CXIII.
Florence, Italy, May 2, 1856.
Yesterday, the 1st of May, a gala-day in many countries, happening to be the anniversary of the Ascension, it united the church festival and the annual rejoicings of citizens and peasants; all business being suspended, and the entire populace at liberty, there was an unusual movement of the masses, and from early dawn until night might be seen the working-classes with their baskets of provisions, and flasks of wine, making their way to the shady groves of the Cascina, or royal farm. The wealthy denizens, in carriages, reserved their drive until towards evening, to enjoy the music of the band, which had already assisted at the church exercises and processions of the morning.
Having left the gay throng, I wandered along through the forest upon the banks of the Arno, listening to the changing notes of the nightingale, until I came to the junction of another stream, which arrested my progress. I was startled by the tread of the iron-horse in the distance, on his way to Leghorn. My thoughts, with more than locomotive speed, carried me back to the advantages enjoyed through steam power. One year before I was strolling upon the shores of the Danube, through the shady woods of the Prater, watching the movements of the people, and the gay cortege of the Imperial family of Austria, on a like occasion. The same power had since conveyed me twice across the Atlantic, through our Western States, and to the head waters of the Mississippi, and how much reason I had to be thankful for my almost miraculous preservation from the perils attending that power which I had so recently praised, in the superior qualities of the steamer Pacific, in my last passage to Europe. If she be now unfortunately added to the list of lost, it makes the sixth of the first-class steamers gone to the bottom, from which I have escaped within the past few years.
My reverie was broken by the appearance of a group of ruddy-faced peasant-girls, some with broad-brimmed straw-hats and long ribbons floating in the breeze, and some with pearl necklaces and crossed ear-rings. It was a bridal party. Some of the girls were remarkable for their beauty and freshness of complexion, notwithstanding their exposure to hard labor in the vineyards. The bridal portion of the peasant girl consists in the dress and valuable ornaments presented to her by the groom a few days before the marriage.
As I returned through the broad and solitary avenues, I met at intervals the forest guards, of which there were ten in number, in picturesque hunting dresses, with rifles in their hands, and plumes in their hats. Then I came to the joyful and giddy throng—music, dancing, eating, and drinking.
Winter is past, spring time has come once again, and all strive to be happy. Little country urchins are offering children miniature corn-stalk cages containing crickets, whose singing qualities they proclaim to inquiring nurses.
The annual races were held recently for three days in the same vicinity, which attracted large numbers of the upper classes of the community. The concourse of beauty and fashion in carriages was quite different from what it is with us, and gave strangers, of whom large numbers are now here on their return from Rome and Naples, a fine opportunity of seeing the aristocracy, and witnessing the sports of the turf. Curiosity led me to be present on one occasion, and I found things went off better than I had expected. Considerable interest was manifested by many for the success of a horse mounted by a negro jockey, rather a rare personage in this country, but poor Cuffy was almost distanced. It seemed to me, however, the fellow was not disheartened, for I saw him in the evening sipping his ice with a well-dressed white woman in a respectable café. I cite this as one of many examples seen in England and on the continent, however shocking it may be to the American mind to witness, of the practical amalgamation of the races carried out among the sympathizers of poor Uncle Tom.
Inasmuch as all Europe have had their demonstrations of joy upon the return of peace, so also has this government manifested its satisfaction in a jubilee. I suppose even the Duchy of Parma has done the same, although recently put in a state of siege, growing out of the frequent attempts at assassination of government officers. All fire-arms must be given up, and strangers are closely watched.
The people are looking anxiously for the publication of the articles of peace, hoping that Italy may also have real cause for rejoicing.
Although the carriage horses here are of large size and well-proportioned, there is quite a passion manifested for small ponies of the Shetland stock, for little tiny wagons, well adapted to run over the hills, and glide in and around the city, over the well-paved streets.
My ears have been bored several days past with the continual chiselling of the Scarpellini, or stone-cutters, who are repaving the street under my windows, and the solid arched stone bridge over the river. From seven in the morning until seven in the evening, with an hour’s intermission for a frugal meal, they are measuring, picking, and cutting huge granite blocks into suitable forms, close jointed; the street has no sidewalk, the descent being gradual from the houses, and the water carried off by culverts from the centre. It is a pleasure to look upon such beautiful work; a carriage rolls without impediment, and where there is an ascent it can be nitched or chiselled, as may be needed, for the foothold of horses. These poor mechanics earn from thirty to forty cents per day, our currency, and consider themselves well paid, notwithstanding the increased price of provisions, while large numbers in other pursuits have only the miserable pittance of from one to one and a half pauls per day, say from twelve to eighteen cents.
Begging in the capital is prohibited by law, but tolerated in consequence of the distress of the poor. Public beggars are frequently unworthy of charity, but a Howard would have a fine field here for the exercise of benevolence. The other day, emerging from the Palazzo Pitti, or royal residence, wearied in gazing through long galleries at the pictures of Raphael, Rubens, Titian, Salvator Rosa, Murillo, Carlo Dolci, and a host of other celebrated painters; at the statuary of renowned artists, the allegorical frescoed ceilings, and seeking relief in the shady walks of the Boboli, or palace garden, my attention was arrested by the Ducal family riding out with a splendid equipage. Happy children of wealthy families fed the gold fish in the basins surrounding the fountains, decorated with the colossal figure of Neptune, with the waters of the Ganges, Nile, and Euphrates gushing forth, while nurses and liveried servants were in attendance.
Continuing my walk quite into the suburbs, and reflecting upon the concentration of so much treasure in the hands of the nobility, and the inequality of society in monarchical countries, I accidentally met a little boy quite alone, poorly clad, with dejected air, trying to gather a few sticks. On inquiry I found he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and had left his poor mother and four children in a suffering state. His hunger was soon appeased at the first baker’s shop, and it was pleasant to see the little fellow going to the relief of the others with something more substantial than his errand called for.
After repeated visits to the same city, one becomes so accustomed to the remarkable sights which first attract the stranger, that if he attempts to describe them he scarcely knows where to begin.
We pass and repass the Palazzo Vecchio, an old palace of Grecian and Etruscan architecture, with its lofty tower of the thirteenth century, and its gigantic figures, at the entrance, of David slaying Goliah, and Hercules slaying Cacus, with but slight notice, casting a glance at the open gallery opposite, with its pretty front of columns and arches, containing the beautiful bronze figure of Perseus and Medusa, with the bleeding head of the latter severed from the body, the marble group of a young Roman warrior carrying off a Sabine female, whose father is prostrate at his feet, the statues of priestesses, figures of huge lions, &c.
One strolls along through the city, on some church festival, to the Duomo, or cathedral of the thirteenth century, the walls of which are of black and white polished marble, four hundred feet in length. The front never was finished, but a project is now on foot for its completion. The square tower, or Campanilla, of Arabic and Greek architecture, of white, black, and red marble, stands beside it, and rises two hundred and eighty feet in height. The baptistery, of octagon form, somewhat resembling the Parthenon at Rome, stands opposite and completes the trio.
The bronze doors are exceedingly beautiful, with festoons and foliage prettily wrought. The marble columns, the altars, the twelve statues representing the Apostles and the written laws, the trophies of victory, won by the Republic against the Pisans—these, with other adornments here, become so familiar to the eye, that when one drops in on some festival occasion, or christening, his attention is more directed to the personages and ceremonies than the contents of the edifice.
Instead of wearying you with descriptions of works of art, I would rather revert to the beauties of nature, at this season of the year, in the neighborhood of Florence. The rides, walks, and views from the surrounding hills, are now most agreeable and rarely excelled.