I next visited the Abbey, and some of the most beautiful cloisters I think I ever beheld. Hundreds of delicate columns of white marble, filagreed and inlaid with gold and mosaics, and with exquisite capitals, rose before me on all sides, which, with the fine tracery of the Gothic windows, formed a vista of perfect classic loveliness.
Afterwards, by the kind invitation of one of the monks, I visited the Convent refectory above. There were some good oil-paintings here; and I was pleased to see, by the number of schools within the building, that good work was being done by this wealthy Convent—now probably under the supervision of the Italian Government.
On returning, I had magnificent panoramic views of the valley and Palermo constantly before me. I was much amused, on my way back, to see the peasant women plaiting their daughters' hair outside their houses, on the high-road, and doing their best to beautify it by unblushingly introducing long artificial tresses! This was rather disappointing to my day-dreams, as I had so much admired Nature's rich dark clustering head-dress on the heads of the handsome Italian peasant women.
There is a nice little English church at Palermo, near the Street of Palms, and I quite enjoyed the service, everything was so bright and peaceful. There was a goodly gathering of English folk assembled within its walls.
Near the Royal Palace, in the Via Toledo, is the Cathedral, a fine Gothic pile of very striking appearance, standing well back in the piazza, its rather quaint Campanile separated from it by a narrow street arched over. The principal porch is in the form of a very beautiful arch; the interior in the Corinthian style, and chiefly interesting for the beauty and richness of the high altar. In one of the chapels are the tombs of Roger II. and the Emperor Frederic, and those of their respective families.
There are several other churches in Palermo well worth a visit. St Domenico, which is built in the Doric style, is one of these; but perhaps the most interesting of all is the ruined church of St. Giovanni, erected by King Roger in 1132, and which was evidently in the style of a Byzantine Mosque, with its numerous arches, low roof, and domes. On leaving this building, and thanking the keeper for explaining its antiquities to me, I found he belonged to one of the most ancient Eastern orders of the Masonic craft—a gratifying proof to me of the wonderful ramifications of this powerful charitable fraternity. The Church of Martorana is in a semi-Gothic and Saracenic style of architecture, and was built by one of King Roger's admirals in 1113-1139; it has some very beautiful mosaics. Some of the palaces of the nobility are open to visitors, and contain much of an interesting description.
Within an easy walk, towards the Monreale road, are the catacombs of the Capuchin monastery, which is situated a little off from the high-road, and looks an unpretentious kind of building. A monk guided me through the clean, well-lighted subterranean passages, and it was not without some feeling of dread that I saw on each side of me tiers of the decaying skeletons of monks, suspended against the walls, and looking down upon me with their poor hideous mouldering visages. I almost feared the ropes round these skeleton bodies would give way, and that the bones would come tumbling down upon me. The Capuchin, with a somewhat humorous smile on his worn, kindly face, reassured me, and said that when at last they fell to pieces, the remains were carefully collected and religiously locked away within an iron door in one of the walls. There were several lively cats jumping about from coffin to coffin, and these were looked upon with a most compassionate and friendly air by my good monk, as assisting him to preserve the bones of his comrades from moth and mouse—whether the old Sicilian superstition with regard to the sacredness of the feline species had also anything to do with it, I cannot say. There is a saddening sort of feeling in entering these homes of the dead—
"To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral state;
Pitying each form that hungry Death had marr'd,
And filling it once more with human soul."
After going through some hundred yards of this vast tomb, I felt glad to return to the sunlight and pure air of the living world.
On the road to Monreale there is an interesting botanical garden, where I saw some very fine specimens of plants entirely new to me—camphor, coffee, castor oil, and others. There are many beautiful gardens in Palermo, besides the delightful public one known as the "Flora," which afforded such a charming and refreshing outlook from the Hotel de France, where I was staying.