CHAPTER XVII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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