[Illustration: SAND AND CANVAS
  THE CERVARO CAVES.]




  SAND AND CANVAS;

  A

  NARRATIVE OF ADVENTURES IN EGYPT,

  WITH A SOJOURN

  AMONG THE ARTISTS IN ROME.


  BY SAMUEL BEVAN.


  LONDON:
  CHARLES GILPIN, 5, BISHOPSGATE STREET, WITHOUT.

  MDCCCXLIX.




  LONDON:
  RICHARD BARRETT, PRINTER,
  MARK LANE.




  TO

  THOMAS WAGHORN, Lieut. R.N.,

  WHO BY HIS OWN

  ENERGY, AND INDEFATIGABLE EXERTIONS,

  SUCCEEDED IN ESTABLISHING THE PRACTICABILITY

  OF THE

  OVERLAND ROUTE TO INDIA;

  SACRIFICING HIS TIME AND FORTUNE IN DIVESTING THE EGYPTIAN PORTION
  OF THAT ROUTE OF ITS VARIED DISCOMFORTS; FACILITATING BY
  THE AID OF STEAM THE PASSAGE OF THE MAHMOUDIEH
  AND THE NILE; AND RENDERING SAFE, AND
  EVEN AGREEABLE, THE ONCE
  DREADED DESERT,

  THESE SKETCHES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.




PREFACE.


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

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

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

 _London, December, 1848._




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.

                                                                   PAGE.

  The author meets with an advertisement in “The Times”--Finds an
  unexpected charm in his wig--Undergoes a cross-examination--Receives
  his credentials--Mistakes his road, and is set right
  by a friend--Eats a farewell dinner at Blackwall--And finally
  embarks in a new line of business                                    1


  CHAPTER II.

  Discomforts of the Channel--An unpleasant discovery--Horrors
  of the Rotonde--A traveller’s toilette--Chalons sur Soane--Lyons--A
  transplanted engineer--The Rhone--Arles--The
  Mediterranean--Marseilles                                            8


  CHAPTER III.

  The “Minos”--English and French appetites--Leghorn--Towting
  Jews--Civita Vecchia--Naples--Formalities of landing--Malta--Mr.
  Portenier--The “Lycurge”--Syra                                      16


  CHAPTER IV.

  The harbour of Alexandria--Mr. Furner--Scene at the Hard--A
  donkey stand--Triumphal entry into the Great Square--The
  “India agency”--The English Okella--Plague seals--Confidential
  talk--Mr. Raven--Hassan, the dragoman--The Bazaars--Arab
  shopkeepers--The Harraat--Pompey’s Pillar--The baths of Cleopatra   24


  CHAPTER V.

  The Café--Arab music--Artful expedient--The Ghawazee and
  Kowal--Change of costume--The lady from Beyrout--Odd
  procession--Showers of rose water--Arrival of the “Tagus”--The
  Overland Mail--Departure of the India-bound passengers--The
  Mahmoudieh--Atféh                                                   35


  CHAPTER VI.

  The Nile steam boat--A deck dinner--Boulac--The Esbekier--The
  “Grand Eastern Hotel”--Mr. Raven’s office--The
  transit-business--Loading of the camels--Departure of the
  caravan--The Desert--The Stations--Water                            45


  CHAPTER VII.

  Desert fare--The Bawaub--No. 4 Station--A siesta--The solitary
  tree--Pestilential breezes--A dry well--Suez--Waghorn’s
  Hotel--The “Berenice”--Return to Cairo--A thirsty driver--Cool
  reception at a warm bath--The pendant rag                           58


  CHAPTER VIII.

  An Egyptian hammam--Inhuman tortures--The barber--The
  chiropodist--Delightful respite--Pale ale and Manillas--Raven’s
  collection--Dr. A.--Antiquities--Mr. Bell--His African adventures--The
  White Nile expedition                                               70


  CHAPTER IX.

  The Nile boat--Voyage down the river--Defensive preparations--Sudden
  squall--Narrow escape--Alexandria--Rival hotels--Lessons
  in donkeyship--Domestic cookery--The “Great Liverpool”--Physiology
  of the Seis                                                         82


  CHAPTER X.

  Cairo--The Turkish bazaar--Test of a sword blade--The “Little
  Nile”--Recollections of the plague--The Eglintoun tents--Proceedings
  in the “Great Square”--Astonishment of the Pasha--A
  Mahomedan Dinner-party--Novel dishes--A Jewish wedding--Impertinent
  curiosity--The bride’s dower--A cunning Hebrew                      93


  CHAPTER XI.

  Dwarkanauth Tagore--Storm in the Mahmoudieh--A chapter of
  accidents--The half-drowned cadet--Arab knavery--Effects of the
  murrain--Donkey-chairs--A midnight gallop--Alteration in prospect--My
  van and its occupants--An enraged Portuguese--Disagreeable
  situation--Christmas-eve--Midnight interruption--Goose
 and Champagne                                                       106


  CHAPTER XII.

  Influx of travellers--Provision stores--The preserved “round”--New
  Year’s-day--Melancholy opening of New Year--Visit to
  the Pyramids--Old Selim--A moonlight walk--The Sphynx and German
  savans--Ascent of Cheops--The interior of the Pyramids--Unceremonious
  intruders--Trial of skill--A crack shot                            123


  CHAPTER XIII.

  The village of Sakhara--Sheik’s house--The brick
  pyramids--Mummies--The sacred ibis--Return to Cairo--An agreeable
  billet--Preparation for a voyage--Disappointment--A parting--The last
  journey across the Desert--A dilemma--Bedouin Arabs--No. 4
  Station--Departure from Cairo--Dinner at Mr. L.’s--Alexandria      140


  CHAPTER XIV.

  The “Minos” again--Café Francais--The Enfield stage--Departure
  from Egypt--Change of boats at Syra--A gale in the
  Mediterranean--Malta--The quarantine harbour--Fort Manuel--Inquisitive
  guardiano--Travellers’ collections--sanitary regulations and low
  diet--The parlatori--Resources in quarantine--Happy release        156


  CHAPTER XV.

  Choice of a route--The “Ercolano”--Syracuse--The Albergo del
  Sole--Sicilian cobbler--The ear of Dionysius--Beautiful
  gardens--Museum--Messina--Ancient
  fresco--Tropea--Stromboli--Naples--“Hotel de New
  York”--Herculaneum--Pompeii--Streets--Shops--Private houses--Progress
  of excavation                                                      168


  CHAPTER XVI.

  The Campo Santo--Churches--The Miserere--Curious
  sculpture--Agnano--Grotto del Cane--Frogs--Pozzuolo--Cave of the
  sybil--Hot springs--Boiled eggs--Hot sand--No end of
  phenomena--Baiæ--Vesuvius--Resina--The hermitage--Fatiguing
  ascent--The crater--Coming down with a run--The “Mongibello”--Civita
  Vecchia--Rome                                                      183


  CHAPTER XVII.

  The Roman Douane--The Hotel Cesarj--Meditations--The Caffé
  Greco--Its occupants--Morning walk--Wine carts--The
  Ruspoli--Bellamy’s toilet--Preparations for the Cervaro--The
  robing-room--Choice of a dress--The livery stable--Porta
  Maggiore--The Torre dei Schiave--A grand review--The
  quarries--Incantation to the sybil--The dinner--Return to Rome     199


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  The “Ponte Molle” club--Technical alphabet--Moccoletti--The black
  board--Election of candidates--The illustrated
  chorus--Harmonies--Change of domicile--The Via Sistina--The Pincian
  promenade--Trasteverini--The French Academy--High art and its
  votaries--Roman models--Pifferari--Pietro Pombo--The Via
  Margutta--L----, and his painting--Extraordinary model--Pictures
  and studios                                                        216


  CHAPTER XIX.

  The “Greco”--Signor Giovanni--Frequenters of the
  Barcaccia--Pietro--The Roman cigar--Caffé du’ Bon Gout--“Punch a la
  Romaine”--Italian eating-houses--The Lepri--Old
  Aurelio--Terribile--Roman bill of fare--Sweets--English
  errors--Dessert--The Lepri Garden--The “Gabbione”--Its
  neighbourhood--Fried fish--Alessio--“Una Bomba Alla Cerito”        235


  CHAPTER XX.

  The tombola--Mausoleum of Augustus--The montgolfier--Curious
  finale--The bigliardo--Pool--Sir T. B.--An amusing acquaintance--The
  bewildered barber--The dog “Pincio”--Preparations for
  Carnival--Bombarding in the Corso--Characters--Charlatans--The
  Festini                                                            247


  CHAPTER XXI.

  Journey to Florence--My friend Luish--A suspicious
  landlady--Monterosi--Nepi--The hotel--Luish’s hat--Civita
  Castellana--Otricoli--My washerwoman’s cousin--The merchandize
  cart--Narni--Terni--Pie-di’-Luco--The echo--Strittura--Egg
  diet--Fuligno--Perugia--Boarding-houses--Florence                  264


  CHAPTER XXII.

  The “Porta Rossa”--Journey to Bologna--The Belli
  Arti--Arcades--Certosa--Our fellow-travellers--The parrot--Austrian
  Douane--Ferrara--Padua--Caffé Pedrocchi--Venice--The Casa
  Raffaelli--Gondolas--Luish’s professional pursuits--My friend
  D. again--Titian--Military salute--The Passeggiata                 280


  CHAPTER XXIII.

  The Caffés of Venice--The “Florian”--The “Imperatore
  D’Austria”--Piazza--Venetian hawkers--Musicians--Merchants of
  Caromel--The Schiavoni--Italian cards--The Birrarie--San Moise--An
  accordeon player--Quintavalle--Queer
  fish--Dining-rooms--Serenades--Night on the Grand Canal--The
  Rialto--San Lazzaro--Malamocco--Chioggia--Captain Rovere in danger 298


  CHAPTER XXIV.

  The Ducal Palace--Bridge of Sighs--The Pozzi--Campanile--View
  from the summit--Swifts--The pigeons of St. Marks--Departure
  from Venice--The Ancona steamer--The Adriatic--Vicissitudes
  of a sea-voyage--The unfortunate friar--Pola--Its
  antiquities--The hotel--Ancona--The Custom-house--Disappointment--A
  village in the Appenines--Fuligno--Assisi--The
  boarding-house--San Francesco--Musical shoemakers--Spoleto--My
  countrywoman--Terni--Rome                                          313


  CHAPTER XXV.

  Change of domicile--Francesco--Friends from
  England--Picture-shops--Old painting--Artists and their
  patrons--Mr. Titmarsh--Anecdote of N---- --The dinner at
  Bertini’s--The English Academy--Table talk--Harmony--The
  Americans--Roman gaieties--Torlonia’s--The Festini--Hospital of
  San Michele--The Quirinal--Via Gregoriana--Mr. Raven again--The
  English church--The Friends’ meeting-house--Illumination of St.
  Peter’s                                                            333


  CHAPTER XXVI.

  Tivoli--Country excursions--Ciciliano--Hospitality of the
  mountaineers--The Porta San Lorenzo--Visit to the Governor--Another
  start northward--Florence--The Uffizii--S----, and his head of
  Velasquez--The flood of the Arno--Mr. M.--Lord D.--Unexpected
  summons--Pisa--Leghorn--Genoa--The
  “Diligence”--Alessandria--Turin--The railway deputation--Expedition
  to the Mont Cenis--Susa--Bardoneche--My friend B.’s
  mountain ramble--Successful “Jodeln”--The valley of the
  Dora Susa--Departure from Turin--Conclusion                        351




CHAPTER I.

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


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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Can you drive an engine?”

“I can.”

“Can you speak French?”

“Yes.”

“German and Italian?”

I nodded affirmatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the “Overland” vanished into the inner office--the door was shut,
and I _never_ saw him afterwards!

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

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

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




CHAPTER II.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER III.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER IV.

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


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

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

[Illustration: THE AUTHOR’S ENTRY INTO ALEXANDRIA.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

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




CHAPTER V.

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


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

[Illustration: THE PASHA’S NATIVE BAND.]

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER VI.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration]

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

[6] 1842-3.

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




CHAPTER VII.

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


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

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

[Illustration: A HALT IN THE DESERT.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

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




CHAPTER VIII.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

[10] “Good, good.”

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




CHAPTER IX.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER X.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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




CHAPTER XI.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THE DEAD DROMEDARY.]

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




CHAPTER XII.

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


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

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

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

[Illustration: THE “ROUND OF BEEF.”]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

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

[15] “It is, it is.”




CHAPTER XIII.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

[16] Coverlids of quilted cotton.

[17] The word _ishrob_, which is applied to the act of smoking,
means in Arabic, _to drink_, a synonyme explained by the practice of
_swallowing_ or _inhaling_ the smoke, peculiar to Orientals.




CHAPTER XIV.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER XV.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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






CHAPTER XVI.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER XVII.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

[19] “Right, left, together,” &c.




CHAPTER XVIII.

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


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

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

  “Ist das nicht der kürz ünd lang?”

to which all responded,--

  “Ya! das ist der kürz ünd lang.”

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

            “Ist das nicht ein Schnitzelbang?”

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

  (Chorus.) “Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang
            Eine Schöne, eine schöne
            Eine Schöne Schnitzelbang.”

Then again with the chalk

           “Ist das nicht der Ponte Molle?”

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

Adding some dots thus:

            “Ist es nicht so gar zü volle?”

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

  (Chorus.) “Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”
            “Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”
            “Eine Schöne, &c.”

Then a little mountain, thus:

           “Ist das nicht der Monte Cavo?”

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

Adding a little figure on one side of it

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

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

  (Chorus.) “Monte Cavo, kleine Bravo”
            “Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”
            “Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”
            “Eine schöne,” &c.

Then a little figure with a cocked hat:

           “Ist das nicht Napoleon?”

  (Tutti.) “Ya! das ist Napoleon!”

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

            “Der bei Leipsig laüft davon!”

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

  (Chorus.) “Napoleon, laüft davon”
            “Monte Cavo, kleine Bravo”
            “Ponte Molle, gar zü volle”
            “Schnitzelbang, kürz ünd lang”
            “Eine schöne, eine schöne”
            “Eine schöne Schnitzelbang.”

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

[Illustration: ARTISTS ON THE PINCIAN.]

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

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

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

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

[Illustration]

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

[Illustration]

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

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

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

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

[Illustration]


FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER XIX.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: UNA BOMBA ALLA CERITO!]


FOOTNOTES:

[25] Coffee and chocolate mixed.

[26] “No smoking here.”

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

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

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

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

[31] Zum schmutzigen Löffel.

[32] Swizzle. (English Vernacular.)

[33] Red Mullet.

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




CHAPTER XX.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

[35] The Italian terminations,--_accio_ and _uccio_ are particularly
expressive, one letter establishing a very wide difference in
their signification. _Bambino_ for example, means _a little boy_;
_Bambinaccio_, with a powerful emphasis on the _a_, means a naughty,
dirty little raggamuffin; whereas _Bambinuccio_ is a sweet little duck
of a boy!




CHAPTER XXI.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “We’d eggs in all shapes, ‘a la coq,’ ‘in tegame,’
  Eggs hard boiled, and soft boiled, and fried with _salame_.”

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

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

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

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

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

The following day brought us to Florence.


FOOTNOTES:

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




CHAPTER XXII.

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


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

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

In the Accademia, are some beautiful pictures. The _St. Agnes_ of
Domenichino, the _Madonna della Pietà_, by Guido, and Raffaelle’s _St.
Cecilia_, are wonderful. The _Pere Eternel_, by Guercino, said to have
been commenced and finished in one night, although to my thinking, a
subject none should dare to attempt, is an extraordinary production.
Guido’s _Massacre of the Innocents_ is also a beautiful composition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “---- her true, real, dismal state,
  Her mansions closed and desolate,
  Her foul canals, exhaling wide
  Such fetid airs as-- * *
   * * * * *
  Seem like a city where the pest
  Is holding her last visitation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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




CHAPTER XXIII.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

[38] “Two Zwanzigers the lot.”

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




CHAPTER XXIV.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




CHAPTER XXV.

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


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

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

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

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

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

THE THREE SAILORS.

  There were three sailors in Bristol City,
  Who took a boat and went to sea.

  But first with beef and captains’ biscuit,
  And pickled pork they loaded she.

  There was guzzling Jack and gorging Jimmy,
  And the youngest he was little Bil-_ly_.

  Now very soon they were so greedy,
  They did’nt leave not one split pea.

  Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,
  I am confounded hung-_ery_.

  Says gorging Jim to guzzling Jacky,
  We have no wittles, so we must eat _we_.

  Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,
  Oh! gorging Jim, what a fool you be.

  There’s little Bill as is young and tender,
  We’re old and tough--so let’s eat _he_.

  Oh! Bill, we’re going to kill and eat you,
  So undo the collar of your chemie.

  When Bill he heard this information,
  He used his pocket-handkerchee.

  Oh! let me say my Catechism,
  As my poor mammy taught to me.

  Make haste, make haste, says guzzling Jacky,
  Whilst Jim pulled out his snicker-snee.

  So Bill went up the main top-gallant mast,
  When down he fell on his bended knee.

  He scarce had said his catechism,
  When up he jumps; there’s land I see!

  There’s Jerusalem and Madagascar,
  And North and South Ameri-_key_.

  There’s the British fleet a riding at anchor,
  With Admiral Napier, K.C.B.

  So when they came to the Admiral’s Vessel,
  He hanged fat Jack, and flogged Jim-_my_.

  But as for little Bill, he made him
  The Captain of a Seventy-three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: FRIENDS’ MEETING AT ROME.]

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


FOOTNOTES:

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




CHAPTER XXVI.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


THE END.


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




Transcriber’s Notes

Errors in punctuation have been fixed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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