It was altogether so delightful a journey, that to some at least of our party it caused a feeling of regret when about six o'clock on Sunday evening they reached the top of the hill of San Donato, and for the first time looked upon Firenze la bella, and the beautiful view over the valley of the Arno. They quickly descended to the Porta san Nicolo, by which they entered the city—crossed the Ponte alle Grazie, drove along the Lung' Arno, passing the arcades of the Uffizi, and the Piazza di Santa Trinita, and drew up at one of the hotels which face the river. And here, in beautiful Florence, let us leave them to repose.
[CHAPTER IX.]
On the morning after their arrival our travellers—the younger ones especially—were all impatience to see something of the fair city of Florence, so famed, moreover, for the beauty of its position; and the scene, as they looked from the windows of the hotel, inclined them to join in singing its praises.
The fine quay of the Lung' Arno; the river itself flowing along calmly, and glittering beneath the sun's bright rays; the hill on the opposite side with its olive-trees and gardens, relieved here and there by an imposing building, were all beautiful seen from a distance. The narrow dusty roads between high walls, the faded and dried-up appearance of all around, are then hidden; but a closer view raises a sigh for the lovely lanes with their flowery hedges, and the fresh green verdure of our own dear country, or even of the neighbourhood of Rome, where the dampness of the climate counteracts the effect of the scorching sun, and prevents, in some degree, the washed-out look which is so striking everywhere about Florence. When our friends come to explore that which looks so pretty from the hotel windows, they may, perhaps, be tempted to think that the beauty of the country round Florence has been overrated, and, were it not rash to say so, even to prefer the charms of some of the other towns which they passed through on their way from Rome. They must, however, visit the "lions" within the gates before they extend their excursions beyond them; and although it is very possible that they may be slightly disappointed with the latter, they certainly cannot be with the former. With such treasures as those which adorn her galleries of the Uffizi, the Pitti, and the Belle Arti, surely Florence could afford to be surnamed la brutta instead of la bella! Yes, she might well dispense with all exterior loveliness, and pointing to the long line of celebrated men to whom she has given birth, say, in the words of the mother of the Gracchi, "Here are my jewels!" As it is, Nature too has been bountiful to Florence, for she has undoubtedly given her a large share of beauty in addition to all the rest.
Their first visit was to the Uffizi, and in the far-famed tribune they saw, with wondering eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Penton, and her brother, Mr. Barkley. As they shook hands with Mrs. Penton, and expressed some surprise at seeing them there, since they supposed them to be in Naples, she replied, "We did go to Naples on the evening after Mrs. Elton's ball, and we spent a week there; then Edmund"—looking towards Mr. Barkley, who was in another part of the room—"came to us from Sicily; we sailed direct to Leghorn, and arrived here yesterday."
"You certainly have lost no time," said Mrs. Adair; "for we came straight from Rome, and yet we only arrived yesterday. We travelled however by the Perugia route, which is a long one, but oh, how beautiful!"
"So every one says. We were, however, pressed for time, and therefore we had to get over the ground as quickly as possible; but how we shall ever tear Edmund away from Florence is more than I can say. You know my brother, do you not?"
"Yes,—that is, Flora and I know him, but the Blakes have never met him; he would, I am sure, find Mr. Blake a delightful companion; he knows Florence so well, and is quite an enthusiastic admirer of its works of art; in fact, he is a most desirable guide to them."