with his dressing before she awoke. But this book was
evidently unknown to Sterne when he pursued his "Sentimental Journey,"
for when he had to share his room with a lady who was a total stranger,
they drew up a special treaty which both promised to observe and which
each accused the other of breaking.

Of lodgings and "pensions" and houses for hire, it is unnecessary to
speak, because apart from the conditions of living that have already
been indicated there is nothing to distinguish them from those of
to-day; "pensions" are doubtless still to be found in the same variety
now as two hundred and fifty years ago at Blois—"dainty, magnificent,
dirty, pretty fair, and stinking."

Supervision over the inns was far stricter than at present, especially
in Italy. At Lucca and Florence all the inns were in a single street;
and in many towns the new arrival was taken before the authorities
by the guard at the gates previous to choosing his inn, to which he
would be conducted by a soldier. At Lucca, too, was a department of
the judiciary, called "della loggia," which was specially concerned
with strangers, and to this the innkeepers had to send a daily report
on each guest. Yet to judge by the tourists' accounts, the supervision
might well have been carried further and reports on the innkeepers
required from the tourists. Such a system of double reports would
have been a check on the murdering innkeeper, to whom there are
occasional references; one had been detected at Poictiers shortly
before Lauder's arrival, and at Stralesund, another's tale runs, eight
hundred (!) persons had disappeared at one inn. They had reappeared, it
is true—pickled. Another kind of innkeeper who ran less risk but was
equally dangerous was he who was in league with robbers; it was common
enough, if travellers may be believed, for robbers to have spies in the
inns. At Acciaruolo, near Naples, another device was practised by the
keeper of an atrocious inn. He had an understanding with the captains
of coasting-vessels, the result of which was that the latter found it
impossible to get any further that night or to let the passengers sleep
in the boat.


It must have occurred to the reader that this is a most one-sided
chapter: the tourist has been having his say so uninterruptedly that
even a clergyman in the pulpit might envy him. What of the innkeepers'
side of the question? Fortunately that can be presented, too, with the
help of a manuscript so unique that it must be described now instead of
being buried in the bibliography. It is nothing less than an account
of an Innkeepers' Congress in 1610, written by a delegate. At least,
an expert palæographer (whose name I am not permitted to give for
fear of another expert palæographer) affirms it to be in a fairly
recent commercial script; and it certainly is in English. Nevertheless,
there can be no doubt as to its genuineness. There is no inn, for
example, of the three hundred and fifty-eight referred to above which
is not mentioned in it; neither is there any inn that is so mentioned
that is not to be found among the said three hundred and fifty-eight.
Subjective tests, moreover, however dangerous, have their value, and
it will appear that the wealth, and, so far as it can be checked,
the accuracy of detail, the turns of phrase and of mind, equally
characteristic of the innkeeper and the sixteenth century, leave no
more room for doubt here than, to take a report of a meeting, in the
case of the account of the sayings and doings of the agriculturists in
session of which Flaubert made such instructive use in his biography of
the late Madame Bovary.

[Illustration: THE RED GATE, ANTWERP]

The congress was held at Rothenburg on the Tauber, not so very far
from Nuremberg, that town being chosen because no tourist was ever
known to go there, any more then than now; and consequently none was
better adapted to prevent more than one side of the question being
heard,—which, as every one knows, means life or death to a congress.

London was represented by Paolo Lucchese, and four Englishmen were also
present, the four who saw most of foreigners who had been to England
and of Englishmen who had been abroad: namely, William Cooke of Douay,
the host of the "Golden Head" at Calais, another of Dieppe whose name
and whose sign are alike illegible, and lastly the notorious Zacharias
of Genoa, who told how he had been wrecked in West Indian seas and
had swum twenty-two leagues with the ship's carpenter, pushing the
latter's tool-chest before him, and how the tinder-box which he put in
his hair did not even get wet; all just as he told it to Evelyn years
afterwards, until every one got tired of him. The only Scot was Miltoun
of the "Croix de Fer" at Paris (Rue St. Martin).

From France the delegates were Robert Buquet of Rouen, Du Peyrat of
Loudun, Parracan of Arles, whose inn had no sign because his wine was
so good that it needed none, Christopher Prezel of the "Lion d'Or de la
Lanterne" of Lyons—but a full list is, after all, of no great interest.
It is sufficient to say, to give some idea of the value that attaches
to the report of the proceedings, that almost every delegate was a
host in himself. For the rest, genealogists in the employ of American
millionaires can have access direct to the manuscript; such things are
best left in private hands.

The ladies, however, must not be omitted. Old Donna Justina of Venice
was there, in spite of its being as much as thirty years earlier that
De Thou had been recommended to her as the only innkeeper of the city
in whose house none but respectable women were to be found. Berenguela
de Rebolledo likewise attended, lady-in-waiting at an inn at Madrid,
cheerful, inquisitive, and a flirt, just as Pablos de Segovia knew
her, with a bit of a lisp, scared of mice, vain of her hands, and
a blush-rose and gloire-de-Dijon complexion. Then there was Marie
Beltram, who ran the "venta" the other side of Yrun, and the girl
harpist who played at the inns at Brussels, of whom the appropriate
remark to make was to quote,—

    Haec habiles agili praetentat pollice chordas:
      Tam doctas quis non possit amare manus?

Two elderly parties were likewise present who, thirty years earlier,
had been the two pretty daughters of the one-eyed host of the "Red
Lion" at Dordrecht, the same host who warned Van Buchell, the
antiquary, when a youngster, against French girls. They were given,
he said, to making advances; once one kissed him, and for a long time
afterwards he did not think he could live without her.

But the belle of the congress seems to have been the daughter of the
innkeeper at Bourgoin, the second post-house this side of Chambéry,
since there is a marginal note against her name, evidently retained
from the original, "Ista capit biscottum." This confirms the account
given of her by Lord Herbert of Cherbury in his autobiography; his
friends had told him she was the most beautiful girl they had ever
seen, so he rode over from Lyons to see her, "and after about an
hour's stay departed thence without offering so much as the least
incivility." Finally there was a widow from Tours; the one from the
"Three Kings," known as "La Gogueline"; the other widow of Tours, of
the "Three Moors," stayed at home, fearing to endanger her reputation
as the "mother of the Germans" by so long an absence. Widow Gogueline,
however, told the writer that the other was better known as their
stepmother and that there was a rhyme which ran:—

    Quand vostre bourse est trop pleine
    Allez aux 'Mores' en Touraine:
    Je vous jure que vous serez
    En peu de temps en deschargez.

It was taken for granted that the president must be an Italian; and
Francisco Marco of Venice was chosen for that geniality of his that in
years to come was to charm James Howell. He opened the proceedings with
some graceful presidential irrelevancies, commenting on the antiquity
and fame of Rothenburg and so forth, and then explained the purposes
of this Innkeepers' Congress as twofold. Its primary object, he said,
was the advancement of God's glory; secondly, the furtherance of the
interests of innkeepers and their customers, which, he added, were at
bottom identical. The committee had invited certain of the delegates
who were especially well acquainted with foreigners to explain, or
refute, what visitors found objectionable. The assembled innkeepers
could then return able to inform, each one his own countrymen, before
the latter's departure, what must be looked for in the parts he was
travelling towards, and how unavoidable, and even desirable, those
characteristics were. The president therefore called upon Messer
Bevigliano ("Chiavi d'Oro," Florence) to speak for Italy.

Three things, said Messer Bevigliano, hinder us Italians from doing
our best for the community: the licensing system, 'tied-houses,' and
labour difficulties. I should be the last to suggest the abolition
of our picturesque custom in use when an inn is to be let. At the
auction a candle is lighted: the highest bid before the candle goes
out wins the business. But the periods of tenancy, one and six years,
alternately, in Florentine territory, are inconvenient. Far worse,
however, are the prices extorted, especially from those who keep inns
outside the gates of towns, the use of which is so necessary to such
as are compelled to arrive late, or wish to leave early. Even apart
from these, the majority pay 100-150 crowns (£150-£225 present value)
for their licenses; some 500 or 600. At Venice wine-shops and inns pay
1000 crowns. The proportion this bears to the rent may be judged from
the case of an old widow I know 8 miles from Florence whose rent was 23
crowns and whose license was 56. Another inn, kept by a shoemaker, a
freehold house worth 6 crowns a year, pays 20 crowns for license, while
the other license, for shoemaking, only costs a Giulio and a half.

What I mean by a 'tied' house is one which belongs to the owner of a
large estate who allows nothing to be sold there except the produce of
that estate.

Lastly, as to labour, the custom of the country is against the
use of women-servants, against even the host's wife and daughter
assisting him. What, Messer Bevigliano concluded, apart from ordinary
routine-work, would happen to your Fair at Mülhausen if there were no
girls to serve the drinks?

Next came Francisco Marques of Alicante, well known to sailors of
every nationality. What he laid most stress on has in the main been
anticipated by Charles II and Lady Fanshawe, but he supplemented it
as follows: In the towns clean and comfortable beds were to be had,
with meals ready. Many _posadas_, he admitted, provided nothing but
utensils, table-linen, oil, salt, vinegar; yet travellers were then
neither better nor worse off than in Poland, Bohemia, and Picardy,
where the custom was likewise. As for the wayside inns which gave
nothing but a roof and horse-provender, they barely existed outside
Castile and Aragon, and there the wayfarer should prepare accordingly,
as the Spaniard did, who journeyed with a bag full of provisions on
each side of the saddle and a bottle of wine to each bag. As to the
supposed lack of meat, he went on, most Spaniards are vegetarians; and
considering the achievements of the Spanish infantry, I do not think
any one can find fault with the principle. Neither does this apply to
the lower classes only, for we have a rhyme which says:—

    Unas Azeytunas, una Salada, y Revanillos
    Son comida de Caballeros;

and so far from altering our ways, the ancient rule that a gentleman
who has partaken of onions shall absent himself from court for eight
days has fallen into abeyance. For those who prefer meat, there is
plenty. Fowls, I know, are scarce, and you are so used to fowls that
you think "no fowls, no meat"; and yet, I remember when I was a small
boy and Queen Anne arrived at Santander to marry good King Philip
II, she was presented there with two hundred fowls and a calf. As to
sheep, ask the eight Germans who recently ate a whole one between them;
besides, does not the famous Lazarillo de Tormes tell us that it is the
regular thing at Maqueda to eat sheep's heads on Saturdays at three
maravedis apiece? and on fast days we have special permission to eat
cow-heels and sucking pigs. Now, how can these things be if we have no
sheep nor cows nor little pigs? On the contrary, you Germans, who take
so well justified a pride in your bacon at home, how is it you say
nothing about it after a week or so with us? Why, we have an author,
Lope da Vega Carpio, who will soon be recognised as the greatest writer
since Seneca, who always takes a rasher of our bacon before starting to
write, as a stimulant!

But I can quote something better than your own experience—the words
of the King and of St. Michael. Charles V advised the great Alonzo de
Guzman against going to Italy, "Better stay at home and kill rabbits
on your own hills and eat them than be killed by the sea and be eaten
by the fishes": and when the said Alonzo dreamed that he was dead, St.
Michael appeared and sentenced him to return to earth for his misdeeds
and eat roast meat and be content; and Alonzo found himself able to
arrange for roast duck in summertime and an "olla" keeping hot in the
chimney in winter. If I say nothing as to wild boar and partridge,
it is merely because it is getting late. But I will just add this in
confidence, that people, we find, pay more willingly when the bill is
accompanied by a cheerful "Y haga les buen provecho."

The Muscovy delegate, "Cologne Jimmy" of Nerva, had drawn the third
place; but being temporarily bereft of his faculties by the number of
drinks new to him, a discussion was substituted at the instance of M.
Petit, who enjoyed most of the French custom at Rome, on the evil of
free board and lodging which various institutions provided, a most
demoralising custom and very hard on those who wished to gain an honest
living. At Seville and Montserrat, he had heard, things had come to
well-to-do people being given fish as well as bread, and at Amsterdam
foundations were even being instituted on a secular basis. That they
might be in a better position to take action, it was proposed to form
an Innkeepers' Association, but when an Irish waiter from Madrid
suggested as a motto, "Pediculus pro comite jucundo," recriminations
ensued which soon rendered adjournment necessary.

Nevertheless, at the banquet in the evening all passed off happily in
the traditional way.

    In principio est silentium,
    In medio stridor dentium,
    Et in fine rumor gentium.

The next day began well too, with the speech of Jean Busson ("Le
Fardeau" Dieppe), who excused the faults of the French host as
attributable to the civil wars, and said that whether or no religion
was "reformed," cookery certainly was, and that in future the
traditions of Guillot's of Amiens would be upheld. At the same time
he felt he would be next door to a traitor if he owned to any serious
faults, for supposing that such were imagined, French chambermaids
could be trusted to keep the visitors happy (great applause). But
he had a proposal to bring forward. He found they had a custom in
Germany, which was also used at Bourges, which deserved extension.
He referred to the watchmen who lived at the top of the town belfry
and signalled the approach of travellers to those below by means of
flags; at Ferrara and Bruges and elsewhere, the signalling was done
with bells. Now this ought to be customary everywhere, and whereas here
in Germany the watchmen descended at meal-times and made a collection
at the inns, surely the municipal authorities ought to pay them. A
resolution to this effect was passed unanimously.

The Low Country delegates caused considerable dissatisfaction by their
memorial insisting that nobody had complaints to make of their inns,
nor would there be any anywhere if pains were taken to be up-to-date
and, above all things, clean. But their brethren were grateful for
the warning that it was becoming the custom with travellers to slip
leaden bullets into the cheese, where they found the custom in vogue of
charging for it according to the difference in weight before and after
it was set on the table; and agreed with them when they pointed out
that the system of putting up a list of things customers might not do
and fining them when these rules were transgressed, was breaking down.
An innkeeper from Augsburg gave an instance; his request, he said, not
to foul the walls was so far from being heeded that he kept one man at
work cleaning them.

It was this member from Augsburg who brought about the unhappy ending
of the Congress, for, in commenting on the Low Countrymen's strictures,
he tactlessly quoted the Italian proverb "Dal hoste nuovo e dalla
putana vecchia, Dio ci guarda," and then went on to lay it down as
irrefutable that nobody grumbled unless he thought he had been done.
This was easily avoided, he said; treat all alike; no man ever grumbled
in Germany except new-comers and unreasonable people. Why? because
Germans had fixed prices; the only system which was conformable with
God's law. By this time the interpreters fairly trembled as they
translated, but when, speaking as he did in Latin, he went on to apply
to the system of variable charges the adjectives that were in daily
use in theological controversy, the others understood without help
and a battle ensued. First in words, beginning with shouts of "Pese
al diablo," "Voto á Dios," and other Spanish expressions, of which,
together with all the Italian, not even the initial letters could be
printed, answered with "Bey Gott den Herrn," "Meine Seele," "Der Teufel
hole dich," "Gottes Kranckheit," without, curiously enough, the use
of a single one of those employed by historical novelists. To words
succeeded blows; and there the Congress ended.




CHAPTER VII

ON THE ROAD

    A journey is a fragment of hell.

    Awliyái Efendi (1611-1679).


What M. Babeau, in his charming "Les Voyageurs en France," says of the
history of France since the eleventh century, that it may be divided
into three periods, of the horse, the carriage, and the railway, is
true of most of Europe. He goes on to point out that the first period
synchronises with the feudal system, the second with uncontrolled
monarchy. And this was not a matter of chance, for the improvement
in the state of the roads implied by the substitution of driving for
riding directly resulted from the centralisation of authority. A feudal
system tended to keep the roads bad, partly because no one authority
received such exclusive and overwhelming benefits from the roads as to
be ready to bear the cost of their upkeep; partly because the constant
petty warfare which feudalism gave rise to often made neighbours desire
that approaches should be difficult rather than easy.

[Illustration: A MAIN ROAD IN ALSACE]

In 1600 the transition was in its infancy; and even during the
subsequent half-century is only noticeable in a marked degree in
France. Even there, the change was not from bad roads to good, but from
very bad to a state of uncertainty. One road, it is true, is mentioned
as paved, at any date during these two centuries, that from Paris to
Orleans, but by Evelyn's time there were many such in France; while,
on the other hand, on the king's highway between Bourges and Lyons the
horses of Gölnitz and his companions fell into a marsh, whence they
were rescued with difficulty; and on another highway (Paris-Bordeaux)
Claude Perrault, the architect of the Louvre, speaks of one occasion
when night overtook him before he had reached his stopping-place; and
the holes in the road being so deep as to render it almost impassable
for his carriage, a quarter of a league took him four hours to cover.

Elsewhere in Europe, things seem to be remaining much as they had
been. Here and there in Italy sections of Roman road which had been
maintained in fair condition continued to be patched in imitation
of Roman methods until they appeared excellent in contrast with the
others; what the others were made of travellers do not say, but it may
be guessed that they were paved like hell in the proverb. Montaigne
might note with sadness how the Via Flaminia had shrunk from forty feet
broad to four between Loreto and Lucca, although one may query where he
found that it was ever more than fifteen feet across; but no one else
had recourse to archæology to make himself grieve. The following is a
tale that Rivadeneyra, Loyola's boy-friend and biographer, tells of
some of the other early associates during a walk from Venice to Rome.
Being Lent, they fasted except for what they received in alms. "And
one Sunday it befell that, having tasted no more than a few mouthfuls
of bread that morning, they trudge twenty-eight miles of that land
on their bare feet; and all the day the rain comes down pitilessly,
whereby they find the roads turned into lakes, and that so truly that
there are times when the water reaches their chests." He continues,
"None the less they feel within them a marvellous contentment and
joyousness; and being mindful that they were enduring these troubles of
the flesh for love of God, gave thanks to Him without ceasing, singing
David's psalms in metre; and even Master Juan Codurí, who was suffering
with the itch in both of his legs, was no whit the worse for the trials
of this day."

It was always the rain that caused the trouble, although the state of
the roads when dry must have been fearful for ordinary wet weather to
effect so rapid a deterioration. From Ferrara to Bologna was reckoned
a half-day's journey in summer, a whole day in winter. And in 1606
an Italian says of the roads near Strassburg that the mud, stones,
and holes compelled the horses to go single file, each one stepping
in the tracks of the leader; near Ypres they found the road often
indistinguishable from the fields, and the mud came up to the horses'
girths.

In dry weather the only complaint is against loose stones on steep
gradients, which latter naturally occur far more frequently on the
old roads than on modern ones, keeping, as the former do, to high
ground for choice. The fact that by this means traffic was less at the
mercy of floods seems to be considered reason enough for the habit,
but perhaps it was also found to give greater protection against
highwaymen, who were thereby afforded fewer opportunities for attacking
from higher ground, and for concealment. One place in particular where
these loose stones formed a serious hindrance was Scaricalasino,
between Bologna and Florence, so named (scarica l'asino means "unload
the ass") because what with the badness of the road and the sharpness
of the stones the asses had to be relieved of their burdens at
intervals. So, too, the secretary of a Venetian embassy writes that
between Terni and Assisi the way was so rough as well as muddy that it
cost the party of forty fourteen hours and the deaths of four horses to
do twenty miles.[103]

Another difficulty, sometimes a peril, to be faced were the fords. On
the main road, for example, from Rome to France, through Florence,
there was the river Paglia to cross, which bounded Papal territory in
that direction. The passage still remained a ford, although after rain
it would be impassable for a week at a time. And where, on the map,
north of Venice, you see the Tagliamento divide into seven branches,
there, through them, lay the road which joined Italy with Germany. Yet
only one branch had a bridge over it, and the fords through the others
were dangerous enough to keep guides at work. It is not surprising,
then, to find Sir Thomas Browne's son having to engage two men to walk
beside his horse up-stream to break the force of the current lest it
should carry the horse off his feet, since the river was the Var, in
the Riviera, and across a less important road.

Sometimes travellers preferred the ford even where a bridge existed,
as did one[104] at St. Jean de Maurienne on the post-route from France
to Italy because the bridge was in such disrepair as to be unsafe. The
same traveller crossed by boat at Otricoli beside the ruins of a Roman
bridge which had once been a link in the Via Flaminia. On the bridges
the same political reasons that kept the roads difficult had set their
mark, accounting as they do for the number of wooden bridges, easier
to dismantle in case of a raid. The bridges of Strassburg and Vienna
were particularly striking examples of this; the planks were not even
fastened down; if one end tipped up, a plank was as likely as not to
fall into the river. Neither were there any rails at the sides. That
was not exceptional, either, in spite of a bridge being worthy of
remark if broad enough for two carts to pass each other. But whether it
was the initial cheapness, or the habit of precaution, there they were,
in spite of the cost of their upkeep, thirty thousand thalers yearly
in the case of the one at Yarunov on the Vistula in the middle of the
seventeenth century, when a thaler was nearly equal to one pound at
present value. Yet the traveller[105] who reports this says his horse
trod a hole in it. And in Hungary, when Busbecq returned from Turkey by
road, the bridges offered so many traps for horses that robbers laid in
wait under bridges for their best opportunities.

As for stone bridges, Spain seems to have been the best off before
1600, but subsequently the improvement in bridges became very marked,
especially in France. When Zinzerling knew Paris (1612-16), of its five
bridges, only two were of stone, whereas of the six that Evelyn saw in
1643, but one was of wood. The only stone bridges in the empire that
are mentioned are those of Schaffhausen, of Ratisbon, and, over the
Moselle, of Coblentz; while two of the finest west of the Rhine, those
of Avignon and Rouen, were impassable owing to gaps which no authority
saw its way to repair. But the test of a first-rate bridge in 1600 was
not how much traffic, but how many houses, it carried. Judged by this
standard, it was agreed that London Bridge was the finest, with that
of Nôtre Dame at Paris second, considering the latter's houses numbered
sixty-eight. Still, it was with the number of bridges that the tourist
was mainly concerned, in which matter he would find the Loire the only
river across which passage was fairly easy; the Rhine had no bridge
below Strassburg; the Seine had to be crossed five times by boat in the
first four leagues of road northwards from Paris; and below Turin there
existed no bridge over the Po except a wooden one at Ferrara.

Means of conveyance consisted of riding, subdivided into post-horses
and other beasts; by cart, either the long, heavy waggon employed by
carriers, or those with two big wheels and no more, which occasioned
the traveller fewest shocks; and lastly, by litter. Coaches, in the
sense of vehicles which are supposed to be comfortable, can hardly
be said to have existed except among private owners, and even these
preferred the litter, especially in winter. The acme of luxury when on
the road may be represented by Marguerite de Valois' litter used on
her journey to the Netherlands. The lining was of Spanish velvet, the
hangings of silk, the sides glazed with one hundred and forty panes of
glass, each of which bore a different design.

As for carts, though everywhere one comes across occasional instances
of their use by tourists, this was far more customary in Germany than
elsewhere; even a knight-errant going to seek his fortune, Sir Anthony
Sherley, mentions covering distances in them there without apology.
The German "rollwagen" carried six or eight passengers; those of the
Low Countries as many as ten, sitting on boards laid across the cart
so close behind one another that they resembled geese going to the
pond. The chief centre for carrier-arrangements was Augsburg; thence
to Venice and back a waggon went each week; between Augsburg and
Nuremberg daily. In France conveyances started running more freely as
the civil wars slackened, as, e. g. between Troyes and Paris in 1598; a
reversion to what had been in force earlier. But in 1584 between Amiens
and Paris, and in 1586 between Rouen and Paris, was running what was
called the "coche royale," which took passengers.[106] By Zinzerling's
time communications of this kind existed between Paris and Orleans, and
Paris and Rouen, daily; between Rouen and Dieppe thrice weekly; and
between Rouen and Antwerp.

The disadvantages of waggons were more obvious in the Low Countries
than elsewhere, since there they never entered towns, depositing the
passenger, heavy luggage and all, outside the gate; often, too, a
change of waggons was obligatory during the day, whereas an English
carter drove straight on, too long, in fact, for his custom was to
keep on the move from dawn till sunset. The Dutchman, in addition, was
usually drunk and drove his mares (always mares) like a madman, and
passengers found it advisable, besides, to wear spectacles to protect
their eyes against the sand thrown up by the road-menders. All waggons
were provided with awnings, of cloth or leather.

In Italy and Spain practically all traffic was four-footed. Post-horses
were always for hire in Italy, with a bit of fur attached to their
bridles to mark their status. The owner gave the hirer a ticket to
show his host at the end of the day's journey, who would then take
care of the horse until a return fare was forthcoming; no security
was asked. It was a novel experience for most foreigners to ride one
post-horse all day: in England the stages were ten miles; in France,
in the seventeenth century, four or five, so that a traveller in a
hurry would change horses as many as eighteen to twenty-two times a
day. The reason for the difference lay in the pace, the standard for
which was much lower in a country like Italy, where mules and asses
were habitually used. In fact, when the pace was set by the mules, as,
for instance, in the Rome-Naples caravans, all who accompanied which
had to keep together for fear of robbers, a man might be in the saddle
all day and cover no more than twenty miles. As for wheeled traffic, it
may be imagined from the state of the roads that the pace often sank
to nothing at all. After several breakdowns, one traveller writes:
"Advanced that day as far as the cursed carriages would give us leave,
and the rest of the day practised Christian patience.... Carts ought to
be put in the Litany."

The above must be understood as leaving Muscovy out of account,
for that was the one country where the journey itself could, under
favourable circumstances, be continued with comfort. Once the ground
was hard enough for sledges, the traveller could travel night and day
and yet sleep as long as he felt inclined. Nor did the gain end with
positive comfort and double the available time, since the diminished
strain on the horses enabled them to go at a greater pace for a longer
period. Twelve leagues without a change of horses and a hundred leagues
in three days represent what was practicable in the ordinary way amid a
Russian winter; treble what would be reckoned good for any conveyance
elsewhere.


In Dante's "Purgatorio" (II, 11-12) is a comparison well commented on,
unconsciously, in these travel-books. It is when he speaks of himself
wandering

    Come gente che pensa a suo cammino,
    Che va col core, e col corpo dimora.

Three hundred years later, sign-posts were still as rare as
unicorn-horns. One mile north of Rimini, where the road forked, stood a
chapel between the two turnings, on one side of it written, "La Strada
di Ravenna," on the other, "La Strada di Bologna"; and the roads round
Freiburg were planted with trees to mark the way, for the benefit of
citizens, however, rather than of strangers, because of the mouths of
the silver mines which would otherwise have been man-traps. Something
of the kind, too, was put up in Holland when snow hid the roads. More
to the point will it be to quote John Smith's account of his escape
from Tartary, and how he found pictorial sign-posts at cross-roads,
the way to Christian Muscovy being indicated by the sign of the Cross;
to Crim Tartary by a half-moon; while a black man with white spots
meant Persia; a sun, China; and minor princes' territories were pointed
out by the emblems they had adopted. But these were really out of
Europe and those of Freiburg and Holland outlined the road rather than
indicated directions, as did the poles erected on the Col di Tenda
Alpine-pass for a mile together, each pole a spear's length from the
next. The Simplon and Mt. Cenis passes were thus marked out also—when
the poles had not been blown flat by the wind.

[Illustration: A SIGN-POST]

But then, crossing the Alps alone was practically unknown, although
only on the Mt. Cenis route were professional guides employed as a
matter of course. These guides had their own special name, "marrons"
and a special function, to "ramasser" the traveller on his way
to France, down the slope between the summit of the pass and
Lanslebourg, when it was covered with frozen snow. The traveller took
his seat in a rush-seated chair on runners; one "marron" in front and
one behind. The one in front had a strap round his chest fastened to
the chair; he took a few steps, and the chair did the rest; if the
direction became amiss or the pace too furious, the "marron" behind
the chair guided or checked it with an alpenstock. The distance was a
league; the time fifteen minutes. Going towards Italy you would have
found fifty or sixty persons coming to meet you at Lanslebourg, hat
in hand, offering their services as "marrons" or as horse-owners.
Dismounting, one would have held the bridle, one the stirrup, one
yourself. Two or three struggle for the privilege of taking your horse
to the stable and your trunk to your room, but the latter privilege is
not one to be granted lightly; it was not in sound only that "marron"
resembled "larron." The traveller's own horse was sent on after being
shod with calkins, and he himself followed in one of the sledges, used
in ascents, litter-fashion, by four "marrons," who carried it, two
at a time, turn and turn about; glasses to protect the eyes from the
snow-light formed part of the stock-in-trade of the local pedlars.

At the top would be found "La Chapelle des Transis," the wayfarers'
mortuary, not empty probably; in March 1578 it contained fifteen
bodies.[107] After heavy snowfalls the monks of the neighbouring
hospice of St. Nicolas used to send out search parties; corpses
discovered were examined for proofs of orthodoxy, beads, for instance,
failing which the bodies were left to the beasts of prey.

During this period the Mt. Cenis route came to be used more exclusively
for passing between France and Italy than had previously been the case,
doubtless as a result of the transference of the capital of Savoy from
Chambéry to Turin in 1559, between which towns this route was the most
direct. Yet notwithstanding that travellers note here, and here alone,
that the population on either side of the pass had no other means of
livelihood than by ministering to travellers, the most frequented route
must be considered the Brenner. It was the only one which wheeled
traffic could pass, though even there the waggon had to be kept from
falling off the road "by force of men's shoulders," according to
Moryson.

Of the experiences to be met with in crossing an Alpine pass other
than the Brenner, there is no better account than that which the
Infanta Clara Eugenia wrote home concerning the St. Gothard. Even
before reaching Bellinzona the luggage carts had to be exchanged for
mules. And at Bellinzona, too, she notes that there was not a woman
without an enormous goitre; and, indeed, the frequency with which
travellers remark on the number of those afflicted in this way leaves
no doubt but that the disease was far more prevalent then than now.
It was generally accepted that the cause lay in the water, but one
old resident, at least, disbelieved this, since he had one himself,
although, as he told a tourist, he had never drunk water in his life.
The worst of the Infanta's journey occupied the four days after leaving
Bellinzona; the way so narrow that a horse could scarcely walk and the
litters had continually to be taken off the mules and transferred to
men. This narrow path, of course, lay always with the mountain-side
high above it and a precipice and a river below. The ladies' litters
were by no means according to royal standards; just four poles and a
linen seat, from which the royal legs dangled; but she rode most of
the way, feeling no fear of anything but the "snow-bridges," two of
which had to be crossed. On the farther side there was the "Devil's
Bridge" to pass also, or, as she names it, "Hell Bridge"; which now
does not even exist; twenty paces long above the Reuss, so far above
that the river was out of sight, although the rush of it resounded so
loudly that she could not hear herself speak. The whole road had been
specially prepared for her passage, and among the preparations was the
erecting of railings along "Hell Bridge"; in the ordinary way there
were none, the wind being so strong in the narrow gorge as always to
sweep them away very soon. He who passed by the St. Gothard under
ordinary conditions, and the Furka, too, wore gloves and boots studded
with nails to preserve his hold; and the average Alpine bridge answered
to the description which Cellini gives of those he found on the Simplon
route, a few tree-trunks laid down. Another Italian going home that way
says the last bridge was thirty feet by two and bent in the middle; he
crossed it at night, coming as it did among the "last four leagues"(?)
between the summit and Domodossola, all of which he and his traversed
in pitch-darkness among precipices, the foremost calling at intervals
"Ave Maria" and the hindmost answering "Gratiâ plena."

Most travellers rode horses or mules where they could, and led, or
crawled with them, the rest of the way; but sledges were also in use,
in which case, Moryson was told, "it sometimes happens the sledge
whereon the passenger sits is cast out of the way and hangs down in a
most deep valley with the passenger's head downward. Woe be to him,
then, if he let his hold go, or the harness tying the sledge to the
horse should break." Moryson himself had only passed by the Bernina and
the Brenner, the former of which seems to have ranked third in order
of popularity in spite of the track being no more than a yard wide in
places. The Splügen was used as often, perhaps, but when the two St.
Bernards and the Gemmi have been added to the list, there is an end of
those frequented by tourists. One used the San Marco and Sir Henry
Wotton another, which cannot now be identified, when the ordinary
ones were shut against him by plague. But for an instance of some one
keeping to the coast between France and Italy, it seems necessary
to go back to Beatis in 1518, a man whose narrative is obviously
trustworthy; yet, after mentioning that it was so dangerous that few
rode, he adds what may sound incredible except in his own words. "Ben
vero che questo Camino è di sorte Che in tale giornata di XV miglia
solamente le bestie se besognarno ferrare quactro et cinque volte." For
all practical purposes, moreover, the mountains near Grenoble must be
considered as part of the Alps, lying, as they did, across the route of
all who crossed Mt. Cenis, and being no less fearful than any of the
Alpine passes themselves. At one point, nearest Aiguebelette, horses
and mules were specially trained for the ascent and descent, holes
having been cut in the rock which made the way more practicable for
animals accustomed to them, but almost impossible to any others, unless
riderless.

Elsewhere, wherever mountains have to be traversed, similar conditions
prevailed. Near Spalato, it is true, the path was railed in some
distance, the only railings of the kind in Europe, apparently; but
near Mt. Olympus one looked over the edge of the precipice he had
to ride along and saw carcasses of horses, caught as they fell, or
fallen, to warn him to be careful. Says one who knew both, the road
over Pen-maen-mawr in these days was more fearful than any Alpine way.
As for Spain, there were quite a number of main roads which allowed
nothing more than single file here and there: the pass into Castile on
the road from Bayonne, for instance, and another between Granada and
Cartagena, on entering which it was customary for travellers to tighten
their belts and say an "Ave Maria" for those who had lost their lives
thereabouts. Above San Sebastian ten men might hold the road against an
army and no beasts but mules could be trusted on it, nor on the pass
from France into Aragon, so steep that no man was safe there; while
south of Santander, according to Sir Richard Wynn, for two leagues the
road was two feet broad and one hundred perpendicular fathoms above the
river.

Neither were the efforts thus entailed brightened by the idea of
mountaineering as a form of pleasure. Probably the only recorded climb
undertaken during this period with no other object than that of getting
to the top is the ascent of "Les Jumelles," the highest peak near
Pau, an ascent known to us through De Thou. One M. de Candale started
at four o'clock one May morning in the first half of the sixteenth
century. Before half-way was reached, his younger companions were on
the way down; they had come in their shirts and found the cold too
much for them; M. de Candale was wearing a fur coat. At half-way the
last trace of a human being was left behind, but he and some peasants
reached the top with the help of ladders and grappling-irons and took
measurements. It is characteristic enough of the age that De Thou's
comments on the calculated height are a comparison with the reckonings
of Apuleius and Plutarch concerning Olympus, which they considered the
highest mountain in the world. Mediæval opinion put Mt. Sinai first,
probably because that was the only mountain a mediæval Christian ever
tried to get to the top of, a process of reasoning which may be traced
in the guesses of these travellers, and in local opinion, as to which
was the highest of the Alps; it is always one of those past which they
endeavoured to make their way, St. Gothard or St. Bernard, for which
they claim preëminence. Another fashion of reckoning is to calculate,
not perpendicularly, but according to the apparent length of the way,
which makes Mt. Quarantana "six miles high"; while one traveller has a
unit of measurement entirely his own, a mountain being to him so many
"towers" high, the tower in question being the belfry of Malines, his
native place.

There was, nevertheless, one piece of mountaineering that was
continually being done under the guise of a pilgrimage, the ascent of
the Roche Melon, near Mt. Cenis, or, as it is termed in full as late
as 1574,[108] Roche Rommelon; the Latin name had been Mons Romuleus.
Of the origin of this pilgrimage and the reason for building a chapel
to Our Lady on the summit, nothing has been ascertained beyond what
may be read to-day in the cathedral at Susa, where is still to be
seen,[109] though unmentioned by Baedeker, a triptych representing
a Madonna and Child, St. George, St. James, and a kneeling warrior,
with an inscription to the effect that one Bonifacio Rotario of Asti
"brought me [_i. e._ the triptych] hither in honour of our Blessed
Lord and our Lady on September 1, 1358." The word "hither" refers to
the summit of this Roche Melon, to which the picture is still carried
up every year.[110] In 1588 Villamont made the ascent, which was only
practicable in August, with spikes on his feet and hooks fastened to
his hands, and rather more assistance than a modern mountaineer would
consider dignified. The feat is the more remarkable inasmuch as the
height (11,605 feet) is more than half as high again as the highest
point of any pass that was used then.

On reaching the top, Villamont forgot all his terror and fatigue in
the glorious view, glorious not for the grandeur of the scenery to
him, but because it was his first sight of Italy, "the paradise to
gain which they willingly," as another phrases it, "passed through
the purgatory of the Alps." Such was their opinion of Switzerland.
They spoke of the Alps just as we do of the Channel—they had
had a "good crossing," or the reverse. More definitely, to quote
Howell's words, "the high and hideous Alps ... those uncouth, huge,
monstrous, Excrescences of Nature," productive of nothing useful.
Few were those who were free-spirited enough to enjoy themselves. Of
the exceptions most notable are Tasso and the Infanta. The former
mentions the existence of a common preference for scenes characterised
by unbroken spaciousness, but for himself, he likes a varied view
with much to catch the eye, hills, dales, and trees, and even, he
goes on, "E, che più, la sterilità e rigidezza dell' Alpi, facendone
paragone alla vaghezza degli altri spettacoli, suole molte fiate
riuscire piacevolissima."[111] The Infanta's own words are still more
remarkable: "Yo dudo que se pudiera ver mejor cosa en el mundo ni màs
para ver." Even she, however, when going into detail, gives first
places to the plants that were new to her and to the waterfalls. When,
indeed, somebody else expresses any degree of pleasure in connection
with the Alps, it is generally the waterfalls that occasion it. But
there is a further exception even to this, and he, curiously enough,
is a popular Parisian poet, St. Amant. Although he writes, in his
"Polonaise," concerning Poland,

    On n'y voit nulle eminence
    Comme on voit en d'autres lieux;
    Cela me charme, et je pense
    Qu'on ne peut dire tant mieux,

he finds the characteristics of the Alps, even in winter, such that they

    Sont si doux à mes yeux que d'aise ils en pétillent,

and is even modern enough to speak of

    Et cet air net et sain, propre à l'esprit vital.[112]

These three have been entirely overlooked hitherto; the only person
of this period whom the modern mountaineer is told to claim as his
spiritual brother is the botanist Conrad Gesner; but in claiming
him they claim too much—for themselves. It is true that Gesner does
write[113] that he never lets a year go by without climbing one or more
of the Alps for exercise and pleasure as well as for botany; and that
"whoever does not consider towering mountains preëminently worthy of
more than ordinary attention is, to my mind, an enemy of Nature." But
he goes on to show that the Alps meant far more to him than this much
would prove. He looked on them as an epitome of all Nature's habits and
experiments, the key to all Nature's secrets, to geology in the fullest
sense of the word, structural, historical, dynamical; and that to a
greater extent than is apparent at first sight, inasmuch as problems
now treated as solved then belonged to dreamland and problems which
seemed soluble there if anywhere are now known to be better studied
elsewhere; the internal temperature of the earth, for instance, since
it was not recognized in Gesner's day that there was any difference in
kind between mountains and volcanoes.

The attitude of the average man of Gesner's time towards the Alps,
however, is but the most striking instance of a general attitude
towards Nature which circumstances at that time enforced and which
different circumstances have since abolished. Further, of all
classes of men, it was the tourists who were most oppressed by the
circumstances of the past, and it is the tourists who get the greatest
benefits from the changed circumstances of to-day. Further still,
the difference was, and is, most noticeable by the tourist when on
the road. In other words, the absence of enjoyment of the sterner
aspects of Nature was the result of their having far more of Nature
than an average man can stand. The growth of the size of towns has,
so to speak, set a premium on Nature, just as it has, during the past
century, created the custom of taking annual holidays; while the
successive minimising of the dangers, the discomforts, and of so many
of the lesser difficulties of travel has provided the traveller with
contrast where once upon a time was none, and leaves him free to find
pleasure (sometimes, perhaps, forces him to look for it to avoid being
bored), where in 1600 all spelt pain and foreboding. This difference of
sentiment culminated then, as it culminates now, when the tourist found
himself among the Alps. There, above other places, were his faculties
narrowed by fear and what remained of them wholly concentrated on
self-preservation, until enjoyment was out of the question.

As to the change of attitude, it is usually credited to Rousseau, but
was in progress before his influence began to be felt;[114] and if
the subsequent development of the idea is considered, the credit must
surely be shared by Napoleon, as to whose greatness there is no more
conclusive evidence than that of his Alpine roads. Before these were
carried out, men considered themselves at the mercy of the Alps; he
first, and he alone, put the Alps at the service of men, and in so
doing set free men's sense of beauty when in their midst.

But here, as always when writing about the prevalence or absence of
a point of view, some reminder should be added as to the effect of
literary conventions in exaggerating both the one and the other; that
is to say, that in the former case it will frequently be expressed when
it is little felt, and in the latter it will frequently be felt when
not expressed. Even as to that binding of the faculties just alluded
to, there is the very definite exception of the Infanta, who was not
too preoccupied to ask questions, thereby learning that that peak had
not been bare of snow for four hundred years and that this pinnacle
was solid emerald; being considered inaccessible, cannon had not long
before been brought up to shoot bits off, but without success.

Nevertheless, their turn of mind as regards Nature in general needs
some other illustration than from negative evidence alone, or, among
positive evidence, from so exceptional a feature as mountain scenery.
This may be best taken from their use of the word "desert." A typical
instance is in a sentence from Peter Mundy, "the way being faire and
plaine, though desert and full of woods." Six times in "As You Like It"
is the forest of Arden termed a desert:—

          ... this desert inaccessible
    Under the shade of melancholy boughs.

"Desert" to them meant deserted by men, and through forests they
passed, as often as not, sword in hand. To quote St. Amant's
"Polonaise" again:—

    Une taciturne horreur
    En augmente le terreur,
    Et la noire solitude
    Qui dort en ces bois espais
    Fait qu'avec inquiétude
    On y voit leur triste paix.

    Là le maistre et le valet
    Roulent, main au pistolet;
    On regarde si le glaive
    S'offre à quitter le fourreau,
    Et dès qu'un zephir se lève
    On frémit sur le carreau.

And yet, if a journey was a "fragment of hell," it is comforting to
meet some very merry devils by the way. Quevedo,[115] for one, took
his troubles lightly. Getting out of a bed in which his legs had been
hanging over the end, he and three others left Linares for Condado in a
conveyance drawn by ten mules. The road, he says, might have been the
road to salvation, so narrow was it, so full of troubles, a purgatory
in little. One hill seemed to be reserved for mule-hunting when the
carriage had stuck in the mud.

It was February, too; February at its worst. On smaller provocation
men have retired to madhouses. It seemed like sleeping in the coach;
those who tried to walk pulled their legs out from where they had
planted them without hose or shoes; one called out, "You down there,
who's pulling off my boots?" After playing at dying for four hours, men
arrived to release them from imprisonment, except one whose litter had
given way and who was too full of bruises to move, and a clergyman who
was missing altogether, the latest news of whom is that men were going
round about the marshes calling out his name.

Dallam, too, has a tale to tell. His companions and himself, passing
through Thrace, took a house to spend the night in, a two-roomed house,
one room above the other. The lower was used as a cellar; a ladder
outside led up to a balcony, the balcony to a door, the door to their
sleeping room, which was lighted by one small hole. Now, that evening
they had gone for a walk and seen "divers sorts of vermin of which we
have not the like in England," and, remembering that they had nothing
but boards to lie on, gathered plenty of a thick soft moss for pillows.
But half an hour after laying their heads down, they discovered that
these pillows harboured one more sort of vermin "the which did bite
far worse than fleas," with the result that even when the pillows had
been thrown away and the room swept, still they couldn't go to sleep.
So Mr. Glover (afterwards Sir Thomas Glover), who had dwelt long in the
country, told them stories about the native vermin, "snakes, adders,
and sarpentes." Gradually some dropped off to sleep; the others ceased
talking. But one Mr. Baylye had occasion to leave the room; the door
was narrow, the wind strong; "so that when he came into the gallery,
the wind blew the garter round about his leg; it was a great silk
garter and by the force of the wind it fettered his legs both fast
together. Our talk a little before of adders, snakes, and sarpentes
was yet in his remembrance and the place near where much vermin was.
He thought they swarmed about him, but about his legs he thought he
was sure of a sarpente, so that, suddenly, he cried out with all the
voice he had, 'A sarpente, a sarpente, a sarpente,' and was so frighted
he could not find the door to get in, but made a great bustling and
noise in the gallery. We that were in the house did think that he
said, 'Assaulted, assaulted,' for before night we doubted that some
treachery would happen unto us in that town. There was fifteen of us
in the room—and it was but a little room. Every man took his sword in
his hand, one ready to spoil another, not any one knowing the cause.
One that could not find his sword, got to the chimney and trying to
climb up, down fell a part of the chimney on his head; another that was
suddenly awakened, struck about him with his sword and beat down the
shelf and broke the pitchers and platters which stood thereon, the room
being very dark, for it was about midnight. Our Janizary, who should
have been our guard and have protected us from all dangers, took up a
loose board whereon he lay, and slipped down into the vault. As we were
all thus amazed, at the last Mr. Baylye found the way in at the door.
When Mr. Glover saw him, he said, 'How now, man, what is the matter,
who do you see?' Mr. Baylye was even breathless with fear, crying out
and struggling to get in at the door; at last he said, 'A sarpente, a
sarpente,' troubled him. When Mr. Glover heard him say so, he went to
the door, and there he found Mr. Baylye's garter ready to be carried
away with the wind."

Another who was more frightened than hurt was the Jesuit Possevino,
on his way to Muscovy. Tired out with a day on the main road thither
from Poland, spent handling the axe to clear the road of vegetation,
dragging the waggons by hand, sometimes carrying them on their
shoulders, he and his lay down to sleep (in the rain) and were kept
awake by Cossacks in among the trees imitating the sounds of wild
beasts to terrify them. Pleasanter was it for those in Hungary, where
the custom was, when strangers came in sight, to bake some bread fresh
in the cinders that served as ovens, and send it to their lodgings by
the youngest and prettiest girls, who gathered themselves into a ring
and danced round the visitors singing.

Yet another picture is of a Frenchman whose way lay through the
Ardennes in time of war; he was journeying on business. Tales were
plentiful of bands of peasants in the forests, killing passers-by
without distinction. One evening he makes his escape from four men,
takes a by-road where the highroad was in particularly bad repute; snow
begins to fall, the wind is dead against him; his by-road leads him
cross-country, which founders his horse; he sits down on a tree-trunk,
back to the wind, and thinks how his brother and four sisters are
providing him with nephews and nieces who will never give a guess at
the troubles he has gone through in making a fortune, but will take
it for granted that they are to have a share of it. The nephews,
perhaps, would have told him that it was lucky for him he was in the
Ardennes and not outside St. Malo at so late an hour, with the twelve
or twenty-four, whichever it was,[116] savage English dogs waiting for
him, who were sent out every night with their keeper to guard the town,
"killing and tearing any living creature they encounter withal." In
1627 a man did die so. Even without the dogs, at St. Malo or anywhere
else, it was troublesome, or worse, to arrive late. Gates were closed,
and kept closed, and this applied, of course, to seafarers as well;
one tourist making for Monaco, another for Genoa, had for that reason
to sleep out in an open boat. In towns where a strict "Reformed" sect
had the upper hand, this waiting might have to be done in daytime
also; gates as well as shops being shut during sermon-time. But even
supposing he found means to enter at night, it might be wiser not to
take the offer, seeing that he would find himself wandering about
in a pitch-dark maze of dirty alleys during the hours when it was
permissible for the inhabitants to throw "slops" out of window.

[Illustration: BENIGHTED 'SIGHT'-SEERS]




CHAPTER VIII

THE PURSE

 A traveller! by my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear you
 have sold your own lands to see other men's.

  _As You Like It_ (about 1599).


The cost of travelling divides itself into two kinds; direct and
indirect: that is, into the outlay which the traveller must reckon on
and that which he has to reckon with. The first kind, the necessities,
consists of fares, food, lodging, passports, tolls, etc., together
with loss by exchange of money or by charges on remittances. The
second kind, the possibilities, includes loss by robbery, by war, by
disease, lack of legal privileges, ignorance of local custom, and such
like eventualities in so far as any one was liable to suffer from them
through being a stranger in a strange land.

But before considering the most elementary necessaries, some working
arrangement must be established about translating payments into terms
of English money of the present day. In the first place, between
1542 and 1642 money fell from about nine times its present value to
about five times. Dates must therefore be found within which the
multiplication figure must become successively nine, eight, seven, six.
Suppose the first figure be taken up to 1556, when the States General
met at Brussels to deal with Philip II's debt; the second figure thence
to 1589, the year when the failure of the Spanish Armada began to tell
on economics; seven from 1589 to 1612, at which date the bankruptcy of
the Welser firm affected all Europe; and six thenceforward. If these
are reasonable fictions, it is the utmost that can be achieved; in so
far as they are not, the definiteness of the system makes correction
of it easier. Amounts arrived at by these reckonings are given in
square brackets. Usually, however, the original amounts have first to
be translated out of continental coinage into contemporary English, a
process which involves a series of comparisons too long to be tabulated
here, and often, even then, needing modification as a result of the
context in which the particular statement occurs. This is mentioned
only as indicating a fresh source of uncertainty, and possibly of
error. A third factor in these amounts as here given is as reliable as
the two former factors are unreliable; every original amount represents
an actual transaction by a traveller between 1542 and 1642, except
where otherwise stated.

Necessities and possibilities are sometimes found considered jointly
in general estimates. Sir Philip Sidney considered his brother should
have two hundred pounds a year allowed him for travelling. This was in
1578, and he would be reckoning according to the highest standard that
a young Englishman would have a use for.

Dallington, a guide-book writer, speaking for Englishmen in France
in 1598, estimates eighty pounds a year; if one servant is taken and
riding-lessons required, one hundred and fifty pounds; over two hundred
pounds is excessive; while another, Cleland, in his "Institution of a
Young Nobleman" (1607) considers two hundred pounds a year enough for
four persons. Howell (1642) says three hundred pounds for the youngster
at Paris, with fifty pounds each in addition for a cook, a valet, and
a page; but then Howell had acted as tutor and no doubt hoped to do
so again as soon as he could get free from the Fleet Prison, where
he lay when his pamphlet was published. Under these circumstances he
was likely to be considering his own pocket rather than the father's.
Nevertheless, two of the brothers Coligny [Henri II's courtiers], when
planning a year's tour through Italy in 1546, were said to have put
aside fourteen thousand scudi [£30,000] for expenses; which annoyed
their uncle.[117] But within a year or two of this estimate, Evelyn was
travelling farther afield than Paris,—he stayed seven months in Rome
alone,—keeping one servant throughout, sometimes two, learning under
several masters, and making costly and extensive purchases, on less
than three hundred pounds annually. Of Sir Richard Fanshawe, again,
his wife records that "during some years of travel" (less than seven,
for certain) "he had spent a considerable part of his stock"; this
stock consisted of what his parents had bequeathed him, fifteen hundred
pounds, and fifty pounds a year: his travel lay mainly in France and
Spain previous to 1630.

Fynes Moryson, too, gives his expenditure as from fifty to sixty
pounds a year, which included the cost of two journeys, one in spring,
one in autumn. He was accustomed to the best standard of living at
home, but his income was hardly adequate to his social position and
by temperament he was a temperate and adaptable man; more so, to say
the least, than the son of Davison, the Secretary of State whom Queen
Elizabeth made the scapegoat for the death of Queen Mary Stewart.

Father Davison had been told that one hundred marks would suffice for
his boy abroad each year, and, consequently, in sending the latter to
Italy in 1595 with a tutor, and a servant, allowed him treble that
amount, one hundred pounds. The tutor writes, "I never endured such
slavery in my life to save money"; if Mr. Davison does not see his
way to changing his mind about the one hundred pounds a year, will
he kindly find another tutor? As to the "frugal travellers" whose
travelling costs them no more than the one hundred marks a year, he
does not wish to deny it; in fact, he knows such men; and very sorry
he is for those who have lent them the rest they have spent.

From all this one may conclude that the equivalent of four hundred
pounds a year was the minimum for respectable travelling and that the
Average Tourist would certainly need at least half as much again. But
this is assuming that all who were respectable, or above the need to
be so, paid all their own expenses, which was far from being the case.
There were plenty of rich travellers who defrayed all charges for a
large following. Landgraf Ludwig II of Hessen-Darmstadt[118] even paid
a certain knight to accompany him, six hundred florins [£600] down and
fifty florins a month, besides expenses and clothes. So when Cardinal
Luigi d'Aragona toured Europe, starting May 9, 1517, and arriving home
March 16, 1518, and spent about fifteen thousand ducats [£35,000]
meantime, in which "eating and drinking were the least costly items,"
we may conclude that the thirty-five persons he took with him, and
the forty-five he brought back, received at least expenses. Another
churchman, Johann Gottfried von Aschhausen, bishop of Würzburg, left
Strassburg in 1612 with a retinue of one hundred and thirty, twenty-one
of whom were young men of high birth. Before he passed out of Germany
this number was increased by fifty more. He was away a year in Italy,
which cost him thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty-four scudi
[£40,000].[119]

But since he went as the Emperor's ambassador, this is rather a fresh
example of how travelling was facilitated by embassies. For among the
advantages of various kinds that rendered accompanying the journeyings
of diplomatists the best means of seeing the world, the economical
advantages were as important as any. It by no means followed, however,
that anything but board and lodging were provided by him; in the
detailed accounts of Sir G. Chaworth regarding his special embassy
to Brussels is no mention of outlay on anything but necessaries. On
the other hand, we find another English ambassador giving one hundred
pounds apiece to the gentlemen who were to accompany him, to provide
their outfit.[120] In any case, this expedient extended only as far as
the ambassador went, a specially important limitation for Englishmen
of Queen Elizabeth's day, since she had no ambassador at Venice
throughout her reign; and even when James I sent one thither he was,
during his first term of office, the only English ambassador in Italy.
Bearing this in mind, and turning to other methods whereby the Average
Tourist from England might reduce his expenditure, we come upon what
is, perhaps, the most remarkable fact of the time in regard to the
kind, and the extent, of the usefulness with which travel was credited,
namely, that Queen Elizabeth subsidised it. It is obvious from the
life-stories of all those who served her that they were treated with
extreme stinginess and that employment by the government meant heavy
expense instead of salaries; and yet, as to travel, these are the words
of Bacon, who had excellent means of knowing the facts: "There was a
constant course held, that by the advice of the secretaries, or some
principal councillor, there was always sent forth into the parts beyond
the seas some young men of whom good hopes were conceived of their
towardliness, to be trained up and made fit for such public employments
and to learn the languages. This was at the charge of the Queen, which
was not much, for they travelled but as private gentlemen."[121]

Ecclesiastics, it goes almost without saying, received special terms,
mainly in the shape of free lodging at religious houses, although the
opinion of one abbé ought not to go unrecorded,—"avoid monasteries,"
because the charities expected amounted to more than inn-charges. This
certainly did not apply to Muscovy, where, if a monastery could be
found, it undoubtedly did mean free board and lodging for the three
days, the usual limit of time, universally, for claimers of charity.
But what with monasteries and special foundations there must have been
far more really free accommodation than is apparent from tourist-books,
written as the latter almost entirely are by the class that paid its
way. Even apart from the above there were incidents such as one
recorded in 1650, of eight thousand pilgrims to Rome from Spain being
fed and housed for three days at Naples at the expense of the Spanish
viceroy there. At Compostella, too, for two reals [7s. 6d.] could
be obtained a parchment document with a cardinal's seal attached,
recommending the bearer for alms as one who was on his way to other
places of pilgrimage; and in Italy not even that much was needed,
inasmuch as the natives were then so averse to begging that foreigners
who had no such scruples found little difficulty in traversing it at
next to no cost.

Where a begging-license was necessary, that could easily be obtained
also by being, or pretending to be, a student. Loyola lived in
term-time at Paris on what he gained by begging at fairs in Flanders
and England during holidays. Another useful option open to students,
of whatever social position, was the exemption from local tolls,
frequently a privilege belonging to all who had matriculated at the
university of the district; the graduate of Padua, for instance, was
exempt throughout Venetian territory. It so happened that one of these
tourists[122] was elected rector of Bologna University during his stay
there in 1575, and that during his term of office some students were
forced to pay taxes. He and the managing body at once appealed to the
Pope, who not only confirmed, but extended, the immunities. In Italy
the tolls were so oppressive that the matriculation fees, twenty lire
[£5] at Padua, twelve at Bologna, were soon made good, even supposing
them to have been paid; at Bologna, at least, matriculation could be
obtained for nothing by applying in formâ pauperis. The examination was
no bar worth mentioning. In Germany, moreover, according to Moryson,
the tenancy of a house often carried with it the obligation to board
and lodge a student free. Another traveller who economised thoroughly
was Sastrow, who, on reaching Rome, took service at the hospital of
Santa Brigitta, cooked, washed-up, made the beds, and received the
equivalent of 2s. 6d. a month, while Jacques Callot, the artist, when
he ran away from home, took the way to Italy in the company of those
gypsies who appear in those sketches of his which form one of the most
vivid memorials of the travelling life of the time. Yet with all these
opportunities which presented themselves to the needy, we are told
that Turkey was the only country of Europe where poverty was no bar to
travel.

Outside Europe fresh estimates have to be quoted. The fare to Jaffa
and back by the pilgrim-galley varied from fifty to sixty ducats [say
£100]: this included food. Additional expenses brought the ordinary
cost of a visit to Jerusalem from Venice under these earlier conditions
up to three or four hundred pounds in present-day values. This, of
course, omits the expenses of the pilgrim between his home and Venice.
The minimum recorded cost for this period is represented by the two
hundred and twenty crowns [£350] spent by one Switzer in thirty weeks,
and two hundred and twenty-eight crowns spent by another, a barber, in
eleven months (1583-84),[123] of which times only about three months,
in each case, was taken up by the voyage from Venice to Jerusalem and
back, the remainder being devoted to Italy. The pilgrimage may be
considered as accounting for but little more than two hundred pounds
of the expenditure of each. Many went, moreover, who never possessed
this much, since it was common for one man to go as deputy for several,
who jointly defrayed his expenses; and it was also a common form of
charity for rich pilgrims to pay for poor ones. Later, in fact, they
were often forced to do so by the Turks when the latter had reduced to
beggary those who had come away with too little, which led to there
arising a custom among pilgrims of showing each other their money; if
one refused, the others avoided his company to escape the possibility
of being compelled to pay for him.

With the cessation of the pilgrim-galley the cost of the pilgrimage
doubled itself, what with the increased length of the journey due to a
roundabout way having to be taken, and, still more, to its increased
duration, owing to the uncertainty; especially as every day additional
brought its own additional risks and extortions. Moryson and his
brother spent four hundred and eighty pounds [nearly, if not quite,
£3000].

Certain circumstances raised the cost to him above the average, and
he was away more than a year and a half, whereas the journey would be
done within the year ordinarily. On the other hand, as his brother died
near Aleppo, the return-journey represents the expenditure of one man
instead of two. How a thrifty man who was used to roughing it would
be forced to spend the equivalent of one thousand pounds or more on a
journey that would nowadays cost him about sixty-five pounds is partly
explained by the exactions of the Turks. When Sandys was at Jerusalem
the monks of S. Salvatore had just been compelled to pay eight hundred
dollars [£900] for an imaginary offence. When Lithgow arrived late one
night after the gates had been shut, the friars let down food to him
over the wall; the Turks, being informed of this, insisted they must
have been importing weapons, and inflicted another fine, one hundred
piasters [£125]. It is not surprising, then, that with expenses like
these, and ordinary expenses to match, the monks expected sums from
the pilgrims that seem at first sight outrageous. To Lithgow they
made a definite charge of a piaster [£1 10s.] a day for board and
lodging alone; but their general custom was to throw themselves on the
traveller's generosity and grumble at the result.

Neither did the Franks suffer from indirect exactions only. The price
for entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre went on increasing,
from nothing at all in the fourteenth century to four zecchini [£10]
in 1606. Some mention fees of four times that amount, but this higher
sum included the toll at the city gate, the two being collected
simultaneously and so mistaken for one charge: the Turks farmed the
revenue from the Holy Sepulchre for eight thousand sultanons [over
£19,000], says Sandys. Extras were almost endless, yet very few of
them left any change out of a gold coin; the fee for the certificate
of visitation, without which the poorest pilgrim would not think of
departing, was three zecchini [seven guineas], while the knighthood,
nominally thirty zecchini, does not seem to have been granted for less
than ten. The monastery servants were liable to excommunication if they
accepted a tip, but they gladly risked damnation for a zecchino, and,
indeed, insisted on doing so.

By spending not more than a week at Jerusalem and that at a time which
may profanely be termed out of the season, it was possible to see the
sights of the city itself for the equivalent of £50; at any rate, that
happened in 1676;[124] do as most Franks did, spend Easter there, and
ten days or a fortnight, and accompany the excursions, cost nearly
double that. On the journey, the tributes may be imagined from the
fact that Sandys thought it worth while to pay four shariffs [£10] for
a passport which saved a few of them; nothing availed against an Arab
chief who sent to demand seven zecchini [sixteen guineas] a head, and
then came in person to demand five more. Moreover, besides the special
outfit to be bought, the charges themselves were always reckoned on the
basis that a Frank _must_ have heaps of money; from Rama to Jerusalem
alone, one day's journey, another seven zecchini had to be paid to the
dragoman, and the same amount coming back.

A considerable saving might be effected by hiring a Janizary at seven
aspers [2s.] a day: his services more than paid for his keep; and there
were times when even a Frank found himself living at an easy rate. This
happened when he stayed at a "fondaco," or depôt of Christian traders,
or so it may be inferred from casual remarks backed up by two definite
instances in years far apart. The German Fürer lived so at Alexandria
and Cairo for the equivalent of five shillings a day in 1565, and in
1625 two Germans[125] were received for two months free of all charges
at the Venetian "fondaco" at Cairo.

Far above all economies, however, was the system known as "putting-out"
money—and this applied to travel inside, as well as outside,
Christendom. The mediæval custom of presenting offerings before
starting had died out; sixteenth-century tourists only offered prayers,
and, for the rest, often expected to take up, at their homecoming,
all they had left behind them with additions, or even multiplication.
They deposited, or "put out," money before their departure on
that condition. The custom is said to have been developed in the
Netherlands[126] during the first half of the sixteenth century out
of a pilgrims' practice of leaving a will behind them in favour of a
friend on the understanding that the pilgrim was to receive double
the bequest if he came back. It would seem from what Moryson says
that the custom was barely known in England till the last decade of
the sixteenth century, and then spread so rapidly that it fell into
disrepute, bankrupts employing it to reinstate themselves, and actors,
then the scum of the populace, to gain notoriety. He apologises for his
brother Henry doing it, who put out four hundred pounds to be repaid
twelve hundred pounds if he came back from Jerusalem. If allusions to
the practice in contemporary English literature[127] can be trusted,
he drove a bad bargain; according to them he might have arranged for
his hypothetical profit to be five hundred instead of three hundred
per cent, the latter rate being granted against journeys to Italy. The
only other instance known of an actual transaction of this kind was
calculated to yield two thousand per cent [£10 to be repaid £200]; but
this was against a voyage to Russia, near the middle of the century,
from London, whence only one ship was known to have sailed thither and
returned.

Life insurance in its present form was also adopted by some persons
before starting for abroad; but public opinion condemned every form
of life insurance equally as immoral, and in the Netherlands, France,
and Genoa it was forbidden by law, "travel-wagers" being specially
mentioned in the proclamations. The rate, however, is the point which
specially concerns us here, as indicative of the risks of travel. At
the present day, for all the parts of the world touched upon in this
book, the safest insurance company will not only lay fifty to one that
the traveller _will_ return, in place of the rate then of three to
five to one that he would _not_, but will further insure him against
accidents at a lower rate than if he became a London butcher. The
system is of interest, too, as marking the transition from mediæval to
modern methods of insurance; from "protections" granted by the stronger
to the weaker for a premium which took the form of personal service,
to the capitalist's bond; the guarantee of redress by force being
superseded by guarantee of reimbursement by a business man, because the
latter had become both more feasible and more satisfactory.

It is clear, then, that, given the most favourable circumstances, the
traveller might not only make his journeys pay their own expenses,
but might clear a handsome profit. Yet how far these circumstances
were made the most of is a question that has at present to be decided
on negative evidence alone, the verdict on which must be that no case
is made out. In leaving, therefore, the general estimates for details,
both have to be put forward as net, subject to the mitigations already
referred to.

The fare from Dover to Calais was five shillings throughout this
period. So invariable was this charge that when a certain boatman
was suspected of being in league with the Roman Catholic seminarists
in France because he conveyed across some ladies who were religious
fugitives, he was considered not guilty on its being ascertained
that he had charged them one pound each for the passage.[128] This
five-shilling charge did not include the cost of boarding and landing
when that required, as so often happened, the use of small boats, or
of porters wading out. Between Flushing and Gravesend 6s. 8d. seems to
have been the fare.[129]

[Illustration: A PASSENGER-BOAT FROM PADUA]

Among the reasons for the preference of travel by water rather than by
land, one was economy. In the case of tolls, for example, the case has
been exactly reversed. As locks did not exist there were no river-dues;
but of highway-tolls plenty; moreover, it often cost something to
cross a bridge but never a sou to pass under it. As for ferries, the
ferryman occasionally made the passengers pay what he pleased by
collecting fares in the middle of the river. Yet another reason which
raised the cost of road-travel as against river-travel lay in the
latter affording far fewer chances to robbers, which also told on the
direct expense by eliminating payments to escorts.

The contrast, of course, between horse and boat was much greater than
between waggon and boat. In fact, the choice between the latter pair
was many times a matter of comfort rather than of cost; the fares for
both, in all normal cases but one where they can be exactly determined,
varying from three farthings to a penny ha'penny a mile. To compare
this with existing railway fares we may strike an average and say
sixpence a mile; but the charges will be found to approach the minimum
more often on the river than in the waggon. A typical instance is the
five stivers [2s. 6d.] on the nine-mile canal between Haarlem and
Amsterdam, and the lowest, the exception just spoken of, is the sixteen
soldi [3s. 6d.] for the twenty-four miles by river and lagoon between
Venice and Padua, recorded by Villamont in 1591, and by Van Buchell
in 1587. One disadvantage common to both cart and boat must not be
forgotten—that, to profit by this relative cheapness, the traveller had
to form one of a party; if no party was ready he had to wait till one
collected. Sir Henry Wotton, to take one example out of many, once
wanted to go by waggon from Brunswick to Frankfort, about one hundred
and fifty miles; had he started on the spot he would have started alone
and paid at the rate of 4s. 6d. a mile of our money. He waited a week
before two disreputable specimens turned up to share the expense.

This freedom to choose one's company was a decided advantage for the
traveller who rode, considering that murdering was far less exclusively
a lower-class habit than it has since become. But he had to pay dearly
for the increased respectability and pace. Horse-hire varied from a
penny ha'penny to fivepence a mile, the maximum charge representing the
cost of post-horses in France in the seventeenth century, the minimum
the charge in Italy for a horse that was waiting for a return fare,
an opportunity that might frequently be met with. The average was far
nearer the maximum than the minimum rate, since it was often a case
of post-horse or no horse, and post rates did not sink so very far
below the French standard. According to Moryson, the English charged
two shillings a day in London, one shilling a day in the provinces,
for other than post-horses, but he was a native and the charges to
foreigners probably exceeded the charges to natives throughout Europe
in a greater degree then than now; an Englishman on the way from Calais
to Paris complains that he had to pay £2 15s. where a Frenchman paid
but three pistoles at sixteen shillings and eightpence each;[130] and
that is not an isolated grievance. In fact, as a comment on Moryson's
remark about England, when Lionello, a secretary of the Venetian
ambassador, went post to Edinburgh and back in June, 1617, besides
paying threepence a mile for each horse, he includes in his accounts
as usual tips fourpence to the woman and sixpence to the horse-boy,
at each stage.[131] In Italy, where several foreigners found the cost
of riding less than the average, Villamont reckons that an écu [two
guineas] a day per horse covered all horse-charges, while in passing
from Germany to Italy the best plan was to buy a horse in Germany,
where three pounds would be a fair price, and sell it in Italy, which
could be done at double that price.

Travellers' evidence, however, as to horse-charges is less plentiful
than might be expected, owing to what may be called the 'vetturino'
system. The term 'vetturino' came to be applied, even outside Italy,
to the horse-owner or carrier who contracted for the whole cost of a
journey, food, lodging, transport, tolls. Their reputation is best
illustrated by the tale of an abbé at Loreto about this time, who, in
confessing, included among his transgressions a beating inflicted on a
'vetturino.' "Go on," said the confessor, "that doesn't count; they're
the worst scoundrels in the world." Nevertheless, the method spread
all over Europe during this period with striking rapidity, though
far more readily on the road than on the water. The advantages to the
stranger were recognised at once, the saving of the trouble and the
expense which accompanied repeated bargaining in a state of ignorance
as to where and how to do it, what inns to go to, what extras to put
up with, what the legal dues really were, etc. However dishonest the
'vetturino' might prove, his victim probably paid no more to him in
unintentional commission than his accomplices would have extorted on
their own account otherwise. For the Lyons-Turin journey, at least,
there soon came into use a regular formula for a written contract, a
formula which has been preserved.[132] The system has its value for us,
too, in enabling us to compare prices. While there are multitudes of
figures apparently available for the purpose of reckoning cost, a large
majority turn out to be, to use one of their own phrases, no more use
than a wooden poker, the writer omitting one or more of the necessary
data. If, for instance, he mentions the hire of four horses, it leaves
us in the dark in reckoning personal expenses, inasmuch as four horses
may equally well imply two, or three, or four persons. So likewise, to
complete an account of a waggon-fare, it needs to be stated whether or
no it was what the Germans called "maul frei," that is, whether the
coachman paid for his own food or not. Or again, riding was so much the
rule that the charge which the wayfarer gives for bed and breakfast
often includes, probably more often than not, the "stabulum et
pabulum" for his horse; it is only on the rare occasions when specific
statement is made, or when a pedestrian gives prices, that there is
any certainty about it. Now the vetturino's charge does away with all
this uncertainty. Also as to whether a guide accompanied the party or
not—another necessary which cost money; especially a satisfactory one,
obtainable only, writes Sir Philip Sidney, "by much expense or much
humbleness."

Here again the traveller by waggon went more cheaply than the horseman.
What with the absence of sign-posts, the scarcity of persons to ask,
the frequent indistinguishableness of the road from its margin and its
surroundings, a stranger was practically forced to be guided. In 1648
this brought the cost of a journey from London to Dover to £1 15s.
10d.[133] [say, £8]. In a town this applied to every one who had no
friends there. Every single feature on which one depends nowadays was
absent, or, if present, present only in embryo,—visible street-names,
printed suggestions other than historical, detailed plans, the wide,
straight streets which allow the mystified to discover his whereabouts
without climbing a church-tower. In short, what was worth seeing was
mostly heard of only by word of mouth, and to find it one needed to be
led there. Expenditure on guides reached its highest point when the
Alps were snowbound; after a heavy fall he who wished to pass must
wait till others had made fresh tracks or pay anything up to fifty
crowns [£75] to have it done for him.

To pass Mont Cenis cost in the ordinary way the equivalent of about
£4 10s.; that is, about half what the 'vetturino' would want to take
each one of several from Lyons to Turin—six crowns, which latter sum is
about ten times as much as the second-class fare to-day. But then the
journey takes twelve hours now and took seven days then, with food all
the while at travellers' prices.

The length of journeys stands out as the chief factor in the
comparative costliness. Take a typical case, that of the five
middle-class men[134] who left Venice on February 20, 1655, who wasted
no time on the way, reached England on March 29, and spent one hundred
and twenty-five pounds. Reckoning this as equalling £625, this works
out as the equivalent of £125 each for thirty-seven days, or £3 7s.
7d. a day. If a man left Venice now on February 20, he might break
the journey at Bâle, to do things comfortably, and arrive in London
at 5.38 A. M. on February 22. Second-class fare would be £5 10s. 7d.;
add £2 for meals and incidentals, £7 10s. 7d. in all, an average of £3
3s. a day. The other thirty-four and a half days of the thirty-seven
his food would be paid for at home rates, say 2s. 6d. a day, £4 6s.
3d., which, added to the £7 10s. 7d., gives £11 16s. 10d. Now the
daily average of about 7s. higher in the cost of travel apart from
food, as above represented,—mainly accounted for by the relative cost
of horses and guides as against railway fares,—only comes to £13 in
thirty-seven days. On this basis the journey from Venice to London two
hundred and fifty years ago cost between nine and ten times as much as
it would to-day, solely on account of the difference in speed. That
the expenditure of these five middle-class men was very reasonable is
easily verifiable, as, for example, by the accounts of Muscorno,[135]
another Venetian secretary, whose bill for coming to England, for
himself and a servant, comes to three hundred and two ducats [£385].
If there was one place where travelling ought to have worked out
relatively cheaply, it was Muscovy, seeing that on the sledges a
peasant would take a passenger fifty leagues for three or four crowns;
but it does not seem to have lowered the expenses of one Dr. Willes,
whose overland journey thither in 1600 cost eighty pounds, including
payments to guides. His own share may be reckoned as equivalent to two
hundred and forty pounds as compared with the fifteen pounds the same
route would cost to-day.

Luggage would frequently entail the same fare as the owner, since an
extra horse would be needed to carry a box. Leather trunks were to
be purchased which might be carried in front of the rider, but these
did not protect the contents against rain. As to what carriers took
as free luggage and what as "excess," there is no evidence but that
of one Englishman[136] who found he was entitled to five pounds free
on the Calais-Paris road and paid ten shillings surcharge on the rest
without comment. Any advice the experienced have to offer as regards
reduction of luggage for economy is in view far less of carriage than
of customs-duties. In Italy the exactions were severest; almost every
day's journey would take one over some boundary and at every bridge
there were two or three quattrini [twopence] to pay; at every gate
six or eight soldi [one shilling], besides baggage dues. Any article
carried through Italy would cost its price over again in dues; a sword,
for instance, you had to give up at the gate, pay a man to carry it
to the inn, where the host took care of it till your departure, when
you had to pay again for its carriage to the gate. The Papal states
had the lowest scale of charges, yet on crossing their boundary,
there was a giulio [3s. 6d.] to pay for the smallest hand-bag; and at
Florence even your corpse would be taxed a crown [£1 10s.] if it went
in or out of the city for burial. In Germany, where the burden was
lighter, Sir Thomas Hoby, coming down the Rhine in 1555, paid toll at
twenty-one custom-houses between Mainz and Herzogensbosch to fourteen
authorities. As a rule, too, the taxes were farmed, which increased
the tourists' sufferings from them, inasmuch as they were exacted
with greater rigour and it was the harder to get redress in cases of
extortion, especially when, as in Poland and Spain, the 'farmers' were
Jews or of Jewish blood. Bribery, however, was often practicable, and
where practicable, economical; one of the best guides to Spain repeats
concerning every custom-house that the traveller should say he has
nothing to declare and tip the officials only if they take his word,
that is, if they do not do their duty. It is true there were passes to
be obtained from a central authority, overriding the right of search,
such as the imperial pass in Germany, and the indefinite rights of
ambassadors, but how far these were respected seems to have been mainly
a matter of bluff. Navagero, in Spain early in the sixteenth century,
ambassador though he was, had to pay duties even on the rings on his
fingers.

Passports, for one purpose or another, may be said to have been as much
the rule then as they have since become the exception; an Englishman
must pay five shillings for leave to travel and another five shillings
if he wished to take his horse with him. A Frenchman at Milan speaks
of getting a passport, stating his destination and the colour of his
hair; and so on. But few mention such expenses being entailed as does
one Italian,[137] leaving Dover in 1606. Apparently he had to pay
for separate passports for each of his suite as well as himself, as
these cost forty reals. The "real of eight" was nearly equal to five
shillings English. The captain of the vessel demanded copies which
"cost very dear" and the harbour-keeper, furthermore, who had exacted
two giuli [six shillings], (each person?) on arrival, required double
at departure.

Guide-books seem to have been from two to four times the price of
Baedekers, a minor item, but considerable, like food and lodging. It
may seem, at first sight, as if food and lodging were far from minor
items, and that truly, of course, if only the total expenditure is
considered. But in considering, as is being done here, relative cost
only, that is, the cost of travel in so far as it has altered since
three centuries ago, it has to be borne in mind that the average cost
of food and shelter never alters; it is only standards of living that
alter. If any one took the average price of meals, say, in Europe then
and average prices now, and showed a difference of net cost between
them, his calculations must either be based on misleading information,
or else would prove that the figure he was multiplying with to equate
values was a wrong one. This, of course, refers to necessaries;
luxuries must be ruled out for two reasons: first, all attempts to
fix a standard or strike an average breaks down for lack of a basis;
second, they do not test what any one is called upon to spend but only
how much he can spend if he is fool enough to try. Thus, for example,
when Montaigne tells us that the charges at the "Vaso d'Oro" at Rome
would be about twenty crowns [£35] a month, we may conclude that if we
ascertain what the average charges would be for the same accommodation
at a first-rate hotel to-day, it is a more reasonable plan to take
the difference as the difference between their money-values and ours
than to accept a surplus in either, according to the usually accepted
multiplying figure, as defining an increase or decrease in hotel
charges.

Yet for all this, something remains to be said. A modern tourist often
finds himself in the position of drawing his income from a locality
where money is cheaper or dearer than in the districts where he is
making his payments. Now, three hundred years ago, he would have met
with these fluctuations more frequently and more suddenly than would
be the case to-day; and when met with, they would often have been more
violent. In so far as this was the case, so far is the relative cost
affected. The causes of these fluctuations may be divided into (1)
local custom, (2) insufficient linking-up of supply and demand. Hungary
may be taken as an example of the latter, Germany of the former, cause;
Poland and Spain of districts where social and economic forces jib
at separate classification. In Hungary and the districts southeast
of it the most seasoned traveller never failed to be astonished at
the ideal natural conditions; "wheat," as Sir Thomas Browne's son
said of Transylvania in particular a little later, "had no value in
relation to the subsistence of a human being." There was no outlet
for its products; the continual state of war kept commerce paralysed;
Vienna had little need of it, Constantinople none at all; what the
fertility of the soil produced so abundantly was thus available for
local consumption only. Especially was this the case with products that
needed no human tending; the man who ate a whole penn'orth of fish
risked bursting. In Germany prices ruled low, yet so excessive was the
drunkenness, and so general, that it was a moral impossibility to live
cheaply without cutting one's self off from human society. Supper over,
for instance, the "schlafftrinke" was set on the table, and whoever
touched a drop of it had, by custom, to pay an even share with those
who drank till morning.

The Spanish diet, which was such a trial to the inside if the stranger
did conform to it, was equally a trial to his pocket if he did not.
One tried both ways on one day in 1670.[138] At noon he shared the
landlord's dinner, paying a real [2s. 6d.] for vegetables, dried fish,
fruit; but when in the evening he was one of six who dined on four
fowls and neck of mutton, his bill came to the equivalent of £1 5s. not
including wine. Poland, on the contrary, being the granary of Europe
and exporting much else besides grain, rich in serf labour, and with
its retail trade in the hands of denationalised aliens who were well
under control, could afford to import plenty of luxuries and enjoyed
abundance of necessaries: a goose or a pig for the equivalent of 1s.
6d., a loin of mutton for 1s.—such were prices in Poland.

A good test of relative cheapness is the value of the coin most
generally useful; in Poland these were the brass 'banns,' worth about
a penny farthing in to-day's values. Of Italy a similar statement may
be made; of England just the contrary. And this presence, or absence,
of plenty of small coins affects the tourist in two ways; partly in
relation to his food, because the more common small change is, the more
commonly customary is it to sell food in quantities suited to a single
meal for one; secondly, the smaller the change, the smaller the tips.
Before leaving the subject of food, an example may be quoted of the
violence of the fluctuations in prices at that date when the means of
carriage and of making wants known in time were so crude. Sir Henry
Wotton writes, of his own knowledge, that the price of victuals at
Venice was three times as high in 1608 as it had been in 1604.

Lastly, as regards necessary expenditure, what did their money itself
cost them?

To begin with, the far greater length of time usually necessary then to
prove identity, or to confirm references, must not be lost sight of,
seeing how much it added to the seriousness of the hope deferred that
maketh the pocket empty.

Next, to deal with the ways of remedying this—there were three ways,
(1) Carrying cash; (2) depositing money with a merchant, or a friend,
who either remits coins or advises an amount; (3) letters of credit.

Carrying cash meant carrying coins. At any rate, not one of these
travellers mentions using the bank-notes of the day, the 'segni
reppresentativi' just introduced by the Italian bankers, nor even the
ancient semi-currency of jewels, unless one includes Henri III, who,
when escaping from the throne of Poland to that of France, carried
off three hundred thousand crowns' worth. Carrying coins for future
use meant, in the ordinary way, sewing them up in one's clothes. The
favourite place was inside a waistband of the breeches, a double one
designed for that purpose, made of leather or canvas, forming a series
of little pockets, all closed by pulling one string. It was so that
Lithgow was carrying one hundred and thirty-seven double pieces of gold
[probably double pistoles, equal to £500], when he and the gold were
seized by the Inquisition at Malaga. Next to the waistband, under the
arm-pits was the most usual spot; but it is given as advisable to use
one's shabbiest garments in any case for this purpose, as the least
likely to be searched thoroughly by robbers. In Muscovy the boots were
more often used than other articles. A small reserve might be wrapped
round with mending-material, with needles sticking into it to add to
the innocence of its appearance; or it might be hidden at the bottom
of a pot of ointment. By this latter means Moryson saved himself from
utter destitution when robbed, having chosen ointment which smelt,
apparently, like the Muscovite's fish. Equally ingenious and successful
was another who smuggled all his money past the Mohammedan customs by
hiding it in pork. Mohammedans themselves used their turbans.

[Illustration: QUITTANCE DU 18 JUIN 1548

_Je moy Francoys Rabeles medecin de monseigneur reverendissime du
Bellay confesse avoir receu de M. Benvenuto Olivier et comp(agnie) de
Rome la somme de trente deulx escuz d'or en or lesquelz 32 escus il
m'ont payez en vertu d'une lettre de change du XVIII^e de may dernier
passé de Thomas Delbenne et comp(agnie) de Paris et eulx à l'instance
de M^e Arnauld Combraglia. Et en foy de ce j'ay faict faire la presente
tierze quittance laquel sera soubscripte de ma propre main. Ce XVIII^e
de juing 1548 en Rome._

  _Ita est. F. Rabelais, manu propriâ._

RABELAIS RECEIVES SOME MONEY]

The advantages of carrying money in this way—that of having it at hand
for certain—was outweighed by the chances of robbery or confiscation;
the latter by reason of there being legal limits to the amounts that
might be taken away from countries and towns. Lyons was the most
liberal, allowing sometimes eighty, sometimes one hundred "crowns of
the sun" [£144 to £180]. Turin allowed fifty silver crowns [£75],
Naples twenty-five; Rome, according to an edict in 1592, no more than
five gold crowns [£8]. The rule in Spain was that no gold was to leave
the country, and Spanish towns often enforced this against each other;
from Murcia in 1617 no more than ten "reals of eight" [£11 5s.] might
be taken free, but gold was not confiscated, duty being levied instead.

As for England, Hentzner found the limit of £10 in 1599, as did Gölnitz
in some year soon after 1618, although Moryson, writing between these
dates, gives £20. Still earlier, the Frenchman Perlin, who was here at
the beginning of Queen Mary's reign, says that a pedestrian may take
no more than ten crowns [£27], a horseman twenty, out of the realm;
adding, however, that a man may convert the rest of his cash into goods
and so, by realising these goods later, prevent confiscation; and also,
that by accompanying an ambassador one is exempt from search. When
it is remembered, further, that Francis Davison got inserted in his
license to travel a clause enabling him to carry fifty pounds across
with him (for three persons), that there were trustworthy merchants who
would authorise correspondents abroad to pay the traveller whatever
the latter might have deposited with them, and that these customs
concerning the export of gold and silver were in use throughout Europe,
it will be seen that if a traveller suffered loss by confiscation, he
deserved his losses.

By far the greater number had their money advised at a cost of five to
fifteen per cent, usually ten per cent, as against the three-quarters
per cent which would probably represent a maximum of loss by exchange
to-day to tourists. An unknown quantity lay in the differences of
values, which might yield a profit, or might involve heavy loss.
Bimetallism prevailed all over Europe, and the values of gold and
silver both relative to each other and positive, fluctuated far more
violently than is the case to-day. When Cavendish returned to England
after his first circumnavigation of the world, the plunder depreciated
gold in London by one twelfth; in 1603 the exchange from Venice to
London was twenty-eight per cent in favour of Venice; in 1606 it was
six per cent higher London to Venice than Venice to London.

But with all its disadvantages, remitting by advice was the most
generally satisfactory and used method. The tenour of an average bill,
however, has changed somewhat, "at sight" being the only one of the
variable terms equally customary both then and now. Bills not drawn
"at sight" were drawn at "usance," "half usance," or "double usance";
"usance" signifying a month as a rule. Exceptions were, of course, for
longer distances, such as London and Venice, when "usance" meant three
months; and how completely "usance" is a term of the past is shown by
the fact that the periods implied by "usance," in the rare cases in
which it is still found in use, have not altered since the sixteenth
century, in spite of the advance in the quickness of communications.
"Thirds of exchange," now nearly as extinct as "usances," were then
kept in regular use by the uncertainty of the posts; and in view of
the difficulties in the way of identification and the advantage that
money-changers were likely to take of them, advices often contained a
description of the payee.[139]

Method No. 3, letters of credit, was a more expensive one than
remittance by advice, but for places for which no "usance" was
established, was obligatory; under favourable circumstances it might
cost no more than ten per cent. There is evidence enough to justify
conjecture that the English government allowed their credit to be used
sometimes for the convenience of tourists in order to facilitate a
watch being kept on their movements.[140]

Barter also ought not to be wholly left out of sight. In Norway dried
fish was more serviceable than coin, as was tobacco among Turks, the
only people prompt to copy the English in the use of it for pleasure;
but by the middle of the seventeenth century the same might be said of
Western Russia. And there is the case of one Thomas Douglas in 1600
who could not make arrangements for four hundred crowns to be advised
for him at Algiers, applying to the English government for leave to
take with him duty-free the broadcloth he had bought with the money
and meant to realise there, to discharge the ransom which the money
represented.[141]

Supposing, however, that all these means failed? The tourist became
a beggar till he found friends. He might try, of course, to raise a
loan, but only on terms which would possibly induce him to prefer
beggary. The "German Ulysses," Karl Nützel of Nuremberg, was robbed at
Alexandria of his capital; at Cairo he persuaded a ship's captain to
lend him four hundred ducats, undertaking to pay him six hundred at
Constantinople. They arrived thither in two months; the interest was
therefore at the rate of three hundred per cent.[142] Sir Henry Wotton,
when an ambassador, paid twenty per cent for a loan at Venice.


In considering loans we have passed away from necessities into the
second half of the subject of cost,—its reasonable possibilities.
These consist of the risks and difficulties to which the traveller was
liable, nowhere summarised so well as in the English Litany, which was
written at this period:—

"From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence and famine; from
battle and murder; and from sudden death,

"Good Lord, deliver us."

Of the eight risks here mentioned, to most of which an Englishman
at least was more liable abroad than at home, all but two have been
minimised since. And if we note how in all other clauses of the Litany,
only those troubles or desires which have affinity with each other are
grouped together, it becomes significant in what company travellers are
prayed for;—

"That it may please thee to preserve all that travel by land or water,
all women labouring of child, all sick persons, and young children;
and to shew thy pity upon all prisoners and captives.

We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord."

To take the risk of violence first, and, among the forms of violence,
war, it has to be remembered that the United Provinces was the only
State whose soldiers were paid punctually. An effect of this laxness
may be traced in the experience of a tourist in Picardy when the
latter had been reduced to such a state of destitution by war that the
commandants could not wring anything further out of the inhabitants
and therefore forced contributions from travellers who passed through.
In 1594 Moryson wished to remit from Venice to Paris, but no one had
any correspondence farther than Geneva on account of the civil wars,
in spite of these being nominally at an end. And they assured him it
was twenty to one he would be robbed by the disbanded soldiers (which
came true), and, if robbed, would be killed, because if they took him
for an enemy they would think him well killed; if a friend, they would
kill him to avoid making restitution; and the marshals were so strictly
looked after that they would kill anyone who seemed likely to make
complaints. The effect on prices receives illustration by comparing
Andrew Boorde's experience of Aquitaine after a long period of peace
and prosperity,—that one pennyworth [say 10d.] of bread will feed a man
a week, and they sell nine cakes a penny, each cake being enough
to last a man a day, "except he be a ravener,"—with a letter from a
Venetian gentleman,[143] fifty-four years later, by which time civil
war had become chronic. He writes from England, where he found that a
good meal could be had for ten soldi [2s. 6d.], comparing this with
France, which he had just traversed, where the same could not be bought
for less than sixty soldi, or even a whole gold crown [£1 13s.]. As to
Germany, in 1623, only five years after the Thirty Years' War broke
out, Wotton writes that prices have risen enormously, "insomuch as I am
almost quite out of hope to find Conscience any more, since there is
none among the very hills and deserts, whither I thought she had fled."

[Illustration: LITHGOW IN TROUBLE]

The effect on communications goes without saying. Even worse
than that was the danger from those whom the horrible cruelty of
sixteenth-century warfare drove half-mad with grief and loss, who shook
off civilisation and robbed and murdered recklessly. According to
Aubigné, who witnessed the horrors which he dwells on at length in his
"Les Tragiques," war demoralised even the dogs in a way that endangered
every passer-by. Speaking of those around Moncontour, where was fought
one of the battles which left most bodies on the field,

    Vous en voyez l'espreuve au champ de Moncontour;
    Héréditairement ils ont, depuis ce jour,
    La rage naturelle, et leur race enyvrée
    Du sang des vrais François, se sent de la curée.

But it may be objected that the evidence of a sectarian historian is
not admissible on any question of fact. Take, then, what a sober
correspondent writes from the scene of the Thirty Years' War in 1639,
not of dogs, but of men: "It is an ordinary thing in Brandenburg
country to eat man's flesh,"[144] and he goes on to tell how a judge
has just met his death that way.

Again, De Thou, approaching Mérindol, finds not a soul to be seen; all
had retired to caves at the sight of armed men. Elsewhere he saw all
the peasants at work armed, and of one town nothing remained intact
but a fountain and one street; the work of a commander, in the king's
name, for the gratification of his private revenge. The state produced
is well described by Sir Thomas Overbury in 1609 as one in which there
was "no man but had an enemy within three miles, and so the country
became frontier all over." What "frontier" meant is well defined by an
Italian of this time as country to which a few could do no harm and in
which many could not live. The prosperity of the Empire while this was
the state of France has been already outlined; what it became, as a
result of the civil war, while France was becoming the best organised
and most civilised country in Europe, may be guessed from Reresby's
description of the district which in 1600 had been the most comfortable
in Christendom, that between Augsburg and Frankfurt; villages and
towns uninhabited, much ground untilled, no meat to be had, no
sheets, sometimes no beds; for drink, milk and water, little wine and
that sour and very dear; people so boorish as to resemble beasts.
Significant, too, is it that while Sir Philip Sidney, defining the
qualities of the dominions of Europe for his brother, writes, "Germany
doth excel in good laws and well administering of justice," and while
all subsequent travellers for forty years confirm this, a German,
Zeiler, compiled his guide to Spain shortly before the date when the
correspondent just quoted wrote his letter, and in this guide, in
maintaining the claims of Spain on the attention of the student, puts
among the characteristics in which Spain excels the rest of Europe, the
inflexibility of justice there.

Yet civil war was less detrimental to touring than international war,
inasmuch as no nation was barred the country for the time being.
Besides, fewer mercenaries were employed. Now, however bad the
native soldier may have been—and how bad that was may be judged from
Shakespeare's picture of him in "Henry V" (Act III, sc. 2),—mercenaries
were far worse, seeing that they behaved in the country they were
defending as the others did only in that which they attacked. Sastrow
followed in the wake of the mercenaries whom Charles V imported;
wherever they had passed the way was strewn with corpses. In one house
he found the body of a man who had been suspended by the genitals, a
usual custom, while they tortured him to make him reveal his valuables,
and released by a sword-stroke, not on the cord he hung by, but "flush
with the abdomen." From Bamberg they carried off four hundred women
as far as Nuremberg, while Hungarians cut off the feet and hands of
children and stuck them in their hats instead of feathers. And it is
perhaps worth while quoting the effect on Sastrow himself. On his
horse being stolen, he "chose the best nag at hand"; and finding a
gentleman's house temporarily abandoned, he and his companions stole
wholesale, not only to satisfy present wants, but also in order to
realise money later.

The effect of all this so far as it concerned tourists may be
exemplified by the state of the highroad between Danzig and Hamburg,
along which, in 1600, the only corpses in evidence were those of
criminals. By 1652, in one day's journey, a traveller[145] could
count thirty-four piles of faggots, each pile marking the spot where
a wayfarer had been murdered. Each passer-by was expected to add a
faggot. Another result was that soldiers continued to exercise during
peace the habits they had contracted in war. When Lady Fanshawe passed
through Abbeville in 1659, the governor warned her against local
robbers, advising an escort of garrison soldiers at a pistole [£3,
6s. 8d.] each. She engaged ten, and met a band of fifty 'robbers.' The
ten parleyed with the fifty, and the fifty retired; they, too, were
soldiers of the garrison.

Between the soldier and the robber, in fact, the difference was merely
that of official, and unofficial, employment. It was in the latter
capacity, of course, that they oftenest had dealings with the tourist;
or were supposed to do so. One cannot help being struck by the idea
that these travellers were far more frightened than hurt, so far as
robbery was concerned. A lady, for instance, between Turin and Genoa,
saw the road stained with blood where wayfarers had lately been robbed
and murdered, yet passed in safety.[146] One traveller, it is true,
was stopped four times between St. Malo and Havre, but more normal
experiences were those of Moryson, who suffered so but once in more
than four years' travel, and of Hentzner, who encountered robbers once
in three years and then escaped. He had warning and hired an escort;
but it has to be noted that this escort, for one day, cost more than
fifty crowns [£90]. Very similar was the experience of the Venetian
ambassador Lippomano on his way to Paris in 1577.[147] A rumour got
about that he was conveying a loan of eight hundred thousand francs
to the French government, and a Venetian ambassador was easy to get
information about because of the red trappings of his mules. He was
warned, and so were the towns on the route; with the result that his
own company were refused admission on suspicion that they were the
highwaymen in disguise; and watched, as they passed, by garrisons on
the walls. For six days they marched in continual fear; swords drawn,
arquebus-matches lighted. Once they thought the "volori" really were
upon them, but out of the cloud of dust galloped nothing but the escort
from Troyes to relieve the escort from Bar-sur-Seine. And in the end
they were fleeced by none but the escorts themselves.

These escorts were part of the life of the time; important towns kept
them as a matter of course, in default of a system of country-police
such as existed in Spain, the "Santa Hermandad," who first suppressed
the thieves and then took over, and extended, their business. In
France, however, towards the end of this period, the highways began to
be patrolled regularly by police, in couples, none but whom might carry
firearms. Yet this arrangement was in force when of the travellers
who followed just behind Evelyn on the Paris-Orleans road, four were
killed. And within a few years of this some one tells us how he heard
cries issuing from the inside of a dead horse, cut open by robbers in
order to give themselves more time to escape by fastening their victim
inside it, a dirty trick, literally, for he was pulled out in as untidy
a state as it was possible for a stark-naked man to be.

[Illustration: TRAVELLERS ATTACKED BY ROBBERS]

To meet, when alone, with two ruffians, to pretend, being on foot and
decidedly shabby, to be a beggar; and to pass them thus, not only
without loss, but with 1s. 2d. towards his next meal—such was the
experience of one Englishman abroad. But what could he have done had
the beasts been four-legged ones? Here was another risk to run; and,
perhaps, to pay for. There were plenty to meet. It is not surprising
to read of them breaking into stables and ransacking cemeteries in
Muscovy, where, by the way, protection against them was supposed to
be secured by the noise of a big stick dragging at the back of the
sledge by a rope; but things were little better near Paris. Readers
of Rabelais may recollect a second narrow escape that befell the six
pilgrims whom Gargantua ate in a salad in consequence of their hiding
among the lettuces to avoid being eaten by him as meat. After their
miraculous escape out of his mouth, they barely saved themselves from
falling into a snare for wolves. It was no exaggeration to write so
about Touraine; in the winter of 1653 a pack entered Blois and ate a
child. And just before Evelyn visited Fontainebleau, "a lynx or ounce"
had killed some one passing thither by the highroad from Paris. The
country between Geneva and Lyons, again, writes one who passed through
it, was "mainly inhabited by wolves and bears."

[Illustration: "WOLVES"]

But we have not finished with people. Slavery had to be reckoned with,
and therefore ransoms. More than one refers to the "malcontents" of
the Low Countries, unpaid Spanish garrison-soldiers who wandered about
on the look-out for Englishmen in particular, and esteeming a younger
brother's ransom at twenty thousand crowns of the sun [£35,000], says
Wotton. But the risk of capture, in the ordinary way, was confined
to Mohammedan territory and the neighbouring seashores, with Algiers
as headquarters. Many men who were slaves there at this period have
left record of their adventures; of whom Gramaye is perhaps the best
to quote from, inasmuch as no one was a more acute, thorough, and
trustworthy observer. He lived at Algiers in 1619, one of twenty
thousand Christian slaves. According to the statistics he gives of the
previous twelve years, two hundred and fifty-one ships had brought
in twelve thousand, two hundred and forty prisoners, of whom eight
hundred and fifty-seven Germans had apostatised, three hundred English,
one hundred and thirty-eight from Hamburg, "Danes and Easterlings"
one hundred and sixty; Poles, Hungarians, and Muscovites two hundred
and fifty, Low Countrymen one hundred and thirty; besides French and
others. Fewest renegades came from Spain and Italy, because in those
two countries alone were permanent systematic collectors of money for
ransoms; the two orders of the Trinity and of Our Lady of Pity paid out
sixty-three thousand ducats [over £70,000], in this way yearly, a
drain of gold which does not seem to have been taken into account by
economists, although not counteracted, but on the contrary increased,
by trade transactions with Mohammedan centres like Constantinople and
Aleppo, and added to by all the privately paid ransoms. Sir Anthony
Sherley ransomed two Portuguese gentlemen for ten thousand pounds, who
had been enslaved sixteen years, and for one of whom three ransoms had
been sent, each of which had been captured by pirates. The statement
already made about all forms of life insurance being censured as
gambling must be modified in connection with slavery, for both the law
and public opinion approved of a man paying premiums to assure a ransom
being paid, and that promptly, in the event of his capture; and the
system seems to have been in frequent use,[148] although it must be
admitted that not one of these travellers seems so much as aware of its
existence.

The expenses of protection against pirates may be imagined from
the estimate for the outfit of the galley intended to carry the
Provençal deputation to Constantinople in 1585, referred to earlier.
The galley-slaves numbered two hundred; the deputation fifty. Sixty
soldiers were to be taken for defence, whose wages for the eight months
were to be nineteen hundred and twenty crowns of the sun; in addition
to which was their keep, nine thousand and forty crowns, and arms and
gunpowder, five hundred crowns, the total equalling about twenty-seven
thousand pounds of our money.

Of Turkey Sir Henry Blount says that in assuring himself against
loss of liberty lay "the most expense and trouble of my voyage." And
Blount's opinion is the better worth having, seeing that he would
have been the last to fail in the exercise of courtesy and tact, the
absence of which is the commonest cause of martyrdom. Several times he
had to use his knife to avoid being pushed into a house, and hardly
a day passed without his Janizary being offered a price for him. His
defences against it in general were to cultivate or buy friends and to
make a practice of pretending he had no friends and little money, and
that all that remained to him was wagered against his return, because
enslavement would be more in hope of ransom than service.

The enslavement of the Jerusalem pilgrim seems to have been
comparatively rare before the end of the sixteenth century; yet two
of the most striking narratives belong to the year 1565. The first
adventure, however, happened during an excursion to Jordan without
escort, a risk that none dreamt of running later. A German, named
Fürer, set out in February, with a friend, a eunuch-interpreter, and
a monk-guide. Sitting down to a meal on the way back, four Arabs
appeared, whom they treated as guests; yet, the meal over, the Arabs
enquired whether their hosts had any money or garments worth stealing.
Doubting their negatives, they undressed them, and beneath the monkish
outer-garment which each one was wearing discovered on the two
travellers underclothing which suggested riches. The Arabs forthwith
led all four away into the desert to sell them at Medina, but were
induced before long to despatch the monk with two of themselves to the
nearest monastery, that of S. Saba, some hours' journey from Jerusalem,
for ransom. The remaining three Franks, unarmed, chose their time to
attack the two armed Arabs, and after a desperate fight and a fearful
journey, wounded, parched, and famished, Fürer climbed up a rope-ladder
into the monastery through one of the back-windows, while the two other
Arabs were being kept waiting in the front.

The other tale concerns sixty-two pilgrims who sailed from Jaffa in
the August of that same year.[149] On October 16 they were shipwrecked
off the coast of Asia Minor, one being drowned. On landing six were
killed, the rest taken prisoners, a proportion of whom go to Rhodes.
These are urged to apostatise—in vain. They offer ransoms; Frau Johanna
of Antwerp three hundred ducats [£540], Pastor Peter Villingen three
hundred and twelve kronen [which may mean anything from £200 to £800;
probably the former]: the total came to three thousand, two hundred and
sixty kronen. This does not seem enough to their owners; the Venetian
and some sailors get free somehow; the others are sent to the galleys.
During 1566 Frau Johanna and six others die. By May 1, 1568, seven more
are dead; two have been redeemed for six hundred kronen; two others for
four hundred and eighty kronen. Soon after, an Italian was ransomed by
the Venetian "bailo." This is all that is known of the sixty-two.

[Illustration: A SOUVENIR]

Another risk that was greater on the Jerusalem journey was that of
disease, or enfeeblement through hardship. The state of things normal
in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre must alone have told on health; one
German on his return to Jaffa counted two hundred and thirty lice in
his clothes. But, throughout, disease lay in wait for all in a deadlier
form than any we meet with. Just as instead of "nerves" they suffered
from "inflammation of the conscience," so, instead of influenza,
they had plague, infectious in the highest degree and fatal in a few
days, or quicker. In Constantinople it was looked on as inevitable
and raged unhindered. Yet, says Blount, the Turks' carelessness was
less of a hindrance to trade than the Christians' precautions. In
Venice, over the doors of the inn-bedrooms was written "Ricordati
della bolletta"—"Remember your bill of health." This "bolletta," or
"bolletina," also known as "fede" or "patente," had to be obtained,
before entering Venice, from the "commissari" or "soprastanti
della sanità," certifying freedom from plague; failing which, or if
a "fede" obtained elsewhere was not "clean," _i. e._ not bearing the
official counter-signatures guaranteeing freedom from plague at the
last stopping-places, the new-comer had to "far la contumacia," go
into quarantine for forty days. The disinfectants consisted of sun,
air, and vinegar, and the confinement, if not on board ship, was in
a spot chosen for its pleasant healthiness, under shelter which was
clean, roomy, and well furnished, with a broad verandah on which
one's belongings were to be laid out. This practice was constant at
Venice, where ships were always arriving from plague-stricken ports;
in the rest of Italy it was frequent but intermittent. Outside Italy
a plague-scare occurred more rarely. When it did the healthy but
tired wayfarers might find themselves shut out of the town where they
looked to find food and rest; perhaps would find the highway itself
barricaded[150] by the authorities of a town which was plague-free
and determined to remain so, and forced to ride all night by dark and
dangerous by-ways[151]—unless they pretended to be an ambassador and
his retinue, as some English merchants once did.

Too much stress must not be laid on the troubles of a stranger who
fell ill of a less deadly illness. Perhaps, even, a German with the
toothache might still have the same experience in Spain as did a
countryman of his three hundred years ago. Having tried a cupping-glass
himself in vain, he went to the local barber-surgeon; the latter
dug the tooth out with a bread-knife! Yet in hospitals a change for
the better can be easily proved. The chief hospital at Paris, the
Hôtel-Dieu, was visited by an Italian[152] in the middle of the
seventeenth century. Three or four men lay in each bed, or two women;
and the stench was terrible, even to a seventeenth-century nose. At
the galley-slaves' hospital at Marseilles, a boy went in front of
visitors with a "pan of perfume." Still more to the point, regarding
this particular period, was the predicament of a man at the point of
death in a district with a different theological stamp from his own,
say, a Protestant in a Roman Catholic country. He would then have the
choice of accepting the sacrament in the locally orthodox form or
confessing himself a Protestant. In the latter case the priest might
cut the heretic off from the help, not only of the doctor, but of the
cook also, and if he recovered in spite of this, the Inquisition might
be awaiting him. And yet a man of average morality would be far less of
an adiaphorist in the sixteenth century than to-day. Some Protestants
at Venice resigned themselves at death to the only cemetery-burial—that
with Roman Catholic rites; but most chose to be buried at sea off
Malamocco, trusting in the phrase, "And the sea shall give up its
dead."

As to the "sudden death" of which the Litany speaks, if one regards
direct evidence only, there may well be a tendency to think the risk of
it somewhat exaggerated, but the balance will recover itself if, to the
number of travellers who have left us record of their doings, is added
that of the dead men who would have told tales if they could. Mile
after mile of loneliest road had to be slowly traversed, many a mile
through forest where now is open ground, at a time when existed far
less force in conventions to restrain those, perhaps even more numerous
then than now, like the murderers of Banquo:—

                                        ... I am one
    Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
    Have so incensed that I am reckless what
    I do to spite the world.

                        ... And I another
    So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune
    That I would set my life on any chance
    To mend it or to be rid on't.

In the towns, the narrow dark streets gave the assassin his
opportunity, whether a mistaken one or not. Readers of Cellini's
autobiography will recall his remark that he trained himself to turn
corners wide and may have noted it as merely characteristic; but before
Cellini's book was in print, we find the French tourist, Payen of
Meaux, writing of the Venetians, "Quand ils marchent la nuit, ils ne
tournent jamais court pour entrer dans une Rue; mais ils tiennent le
milieu, afin d'éviter la rencontre de ceux qui voudroient les attendre."

Supposing, however, that a foreigner died in peace, what happened to
the money and chattels with him at the moment? According to Zeiler, in
Aragon the practice was to notify the authorities at his native place
and hold the goods at the disposal of the legal heirs for a year, after
which limit unclaimed property was handed to the Brotherhood of Our
Lady of Pity to be employed in the redemption of captives. In Rome the
custom was for the servant to take the dead master's clothes. In France
the State took absolutely everything by the "droit d'aubaine," which
was the law wherever feudalism had established itself, though sometimes
in abeyance; in Poland it seems to have been completely so.[153] The
strictness, on the contrary, with which it was enforced in France is
well illustrated by the fate of the library of Sir Kenelm Digby, who
died at Paris in 1665. It was forfeited to Louis XIV by the "droit
d'aubaine"; he gave it away; the new owner sold it to a relative of the
late owner for ten thousand crowns.

This right, based as it was on the same "right to pillage" under which
the Jews suffered in the Middle Ages,[154] brings out very clearly one
fact which was always liable to affect a traveller's finances, namely,
that in so far as he was a traveller, he had no legal privileges. Two
Dutch gentlemen,[155] for instance, were at Paris at a time when war
between Holland and France suddenly became imminent. They found the
financial agents forbidden to pay them on bills of exchange or letters
of credit, and their goods were temporarily confiscated. It was the
ordinary procedure of the time. Here again is obvious the advantage
of going in the train of an ambassador; the latter's rights were the
fullest protection that an alien could acquire, except mercantile ones
at their best. Yet even these ambassadorial rights lacked so much of
the fullness and the clearness that they possess to-day that they
were not put forward in a modern form, not even in theory, until the
treatise of Grotius on the subject published in 1625.[156]

These Dutch gentlemen just mentioned found themselves in difficulties
on their arrival in Paris in another way also. They had introductions
to good society; fashions had changed while they were en route; they
must stay in their lodgings till the tailor had done his worst. Even
if they had been going to Jerusalem they would still have felt the
relationship between cost and clothes, a relationship decidedly closer
then than at present. Only in going to Jerusalem it took this form,
that the shabbier you went the less the journey cost. As to kind,
preferably such as were worn by Greeks, friars, merchants, or Syrian
Christians. The pilgrim's ordinary dress, described in one of those
picturesque snatches of verse with which Shakespeare's contemporary,
Robert Greene, lightened his tales,—

    Down the valley 'gan he track
    Bag and bottle at his back.
    In a surcoat all of grey,
    Such wear palmers on the way
    When with scrip and staff they see
    Jesus' grave on Calvary,—

was no protection against suspicion of riches. Yet it was supposed to
lessen the risk of being kidnapped into slavery at Algiers on the road
to Montserrat if one carried the white pilgrim's staff.

Crossing the Alps, for a northerner who did not wish to be
conspicuously alien, meant a complete change into black silk; for the
brilliant attire which we see in productions of "Romeo and Juliet"
reflects Elizabethan England, not Italy. Italy manufactured those
multi-coloured materials, it is true, but for export or official use
only, except for the ash colour that betokened a vow not perfected.

Typical minor incidents were the purchasing of a new handkerchief in
Germany, of light-coloured silk, and, as to size, somewhat resembling a
saddle-cloth, with initials of some motto worked in a corner thereof,
say D. H. I. M. T. ("Der Herr ist Mein Trost") or W.H.I.B. ("Wie
heilig ist Bruderschaft"), and secondly, the story of a sugar-loaf hat.
An Italian priest wore it in Italy—but not in France. Before leaving
Lyons he had grown tired of a crowd of children following him about. So
far from being able to sell it, it was impossible to find any one who
would take it as a gift until he met a man whose business was partly
selling a powder which killed mice. The rest of his business was the
profession of town-fool. That being so, he could accept the hat; he
cut it into the shape of an imperial crown and gave himself out as the
Emperor of the Moluccas.

A complete change into French clothes cost this priest two pistoles
[£8], and he adds the detail that nowhere was waterproof material to be
bought. The waxed cloth which was sold as such cracked wherever it had
been folded.

On occasion, too, changes of clothes might be a legal obligation. The
sumptuary laws might step in and forbid the new-comer to wear what was
perhaps his one respectable garment. Or again, in Muscovy, foreigners
used to dress as natives to avoid the jeers of the crowd; but at some
date early in the seventeenth century the Patriarch noticed Germans
behaving irreverently at a festival and complained that foreigners
ought not to seem included in the benediction that was given to the
faithful. Foreigners were therefore ordered to revert to their national
dress, which produced most ludicrous results until the tailors could
finish new garments; inasmuch as the merchants had to fall back on
those that had belonged to their predecessors, leaving sometimes
a whole generation between the fashions of their upper and nether
garments.


All these things might fall on the tourist: each one cost money; some
one, at least, of them he would hardly escape. One more source of
possible loss existed, one that he was certain to have to face—the
money itself. The variety of coins was just as great as the variety of
clothes, though with this difference that the clothes were as local
as the coins were international—just the opposite of the case to-day.
This is not equally true, of course, of all denominations, and the
majority may not have circulated so freely as in preceding centuries,
but the higher ones seem to have passed about from hand to hand with
little more hesitation than Australian sovereigns do in England. When
exceptions occurred, they generally had political causes: French gold,
for example, being more willingly taken by the Swiss than other foreign
gold because they had become so used to it in the course of serving as
French mercenaries.

Of the uncertainties of the tourist, however, in relation to coins,
that caused by their international character would be the first to
disappear. There remained a trinity of diversities to bewilder him
permanently and to deliver him over, defenceless, to the dishonest:
diversity of value, diversity of kind, diversity of inscription.

To take the last first; it might seem that absence was a more
appropriate term than diversity, seeing that the nominal value of a
coin in circulation about 1600 was only in the smallest percentage of
cases stated on its face; and when one comes to think of it, it is only
the tourist who ever reads a coin for business purposes. Where the
diversity comes in lies in the fact of certain names becoming popular,
such as "paolo" in Italy, which meant that many different types would
be struck, all "paoli" but none alike. As to variations in value these
may be illustrated from the Venetian zecchino, the Hungarian ducat,
the sultanon of Constantinople and the sheriff of Cairo. All of these
are reckoned as equal in one year or other between 1592 and 1620 by
one or other trustworthy traveller, yet the differences of value of
one coin or other of the four vary from 6s. 8d. to 9s.; and this was
not a steady rise. In fact, the difference between the 1592 and 1620
valuations is but fourpence. Moreover, the settlement of values was far
less a commercial affair merely than it has become; governments were
forever tinkering at it by means of proclamations, all telling against
the tourist, since their object was to attract, or to retain, bullion,
which either depreciated the value of the coin he wished to change or
appreciated that of the coin he had to acquire. Lady Fanshawe mentions
a proclamation of October 14, 1664, at Madrid which cost her husband,
ambassador there, eight hundred pounds. Since then, paper money has
come to absorb all the political dishonesty that used to be exercised
on coins, and the far less abrupt modern methods minimise the loss to
the tourist. The French government went bankrupt fifty-six times during
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.[157]

As to the other diversity, that of kind, Lauder saw a proclamation
which assessed the values of five hundred coins then current in France.

The whole of the above refers mainly to gold and the higher
denominations of silver. Yet these more important coins were a simple
matter compared with small change, especially in Italy; for when the
tourist had been confronted with soldi, grossi, giuli, paoli, reali,
quattrini, susine, denari, cavallotti, cavallucci, carlini, bagatini,
bolignei, baocchi, baelli, etc., he could not but feel relieved when,
crossing the Alps, he had only to face Swiss plapparts and finfers and
the German batz, kreutzer, stiver, copstück, sesling, pfennig, and not
many more. The grosch perhaps ought to be mentioned as well if only for
the fact that Taylor, the "water-poet," when at Hamburg, noticed that
among twenty-three groschen he had in his pocket there were thirteen
varieties, owing to the number of local mints. He valued all these at
twopence each, but as a matter of fact groschen varied so greatly that
to give one away might be either extravagance or an insult. There were,
of course, many multiples of these denominations, and besides coins,
tokens innumerable, all having but this in common that when one had
gone a few miles further they would not be taken in payment. They might
be made of base metal, like that of the famous "Mermaid" tavern which
is preserved at the "birthplace" at Stratford-on-Avon, or of leather,
or almost anything else solid.

In Muscovy were no native coins but silver, and those so small that the
Muscovites used to keep dozens in their mouths because they slipped
through their fingers—and that without incommoding their speech. In
Spain,[158] so far as there was any standard, it was the Castilian
real, which you might exchange for thirty-four Castilian maravedis,
forty Portuguese rais, thirty-six Valencian dineros, twenty-four
Aragonese, and thirty-eight Catalonian dineros. But these Portuguese
coins would not be taken in Castile, nor the Castilian in Valencia, nor
Valencian anywhere out of Valencia. Along the chief merchants' road
in Spain, from Barcelona, you might go one hundred miles, as far as
Lerida, and find every place with a different minor coinage, current
there only, and in Barcelona one was especially liable to receive coins
which no one, not even in Barcelona, would accept.

On the Jerusalem journey the higher payments were reckoned in foreign
money usually, the Italian gold zecchini and silver piastri most
frequently; smaller ones in brass meidines of Tripoli or of Cairo,
equal to about a penny farthing and twopence respectively, or in
aspers, about three farthings.

Just as, further, the tourist could examine a coin without being able
to find out its nominal value, could ascertain the latter and still
be ignorant of its real value, so, too, he was continually having to
pay reckonings in coins which did not exist. The Venetian and Spanish
ducat, the German gulden, the French livre tournois, the Muscovite
rouble, and, later, their altine also, were coins of account only.
All these coins were as commonly used in daily business in their own
localities as guineas are in English charities; and the ducat and the
gulden far outside them. In the seventeenth century the Spanish pistole
was actual coin in its own country and coin of account in France;
board and lodging on "pension" terms would be reckoned in pistoles in
Paris. In fact, the French equivalent for "rolling in riches," "cousu
de pistoles," is equally evidence of the international character of
seventeenth-century gold and of the method of carrying it.


The tourist in 1600 has done his touring. His money is spent; his
pleasure is buried; his wisdom gathered; and the fruit is ours.
And now; was the pleasure worth the money? was the wisdom worth the
gathering?

The answer is, most emphatically, Yes!—Yes for them, and Yes for us.
But as to the latter question there were two answers then, and the
subject has suggestions beyond those that have come up so far. Let us
look at this adverse opinion, and one or two of the suggestions.

During the sixteenth century it became a convention to abuse travel,
especially travel in Italy; a convention which may have been more
fruitful in England than elsewhere, but certainly was not so to the
exclusive extent which modern books in English seem to imply. The
difficulty would be to find a nation whose literature at this time does
not contain examples of it; even in Poland, where of all places travel
was most taken for granted, this topic was one of the first to be dealt
with when the vernacular was turned to literary account, namely, in
the satires of Kochanowski. When examined, these invectives turn out
to have won more attention than they are entitled to, written as they
generally are, especially in England, by the class whose medium is
nowadays the half-penny paper or the 'religious' novel. We find among
their authors all the familiar figures, from the hack-journalist who
parades a belated morality for the sake of his stomach down to the
bishop to whom the subject, when worn rather thin, is revealed as a
brand-new dummy-sin. It is curious that this very bishop, Joseph Hall,
should in describing his own journeys, unconsciously provide the most
clear-cut sketch of how not to travel that has, perhaps, ever been
written.[159] If, among these types, we miss the retired colonel, we
must remember that the title was so recently invented, the times so
bloody, that all the colonels were probably either fighting or dead.
At any rate, the interest of this type of pamphlet belongs rather to
the history of publishing than to that of travel, as dating the time
when publishers first discovered what a paying public can be created
among the lower levels of Puritanism. The proportion of fact that gave
them a starting-point may best be put in perspective by pointing out
the parallel that exists between travel in Italy three hundred years
ago and modern motoring. Nobody who could afford it went without;
everybody who could not afford it abused everybody who did; it killed
some, maimed others, benefited most, and brightened the life of many a
poor rich man who otherwise would have departed this life little better
off mentally than his own cows. These pamphleteers were committing
the fundamental error of allowing their attention to be absorbed by
the seven eighths of foolishness that characterises everything human
instead of concentrating it on the other eighth which provides the
justification as well as the driving-force. For a sober, all-round,
view of the question as it appeared to a man who was both man of
the world and scholar, one cannot do better than turn to a letter
written by Estienne Pasquier, a letter of introduction for a son of
Turnebus. "Comme il a l'esprit beau, aussi lui est-il tombé en teste,
ce qui tombe ordinairement aux âmes les plus généreuses, de vouloir
voyager pour le faire sage.... S'il m'en croit, il se contentera de
voir l'Italie en passant; car ce que Pyrrhus Neoptolemus disoit de la
Philosophie, qu'il falloit philosopher, mais sobrement, je le dy du
voyage d'Italie, à tous nos jeunes François qui s'y acheminent par une
convoitise de voir."[160]

Yet there is one defect of their travels which necessarily escaped
notice at the time but cannot fail to strike any one now, which is,
how much they passed by without a glance. It is commonly thought that
the contrast of travel in days gone by with that of the later times
is one of leisureliness as against universal effort to go "faster,
farther, and higher" than one's neighbour. But the truth is that in
what essentially characterises leisureliness in travelling, the leaving
time and energy free for enjoying and studying places on the road,
and still more, off it, they were more wanting than we. They went the
greatest pace they could; where they stopped at the night they left
at dawn; and overnight they had been too tired to explore amid the
filth, the dangers, the darkness, the inextricable confusion, of a
sixteenth-century town or hamlet. Yet if you call to mind the towns
seen in passing which you recollect most vividly, most will probably be
those in which your first walks happened after dark. And is there any
Gothic cathedral, however grand, whose outside is not commonplace by
day compared to its glory by night?

Moreover, the dearth of information narrowed not their opportunities
merely, but their interests likewise. Carnac and Stonehenge were no
doubt a long way out of their way, but the dolmen of Bagneux was no
more than three-quarters of a mile from Saumur, where many of them
stayed for weeks, or even months. Yet not a single one, apparently,
went to see it. As for the opportunities, not only was Pompeii still
buried for them, but Rome itself was, as Montaigne says, not so much
ruins as a sepulchre of ruins. When, again, some one says of Lyons
that the houses are fine but the streets so ill-smelling and dirty
that one cannot stop to admire them, it may remind us that much that
was nominally visible was practically invisible; whether through
being what was, to them, a considerable distance off their routes,
like Brou or Laon, or, as with most cathedrals, through houses being
built up against them. Similarly, the Roman amphitheatre at Nîmes is
a case in point; houses having been erected inside it so freely that
in 1682 five hundred men capable of bearing arms were supposed to be
dwelling there.[161] And along with these conditions of living went
ideas to correspond; the total effect being half-prohibitive of the
occupations of the artist, the historian, and the archæologist, and
this at a period when a larger proportion of the greatest buildings of
Europe coexisted than at any other period. In fact, so far as the Loire
châteaux are concerned, it is clear that the modern tourist sees far
more of some of the finest Renascence work than did its contemporaries,
who were restricted here to a visit to Chambord and a glimpse of the
outsides of Blois and Amboise.

But after all deductions of this kind have been granted, they may
well reply that their concern was not so much with that part of the
present which we term the past, but with that which we term the future,
their individual futures, in particular; and that their object was
achieved; adding, moreover, that travel under these conditions was
certainly superior to travel of the twentieth century, considered as
a form of education in the wider sense of the word. For not only was
it obligatory to share the life of the country and its language to an
extent which is optional now, but a traveller was continually being
thrown on his own resources and presence of mind in matters which
concerned his self-respect, his health, and his safety, whereas now
everything is merely a matter of cash.

Turning to the benefit to us in day-by-day matters accruing from their
experience abroad, so many instances have already shown themselves that
the burden of proof falls on the other side; whether, that is, any
contemporary effort worth making, any contemporary achievement to which
we are indebted, has not been in some degree fashioned and vitalized by
influences due to travel.[162] If one further instance, typical of much
else, is to be chosen, it may be pointed out how almost everything that
contributes to the material attractions of Dublin is due to those who,
in exile on the Continent, saw the gain that lay in planning a city
finely. Further still, their knowledge of languages, acquired at a time
when vernaculars were coming into their own, resulted in an infusion
into each vernacular of the additions it needed to assimilate to enable
it to fulfil its potentialities for the purposes both of every-day
life and of life at its best. It is curious and significant that the
Pole who has just been quoted as an opponent of travel, Kochanowski,
learnt the value and, one might even say, the possibility, of using the
vernacular as a medium of literature from associating with members of
the "Pléiade" in France.

Far above these and the rest; far outweighing, too, all imaginable
drawbacks, was the value of the central idea, that of taking those who
were to enjoy the widest opportunities of usefulness and influence, and
bringing them, when their conscious receptivity was at its highest,
into personal contact with the whole of that world in which, for
which, and with which, their lives were to be spent. That was its value
at that time. But it had a future as well as a present value, inasmuch
as the results of the system were cumulative, more especially in so far
as it served the purpose of bringing these younger men into touch with
the best teachers and those older men of the finest achievements, to
gain acquaintance with whom was always insisted on as an object second
to none in importance. As Bacon said, these travellers were "Merchants
of Light." They contributed a definite share towards strengthening
and widening what is the only effective agency of real advance in
civilisation, "that better world of men," of which the contemporary
poet Daniel was reminded by the "Essays" of Montaigne.

        ... That better world of men,
    Whose spirits are of one community,
    Whom neither oceans, deserts, rocks nor sands
    Can keep from th' intertraffic of the mind.




SPECIAL REFERENCES


CHAPTER 1

SOME OF THE TOURISTS

[1] Purchas, viii, 258.

[2] A. Schaube: "Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der Ständigen
Gesandtschaften," in vol. 10 of _Mittheilungen des Instituts für
oesterreichische Geschichtsforschung_, 1889. What follows is mainly
from "Les Commencements de la Diplomatie," three articles by Ernest
Nys in _Revue de Droit International_, vols. 15 and 16, 1883-84. Cf.
also V. E. Hrabar's _De Legatis et Legationibus_, 1906, a collection of
treatises on the subject up to 1625, some unpublished ones printed in
full, with summaries of those better known.

[3] Harleian MS. 3822, fol. 599. And _Viaggi_ of Gian Vincenzo
Imperiale, p. 149, vol. 29 of Atti della Società Ligure di Storia
Patria, 1898.

[4] _Cf._ Antonio de Beatis, pp. 156, 157.

[5] George Chapman, _Tears of Peace_.

[6] _Cf._ especially the beginning of Jacopo Soranzo's narrative in
Albéri's _Relazioni Venete_, Series III, ii, 212.

[7] _Life and Letters_, i, 319.

[8] _First Fruits_, p. 18.

[9] _Calendars of State Papers, Ven._, v, 109 and 382.

[10] Hist. MSS. Com., 1899, vol. 46 (Duke of Buccleugh's _Winwood
Papers_, i), 120, 121.

[11] Einstein, p. 380.

[12] _Operette_, ii, 24.

[13] Hantzsch, _Deutsche Reisende_, p. 2.

[14] _Cf._ Stählin's _Sir Francis Walsingham und seine Zeit_, i, 79-84.


CHAPTER II

GUIDE-BOOKS AND GUIDES

[15] See Faunt's "Discourses touching the office of Principal Secretary
of State," in _Eng. Hist. Rev._, July, 1905.

[16] Falkiner, p. 117.

[17] Röhricht, "Bibliotheca geographica Palaestinæ," 118. In the
London Library is a copy of an edition printed at Ronciglione, 1615,
which seems to have escaped the notice of all bibliographers.

[18] Bargrave. See under Bodleian MSS. in Bibliography (Rawlinson, C.
799).

[19] Quoted by Einstein, p. 101.

[20] Printed by Falkiner. See Bibliography.

[21] See Cal. S. P. Ven., vol. ii (under "Mole," in the index).

[22] Grose and Astle's _Antiquarian Repertory_, 1805, iv, 374-380.


CHAPTER III

ON THE WATER

[23] M. Ritter, _Die Union und Heinrich IV_, Munich, 1874, p. 87.

[24] Hatfield MSS., ix, 127 (Hist. MSS. Com.).

[25] Birch, _Court and Times of James I_, i, 139.

[26] See contemporary drawing to scale, reproduced in vol. 5 of
Hakluyt's _Voyages_.

[27] Hans von Morgenthal (1476) in Röhricht, pp. 14-15.

[28] Zuallardo's _Il Devotissimo Viaggio di Gierusalemme_, Rome, 1595,
p. 18.

[29] Sir Henry Ellis, _Original Letters_, Series III, ii, 277-293.

[30] Fahie, _Life of Galileo_, pp. 173-177.

[31] Hatfield MSS., x, 43.

[32] Harris, _Navigantium ... Bibliotheca_, ii, 461.

[33] W. F. Smith's translation, to which, with Heulhard's _Rabelais,
ses voyages en Italie_, 1891, I am indebted for all references to
Rabelais.

[34] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720.

[35] R. Symonds (Brit. Mus. MS. Harleian, 943).

[36] C. A. J. Skeel, _Travels in the First Century after Christ_, p.
114.

[37] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720, and Villamont's _Voyages_ give more
details than any others concerning Italian waterways; but _cf._ Tasso's
letter to Ercole de' Contrari comparing France and Italy. All these are
ignored by

[38] Sir E. Sullivan in _The Nineteenth Century_, August, 1908.


CHAPTER IV

CHRISTIAN EUROPE

_Part I—European Europe_

[39] J. N. Figgis, _From Gerson to Grotius_, 1907, p. 241.

[40] Brit. Mus. MS. Harleian, 943, fol. 33.

[41] W. H. Woodward, _Studies in Education_, _passim_, especially p.
172.

[42] _Gazette des Beaux Arts_, IIe période, v, 198.

[43] Smith's _Wotton_, i, 355, note.

[44] His narrative is in vol. 7 of Churchill's _Voyages_.

[45] Howell, _Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_, 1619.

[46] Barozzi and Berchet, _Relazioni_ (_Inghilterra_), pp. 34, 35, and
98.

[47] Cal. S. P. Ven., xiii, 40, 41.

[48] _Harleian Voyages_, i, 1781.

[49] Hatfield MSS., v, 462.

[50] Barozzi, _op. cit._, p. 27.

[51] Bodleian MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[52] The following details are taken mainly from T. A. Fischer's
_Scots in East and West Prussia_ and _Scots in Germany_; the Scottish
Historical Society have further information in preparation. For Scots
abroad generally, _cf._ W. K. Leask's _Musa Latina Aberdonensis_,
Aberdeen University, 1910.

[53] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[54] "La Cena de le Cenere," Dialogo Secondo.

[55] De Villers. See Bibliography under "Aarssen."


_Part II—The Unvisited North_

[56] Translated speech to the "Collegio" at Venice, Cal. S. P. Ven., x,
346.

[57] Payen of Meaux.

[58] Churchill's _Voyages_, iv, 822.

[59] Barberini, in Adelung, i, 237.

[60] Cf. Dr. Vladimir Milkowicz' _Eastern Europe_ (vol. 5 of the
translation of Helmolt's _History of the World_), pp. 524, 557, 572,
and 610.

[61] In Adelung, i, 435.


_Part III—The Misunderstood West_

[62] _Britannia_, Holland's translation, 1610, p. 577.

[63] In 1670.—Hakluyt Society, vol. 87, p. 111.

[64] Harleian MS. 3822, fol. 604.

[65] Erich Lassota; extract in Liske's _Viajes ... por España_ (_cf._
Bibliography under "Sobieski") from R. Schottin's _Tagebuch des Erich
Lassota von Steblau_ (1573-94), Halle, 1866.

[66] Sobieski.

[67] Good's account, appended to Camden's description of Ireland
(Holland's translation, 1610, p. 142).

[68] Chiericati.

[69] O'Connor, _Elizabethan Ireland_, pp. 1-4.

[70] _Acta SS._ March 17, p. 590.

[71] Smith, _Camdeni ... Epistolæ_, 1691, pp. 68, 69.

[72] Cal. S. P. Irish, i, 439, and ii, liii-lv.

[73] Jouvin de Rochefort (in Falkiner).


CHAPTER V

MOHAMMEDAN EUROPE

_Part I—The Grand Signor_

[74] Parker Soc., xxvii, 522.

[75] Albéri's "Relazioni," vi. 307.

[76] Letters, Camd. Soc., p. 61.

[77] Hist. MSS. Com., Ormonde Papers, New Series, i, 25.

[78] _Works_, 1744, i, 8.

[79] Wallington, _Historical Notices_, ii, 266.

[80] _Mélanges Historiques_, Paris, 1886, v, 601-638.

[81] Hist. MSS. Com., Hatfield MSS., xi, 172.

[82] Serrano y Sanz, c. 8.

[83] _Cambridge Modern History_, iii, 264.

[84] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799, fol. 12.

[85] "The Three (Sherley) Brothers," 34, 35.


_Part II—Jerusalem and the Way Thither_

[86] Röhricht, p. 314: "Mixolydian" = G Minor.

[87] Hakluyt's _Voyages_, v, 204-207, and _Archives de la Soc. de
l'histoire de Fribourg_, v, 235-236.

[88] Zuallardo, _Il Devotissimo Viaggio di Gierusalemme_ (ed. Rome,
1595, pp. 48-50), confirmed by the experiences of Kiechel (Hantzsch,
109, 110) in the same year.

[89] Brit. Mus., Egerton MS., 311, fol. 142.

[90] Quoted from Egerton MS., 2615, in preface to catalogue of Brit.
Mus. Add. MSS.

[91] _Nord und Süd_, October, 1887, 52, 53.

[92] Printed by Carmoly.


CHAPTER VI

INNS

[93] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720.

[94] Charles Ogier, _Ephemerides_, 1656, p. 327.

[95] Quoted by Rye in his Preface.

[96] Sir Richard Wynn.

[97] Eva Scott, _Travels of the King_, p. 421.

[98] Captain John Smith, _Accidence for Young Seamen_, 1626.

[99] R. Payne, in _Tracts relating to Ireland_, published by the Irish
Archæological Soc., vol. I, part 2, p. 5.

[100] Antonio de Beatis.

[101] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720.

[102] Moryson, who, with Montaigne, contributes most to our knowledge
of baths. For Aachen _cf._ Giustiniani and Sastrow.


CHAPTER VII

ON THE ROAD

[103] Albéri, _Relazioni Venete_, ii, 3, 89.

[104] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720.

[105] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[106] Van Buchell, Paris ed., pp. 122, 133.

[107] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720, the account in which of Mt. Cenis
is better than any, except perhaps Villamont's. Besides these two and
those mentioned in the text, Montaigne, Hentzner, Locatelli, Reresby,
Evelyn, and Lithgow give more details than others.

[108] By Audebert.

[109] W. A. B. Coolidge, _The Alps in Nature and History_, p. 205.

[110] On August 5, Mr. Coolidge says; but Audebert says the festival of
the Assumption (15th).

[111] _Opere_: Rossini's edition, xiv, 337.

[112] _Œuvres_, in _Bibliothèque Elzévirienne_, i, 393.

[113] Preface to his _De Lacte et Operibus Lactariis_, 1543.

[114] _Cf._ Osenbrüggen's "Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des
Schweizreisens" in his _Wanderstudien aus der Schweiz_ (Schaffhausen,
1867), i, 1-78; also G. Steinhausen's "Beiträge zur Geschichte des
Reisens" printed in instalments in _Das Ausland_, 1893. For a very
interesting survey of the subject over a wider period (2000 years) see
vol. I of Friedländer's "Sittengeschichte Roms."

[115] _Carta del viage à Andalucia_, in _Obras_, Ibarra's edition, i,
328-331.

[116] Peter Mundy, p. 144 and note; and Howell, _Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_,
Jacob's ed., i, 54.


CHAPTER VIII

THE PURSE

[117] Whitehead, _Gaspard de Coligny_, p. 25.

[118] _Röhricht_, p. 293. _Cf._ also Solerti's _Vita di Tasso_, i, 137,
note I, for Cardinal Luigi d'Este's expenses in France (1570).

[119] H. Weber, _J. G. von Aschhausen, Fürstbischof_, Wurzburg, 1889,
p. 30.

[120] Smith, _Sir Henry Wotton_, i, 48 note.

[121] In Bacon's advice to Villiers, Spedding's _Life_, vi, 43. _Cf._
"She [_i. e._ Queen Elizabeth] hath had many Secretaries that have been
great Travaylers," from a dialogue by Sir John Davies, in Grosart's
edition of his poems, I, 18.

[122] Brit. Mus. MS. Lansdown, 720.

[123] Both in Röhricht, p. 269.

[124] Bodleian MS., Rawlinson, D. 122, at the end.

[125] Röhricht, p. 293.

[126] T. Tobler, _Denkblätter_, 1853, p. 569.

[127] _Cf._ references collected in Variorum ed. of Shakespeare's
_Tempest_, p. 180, and in Ben Jonson's _Works_ (1875), ii, 70 ("Every
Man out of his Humour"); also Davies' _Epigrams_, no. 42 (Grosart's
ed., p. 343). Writers on insurance ignore all these references and
usually content themselves with borrowing without acknowledgement what
Hendriks wrote in his _Contributions to the History of Insurance_ (pp.
35-37) as long ago as 1851. Hamon's _Histoire Générale de l'Assurance_
(p. 107) and _Journal of the Institute of Actuaries_, vol. 25, p.
121, give detail previously unprinted. For ransom-insurance, see also
Walford's Insurance Cyclopædia, under "Captivity" and "Casualty." Not
one of these authors or editors refers to Tobler (see previous note),
or mentions any actual transaction, not even Henry Moryson's. For the
other transaction here quoted, see an extract from George Stoddard's
MS. accounts in H. Hall's _Society in the Elizabethan Age_, P. 53.

[128] Hatfield MSS., x, 135.

[129] Cal. S. P. For. 1581-82, p. 43; confirmed by Bodl. MS.,
Rawlinson, C. 799.

[130] Brit. Mus. MS. Harleian, 943.

[131] Cal. S. P. Ven., xiv, 569.

[132] By Gölnitz, pp. 665, 666.

[133] Brit. Mus. MS. Harleian, 943.

[134] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[135] Cal. S. P. Ven., 392.

[136] Brit. Mus. MS. Harleian, 943.

[137] Giustiniani.

[138] Hakluyt Soc., 87, pp. 114, 115.

[139] Moryson, the main authority for the tourists' money matters,
mentions the practice, but an actual instance of its usefulness will be
found related by Sobieski in the extract printed by Liske.

[140] Hatfield MSS. (1595), p. 184.

[141] Hatfield MSS., x, 460; _cf._ Duke of Buccleugh's _Winwood Papers_
(Hist. MSS. Com., 1899, 46), i, 188.

[142] Röhricht, pp. 273, 274.

[143] Cal. S. P. Ven., ix, 237.

[144] Montagu Papers (Hist. MSS. Com., 1900, 45), p. 124.

[145] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[146] Brit. Mus. MS., Sloane, 4217.

[147] Tommaseo, _Relations des Ambassadeurs Vénitiens sur ... France_,
1838, ii, 284.

[148] See note 11.

[149] Röhricht, pp. 248, 249.

[150] Bodl. MS., Rawlinson, C. 799.

[151] Birch, _Court and Times of James I_, i, 139.

[152] Locatelli.

[153] J. A. Fischer, _Scots in Germany_, p. 45. _Cf._ also A.
Schultze's _Ueber Gästerecht und Gastgerichte in den deutschen Städten
des Mittelalters_ in _Historische Zeitschrift_, 1908, pp. 473-528.

[154] Taylor, _International Law, sub voce_.

[155] De Villers (see Bibliography under Aarssen).

[156] E. Nys, _op. cit._ vol. 16, p. 189.

[157] _Cf._ Helmolt's _History of the World_, vii, 122-133.

[158] Taken mainly from accounts printed in Morel-Fatio's, _L'Espagne
au 16^e et au 17^e siècle_.

[159] _Works_, 1839, i, xix-xxiv.

[160] _Œuvres_, 1723, ii, 262.

[161] Hist. MSS. Com., Various (Miss Buxton's MSS.), ii, 274.

[162] _Cf._, in particular, under "Ideas" in the index.




BIBLIOGRAPHY

    O blessed Letters! that combine in one,
    All Ages past and make one live with all;
    By you, we do confer with who are gone,
    And the dead-living unto Council call.
    By you, the unborn shall have communion
    Of what we feel and what doth us befall.

      Samuel Daniel
      (1562-1619; in "Musophilus").


The literature of the subject as a whole is absolutely inexhaustible,
the contemporary part alone being sufficient to provide anyone with
recreation—and sleep—for ten years. Including a few whose accounts I
have had to read in translation, or even in paraphrase (such as that
of Bisoni mentioned below), the number of travellers on whose evidence
I have drawn first-hand amounts to over two hundred and thirty; but
this number could certainly be doubled, perhaps trebled, by any one who
found it practicable to devote to the subject all the time and money
it could employ, inasmuch as there are probably few libraries of long
standing which do not contain a manuscript account of a journey at this
period; some contain them by the dozen. Besides this, there are many
printed accounts little less inaccessible than most manuscripts. The
most convenient library for consulting contemporary editions of these
printed narratives is Marsh's Library, Dublin, where one set of shelves
is given up to them; there they will be found by the score, besides
having a sub-heading ("Itinera") to themselves in the catalogue.

This appendix, therefore, can concern itself with nothing but
actual accounts of journeys, and that only in some abbreviated form.
The method followed is this. First comes a list of the MSS. that
I have been able to obtain the opportunities to read (very few,
unfortunately); then another list, of printed books, consisting of
those which are bibliographies or serve as such, and of accounts
of journeys not mentioned in these bibliographical works: together
with some notes on certain recent editions of books which are there
mentioned.

Asterisks indicate bibliographies; square brackets, books my knowledge
of which is second-hand: while, in order to obviate needless suffering
on the part of any who may feel inclined for a little further
acquaintance with these accounts, the names of the authors of the more
readable are printed in heavier type. It may as well be said that the
value of most of these narratives consists simply in their having been
written three hundred years ago.

The second list is one of authors' names, but topographical guidance
is provided in the index by means of the abbreviation "BIBL"[iography]
added as a sub-heading to place-names, followed by the names of the
authors who are of assistance with regard to that place; _e. g._:—

  "=Spain="
    BIBL.: Wynn.

After such names will sometimes be found numbers; these refer back to
the Table of Special References. It is taken for granted that every one
of these bibliographical books will be recognized as adding information
about many countries, since however strictly the scope of each may be
limited, it will include travellers who came from, and went in, all
directions.

[Illustration: A SCHOLAR TRAVELLER]

References to accounts, generally fragments, which have appeared
in periodical form only, have had to be restricted to the more
interesting; most of which are to be found in the Table of Special
References. For further sources not indicated in detail, bibliographies
of national history, correspondence, biographies, records of embassies
and prefaces to the last-named, especially to the Venetian "Relazioni"
edited by Barozzi and Berchet, have all proved particularly useful.
All the later publications of the Historical MSS. Commission (the
earlier contain indications of MSS. in private hands, but no more than
the titles are given) and all the Calendars of State Papers which
include the required years, have been examined up to the end of the
publications for 1908, at least.

As to non-contemporary sources of information, I have used them only
for negative purposes—to decide which of two travellers is the bigger
liar, for instance; or to avoid displaying more ignorance than is
necessary on those elementary points of geography which everybody is
supposed to know and nobody does; etc., etc. Some exceptions to this
procedure seemed reasonable; but these are made obvious. Any statement
of objective fact, indeed, seems to me impracticable in connection
with such a subject as this. My aim has been merely at approximate
subjective accuracy; to study, that is, the psychology of the subject,
conscious and sub-conscious; and its phenomena only in so far as they
are causes of, or symbolize, the psychology. Students are requested to
hear this statement with the ear of faith, remembering that all such
attempts have to be heavily peptonized if expenses are to be paid, as
this one's must be, by those in whom the spirit indeed is willing but
the digestion weak. And even students—!

But when all limitations of aim have been granted, it must be admitted
further that a summary of the experiences and thoughts of scores of
individuals, and of the thousands they stand for, over a period of more
than a century and extending over all one continent and into fractions
of two others, must be mainly remarkable as an anthology of half-truths.

Further still, to those who may notice that the half-truths are less
stereotyped, the detail less hackneyed, than might have been the case,
I should like to say that the credit of that is largely due to the
London Library, without which this book would probably not have seemed
worth writing or worth publishing; and that my debt is by no means
only to the books and to the librarian's readiness to add to them, but
also to the exceptional ability, and equally exceptional willingness,
of the staff to help. It is only fair to mention, too, in speaking of
bibliographical assistance, how much I am indebted to that furnished
in the numbers of "Revue Historique." Acknowledgments are also due to
the owners of the originals of the illustrations. No trouble has been
spared to make the book the best illustrated existing for the period
dealt with, with the necessary exception of the two quarto volumes of
Van Vaernewyck's "Mémoires d'un Patricien Gantois"; all the photographs
have been specially taken (except that of Rabelais' receipt) from the
best procurable originals, often unique ones. For translations and
information from Polish sources my sincere thanks are due to members
of the Polish Circle in London, Mr. A. Zaleski in particular; and for
help in various ways, which includes encouragement, to many others,
especially Mr. Hubert Hall and Professor Gollancz, and, most of all, to
my wife.


MSS. USED

=Bodleian Library.=

Rawlinson, C. 799. R. Bargrave's narrative, already frequently
quoted: reliable, & especially useful for economic data. He went to
Constantinople (1646), returned overland (1648); went again (1654),
returning viâ Venice.

D. 120 Anon. France, Italy, & Switzerland (1648-49).

D. 121. Anon. Italy (1651).

D. 122. John Ashley: account of a stay at Jerusalem in 1675: details of
expenses at the end.

D. 1285. Sir T. Abdy. France & Italy 1633-35.

D. 1286. Anon. Italy & Spain 1605-06.


=British Museum.=

Add. 34177. ff. 22-50. "Account of a journey over Mont Cenis into
Italy": 1661.

Harleian, 288. "Direction for some person who intended to travel into
France & Italy; being a short account of the roads, chief cities & of
some rarities worthy to be seen." (End of the 16th century?)

Harleian, 942/3 and 1278. Note-books of Richard Symonds used in France
& Italy (1648-49), no. 943 being the more valuable as containing his
diary & detailed expenses.

Harleian, 3822. Journey throughout Spain (1599-1600) by Diego Cuelbis,
the author, & his companion Joel Koris. Written in Spanish although the
author was of Leipzig.

Egerton, 311. Visits to shrines in Spain, Provence, & Italy in 1587 by
a proxy of Philip II.

Lansdown, 720. The frequent references to this MS. will have shown
how useful it is. Among many other points that give it value are the
excellent drawing of the bust of Petrarch at Arqua, soon afterwards
destroyed, and a copy of the subsequently effaced epitaph of Clément
Marot at Turin (fol. 37 b). The MS. is anonymous, but the author may
be identified as Nicolas Audebert (1556-98), son of Germain Audebert.
Beckmann (q. v.) had already established the identity of "le sieur
Audeber," whose "Voyage et Observations en Italie" were published
at Paris in 1656, with Nicolas Audebert, and that the author of the
printed book is the same as he who wrote the MS. is suggested by the
relations of both with Aldrovandi (MS. fol. 101 b). More definite
evidence is obtainable from an article on Nicolas in the Revue
Archéologique (3rd series, vol. 10, pp. 315-322), by means of the dates
on his letters written from Italy. In view of this identification it
may be worth mentioning that the author's birthday was April 25 (fol.
558) & that he was elected "president de l'Université" of Bologna in
Nov. 1575 (fol. 86 b), a year in which the name of the rector has not
hitherto been known.

Sloane, 4217. A honeymoon trip, a pilgrimage, & a tragedy combined.
Lady Catherine Whetenal, the subject (it is written by her servant,
Richard Lascells), after being married at Louvain, travelled to Rome
for the year of jubilee, 1650: but on her return journey gave birth to
a still-born child at Padua, & there died.

Stowe, 180. Constantinople & the Levant in 1609, as seen by a "Mr.
Stampes"; its value consists in its exemplification of the limitations
of the ordinary tourist.


=Tournay Library.=

159. Journey of the Comte de Solre, Sieur de Molenbais, from Solre,
near Dinant, in Belgium, to the court of Philip II of Spain 1588: viâ
Genoa.

160. Journeys of J. de Winghe, founder of the library (1587-1607).
Earlier journeys to Italy, Vienna, & Prague; later ones to shorter
distances around Tournai.


PRINTED BOOKS

 Aarssen, F. van, belonged to a Dutch family which was accustomed to
     take part in public affairs (_cf._ especially preface to "Lettres
     inédites de François d'Aarssen (his father) à Jacques Valcke,"
     1599-1603, by J. Nouaillac, Paris, 1908), and there is record of
     some journeying by himself & relatives in the middle of the 17th
     century, as part of the training of the younger generation. The
     very interesting "Voyage d'Espagne" (published 1656) attributed
     to him is now known to have been written by Antoine de Brunel,
     his companion; but Aarssen's own notes on the preceding journey,
     through Italy, will be found in vol. 3 of the "Atti del Congresso
     Internazionale di Scienze Storiche," Rome, 1906. The "Journal
     d'un Voyage à Paris" of the cousins of the above, the Sieurs
     de Villers, was published by A. P. Faugère (1862) [and by L.
     Marillier, 1899].

 *Adelung, F. von. "Krit-literarische Übersicht der Reisenden in
     Russland bis 1700": 2 vols. 1846. The promises implied by the
     title are fulfilled so thoroughly & so exhaustively that the
     "Catalogue ... des Russica" published by the Imperial Library of
     St. Petersburg in 1873 (Index of travellers thither up to 1700,
     vol. 2, p. 702) in no way supersedes the former, although it has
     some additions to make.

 *Amat di San Filippo, P. "Biografía dei Viaggiatori Italiani, colla
     bibliografía delle loro opere" Rome, 1882. (Società Geogràfica
     Italiana.)

 *=Babeau=, A. "Les Voyageurs en France, depuis la Renaissance jusqu'a
     la Révolution." 1885.

 =Beatis=, Antonio de, accompanied Cardinal Luigi d'Aragona through
     Italy, Germany, the Netherlands, & France (1517-18). His
     narrative is printed in L. Pastor's "Erläuterungen ... zu
     Jannsen's Geschichte," IV, 4, Freiburg, 1905, with a detailed
     German paraphrase, & notes which add very greatly to its value. A
     readable English paraphrase will be found in the Quarterly Review,
     July, 1908. The author was an acute and observant man with wide
     interests, who travelled under the most favourable conditions.
     He also came into contact with many of the most attractive
     personalities in Europe during his journey, among them Lionardo da
     Vinci, particulars of a long conversation with whom at Amboise he
     records.

 Bertie, Robert (afterwards Lord Willoughby). Letters written while in
     France (1598-99) are printed in the Earl of Ancaster's MSS. (Hist.
     MSS. Com.) 1907 (pp. 340-348) together with one from his brother
     Henry (pp. 390-392; 1617; Constantinople & Italy), and diary of
     another Robert (1647-49) during travel in France, (pp. 418-421).

 *Beckmann, J. "Literatur der ältern Reisebeschreibungen": 2 vols.
     Göttingen, 1807-10. Contains good notices of many very rare books.

 =Bisoni=, Bernardo, accompanied Vincenzo Giustiniani, Marchese di
     Bassano, through Germany, the Low Countries, England, and France,
     in 1606. His MS., now at the Vatican, has been paraphrased into
     French by E. Rodocanachi (1899) under the title of "Aventures
     d'un Grand Seigneur Italien à travers l'Europe" with appendices.

 Bonnaffé, E. "Voyages et Voyageurs de la Renaissance," 1895. In the
     main a pleasant résumé of accounts that are common property, but
     contains much supplementary detail not used by other writers.

 *Boucher de la Richarderie, G. "Bibliothèque Universelle des Voyages;
     1808;" vols. 1, 2, 3.

 Brereton: Sir William. Travels in great Britain & Low Countries,
     1634-35. Printed by Chetham Society, vol. 1.

 Breuning von Buchenbach, Hans Jakob; well known as an Oriental
     traveller, also came as ambassador to England, 1595, from Duke
     Frederick of Württemberg. Rye (q. v.) refers to him, but was
     dependent on Sattler's history of Württemberg & on some letters
     among English State Papers; but Breuning's own detailed account of
     the journey has since been printed by the Stuttgart Lit. Verein
     (vol. 81).

 *Brown, P. Hume. "Early Travellers in Scotland," 1891.

 Buchell, Arend van, An antiquary of Utrecht, whose "Commentarius
     ... rerum quotidianarum" includes records of journeys between
     1584 and 1591. The text of his "Iter Italicum" has been printed
     by Soc. Romana di Storia Patria (1900-02) with notes by Rodolfo
     Lanciani; a translation of the parts concerning Germany begins in
     vol. 84 of the Hist. Verein für den Niederrhein, 1907 & of those
     concerning France under the title of "Description de Paris" in the
     Mémoires of the Soc. de l'histoire de Paris, vol. 26, 1899. Brief
     selections from the whole in the original Latin, forming a varied
     & useful miscellany, will be found in vol. 21 of Series III of the
     Historisch Gezelschap te Utrecht (1907).

 =Busbecq's= letters (see chapter 1) are most conveniently read in
     Forster & Daniel's "Life & Letters." 1881. All the letters are
     translated there.

 =Busino=, Orazio; chaplain to the Venetian Ambassador Contarini in
     England and Spain (1617-18). For an account of the MSS. in which
     he tells his experiences with exceptional brightness & point,
     see Barozzi & Berchet's "Relazioni," Series IV, pp. 192-195.
     Rawdon Brown's translation of what referred to England is among
     the transcripts he presented to the Record Office in London; a
     résumé of this was printed in the Quarterly Review, July, 1857.
     On the latter I have had to be wholly dependent, but part of the
     translation has just become available in print in the Calendar of
     the State Papers (Venetian) for 1617-19.

 Carmoly, E. "Itinéraires de la Terre-Sainte," 1847. All the
     itineraries are Jewish ones dating from the 13th to 17th
     centuries, translated from the Hebrew.

 [Carve, Thomas; "Itinerarium," mainly in Germany during the Thirty
     Years' War; but also Low Countries, England & Ireland. Rare,
     quaint & valuable. In three parts; only complete edition, 1859.
     Cf. Dict. Nat. Biog.]

 =Casola=, Pietro. M. Margaret Newett's "Canon Pietro Casola's
     Pilgrimage to Jerusalem," 1907: no. 5 of the Historical Series in
     the Publications of the University of Manchester. This pilgrimage
     took place in 1494, but the editor's researches among Venetian
     archives throw much fresh light on the later phases of the subject.

 Cecily, princess; see Roy. Hist. Soc., vol. 12.

 *Chandler, F. W., "Literature of Roguery," 1899, contains a very full
     bibliography of picaresque literature & an analysis of much of it.

 Chaworth, Sir G., went as special ambassador to Brussels in 1621. His
     account of the journey & of his preparations for it are printed in
     A. J. Kempe's "Losely MSS." 1835.

 =Chiericati=, Francesco. His letter concerning Ireland with three
     concerning England are printed in "Quattro Documenti d'
     Inghilterra ed uno di Spagna dell' Archivio Gonzaga di Mantova,"
     edited by Attilio Portioli, Mantua, 1868. For further information
     and more letters see biography by B. Morsolin.

 =Clara Eugenia=, the Infanta. The letter already referred to is
     printed in the "Boletin de la Real Academía de la Historia,"
     Madrid, vol. 49, pp. 30-50.

 *Cobham, C. D. "Excerpta Cypria," 1908. Extracts from the accounts
     of writers who visited Cyprus, together with an exceptionally
     thorough bibliography. As so many who went to Jerusalem touched at
     Cyprus, the book may serve as a bibliography to chapter 5; also
     for travel generally over a wider period than this.

 Courthop, Sir G. (France, Italy, Malta, Constantinople, 1636-39.) In
     Camden Soc. Miscellany, vol. 11.

 =Cuellar=, Captain, who was wrecked on the Irish coast in a ship which
     sailed with the Spanish Armada of 1588, wrote a letter describing
     his adventures in Ireland & Scotland which has several times been
     translated or paraphrased since the publication of the text in
     Duro's "La Armada Invencible" (1885). The best version is that in
     Allingham's "Adventures of Captain Cuellar in Connacht & Ulster,"
     1897.

 *=Cust=, Mrs. Henry. "Gentlemen Errant," 1909. Annotated & explanatory
     paraphrases of the experiences of Leo von Rösmital, Wilwolt von
     Schaumburg, Frederick II, Elector Palatine of the Rhine, & Hans
     von Schweinichen. The dates range between 1465 & 1602 & the
     countries visited include most of Europe. Of the bibliography the
     utmost that can be said is that it is worth consulting; but the
     rest of the book is valuable as summarizing much that has not been
     really accessible; and is very readable.

 *=Dallam=, Thomas. See Hakluyt Soc., vol. 87.

 "Diarium Terræ Sanctæ," a quarterly periodical beginning March 1,
     1908, issued from the monastery of San Salvatore at Jerusalem
     dealing with the work carried on there, past and present. It came
     under my notice too late to use.

 *=Einstein=, L. "The Italian Renaissance in England," 1902.
     The subject frequently comes into touch with touring & the
     bibliography is very full, especially as regards guide-books.

 Falkiner, C. L. "Illustrations of Irish History & Topography," 1904.
     Contains extracts from the narratives of several travellers of
     the 16th & 17th centuries who visited Ireland, including that of
     =Josias Bodley= & some otherwise unprinted paragraphs from Moryson.

 =Fanshawe=, Lady Ann. Two editions of her reminiscences have been
     published recently, 1905 & 1907. The latter is by far the more
     fully annotated and authoritative.

 *[Farinelli, A. "Apuntes y divagaciones bibliográficas sobre viajes y
     viajeros por España y Portugal," with a supplement, "Mas apuntes,"
     etc., Madrid, 1903.]

 *Fouché-Delbosc, R., published a detailed bibliography of journeys in
     Spain & Portugal in the "Revue Hispanique," vol. 3, 1896, issued
     separately in the same year ("Bibliographie des Voyages en Espagne
     et en Portugal"). It is absolutely indispensable not only as
     regards travel within those countries, but outside them as well.

 Guzman, Alonso de. See Hakluyt Soc., vol. 29.

 *Hagemans, G. "Relations inédites d'ambassadeurs venitiens dans
     le Pays-Bas," 1865. Besides the direct bearing on the subject
     that all such "Relazioni" have, the notes to this book contain
     references to several still unpublished MSS.

 *Hantzsch, Victor. "Deutsche Reisende des 16ten Jahrhunderts";
     Leipzig, 1895, part 4 of vol. 1 of Leipziger Studien aus dem
     Gebiet der Geschichte. Brief, lucid notices of many typical
     adventurers of German blood all over the world in the 16th
     century. Indispensable by reason of its very full references to
     books & MSS.

 Hoby, Sir Thomas (France, Germany, Italy, Flanders, 1547-64); in
     Camden Soc. Miscellany, vol. 10.

 Khitrowo, B. de. "Itinéraires Russes en Orient." French translations
     of Russian MSS., published by the Soc. de l'Orient Latin. The
     promised second volume does not seem to have been issued, but
     though only a few of the itineraries in this first volume are late
     enough to be available for questions of fact, the whole is very
     valuable as a revelation of temperament.

 Lauder, J., of Fountainhall. See Scot. Hist. Soc., vol. 36.

 *Łosinski, W., "Zycie polskie w dawnych wiekach wiek xvi-xvii."
     ("Polish Life in the 16th & 17th centuries"), 2nd edition,
     Lemberg, 1908. Contains notices of Polish travel and travellers.

 *=Locatelli=, S., an Italian priest who went to Paris & back
     (1664-65) & whose narrative has been in part translated from the
     Italian MS. by A. Vautier ("Voyage de France," 1905), who adds
     a good bibliography & notes. Its value consists in the author
     belonging to that type of man who does not hesitate to write
     what most people are content, sometimes more than content, to
     keep to themselves. Combined with his extreme poverty of mind
     & vanity, this leads him into relating many trivialities which
     help to define more clearly the incidentals, & the psychology, of
     contemporary touring.

 Maulde, François de (Modius); for the adventures of this learned
     Fleming (1556-97) mainly in Germany, see two articles by A.
     Roersch in the Revue Générale. May & June, 1907, based on his MS.
     autobiography at Munich. [Also P. Lehmann's "Franciscus Modius als
     Handschriftenforscher," 1908, in Quellen und Untersuchungen zur
     lateinischen Philologie des Mittelalters, III, 1.]

 =Montaigne=, Michel de. English translation of his Journal by W. G.
     Waters, 1903. [Latest edition of the text edited by L. Lautrey,
     Paris, 1906.]

 *D'Ancona's edition (Città di Castello, 1889: 2nd ed. 1895) contains
     an excellent critical bibliography concerned with foreigners'
     travel in Italy.

 =Moryson=, Fynes, published his "Itinerary" in 1617 in a form that
     has proved the equivalent of a burial. A fine reprint, the
     only one, was issued in 1907, in a series which includes other
     travel records of this period. The better part of what Moryson
     himself left unprinted appeared under the editorship of C. Hughes
     under the title "Shakespeare's Europe" in 1903. See also under
     "Falkiner."

 *Mundy, Peter. For his travels in European Europe (1608-28) see
     Hakluyt Soc., Series II, vol. 17, to which a useful bibliography
     of MSS. & printed works is appended. A second volume will be
     partly concerned with northern Europe.

 Possevino, the Jesuit, besides his "Moscovia" (1587) wrote letters to
     his superiors while engaged on his mission thither (1581-82), as
     did his brother-Jesuit Campan. A contemporary digest of these
     letters was printed by Father Pierling (Paris, 1882) under the
     title "Missio Moscovitica." In the editor's other books on the
     relations between the Tsars & the Popes will be found indications
     of other travellers, notably in his "L'Italie et la Russie."

 *Röhricht, R., "Bibliographia Geographica Palæstinæ," (2nd edition,
     1890) a chronological bibliographical list of all accounts of
     visits to Palestine

      and

 *"Deutsche Pilgerreisen nach dem Heiligen Lande" (2nd edition, 1900),
     another work of extraordinary research, giving the names of every
     German whom the author has found to have visited Jerusalem between
     1300 & 1700, with an account of the journey whenever remarkable.
     To a 26-page introduction are appended 377 notes, with an enormous
     number of detailed bibliographical references, a large proportion
     of which are to MSS. located all over Europe.

 *Rye, W. B. "England As Seen By Foreigners in the Days of Queen
     Elizabeth & James I," 1865. Annotated extracts prefaced by a long
     and valuable introduction containing all that has since become, in
     England, the commonplaces of the subject. In view of this latter
     fact, I have quoted as exclusively as is reasonable from writers
     whom Rye overlooked or who visited England outside the dates
     within which Rye confined himself.

 *Saint-Genois, J. L. D. "Les Voyageurs Belges." 2 vols. 1846.
     Biographies, in several cases drawing on MS. sources.

 =Sastrow=, Bartholomew. [Latest (modernized) edition of the text of
     his autobiography, vol. 2 of Schultze's "Bibliothek Wertvoller
     Memoiren," Hamburg, 1907.] An English translation, by A. Vandam,
     exists under the title of "Social Germany in Luther's Time."
     Sastrow's journeys, however, reached as far as Rome.

 *Serrano y Sanz, M., "Autobiografías y Memorias" 1905, a volume of
     the Nueva Biblioteca de Autores Españoles. The long introduction
     on Spanish autobiographies mentions many travellers of whose
     accounts I have been able to make practically no use owing to my
     not knowing of the book in time (see pp. 49, 50, 62, 63, 86, 89,
     94, 97 (2), 109, 123, 124, 125, 142, 148; and bibliography of
     Jerusalem pilgrims' accounts, 55-58). Several of these, however,
     exist only in MS. in Spain. Great Britain & Scandinavia receive
     little attention, but plenty of valuable material seems to be
     included for every other part of Europe; certainly this is so in
     the narratives (16th-17th centuries) which the author prints.

 Sobieski, Jakób, Marshal of the Polish Diet, travelled throughout
     Europe (1607-13 & 1638). An incomplete MS. was printed by E.
     Raczynski (Posen, 1833) & the missing portion by A. Kraushar
     (Warsaw, 1903) from the autograph at the Imperial Library at St.
     Petersburg. The only part that seems to have been translated is
     that relating to Spain, in Liske's "Viajes de Extranjeros por
     España" (a book, by the way, that no one who is interested in 16th
     century history can fail to be assisted by).

 *[Szamota, István, "Régi utazások Magyarországon és a
     Balkán-félszigeten, 1054-1717" ("Travellers of the past in Hungary
     and the Balkans, 1054-1717") Budapest, 1891.]

 Taylor, John (the "water-poet"). Both his continental journeys—one
     to Hamburg, the other viâ Hamburg to Prague—have been reprinted
     by C. Hindley in Taylor's "Works" & also by the Spenser Soc.
     (vol. 4, pp. 76-100): that to Hamburg only, in Hindley's
     "Old-Book-Collector's Miscellany."

 =Vargas=, Juan de, contemporary with Alonso de Guzman & Sastrow, both
     of whose narratives he supplements very closely. As a soldier
     under Charles V in Germany, his remarkable experiences illustrate
     the present subject: he also saw the wildest life in Hungary
     & Vienna, & slave-life in Constantinople & Africa. Still more
     remarkable were his experiences in S. America as a "conquistador."
     His capacity for telling us what we most want to know, & for
     telling it well, are so much beyond what might be expected from an
     uneducated soldier as to raise doubts about the genuineness of the
     narrative. But the abundance of detail is past invention. It is
     unmentioned by Serrano y Sanz; the only edition seeming to be the
     French translation by the owner of the unpublished Spanish MS., C.
     Navarin, "Les Aventures de Don Juan de Vargas" in the Bibliothèque
     Elzévirienne, 1853.

 =Wotton=, Sir Henry. For all references to Sir Henry Wotton (& for
     much else) I am indebted to his "Life & Letters" by L. P. Smith
     (1907). Both his life & his letters come into touch with the
     travel of the day from various points of view, & frequently; & the
     same mellowness & intimacy characterize both the reminiscences of
     Sir Henry Wotton & the comment of his biographer.

 Wynn, Sir Richard, followed Prince Charles from England to Spain in
     1625. His account of his journey has been printed by Hearne as an
     appendix to his edition of the "Historia vitae ... Ricardi II,"
     1729; illiterate & prejudiced, but valuable for its frankness.
     Halliwell-Phillips reprinted it at the end of his edition of
     Symonds D'Ewes' autobiography.

 =Zetzner=, Johann Eberhard, a descendant of the Strassburg printers of
     that name, left an autobiography consisting largely of accounts
     of his journeys in Germany, along the coasts of the Baltic, in
     England, Scotland, France, & Spain. A paraphrase of the more
     interesting parts has been printed in three instalments, in
     French, in the "Revue d'Alsace" [1905-07?] and reissued separately
     under the titles "Idylle Norvégienne d'un Jeune Négociant
     Strasbourgeois" (1905), "Londres et l'Angleterre en 1700"
     (1905), and "Un Voyage d'Affaires en Espagne en 1718 (1907),"
     all published by the Librairie Noiriel, Strassbourg, edited by
     Rodolphe Reuss, who has put together in a very readable form
     matter which is of considerable value not only as a record of
     things seen, but also in connection with finance & commerce. In
     spite of the dates being so much later than those of the rest
     of the books I have used, it seems desirable to include these
     pamphlets here as containing much that illustrates conditions
     equally normal a century earlier, & as being, too, of such an
     out-of-the-way character that they are liable to be overlooked.




INDEX


All names of travellers are indexed, but only those towns concerning
which some distinctive detail has been given.

 =Aarssen=, F. van; 395.

 =Abdy=, Sir T.; 393.

 "=Acta Sanctorum=" quoted; 179.

 =Allen=, Cardinal; as protector of English at Rome, 111.

 =Alps=; _see_ Mountaineering.

 =Ambassadors=; _see under_ Embassies, Busbecq, Chaworth, Chiericati,
     Contarini, Fanshawe, Foix, Glover, Guicciardini, Lionello, Lippomano,
     Muscorno, Myszkowski, Navagero, Pindar, Sherley, Willes, Wotton.

 =Amsterdam=; 117, 281, 329.

 =Antwerp=; 122, 252, 291.

 =Aragona=, Luigi d' (cardinal); travelling expenses, 317;
   itinerary, 396.

 =Art=; an "Ephesus" statue of Diana, 149;
   art-student abroad, his difficulties and advantages, 150-1, 376-7;
   Turkish arts and crafts, 191.

 =Aschhausen=, J. G. von (bishop of Würzburg); travelling expenses, 317.

 =Ashley=, John; 393.

 =Aubigné=, Agrippa d'; his "Les Tragiques" quoted, 349.

 =Audebert=, Nicolas; 140, 145;
   his MS., 394.

 =Augsburg=; 119, 141, 152, 291, 350.

 =Average Tourist= (_see_ Education, and Tutors, and, for examples,
     Aarssen, Audebert, Bertie, Browne, Coligny, Davison, Hoby, Lauder,
     Raleigh, Rohan, Roos, Sobieski, Wotton);
   the special type of the age, 25;
   and its development, 26, 319;
   psychology of, 29, 30, 32, 378-9;
   instructions to, 37-9, 48, 57-8, 95;
   and Protestantism, 53-6;
   objective, 95, 100-1, 114, 118, 130, 132;
   what he would have to spend, 314-8;
   subsidized by Queen Elizabeth, 319.

 =Awliyáí= Efendi; quoted, 249, 284.


 =Babeau=, A.; his "Voyageurs en France" quoted, 270, 284.

 =Bacon=, Francis; quoted, 3, 148, 319.

 =Barbaro=, Giosaffate; 29.

 =Barberini=, Rafael; 383.

 =Bargrave=, R; 393.

 =Bassompierre=, François, Maréchal de; 108.

 =Bathing-resorts=; of western Europe, 3, 267-9;
   Turkish, 196;
   the Jordan, 235.

 =Battista=, Giovanni (pilgrims' guide at Jerusalem); 230, 239.

 =Beasts of prey=; risk from, 355.

 =Beatis=, Antonio de; 396;
   quoted, 162, 299, 381, 385.

 =Bergamo=; 114.

 =Bernini=, the artist; 98.

 =Bertie=, Robert and Henry; 396.

 =Bisoni=, Bernardo; 396.

 =Blount=, Sir Henry, philosopher-errant; his aims, 8;
   quoted, 33, 182, 187, 202-3, 213, 358, 360.

 =Bodley=, Josias; 51, 400.

 =Bologna= University; 103, 310-1, 394.

 =Boorde=, Andrew; his "Introduction of Knowledge" as marking the
     beginning of the period here dealt with, 26;
   quoted, 27, 50, 154, 173, 247, 348.

 =Bosio=, Antonio; his re-discovery of the Catacombs at this time, 108.

 =Bouchet=, Jean (Rabelais' "Xenomanes"); 56.

 =Boyle=, Robert; 185.

 =Brereton=, Sir William; in Holland, 83, 116, 140, 397.

 =Breuning=, von Buchenbach, H. J.; 397.

 =Bridges=; 82, 288-90, 328.

 =Brittany=; neglect of, 144.

 =Brooke=, N.; (18th century), 191.

 =Browne=, Edward (son of Sir Thomas); 288, 339.

 =Brunel=, Antoine de; 395.

 =Bruno=, Giordano; at Geneva, 112;
   in London, 134.

 =Buchell=, Arend van, antiquary; 246, 275, 329, 385, 397.

 =Busbecq=, A. G. de; Imperial ambassador at Constantinople, and in
     France, 14;
   his letters, 14, 398;
   tries to naturalize camels, 140;
   quoted, 20, 81, 187, 192, 289.

 =Busino=, Orazio; 398.


 =Cagots=; 138.

 =Cairo=; largest city then known, 8;
   Bulak asses, 220;
   and other details, 221, 237, 325;
   usual excursions from, 222-7.

 =Callot=, Jacques, the artist; 321.

 =Camden=, W.; quoted, 41, 119, 164.

 =Campan=, the Jesuit; 403.

 =Captivity= and Ransoms (_see_ Pirates); 56, 71, 101, 201, 203, 346,
     356-62, 366.

 =Caravans=; 216-9, 228-30, 235-6, 249, 292.

 =Carve=, Thomas; 398.

 =Casola=, Pietro; 398.

 =Cecily=, princess (of Sweden); marries on condition her husband takes
     her to see Queen Elizabeth, 11;
   her journey, 11-3;
   and narrative, 398.

 =Cellini=, Benvenuto; adventures, 81, 298;
   quoted, 363.

 =Chamberlain=, John, the letter-writer; 63.

 =Channel-crossings=; havens, 60-2;
   experiences of, 12, 60-4;
   size of vessels, 64;
   charges, 328.

 =Chapman=, George; quoted, 25.

 =Charles II=; his experience of Spanish fare, 262.

 =Chartres=; a pilgrimage to, 20.

 =Chaworth=, Sir G.; outlay on his embassy to Brussels, 318;
   his account of it, 398.

 =Chiericati=, Francesco; 384, 399.

 =Cirot=, G.; his biography of Mariana quoted, 48.

 =Clara Eugenia=, the Infanta;
   journey from Milan to Brussels, 11, 399;
   quoted, 135, 296-7, 303, 306.

 =Cleland's= estimate of annual cost of travel; 315.

 =Clothes=; 37, 133, 359, 365-8.

 =Coaches= and Waggons; 79, 290-3, 333.

 =Coinage=; small change and its bearing on expenses, 341;
   substitutes for, 346;
   multiplicity of, a great hindrance to travel, 368-72.

 =Coleridge=, S. T.; quoted, 45.

 =Coligny=, Francis and Gaspard de; their estimate for a year in Italy,
     315.

 =Communications=; _see under_ Bridges, Caravans, Coaches, Escorts,
     Ferries, Litters, Locks, Mountaineering, Riding, River-travel,
     Road-travel, Sea-travel, Sign-posts, Vetturino.

 =Compostella=; 173-4, 320.

 =Constantinople=; 122, 194-7, 200-1, 215-6.

 =—— Bibl.=; MSS. Rawlinson, C. 799;
   Stowe, 180;
   and Bertie, Busbecq, Carmoly, Cobham, Courthop, Dallam, Khitrowo,
     Moryson, Mundy, Röhricht, Vargas.

 =Contarini=, Tommaso; takes peat from Flanders to Italy, 140.

 =Conversation=-difficulties; _see_ Linguistics.

 =Coryat=, Tom; in Palestine, 232, 329.

 =Cost= of Travel in 1600.

 =—— Direct= (_see_ Coinage, Fares, Finance, Food, Guides, Licences,
     Lodging, Luggage, Outfit, Passports, Pilgrimage—Jerusalem,
     River-travel, Tolls);
   estimates of annual, 314-7;
   means of economizing, 318-25;
   foreigners more liable to overcharge then than now, 330;
   "conducted" travel, 216, 331-2;
   crossing the Alps, 332-4;
   duration of journeys the chief factor in expense, 332-5;
   in relation to food and lodging generally, 338-41.

 =—— Indirect= (_see_ Beasts of Prey, Captivity, Clothes, Droit
     d'aubaine, Escorts, Illness, Legal Status, Manners and Customs,
     Pirates, Plague, Robbers, Touring—greater strain of travel, War);
   defined, 313;
   epitomized in "Litany," 347.

 =Courthop=, Sir G.; 399.

 =Cuelbis=, Diego; 393.

 =Cuellar=, Captain; 175-6, 399.


 =Dallam=, Thomas; 9, 65, 214, 308, 400.

 =Dallington's= estimate of annual cost of travel; 315.

 =Daniel=, Samuel; quoted, 379, 389.

 =Dante=; did not add to the attractions of Florence, 103;
   quoted, 293.

 =Danzig=; 131, 155, 211.

 =Davies=, Sir John;
   quoted, 177, 386.

 =Davis=, William; a Protestant sailor, cared for at Rome, 112.

 =Davison=, Francis; cannot live abroad on 100 marks a year, 316;
   quoted, 344.

 =Della Valle=, Pietro; a model traveller, 6;
   life-story, 7;
   his many interesting experiences on the way to Jerusalem, 205-35;
   quoted, 50, 88, 90, 191-4, 198, 200, 269.

 =Denmark=; 155, 244.

 =Digby=, Sir Kenelm; dies in Paris, confiscation of property by "droit
     d'aubaine," 364.

 =Douglas=, Thomas; remits broadcloth to Algiers as a substitute for
     money, 346.

 =Dresden=; 120, 149.

 "=Droit d'aubaine="; enforcement and disuse of, 364;
   its equivalent in Turkey, 196.


 =Education=; as related to travel (_see_ Average Tourist, Ideas,
     Touring—uses of, and,—causes of, Universities), growth of the idea,
     circ. 1542-1642, as constituting the unity of subject of this book,
     25, 26, 158;
   then and now, 377.

 =Elizabeth=, Princess (James I's daughter); a visit to, 129.

 =Elizabeth=, Queen; sends an organ to "Grand Turk," 9;
   is visited by Princess Cecily, 12;
   her twofold attraction for foreigners, 125-7;
   as a linguist, 47;
   and "der Einlasse," 141;
   subsidizes travel, 318 (_cf._ 346 and 386).

 =Embassies= (_see_ Ambassadors, and Spies) facilitate touring to the
     point of becoming the chief cause of it, 15;
   system of resident ambassadors developed in 16th century, and why, 15-6;
   economical advantages to the tourist, 318, 337, 344, 365;
   French maritime towns send one to Constantinople, 186, 197, 357.

 =Empire=, the; communications in, 80, 289, 291;
   sub-divisions for tourist purposes, 117;
   characteristics of, 118-21;
   inns, 242-3, 245, 250, 255-9, 268-9, 283;
   expenditure in, 336-7, 339-40, 349-53;
   coinage, 370.

 =—— people= of; popularity of travel among, 29;
   as seen by foreigners, 118-21, 255, 265, 366.

 =—— Bibl.=; MS. Tournay 160, Beatis, Bisoni, Breuning, Buchell, Carve,
     Clara Eugenia, Cust, Guzman, Hoby, Maulde, Montaigne, Moryson, Rye,
     Sastrow, Sobieski, Taylor, Vargas, Wotton, Zetzner; IV. 1. note 14,
     VIII. notes 28 and 35.

 =England= (_see_ London); as seen by foreigners, 123-30, 267, 343-4;
   their reasons for coming, 125-6;
   and usual route, 127;
   inns, 245;
   communications, 291;
   expenditure in, 330-1, 337-8, 349.

 =—— Bibl.=; Bisoni, Brereton, Breuning, Busino, Cecily, Einstein, Rye,
     Sobieski, Zetzner.

 =English abroad=; 346, 356, 386 note 5;
   increase in their numbers and its significance, 25-8;
   in Italy, 28, 74, 112;
   innkeepers, 273-4.

 =Ens=, Gaspar; one of his guide-books quoted, 49.

 =Escorts= (_see_ Communications); 38, 353-4, 357;
   Janizaries, 198-9, 216, 325.

 =Espinel=, Vicente; his "Marcos de Obregon" quoted, 49.

 =Este=, Luigi d' (Cardinal); 386.

 =Evelyn=, John; visits the Catacombs, 109;
   goes to see a prisoner tortured, 137;
   his credulity, typical, 146;
   cost of his "Grand Tour," 315;
   quoted, 18, 80, 95, 99, 140, 274, 285, 354.

 =Executions=, etc., as "sights" (_see_ Robbers); 136-7.

 =Exile=; as a cause of travel; 23-4, 26.


 =Fairs=; 114, 144.

 =Fanshawe=, Ann, Lady; her journeys and memoirs, 13, 400;
   quoted, 79, 170, 262, 352, 370.

 =——=, Sir Richard; 13, 315, 370.

 =Fares= (in Europe); 328-36.

 =Ferries= and fords; 287-90, 329.

 =Finance= (_see_ Coinage, Cost, "Putting-Out");
   equation of money-values, how reckoned, 313-4;
   methods of ensuring supply of ready-money, 341-2;
   how coin was carried, 342-3, 372;
   legal limits to amounts carried and how to evade them, 343-4;
   fluctuations in values, 338-9, 344-5, 369;
   remitting by advice, 344-6, 348;
   letters of credit, barter, and loans, 346-7.

 =Finland=; wizards on the coast of, 75.

 =Flagellants=; 138.

 =Florence=; as attractive then as now, 103;
   its Zoos, 139;
   inns, 271, 277.

 =Florio=, John; his "First-Fruits" quoted, 27.

 =Foix=, Paul de; 13.

 =Food=; on board ship, 66, 68, 79, 264-5;
   in Turkey, 249;
   drinks, 252-5, 263;
   meals and meal-times, 255-66, 278-80, 333;
   cost, 338-41, 349.

 =France=; routes, 84, 115, 122;
   on the rivers in, 79, 82-5;
   attractions of, 114-6, 268;
   inns, 255-6, 260, 266, 270-2, 274, 276, 281;
   on the road in, 285, 289, 291-2, 300, 330, 354;
   expenditure in, 315, 330, 348-9.

 =—— Bibl.=; MSS. Rawlinson D. 120, 1285, Add. 34177, Egerton 34,
     Harleian 288, 942/3, 1278, Lansdown 720, Tournay 159, 160;
   Aarssen, Babeau, Beatis, Bertie, Bisoni, Buchell, Busbecq, Busino,
     Courthop, Cust, Fanshawe, Hoby, Lauder, Locatelli, Montaigne,
      Mundy, Zetzner; IV. 1. note 4, VIII. note 45.

 =Frederick II= (Elector Palatine); 399.

 =Fürer=, Christopher, pilgrim; 325, 358.


 =Galileo=, G.; 72, 97.

 =Galley-slaves=; treatment of, 76, 137-8, 362.

 =Games= new to travellers; 153.

 =Genoa=; 99, 143.

 =Germany=; _see_ Empire.

 =Gesner=, Conrad; as a mountaineer, 304.

 =Giustiniani=, Vincenzo (Marchese di Bassano); 396.

 =Glover=, Sir Thomas; in Thrace, 309.

 =Gölnitz=, Abraham; quoted, 129, 252, 256, 269, 285, 343, 387.

 =Good=, ——; an Englishman in Ireland, 384.

 =Gourville=, J. H. de; "Mémoires" quoted, 266, 311.

 =Gracián=, Jeronimo, St. Teresa's confessor; enslaved, 186.

 =Gramaye=, J. B.; at Algiers, 356.

 =Greece=; lack of interest in, 213.

 =Greene=, Robert; quoted, 366.

 =Gresham=, ——(?); obtains news from hell at Stromboli, 91.

 =Gruberus=; a typical guide-book writer, 35, 204.

 =Guicciardini=, Francesco; 16;
   on Spain, 170.

 =Guide-books=; general characteristics of, 35-40, 42-3, 333;
   itineraries as guide-books, 43-6;
   advice from, 57-9;
   doggrel from, 106, 121, 154, 204;
   a Jewish one, 236;
   cost, 338.

 =—— Bibl.=; Einstein.

 =Guides= (_see_ Escorts and Tutors); 333;
   in Mohammedan lands, 210.

 =Guzman=, Alonzo de; his autobiography, 23, 401;
   quoted, 51, 280.


 =Hall=, Joseph (bishop); his abuse of travel—in word and in deed, 374.

 =Harington=, Sir J.; 142.

 =Hentzner=, P.; typical character of his "Itineraria," 44;
   quoted, 60, 120, 343, 353.

 =Herbert=, Lord, of Cherbury; 61, 275.

 =Hoby=, Sir Thomas; 336, 401.

 =Holland=; _see_ United Provinces.

 =Horsey=, Sir Jerome; 244.

 =Howell=, James; his "Instructions for Foreign Travel" taken as marking
     the end of the period here dealt with, 26;
   estimate of cost of travel, 315;
   quoted, 36, 71, 122, 276, 303.

 =Hungary=; 156, 289, 311, 339.

 =—— Bibl.=; Szamota, Vargas.


 =Ideas of the Day= in relation to travel:—influencing travellers;
   political (monarchical), 25, 31, 33, 95, 115-6, 118, 164;
   historical, 40, 109, 110, 166-7, 185, 206;
   æsthetic, 103, 214, 302-7;
   lack of sympathy or sentimentality (_see_ also theology, intolerance),
     136-7, 144;
   critical, 145-6, 148, 214-5, 239, 301;
   pedagogic, 38-40, 58, 60, 95, 378-9;
   relating to the Empire, 119, 351;
   to Spain, 162-70, 261-3, 351;
   to Ireland, 175-9;
   to the Turks, 182-9, 193;
   to Jerusalem, 205-6;
   to Italy, 95-100, 103, 302;
   to the fascination of Queen Elizabeth, 125-7;
   where to stay, 101, 163.

 =—— modified by travel= (_see_ Touring, uses of); 27;
   historical, 33, 105, 167;
   town-planning, 117, 378;
   economic and domestic, 113, 116, 120, 140-2, 169-70, 201-2;
   political (democratic), 119, 120;
   trustworthiness of relics, 19;
   Scottish opinion of Scots, 32;
   concerning Italy, 100;
   and Venice, 105;
   of Christians about themselves, 171, 199;
   Turkish craftmanship and character, 191.

 =Illness= (_see_ Plague, and Touring, hardships of);
   provision against, 66, 360-2;
   mortality at sea, 67-8;
   and on the Alps, 295-6;
   hospitals, 112, 362;
   abundance of vermin, 59, 67-8, 121, 241, 309, 360.

 =Imperiali=, Gian Vincenzo; 381.

 =Inns= (_see_ Food, and Lodging); 46, 351, 372;
   the best, 240-1, 268;
   inn-signs, 240, 250-2;
   innkeepers, 241, 245, 273-80;
   and their case against the tourists, 272-83;
   the personnel, 245, 275, 281;
   utensils, 266-7;
   government supervision strict, 271-2;
   town watchmen notify innkeepers of new arrivals, 282;
   "Khans," 247-50;
   free quarters, 249, 265, 280-1, 319-20, 325.

 =Ireland=; 175-181, 378 (Dublin);
   scarcity of knowledge about, 41, 179-80;
   accommodation, 245, 265.

 =—— Bibl.=; Carve, Chiericati, Cuellar, Falkiner, Moryson; VI. note 7.

 =Italy= (_see_ English abroad); high reputation in 16th century, 6,
     95-100, 254, 302;
   adverse criticism, 100, 373;
   communications in, 82-3, 85-7, 285-94, 329-32;
   usual routes through, 102, 114;
   inns, 241, 252, 256, 259-60, 271-2;
   baths, 267-8;
   expenditure in, 330-1, 336;
   coinage, 369, 372.

 =—— people= of; 114, 366;
   travelling coming into fashion with Venetians, (1603), 26;
   courtesans, 106, 143.

 =—— Bibl.= All but a very few entries refer to Italy to some extent.


 =Jemsel=, Samuel; a Jewish pilgrim (1641), 236.

 =Jerusalem= (_see_ Pilgrimage);
   relation to mental life of the time, 205-7;
   monastery of S. Salvatore at, 210, 230, 323;
   as seen by foreigners, 230-4, 360;
   extortion at, 323-5.

 =—— Bibl.= MS. Rawlinson D. 122;
   Carmoly, Casola, Cobham, Diarium, Khitrowo, Moryson, Röhricht, Serrano.

 =Jews=; interest in, 8, 217;
   as linguists, 50;
   their badges, 139;
   centres, 214, 236;
   as travellers (to Palestine), 235-8.

 =Johanna=, Frau (of Antwerp), a pilgrim; enslaved, 359.

 =Jonson=, Ben; as tutor, 56;
   quoted, 103.

 =Jouvin= de Rochefort; 384.

 =Jusserand=, J.; his "English Wayfaring Life" and comparison of its
     types with those of 1600, 17.


 =Kiechel=, S.; 384.

 =Knight-Errant=; of fiction as a cause of travel, 22;
   typified by Alonzo de Guzman, 23;
   one in a cart, 291.

 =Kochanowski=, Jan; Polish satirist, 373, 378.

 =Koris=, Joel; 393.


 =La Brocquière=, Bertrandon de (15th century); quoted, 99.

 =Lascells=, Richard, pedagogue; 394.

 =Lassota=, Erich; 383.

 =Latin=; _see_ Linguistics.

 =Lauder=, John, of Fountainhall; his diary, 31, 401;
   studies law—and other things—at Poitiers, 31-2;
   seasick, 77;
   quoted, 49, 53, 272, 370.

 =Legal status= of the traveller (_see_ Droit d'aubaine); 246, 271, 365;
   at Geneva, 112.

 =Leipzig=; 4, 136.

 =Levant= Company; 8.

 =——, Islands= of the; particularly attractive to travellers, 88;
   some details, 88-94.

 =Leyden=; 4.

 =Licences= to travel; _see_ Passports.

 =Linguistics=; Latin, its uses and limitations, 46-49, 215;
   Italian and French as international languages, 49, 50;
   "lingua franca" and other hybrids, 50-1;
   misunderstandings, 46, 49, 51, 52, 230-1, 249;
   tourist-pronunciation as a guide to phonology, 52;
   towns, etc., in favour for purity of language, 103, 115, 121;
   Jews as linguists, 50;
   books as aids to conversation, 52, 245;
   ignorance of, and lack of interest in, Greek, 213;
   in Turkey, 193, 249.

 =Lionello= (secretary to Venetian ambassador);
   expenses, London, Edinburgh, 331.

 =Lippomano=, G.; in Poland, 132;
   in France, 353.

 =Liske,= K.; his "Viajes ... por España" quoted, 383, 387, 404.

 =Lithgow=, William; becomes a bad traveller and a worse writer, 10;
   extent of his travels and consequent value of his comparisons, 10-1,
     89, 123;
   quoted, 54, 72, 88, 179, 203, 219, 232-5, 323, 342.

 =Litters= the least uncomfortable method of travel; 290.

 =Locatelli=, S.; 401.

 =Locks= (on rivers); then being introduced, and where, 82, 83, 116.

 =Lodging=; towns the stopping-places, 101;
   monasteries, 225-6, 230, 319;
   downstairs, 143, 244, 247, 266;
   upstairs, 37, 59, 240-50, 265, 269-71.

 =London= and Londoners; 120, 134, 140, 153, 289.

 =Loreto=; 107-8.

 =Loyola=, Ignazio; journeys to England and Flanders as a beggar, 320.

 =Lübeck=; 120, 152, 251.

 =Ludwig V= of Hessen-Darmstadt; pays a knight to journey with him, 317.

 =Luggage=; (_see_ Outfit); 291, 335-6.

 =Lyons=; 84, 343, 376.


 =Madrid=; 165, 174.

 =Malta=; 91, 113, 399.

 =Manners and Customs= (_see_ Droit d'aubaine, Inns, Theology,
     intolerance, Vetturino, and under the various nationalities);
   in the Levant, 88-90;
   treatment of foreigners, 111-2, 132-5, 159, 170-1, 176, 197-8, 213,
     231, 296, 311, 330, 343-4;
   drunkenness, 133, 160, 192-3, 242, 254-5, 291, 340;
   odds and ends, 135-54, 171, 174, 190, 246, 250, 277, 282, 312, 321,
     332, 366;
   carrier-pigeons and incubation in use among Mohammedans, 193.

 =Manwaring=, ——; an Englishman ill-treated at Aleppo, 198.

 =Maps and Plans=; 52, 333;
   rivers marked, but not roads, 78.

 =Marlowe's= "Tamburlane"; quoted, 185.

 =Maulde=, François de (Modius); 402.

 =Mechanical devices= as "sights"; water, 151-2, 174;
   other kinds, 141, 152.

 =Messina=; its municipal bank, 113.

 =Milan=; 100, 147, 337;
   its importance then, 102, 120.

 =Mines=; 155-6, 294.

 =Missionaries-errant=; scarcity of, 24.

 =Mole=, John, a Protestant tutor; imprisoned thirty years at Rome, 54.

 =Money-matters=; _see_ Cost.

 =Montaigne=, Michel de; as a traveller, 3-4, 105;
   usefulness of his knowledge of Latin, 47;
   his theory of travel, 57;
   his narrative, 402;
   quoted, 43, 107, 138, 186, 266, 268, 285, 338, 376.

 =Montpensier=, Mlle. de; 270.

 =Montserrat=; 19, 173, 281, 366.

 =Morelli=, Jacopo; essay on little-known Venetian travellers quoted, 29.

 =Morgenthal=, Hans von; 382.

 =Moryson=, Fynes; his journeys, 4-5;
   writings, 5, 402;
   at Rome and Geneva, 111;
   expenditure, 316, 323, 348;
   quoted, 52, 65, 78, 100, 120, 131, 137, 140, 142, 153, 179, 186, 192,
     198-9, 201, 231, 245, 257-60, 296, 298, 321, 326, 330, 343, 353,
     385.

 =——=, Henry; journey to Jerusalem, death and epitaph, 4-5;
   "puts out" money, 326.

 =Moscow=; 157.

 =Mountaineering=; Alpine passes in use and details of crossing, 294-9,
     306, 332, 334;
   other passes, 212, 299, 300;
   ideas about, for and against, 300-6.

 =—— ascents=; Horeb and Sinai, 226-7;
   Quarantana (Palestine), 235;
   Les Jumelles (Pau), 300;
   Roche Rommelon (Alps), 301-2.

 =Mundy=, Peter; 14, 402;
   quoted, 82, 217, 260, 307, 386.

 =Münster=; his "Cosmography," 43, 146.

 =Murder= of travellers; _see_ Robbery.

 =Muscorno= (secretary of Venetian ambassador in England); cost of
     journey thither, 335.

 =Muscovy=; 156-62, 327, 342;
   communications in, 80, 156, 293, 355;
   lodging, 244, 266, 319;
   fare, 253, 264;
   an innkeeper of Nerva, 280;
   expenses of an Englishman's journey thither, 335;
   coinage, 371.

 =—— people of=; hostility to travel, 159, 367;
   as seen by foreigners, 159-61, 346;
   on the way to Jerusalem, 211, 224-5.

 =—— Bibl.=; Adelung, Khitrowo, Mundy, Possevino.

 =Myszkowski=, Marshal of the Polish Diet; in England, 128.


 =Naples=; 7, 113, 120, 138, 252, 292, 320, 343;
   a St. John's Eve ceremony at, 145.

 =Nashe=, Thomas; quoted, 33.

 =Navagero=, Andrea; in Spain, 48, 337.

 =Netherlands=, Spanish; 122.

 =—— Bibl.=; MS. Tournay 159; Beatis, Bisoni, Breuning, Buchell, Carve,
     Chaworth, Clara Eugenia, Cust, Hagemans, Hoby.

 =Newberie=, John; his tale of the Isola dei Diavoli, 93.

 =Nîmes=; its amphitheatre in 1682, 376.

 =Noë=, Father; his guide-book, 42-3;
   quoted, 77.

 =Northumberland=, ninth earl of; letter
 to his son about travel, 58.

 =Norway=; 346, 406.

 =Nützel=, Karl; ("the German Ulysses") pays 300% for a loan, 346.


 =Ogier=, Charles; 385.

 =O'Sullivan=, Philip, the historian; quoted, 179.

 =Outfit=; (_see_ Clothes and Luggage), 37, 135;
   for Jerusalem pilgrimage, 66, 325.

 =Overbury=, Sir Thomas; quoted, 350.


 =Padua=; (_see_ Universities), 4, 231, 320-1, 329.

 =Paris=; 115, 145, 153, 251-2, 289-91, 362, 372, 397.

 =Parsons=, Robert, the Jesuit; at Geneva, 112.

 =Pasquier=, Etienne; his verdict on touring, 375.

 =Passports and Licences=; official restrictions, 54-5;
   "charte-partie," 76;
   licences to wear weapons, 135;
   in Mohammedan lands, 198;
   Jerusalem "Placets," 209;
   licences to beg used by tourists, 320-1;
   cost of English ones, 337-8;
   "bills of health," 360-1.

 =Patron Saints=; of travellers, 44;
   of those who stay at inns, 251;
   of seafarers, 75.

 =Payen of Meaux=; quoted, 363, 383.

 =Payne=, R.; 385.

 =Perlin=, a French visitor in England; quoted, 344.

 =Perrault=, Claude, architect of the Louvre; sticks in the mud, 285.

 "=Picaro="; a special 16th century type of vagabond, 21-3.

 =—— Bibl.=; Chandler.

 =Pilgrimage= (_see_ Chartres, Compostella, Loreto, Montserrat, Saumur,
     Theology);
   consecration for, 7;
   an epidemic in France, 20;
   to what extent in vogue, 18-20, 179, 208, 320;
   relics to be seen, 145-8, and chap. v. part 2;
   the degree and kind of attention relics received, 145-8, 239;
   to St. Patrick's Purgatory, 179.

 =—— to Jerusalem=; (_see_ Jews, Passports, Sea-Travel—pilgrim-galley)
   the most popular guide-book for, 42;
   routes, 207, 209-14;
   and their characteristics, 210-30;
   information bureau at Venice, 209;
   motives for, 208;
   decline of, and why, 208-9;
   licences for, 209;
   finance of, 209, 216, 229, 321-6, 365;
   at Jerusalem, 230-4;
   Easter excursions to Emmaus, Jordan, and Hebron, 234-6;
   Knighthood of the Holy Sepulchre, 239;
   lodging, 247-50, 323;
   enslavement of pilgrims, 358-60.

 =Pindar=, Sir Paul; 13, 14.

 =Pirates=; the chief centres, 72;
   frequency of, 72-74;
   tales of, 74, 106, 185-6.

 =Plague=; 201, 299, 360-1.

 =Plotius=; a typical guide-book writer, 35.

 =Poland=; 130-2, 263, 303, 337, 364, 373;
   inns, 243-4, 278;
   bridge at Yarunov, 289;
   expenditure in, 339-41.

 =—— Bibl.=;
   MS. Rawlinson, C. 799;
   Adelung, Cust, Łosinski, Moryson, Mundy, Possevino, Zetzner;
   IV. 1. note 14;
   VI. note 2.

 =Possevino=, Father (the Jesuit); 51, 310, 402.

 =Prague=; 140.

 =Psalms=; in use by travellers, 44, 64.

 "=Putting-Out=" money (travellers' insurance); 325-7, 357-8;
   for mortality among travellers, _see under_ Illness, and Robbers.


 =Quevedo Villegas=, F. G. de; quoted, 21, 275, 308.


 =Rabelais=; quoted, 44, 57, 77, 139, 355, 382.

 =Raleigh=, (Sir Walter)'s son abroad with Ben Jonson; 56.

 =Reresby=, Sir John; quoted, 149, 350.

 =Retz=, Cardinal de; quoted, 76, 94.

 =Riding= (_see_ Communications); 44, 333;
   Bulak asses, 220;
   camels, 228-9;
   post-horses, 292, 330-1.

 =Rivadeneyra's= "Cisma de Inglaterra" quoted, 41;
   life of Loyola quoted, 286, 320.

 =River-, and Lake-Travel=; 79-87;
   frequency of, 156;
   relatively cheap, 328-9.

 =Riviera=, the; unvisited, and why, 101, 260, 312.

 =Road-travel= (_see_ Communications, Luggage and Riding);
   inconveniences of, 79, 84, 328-9;
   on the way to Jerusalem, 210-30;
   transition-stage of, 284-5;
   anecdotes (state of the roads, etc.), 285-7, 308-12.

 =Roanne=; starting-point for navigation on the Loire, 79.

 =Robbers and Murderers= (_see_ Executions);
   in south-eastern Europe, 212, 214, 289;
   Arabs, 218, 220, 223, 225, 228-9, 234, 323, 359;
   at inns, 272;
   highwaymen, 287, 292, 329-30, 348-54, 363;
   a by-product of war, 311, 348-54.

 =Rohan=, Duc de (1600); his narrative typical, 33, 119;
   quoted, 117.

 =Rome=; as seen by visitors, 108-12, 116, 252, 280, 292, 343, 364, 376;
   numbers received into English College there, 28;
   Protestants at, 54, 110-1;
   hôtel Vasa d'Oro at, 240, 338.

 =Roos=, Lord; 54.

 =Rösmital=, Leo von; 399.

 =Russia=; _see_ Muscovy.


 =St. Amant=, the French poet; quoted, 303, 304, 307.

 =St. Malo=; guarded at night by savage dogs, 311-2.

 =Sanderson=, John; smuggles mummies, 223.

 =Sandys=, George; quoted, 28, 91, 92, 113, 187, 232, 323-5.

 =Sarpi=, Paolo; quoted, 60.

 =Sastrow=, B.; his autobiography, 20, 403;
   quoted, 133, 321, 350-1, 385.

 =Saumur=; 20, 115.

 =Schaumburg=, Wilwolt von; 399.

 =Schweinichen=, Hans von; 399.

 =Scotland=; 5, 124, 127.

 =—— Bibl.=; Brereton, Brown, Cuellar, Moryson, Zetzner.

 =Scots abroad= (_see_ Lauder and Lithgow); 131 (and note), 274.

 =Sea-sickness=; 12, 59, 63, 77-9.

 =Sea-travel= (_see_ Channel-crossings, Levant, Pirates, Sea-sickness);
   size of vessels and accommodation, 64, 65;
   Eastward-ho! from Venice, 68;
   incidental difficulties, 69, 70, 267, 312;
   water preferable to land, 70, 71;
   daily service, Genoa-Rome (1588), 71;
   coasting the usual practice, 71-2;
   storms, 11, 74-6;
   sorcerers and good weather, 75;
   the need of the "charte-partie," 76;
   a "funeral" at sea, 93;
   Turkish sailors, 197, 201.

 =—— pilgrim-galley= (Venice-Jaffa); arrangements in theory and
     practice, 66-8, 208, 210;
   concerning the date of its cessation, 207-8.

 =Seville=; 172, 174, 281.

 =Shakespeare's= knowledge about Italy, 86, 112, 114;
   a conjecture about "Othello," 188;
   Rosalind on the cost of travel, 313;
   quotations, 154, 222, 307, 363.

 =Sherley=, Sir Anthony; 291, 357.

 =——=, Sir Robert; his many journeys, 13.

 =Sicily=; 113, 147.

 =Sidney=, Sir Philip; abroad, when, where, and why, 27;
   quoted, 35, 58, 100, 314, 333, 351.

 "=Sights="; _see_ Art, Bathing, Executions, Fairs, Flagellants,
     Galley-slaves, Games, Levant, Locks, Manners and Customs,
     Mechanical devices, Mines, Pilgrimage-relics, Unicorn horns,
     Volcanoes, Women, Zoos, and names of towns.

 =Sign-posts=; 293-4.

 =Sigonius=, the Italian scholar; could not speak Latin, 48.

 =Sinigaglia=; inn at, finest in Italy, 241.

 =Smith=, Captain John; 294, 385.

 =Smith=, L. P.; his life of Sir Henry Wotton, 104, 405.

 =Sobieski=, Jakób; in France and England, 128-30, 384, 387, 404.

 =Solre=, Comte de (Sieur de Molenbais), 394.

 =Spain=; 162-74, 261-3, 343, 364;
   the usual itinerary through, 163;
   communications in, 85, 289, 292, 300, 354;
   inns, 242, 246-7, 261-3, 278-80;
   expenditure in, 337, 340;
   coinage, 371.

 =—— people of=; the women, 170;
   the men, 171;
   few know Latin, 48;
   a Spanish dentist, 362.

 =—— Bibl.=; MSS. Rawlinson D. 1286, Harl. 3822, Egerton 311;
   Tournay 159;
   also Aarssen, Busino, Chiericati, Fanshawe, Farinelli, Fouché-Delbosc,
     Guzman, Sobieski, Wynn, Zetzner; I. note 3, VII. note 13, VIII..
     note 42

 =Spenser=, Edmund; as foreign correspondent, 17.

 =Spies=; qualify for their work by travel, 16;
   numerous but not communicative, 17.

 =Stampes=, ——(?); 394.

 =Strassburg=; 119, 133, 152, 286, 288.

 =Students=; (_see_ Universities, and, Average Tourist), 121, 134, 320.

 =Sweden=; 155, 244, 406.

 =Switzerland=; _see_ Mountaineering.

 =—— Bibl.= MSS. Rawlinson D. 120, B. M. Add. 34177; VII. notes 5 and 12.

 =Symonds=, Richard; 393.


 =Tasso=, Torquato; quoted, 141, 303, 382.

 =Taylor=, John (the "water-poet"); 80, 137, 370, 404.

 =Theology= in relation to Travel (_see_ Pilgrimage);
   as a cause of travel, 24;
   a "religious test" for tutors, 53-4;
   examples of intolerance, 28, 53, 75, 111-3, 133, 171, 362;
   attractions of Mohammedanism, 55-6;
   increases the interest of volcanoes, 97;
   in Spain, 167.

 =Thou=, J. A. de; accompanies de Foix to Italy, 14;
   interview with Sigonius, 48;
   nearly drowned on Lake Wallenstadt(?), 81;
   quoted, 97, 180, 260, 274, 300, 350.

 =Tolls and Duties=; 320, 328, 336-8.

 =Touring=, [1542-1642]; spread of the idea, 25-30, 158;
   bibliography of, 29, 389-91;
   estimates of amount of (_see_ Constantinople, English abroad, Ireland,
     Pilgrimage, Scots abroad), 29, 236;
   towns the stopping-places, 101;
   hardships of, and their effect (_see_ Illness), 102, 163, 173, 179,
     223, 242-4, 260, 286, 310-2, 375-6;
   official supervision of (_see_ Passports), 131, 158, 271-2, 343, 346,
     351;
   compensations, 377-9.

 =—— for and against= (_see_ Ideas, modified by travel);
   opinions of Bacon, 3;
   of Montaigne, 3, 57;
   of Pasquier, 375;
   new ideas and knowledge brought home, 14, 140, 378-9;
   otherwise unobtainable, 17, 40, 140;
   opposition to, 36, 158-9, 373-4;
   how far reasonable, 375;
   some weak points, 375-7;
   tourist-books as a source of knowledge for us, 52, 72, 82, 86, 118-9,
     124, 154-6, 162, 175, 189, 193, 202, 213-4, 232, 350.

 =—— special causes of= (_see_ Average Tourist, Embassies, Exile,
     Pilgrimage, and Tourist, types of);
   commerce, and lack of means of communication at a distance, 18;
   exploration, 18;
   difficulty of obtaining information from abroad, 17, 25, 40-3;
   current fiction, 22;
   theological, 24;
   Philip Sidney's reason, 27;
   historical, 28, 284;
   the chief cause, 34.

 =Tourist=, types of, in 1600 (_see_ under names mentioned in pages here
     following, and also, Average Tourist, Pilgrimage, and Tutor);
   Subjective, 3-4;
   Objective, 4-5;
   Perfect, 6;
   Philosopher, 7;
   Unintentional, 8;
   Intolerable, 9;
   Feminine, 11-3, 59;
   Ambassadorial, 14, 130-1;
   mediæval types, and how far they survived, 17-23;
   Spy and News-Gatherer, 17;
   Commercial, 20, 131, 321;
   Vagabond, 21-3, 321;
   Exile, 23;
   Missionary, 24, 286, 320, 402-3;
   Various, 24, 92;
   Journalistic, 80.

 =Transylvania=; cheapness of food there, 340.

 =Travellers and Travelling=; _see_ Tourist and Touring.

 =Turberville=, George; on Muscovy, 159.

 =Turks=; relation to European States, 8, 182-9, 197, 204;
   Christians' fear of, 22, 85, 113, 117-8, 188;
   conversions by, 55-6, 356;
   learn navigation from renegades, 73;
   Danube mainly a Turkish river, 81;
   increase of their sea-power during this period, 106, 184-6;
   as seen by tourists, 90, 189-91, 200-2, 269, 343, 346, 360;
   their teetotalism, 93, 190, 192;
   likeness to the Japanese as contrasted with Christians, 191, 321;
   signs of decay, 192;
   other characteristics, 90, 189-91, 200-2, 269, 343, 346, 360;
   "Khans," 247-50;
   coinage used by, 369, 372.

 =—— their ruler=, the Grand Signor; Dallam and, 9;
   as an employer, 55;
   supposed to possess a complete Livy, 194;
   diversions of, 196;
   how to see his palace, 196-7;
   audiences with, 197.

 =—— Bibl.=; _see_ Constantinople and Jerusalem.

 =Tutors=; 37, 180, 316;
   Hentzner as, 43-4;
   qualifications, 53;
   Ben Jonson as, 56.


 =Ulm=; 120.

 =Unicorn horns=; fact, fiction, and prices, 149, 150.

 =United Provinces=; 116-7, 348;
   communications in, 83, 291, 294, 329.

 =—— people of=; 132, 143.

 =—— Bibl.=; Beatis, Bisoni, Brereton, Buchell, Cust, Hagemans, Hoby,
     Moryson.

 =Universities= (_see_ Bologna, Padua, Saumur, Students, Wittenberg);
     Alcalá and Salamanca, 48;
   Italian ones idealized, 103;
   Orleans, 115.


 =Vagabond=; _see_ "Picaro."

 =Valois=, Marguerite de; 152;
   her litter, 290.

 =Vargas=, Juan de; 405.

 =Venice=; 4, 136, 149, 153, 291, 329, 341, 360-2;
   more English there than in the rest of Italy, 28;
   as a model State, 100-1;
   attractions of, 103-6;
   small boys of, 133;
   inns of, 252, 274, 276-7.

 =Verona=; 113.

 "=Vetturino=-system"; what it was, 331;
   its rise and services, 332-4.

 =Vienna=; 121, 147, 188, 288, 395.

 =Villamont=, Sieur de; quoted, 65, 87, 104, 143, 302, 329, 382.

 =Villers=, MM. de; 365, 383, 395.

 =Villingen=, Pastor Peter, pilgrim to Jerusalem, 1565;
   enslaved, 359.

 =Vinci=, Leonardo da; a conversation with, 396.

 =Volcanoes=; 91.


 =Waller=, Edmund; 80.

 =War=; (_see_ Robbers); decreases use of Latin, 47;
   even distribution of war and peace in this period, 124, 350;
   as affecting tourist finance, 348, 364.

 =Weston=, Sir Richard; learns much from the Dutch, 116.

 =Whetenal=, Lady Catherine; 394.

 =Willes=, Dr.; cost of journey, England, Muscovy, 335.

 =Wilson=, Arthur; 63.

 =Winghe=, J. de (of Tournai); 395.

 =Wittenberg=; 121.

 =Women= and Travel; (_see_ Cecilia, Clara Eugenia, Fanshawe, Johanna,
     Whetenal);
   at Rome in 1600, 18;
   advice concerning, 59;
   in a seven-day Channel-passage, 63;
   position of, in Italy and United Provinces, contrasted, 142-4;
   Jerusalem "Placets" not granted to, 210;
   embarrassments of, when abroad, 269-71;
   of Chios, 88-9;
   Russian, 161;
   Spanish, 170;
   Irish, 177-8;
   Turkish, 200.

 =Wotton=, Sir Henry; quoted, 26, 71, 154, 299, 329, 341, 347, 349, 356,
     405.

 =Wunderer=, Johann David; at Pskov, 162.

 =Wynn=, Sir Richard; 385, 405.


 =Zeiler=, Martin; guide-book to Spain quoted, 48, 351, 364.

 =Zetzner=, Johann Eberhard; 406.

 =Zinzerling=, J.; his itinerary as a guide-book, 46;
   quoted, 122, 134, 138, 150, 252, 291.

 "=Zoos=" of Europe; 139, 140, 174, 196.




The Riverside Press

CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS

U. S. A


       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Notes

Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=.