Lime
Lime, in combination with the acids, is applied to a great number of useful purposes. It is employed in making mortar for building; by the farmer as a manure; also by bleachers, tanners, sugar-bakers, and others; it is used also in medicine.
In agriculture, it is used for its properties of hastening the dissolution and putrefaction of all animal and vegetable matters, and of imparting to the soil the powers of imbibing and retaining moisture necessary for the nourishment and vigorous growth of plants.
In tanning leather, it is used to dissolve the gelatinous part of the skin, and to facilitate the removal of the hair, for which purpose the hides are immersed in a solution of lime.
In refining sugar, it is used to destroy a certain acid, which would else prevent the crystallization of the sugar.
In the manufacture of soap, it is mixed with the alkali, in order to deprive it of its carbonic acid, to render it caustic, and by this means fit it to combine with the oil or tallow, which is thereby converted into soap.
In the manufacture of glue, lime is used to prevent its becoming flexible by the absorption of moisture, and to add to its strength.
The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences
of Thomas Trotter.
CHAPTER XXII.
Journey to Florence.—Face of the country.—Narni.—A thunder-storm among the Appenines.—Strange method of stilling a tempest.—Crossing the mountains.—Spoleto.—The Clitumnus.—Foligno.—A town shaken by an earthquake.—Perugia.—The battle of Thrasymenus.—Tuscany.—The Italian Yankees.—Florence.—Beauty of the city.—Manners of the people.
On the morning of the 18th of May, I left Rome for Florence. The coachman pays all expenses of meals and lodging on the road, which secures the passengers from the impositions of the innkeepers, who will generally make the most exorbitant charges when they get a traveller in their power. My companions were a couple of jolly Italian priests; a young Frenchman, full of harum scarum liveliness; a grave old Polander, and a Roman country girl. The sun rose gloriously over the Appenines as we left the city behind us, and the soft, balmy breeze of the morning seemed to give life and freshness ‘to everything. The lofty peaks of the Appenines, however, were covered with snow. After leaving the desert level of the Campagna, we came to a delightful country of green meadows, interspersed with fields of wheat, and long ridges of blue mountains at a distance. People were mowing in the field: and the patches of wheat were curiously spotted over with red poppies. Beyond this the country became still more beautifully picturesque. Several old towers, with crumbling ruins and grass-grown walls, added to the variety and interest of the landscape. As we approached the Appenines, the country grew wilder, but everywhere exhibited a succession of enchanting views. There appeared little cultivation: the trees were chiefly olive and ilex. The mountains were covered with trees of a stunted growth.
On the afternoon of the second day we stopped at Narni, a village standing on a high rocky cliff, overlooking the vale of Terni. From the window of our inn, as I looked up the valley, I discerned a black thunder-cloud gathering on the mountains, and advised our driver not to go forward for the present. Presently the cloud began to roll down the valley toward us, spreading out its dark folds so as to fill the whole extent of the vale. I contemplated the approach of this mountain giant with feelings of sublimity and awe. The air, which at first had been in a dead calm and burning heat, now began to move, with cool breezes, which rapidly increased to a furious gale. In the midst of the tempest I was struck with a noise of what I supposed to be a clap of thunder, but which exactly resembled the report of a musket. Presently another, and another, and another, like a running fire of musketry, caused me to doubt whether it was really thunder. Casting my eyes up the steep sides of the crag on which the town is built, I saw muskets popping out and firing from the windows of every house. “What is the meaning of this?” asked I of a little boy who stood by. “To break the gale,” he replied. “See how it blows:—in a minute or two the wind will all go down.” Sure enough, in a few minutes the wind ceased, and a tremendous shower of rain, with thunder and lightning, followed; after which the clouds swept off, and all was clear and serene.
The villagers informed me that this was always done at the approach of a thunder-cloud; and that their guns never failed to break the storm and bring down rain. Strange as this may appear, it is easily explained. The explosion of firearms has the effect of thunder in giving a shock or electrical impulse to the air, and condensing the vapor into rain. There is no doubt that many of our dry storms might be converted into copious showers by the firing of cannon.
Our road now led us among the most savage and rugged portion of the Appenines. The ascent in many places was so steep that we took oxen at the country houses to assist our horses in dragging the carriage up the hills. Our conductor told us of a robbery that, a week before, had been committed here upon a company of English travellers. We also took notice of the crosses and piles of stones set up here and there, where murders had been committed. These would not be thought very comfortable things to amuse a traveller among the wild and lonely mountains. Towards night we met a company of malefactors, in chains, guarded by a file of soldiers. All these things gave a touch of romance to our travelling. But we passed the time very agreeably. The priests were saying their prayers and cracking jokes alternately, so that it was hard to tell whether they were most devout or waggish. That night we slept at a lonely house up in the mountains. We were not disturbed by robbers, and I was lulled to sleep by the song of the nightingales, who made the woods echo with their sweet melody all night long.
We set out early in the morning, and, descending the mountains, passed through Spoleto, a city whose romantic situation, with the blue mountain peaks towering above it, struck me with delight and admiration. During a short stay here for breakfast, my ghostly companions carried me off to the house of the bishop, who was greatly delighted to see a man from the new world. Americans hardly ever take this city in their route. Beyond Spoleto, we crossed the little stream of the Clitumnus, famous of old for the clearness of its waters. We stopped to dine at Foligno, a town which had been shaken by an earthquake a few months previous. The walls of the houses were twisted all out of shape, and in many of the streets great beams of wood extended across from wall to wall, to keep the houses from tumbling down.
A comical blind fellow, as he called himself, came begging after me in the streets. I was about to give him some money, but observed he had a marvellous instinct in stepping over all the puddles that lay in his way. I asked him how it happened that blind men never wet their feet. He answered that they could always smell the water. “Yes,” replied I, “and I can sometimes smell an impostor.” We went on as far as Perugia, an ancient Etruscan city, standing, as almost all these cities do, on the top of a hill, and having clean and neatly paved streets. The walls of this city are three thousand years old. In the morning our road descended the hills into a beautiful plain. The women were in the fields, spinning and tending sheep. We came in sight of the lake of Perugia, the ancient Thrasymenus, and found a thin white fog lying on the surface of the lake, just as it was on the morning of the terrible battle, when Hannibal overthrew the Romans with such slaughter that the rivulet, which flowed through the battle-field, ran with blood. It thence received the name of Sanguinetto, which it bears at this day.
This was the only fog I saw in Italy. Early in the forenoon, it vanished before the rays of the sun; and as we passed along the shores of the lake we contemplated with deep interest this fine sheet of water, diversified by a few little islands and skirted with green hills. All the scenery was rural, peaceful and soothing; and it was strange to think that on the verdant banks of this silvery lake, two mighty armies had once contended for the empire of the world! Beyond the lake, our path wound up a steep hill, where we stopped at the custom-house, for here we were to take leave of the Pope’s territory. While the officers were examining our passports, I read over Livy’s admirable description of the battle, the field of which lay directly at my feet. I could almost imagine I saw the furious hosts in actual conflict. The concluding passage is remarkable.
“Such was the terrible shock of the conflicting hosts, and so absorbed was every mind in the tumult of the battle, that the great earthquake of that day, which prostrated many cities in Italy, stopped the course of rivers, raised the ocean from its depths, and overthrew mountains,—passed unheeded by a single one of the combatants!”
A few miles brought us into Tuscany; and here we were struck with a remarkable improvement in the appearance of the people and the face of the country. The inhabitants are tidily dressed, clean and industrious. The roads are in excellent repair. The towns and villages are neat and thriving. The Tuscans, in fact, are the Yankees of Italy, and their country stands in much the same relation to the rest of the peninsula, that New England does to the other portion of the United States. It has a hard, rugged soil, and a comparatively cool climate. But the inhabitants are industrious, shrewd, inventive and persevering. They are also remarkable for their civil and obliging manners. It was a real enjoyment to see their cheerful faces after being accustomed to the sombre looks and reserved manners of the Romans.
All along the road were rows of mulberry trees, with vines gracefully trained in festoons from tree to tree. The hillsides were covered with olive groves. The oxen in the fields were all white, and curiously ornamented with headdresses of red tassels. From Castiglione, a little town on the top of a mountain, I had a most enchanting view of the Val di Chiana at my feet. It is skirted by lofty mountains and covered with rich green fields, dotted with innumerable white houses, that made me think of New England. From this place to Florence, the road goes constantly up and down hill, with perpetual variations of fine scenery, rich cornfields, vineyards, and hills crowned with groves of olive. We were now in the Val d’Arno, and saw additional marks of the industry of the Tuscan peasantry. All the productive land was under excellent cultivation, and the country-houses were neat, tidy and comfortable. I was struck with the peculiar shape of the chimneys, which are not, as with us, mere square blocks of masonry, but carved into graceful and picturesque shapes, like the turrets of a castle, so as to be highly ornamental. Two or three other large towns lay in our way, but my limits will not allow me here to describe them. The road led along the Arno, which is here a narrow stream, with high rocky banks. It is shallow, and little used for navigation above Florence.
This beautiful city is surrounded by lofty hills, covered with vineyards, olive groves, gardens, country seats and palaces. Everything around it is beautiful: the landscape is fresh, verdant and smiling; the buildings are neat and picturesque, and all looks thriving and comfortable. “Florence the fair” deserves her title. From the summit of one of the surrounding hills, you look down upon the white walls of the city, crowned with domes and towers, and trace the windings of the Arno into the rich green valley below. The interior does not disappoint these favorable impressions. The houses are all well built, and the streets neatly paved with flat stones, as smooth as a floor. This feature is characteristic of all the old Etruscan cities. Fellows with little donkey carts, brooms and shovels, are constantly going up and down the streets, picking up every particle of dust, so that the streets are kept perfectly clean. The smooth pavements make it impossible for horses to run fast over them, but so much the better for foot-passengers.
Florence is full of old palaces, with immense thick walls, and heavy, massive architecture. They are, in fact, so many castles, and were built in turbulent times, when the city was disturbed by civil wars and factions, and the nobles intrenched themselves in their castles. The eaves of the houses project six or eight feet; and during showers you have little need of an umbrella, as the water shoots from the roofs into the middle of the street. All the buildings are of stone: a brick is never seen, except occasionally for a hearth, or in the tiling of a floor. The fine buildings are for the most part of macigno, a stone much like Quincy granite in color, but not so hard. The common houses are of rough stone, stuccoed and painted. The Duomo or cathedral, is cased with panels of black and white marble. It is a stupendous and imposing edifice, but, though begun five or six hundred years ago, it is not yet finished. The front, which was designed to be the most splendid part of the edifice, is a mere plastered wall, because the builders could not decide upon anything rich enough at first, and so left it to their posterity to finish.
The Florentines seem never to sleep except from dinner-time to sunset. All night long they are in the streets, singing and pursuing their amusements. Midnight is the noisiest portion of the twenty-four hours. People in the streets, however, are never rude or offensively boisterous; they are only merry and jovial. Nothing can be more civil and decorous than their behavior, both out of doors and in. A female, young or old, may walk the whole length of the city at any hour of the night without fear of being insulted. There was a great gala during my stay here, on occasion of the grand duke’s wedding. All the population was collected at the Cascine, or public gardens, just without the city gates. The festivities were kept up all night: the trees were hung with thousands of colored lamps; tables were spread everywhere, and universal merrymaking and jollity prevailed till the morning light. During all these diversions I did not witness a single act of rudeness or impropriety of behavior on the part of any person. No noisy brawling, drunken revelry, indecent language or impertinent puppyism of demeanor, such as are too apt to disgrace popular assemblages of miscellaneous persons in other countries.
Our Leghorn straws come chiefly from Florence. A great part of the employment of the poorer classes of the city and neighborhood is braiding straw. There are also many manufacturers of silk here. In the market you may see, every day, bushels of cocoons brought in by the country people for sale. There appears, however, to be little wholesale business done here; most of the traders being small shopkeepers. Living is cheaper than even at Rome, with the single exception of house-rent, but that is not extravagant. There is quite an appearance of wealth here: the number of carriages kept by private persons is surprising. Almost all have livery servants and footmen, and you see these great strapping fellows, in regimentals and cocked hats, with swords at their sides, engaged in the exalted employment of standing behind a carriage, opening doors and holding ladies’ parasols. The cost of keeping a coach, two horses and a coachman is about a dollar a day! The common soldier’s pay is about a cent per day.
I cannot stop to describe the pictures and statuary of this city, though these are the very things which bring most travellers to Florence. Even without these attractions the place would be the most agreeable residence in all Italy. The government is liberal to foreigners, well knowing that they spend much money here. The inhabitants are exceedingly civil and obliging, both from native amiability of disposition, and the wish to keep good customers among them. In consequence of this, Florence has always a great many foreigners permanently residing in the city and neighborhood. The banks of the Arno, above the city, and the hill on the slope of Fiezoli are covered with elegant villas, many of which are inhabited by English residents.
It is a common proverb, in allusion to the superior fertility of the Roman soil over the Tuscan—that the Pope has the flesh of Italy, and the Grand Duke the bones. The Tuscans are industrious; and the Romans are lazy. I prefer the bones to the flesh!
Quere.—A writer on school discipline says that it is impossible to make boys smart without the use of the rod. What do you think of that, my young friends?