Gleanings in Europe

Caspar paid me a visit, after dinner, with an ominous face and a more ominous report. He had ascertained that not less than twenty carriages were to cross the mountains next day. This augured badly for our comfort. In the first place, we might have a famine, or be brought to chestnuts, the true diet of the Apennines; and moreover, there was but a single house within a day’s work of Bologna where we could possibly sleep. The ex-dragoon affirmed that nothing could pass him while actually in motion; but they who travelled post had the advantage of not stopping at all, and of course would win the plate. Nothing remained to be done but to get the track at starting, and to throw ourselves on our speed with at least the hope of distancing all the vetturini.—We accordingly drove through the gates of Bologna, before the day had fairly dawned. The inquiry of Caspar, whether any one had preceded us, was satisfactorily answered, and, cracking his long whip, the happy fellow trotted merrily to the foot of the first ascent. The road carried us very soon into the mountains, and here we bade adieu to the sea-like plain of Upper Italy.

For the first two or three hours we did little else but ascend; but it was evident that the piles were not Alpine. The road, however, was excellent, and though the country was scarcely grand enough to be imposing, or sufficiently soft to be pleasing, it had a peculiarity in its features that served to keep attention alive. We found the inn on the edge of what may be called the first considerable plateau—if any portion of mountains that are a succession of rounded caps can thus be termed. We were the first arrived, and were rewarded for our diligence by getting the first breakfast. If it was the best, our successors were to be pitied, for it consisted of execrable coffee, bad bread, tallowish butter, and greasy chops. One seldom sees a meaner repast in a log-house on the American frontier. Inferior as it all was, the laughing Caspar assured me those who came after us would fare worse, for we had consumed all the milk;—“et les voilà,” he added, pointing down the mountain to a train of carriages that were dragging their weary way up the ascent. By this time we were ready to move, and away the dragoon trotted, chuckling at his own management as much as at our success.

The region we were now in had a wildness and a character that, to us, were entirely novel. Most of the mountain-tops were bald; and, indeed, as far as the eye could extend, west and south, it beheld nothing but a species of elevated downs, that were however much broken into irregular valleys and hills. There was a little forest, here and there; but, in the main, nakedness was the prevailing characteristic of the view. As I sat on the carriage-box, I could see the road leagues ahead of us, winding its way among the ascents, and forming an object of high civilization amidst the other rustic and quaint peculiarities of the wilds. I can best compare the view to the backgrounds which the old Italian masters sometimes put to their religious subjects, and of which treeless hills, rocks, winding paths, and picturesque towers compose the materials. Of the latter, however, there were no signs in this portion of the Apennines.

Soon after quitting the inn, an expanse of water showed itself to the north-east, quite in the horizon; for in that direction we could still overlook a vast reach of hazy, and of nearly indistinct plain. Judging by the map, the land was the Bolognese, with the country near Ravenna, and the water the Adriatic! As this glimpse was quite unexpected, it came upon us with the agreeable variety of a surprise.

Just after the water disappeared, a swarthy, picturesque-looking peasant passed us, on a brisk trot, eyeing the carriage keenly as he went by; he then leaped into a cross path, that led in nearly a direct line towards the winding ascents of the road, that were plainly visible at the distance of two or three miles, but to reach which we were compelled to make a long détour. A valley and a wood were between us and these ascents, and unpleasant thoughts began to suggest themselves at this little incident. I had heard of families borne off into these very Apennines by banditti, and held for ransom, failing of which they had been murdered. Robbers would have full an hour to do their work in; for the peasant, who had just left the tavern, must have understood the order of our march, and be certain that our party would be unsustained by any other for that time at least. Then there were a startling sagacity and a suspicious observation in the dark rolling eye that had so closely scanned us; and, all together, the fellow had about him an air of premeditation and design.

We were four men, and, with a pistol apiece, might have made a good defence; but I had not even a penknife or a cane, and Caspar had nothing but his whip! At times, I was disposed to laugh at my own apprehensions; but the heavy responsibility that I felt continued to render the matter serious. Still I was unwilling to alarm the females, and preserved silence, determining to halt in season if I detected any symptoms of an ambuscade before us. With this purpose I kept a vigilant look-out on the formation of the ground; and though I was not so much alarmed as to fancy every bush an enemy, no bush was left unexamined.

At length we began to descend, and I cheered Caspar up to a pace that would at least render aim a little uncertain. I now determined, as the road was excellent, the instant a shot was fired, to cause the postillions to set off on a run, and leave the issue to our speed. The fall of a horse, it is true, would undo us; but we must trust to fortune. As the postillion, unless an accessary, is generally the first victim in such an affair, I got ready to jump on the pole, and to spring into his seat should the ex-dragoon fall. The furgon speaking for itself, and being a visible temptation to robbers, I had hopes too by abandoning the baggage, at least to save the females. All these plans were duly arranged in my own mind, that no advantage might be lost in the confusion of a surprise.

While busy fancy was at work in this manner, during which time we passed over two or three of the most uncomfortable miles I ever remember to have travelled, we came to the foot of the long descent. Here, happily, was a house or two, and a group of men in the road, with five or six yokes of oxen, ready to assist us up the winding and sharp acclivities that lay in front. Foremost among these honest people was my dark-eyed peasant who had run across the open waste merely to give notice of our approach, and to notify to the neighbourhood the number of oxen that would be required!

This was the first serious alarm I had felt about Italian banditti, and, I may add, it was the last; though I believe we were subsequently in situations where less indifference than this incident served so much to create would have been more prudent. As fear, though particularly contagious, excites no sympathy after the danger is passed, I kept my own secret.

By the help of the oxen we toiled our way up as steep ascents as one sees in Switzerland, though by no means as long; after which we had a succession of hills and valleys, through the same naked region as before. Towards the close of day we reached a village, or rather a hamlet, near which is a remarkable burning field that we dared not stop to examine on account of our pursuers. The inn was soon in sight, and old Caspar pointed to it with his whip and grinned. Then he cast a glance of triumph back at the long winding road that might be seen for miles. Half a league in our rear three or four carriages had come into view, for it would seem that their owners too had bethought them of the night and its wants. The evening was lovely. A—— was on the carriage-box with me, enjoying its blandness, and we were all full of a sort of racing excitement, and laughing at our success. At this very moment, when the inn could not have been half a mile from us click clack, click clack, was heard close to the carriage-wheels. A courier, in the usual livery, galloped past us, flourishing his whip in bravado, and before we could get there he dashed up to the door of the inn! In a few minutes, however, we were there too; and when I went into the house, the fellow was leaning coolly in the door. My inquiry for rooms was answered by showing me two or three mean closets, without fire-places or comforts of any sort. As the house was tolerably comfortable, I demanded better apartments. All the rest of the house was taken by the courier at the door, who was in the service of Lord Lansdowne. The plot was apparent at once. The rogue had entered into an arrangement, pretended or real, with the innkeeper, and rooms were to be sold at an advance. I had a slight acquaintance with Lord Lansdowne, and had half a mind to wait his arrival and trust to his known courtesy for accommodations; but preferring independence to being placed in controversy with a courier, Caspar was ordered to proceed. The innkeeper felt disposed to change his tactics when he saw the carriage departing; but I was not inclined to humour roguery, and we went our way.

There was an inn about two leagues farther, and the road was good. It is true, Caspar shrugged his shoulders when he mentioned it; but I thought the best accommodations of even an inferior inn, in our sole possession, might be better than the worst of the place we had just left in the midst of a crowd. Our departure caused long faces; but the example probably did no good, the house possessing a monopoly.

The moon had risen, and the night had grown chilly, before we reached the other inn. It was a single house, in a sort of heathy country, the very type of solitude. Here, however, we were joyfully received. Mounting by a narrow flight of steps, we were shown into the sala, a room of some size, lighted from above, and surrounded by bedchambers. In one corner there was a fire-place, and a fagot was soon in a bright blaze. The beds were homely, but clean, and I took care to secure one for each of us, with the proper number of apartments. This was the first house we had entered that had a truly distinctive Italian character, and we submitted to some wants, the more readily from the circumstance. The woman of the house was all assiduity and attention, and it was not long before our supper made its appearance. Our great desire was to dispose of this, and to get quietly into our own rooms, before any more of the rejected travellers should arrive from the other place. None came, however, though we had one or two alarms, and we ate our chickens fried in oil undisturbed. Secure of the supper, we strutted about our sala, admiring the novelty of the situation, gazing at the wild waste from the windows, and setting all couriers at defiance.

I have since been told that this very inn was the scene of many robberies and murders that were perpetrated with the connivance of the parish priest, and which were subsequently discovered. The host had however been changed, and we were now in honest hands. Certainly no house could be better situated for deeds of violence; and there was even something in its internal arrangements, so retired and gloomy, as to aid such practices. Altogether, we enjoyed the excitement of the incidents, preserved our place on the road, had an entire house to ourselves, gained two leagues in distance, and considered ourselves the gainers.

We kept the track in the next day’s racing. Much of the way was descending, and the southern faces of the Apennines, like those of the Alps, were more genial and fertile than the northern. I ought to have said that we entered Tuscany near the place where the alarm had been given by the peasant. I shall take this occasion to say that, with a slight exception, on entering France and the Milanese, the custom-house officers have given us no trouble between this and London, although we have passed through eight different states, and entered the ninth. We have uniformly met with civility; nor have the douceurs been heavy; and what is more, they have followed, and not preceded, the politeness.

To-day we passed a spot where high poles lined the road; a precaution to enable travellers to keep it, in the deep snows. This was Alpine, and yet the spot was on the brow of the southern margin. We strained our eyes in the hope of getting a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean, but in vain.

The grasping courier galloped past us again; but we now regarded him and his bidet with indifference. The olive soon appeared, a meager, formal, insignificant tree in a landscape, with a pale and stinted leaf, making altogether a miserable substitute for the apple, though an evergreen. Still one looks at it with pleasure; as one does also at the orange, the pomegranate, the fig, the date, and other trees of Oriental associations, though none but the fig has much beauty. Even the supper of the previous night, though saturated with oil, savoured of Italy, and was so much the more agreeable than the lame imitations of French cookery we had met with previously. Having asked one of my servants how they fared in the mess of old Caspar, she laughed and told me that ever since we had left Berne, the postillions and domestics, out of the large towns, had fared better than the masters; this little attention to the cast of voituriers being a tribute to their power. On this hint, I had the curiosity to visit their table, and I found the statement literally true. Old Caspar laughed heartily at the exposure, and altogether the whole party, which included the domestics of two or three other travellers, appeared to think it a capital joke. What renders the palpable conspiracy more absurd, is the fact that the servants figure in the bills for the merest trifles,—at a franc or thirty sous a meal, I believe. On my remarking that the people of the house had made a mistake apparently, having served both us and them with the wrong breakfast, the whole party, my own people included, burst out in a fit of merriment, that showed how much they enjoyed the blunder. “Ce sont des grands coquins, ces aubergistes monsieur,” observed Caspar, by way of apology.

At length we reached a descent that communicated, by a gorge, with the valley of the Arno. Soon after the city of Florence appeared, seated on a plain, at the foot of hills, with the dome of its cathedral starting out of the field of roofs, like a balloon about to ascend. We crossed a part of the plain, between groves of olives and mulberries, went beneath a sort of triumphal arch, erected, I believe, in commemoration of the completion of the great road that we had just been travelling, and entered the gate of the city. A few pauls were given to the custom-house officers, and the carriage rolled freely along the broad flat stones, with which all the towns of Tuscany are paved, the gutter being in the centre of the street. We proceeded to the Hotel York, a house which is so called from the cardinal of that name, took rooms and unloaded the fourgon for the first time since quitting Berne.

It was but a step to the cathedral square, and I was no sooner dressed than I ran out to feast my eyes with its wonders. The buildings had a mottled look that displeased me, being faced with differently coloured marbles; but the magnitude of the church is imposing. The campanile has the same fault; though, a finical thing in itself, it can better bear finery. The baptistery is near by, and altogether the spot has the charms of magnificence sustained by those of association. The servant pointed out a particular stone, on which Dante, it is said, used to seat himself in the cool of the evening, in order to breathe an air less confined than that of the streets.

This night I first learned to respect a musquito. If Buffon had in view the comparative merits of these insects when he broached his theory of the inferiority of the animal nature of America to that of Europe, there is more apology for the extravagance of the supposition than is commonly thought among ourselves. Luckily we had musquito nets,—a thing I never saw at home, by the way,—and though they were full of holes, the creatures were too large to find their way through them. One fellow did get in, however, and he made as much noise as the horn of a mail-coach, at the distance of half a mile. The next morning poor Lucie, who I fancy had no net, looked as if she had the small-pox.