As I had anticipated, the fussy and over-punctilious Italian sanitary officers demurred at admitting us to Pratique, and were about to put us in quarantine on account of the death of the poor emigrant, though it was clearly evidenced that he died from some organic disease. The poor emigrants were longing to get on shore and seek their homes once more, and I was most anxious to catch the train to Leghorn, to receive my wife on her arrival from Malta. Still, officer after officer came on board, and it was useless to chafe with impatience; they persisted in going through the whole of their tiresome, circumlocutory inquiries, and having their talk out: this aggravating palaver evidently being extended to magnify their office.
At last they came to the conclusion that we were entitled to a clean bill of health, and released us. I hurried on shore, and arrived at the station just ten minutes after my train had started. This was most provoking, but fortunately I found a little steamer of the Rubatino line, going to Leghorn that night, and at once engaged a passage in her. I found another Englishman on board, and as the little vessel rolled about in the trough of the sea, and there was therefore evidently little sleep to be got in our small cabins, we did our best to walk the deck till midnight; and then, with a "Good night," crawled into the confined cabins allotted to us, exercising, of course, the full privileges of Englishmen in a growl at the scanty accommodation.
Arriving at Leghorn the next morning at six, I found myself in rather an anxious predicament, for, having planned to arrive at Leghorn before my wife, I had not named any special hotel for our meeting; but owing to my having missed the train at Genoa, she had arrived before me, and where she had gone I knew not. However, trusting to her good sense and courage, I began my search with a light heart; and, after two unsuccessful attempts, was rejoiced to find her all safe. Like myself, she had experienced rather rough weather on her passage from Malta; but had appreciated the little breaks in the voyage afforded by the vessel stopping at Catania, Messina, and Naples.
On exploring the town a little after breakfast, we caught a glimpse of the great ironclad Lepanto, which the Italians had just launched, and a great unwieldy monster she looked.
Leghorn is a dead and alive sort of place, and we had no inclination to remain there; so took the 10.45 train to Florence, at which city we arrived safely in the evening, and proceeded at once to the Hotel de Russie.
I had always had a great longing to see Florence, the home of Italian genius:
"Florence! beneath the sun,
Of cities fairest one."
Rain had fallen pretty freely here as elsewhere, and for the first few days we had to take advantage of every gleam of sunshine to obtain an outing.
Florence is divided into two parts by the Arno; the northern side is the oldest part, and contains the best hotels and restaurants. From one window we saw the yellow river rushing tumultuously over the artificial weirs that are built to prevent its unhealthy stagnation. Across this unpoetical river are several stone bridges; the central one, which is something like old London Bridge, is almost covered with houses, chiefly small jewellers'. Artists consider that this adds to the picturesqueness of the river, but I would have preferred a clear view up to the mountains at its head. It is a very interesting city, with its narrow streets, quaint buildings, piazzas, and monuments of ancient glory. There are two or three rather fine streets leading from the railway station, and culminating in the Cathedral Piazza. These contain several noble palatial residences of the ancient nobility, massively built of great rough-hewn stones, attached to which are large iron rings with holders for torches, and at the corners antique iron frames to hold lanterns, showing how the city was lighted in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was curious to notice the great overhanging roofs, probably intended to give shade to the passers-by. As at Genoa, these buildings usually have the coronet and arms of their noble owners over the porch. The principal streets are sufficiently wide to allow of two carriages passing, and yet leave room for pedestrians; but, properly speaking, there are few regular foot-pavements. The shops are all one can wish, the cafés and restaurants being particularly conspicuous.
Crossing the river to the south side by one of the suspension bridges, we had some very pretty peeps at the valley; then, mounting up to the well-planned and finely terraced Boboli Gardens, and up to the interesting church and cemetery of San Miniato, we obtained magnificent views of the whole city, and the beautiful valley and plains in which it reposes. The interior of San Miniato is now used as a kind of Campo Santo, and has frescoed walls and an exquisitely wrought screen and pulpit; there are also several paintings attributed to Spinello Aretino.