“There are many other proofs to be found in history of this savageness of the Tartars in war; yet, all travellers tell us of their hospitality, humanity and kindness, in peace. Many of them are robbers by trade, and from the earliest times they have been accustomed to pour down, by thousands, from their colder climes, to ravage the rich and luxurious natives of the south.”
When the captain paused, the merchant remarked, that he was much gratified at this sketch of Tartar history and character. “I suppose,” said he, “that the phrase, ‘he has caught a Tartar,’ arose from the general notion among mankind, that the people of this stock, are a rough, untameable race. I have, indeed, heard a story told as giving origin to this proverb. A braggadocia soldier, it is said, in one of our wars against some of the tribes on the borders of the Caspian, getting separated from his companions, was taken by one of the enemy. His commander being near—the soldier called out—‘Captain, I have caught a Tartar,’—‘Well,’- said the captain, ‘fetch him along!’ ‘But the fellow won’t let me come!’ said the soldier. Since that time, the expression, he has caught a Tartar, is applied to those, who, in seeking to get an advantage of others, have been taken in themselves.
“But you were speaking of Genghis Khan. I was once among the Cossacks of the Don—among whom there are always many story-tellers. I recollect to have heard one relate a tale of that famous conqueror, which exhibits him in the light in which you have portrayed him. Shall I tell it?”
“Certainly,” was the reply of several voices—and the merchant went on. But as the story is rather long, we must leave it for the next chapter.
The Voyages, Travels, and Experiences of Thomas Trotter.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Horse-races at Florence.—Excursion to Vallombrosa.—Mountain scenery.—The monastery.—Wild and secluded situation.—Life of the monks.—Travelling on foot in Italy.—Things not seen there.—Manners of the children.—Beauty of the skies.—Comparison with things in America.
The grand duke of Tuscany had just been married and was celebrating his wedding at Florence, by all sorts of public shows. There were fireworks, balls, and entertainments of every description, among which were horse-races. These last are singular exhibitions: the horses are raced through the streets, in the very centre of the city, and without riders—a procedure which we should think very hazardous. In fact, it often happens that people are killed by the sport. The streets being paved with smooth flat stones, on which a horse cannot run without danger of slipping, the whole extent of the race-course is strown with earth, and the streets leading into it are closed by barriers. A dozen horses are started at a time, bearing spurs instead of riders. These spurs consist of leaden bullets set full of sharp points and attached loosely to the horse’s back by cords. When the animal runs, the bullets fly up and down, striking their sharp points into his hide at every step, and goading him onward with great pain. At the moment of starting, the whole race-course is blocked up with a dense throng of spectators, who open to the right and left, as the horses approach, leaving a narrow lane in the middle of the street, through which they gallop, often to the imminent danger of the populace. I saw several exhibitions of this sort; but, although the Italians thought them remarkable for the speed of the animals, it did not appear to me that they were any way distinguished for their fleetness. A horse without a rider has less weight to carry, and might be supposed to run faster on that account; but he lacks the incitement and encouragement which his rider can infuse into him. The Florentines, however, seemed to enjoy the sport mightily, and rent the air with shouts and halloos, waving their handkerchiefs and swinging their hats, as the horses brushed by them in the crowd, to frighten them onward.
I made another excursion from Florence to visit the celebrated monastery of Vallombrosa, about twenty miles distant, among the Appenines. The road ran, for about a dozen miles, up the valley of the Arno, and I was enchanted with the beautifully variegated aspect of the country. It was everywhere broken and hilly; olive trees and vineyards were abundant, and the gardens exhibited the richest culture. Within about six miles of Vallombrosa, the road becomes too steep and rugged for carriages, and here I found the forest trees begin to appear for the first time. Below, the country is clear of wood, with the exception of the olive and mulberry and other fruit trees of moderate height. On the steeps of the mountains, which I was now ascending, I met with many chestnuts and oaks, which appeared quite lofty in comparison with the trees I had formerly seen here, although they were much inferior in size to those of the same family in America. As I continued to ascend, the woods became thicker, and abounded in walnuts and firs. By the name walnut, the reader must not understand the shagbark, or hickory tree of America, which does not grow in Europe; but the tree producing the fruit known in our country as the English walnut, although it grows in almost every part of Europe, particularly in the south. The path grew still more steep and rugged, and the woods thicker, until at length they exhibited much of the savage aspect of a forest. In the midst of this wild scenery, the monastery burst on my view, perched on the side of a mountain, and overhung by the towering Appenines, dark and frowning, with shaggy woods.
The situation of the abbey of Vallombrosa is most striking and romantic. Lonely, remote, and secluded, it stands in an amphitheatre of wild mountains, so greatly variegated in scenery, that Milton, who spent much of his time in this place, has copied it accurately in his description of Paradise. This enchanting spot, as his verses beautifully describe,