SIENNA, ITALY, _April 7, 1854_.
I reached Leghorn just in time to catch the little steamer Gilio, of
one hundred and fifty tons burden, which composes the entire Tuscan
government marine, with the exception of a few small feluccas. She
makes regular trips to the island of Elba, for the conveyance of troops
and their supplies. After passing the usual strict examination at the
Custom House for the contraband articles of cigars and fire-arms,
as Leghorn is a free port, and going through the farce of signing
passports, I embarked for Porto Ferrayo. This strongly fortified place
bears some resemblance to Malta, and appears almost impregnable; the
streets are well paved with flat stones; the houses rise upon the side
hill, and are approached by flights of stairs and passages; the crown
of the lofty, craggy cliffs is surmounted by immense fortifications,
well mounted and manned. The town has a population of five thousand,
and about one thousand troops. By means of a fosse, the tide-water is
permitted to surround the city. From an angle of the wall on the summit
of the citadel is a small observatory, erected by Napoleon, which gave
him views from all points of the compass. The house where he lived,
a few miles from the city, still stands, and is now the property of
Prince Demidoff, who is erecting a palace which will contain all the
relics which have been preserved of the Emperor. The island of Elba is
only about sixty miles in circumference, and about fourteen hundred
troops are kept there by the Tuscan government. The bays and shores
are picturesque, and the valleys are fertile. There is great suffering
this year in consequence of the failure of the grape, wine being their
principal resource. I procured a conveyance to Longone, a free port on
the south side of the island, now a fishing town. The immense citadel
commanding the height was built by the Spaniards while in possession.
It is now dismantled, and unoccupied, except as barracks for the land
guard, and is fast going to decay, looking mournful and desolate. Trees
are growing where once was heard the busy tread of the military, and
goats are feeding and cabbages growing where once was piled the shot
for the enemy. From Longone to Rio there is no carriage road, so I
mounted a pony, with a guide to run beside him, and passed over a path
through a hilly country, to the great iron mines. I had heard of the
richness and abundance of the ore; I had seen the extensive mines of
Dannemora, also mines in England and America, where the work is mostly
subterranean; but was not prepared to find an inexhaustible mountain
of iron, where three hundred men were employed in cutting down and
blasting out the ore, which ranges in richness from forty-five to
eighty per cent.; four hundred donkeys were wending their way by zigzag
paths, laden with this valuable product.
The village has an active appearance, but is of a dirty red color;
there were vast inclosures for the ore, like huge coalyards, where it
was piled preparatory to loading for different ports for smelting. The
brick-dust colored earth, which remains after the excavation, has a
shining and dazzling appearance, from the particles of minerals in
it. The gardens of the valleys on the margin of a small rivulet, with
their orange and lemon trees, form a striking contrast in the view. The
Grand Duke farms out the privilege to a company for twelve millions of
livres, about one million eight hundred thousand dollars. From Elba
I returned to Leghorn, which city has been materially improved and
enlarged since my last visit; but being still in a state of siege,
and protected by Austrian troops, the same civil liberties are not
enjoyed there as formerly. The little island of Monte Cristo, lying
sixty miles north of Elba, is thirteen miles in circumference. It
has been purchased by a wealthy Englishman, who has retired thither
with his family, and is now erecting his buildings upon it, employing
many Italians from the mainland in carrying out his improvements. He
is building a yacht at Leghorn, after the model of the America, and
putting in an engine, which will be a pretty affair. From Leghorn by
railway a half hour’s ride brings us to the old city of Pisa, with
its memorable Leaning Tower, Duomo or Cathedral, Baptistry, and Campo
Santo; the latter is considered sacred from its containing a portion
of the earth brought from Jerusalem, in which repose the dead. It was
agreeable to me to visit the spots I had frequently trod during a long
sojourn in this old city, and to find numbers of those I had formerly
known, still pursuing quietly the same course without change. A branch
railroad took me to Lucca, to call upon some old acquaintances, and, on
my return, I proceeded to Florence, the capital, and residence of the
Grand Duke, and the seat of the arts of Tuscany. However captivated,
and even infatuated, one may be upon a first visit to the solid,
massive, and majestic palaces, with their beautiful frescoes, their
well-filled galleries of sculpture and paintings, the colossal bronze
statues of the public fountains, the decorations of the churches, the
chaste and delicate mosaic work of the altars, it is not to be expected
that I should now go into raptures upon a third visit to Italy.... The
eye tires in gazing upon vast collections of works of art, and finds
relief in escaping to the beautiful and extensive ducal gardens of
the palace, where one may enjoy the works of nature amid long avenues
of shady trees, listening to the sound of bubbling fountains, with
groups of nymphs, heroes, gods and goddesses, in marble, as mute,
silent auditors. Returning from a ramble, I took my favorite seat in
the café Doney, much resorted to by strangers, and reflected upon the
events which occurred during the revolution of 1848--the granting of
constitutional privileges, the liberty of the press, the marching of
troops against the enemy, the illuminations of victory at night, the
songs of patriotism, the wailing and lamentation at the defeat of the
Italian troops in Lombardy, the funeral mausoleums, and the lighted
candles over the uniforms and arms of the victims in the churches, the
transparencies and anathemas of the clergy, the mournful procession
of the masses by torchlight with the crucifix at the head. All had
passed away, liberty was crushed; the Austrian troops now occupy the
ground and keep down revolution; the police are active and vigilant.
One cannot drive to the Casino, a favorite forest ride, without showing
his passport at the gate. Within three days from one’s arrival, a
protectional passport must be procured, at an expense of twelve
pauls, or a dollar and twenty-five cents. In my reflective mood, up
tripped a flower-girl, in her picturesque Florentine costume, with
flowing Leghorn hat and red ribbon, basket in hand, and presented a
bouquet, with the salutation “Come sta signore, Come sta su Amico?”
It was pleasant to be recognised and awakened from my reverie; but
the excellent person of whom she inquired, and who had occupied so
frequently the same seat beside me at table, had finished his mortal
career.
The ancient city, Sienna, from which I write, is situated upon an
elevation of some thirteen hundred feet, rising from the borders of
a dry and dreary tract of country. Many of the streets are narrow,
and impassable for carriages. This is one of the few points in Italy
I had not seen, and I make the visit on my way to Rome, for the Holy
Week. Its lofty antique palaces are the monuments of its former
grandeur, while a Republic and rival of France. It possessed then two
hundred thousand inhabitants; the number is now reduced to twenty-five
thousand. The Cathedral is a fine old structure of the 13th century,
and contains many beautiful works of art. The mosaic-work of the choir
is covered with planks, to shield it from the tread of visitors, but
a fee to the custode enables one to see the flight of the Israelites
from Egypt. The wood carving of the stalls of the choir of the 13th
and 14th centuries is exquisite, but not superior to work of the same
style found in the old churches of Valladolid. Some of the frescoes
of Raphael, representing different events in the life of Pius II.,
are remarkable for their color and preservation. The choir books, of
large size, on parchment, are beautifully illuminated, and resemble a
collection at the Escorial. In the chapel of one of the churches, begun
in 1220 and finished in 1465, is a large, beautiful, and celebrated
picture of the Madonna, by Guido; the Siennese claim the honor of being
the earliest in the art of painting. I was struck with the preference
of the pretty women for this chapel, and was led to inquire its
history. In fact, the ladies here are celebrated for their beauty. The
public palace, with its lofty tower in the form of an escalop shell,
and its circuit of one thousand feet, sloping down like an ancient
theatre, and filled with the peasants of the country on a market-day,
is a gay and novel sight.
The people of this district speak Italian with greater purity than the
inhabitants of any other part of Italy--they are the reverse of the
Milanese, Genoese, and Neapolitans, who have a distinct patois of their
own, which tends to prevent that unanimity and nationality so much
required for the future welfare of Italy.