Twenty years around the world

by John Guy Vassar

I had taken the precaution at Rome to write to Civita Vecchia to secure a berth by the steamer Capri for Leghorn, but on my arrival I found my chance was only for a mattress on the cabin floor, as some one hundred and fifty passengers had just escaped from the revolution and massacre at Naples, and the steamer was full. We had one of those nights that I had seldom seen on the Mediterranean, stormy and boisterous, with a heavy sea; the horrors of sea-sickness were experienced by all, except some six of us old travellers, who, in place of a four-franc dinner, always paid for in advance, could only get a bowl of soup by bracing oneself in a corner. Chairs were flying about under the table, and one confused, chaotic mass of humanity, men, women, and children, was stretched over the settees and cabin floors, while others kept on deck exposed to a drenching rain.

At the Baths of Lucca I found but few strangers, as they were fearful of an attack from deserted soldiers, and a portion of the Neapolitan army who had been recalled by their despotic king.

At Florence the people caught the general, whose mission had been at Bologna to recall the troops after the revolution of Naples; he succeeded in making his escape, however, but we had a great flare-up in the public place, at midnight, in the burning of his papers and carriage. It was a tumultuous scene; the infatuated mob hissing, groaning, and shouting, and the military with their gleaming bayonets shining, as the flames and cinders rose in the air.

The Grand Duke is much respected by his people, and Tuscany has more liberty than any other part of Italy. I was a witness of the brilliant reception he received by the populace at Leghorn, and heard his address from the balcony of the palace, after which followed an illumination of the city. I have little confidence in the lower classes of Leghorn. They are excitable and tumultuous, and difficult to restrain, and we may soon hear of a general flare-up or civil war. It afforded me pleasure to visit once again our fellow-countrymen, Messrs. Powers and Greenough, whose studios have contributed so much in sculpture to the fame of American artists, and who are so well known in our country. I found several other American artists, both painters and sculptors, at Florence, who promise well for the future. It is one of the most agreeable residences in Italy, but I find fewer strangers here than formerly, as the political disturbances, and the failure of bankers in Paris, have driven them away.

At Genoa all was tranquil, and from thence I took the malle-poste via Alexandria, the great Piedmont fortifications, near which is the battle-ground of Marengo, for Turin. In the absence of the royal family and the bulk of the army it was rather dull. The greatest enthusiasm for the Italian cause pervades all Sardinia, and the Piedmont soldiers, being a brave and hardy race from the mountains, are capable of doing duty; but I fear without support from other sources they will not be able to resist the impetuous and large forces of the Austrians, composed of Croats, Slavonians, and Hungarians.

Turin is a beautiful city, with a population of some two hundred thousand, and is handsomely situated on the river Po. Its boulevards and promenades in the suburbs are strikingly pretty. The palace of Charles Albert is vast and richly ornamented; the collection of ancient armor in the old chateau is more beautiful than any I had seen, except the Green Vaults of Dresden.

The Sardinian Senate was in session, and in company with our Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Niles, who accompanied me to the Tribune, where was seated the delegation from Milan, praying the union of Lombardy to Sardinia. We heard Count Balbi of Genoa, well known for his liberal views, present a petition for the immediate incorporation of the two countries. It was received with bursts of applause and unanimous acclamations, and rarely have I seen so much enthusiasm in a public body of representatives.

The country from Turin to Ivrea, as the road strikes north to the St. Bernard, is well cultivated, and has an air of comfort; and, in fact, in Piedmont generally is seen much less of that squalid poverty than is met with at the south of Italy.

The valley of Ostia is beautiful in the extreme, for the wild and picturesque, as is also the mountain scenery, and the torrents from the melting of the snows, as they rush by with an impetuosity frightful to behold, and only found in Switzerland in the vicinity of high mountains. To my surprise, at the foot of St. Bernard, in the extreme north of Italy, I found at the entrance of the town of Ostia a Roman arch that in beauty and preservation would surpass the arches of Titus and Constantine in Rome. There is also a colossal Roman bridge in good preservation, although partly covered with the dust of ages, also the remains of an amphitheatre, and other relics.

After a day spent here I proceeded in a one-horse vehicle to a small village at the foot of the mountain, where commences the ascent, and where I passed the night. At the entrance of the inn I started back at the sight of a huge chained dog, with glassy eyes, but soon found it was none other than the stuffed skin of one of those noble fellows who had saved the lives of several snow-benighted travellers.