Sand and Canvas: Narrative of adventures in Egypt with a sojourn among the artists in Rome

by Samuel Bevan

W. now took it into his head to make a sudden start for the north, and proposed that I should accompany him. I had certainly not intended quitting Rome so early in the spring, but my friend was an invalid, and having but little knowledge of Italian, was hardly in a condition to trust himself to the tender mercies of uncouth Vetturini and exacting landlords. Under these circumstances I made up my mind to go with him, and after some little search, met with a light britzka and pair of horses, belonging to a cabman of Florence, who agreed to deposit us safe and sound in that city within four days from the time of starting, for a sum of fifty scudi, including beds, and two substantial daily meals.

I had now to bid a second adieu to my Roman friends, and not knowing how far I might be induced to accompany W., left the few heavy valuables I possessed in the care of a kind banker in the Condotti, taking with me such only as a long journey might render necessary. Travelling by way of Perugia, we reached Florence by easy stages, and located ourselves at the “Quatre Nations,” from whence I shortly removed to the house of the Signor Vital, on the Lung’ Arno, with whom I had been long acquainted. Here I staid two weeks or more, copying in the Uffizii and Pitti galleries, to which the access is sufficiently easy. In the former I made acquaintance with S——, an English artist, who was busily copying a head by Velasquez. Whether it was that he soon after got tired of his subject, or became disgusted with his production, he did not tell me, but I was much astonished one day, on paying my usual visit to his part of the gallery, to find him in the act of finishing off his study with a pair of prodigiously black eyes, which stared at me from the canvas with a fixedness that was excessively absurd. Remonstrance was useless. Adding two spots of white, which served to perfect the vagary, S—— turned his picture to the wall, where we left it. Some days afterwards, I happened to be in that division of the gallery, when it was undergoing the weekly visit of the sweeping brush. The head custode, who would suffer none but himself to touch such pictures as were in progress, was regarding the copy of Velasquez with a stare almost as intense as that which had been imparted to it by S——. In another moment, he had summoned the whole of his underlings; but to no purpose—they one and all pleaded innocent of the foul trick upon the Signor Inglese. The poor custode was in despair, and was wringing his hands and tearing his wig in anticipation of the dismissal which would inevitably follow S——’s exposure of the black eyes, when that gentleman himself entered the gallery, and immediately relieved the old man’s anxiety by adding a nose and mouth to match, and packing up his painting apparatus.

At Florence I met with my friend Edward M——y, who had gained so deserved a popularity by his courageous exploits in the flood which caused so much damage in 1845, when the Arno, swollen to a mighty torrent by the rains which poured into it from the mountains, encroached beyond its wonted bounds, and sweeping down the valley with irresistible rapidity, carried all before it. For days did the waters tear along, bearing upon their bosom the spoils of many a goodly homestal. Cattle and trees, chairs, tables, beds, pianofortes, and every possible description of household furniture, nay, the very body of the inmates themselves, were carried away by the ruthless torrent, which converted the streets of Florence into canals, and rose in some of the squares to a height of more than six feet. M——y was at this time living in the Palazzo P——, in the Borgo dei Greci, and on the morning of the first day of the flood was awakened by his landlady, who entered his room, wailing and beating her hands in a state of frightful agitation. It was not without difficulty that M——y managed to elicit that something unusually terrible had taken place out of doors, but in going to the window, he saw quite sufficient to enlighten him completely. A horse, nearly exhausted, was swimming about in the street below, among a quantity of flasks, barrels, and other commodities, which had floated from out the cellars. The good woman now gave him to understand that her son had left the house early in the morning, and was certainly drowned; but whilst M——y was in the act of assuming a pair of light summer trousers, a message was passed along the adjacent houses to the effect that the young man was on a plank at some distance off, and in imminent peril of being carried into the Arno. M——y was now at the steps of the palace, where several people were congregated. One old woman begged him “per l’amore della Madonna,” and as he valued his life, not to venture; but the afflicted mother stood by, and our friend did not hesitate a second. Being a man of Herculean frame, and possessed of incredible strength, he was able, whilst he touched terra-firma, to stem the force of the current with his head and shoulders above the water, and having cautiously waded to the young man, whose hold upon the plank was becoming every moment more feeble, he stretched forth his arm and rescued him.

This was not the only one whose life M——y was the providential means of saving, but the accounts I heard respecting the others were so varied, that I shall not farther allude to them. I often begged him to give me the particulars, but so uniformly averse was he to expatiate upon his own exploits, that I at last gave it up as a bad job.

Perhaps one of the most daring feats related in connection with this flood, was that performed by Lord D. This nobleman had engaged to dine with the Honourable C—— L——, and both occupied palaces in the same street, though at considerable distance from each other. The waters were too deep to allow of wading, and the act of swimming was rendered hazardous from the rapidity with which the torrent was raging. But his word had been passed, and the hour fixed for dinner having nearly arrived, his lordship unhesitatingly committed himself to the flood, and by making a rush from one window to the other, and clinging to the iron work with which almost all were furnished, succeeded in gaining the hotel of his friend, whose family he astonished in no small degree, by suddenly presenting himself at the first-floor window, just as they were about to sit down to table. Having borrowed a dry suit, Lord D., who evidently was not to be easily discouraged by trifles, enjoyed his dinner, and swam back again to his own domicile.

I had scarce been a fortnight at the house of the Signor Vital, when the plans which I had formed for my future guidance, were suddenly knocked on the head by the receipt of a letter inviting me immediately northward, to meet a deputation of railway potentates, among whom were one or two personal acquaintance of my own. These gentlemen, armed with powers to treat, and unfathomable purses, were invading Italy, fraught with a scheme which would defy the very Alps, and make footballs of the Appenines. The partial completion of the Lombardo-Venetian trunk, had already whetted the appetites of the Austrians, who were free to receive and take fire at the scintillations of the great railway firework which had recently exploded in Britain, and had scattered its sparks over the whole of the north of Italy, some blowing over into gentle Tuscany, whilst a very few fell into the dominions of the Pope. Although somewhat loth to close my colour box, in the uncertain expectation of having once more to shoulder a theodolite, I felt that it would be impolitic to refuse an invitation which had been extended through the interest of my friends, and might lead to important results.

I therefore once more packed up my portmanteau, and as W. was intending to proceed to Genoa, which would be all on my way to Turin, we hired a carriage for Pisa, and leaving Florence at ten at night, changed horses three times, and at six in the morning arrived at the birth-place of Galileo. We put up at a little inn near to the railway by which we were to reach Leghorn, and hastily dispatching our breakfast, walked out in a heavy rain to see the leaning tower or Campanile, and other interesting objects in its neighbourhood. A priest conducted us into the Baptistery, a circular building standing by itself, with a spacious and lofty dome. Here the good man, who possessed a rich and powerful voice, chanted a few verses, in order that we might hear the reverberation caused by the peculiar structure of the cupola, and almost startled us by the effect he produced. The Campo Santo is close by, and its covered galleries abound with frescoes and other valuable works of art, much injured by time. The earth in this burial-place is said to have been brought from Calvary by the Pisans, on their return from a crusade, and the name of Campo Santo, applied to all Italian cemeteries, probably owes its origin to this circumstance.

A railway trip of half-an-hour’s duration, brought us to Leghorn, where we engaged berths for Genoa. Repairing on board the steam vessel, we found, to our chagrin, that the rain which had prevented the discharge of her cargo, would be the cause of our staying a day in this dirty sea-port. We had, therefore, to pocket our soap and toothbrushes, and secure beds at a little hotel contiguous to the shore, passing the remainder of the wet and dismal day in strolling through the town, and poking about in the ware-room of Jewish merchants.

Arrived at Genoa, and having obtained pratique, we passed through the strict formalities of its custom-house, and located ourselves at the “Croce di Malta.” Being in expectation of hearing something decisive from my friend of the railway deputation, respecting the whereabouts of the party, I hastened to the post-office, but met with no success. Having taken every precaution respecting the due forwarding of any letters from Florence, I made up my mind to wait patiently in Genoa until some intelligence might reach me.

I had been six days at the “Croce,” when the waiter handed me a letter. It was from W——m, informing me that the parties were at Turin, and that I might there make sure of finding them. By half-past two o’clock I had taken my seat in the coupé of the diligence, between a Spaniard and a pretty Turinese lady, and my friend W. having wished me bon voyage, I was soon rattling away towards Alessandria, passing over the blood-stained plains of Marengo, where fell the brave Dessaix. We reached that city at ten at night. Some of the passengers partook of a hearty supper which was in readiness for them, but my fair fellow-traveller, who seemed to think that a few sweets and a cup of hot coffee would suit her better, at so late an hour, than a heavy meal, possessed herself of my arm in a way as unceremonious as it was agreeable, and hurried me off to a brilliant café in the square, where we passed one of the two hours which the conducteur had informed me must elapse before the arrival of the branch mail from Tortona.