wmmMmvmm 
 
 
 WALKS & PEOPLE 
 IN TUSCANY^ 
 
 By SIR FRANCIS VANE,B* 
 
WALKS &> "PEOPLE 
 
 : : in tuscant : : 
 

 •• • •••• •.•••. • •:: 
 
 • » » , 
 
 MY FRIEND BEPPI. 
 
WALKS & PEOPLE 
 
 IN TUSCANY 
 
 BY SIR FRANCIS VANE, Bt. 
 
 WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLET HEAD 
 NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMX 
 
 \ \ \ • 
 

 • • • •• : 
 
 WM. BRENDON > ND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 I OFFER this book with my homage 
 firstly to my friends and cousins the 
 Italian people of all classes, in memory 
 of the many pleasant hours I have spent 
 while enjoying their hospitality, and secondly 
 to all those travellers among my own fellow- 
 subjects who are intelligent enough to wish 
 to learn something of the people, as well as 
 the monuments, of Italy, and by doing so 
 helping to bring into yet closer accord two 
 countries which in the past have learnt not a 
 little the one from the other. 
 
 Francis Vane of Hutton. 
 
 Toynbee Hall, E., 
 
 20 Feb., 19 10. 
 
 419992 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IT is only fair to the reader to emphasise 
 in the clearest possible manner that this 
 book does not pretend to do other than 
 describe certain walks, the people en- 
 countered by the Author, and his thoughts on 
 persons and places. Very many books have 
 been produced recently that concern Italian 
 art : indeed now, at this present time, art 
 criticism is more than ever indulged and 
 indulgent. As the present writer, though 
 an admirer of all beautiful things, does not 
 claim an expert knowledge of this subject, 
 he has thought fit to leave it to more com- 
 petent critics. And he has a suspicion that 
 to-day, even now, the subject has been dealt 
 with superficially and overmuch : extraneous 
 opinion seems to confirm this impression. 
 For example, a lady, who had just returned 
 from a three weeks' visit to Florence, informed 
 the Author that as now she had learnt all 
 that was to be known about Italian pictures, 
 she intended to write a clear description of 
 
 vii 
 
Preface 
 
 them. There is certainly no field open to the 
 Author in this direction. On the other hand, 
 as he has lived in Italy for four or five years, 
 walked or cycled almost in every part of 
 Tuscany, delighted himself by a somewhat 
 intimate friendship with many of the people 
 of all classes, and, moreover, through his 
 family connections has been enabled to know 
 them perhaps more closely than the ordinary 
 tourist, he has thought it worth while to set 
 forth his impressions. 
 
 While the picture galleries and museums 
 in Italy contain some of the most beautiful 
 works of art and the most interesting records 
 of antiquity in the world, apart from the mere 
 pleasure they afford, the chief interest in them 
 lies in the manner in which they illustrate the 
 history of the past so that they may illuminate 
 the history of the present. The study of any 
 one subject, unless it be made with a due sense 
 of its proportionate value in the entire and 
 complex scheme of things, has the effect of 
 producing an artisan rather than an artist, or 
 a politician rather than a statesman. Special 
 pleading tends towards a narrowing of the 
 intellect. 
 
 In whatever light readers may view this 
 
Preface 
 
 subject, there can be no doubt but that the 
 people of Italy are of exceptional interest, if 
 for no other reason than that they represent 
 the oldest civilisation in Europe. There are 
 other and less obvious grounds for studying 
 them, for it must be remembered that of 
 all races they represent the one which has 
 possessed for the longest period free institu- 
 tions. This may seem a bold statement when 
 we remember the intermittent tyrannies of 
 the Middle Ages, but these were only occa- 
 sional, and between the falls and risings of 
 these liberty prevailed to an extraordinary 
 extent. Then, again, feudalism has never 
 attained to a pre-eminent condition in Italy 
 since the suppression of the predatory barons 
 by the Commercial Corporations. When, 
 therefore, arises the question of the dignity, 
 and the naturally inherent easy politeness 
 which the traveller observes among the peas- 
 antry, it seems that this circumstance must be 
 taken into account. For who are the rudest — 
 the least cultivated people ? Without doubt 
 those who have been the most recently freed, 
 for such confuse roughness and coarseness with 
 their recently acquired independence ; they con- 
 fuse civility with servility. Unless very careful 
 
Preface 
 
 attention is paid to the instruction of the chil- 
 dren in public conduct in the schools, it natur- 
 ally takes generations to eradicate the cause of 
 this false and unfortunate attitude ; but when 
 time has effected this, then gradually the truth 
 emerges, and they learn that independence can 
 best be maintained by unwavering courtesy, as 
 is generally the case in Italy. 
 
 There is another excuse for the Author in 
 writing this account of his walks. He came 
 to Italy straight from South Africa, from 
 the war, and from the political strife which 
 succeeded the war. He was somewhat sad- 
 dened by their results, and had learnt there 
 a good deal of the workings of the human 
 heart, not always to its credit. Therefore, 
 when in touch with the people of Italy, he 
 was continually and subconsciously reverting 
 to his African experience, and this gave him 
 at any rate a recent object of comparison. 
 Again, in many countries he had seen the 
 lives of the poor, in Whitechapel, in lonely 
 and destroyed Transvaal farms, among Breton 
 peasants, among his family tenants, and in 
 north-country industrial towns, and he was 
 naturally anxious to understand also the hard- 
 working and poor-living contadini of the 
 
Preface 
 
 mountains. The foregoing is to be taken as 
 the excuse for his discursiveness in the 
 volume. As he met all sorts of people in 
 all sorts of places, he has expressed what he 
 thought of them at the time, and the ideas 
 they suggested, much as he did in his letters 
 from Africa during the war. 
 
 Now in respect to the arrangement of the 
 chapters. Some of these have appeared separ- 
 ately in the local Italian press, some in the 
 form of a much smaller book published in 
 Florence ; but the present volume has been 
 entirely rearranged and systematised on geo- 
 graphical lines. It is hardly necessary to say 
 that the walks described only represent a 
 tithe of those taken, but these have been 
 selected so as to cover as wide a field as 
 possible. The principle maintained has been 
 to divide the twenty-five chapters by starting, 
 roughly speaking, from two centres. Firstly, 
 Florence, the capital ; secondly, Bagni di 
 Lucca, the summer resort. By this means, I 
 think, it will be found that the country has 
 been fairly well covered by a network of ex- 
 peditions characteristic of the whole. It must 
 be confessed that had the Author had the 
 opportunity of dealing with the whole book at 
 
Preface 
 
 one and the same time a better arrangement 
 might have been devised. Nevertheless, he 
 believes that a perusal of the volume will give 
 to the reader a general impression of the 
 country and of the people who dwell therein. 
 
 At the end of each chapter some practical 
 information will be found in respect to hotels 
 wherein the Author has rested, and these only. 
 As this does not pretend to be a guide-book, 
 and as it is advisable to avoid giving the 
 impression that it is in any sense a medium 
 for advertisement, this arrangement has been 
 deemed necessary. There are no doubt many 
 other equally good hotels in each place than 
 those mentioned, but as they have not been 
 tried by the writer they have not been included. 
 
 A slight historical sketch of the dates of 
 births and deaths of historical characters 
 mentioned in the book is added to assist the 
 reader's memory. 
 
 Above all, the desire of the Author to effect 
 a little in increasing the good understanding 
 between the Italians and his own race has been 
 kept in view, and not only between these but 
 between all sojourners of whatever race whom 
 he has met by the way. p? y 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. People in Florence 3 
 
 II. Florence to San Marino 13 
 
 III. Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio . . 32 
 
 IV. Florence to Leghorn 42 
 
 V. Certaldo, Siena, and Val d' Elsa . . 56 
 
 VI. Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice . 63 
 
 VII. Venice, and Return by Mantua, Parma, 
 
 and Bologna to Florence .... 79 
 
 VIII. Florence to Rignano by Bagno a Ripoli 100 
 
 IX. Fiesole, Monte Fiano, Castello di Poggio, 
 
 CoMPIOBBE 114 
 
 X. Florence, Greve, and Chianti . . .128 
 
 XI. Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 139 
 
 XII. Bagni di Lucca to Ghivizzano . . . 155 
 
 XIII. Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley . 166 
 
 XIV. Bagni di Lucca to S. Marcello and Pistoija 178 
 
 XV. Bagni di Lucca to Pescia and Monte 
 
 Catini 185 
 
Contents 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XVI. Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to 
 
 Lucca and the Volto Santo . .197 
 
 XVII. Bagni to Monte Forato and Matanna 216 
 
 XVIII. Bagni to Castelnuovo and Careggine . 224 
 
 XIX. Bagni to Palagnana (a Mountain Re- 
 treat) 232 
 
 XX. Bagni di Lucca over the Carraras to 
 
 Massa 244 
 
 XXI. Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains . 254 
 
 XXII. Bagni di Lucca to Massarosa (a Visit 
 
 to "Ouida") 265 
 
 XXIII. Bagni to Viareggio and the Sea . .271 
 
 XXIV. From Viareggio over the Apuan Moun- 
 
 tains 279 
 
 XXV. From Viareggio to Sarzana and Spezzia 288 
 
 Dates of Persons Mentioned in Text . . . 295 
 
 Index 301 
 
 xiv 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 My FRIEND BEPPI Frontispiece 
 
 To face page 
 
 Apennine Village 12 
 
 In the Arno Valley 32 
 
 Village Life 56 
 
 Domestic Scene 100 
 
 A Village Street in Mountain Village . . 136 
 
 Granaiola — a Village above Bagni di Lucca . 152 
 
 PONTE A SERRAGLIO. BaGNI DI LUCCA . . 1 66 
 
 Mountain Village. Lima Valley . . . .172 
 
 Cocciglia Village in the Lima Valley, from the 
 
 Road . 178 
 
 Old Houses on the Lima near Amerigo's Home 186 
 
 Lugliano 198 
 
 Arches in the Public Road of an Apuan Moun- 
 tain Village 216 
 
 Bridge at Castelnuovo 228 
 
 A Village Lace School at Viareggio . . .280 
 
 Map of Country Traversed (Part of Tuscany) 
 
 xv 
 
WALKS & TEOPLE 
 
 : : in ruse ant : : 
 
walks and people 
 : : in tuscany : : 
 
 Chapter I — People in Florence 
 
 IT would be quite useless, if not even im- 
 pertinent at this period, to add to the 
 literature describing Florence, except 
 perhaps in one direction, namely the 
 people residing there. 
 
 Walks in, around, through, probably under, 
 Florence abound and can be had at all book- 
 stalls, but very little has been said by the 
 masters of the scribbling art about the resi- 
 dents themselves. It is true that this city has 
 often been caricatured in works of fiction, 
 from Charles Lever to Ouida ; but justice has 
 seldom been done to the importance of the 
 subject. 
 
 The importance lies in this, that Florence 
 to-day probably contains the largest number of 
 foreign residents of the leisured classes of any 
 
 3 
 
I ■ I I ■ g — ■ 
 
 Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 town in Europe. When this fact is taken into 
 consideration with the part which the Tuscan 
 capital has played in history, more especially 
 in stimulating the imagination of northern 
 people both in literature and art, we may justly 
 wonder how it is this subject has been so long 
 neglected. In the Middle Ages our writers, 
 lacking perhaps colour and imagination, came 
 to Italy to gain them, with the result we all 
 know and admire in our Elizabethan poets. 
 These latter learnt from the Florentines how 
 truth might be disguised in the romantic cloth 
 of untruth and yet remain a semblance of the 
 original structure. Sometimes indeed they 
 assimilated the lie and rejected the fundamental 
 verity, a process which has not ceased even to 
 this day. 
 
 It has been said that a person may walk 
 much in Florence and yet unless of peculiar 
 courage never put pen to paper to describe his 
 experiences, because so many literary giants 
 have been before him in this work. But indeed 
 at the present time, apart from fear of tres- 
 passing on already occupied ground, it would 
 be difficult to describe in polite language a 
 promenade in this City of Flowers. The 
 frame of mind of the literary aspirant, who in 
 
 4 
 
People in Florence 
 
 the narrow streets has been run into by trams, 
 spiked by aggressive umbrellas, deafened by 
 gramophones, and forced into the gutter by a 
 conclave of amiable gentlemen occupying the 
 whole of the scanty pavement while placidly 
 discussing the dress of the passing ladies, is 
 likely to be anything but judicial. 
 
 But the people of Florence, both native and 
 foreign, deserve some notice, even if only on 
 the ground that the place is a sort of clearing- 
 house of international thought. Here you 
 have people of every nationality, British, 
 German, Russian, American, French, etc., 
 spending most of their leisured lives in the 
 town, besides a considerable number of busy 
 artists both of the pen and the brush. 
 
 On the whole I suppose it would not be an 
 exaggeration to say that in and around the 
 city is to be found a society as interesting, as 
 educated, and as cultured as in any place out- 
 side one of the great world capitals, and 
 probably of more diverse races. Moreover, 
 besides this vast body of foreign residents, 
 practically every educated man or woman 
 passes through the city at some period. 
 
 Then, further, there are the native Italians, 
 the Tuscan gentry who still look upon this 
 
 5 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 city as a capital, and still reside in their 
 ancient palaces, and the large and learned 
 professional class, among whom are to be 
 found many men with European reputations 
 in the world of science. 
 
 With all these advantages in the personnel 
 of the residents one might anticipate that the 
 society of Florence would be among the most 
 agreeable in Europe, and not only agreeable, 
 but of high value in the cause of international 
 good understanding. As the people of the 
 various nations represented generally belong 
 to the cultured and influential classes of 
 their respective countries, and a large number 
 of them at any rate have the capacity to 
 express their views either through the press 
 or in their books, much solid work might be 
 done by this community. 
 
 And it would be none the less valuable 
 because unconscious. Without doubt in the 
 past, when the Grand Ducal Court existed, 
 this good work was achieved, and to the 
 society then formed may be ascribed much 
 of the European sympathy for the Italians, 
 which was in no country more remarkable 
 than in our own. 
 
 It is one of the ironies of history that the 
 6 
 
People in Florence 
 
 little court of Florence, opposed as it naturally 
 was to the Italian dream of an united country, 
 should have greatly benefited by the social life it 
 induced in informing the people of the world 
 in the reasonableness of the national ideal. 
 
 Unfortunately to-day there is no central 
 point at which the various races which form 
 the society of Florence can meet, and in meet- 
 ing sort themselves. There are many British 
 cliques, many Italian, and many American. 
 I am sure there are many Russian and Ger- 
 man, but I do not know them. The fact 
 remains that what should be a charming and 
 international society is very generally run on 
 racial lines, and in many cases on antagonistic 
 ones. 
 
 " 'Tis true, 'tis pity ; and pity 'tis, 'tis true." 
 As a consequence of this there are many excel- 
 lent and intelligent persons of our race who live 
 the best part of their lives in Florence without 
 really knowing one single Italian. Some of 
 these indeed will tell you that they dislike the 
 people of the country, and are not backward 
 in expressing this ungenerous opinion. But 
 in truth I do not believe them, for often their 
 charitable actions give the lie to their words. 
 What they mean is that for some reason or 
 
 7 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 other they are not in sympathy with the 
 Italian society of the place. 
 
 Let us examine into this a little, for it must 
 be clear to any of my readers that this is not 
 a desirable thing. These good people who 
 might acquaint themselves, and through them 
 their compatriots, with the feelings, sentiments, 
 and aspirations with the Florentines, stand ob- 
 stinately aloof from the life of the inhabitants 
 or natives. Is it their fault ? I think not. 
 
 At any rate I have mixed very widely in all 
 kinds of society from bakers to marchesi, and 
 can say this, that I have hardly ever met an 
 Italian who was not anxious to sympathise and 
 to be of assistance. Moreover, as both in the 
 remote and in the immediate past my forbears 
 have married into Italian families, I am cer- 
 tainly not prejudiced. 
 
 There are three chief causes why there is 
 not more general intimacy between the Italians 
 and the British of the town. The first of 
 these is that there exists no central authority 
 in whose house all the various races that 
 make up the population of Florence would 
 naturally assemble. Of this I have spoken 
 before. 
 
 The second is that without doubt there are 
 8 
 
People in Florence 
 
 a certain number of nondescript English in 
 the place whose pernicious energy is directed 
 towards keeping the races apart. These people 
 are without exception socially undesirable from 
 the British point of view, but as they are 
 mostly rich, they have edged themselves into 
 the Italian circles. That they invariably do 
 their best to malign their own country people 
 to the Italians there is not the slightest doubt. 
 I have been told by Italian friends actually 
 what they have said, and one of their favourite 
 expressions respecting us is " the shabby 
 English." And in truth our country people in 
 Florence are not at their best in the matter 
 of dress. 
 
 Thirdly, the enormous number of the titles 
 used by Italians undoubtedly causes confusion. 
 Nearly all the titular distinctions are compara- 
 tively modern, for under the Republic no 
 ranks were recognised, and were generally 
 created by the Holy Roman Emperors. The 
 patents granted by these potentates descend to 
 heirs general, which means that practically 
 every descendant male or female of the original 
 grantee has a right to the style of marchese or 
 marchesa, conte or contessa. 
 
 Now, as usually with us only one member of 
 9 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 a family possesses a title, it can easily be seen 
 that an Englishman without any other style 
 than that of Esquire may yet have rank before 
 the cadet marchesi. The feeling which this 
 anomalous position causes, though seldom 
 expressed in words, is a very real one, for on 
 the one side mistakes are constantly being 
 made, and on the other there exists an un- 
 comfortable suspicion that the English think 
 very little of Italian degrees. 
 
 I am informed that the King of Italy is doing 
 his best to limit the number of these titles, 
 and I notice that in the official Army and 
 Navy lists very few are acknowledged. But 
 hereditary distinctions increasing by geomet- 
 rical progression very soon lose their value. 
 
 But to return to the society of our com- 
 patriots in Florence. There are, of course, 
 many sets : the old English one, very pleasant, 
 whose only vice is an inexhaustible appetite for 
 tea ; the new smart one, whose sole qualifica- 
 tion for membership is the possession of a 
 motor-car and a taste for bridge ; and of course 
 the nondescripts whose liking for Italian society 
 is largely due to their rejection by their own 
 compatriots. 
 
 On the whole there exist in Florence all 
 
 IO 
 
People in Florence 
 
 the elements of a very charming society. It is 
 indeed a pity that, owing to cliques and jeal- 
 ousies, the newcomer must undertake an 
 enormous amount of spade work to achieve an 
 enjoyable circle of friends, and he must meet 
 a great number of people — and many who will 
 not interest him — before he can discover his 
 natural circle. 
 
 All that is wanted is for some philanthropist 
 to devote his money to entertaining widely 
 and internationally. 
 
 When this man arrives, Florence will be- 
 come, as it ought to become, one of the most 
 agreeable social centres in Europe, and per- 
 form the work which it was certainly intended 
 to perform, namely that of a great International 
 Social Exchange. 
 
 Practical Information for Florence 
 
 Hotels and Pensions : 
 
 Hotel de France, Via Solferino. English landlady. 
 Single-bedded rooms 3 frcs. ; double-bedded 6 frcs. First 
 breakfast 1 frc. Lunch with wine 4 frcs. Pension 9 frcs. 
 
 Pension Quisinana, Lung' Arno della Borsa. Pension 
 from 8 to 10 frcs. 
 
 Pension Villa Trollope. Pension 9 to 10 frcs. 
 
 Pension Idone, 24 Lung* Arno Acciaioli. 
 
 Miss Plucknett, Palazzo Ruspoli, Via Martelli. 
 11 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Circulating Library : 
 
 Vieusseux* (one of the best out of England), 5 Via 
 Vecchietti. 
 
 English-speaking Physicians : 
 
 Dr. Yule Giglioli, 2 Via del Campidoglio. 
 
 Dr. Coldstream, 1 1 Lung' Arno Acciaioli. 
 
 Dr. Gerald Garry, 2 Via Vecchietti. 
 
 Dr. E. A. Gates, A Via Palestro. 
 
 Lady doctor : Dr. Mary Harriss, Hotel Berchielli, 1 1 
 Lung' Arno Acciaioli. 
 
 Bankers and Agents : 
 
 Messrs. French, Lemon and Co., Via Tornabuoni. 
 The Anglo-Italian Agency, Via Vigna Nuova. 
 
 12 
 
Chapter II — Florence to San Marino 
 
 1 WONDER how many of the British and 
 American residents in Florence have 
 scaled the heights of the little mediaeval 
 republic which seems to defy time and 
 the windy ways of man. To the writer, at 
 any rate, this small state, this little imperium in 
 imperio, has many and great fascinations, and 
 so on a cold October morning, accompanied 
 by a young friend on leave from India, he 
 started to walk from Vallombrosa to the 
 Adriatic coast, without indeed much know- 
 ledge of the way except that which can be 
 gained by the study of a map. 
 
 Vallombrosa on that cold morning illustrated 
 much of what Milton said about it in the 
 matter of leaves, and the roads were frozen to 
 the consistency of iron, making the climb up 
 through the woods from the old Monastery, 
 by the Paradiso to the pass of Montemignajo, 
 somewhat of a struggle. Fortunately on the 
 way we met a little man who in the summer 
 acts as guide to travellers, and he volunteered 
 
 13 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 to take us over the hill to that village. He 
 was a cheerful little guide, and, had our Italian 
 savoured less of dog Latin and more of the 
 tongue of Dante, no doubt he would have 
 given us much information. In spite of this 
 difficulty, he told us much, especially about 
 those persons for whom he had during the last 
 summer acted as cicerone. After a couple of 
 hours' tramp, we found ourselves at the pass, 
 and took that opportunity of enjoying the mag- 
 nificent view both towards Florence and the sea 
 and in the Casentino direction. From here to 
 the little mountain village of Montemignajo is 
 but a half-hour or so, and we arrived there 
 certainly as prepared to enjoy the material 
 pleasures of lunch as the more aesthetic 
 pleasures of landscape. 
 
 After lunch and a hurried visit to the small 
 church, in which there is a Delia Robbian work, 
 we proceeded down the rugged valley of the 
 Upper Arno, passing, I presume, by the source 
 of the Florence river, into the real Casentino 
 country. Here the villages are nearly all pro- 
 tected by their castles, round which they still 
 cluster as if the old fortresses were now as 
 able to protect them as they were in old time. 
 Curious indeed are these old husks of castles, 
 
 14 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 so eloquent in their lessons respecting the 
 history of the country, so stimulating to human 
 imagination. Dead they are now, as dead as 
 their lords, the Conte Guidi, but yet standing 
 upright though gutted, permanent protests 
 against the commercial age which has no place 
 for them or the virile if somewhat predatory 
 ideals which they represent. Through several 
 of these villages we passed until at last we 
 struck the great Consuma road and followed it 
 till just at sundown we arrived at the ancient 
 town of Poppi. 
 
 My young Indian friend, though he had 
 started with high hopes of a twenty-five miles' 
 walk, now took a more modest view as to the 
 distance to be covered, for he comes from a 
 land in which it is degrading to a white Sahib 
 to use his legs. I think when he arrived at 
 the town he accepted this, the Eastern opinion. 
 Poppi everyone knows, so I need not describe 
 it, beyond saying that we found refuge in a 
 hotel which had been closed for the winter 
 months, and at which our advent caused no 
 little embarrassment. After dinner we visited 
 all the quaint arcaded streets, and went round 
 the wonderful castle on the hill, which in old 
 time must have been a formidable and a 
 
 15 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 threatening object in the landscape. Before 
 leaving the next morning we had time to visit 
 the magnificent staircase of the castle and to 
 admire the wonderfully artistic coats -of- 
 arms which everywhere decorate its entrance 
 hall. 
 
 From here to Bibbiena is a level walk of 
 four miles, and there we found a fair and 
 market in progress, so much so indeed that it 
 was difficult to move through its narrow and 
 picturesque streets. At this town we chartered 
 a carriage for La Verna. Everyone knows it 
 is a tremendous pull up to the sanctified hill of 
 St. Francis, and a pull which our horse could 
 not do, so we had in the end to walk nearly 
 all the way. At about two we arrived at the 
 foot of the precipice on which the convent is 
 placed, hungry and tired, willing to do honour 
 to our patron saint — we are both of his name 
 — but after lunch ! We stayed at the small 
 inn, and later visited the monastery, surely one 
 of the most interesting monuments of the past. 
 The fratres minores showed us every attention, 
 and we concluded our inspection of the place 
 by a walk at sunset to the top of the pine- 
 covered hill of La Penna, from which one gets 
 the widest view of the lovely valley of the 
 
 16 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 Casentino, and towards the Adriatic to the 
 east. 
 
 Before sunrise next morning — some snow 
 had fallen in the night — we marched on white 
 roads over the hill, again through the monas- 
 tery, taking a path which leads to the Tiber 
 valley, on the upper part of which is situated 
 the little town of San Stefano, some eight or 
 nine miles farther on, and remarkably pictur- 
 esque it looked, as we saw it from above 
 through silver mists broken by golden sun- 
 shine. Here we had an excellent lunch, 
 in an inn which from the outside re- 
 minded us of a mortuary chapel, but was 
 cheery enough internally. But my comrade's 
 feet caused me anxiety, and I sallied forth to 
 buy for him some of those medicaments which 
 I know from experience in war soothe the 
 troubled toes of man. 
 
 I think that in buying those things I must 
 have interviewed every leading citizen of the 
 place. Firstly the Syndic, of whom I asked 
 the way to a chemist, then the officer of 
 gendarmerie ; and both of these accompanied 
 me to the shop. Here were the usual habituh 
 of such places and in addition, when it had 
 become known that a forestiero wanted boracic 
 c 17 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 acid, etc., it happened that most of the leading 
 people too strolled into the place to offer 
 sympathy and advice. This was very nice, 
 but made it somewhat of an official function, 
 for which I was hardly prepared by linguistic 
 attainment ! My gaiters also afforded much 
 interest and satisfaction, though what happened 
 at one place did not happen here. There 
 I was politely requested to take them off 
 to enable a gentleman's shoemaker to copy 
 them ! We continued our walk for two miles 
 or so down the valley of the Tiber, then 
 striking east over a pass which leads to the 
 valley of the Marecchia. We had no definite 
 plans as to where we would spend the night, 
 but there were several villages marked on the 
 map which seemed to secure us a roof. 
 
 Before arriving at the pass, some eight or 
 nine miles from San Stefano, we took a final 
 look at the Tiber valley, which we could follow 
 with the eyes as far as San Sepolcro, not, alas ! 
 to Rome. On the other side we found a wilder 
 country, sparsely inhabited. The first village, 
 Viamaggio, had but a very few houses, though 
 at a tiny alb ergo we were able to make an 
 excellent meal of quite the best sausages I have 
 ever eaten. Then on five miles to Badia, which, 
 
 18 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 however, I walked alone, my friend's feet com- 
 manding his remaining there until a country- 
 cart could be found to take him. This I 
 obtained at the small village of Badia, where 
 just as it was becoming dark I secured lodging 
 for the night. It was in a house in which there 
 were more children and more cats than I had 
 ever seen before in one habitation, extremely 
 nice children and amiable if somewhat shy cats. 
 The kitchen and the dining-room were one and 
 the same, and its ancient ceiling was decorated 
 with strings of sausages, hams, chickens, and 
 other inviting provender. I waited here for 
 the arrival of my comrade, and witnessed the 
 whole of this immense family partaking of their 
 evening meal, the seven or eight cats sitting 
 meanwhile on an unused table in anxious expec- 
 tation of doles. At last my friend arrived in 
 the country cart, and we slept that night in 
 excellent beds, in cleanly and well-appointed 
 rooms above. 
 
 It was clear from the state of my friend's 
 feet that a long walk the next day was out of 
 the question, so we arranged with a man in the 
 village to drive us to the ancient little episco- 
 pal village of Pennabili, and thence to walk on to 
 San Leo. The drive down the Marecchia valley 
 
 19 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 was interesting, and the scenery grandiose if 
 somewhat sombre. Little grows here, and few 
 villages are passed ; but on the way I saw what 
 I had never seen before — the noble sport of 
 truffle hunting. This was carried on by a man 
 armed with a sort of golf club and accompanied 
 by a dog. Truffles are plentiful here and sold 
 at 5 lire a kilo. 
 
 Pennabili differs little from many other of 
 these towns. Perched high up on a hill, with 
 quaint gates and a formidable castle, the 
 approach to it has been made even more 
 difficult, since the main road was swept 
 away in a landslip. Market day was in 
 full swing, and we lunched at a little 
 inn, into which by two steps we descended 
 from the street and refreshed ourselves in 
 the company of twenty or so farmers and 
 their wives or sweethearts. We walked on 
 from this place, but at some six miles, having 
 turned out of the way to enquire the route, on 
 my return I found my friend had vanished, 
 whether forward or backward I knew not. As 
 his Italian was even less respectable than mine, 
 I felt alarmed for his safety. Much as I 
 searched, yet he was not to be found ; so I de- 
 cided that the only thing to do was to go 
 
 20 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 ahead for San Leo. Leaving the road I took a 
 path towards this wonderful mountain fastness, 
 which was visible from here. Night, however, 
 was now closing in, and I have known too 
 many men lost at night on the veld to look 
 with any pleasure at a night walk where no 
 roads exist. Moreover, the whole country here 
 about is cut up by mountain torrents making 
 their noisy way towards the main valley. I 
 met a farmer on his way home, and comman- 
 deered his service as a guide. We passed over 
 tracks deep in mud and over incredible rocks 
 (crossing two streams), and in time found our- 
 selves at the base of the great precipices which 
 form the rampart walls of San Leo. Curious 
 and mysterious indeed looks this place at night, 
 its grim fort crowning these walls of rock, its 
 town perched upon a shoulder of the ridge, the 
 only entrance into which latter is a threatening 
 gate of tunnel-like appearance. We were not 
 challenged at the gate as we should have been 
 had the authorities possessed historical imagina- 
 tion ; and we made straight for a cafe, there 
 being no hotel. My friend was not there, but 
 rooms had to be arranged for. 
 
 At once I sent scouts out from the cafe to 
 search for sleeping accommodation, but they 
 
 21 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 all reported none existed, and still no friend. 
 At this moment a swinging light was seen 
 coming up the road, and my mud-stained and 
 bedraggled comrade marched in, escorted by 
 two peasants of ferocious appearance. He had 
 hired these men to lead him to safety. At the 
 moment he had the appearance of a High 
 Church curate who had taken to brigandage 
 and found it an arduous profession. 
 
 Now for the rooms. A happy thought 
 struck me. Happening to be possessed of a 
 Roman Catholic order of knighthood, 1 might 
 appeal to the senior priest as a stranger and a 
 fellow-worker. My card was despatched, and 
 at once came a most courteous reply putting 
 two rooms at our disposal. 
 
 Quartermastering duties being settled, then 
 to dinner and to bed in the quaint old town 
 in which Cagliostro, that eighteenth-century 
 magician, spent the last years of his romantic 
 life as a prisoner of state. 1 
 
 About twelve miles separate the fortress of 
 San Leo from the mountain on which is situ- 
 ated the " citta " which is the capital of the 
 
 1 It will be remembered that the Liberals or " thinkers," 
 as they were called, of Bologna and other towns under Papal 
 Government, when they thought deeply, used to be sent here. 
 
 22 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 Republic of San Marino — some twelve miles 
 of rough walking over many ridges and through 
 two streams. We started early, leaving with 
 regret the wonderful little mediaeval town of 
 San Leo, and in due course arrived at the 
 capital of the oldest state in Europe, the only 
 existing example of a fourteenth-century 
 Italian republic, with its Captain of the 
 Nobles and Captain of the People, their 
 Excellencies the Regent Captains, its Senatus 
 Populusque Sammarinensis, its magnificent 
 situation, and its ancient streets illumined by 
 electric light ! 
 
 When we were enjoying the hospitality of 
 our clerical host at San Leo, I had an oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to him about the country. 
 I was much interested to observe during that 
 conversation with what intense pride he re- 
 minded me that he was not an Italian, but 
 a Republican. At first I hardly grasped his 
 meaning, until it was recalled that I was 
 approaching the frontiers of the Republic of 
 San Marino. This made me think that per- 
 haps it is not the size of states which makes 
 men proud, but rather their history. Being 
 myself one of those old-fashioned people who 
 are rather revolted at the modern worship of 
 
 23 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 " bigness" rather than virtue, it was with 
 considerable pleasure that I noticed this in- 
 tense pride of country exhibited by all the 
 people of this microscopic state. 
 
 Once before when passing through this 
 country I had employed a boy of some twelve 
 years to wheel my bicycle up the steep hill, 
 and he then had amused and instructed me 
 during the walk with an account of various 
 events in the history of San Marino, from 
 the legendary founding of the state by Saint 
 Marinus in the fifth century and onwards. 
 I discovered later that the Senate did every- 
 thing it could to foster this pride, for in 
 every shop can be bought cheap history books, 
 and I have now before me a most excellent 
 historical calendar of the Republic which 
 gives the chief events chronicled month by 
 month. 
 
 We arrived at the small but excellent inn, 
 which is perched up against the steep side of 
 Monte Titano, somewhat out of breath owing 
 to the steep pull up from the valley. It was 
 not long before knowledge of the arrival of 
 two forestieri had spread, the youth whose 
 services I had formerly employed having pro- 
 claimed the exciting news, and so, while we 
 
 24 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 were resting before lunch, there gathered in 
 the bar of the inn quite a considerable audi- 
 ence of men and boys, all anxious to hear 
 from us of our walk. One of these, more 
 travelled than his compatriots, had passed 
 through Florence, and it may interest our 
 Florentine friends to know that he gave it as 
 his opinion that we live in a " bella citta." 
 
 In describing San Marino, a little time ago, 
 in the pages of the Manchester Guardian^ for 
 my good northcountrymen, I told them to 
 imagine a little town perched up on the top 
 and on one side of Skiddaw. This gives a 
 fairly good idea of the position, for though 
 Monte Titano is not quite so high as our 
 Cumberland mountain (it is 2450 feet), it 
 is not much less. The situation, however, is 
 unique in one way, for between its eastern 
 side and the Adriatic there exists a low-lying 
 strip of land, allowing therefore a full view 
 of this sea. Indeed, if you are lucky, on 
 a clear morning not only the whole coastline 
 from Venice to Pesaro can be seen, including 
 the towns of Ferrara, Ravenna, Cesena, Rimini, 
 and others, but also the mountains of Dal- 
 matia on the other side of the Adriatic. 
 
 Looking over the parapet at the highest 
 25 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 point of the "Citta" (this latter being the 
 name usually given to the small town which 
 dominates, and which is the capital of, the 
 Republic), a curious optical effect was ob- 
 served. All the land which the sea had 
 deserted, namely that strip which runs between 
 Ravenna, Rimini, and the Adriatic, by dis- 
 tance again appeared as water. So the coast- 
 line, as it discovered itself to me from the 
 summit of San Marino, appeared the same as 
 that which was the actual one in the Middle 
 Ages, appropriate enough as seen from this 
 anachronistic place. 
 
 Looking from this point inland, however, 
 practically all the mountains which we had 
 crossed from La Verna were visible. A 
 threatening country it looked, and one over 
 which a general would think twice before 
 leading a hostile army. This thought occurred 
 to me when I was looking over the scene of 
 our recent walk, and knowing well the hardi- 
 ness and bravery of my Italian friends, a con- 
 versation which I had had with an Austrian 
 chauvinist in Vienna a few months ago re- 
 curred to me. He was saying with that gay 
 ignorance characteristic of such people that if 
 a war between the two countries broke out, 
 
 26 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 he reckoned the Austrians would be in Rome 
 in three days. I calmly replied that I did not 
 think the Italians would let them pass very 
 easily, but I was quite sure that even without 
 opposition the Italian railways as I knew them 
 would not convey them that distance in so 
 short a time. I think this was conclusive. 
 
 The straggling narrow street, the principal 
 one of the " Citta," winds up the hill, passing 
 by the unfortunately modern Parliament House. 
 Of course we visited this building, which is 
 handsomely decorated, and which contains, 
 by the way, an excellent picture of our late 
 Queen Victoria presented by herself; and we 
 sat in the seats of the mighty by reposing on 
 the thrones of the Regent Captains of San Ma- 
 rino. These officials represent the dignity of 
 the Republic, and are elected for only six 
 months, a time sufficiently short to prevent the 
 creation of undue pride in their minds, and 
 which I presume is a security against their 
 blossoming into tyrants. Taking into con- 
 sideration that the whole population of the 
 Republic according to the 1900 census is only 
 11,002, this short term of office must give 
 every male adult inhabitant a very fair chance 
 of ruling it at one time or another. They 
 
 27 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 may say more plausibly than the French soldier 
 who has the baton of a marshal in his knap- 
 sack, that they have the cap of a prince captain 
 very near their heads. 
 
 San Marino in the past has had its troubles 
 like other states. As recently as the eighteenth 
 century it was invaded by the Papal troops, 
 under Clement XII. An appeal to this Pontiff, 
 however, obtained the concession that the 
 people should themselves decide the question, 
 and the Sanmarinesi soon settled that matter 
 by voting unanimously for independence. But 
 especially to Napoleon the Great is due the 
 gratitude of the Republicans. Something in 
 the history of this state must have especially 
 attracted this famous landgrabber, and no 
 doubt the outspoken opinion of the San- 
 marinese patriot, Onofri, contributed, for this 
 latter on being asked by Napoleon what he 
 could do for the people, very frankly said, 
 " Sire, the best thing you can do is to leave us 
 alone." At any rate throughout his reign 
 Napoleon supported the independence of the 
 Republic, a line of conduct which became 
 traditional with the Bonapartes, for Napoleon 
 III afterwards adopted the same policy. 
 
 It should not be forgotten that this little 
 28 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 state of San Marino has even in recent years 
 shown that independent courage which won 
 for it the respect of the great land conquerors 
 of the world. Garibaldi, after his defence of 
 the Roman Republic in 1849, w ^h tne remnant 
 of his army retreated through the mountains, 
 and eventually being harassed and surrounded 
 by the Austrians claimed the protection of the 
 San Marino Republic. This protection was 
 offered freely, and, at the risk of their own 
 independence, they defied the stronger powers. 
 It is pleasant to remember that among the 
 most faithful of Garibaldi's followers was 
 Colonel Hugh Forbes, late of the Grenadier 
 Guards, and resident in Florence. He was 
 accompanied all through this campaign by his 
 son, a boy of thirteen years. 
 
 The courage which has protected the San- 
 marinesi through the centuries was displayed 
 conspicuously at this time, and no doubt this 
 displayal of it has saved it from absorption in 
 United Italy. It is a most interesting matter 
 in the philosophy of history. 
 
 The next morning I left for Rimini, walk- 
 ing through the lower town called Borgo, and 
 thence through another Sanmarinese village 
 called Serravalle. Shortly after that, however, 
 
 29 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 we ceased to breathe the free air of the Re- 
 public by crossing the frontier into the King- 
 dom of Italy. 
 
 Practical Information for San Marino 
 
 It is as well under this heading to include a short sketch 
 of the history of this little independent Republic, be- 
 cause this is not too well known. Moreover, there is another 
 reason. People may go, and very generally do go, to places 
 like Florence, Siena, etc., without any real knowledge of 
 the past of these places. They go to see beautiful pictures 
 or fine architecture, or to say they have been. But the 
 pilgrim who makes the ascent of Monte Titano, on which 
 the capital of the Republic is built, goes there with the 
 reverent intention of paying homage to the history of the 
 place. This must be his primary reason, and for that he 
 should have in his mind the dates of the chief events of its 
 lengthy past. 
 
 a.d. 350 Marinus, a stonemason of Dalmatia, became 
 Christian. Marinus crossed to Rimini, where he lived 
 for thirty years. To escape persecution for his religion 
 he fled to Monte Titano, where he lived the life of a 
 hermit. His fame became known, and he was given 
 the mountain by a princess, and in lieu of founding 
 a monastery established a Republic. 
 
 During the Middle Ages, the Republic's dangerous neigh- 
 bours, the Malatestas, often attempted to invade it, but 
 the courage of the people effectually secured its inde- 
 pendence. Towards the end of the eighteenth century 
 Cardinal Alberoni, the Pope's Governor of Romagna, 
 invaded and captured it, but an appeal having been made 
 30 
 
Florence to San Marino 
 
 to the Pope, Clement XII, it was decided that the in- 
 habitants should be given their choice. They voted 
 unanimously for independence. It was, however, largely 
 due to the devoted services of Antonio Onofri that the 
 Republic gained the admiration and support of Napoleon 
 the Great. When it had been determined to suppress 
 it, Onofri went to the Emperor to plead for his native 
 state. On being asked what he wanted, he replied 
 boldly : " Sire, the only thing you can do for us is to 
 leave us just where we are." And Napoleon did. 
 However, the Republic throughout the wars maintained 
 a strict neutrality, so that at the Congress of Vienna, 
 Onofri, who again represented it there, was able to 
 obtain the recognition of its independence. In 1849 
 the remnant of Garibaldi's army took refuge in the state, 
 surrendering their arms to the Regent Captains. The 
 part the state played in this matter gained for it the 
 respect of Victor Emmanuel, and it is now certainly 
 unlikely that its independence will ever again be 
 threatened. 
 The whole territory of the Republic is but 32 square 
 miles in extent, and it is governed by two Regent 
 Captains elected twice a year, a Council, and a Chamber 
 of Representatives. 
 
 Hotels : 
 
 San Marino : Albergo Titano ; rooms from 1.50 frcs. 
 
 Rimini : Aquila d'Oro, 1 o % reduction for members of 
 the Italian Touring Club. 
 
 San Stefano : Albergo Stella. 
 Poppi : Albergo Conte Guidi. 
 
 3i 
 
Chapter III — From Florence to Em- 
 poli and Fucecchio 
 
 I AST year I was in Hungary with a party 
 of politicians visiting the historic 
 j country of the Magyars, and of our 
 circle was Professor Oscar Browning. 
 A discussion arose at dinner the first night on 
 the position of Napoleon the Great in history, 
 and it happened that my contribution to the 
 debate was the proposition that he was one 
 of the three or four real geniuses which the 
 world had produced in a thousand years. 
 This statement was a too attractive one for 
 the author of The Boyhood and Youth of Napo- 
 leon^ The Fall of Napoleon^ etc., to resist, so 
 after dinner we went off and had a Bona- 
 parte talk. Never having read Browning's 
 work, I enquired of him if the family of 
 Bonaparte, the one whose name appears on 
 the walls of the old inn at San Miniato al 
 Tedesco, was in any way related to the Im- 
 perial family, and he told me they were un- 
 doubtedly the same. He said the family 
 
 32 
 
From Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio 
 
 originally were from Fucecchio, a town near 
 San Miniato, and that many years ago he had 
 met a waiter in a hotel in Florence of the 
 name whose father had been a resident of 
 this place and was, very likely, collaterally of 
 the family. On my return I determined to 
 make an expedition to Fucecchio, a place 
 which up to then I had not visited ; so I 
 mounted my bicycle one fine morning and 
 rode from Florence, passing through the 
 Pisan Gate. The road to Lastra a Signa is 
 too well known to need any description, and 
 though of much interest is one of the very 
 worst for bicycles in the neighbourhood of 
 the city. To those who have not seen Lastra, 
 however, this miniature walled town deserves 
 a visit, which of course can be easily effected 
 by tramway. Such a tiny fortalice it is with 
 its sombre streets and built-in church, that 
 truly one might imagine it to-day blocking 
 the expansion of Florence towards the sea, or 
 defending an outpost of the banker city. But 
 there are no men-at-arms guarding its narrow 
 gate, and my bicycle with its warning bell 
 does not call out a guard, but only scatters a 
 horde of children playing with halfpennies in 
 the road. 
 
 d 33 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Beyond here the road runs to the pic- 
 turesque village called Porto, and passes the 
 old bridge leading to Signa, now of straw- 
 hat fame but anciently of greater renown. 
 Hence the road follows the river through a 
 gorge in the mountains, a very beautiful ride, 
 through wood, village, and prairie until the 
 split hills of Montelupo come into sight. Here 
 is the Medicean Villa of Ambrogiana, now 
 usefully but somewhat ignobly used as a 
 criminal lunatic asylum. I remembered in 
 passing through the tortuous streets of this 
 place that somewhere I had read the story of 
 its name, the Mount of the Wolf. In old 
 time the village and district was the hunting 
 ground of a particularly voracious she-wolf, 
 who specially affected young and tender 
 children, of which, I can witness, the place 
 has an abundant supply. Many had been the 
 attempts to rid the country of this incubus, 
 but without success. At last the kindly old 
 priest had an idea. He had seen many 
 human wolves converted to reasonable living 
 through Christianity ; why, then, not this beast ? 
 Had not Holy Francis a brother in a wolf? 
 So he sallied forth and interviewed the animal, 
 who it may be presumed had either respect 
 
 34 
 
From Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio 
 
 for his office or no taste for priestly flesh. 
 The outcome of the conversation was the 
 complete recognition of the Catholic truths 
 by the lupine bandit. The latter became a 
 responsible citizen, indeed, setting a much- 
 required example to many contemporary 
 bipeds. One night, however, having an in- 
 tuition of coming disaster, which the writer 
 has frequently observed to be peculiar to the 
 lower animals, he entered the village and 
 warned the people that an earthquake was to 
 be expected, and advised that the persons 
 dwelling in the upper village should quit their 
 homes for the lower. The catastrophe hap- 
 pened, the whole country was convulsed like 
 the sea in a great storm, and the mountain 
 was split into two parts. Yet not a life was 
 lost, and the town was so named after its 
 saviour. 
 
 Crossing the river here by a romantic old 
 bridge, the road undulates towards Empoli, a 
 town which is much more interesting than it 
 looks from the railway. 
 
 It is a market town, and when I entered 
 it, it was crowded with traffickers, of whom 
 the women were habited in picturesque dress, 
 while the men were in awkward black, no 
 
 35 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 more attractive than is a Florentine in the 
 Via Tornabuoni. Why, oh why do the 
 women put up with it ? Can they not refuse 
 to go a-courting with men less becomingly 
 garbed than themselves ? But after all, this 
 query might be addressed appropriately to 
 other classes as well as to the good peasants 
 of the Arno valley. 
 
 The little town has many quaint and lovely 
 houses, and its ancient Duomo with its arcaded 
 piazza is especially deserving of a visit. 
 
 The road runs flat and straight through the 
 vineyards from Empoli to Fucecchio, crossing 
 the river by a bridge near Marcignana, and 
 latterly skirting the lower hills on which are 
 many hamlets and villas. The town itself 
 with its ancient fortress is on a spur of these 
 same hills looking down on the Arno and 
 across it to San Miniato. As soon as I had 
 rested and refreshed myself I proceeded to 
 the Municipio to make my enquiries as to the 
 Bonapartes. It appeared there were records 
 of a family of this name styled nobile (or 
 principal burgher). It seems necessary now 
 to explain this word, and it is the more in- 
 teresting in that it will be remembered that 
 until quite recently it was commonly stated 
 
 36 
 
From Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio 
 
 that Bonaparte was of mean birth. The truth 
 is that his origin was neither very high nor 
 very low. Probably his family followed a 
 superior trade, nearly all the members of such 
 trades being allowed the right to the style 
 noble (or gentle). 
 
 It is difficult for us coming from countries 
 of feudal origin to realise the position. More- 
 over, the confusion is the source of some in- 
 justice to the Italians, whose multitudinous 
 titular distinctions are with us a source of 
 surprise and sometimes of ridicule. It must 
 be remembered that in Italy nobility had 
 nothing to do with feudal power and not 
 always with the bearing of coat armour. To 
 understand that circumstance we have to con- 
 sider the condition of England, which has to- 
 day become what Italy was in the fourteenth 
 and fifteenth centuries, a commercial country. 
 Of the hereditary honours granted in the last 
 birthday list, every single person so advanced 
 is or was in some form of trade. So it was 
 in Italy, two, three, and four hundred years 
 ago, with this difference, that then all distinc- 
 tions were granted much more freely, and as 
 under the republics the only title (except a few 
 Holy Roman ones) was that of nobile (equiva- 
 
 37 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 lent to our gentleman) it may easily be seen 
 how these have been increased and abused. 
 In England, in spite of the novi homines, there 
 are still some ancient houses left, and so there 
 are in Italy. In neither case are they all either 
 ancient or respectable. 
 
 This is of especial interest in respect to 
 the status of the Bonapartes. It will be re- 
 membered that when Charles Bonaparte wished 
 to place the future Emperor, then a boy of 
 twelve years, at the military school of Brienne, 
 it was necessary to prove that he was entitled 
 to bear arms (noblesse) and that he was poor. 
 The Brienne school was for the training of 
 officers, who were educated free of cost. 
 Charles did this by explaining that Italian 
 ranks differed from French, but he showed 
 he had the necessary qualification of four 
 generations — with the coronet of a count. 
 This statement has caused some of the guide- 
 books wrongly to assert that the Bonapartes 
 were counts of Fucecchio. As a matter of 
 fact, there were not any such counts. And 
 coronets are a comparatively new invention. 
 English barons who are peers of the realm 
 were not elevated thus until 1672, before 
 which they wore the cap-of-maintenance, the 
 
 38 
 
From Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio 
 
 ancient insignia of a tenant-in-chief. If I am 
 not mistaken the cap of the doge of Venice 
 is a cap-of-maintenance, or a development 
 from it. 
 
 But in Italy above all other countries the 
 rank coronet is misunderstood. I have seen 
 a barone's crown worn by a marchese, a mar- 
 chese's by a simple gentleman, and a count's 
 by a barone. In fact, seldom is it correctly 
 worn, which is a good enough thing, for, prop- 
 erly speaking, the coronet should signify areas 
 of land governed, and should only belong to 
 those who actually govern the respective terri- 
 tories. 
 
 At Fucecchio to-day I could find no people 
 of the name, though one old man informed 
 me that he remembered a Bonaparte who was 
 a shoemaker. Obviously they have done 
 better elsewhere. 
 
 Leaving this town by the road which crosses 
 the wide Arno valley one passes through and 
 under one of the most beautiful of avenues. 
 Literally the trees form a complete roof above 
 your head, making it the coolest of resorts in 
 warm weather and one of the most lovely. 
 Looking through the dark arch of trees I 
 could discern high up on its rocky home the 
 
 39 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 palace of the legates of the Emperor — the 
 Holy Roman Emperor. Without undue his- 
 torical imagination I was compelled by the 
 situation to ponder on the curious fact that 
 this later Empire of Rome, the creation of 
 Charlemagne, one of the noblest conceptions 
 of the human mind — did it not stand for 
 unity and brotherhood? — came to naught, 
 nay was the cause of bloodshed, supersti- 
 tion, and tyranny through ten centuries 
 because the central authority lacked just one 
 simple thing, force. Centralised power was 
 required to compel the units to learn and to 
 respect the great principles of unity and 
 brotherhood of which it was a witness, and 
 the Emperor had it not. Force, brute force, 
 after all, is necessary in human affairs — even 
 to protect our spoons — and I wonder if the 
 conferences of the Hague, which in essence 
 have the same object as had the Empire, 
 namely fraternity, will be successful without 
 it ? Charlemagne, Cromwell, and Bonaparte 
 thought otherwise. Tempora mutantur et nos y 
 etc. etc. 
 
 The proverb says we change with the times 
 — a superficial view : we evolve, both indi- 
 vidual and race, harden or soften, but change 
 
 40 
 
From Florence to Empoli and Fucecchio 
 
 never. I could illustrate this by many anec- 
 dotes, but, as Kipling says, that is another 
 story. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Empoli: Hotel Giappone ; rooms 1.50 frcs.; lunch 
 2 frcs.; dinner 3 frcs.; pension 5 frcs.; 10 per cent reduction 
 for members of the Italian Touring Club. 
 
 Fucecchio : Hotel de la Couronne, dinner 3 frcs., pen- 
 sion 5 frcs. Garage. Ten per cent reduction for members 
 of the Italian Touring Club. 
 
 The road out of Florence runs by the Borgo San Jacopo to 
 the Pisan Gate. For bicycling, however, there is a better 
 way through the Cascine over the small bridge near the 
 Indian Statue and thence along the embankments on the 
 northern side of the Arno, to Signa. 
 
 Where you cross the south bank of river, this way is 
 a difficult one for a stranger to find. 
 
 Distances : Lastra 8 miles, Empoli 20 miles, Fucecchio 
 27 miles. 
 
 4i 
 
Chapter IV — Florence to Leghorn by 
 Pontederra 
 
 MY principal object in descending 
 on the good town of Livorno (I 
 wonder how in the world it be- 
 came nicknamed Leghorn by the 
 British : is it caused, perhaps, by an association 
 of ideas with the appearance of the leg of Italy 
 on the school maps?) was due to philanthropic 
 mental aberration. A poor man in whom I 
 had taken some interest had lost his all in the 
 earthquake at Messina, and moreover his wife 
 had been severely injured there. It happened 
 that we were able to help him towards getting 
 a job at Naples, but in the meantime, for 
 reasons which belong to the inscrutable ways 
 of governments, his wife had been sent to the 
 hospital at Leghorn. As my refugee friend 
 could not visit the poor woman, it was 
 borne in on me that it would be a kindly thing 
 if I did so. My adventures in search of her 
 I will recount later. 
 
 I collected together a young friend of mine 
 42 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 who is a good bicyclist, and an elderly one 
 who suffers from a liver, as companions for this 
 trip. You see I was in a philanthropic mood, 
 and my philanthropy extended even to bad old 
 men with quite unnecessary livers. It is true 
 that I was told the expedition might finish him, so 
 it did so far as bicycling with me was concerned, 
 but also I had a strong feeling that it would 
 improve his health. Indeed, it did this too, 
 and he has been happily married since. 
 
 We started along the Pisan road from 
 Florence, which I have described in another 
 place, and taking a hurried lunch at Empoli, 
 followed the main road towards San Miniato 
 di Tedesco. For miles along this road the 
 Castle of the Emperor's Legate, and the cam- 
 panili of this quaint semi-circular village, can 
 be seen looking down on the Arno valley and 
 the innumerable villages and vineyards which 
 this fruitful land produces. 
 
 One remembers in enjoying the real beauties 
 of this scene, that all was not well with this 
 happy land — even if all is well now — a few 
 centuries ago. In this plain were decided 
 some of the bloodiest of the battles fought 
 between petty contending states, and we may 
 be allowed to wonder how long the human 
 
 43 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 race will endure even the modified and less 
 frequent warfare of our own times. In the 
 past these small states of Florence, of Pisa, of 
 Lucca and Siena, were at least divided by 
 difficulties in transport and intercommunica- 
 tion. Florence was farther from Lucca, in the 
 fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, than Berlin 
 is from London at the present moment, and 
 infinitely more distant in the human and kindly 
 intercourse between man and man. Yet even 
 now the silly old game of war goes on, and 
 peoples are divided without knowing why 
 they are divided. 
 
 Everyone should remember that it takes 
 exactly the same number of hours to travel 
 from London to Rome to-day as when our 
 fathers were boys it took them to go from 
 our capital to the north of England — and a 
 county in our grandfathers' time was more 
 essentially separate from another than is Russia 
 from Germany, or Italy from England, in our 
 present year of grace. 
 
 Many such subjects we discussed in pedalling 
 along the valley of the Arno and over and 
 along the spurs of the hills which here throw 
 out these impedimenta in the track of the 
 main road. We journeyed through S. Romano 
 
 44 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 and between there and Rotta, passed by several 
 handsome villas which before I had never 
 seen. They are nearly all eighteenth-century 
 ones, but must, from the situation commanding 
 passes, have been built on the foundation of 
 ancient fortresses, and in some cases with the 
 stones, I imagine. The gradual evolution of 
 the defensive castle into the peaceful country 
 house is better seen in our English family 
 architecture than elsewhere. In Italy either 
 a castle was allowed to go to ruin, or, when 
 the age of the policeman arrived, it was totally 
 destroyed and a modern and somewhat bour- 
 geois structure erected on its foundations, 
 and often with its respectable stones. 
 
 At the village of Rotta, as also in Ponte- 
 derra farther on, while passing these places by 
 train, I had always noticed an abnormal number 
 of children. 
 
 It seems that these, so my informant said, 
 are employed in the cotton factories as half- 
 timers, which, I should imagine, is not a good 
 thing for them. But the question of child 
 labour has not yet been solved in any country, 
 though perhaps it is nearer solution in Ger- 
 many than anywhere else. 
 
 The first sight of Pontederra from the hills, 
 45 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 a few miles away, suggests to the observer a 
 little Manchester, a cleaner Manchester it is 
 true, and a small one. Big chimneys are 
 visible everywhere, though the dryness of the 
 air causes less smoke to linger. And in its 
 way it is a little Manchester, for here are many 
 of the cotton industries of Tuscany — the rising 
 trade which is looked on with jealous eyes by 
 some trading patriots among us. Yet really 
 they need not fear competition, for the very 
 charm of the Italian climate is a sufficient 
 guarantee against any loss to us. Water has 
 to be brought to moisten the cotton at 
 enormous trouble and expense. In our coun- 
 try this is not necessary. Naturally, there is 
 competition in the rougher work, there must 
 be, and we should be a very greedy people if 
 we found fault with it. Until our coal fields 
 cease (for their coal has to be brought from 
 Cardiff), and the enormous water power ex- 
 ploited, Italy can never become a purely 
 industrial country, and when that time comes, 
 1 for one will not care to go there. 
 
 The people of the little industrial town of 
 Pontederra are a free and independent lot, as I 
 have experienced more than once while lunching 
 and dining in their cheap restaurants. Yet they 
 
 46 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 are extraordinarily receptive of kindly attention 
 offered in the right spirit. For example, once it 
 happened that I was having lunch at a cheap 
 restaurant, and my neighbour was a workman 
 of the superior artisan class. He took not 
 the slightest notice of me on my entry, and I 
 rather despaired of getting into friendly inter- 
 course with him. Salt, or rather the absence 
 of it, however, broke down our class barriers 
 in this case. I could not find any, so I turned 
 to him and said, " Signore, I beg you to pass 
 me salt." At once he jumped up, there being 
 no salt on our table, and seized the salt-cellar 
 from another — and going one better, said, 
 " Signor Marchese, I regret that I had not 
 thought of this before." We chattered for 
 half an hour on the best of terms. 
 
 This leads me to think that in England 
 where, generally speaking, public manners are 
 worse than in any other country in Europe — 
 for in no country would you have seen what 
 I witnessed to-day, namely, five men enter a 
 restaurant, quite a restaurant of the rich, and 
 pass table after table where ladies were seated 
 without salutation and without uncovering — 
 perhaps our rudeness is due to a sense of 
 inferiority, not of superiority. They fear to 
 
 47 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 salute because they think it may be a sign of 
 servility. If this be true, probably the best 
 antidote for this would be for the higher ranks 
 to do the saluting first. 
 
 I cannot leave Pontederra without remem- 
 bering what the free and independent citizens 
 of this town did when I was here before, on a 
 friendly inspection of the cotton works by 
 invitation from my friend Mr. Dino Dini, 
 their manager. There arrived Mr. Pierpont 
 Morgan in a motor, and in the narrow street 
 his car knocked over and injured a little boy. 
 It was no police question there ; the whole 
 people rose in their might and held up the 
 party, and the authorities had the greatest 
 difficulty in preventing the populace from re- 
 venging themselves on the occupants of the 
 offending motor. Now Mr. Morgan is the 
 kindliest of men, and I am sure he was as 
 sorry for the accident as anyone could be, yet 
 I am sure that the scrape he fell into at Ponte- 
 derra, surrounded as he was by an angry 
 crowd, had a more salutary effect on his 
 chauffeur than many actions at law. 
 
 Especially in Italy is motoring dangerous, 
 for the narrow streets in the villages, nearly 
 always unadorned by pavements, make the 
 
 48 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 approach of the inconsiderate motorist a real 
 peril to the youngsters. For this reason I 
 have never really enjoyed a motor ride in that 
 country. 
 
 We had a late lunch, a second one, at 
 Pontederra, and our elder friend being dead- 
 beat, we packed him home to Florence in the 
 train, and resumed our journey to Leghorn. 
 But the road across the level plain, caused by 
 siltage from the Arno, is not so simple as it 
 appears on the map. The whole of this plain 
 is gridironed by canals, either for navigation 
 or irrigation, and the roads are of the worst, 
 for the reason that the canals are of the best. 
 It is easier to go by canal than by road, and 
 much less fatiguing ! 
 
 In this country one has at times, especially 
 when the maize or the flax is growing high, 
 the curious illusion of seeing three or four 
 lateen-sailed boats apparently gliding over 
 solid earth, the waterways being entirely 
 hidden. I remember seeing a similar thing 
 in the Suez Canal once, when a great liner 
 appeared on the horizon steaming on and 
 through the desert, no water being visible 
 from where we watched her. 
 
 But our trip, though rough (for at many 
 
 E 49 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 places we had to push our bicycles through the 
 sand), was agreeable and interesting enough, 
 and at nightfall we arrived at the gates of 
 Leghorn. There was nothing to be done 
 that night but to find accommodation, which 
 we did at the Hotel Giappone, satisfy the 
 inner man, which can be well done here, and 
 sleep. Stay, something more was done, for 
 in that digestive interval between food and 
 bed we visited a cinematograph, the most 
 realistic one I have seen. The subject was 
 a bull-fight : it happens I have seen a real 
 bull-fight in Spain and hated it from start to 
 finish, but the representation of this sport, 
 with its sickening and unchivalrous details, 
 caused me to detest it more and more. For 
 this reason : in the bull-fight I witnessed 
 my mind was concentrated on, almost projected 
 into, the contest in the ring. No one who has 
 seen this show, if properly conducted, can 
 refrain from admiring the courage and dex- 
 terity of the professionals who take a leading 
 part in It. They are paid for it, it is true, 
 but so is the soldier, and quite unduly the 
 footballer. 
 
 Here in the bull-ring you have much of 
 the formal and the picturesque courtesy of 
 
 50 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 the Middle Ages — and were it not for the 
 bull and his sufferings it would indeed be a 
 noble sport. But the bull has not a chance in 
 the end, nor have the poor horses — I respect 
 the fighters, the matadors, the picadors, 
 and the rest, I also feel intensely for the 
 horses, and with my whole heart I am with 
 the bull, on his side at all times and every- 
 where. But now as to the onlookers — the 
 comfortable and safe onlookers at this strife. 
 These the cinematograph gave me as I had 
 not seen them in the Plaza del Torro at San 
 Sebastian. While the horses were being dis- 
 embowelled, while men for shillings were risk- 
 ing their lives, while a gallant animal was be- 
 ing badgered and driven for man's pleasure to 
 his death, fair and apparently gentle women 
 and little children were seen smiling and 
 eating ices and bonbons in the boxes over- 
 looking this carnage. This is what is really 
 terrible in it, the human degradation of 
 it, a side of it which I did not see in Spain, 
 and only the humble cinematograph of Leg- 
 horn brought it home to me. In saying this, 
 believe me, I have no share in our failing 
 of national hypocrisy. I hate and despise 
 the hunting English woman who sees a fox 
 
 5i 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 unearthed and broken up before her eyes 
 without a shudder as much as I do the Spanish 
 woman who rejoices in a kill of bull or horse. 
 The whole thing to me is degrading. If 
 these cruelties have to be, at least let us keep 
 our women out of them and perform our- 
 selves. For surely women and little children 
 were never intended by Divine Providence 
 to be butchers or the patrons and applauders 
 of butchers. Really I am indebted to the 
 proprietor of the cinematograph at Leghorn 
 for having caused me to review my outlook 
 on what is an important matter, so important 
 indeed that it touches every spring of life. 
 
 The next morning I went early to see my 
 friend the Consul, Mr. Carmichael, so well 
 known as a writer on Italian subjects, and 
 armed with his authority visited the two 
 hospitals where the refugees had been taken. 
 It seems incredible, but it is a fact, that though 
 I had the woman's name and description, 
 though I knew she was in a hospital in the 
 place, yet the officials were unable to find her 
 for me. So I wandered through innumerable 
 wards to no purpose. We spent the rest of 
 the day visiting different parts of the town, 
 which is unique in one sense, for it is the only 
 
 52 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 place I know which combines the interests of 
 a commercial port with those of a pleasure and 
 bathing resort. It will not be forgotten that 
 its harbour was planned and constructed by 
 an Englishman three centuries ago. Robert 
 Dudley, called Duke of Northumberland on 
 the Continent, had a remarkable and romantic 
 career. The son, and I believe the eldest son, 
 of Elizabeth's favourite, the Earl of Leicester, 
 for some political reason he was refused ac- 
 knowledgment by the Government and ap- 
 parently by his father, so leaving England and 
 deserting his wife, he retired to the Court 
 of Tuscany, accompanied by one of Queen 
 Elizabeth's maids of honour disguised as a 
 page. He married this lady with the blessing 
 of the Catholic Church, as the Pope con- 
 veniently refused to acknowledge the prior 
 Protestant marriage, and they settled in 
 Florence. The title of Duca di Northumber- 
 land was conferred on him by the Emperor 
 (there is no reason to doubt that he was the 
 heir to his father), so at the same time there 
 were two Dukes of Northumberland, the one 
 acknowledged on the Continent, the other 
 accepted in England. 
 
 It was much the same position as at the 
 53 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 present time exists in the Catholic and the 
 Protestant branches of the order of St. John 
 of Jerusalem, for if you are a knight of the 
 former branch you can wear your insignia 
 abroad but not in England, and if of the 
 latter, in England but not on the Continent. 
 
 The Grand Duke of Tuscany became much 
 attached to him, and it was owing to Dudley's 
 enterprise that the Leghorn harbour was con- 
 structed. He was indeed an engineer of no 
 mean ability. As to the recreative and social 
 side of Leghorn there are few places to equal 
 it in attractiveness. Three miles of bathing, 
 with innumerable establishments along the 
 whole line, fine gardens to the water's edge, 
 and all the popular amusements which are to be 
 found in such places in Italy. Before leaving 
 Leghorn I visited the " Factory " cemetery — 
 the English colony was styled "the Factory" in 
 times past — where are buried a considerable 
 number of representatives of all classes of 
 Britons. Up to comparatively recent years it 
 was the only burial place in the country for 
 Protestants, it being a free port, consequently 
 all our non-Catholic compatriots who died in 
 Italy were taken there for interment. A most 
 interesting little history of this cemetery has 
 
 54 
 
Florence to Leghorn by Pontederra 
 
 been written by my friend Mr. Montgomery 
 Carmichael. 
 
 We returned by train to Florence that 
 night. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Empoli, see chapter iii. 
 
 Leghorn : Hotel Giappone, with excellent restaurant. 
 
 55 
 
Chapter V — Certaldo, Siena, and Val 
 d' Elsa. 
 
 SOME time ago it was our privilege to 
 be asked to stay at the house of an 
 English lady at Certaldo. Our hostess 
 had bought all the inhabitable part 
 of the old castle, which can be seen from the 
 railway to Siena crowning the hill in the 
 centre of the little town. But she had done 
 more than purchase a mediaeval stronghold, 
 for she had made it into a comfortable 
 residence, and had introduced into that part 
 of the world not only some of the comforts 
 of English country-house life, but the hospi- 
 tality and amenities which we are accustomed 
 to associate with such a dwelling in our land. 
 Our hostess had made friends with all classes, 
 and entertained them all in patriarchal fashion. 
 Therefore, at any rate to me fresh from Africa, 
 no house could have been more congenial. 
 We had balls for the gentry and the better 
 sort of townsfolk, advocates, and Government 
 officials, and games for the youngsters, while 
 
 56 
 
VILLAGE LIFE, 
 
Certaldo, Siena, and Vol d' Elsa 
 
 an excellent little theatre was erected in which 
 the natural talent of the Italians for acting was 
 very charmingly displayed. Indeed, the castello 
 itself was an inspiration in such work, for had 
 not Boccaccio dwelt for some time in one 
 of the towers ? 
 
 The first dance I was privileged to attend 
 there remains in my memory. The guests 
 consisted of a marchese or two, a few lawyers, 
 one or two of the leading merchants in the 
 town, all, of course, with their families. The 
 latter generally were handsome young ladies 
 and men attired in a variety of styles, which 
 pleasantly recalled the fashion plates from 1840 
 to i860. 
 
 The company was quite obviously composed 
 of different orders, and I am quite sure many 
 of these excellent people were saying to them- 
 selves that " it is curious we should have been 
 asked to meet so-and-so." But having been 
 asked, they all behaved amiably. 
 
 It was not easy for some of us with a 
 limited knowledge of the language of Dante 
 to help our kind hostess in her hospitable 
 efforts. A brilliant idea struck me. It 
 happened that we had bought a book on 
 Italian conversation, the author of which 
 
 57 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 assured the world in his preface that every 
 requirement of modern life was dealt with in 
 his dialogues. That night I danced with 
 many very charming ladies, and every word 
 addressed to them was from this book. The 
 questions were somewhat startling at times, 
 but it really did not matter, for I could not 
 follow the answers. At any rate it is fairly 
 certain that had I been a Voltaire I could 
 hardly have expected to create more amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 But we made many friends there, and one 
 of my pleasantest recollections of the place is 
 the fact that during my election fight in Eng- 
 land I heard that many of the Certaldo people 
 were following with interest the course of that 
 distant battle. 
 
 Surrounding the hill on which the cas- 
 tello of Certaldo is situate there are crowded 
 the poorest houses of the town, and poverty 
 can be very severe in these small places. Just 
 as in old days the unprotected came for safety 
 close up to the walls of the feudal stronghold, 
 so now they occupy the same place and often 
 the same houses. And what dwellings they 
 are ! I have seen much of the condition of the 
 outcast in London, and indeed nothing can be 
 
 58 
 
Certaldo, Siena, and Vol d' Elsa 
 
 more terrible than the lives of the workers in 
 our mammoth city ; yet here in sunny Italy 
 habitations as vile and insanitary can be seen 
 where few of the decencies and none of the 
 comforts of modern existence are possible. 
 These people and their children I saw much 
 of while staying there, and possibly I made 
 myself a nuisance to my hostess in so doing, 
 for they got to look upon me as a friend, and 
 in regarding me in that capacity they were, no 
 doubt, sometimes troublesome. 
 
 Of the house party there were several who 
 were as interested in visiting the Val d' Elsa 
 as myself. A retired English general and his 
 two charming daughters at one time came to 
 us and visited many of the places around ; at 
 another four very lively and attractive American 
 girls from school in Florence, whose vitality 
 caused us to renew our youth, and again two 
 studious undergraduates from Oxford. 
 
 At last, however, arrived here a man with 
 whom I could walk, bicycle, and incidentally 
 talk. The first expedition we made was to San 
 Gimignano, that hill-town of towers, and thence 
 through Poggibonsi to Siena. The road from 
 Certaldo to San Gimignano crosses the river 
 Elsa, and gradually ascends the hills on the 
 
 59 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 left bank of this stream. Our start was early, 
 and the rising sun shone behind the thirteen 
 towers of San Gimignano as we approached 
 this fortalice. Someone has said that this 
 place is no more beautiful than is a manu- 
 facturing town in Lancashire or Staffordshire, 
 and that its turrets resemble nothing more 
 than the high chimneys of commercial places. 
 There is much truth in the criticism, but none 
 in its intention, for Turner and Ruskin knew 
 what this critic did not know, that there can 
 be as much beauty in Stockton, Stafford, or 
 Blackpool, as in Rome, if you have eyes to see 
 it. Nevertheless the fact remains that it is 
 not what you take out of a view which counts, 
 but what you put into it ; and undoubtedly 
 San Gimignano calls up visions of mediaeval 
 warfare, while Stockton reminds one of the 
 eternal struggle for " daily bread." And we 
 forget that " daily bread " was as important to 
 the becomingly dressed persons of the fifteenth 
 century as it is to the homely clad ones of the 
 twentieth. 
 
 San Gimignano is a delightful town, charm- 
 ing in situation, full of the artistic treasures 
 of early Italy, and beyond aught else character- 
 istic of the conditions of life in the fourteenth 
 
 60 
 
Certaldo, Siena, and Vol d' Elsa 
 
 and fifteenth centuries. Here you recognise 
 at once the presence of a small community, of 
 a self-supporting state in fact, with all the pride 
 which such a condition of affairs engenders. 
 
 Strong in position and self-reliant — and yet 
 its conquest by the ever-encroaching forces 
 of modernism (some call it commercialism) 
 was inevitable ! But the local patriotism, the 
 overmastering feeling of originality, now, 
 I believe, called " village pumpism," is there, 
 and forcibly there — and the worshippers of 
 bigness stand aghast. We are told we belong 
 to a great Empire, fall down and pay reverence 
 to it, while all the time we are thinking not 
 of an empire or a country, but of a castle, a 
 suburban villa, or a cottage, which to us is 
 a more important thing than the Empire is to 
 a Briton, or United Italy is to an inhabitant 
 of San Gimignano. 
 
 From here we had a pleasant descent to the 
 old frontier town of Poggibonsi, the frontier 
 between the two contending republics of Flor- 
 ence and Siena. One remembers how they 
 fought for it, and how the good inhabitants 
 played off their position on the contending 
 parties. Now it is all peace, or as peaceful as 
 it could be on market day. 
 
 61 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 The road to Siena leads through the town 
 and follows the beautiful valley of the Elsa 
 for some four kilometres and then to the left 
 to the delightful little ancient town of Staggia- 
 Senese, if you please, and still of Siena in sen- 
 timent. A little beyond this may be observed 
 a hill to the left of the road with what appear 
 to be the ruins of a great castle dominating it. 
 This is Monteregione, of which history has 
 much to say ; for was it not taken and retaken 
 by Florentine and Sienese times without 
 number ? Now it appears deserted until you 
 pass through the gate, whereupon the visitor is 
 startled by finding a populous village within 
 the precincts of the ancient castle walls. 
 
 From here it is but a pleasant ride to Siena 
 partly through a forest, partly between vine- 
 yards. But of this I must speak another 
 time. We returned by tram somewhat late, 
 and on our approach to the great gate of the 
 castle of Certaldo were surrounded by the 
 dirtiest but most charming crowd of children 
 clamouring for coppers. We escaped without 
 much financial loss, however, and the great 
 door clanged behind us, sounding in its em- 
 phasis the eternal note to the little ones, no 
 more — no more. 
 
 62 
 
Chapter VI — From Florence to Ra- 
 venna, Ferrara, and Venice 
 
 WITH a few days to spare and a 
 trusty bicycle a great deal can be 
 accomplished. So from Florence 
 in spring I started on my jaunt 
 with only as much luggage as my long-enduring 
 wheel would carry. I decided to make no 
 scheme of route, but to go where fancy listed. 
 Taking the road over the Apennines to 
 Faenza, my first halt was the ancient mountain 
 village of Maraddi, and, as in most of these 
 upland communities, I found a place undefiled 
 by the tourist. Maraddi, with its quaint, if 
 sombre, houses overhanging a torrential stream, 
 certainly lacks nothing of the picturesque. 
 And the people were curiously in harmony 
 with the scene, and extraordinarily polite to 
 the stranger. Wherever I have wandered 
 through the rugged and beautiful valleys of 
 Northern Italy, it has been my fortune to 
 meet with sympathetic people and, no less a 
 consideration, inns good and clean. 
 
 63 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Here the albergo, formerly no doubt a palace 
 of some petty noble, possesses a fine hall, now 
 a kitchen through which one passes to the 
 dwelling part of the house, and on through 
 awesome rooms of magnificent proportions, 
 until one is projected into a cheery and well- 
 lit dining-room of the conventional type. The 
 landlady, a stout and jovial person, attended 
 by her husband as aide-de-camp, welcomed me 
 with a smile, and rapidly produced a comfort- 
 able meal. 
 
 My sole comrade at the inn was of the 
 commercial traveller genus, a lively being who 
 seemed to conduct his business pleasantly by 
 means of the ubiquitous bicycle. His conver- 
 sation, or such of it as penetrated to my British 
 hardened brain, seemed in praise of his English 
 goods made in Germany from his depot at 
 Milan. 
 
 Leaving the next morning the steep and stony 
 streets of this town, I made my way down the 
 valley of the Lamone, a charming ride through a 
 charming country. The valley itself gradually 
 widens out, and in it villages are scarce, though 
 from the number of small white farms on the 
 hillsides and the solitary chapels by the road- 
 side, one must believe that it is a well-peopled 
 
 64 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 country. These peasant farmers of Italy are to 
 me a continual source of interest. When I 
 think of the parlous condition of our own 
 country-side, their tiny farms of thirty or forty 
 acres, their large and pretty families, and withal 
 the decent comfort in which they live, invari- 
 ably give me pause. Indeed, in appearance 
 these people resemble not a little our own 
 peasantry, the round fair type seeming to pre- 
 vail. Our insular prejudice and cant have 
 caused us to believe this people idle. All I 
 can say about this is — and I know the life of 
 the Italian farmer well — that I wish I had a 
 little more of their complaint. 
 
 But to resume my pedalling. Presently 
 I passed through the charming village of Fog- 
 nano, perched up on a precipitous rock over- 
 looking the Lamone river and the valley. Here, 
 while snapshotting, I was surrounded by a well- 
 bred, interested, and altogether charming little 
 audience of children. Their large enquiring 
 blue eyes were fixed on my camera, and the 
 few questions I put to them were answered 
 with delightful frankness. But this village 
 has other interest to me than that of its youth- 
 ful inhabitants. Here it was, if I remember 
 rightly, that our freebooting compatriot, Sir 
 f 65 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 John Hawkwood, and his merry men, four 
 hundred and fifty years ago or so, received a 
 rebuff in their attempt to storm the strong- 
 hold. Indeed, from a military point of view, 
 one wonders that so experienced a warrior 
 should have attempted so threatening a place. 
 I suppose he had had so few reverses in 
 a singular life of adventure, crime, and gener- 
 osity, that he had come to believe himself 
 irresistible. 
 
 We soon pass through another village of 
 a similar kind, Brisighella by name, and 
 thence from a mountain valley of the Apen- 
 nines to the flat Romagnian plain. The coun- 
 try, as we proceed northwards, reminds one 
 not a little of Holland. Here are the 
 same straight tree-lined roads, the innumerable 
 canals, the country well wooded and laid out 
 with geometrical exactitude. In a month 
 hence, however, the resemblance will be less 
 striking, for even now (I am recalling the 
 month of May, when I was making my 
 ramble) they are beginning to festoon the 
 vines. No doubt later we shall find here 
 scenes reminding a Londoner of the stage 
 effects of an Italian opera. 
 
 Far off over the trees are now seen some 
 
 66 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 stately and massive towers, which from their 
 numbers I conclude belong to the city of 
 Faenza, and as we approach the ancient gate, 
 and move through the narrow streets, we 
 remember the place for its pillage and looting 
 by Sir John Hawkwood. Though evidently 
 this act of our enterprising compatriot has 
 been not a little exaggerated by the chroniclers, 
 nevertheless there is no doubt that some four 
 thousand persons were wantonly put to death, 
 and that there were other enormities not to be 
 mentioned here. 
 
 As a pure matter of business — and our 
 fourteenth-century mercenaries were, above 
 all, men of business — here they must have 
 reaped a golden harvest, for Faenza in the 
 Middle Ages was noted as a centre of in- 
 dustry. What puzzles me, however, is how 
 these gentry secured their loot. Did they 
 bury it, or spend it there and then ? At any 
 rate silver and gold plate is not an easy thing 
 with which to trek over a hostile country. 
 
 Faenza is walled and gated, and has a 
 long and narrow arcaded piazza for its central 
 point. This is somewhat grotesquely named 
 — this fifteenth-century square — after an estim- 
 able monarch of the nineteenth. It is as if 
 
 67 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the London County Council renamed Tower 
 Hill after Gladstone or Disraeli. This ex- 
 uberant energy in anachronism has been dis- 
 played everywhere by the municipal councils 
 of the new Italy. 
 
 After paying a visit to the principal churches 
 and having a talk at the inn over lunch with 
 several of the neighbouring farmers about (for 
 it was market day), I mounted, and took the 
 road towards Ravenna and the Adriatic. 
 
 The road is straight and good, the country 
 seemingly very fruitful. The only village of 
 any size which I passed was Rossi, which has 
 at least one gate of architectural interest. 
 After a twenty-mile ride we reached the walls 
 of Ravenna about four. 
 
 One cannot help being surprised at the 
 smallness of Ravenna, once the capital of the 
 Western Empire and the seat of Theodoric's 
 rule. After stabling my machine at the hotel, 
 I sought at once the sixth-century mosaics in 
 the churches of San Vitale, Sant' Apollinare 
 Nuovo, and in the tomb of Galla Placidia. 
 Indeed, these are beyond comparison the most 
 wonderful examples of early art which it has 
 been my fortune to view. As fresh as if they 
 had been made yesterday, the colours as pro- 
 
 68 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 found and as clear as any in the pictures of 
 Raphael, and the designs, especially the one of 
 the Virgin and Child in Sant' Apollinare, ex- 
 quisitely drawn when the difficulty to be 
 overcome is considered — these together cause 
 one to rub one's eyes and wonder whether it 
 is really true that they were made before 
 Ethelbert founded the Northumbrian king- 
 dom. I do not know anything, except perhaps 
 some of the lighter wall sketches at Pompeii, 
 that throws the mind back to past ages as 
 completely as do these same mosaics. 
 
 But perhaps the octagonal basilica of San 
 Vitale, perfect as it is in its proportions, is the 
 early monument of chief interest both from its 
 intrinsic beauty and from the fact that it was 
 built as far back as the reign of the Emperor 
 Justinian. It is a perfect example of Oriental 
 architecture. 
 
 Ravenna has other interests owing to its 
 having been the favourite residence of Byron 
 as well as the long resting-place of Dante. 
 Many stories are current here as to Byron's 
 life in the town, and from all these it would 
 appear that much of his life was devoted to 
 good works and kindly acts. Part of the 
 house in which the English poet lived is now 
 
 69 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 given up to a "Sports Club," a somewhat 
 curious development for the residence of one 
 who, as far as I remember, was but little of a 
 sportsman. The rest of the house is now a 
 cafe, and in it I was witness of an amusing 
 and very animated discussion between some 
 of the townspeople. The subject was political, 
 and, I should imagine, of a very extreme order. 
 During the discussion a farmer came in to 
 speak to a man who looked like a commercial 
 traveller, and here, as elsewhere in Italy, I was 
 struck with the condescending, even overbear- 
 ing manners of the citizen in addressing the 
 agriculturist. 
 
 Remembering that in our country the 
 farmer despises the tradesman, one cannot 
 help wondering whether this attitude in 
 Italy is due to the fact that the centre of 
 gravitation and power has from a very early 
 period been in the cities rather than in the 
 country. 
 
 Before leaving Ravenna it is perhaps neces- 
 sary to remind the military reader that this 
 place has a special interest in military history. 
 In the war between the Spaniards and the 
 French the infantry of the former beat the 
 knights and cavalry of France under Gaston 
 
 70 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 de Foix. Here died the idea of cavalry as a 
 tactical force. Afterwards it became a valuable 
 strategical arm, however. 
 
 I left Ravenna at 8 o'clock in the morning, 
 taking the road to Ferrara on the only wet day 
 of my tour. It is a level country, of course, 
 and the roads are good. My appearance on a 
 bicycle in a brown hat of Boer suggestion, a 
 cavalry mackintosh, and gaiters, was a source 
 of unfailing but kindly curiosity to the inhabi- 
 tants. The several villages as far as Argenta, 
 where I lunched, were of comparatively little 
 interest for a country in which nearly every 
 hamlet has a history of its own. The little 
 town of Argenta has some two thousand people 
 in it, the greater portion of the males being 
 engaged, when I entered it, in loosing off guns 
 and squibs in noisy honour of Christ being 
 risen. It was the Saturday after Good Friday. 
 A rather odd way of saluting the Prince of 
 Peace. Argenta is a quaint place, and has at 
 least two good towers and an ancient gate. I 
 wondered how it acquired its name, but the in- 
 habitants could not tell me, nor the guide-book. 
 Here for one and a half francs I had an excel- 
 lent meal, including the palatable wine of the 
 country. 
 
 7i 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 From this place to Ferrara the roads had 
 become truly wretched, the rain having had 
 time to convert them into sloughs of mud. I 
 do not pretend to have seen Ferrara. I was 
 anxious to push on to Padua by train that 
 night. Nevertheless there was time to visit 
 perhaps the most ideal castle in Europe, the 
 most magnificently domineering military struc- 
 ture it is possible to imagine. If you recall 
 the early imaginings of your youth in respect 
 to castles, stimulated by such reading as that 
 of Scott and Harrison Ainsworth, then you 
 can figure to yourself the castle of Ferrara. 
 In the centre of the town, moated, machico- 
 lated, and bastioned, it rears itself up a giant 
 among pigmies, a Gulliver armed cap-a-pie in 
 the midst of peaceful and mercantile Lilli- 
 putians. It is verily the dream of a castle. 
 
 Late that night I arrived at Padua, and in 
 the early morning I visited the Palazzo della 
 Ragione. With its arches and loggia it is 
 one of the most characteristically mediaeval 
 Italian buildings in the country, and for beauty 
 of line and curve I should think hardly sur- 
 passed. 
 
 The fruit market is on one side of this 
 colossal hall, lending to the scene that colour 
 
 72 
 
=========== 
 
 Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 and life which in Italy so often adds beauty to 
 the most magnificent of monuments. 
 
 I arrived in Venice by eleven, in time to 
 attend the Easter service at St. Mark's, a 
 religious effort devoid of a devotional result, 
 for owing to the crowd I was penalised 
 throughout the service by the pointed end 
 of an old lady's umbrella in the small of my 
 back. 
 
 This was my first visit to the Queen of the 
 Adriatic since she lost her Campanile, and I 
 was much struck by the height which the 
 facade has gained by the absence of the 
 dominating tower. I suppose I am a Goth, 
 but I prefer the church as it is now. 
 
 Having but twenty-four hours to give to 
 the city, I refrained from revisiting any of the 
 well-known sights, contenting myself with 
 exploring the out-of-the-way corners on the 
 southern side of the Grand Canal. Yet I 
 had time for a flying visit to the Lido, and an 
 equally rapid survey of the new Art Exhibi- 
 tion. 1 had never seen the place so full of 
 curiously dressed tourists. Our own country 
 people are usually eccentric enough in this 
 respect, but, though it may be prejudice, yet 
 I think they are surpassed by the Germans 
 
 73 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 and Austrians. Sitting at Florian's Cafe, it 
 was my fortune to see Monsieur Tartarin de 
 Tarascon in the flesh. As my waiter said, "he 
 is certainly Tartarin, mats il vient cTAutriche " 
 — a stout and short figure, clothed in a green 
 velvet hat with a white feather, grey hunting- 
 tunic faced with light blue, brown knicker- 
 bockers, putty leggings, and a red tie. Around 
 him and about him were strung many things, 
 knives, alpenstocks, ice-axes, etc., as hetero- 
 geneous a collection indeed as some of us 
 took to South Africa and left behind us on 
 the veld. 
 
 I was very much struck also by observing 
 the manoeuvres of a young Italian beau, very 
 young and exquisite, and so assured of his 
 irresistibility in respect to the fair sex, that he 
 should have been employed by Government as 
 a type to copy — or as a warning. 
 
 But the more one sees of these people the 
 more one is impressed with their great good 
 nature. Walking in one of the narrowest of 
 the alleys, I noticed a dirty little errand boy 
 trundling a barrow, and unable to push it over 
 a bridge. Two smart young Italians, yellow- 
 gloved and taper-waisted, were passing, and 
 without a moment's hesitation took the boy's 
 
 74 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 burden from him, and helped him out of his 
 difficulty. 
 
 What a wonderfully speculative people it is ! 
 Not to speak of the lotteries and tombole which 
 are advertised everywhere, and the boys play- 
 ing on walls for centime pieces, I was further 
 amused by standing at a barrow in one of the 
 lowest streets and watching youngsters of from 
 five to nine years gambling at a sort of roulette 
 for sweets and toys. And their excitement 
 was intense as the wheel spun round and losses 
 or gains were made. 
 
 One thing struck me in the hotels crowded 
 by our countrymen, namely that the English 
 voice is changing. We used to have some 
 pride in a certain softness of tone, modula- 
 tion and self-restraint in our voices. 
 
 Now, however, it seems that the voices, es- 
 pecially of those who are more gaudily dressed, 
 have taken a shriller and harsher note. I am 
 thinking now of two people, a man and a 
 woman, who breakfasted in the same room 
 with me at our hotel on the Grand Canal. I 
 was as far away from them as anyone in that 
 large room could be, and there were any num- 
 ber of small tables between us, occupied by 
 people of various nationalities ; yet it was im- 
 
 75 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 possible for me, with the best intention in the 
 world, to lose one syllable of their conversa- 
 tion. What made it particularly exasperating 
 was that it was a discourse of a kind in which 
 no one, not even themselves, I should imagine, 
 could in any way be interested, for it was about 
 stale and unprofitable parties which they had 
 attended during the season before, then nearly 
 a year ago. Nevertheless they spoke in a way 
 to suggest that they were giving us a treat by 
 allowing us to listen to their experiences in 
 what no doubt they considered was the world 
 of fashion, probably, nay certainly, Bayswater ! 
 Something really ought to be done to get rid 
 of the " smart " voice, even if we have to bear 
 with the vulgarities of the " smart " people. 
 
 Before leaving Venice, I was privileged to 
 entertain at dinner an American ladies' school. 
 There is no scandal in this ! I had met the 
 mistress of the school in Florence, and finding 
 her charges in Venice, some of us had a cheery 
 little dinner together. 
 
 I was amused beyond measure at the poor 
 opinion some of my young friends entertained 
 of English youth. They had met two especially 
 shy and awkward young Oxford " men " at a 
 country-house recently, and, as they said, had 
 
 76 
 
Florence to Ravenna, Ferrara, Venice 
 
 these been Americans they would have been at 
 the feet of some of the girls in twenty-four 
 hours. Our undergraduates preserved, how- 
 ever, a shy self-restraint which was puzzling 
 and exasperating to my young friends. Per- 
 haps, however, under the cool demeanour these 
 undergraduates concealed an ardent passion. 
 I explained to the young ladies that the youths 
 were probably, however, what in my time were 
 called " smugs," and that this class as a rule 
 was without imagination or even human affec- 
 tion, and had to do the best I could to vindi- 
 cate my countrymen in the eyes of these fair 
 American cousins by my personal homage, for 
 which no doubt I shall be rewarded with the 
 Imperial Service Order. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels and Restaurants : 
 
 From May to October : Villa Bagnolo, Rifredo, Appen- 
 nino Mugellese. Nearest railway station, S. Piero a Sieve 
 (Florence-Faenza line). 3000 ft. above the sea. Pension 
 from 6 francs. Mr. Bartlett Begg, manager. 
 
 Marradi : Albergo Lamone. 
 
 Faenza : Albergo della Corona. 
 
 Ravenna : Hotel Roma, Hotel Byron, Cafe ByTon. 
 
 Argenta : Hotel d' Italia. 
 
 77 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Hotels and Restaurants (continued) : 
 
 Ferrara : Hotel Stella cT Oro. 
 
 Padua : Hotel Stella d' Oro. 
 
 Venice : Hotel Roma, Grand Canal (prices moderate). 
 
 Roads : 
 
 Leave Florence by the Porta S. Gallo (by the Via Cavour). 
 Borgo S. Lorenzo 16 miles. Marradi 39 miles. (A rough 
 up-and-down road, chiefly up.) 
 
 From Marradi 
 
 to Brisighella 15 miles, 
 to Faenza 23 miles, 
 to Ravenna 48 miles. 
 
 From Ravenna 
 
 to Argenta 25 miles. 
 
 to Ferrara 20 miles. 
 
 Good bicycling roads all the way from Florence ; no 
 reasonable man need fear the inns, even the meanest of them. 
 
 78 
 
Chapter VII — Venice, and return by 
 Mantua, Parma, Bologna to Florence 
 
 MY stay at Venice (no doubt owing 
 to the attractions of the American 
 school en tour, and no less my 
 sincere interest in the ways of 
 the people, and the lowest of the people there) 
 had, from the proposed twenty-four hours, 
 extended to three days. Moreover, I had 
 encountered a young naval officer, the Count 
 
 L , who was in charge of the Marconi 
 
 station, and he, it is true, interested me in 
 the " fairy tales of science " connected with his 
 especial work. I visited his station, which, 
 though an effective one, cannot throw out 
 messages to any great distance, but what he 
 told me (and I have only his authority for 
 it, though I have no reason to doubt his good 
 faith), that he could often at nights pick up 
 messages intended for England from America, 
 and which, I presume, had overshot their mark, 
 certainly surprised me. If this be true one 
 wonders where the privacy of life will be in 
 
 79 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the future, now that stray messages can wander 
 over Europe in this irresponsible fashion. 
 
 But owing to the delay here — it will be 
 remembered that my holiday on a bicycle was 
 made in the interval between sending in the 
 manuscript of a certain book and receiving 
 the proofs for correction — I determined to 
 take the train to Mantua, and thence bicycle as 
 far as I could to Florence. Late in the after- 
 noon I started for the City in the Lake, and 
 arrived there just in time for the table d'hote 
 at the " Golden Cross." I found my reception 
 at this inn quite all that I expected in the 
 ancient city — mine host, an elderly man, really 
 seemed to take a personal interest in his 
 guests, and took it upon himself to see them 
 to their rooms. It is in this that the new 
 hotel, gaudily magnificent as it is, can never 
 equal the older and more homely one. In 
 the latter you feel that you are a personage, 
 in the former you are a number. I wonder 
 when the great hotels in England will learn 
 this true art of hotel-keeping — practised even 
 in some of the equally large or larger hotels in 
 Switzerland and Italy, that to the guest arriving 
 after a long journey, the personal equation, the 
 friendly and courteous reception is everything. 
 
 80 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 It is no equivalent for the lack of this that 
 you may have a gaudily fitted bathroom, or the 
 systeme moderne in every other matter, for if 
 you are coldly -received by a supercilious hotel 
 clerk all the rest goes for nothing. The 
 traveller wants human and personal considera- 
 tion, which makes him feel that he is a wel- 
 come guest and not a money-spending unit 
 only. 
 
 I throw this out as a hint to the manage- 
 ment of some big hotels I know where, though 
 they exploit your name in the newspapers as 
 an advertisement for their establishment, yet 
 while you are in it they appear to ignore your 
 existence. 
 
 At dinner that night in this delightfully 
 quaint and historic city we were all thrilled 
 by the incongruous arrival of an enormous 
 motor-car, filled with blatant Americans. 
 They simply poured out of it, talking, and as 
 far as I could gather, complaining of every- 
 thing they had seen or experienced in Italy. 
 There was nothing right from the hotels to the 
 cathedrals. Of course everything was better 
 in Chicago ! There is a certain sort of 
 American, as there is a certain sort of English- 
 man, whom a true philanthropist ought to shoot 
 g 81 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 on sight for the sake of the others — for the 
 sake of the others ! It really is quite as 
 naughty to destroy your dreams as it is to 
 commit ordinary homicide, and these people 
 are the iconoclasts of dream-idols. Their pres- 
 ence literally degrades the world into a loathly, 
 gruesomely mean place when you have just 
 made of it a palace of joy, a goodly heritage. 
 It is a bigger crime to kill ideals than to kill 
 men, and it has a much more lasting effect. 
 
 At any rate these screaming, grumbling, 
 egregious gentry spoilt my taste for dinner, so 
 to be rid of them I strolled out into the 
 arcaded streets and found my way to the keep 
 of the city of the Gonzagas. In one of these 
 threatening streets no doubt it was that the 
 Admirable Crichton was done to death, and it 
 was more the pity, for he left a world he 
 adorned and loved, where life was really worth 
 living before the invention of vulgar English 
 and Americans in self-propelled tin-kettles. 
 
 It is certain } v am becoming as dyspeptic and 
 as grumbling as the Americans themselves, 
 but the truth is the Admirable Crichton and 
 modern vulgarity do not assimilate, so my 
 mental digestion is upset. 
 
 I noted with pleasure the policemen of 
 82 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 Mantua who parade the streets in a dress 
 which I had previously considered belonged 
 exclusively to the Grand Inquisitors and their 
 myrmidons. It is to be hoped that the munici- 
 pality will never allow these dresses to be 
 modernised, for they are so delightfully in 
 harmony with the whole place. 
 
 The next morning after visiting the usual 
 churches (for detailed accounts of these please 
 refer to guide-books), I started early again, 
 passing the old keep, of which I took 
 some futile snapshots, and followed the road 
 to Borgo Forte. I had especially wished to 
 pay a visit to Virgil's farm, with a view to see- 
 ing how uncomfortable the tormentor of my 
 youth must have been in a farm which was 
 constantly liable to be washed away by the 
 river Po, but after passing through many 
 impossible lanes gave it up and returned to 
 the highroad. This latter highway is here, 
 and for miles, almost French in its charac- 
 teristics, as straight as a die, as flat as a billiard 
 table, and lined by the inevitable poplar. 
 Quite clearly the strong hand of Napoleon is 
 seen in one way or another from Constanti- 
 nople to Calais. What a man ! 
 
 As we near the great river of the Po, more 
 83 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 and still more are the evidences of man's 
 attempt at defence against nature visible. This 
 stream, coming straight from the high Alps as 
 it does, is for this reason of variable conduct. 
 From a shallow, inoffensive river in the winter, 
 it rises to a height of general naughtiness in 
 the spring. 
 
 The low-lying country would be at the 
 mercy of the river god were it not that 
 he has been strait-laced by these miles and 
 miles of banks. During the financial crisis 
 in Italy in the early nineties of last century, 
 a friend of mine remarked that the banks of 
 the Po were the only ones in the country 
 which had not smashed. But these are a 
 nuisance to the traveller, because they close 
 in his view of the country which he has come 
 to see. I overcame this difficulty, for I did 
 not wish to be imprisoned like the river, by 
 finding quite a good path on one of the 
 banks, and as it seemed to lead in the way I 
 wished to go, I followed it. This action of 
 mine brought me a friend. Uncertain of my 
 way, I looked out for someone to catechise, 
 and presently I saw an old man, apparently 
 digging into the bank on which 1 rode. He 
 had a sort of band on his cap, and so I pre- 
 
 84 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 sumed that he was an official of some kind. 
 So he proved to be, for he was a guardian 
 of the defences, employed to see that the 
 ramparts were secure. In appearance, how- 
 ever, he looked like a general of the " Grande 
 Armee," with his bristling moustache and his 
 long white imperial. To him I spoke. " Sig- 
 nore, is this the way to Borgo Forte ? " " Ci, 
 signoria, straight on and then to the left." 
 Now the expression " signoria," though fre- 
 quently used by the peasantry, is seldom used 
 by officials, however humble. It means some- 
 thing like "your lordship," more common of 
 course, and granted as a courtesy and not as 
 a right, and it interested me because of its 
 historic connection. Moreover, the old man 
 fascinated me with his keen eyes, his martial 
 appearance, and the obviously useful work he 
 was doing. 
 
 So I dismounted for a chat with him. He 
 told me he had been a soldier in four cam- 
 paigns, had fought at Montebello and Milan, 
 had fought hereby at Borgo Forte even, and 
 now in the evening of his days had been 
 made by the Government he had served so 
 well a sentinel of the river. It was a good 
 ending to a patriotic career, and I wish that 
 
 85 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 we had some posts of the kind to give our 
 ancient warriors in England instead of making 
 of them flunkeys at shop doors and messengers 
 of the humbler sort. I see red whenever a 
 man with four or five medals on his breast 
 hands me to a cab or opens the door for me 
 to enter a fashionable restaurant. Where is 
 the reward of patriotic service ? However, 
 leaving my friend, I pedalled on towards 
 Borgo Forte, and presently arrived there. 
 
 Sure enough, as my warrior had told me, 
 here is a monument to some Austrians who 
 had been killed at this place, clearly in de- 
 fending the passage of the Po. For from 
 here to the river is but a short way, and 
 arriving at it I found a bridge of boats, which 
 is the means by which the road travellers 
 cross. There is, of course, a high railway 
 bridge, but up to now it has been found more 
 convenient to have a boat bridge for the 
 others, owing to the change of levels of the 
 waters. It is a picturesque scene, this passage 
 of the historic river, and if we forget the 
 railway bridge it is not difficult to imagine 
 oneself back a century or two. 
 
 From this point I followed the road up the 
 stream to the quaint village of Luzzaro, and 
 
 86 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 thence to the little " Grand Ducal " town of 
 Guastalla. Is the story remembered of the 
 fair Pauline Bonaparte and the worried Em- 
 peror ? Pauline, the favourite and spoilt 
 sister of the creator of kings, had just heard 
 that Elizabeth, her sister, had been made 
 Grand Duchess of Tuscany, and a desire to 
 be a Grand Duchess, too, possessed her. Why 
 should all her family have kingdoms and she 
 be left out ? So she went to the Emperor, 
 who was engaged in planning the conquest 
 of the world, and in tears she besought 
 him to give her a kingdom all to herself. 
 One can imagine the pitying patience of 
 the Great Man, weighed down by responsi- 
 bilities greater than ever were borne before 
 by one of the human race, while listening to 
 the little grievance of the loved one. " You 
 are appointed Grand Duchess of Guastalla, 
 Pauline ; you can go to your territory." And 
 she went, but found not the pomp of a court 
 and the dignity of cringing ministers of state, 
 but a little walled city governed by a fat 
 Sindico and his attendant city councillors. 
 Poor Pauline, I fancy she hardly appreciated 
 the humour of her great brother ! 
 
 However, Guastalla is by no means a place 
 87 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 which anyone less ambitious than the Princess 
 need disdain to govern. A quaint little town, 
 with many churches and picturesque campanili, 
 walled and gated as of old time, and as I 
 saw it on market day, full of bustle and im- 
 portance. I lunched there in the company of 
 some farmers, and with them discussed the 
 agricultural problems of the universe. At 
 table there were not only four agriculturists, 
 but two commercial travellers and an officer 
 of Carabiniers, and on entry into this select 
 circle I was much impressed by the for- 
 mality of the reception. As I sat down 
 they each and all bowed to me quite courtly 
 bows worthy of a Grand Ducal town, and I 
 returned them with due solemnity. We all 
 drank each other's healths, and before the end 
 of an excellent meal had become quite good 
 comrades. 
 
 Leaving my new friends and the little town 
 with regret, I cycled on the road to Parma, 
 keeping near to the river as far as Brescello, 
 but there struck south and west. Near the 
 latter town I encountered a boy who was 
 having much difficulty with his bicycle. Alight- 
 ing, I lent him a hand. His name was Pio. 
 He was the son of a small restaurant keeper in 
 
 88 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 the village of Brescello, and he was returning 
 from Parma, where he had gone for supplies. 
 He volunteered to go back with me to Parma 
 to show me the best road. This I vetoed, for 
 it would have involved his being very late in 
 his return home. However, he rode a little 
 way back with me, and I was glad of his 
 company. 
 
 It is wonderful the politeness one receives 
 sometimes on the road. Some years since 
 I was bicycling through Arras towards Lille, 
 and those who know that country will re- 
 member that the highroads are cobbled for 
 miles. Tired of these dreadful stones I went 
 into a small bicycle shop hoping to be told 
 of some side road by which I could avoid the 
 eternal bumping of the cobbles. The man 
 said : " Wait a moment, monsieur, two of my 
 boys will show you the way." And they did, 
 for they rode sixteen kilometres with me and 
 would not accept a sou or even a drink as 
 a reward. 
 
 The road to Parma from here is flat 
 of course, and were it not for the frequent 
 villages, the signs of prosperity, the friendli- 
 ness of the people, and the distant views of 
 the high Apennines, it would be uninteresting 
 
 89 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 enough. But in Italy, to those who have eyes 
 to see and hearts to understand, the country 
 is never dull, it is too full of world history 
 and of a kindly people. The most lovely 
 scenes to me are made repellent if the in- 
 habitants look sullen, hostile, or discontented ! 
 
 It was sunset as I arrived in sight of the 
 domes and spires of Parma. The whole 
 landscape, wide as it is, was tinctured by the 
 setting sun ; the church tower gleamed, the 
 windows twinkled like stars, and I was 
 tempted, as never before, to throw up every- 
 thing and remain in this fair and cheerful land. 
 
 In my pocket I had a wire from England 
 calling me back to political work — my duty. 
 I began to dream that duty was but self-love ; 
 that it really mattered not at all whether I took 
 part in wordy warfare with generally preju- 
 diced and often ignorant men ; that duty 
 was a delusion and a snare to keep one in 
 a groove and force one to do uncongenial 
 tasks. Why should I not stay and help these 
 people who seem so much more grateful than 
 my own ? And then I shook myself and awoke 
 to remember I was an Englishman, and so 
 went in under the great gates of Parma in my 
 right (or possibly my wrong) mind. 
 
 90 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 At the hotel that night I was lucky enough 
 to meet two very agreeable officers, professors 
 at the military school here, and they, of 
 course, were immensely interested in anything 
 I could tell them of the Boer War. It would 
 have given me considerable pleasure to have 
 accepted their kind invitation to visit the col- 
 lege, had not that horrid bogy-man of duty 
 now enforced my departure early the next 
 morning. 
 
 After dinner, when taking my leisure at 
 the cafe, watching the quiet animated crowd 
 of officers, soldiers, civilians, male and female, 
 who paraded in front for our inspection, I 
 noticed next me a man who in twenty minutes 
 consumed, I believe this is true, three absinthes. 
 He was a fine-looking elderly man, evidently 
 well bred, so presently we found ourselves in 
 conversation. With that delightful absence of 
 false reserve which characterises his people, he 
 told me within the first five minutes that he 
 was (i) a count; (2) an orphan ; (3) a poor 
 noble, the head of an ancient house ; (4) where 
 he lived ; (5) and that his only near relative 
 was a sister, who resided with him. In the 
 same way he expected the same frank ex- 
 pansiveness from me, and this I offered him, 
 
 91 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 as far as an Anglo-Norman could. We sat up 
 chatting for a long time. Later I learnt his 
 whole history from some friends in Parma, 
 and it was sad enough, for his father had been 
 killed before his birth in '48, fighting the 
 Republicans, and the mother, and the child 
 when it arrived, had for many years in those 
 upsetting times barely enough to eat. Event- 
 ually he was given a commission, and money 
 came in from somewhere. 
 
 It is possible that the reader before this 
 has discovered that I am far from having the 
 tastes of the ordinary sightseer. To me at 
 least, speaking generally, living men are more 
 interesting than most dead things, whether 
 works of art or not. But all those things 
 which vividly recall the life of the past or the 
 thoughts of men of antiquity have a peculiar 
 fascination for me. For this reason in my 
 estimation of the many wonders of Parma 
 there is not one to equal the Tabula of the 
 Emperor Trajan, on which are inscribed his 
 gifts of land for the maintenance of 290 
 poor children in the unfair proportion of rather 
 more than five boys to one girl. It is a very 
 human document and gift, and it might have 
 been made to-day by a prudish and munificent 
 
 92 
 
 L 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 philanthropist, for it carefully distinguishes 
 between legitimate children and bastards, the 
 latter receiving considerably less than the former. 
 However, there is this to be said, that under 
 Roman Law divorce and legitimation were so 
 easy that the numbers of irregularly born 
 children cannot have been considerable. 
 
 I found time to visit this and a few churches 
 before starting next morning, and I confess to 
 the greatest admiration of Correggio's Assump- 
 tion in spite of its many detractors. I suppose 
 that I resemble a friend of mine who was 
 discovered in absorbed attention when a lady 
 was playing something difficult from Wagner. 
 As it was well known that he did not know one 
 note of music from another, I enquired of his 
 wife what possessed him. a Oh, it is not the 
 music he cares for, but he is much interested 
 in the mechanism of playing," she replied. 
 So with me in respect to this picture : though 
 I admire also the grand colouring (it must 
 have been glorious before it was allowed to 
 fall into decay), my mind in looking at it is 
 chiefly exercised by the marvellous perspective 
 and the extraordinary width, almost universality, 
 of it. 
 
 Towards ten o'clock I jumped on to my 
 93 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 bicycle and started south-eastward along the 
 iEmilian Way, towards Bologna. On the 
 right for all this ride you have the peaks of 
 the Apennines as neighbours, and I thought 
 1 recognised some old and friendly peaks, 
 especially Cimone and Tre Potense up above 
 the Abetone. Rapidly along this historic road, 
 first made eighty-seven years before Christ, 
 which has supported Roman legions on their 
 way to the conquest of Gaul and of Britain, I 
 pedalled, passing the delightful vine-village of 
 S. Ilario to Reggio. Here I dismounted for 
 a little * sight-seeing and stumbled upon that 
 wonderful church of cupolas and frescoes — the 
 Madonna della Ghiara. I had never before 
 seen so many of these wall-paintings in one 
 church ; indeed, the whole interior was ablaze 
 with them, some appearing especially good to 
 my unpretending eyes. Then I visited the 
 house where Ariosto was born, and walked 
 through the quaint market-place and streets. 
 Then, duty calling on again, through a 
 hemp-growing country to the delightful old 
 fortified village of Rubiera. 
 
 On my arrival all the children of the place 
 were playing ball on a green at the foot of the 
 ruined keep, and I joined in a game of catch, 
 
 94 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 and discovered to my satisfaction that I could 
 do it rather better than the youngsters. The 
 Italian children in the villages play with 
 remarkable energy many complicated games, 
 and I think their teachers have not adopted 
 the vicious system of making the play compul- 
 sory. I cannot imagine a better means of 
 giving children a distaste for healthy exercise 
 than that of forcing them to join whether they 
 wish to or not. I remember the only period 
 of my life when football was made distasteful 
 to me was when at school I was commanded 
 to take part in the game. 
 
 This is one reason why many clear thinkers 
 and convinced advocates of peace are in favour 
 of universal military training. The element of 
 compulsion causes a distaste for militarism. 
 
 At a homely but comfortable little inn I 
 lunched, drinking the sparkling sweet red 
 wine of Modena for the first time, and having 
 for dessert the excellent sponge-cake which is 
 a speciality of the place. Afterwards strolling 
 out into the garden I discovered a party, of 
 which the village doctor and a Signor Barone 
 were the chiefs, playing an absorbing game of 
 bowls. 
 
 This little village of Rubiera has played its 
 95 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 part in history, for placed near the frontier of 
 the states of Modena and Parma, it got a good 
 deal more of the mediaeval kicks than it did of 
 its halfpence. 
 
 I started for Modena about two o'clock, and 
 gently wheeled into this now hopelessly reno- 
 vated city. One recalls so much, thinking 
 of Modena, that it is rather a shock to be 
 confronted with spick-and-span streets, built 
 some of them in the spirit of Hausmann of 
 infamous memory. But there was one modern 
 thing which cyclists will appreciate. A public 
 stand for bicycles in the square where, for the 
 sum of a sou, they take charge of your machine, 
 placing it under lock and key. 
 
 There was just time to rush through the 
 picture gallery and to admire the Murillos, and 
 especially my favourite artist Schedone. I 
 consider the latter's Christian Charity, at Naples, 
 contains the finest head of a woman to be 
 seen. 
 
 To Castel Franco from Modena is but seven 
 miles, and thence through the villages of Sa- 
 moggia, Lavino to Bologna twenty-four. The 
 view of the latter place as you approach it 
 from the Via ^Emilia is very striking ; the 
 campanile, the high palaces, and, above all, that 
 
 96 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 extraordinary covered pilgrimage road to the 
 church on the hill gives to the city an especial 
 character of its own. On this journey I saw 
 nothing of it, for I rushed to the hotel for 
 dinner, and was barely in time to catch the 
 last train to Florence afterwards. It is a 
 pleasing city, and I would like to describe it 
 had not everybody else done so before me, so 
 I will confine myself to giving two incidents 
 of the train which carried my tired self and 
 my dusty bicycle to Florence. As we were 
 waiting in the carriage before starting they 
 shunted us back to change lines. A young 
 man who was going to some up-country 
 station, seeing that we were moving in the 
 wrong direction, became terribly excited, and 
 before he could be stopped, seized and threw 
 first his hat-box, then his umbrella, then a 
 small case out of the window, and then, 
 the door being locked, proceeded to go 
 through the window head foremost. I just 
 caught him by the legs and drew him back, for 
 he certainly would have been killed, and held 
 him, though he whined like a baby that he 
 would never see his poor mother again. He 
 was quite all right, for the train was bound 
 for his destination. 
 
 H 97 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 As we went up through the innumerable 
 tunnels towards Pistoija, in one of them 
 something happened to our devoted locomo- 
 tive. At any rate, we remained about three- 
 quarters of an hour in that dark hole. My 
 friend again lost his head, and I could only 
 prevent him from getting out by engaging his 
 interest in my adventures in Africa, which, 
 God forgive me, I coloured to such an extent 
 and for a good purpose, that he must have 
 thought me a veritable John Mandeville or a 
 Marco Polo. However, by this means he 
 was kept quiet, which was something gained. 
 
 During the six days I had been away from 
 Florence it had been my lot to pass through 
 eight formerly independent states, which seems 
 a sufficient justification for those gallant men 
 who struggled and suffered so long to unite 
 Italy under one rule. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels and Inns: 
 
 Mantua : Albergo Croce (T Oro. 
 Guastalla : Hotel Pellegrini. 
 Parma : Hotel cT Italia. 
 Rubiera : Albergo Stella d* Oro. 
 Bologna : Hotel Pellegrini. 
 98 
 
Venice, and Return to Florence 
 
 Distances : 
 From Mantua 
 
 to Borgo Forte 9 miles. 
 
 to Guastalla 23 miles. 
 
 to Parma 4.3 miles. 
 
 From Parma 
 
 to Reggio 17 miles, 
 to Rubiera 2 5 miles, 
 to Modena 32 miles, 
 to Bologna 56 miles. 
 
 99 
 
Chapter VIII — Florence to Rignano 
 sul Arno via Bagno a Ripoli 
 
 IT became my fate to become involved in 
 the relief work connected with that world 
 disaster, the Sicilian and Calabrian earth- 
 quake. And this catastrophe to me alone 
 perhaps among men has been an undiluted 
 good — for it caused me to make so many 
 friends, especially young ones, among the 
 refugees. It will be remembered that the 
 Italian Government — wisely, I think — sent a 
 large number of the survivors to all the 
 towns in Northern Italy, and of course Flor- 
 ence had its share. In returning to that city 
 from England for a six weeks' holiday, I, on 
 account of the fact of having had to do a 
 good deal with relief work in London and in 
 South Africa, became a member of the British 
 Relief Committee. Now the principle on 
 which we worked, one which I think cannot 
 be criticised, was to make the assistance given 
 as personal and as little mechanical as possible. 
 We were coming to the assistance of people 
 
 IOO 
 

 DOMESTIC SCENE. 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 who had lost not only most of those who 
 were dearest to them, but practically at one 
 fell swoop all their available savings and 
 property of all kinds. And we came to them 
 as the representatives of another race, so it 
 was therefore all the more important to give 
 the help as the assistance which one friend 
 might offer to another rather than as some- 
 thing ground out of a charity organisation 
 machine. Therefore so far as the money at 
 our disposal was concerned — supplemented 
 afterwards by a certain share of the Mansion 
 House Fund — all of it was distributed by the 
 members of the Committee themselves or 
 voluntary workers authorised by the Com- 
 mittee, and each of these took under his or 
 her care one or more families. When these 
 willing visitors had made themselves known 
 to the refugees they were instructed to find 
 out in what manner they could assist them best, 
 and apply to the Committee for the money to 
 effect this. 
 
 It was in this way I became acquainted with 
 my small friends Guglielmo, Nini, and Attileo, 
 boys of fourteen, thirteen, and twelve respec- 
 tively, the sons of Signor Lo Curzio, who is a 
 permanent official in the Government railways. 
 
 IOI 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 I had seen the father first in the old barracks 
 in the Corso Tintori, wherein, on their arrival, 
 the refugees were first crowded. The father 
 was then ill in bed, and I went to say a few 
 words to him in the bare room where some 
 fifty of these unfortunate people slept. In a 
 few days, however, my friends were removed 
 to private apartments, and there I often visited 
 them, and there always, on my ringing the 
 bell before ascending the three flights of stairs, 
 was to be heard a sound resembling the descent 
 of an avalanche, which proved to be my three 
 young friends racing to be the first to greet 
 me. 
 
 So we soon became friends, and it occurred 
 to me that I could not be more useful to them 
 than by taking them sometimes away from 
 their crowded quarters right out into the 
 country, where they could enjoy pure air and 
 the romps in which tender youth delights. 
 
 One day of brilliant sunshine we left the 
 Piazza del Duomo by train to Bagno a Ripoli 
 in the highest spirits. I had prepared the boys 
 for a longish walk, and insisted that they 
 should wear the strong boots which, with the 
 Committee's money, I had bought for them, 
 rather than the towny buttoned ones which 
 102 
 
Florence to Rignano sal Arno 
 
 were their especial delight. My young friends 
 had the uncomfortable habit of always wishing 
 to dress up for me ; they appeared to think it 
 correct that when I took them for a walk, they 
 should don the better of their only two suits, 
 much as if, had the King asked me to go for a 
 tramp with him, I, to pay him respect, had put 
 on my Court dress. It is true I should not 
 have done so, but evidently these little men 
 are more bound by etiquette than I am. But 
 we were a merry party in the tram, and a 
 merrier one when we started up the steep 
 climb from Bagno towards Paterno. The 
 road, or rather the two roads run south-east ; 
 the finer climb with better views is the old 
 road, which, like all the roads made in robuster 
 and pre-motor days, runs over the highest hills 
 it encounters rather than meanly trying to get 
 round them as do modern ones. By this route 
 you pass through the village of Paterno and 
 ascend until you pass a curious ancient villa or 
 monastery, now entirely occupied by working 
 people. It is very curious in Italy, at least to 
 our northern eyes, to find old palaces, monu- 
 mental villas, and convents, now let out to the 
 poorest people. I suppose it is biblical, but it 
 is much as if one found Warwick Castle con- 
 103 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 verted into workmen's dwellings (indeed, this 
 may possibly be realised by her socialistic lady- 
 ship), or Hatfield let out in lots to the agricul- 
 tural labourers of Hertfordshire. I remember 
 once being invited to the house of one of my 
 peasant friends and finding the whole family 
 occupying what was evidently the room of 
 state ; it was a magnificent room with quite 
 excellent frescoes on the walls, and utilised now 
 by the erection of wooden partitions which 
 separated the four rooms which they had created 
 out of it. Even in the Middle Ages one can- 
 not help thinking that the noblesse must have 
 been generally overhoused, more especially 
 when we remember that house parties, such 
 as we know them, were never, and never could 
 have been, a custom among them. For one 
 reason, for while there are always magnificent 
 reception-rooms, beyond anything we know of 
 in England in the matter of grandeur, there is 
 no accommodation for the sleeping guest. In 
 the first instance, nearly all the sleeping apart- 
 ments, which are generally of mean dimensions, 
 lead the one from the other. Secondly, we 
 know that it is incomprehensible to the Italian 
 mind that a person should of his own will fill 
 his house with guests to remain for days or 
 104 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 weeks. Not long ago an English friend of 
 mine who is one of the most hospitable of 
 hostesses, and who occupies a villa near 
 Florence, received a demand from the author- 
 ities that she should pay the tax which is 
 imposed on all persons who keep hotels and 
 pensions. It was only with the greatest 
 difficulty she could convince the governmental 
 wiseacres that her guests did not pay her for 
 the accommodation they enjoyed. 
 
 I recall also a curious incident in the history 
 of my family. A certain forbear at the be- 
 ginning of the seventeenth century, having 
 travelled in Italy, and being impressed with 
 the beauty of one of the villas near Frascati, 
 determined to erect its counterpart on his 
 property in Kent. Hence arose Mereworth 
 Castle. But when it was finished, though he 
 found he had magnificent rooms, a central hall 
 going up to the roof, etc., there were no 
 apartments in which he could place his guests. 
 Consequently he had to build wings to his 
 Roman villa, which may be seen to-day, making 
 it the most curious of Roman villas which the 
 world has ever seen. 
 
 To return to my walk with my Sicilian 
 friends. It was getting very hot as we 
 105 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 approached the first ridge of our walk, and 
 doing what I always do in like circumstance, I 
 took off my coat. I could see that this some- 
 what scandalised them, just as the middle 
 classes in England are scandalised by the 
 artisan who sensibly sits at leisure in his 
 generally hot dining-room equally lightly 
 clothed. But as part of my training of these 
 youths was to show the possibility of being 
 natural and well bred (they are exceedingly 
 well bred), I persisted in my own method. 
 They would insist on carrying my coat, how- 
 ever. 
 
 When I had divested myself of my coat 
 and collar, the eldest of the boys at once 
 began to take from the youngest, who had 
 a woollen scarf (this is rather nice and natural, 
 he did not take off his own), this article of 
 clothing, and tried to insist on my wearing it. 
 For the Signore Barone will catch cold, he 
 said. With difficulty I persuaded him that 
 there was no immediate danger of such a 
 calamity. 
 
 From a point above the first ridge which is 
 
 crossed, a most magnificent view is obtained 
 
 of Florence and the Arno valley right down 
 
 to the Pisan hills. We enjoyed it by resting 
 
 106 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 on a bank, where also I taught my young 
 charges the most approved method of descend- 
 ing steep inclines as the guides do in the Alps, 
 with the alpenstock behind as a drag. They 
 were immensely interested, and only came a 
 few croppers in their efforts at imitation. 
 
 Soon we approached a little wayside inn, 
 and as we were sufficiently hungry by this 
 time, we entered it. In making these country 
 expeditions, unless you are satisfied with maca- 
 roni or other pasta, it is always wise to take 
 with you the more solid food, and this wc had 
 done. Following the usual custom, you enter 
 an inn of this kind and they provide you with 
 wine, plates, knives and forks, and you eat 
 what you have with you. When it became 
 known to the good people of the inn that 
 the boys were refugees from Messina the 
 greatest interest in, and the greatest kindliness 
 towards them, were displayed. 
 
 The little inn was one of those which com- 
 bine the business of catering with that of 
 a general store, nearly all the foodstuffs, 
 sausages, hams, etc., being gracefully attached 
 to the ceiling. But here, as everywhere, a 
 clean tablecloth is provided for the stranger, 
 and napkins of spotless white. We seated our- 
 107 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 selves as we came in, two of the boys opposite 
 me, the youngest one at my side on my 
 right hand. Presently I saw that Guglielmo 
 the eldest was most agitated, and it appeared 
 that what was troubling him was that I 
 was not in the official place of honour, 
 on the right hand of my guests. So we had 
 to change ; but I wonder whether any Eton 
 or Charterhouse boy would know of these 
 little delicacies, and if he knew them would 
 he have been at the pains to change his seat to 
 exemplify them ! It must be remembered that 
 these boys had been educated at the public 
 national schools, so that either in these 
 institutions very excellent conduct must be 
 taught or else these niceties of behaviour 
 must be hereditary. Most sincerely I wish 
 we had them in our northern island. 
 
 On our leaving the little inn there had 
 assembled quite a number of the villagers who 
 were all anxious to hear the boys' story. This, 
 however interesting, I had to check as time was 
 getting on. Presently, after leaving the road 
 to make a short cut through a podere (farm), 
 where we found all the farm hands enjoying 
 their midday meal in the yard, we passed on 
 to the village of S. Donato in Collina, which, 
 108 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 as its name implies, is on a hill which in fact 
 is the highest ridge between the middle Arno 
 valley and the lower. The middle valley is 
 where this river makes its second change 
 of direction, running as it does first nearly 
 directly south, then nearly directly north, 
 then, as at Florence, to the sea nearly directly 
 west. 
 
 S. Donato is a picturesquely situated place 
 on this ridge, and has many summer villas. 
 I had, the year before, spent a pleasant day in 
 one of Mr. Robert Barrett Browning's houses 
 on the other side of the hill, a house called 
 Casalino, which I always envy every time I 
 think of it, for its truly magnificent view over 
 Florence and right down the Arno to the 
 distant Pisan hills and my old friends 
 the Appuan mountain peaks. This Casalino 
 house — a misnomer indeed, for though called 
 " little house " it would comfortably shelter 
 three or four ordinary-sized families — has a 
 most entrancing terraced garden overlooking 
 this magnificent panorama, where, when I was 
 there, we breakfasted and dined in aerial 
 comfort unknown in our land of fogs and 
 rain. 
 
 Looking south, south-east, and east from 
 109 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 San Donato, one can see the whole fertile, 
 vine-clad country to Arezzo closely studded 
 with villas, towns, and farms, making one 
 imagine that it was such a land that Satan 
 placed before the eyes of Christ when he 
 tempted him with the lordship of the material 
 world. In this respect, to me at least, even 
 our country landscapes in England seem sadly 
 wanting in human interest. Follow me, if you 
 will, to the top of one of our own mountains, 
 say Skiddaw, and while the view is superb, 
 yet very few towns and villages are to be seen, 
 and all the country houses are hidden from 
 sight by their surrounding parks. So far as 
 human interest is concerned, and that stimulus 
 to imagination which the sight of human dwell- 
 ing-places perforce induces, we might be view- 
 ing a scene in Africa as well as one in over- 
 peopled England. 
 
 This seems to me the striking difference 
 between Italian scenery and British. Every- 
 where in Italy are to be seen houses and other 
 indications of human existence — and this is a 
 great charm. Take, for example, a trip in a 
 steamer on one of the English lakes and 
 another on one of the Italian or Swiss. 
 Hardly a village is to be seen on the English 
 no 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 lake : there is indeed hardly a single hotel or 
 inn built on it. But on Maggiore, or Luga- 
 no, or Como, or Lucerne, or Geneva the 
 banks are closely sprinkled with picturesque 
 villages, towns, and hotels. I suppose it is 
 caused by the difference of climate or of char- 
 acter, but to me, at least, the evidence of human 
 habitations is more exhilarating than the lack 
 of them. 
 
 We left San Donato, descending the hill 
 towards the river. As amusements on the 
 way my youthful friends took kindly to 
 my instructions as to scouting in war. They 
 were thrown out as advanced patrols, and 
 came back to me with vivid reports of 
 enemies located in various positions in the 
 immediate vicinity. 
 
 But accidents happen in the best-regulated 
 expeditions, and the eldest boy's boots, never 
 very good, gave out, though he walked on 
 in an heroic manner. We rested in the shade 
 under the olive trees to see what could be 
 done for his relief, and incidentally for me 
 to tell them of my experiences in the South 
 African War. And then the younger ones 
 climbed trees, until Attileo climbed himself 
 into a position from which he could not 
 in 
 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 descend, and I was called on to assist in this 
 enterprise. In taking him from his branch 
 and holding him in my arms, he, in the most 
 delightful and natural way possible, put up 
 his little face to be kissed by me, which struck 
 me as a charming way of expressing this 
 small person's gratitude. 
 
 We descended into the valley, and pre- 
 sently found that to strike the railway station 
 we had come too far, and had to hark back 
 down the valley to Rignano. 
 
 Perched high up on spurs of the Apennines 
 can be seen from here two splendid villas, 
 one the villa S. Merzano, belonging to the 
 Marchese Panciatici, and the other to the 
 representative of a Jewish family, now very 
 well known in Florence, Baron Levi. They are 
 both eighteenth-century houses, but I should 
 say the former was built on the ruins of one 
 of the old castles which commanded the Arno 
 valley when the Counts Guidi held the 
 Casentino country in fee. 
 
 As we approached the picturesque town of 
 Rignano (it was a festa\ we observed that 
 all the country folk were in the streets. 
 There were the various little stalls at which 
 all sorts of articles were being sold, from 
 
 112 
 
Florence to Rignano sul Arno 
 
 underlinen to hunting knives, and the spin- 
 ning tables, where a mild sort of gambling in 
 halfpennies could be indulged in. And, as 
 always, orderly conduct prevailed. 
 
 While waiting in a peasants' cafe for the 
 arrival of our train from Florence, I observed 
 that my little friend Nini was very sad, and 
 later I found him in tears in a corner of the 
 station waiting-room. It appeared that he 
 had conceived the very false impression that 
 I favoured his two brothers, so it had to be 
 put right, and he was consoled on our railway 
 journey to Florence by peacefully going to 
 sleep tightly grasping my hand and with his 
 head on my shoulder. 
 
 "3 
 
Chapter IX — From Fiesole to Monte 
 Fiano — Castello di Poggio and Com- 
 piobbe and the Arno 
 
 THOSE Britons who believe that 
 Fiesole can only be reached by the 
 tramway line or by the old road 
 lose much of the pleasure and nearly 
 all of the romance of this expedition. For 
 Fiesole, while it looks very picturesque as it 
 faces Florence and the Arno, with its towers and 
 pinnacles, yet taken in flank and in rear, like 
 armies so taken, offers surprises of a quite 
 peculiar character. For example, on the 
 rock on which Fiesole stands I have had 
 some quite excellent and very real alpine 
 climbing, of a kind which even a Whymper 
 need not despise, and in the valley of the 
 Mugnone, quite close to Fiesole, but on the 
 backward side of it, I have found village 
 inns Hogarth would have delighted to por- 
 tray. 
 
 On a hot morning in spring, accompanied 
 by two of my profughi (my profligates, a 
 114 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 name I had given to the refugees from Sicily 
 owing to the difficulty which some of us found 
 in pronouncing profughi correctly), we made 
 the ascent of the mountain, not in the bour- 
 geois style by tram, nor in the alpine way by 
 rock, but by the Faenza road from Ponte 
 Rossa. 
 
 We took, and to this extent derogated, the 
 tramway to Ponte Rossa, and then started on 
 our adventurous career. I think we cared 
 nothing for appearances, though as I have said 
 before, my young friends were full of sar- 
 torial prejudice — yet gradually they were losing 
 it through my example — and we journeyed for 
 business in a business-like costume. I in my 
 gaiters, the little men in their knickerbockers. 
 The Signor Barone, like the king in legal 
 fiction, can do no wrong, so I was gradually 
 persuading them that dress should be adapted 
 for the work on hand — and not work for the 
 dress. 
 
 At any rate, we started along the narrow 
 streets from the Ponte Rossa towards the 
 Mugello in fitting costume. And how inter- 
 esting are these streets, even the meanest 
 of them, and you have to pass very poor 
 streets on your way out of Florence. 
 115 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 The absence of self - consciousness of the 
 people appeals to me, at any rate. In a 
 crowded and very muddy road I saw a 
 baby in a chair, surrounded by a ministering 
 crowd of little sisters and brothers. I ad- 
 dressed the child and asked the others his 
 name. The name came pat enough, Pio, 
 and not a thought of pence. Not a thought 
 of pence, because when chocolates were sug- 
 gested they were refused ! 
 
 There are many beggars in Italy, because 
 there are many poor in Italy, and there is no 
 reasonable poor law, but beggars are created 
 by beggary, and no shame to them. When I 
 want a Government post I ask for it. I 
 certainly would not get it if I did not, and 
 I am quite sure that Mr. Carnegie if he 
 wanted a crust of bread would ask for it, as I 
 would. All who want are beggars. 
 
 My young friends, Attileo and Nini, had 
 become rather accustomed to my inquisitive 
 nature, and pandered to it. I sent them out 
 as scouts to find matters of interest for me, 
 and this they did with extraordinary fidelity, 
 embarrassing fidelity, which delayed our pro- 
 gress through the interesting and picturesque 
 valley which divides Fiesole from the hills 
 116 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 to the west. The road itself is of interest 
 historically, for from the sides of these 
 mountains have been taken for six centuries 
 past the rocks which have formed the great 
 and enduring palaces of Florence, the Strozzi, 
 the Riccardi, and the like. 
 
 When the ordinary tourist in Florence 
 realises that he in his cheap pension often 
 dwells in a house built before the Black 
 Prince fought the battle of Poictiers, and 
 little altered since, he may realise that he has 
 to deal with a civilisation, and the effects of a 
 civilisation, somewhat more ancient and com- 
 plicated than any he has yet sampled. If he 
 can realise this, then he will learn ; if he does 
 not, God help him. 
 
 We passed through the narrow valley along 
 the road which makes its way upwards to the 
 Apennine passes. Just here the spring was 
 showing, and my young friends brought me 
 flowers at almost every turn of the road. 
 I suppose youth and the evidence of youth, 
 which is spring, become more attractive to us 
 as we have to progress along the road which 
 leads (where does it lead ? Chi sa ?) to middle 
 age, at any rate. But these little men, bring- 
 ing to me flowers, as a comrade, made me feel 
 117 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 that something of the golden glory of spring 
 was left. 
 
 When you pass beyond the cliff dividing 
 Fiesole from Monte Morello to ascend to its 
 heights, you must follow a path which leads 
 through a farm. From here the highest point 
 of Fiesole can be seen almost vertical, and this 
 point is where at one time the ruling of that 
 extraordinary order of Jesuits emanated. When 
 I first came to Fiesole the " General " of the 
 order lived here, and I presume his head- 
 quarter staff. Now they have gone elsewhere. 
 To me, at least, this Order of Jesus has 
 always had especial attraction from the point 
 of view of organisation. I have had many 
 close friends and some near relations in it, and 
 until now have never discovered any offensive 
 principles among its priests. On the whole 
 I admire their work, while being unable to 
 accept their dogmas ; and I admire it all the 
 more because I have seen in wild countries its 
 practicality. In South Africa good work is 
 done by Jesuits as by no other sect or order, 
 and for that 1 reverence them. 
 
 Then also there is the interest which I 
 feel for an order which is purely socialistic 
 — and has always been so — and admittedly 
 118 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 powerful, too powerful indeed for many 
 states. 
 
 That it is essentially socialistic or collectivist 
 can easily be shown, for so far as its work is 
 concerned every element of socialism prevails. 
 The members of the Order of Jesus are sworn 
 to poverty, no member owns a hat-ribbon or 
 a button. Personal ambition is eliminated, for 
 within my own knowledge the headmaster of 
 one of the most important Jesuit colleges in 
 England was, without a murmur, transferred 
 to the post of a junior mastership in another. 
 Property is communal in the Society of Jesus, 
 and so is personal ambition. Yet of all socie- 
 ties in the world perhaps history will tell you 
 that the Jesuits have had, and still hold, more 
 power, real power, than any other. 
 
 Therefore we in ascending the hard moun- 
 tain track behind Fiesole had something to 
 think about that day. My young friends were 
 not engaged in this — they were hunting — all 
 sorts of beasts, as is the wont of primitive 
 youth. Dragon-flies were shown to me as 
 captives, and always let loose, because, as I told 
 them, the Good God loves dragon-flies prob- 
 ably as well as Sicilian boys. We arrived at 
 Fiesole about noon, and hungry. But there 
 119 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 was a duty which I felt was necessary, a duty 
 which was also a pleasure — to visit an old lady 
 who had been ill for many months. It occurred 
 to me that my young friends might amuse her. 
 It seemed they did, for she has asked me to 
 bring them again many a time. 
 
 We then lunched at the "Aurora," the hotel 
 which has an unique view over Florence and 
 the Arno valley. And we lunched in the 
 garden of the hotel. My profughi, my little 
 Sicilian boys, are quite wonderful in these 
 cases — these emergencies. You must realise 
 that they are board school boys no more. 
 Yet in being placed, as they were on that day, 
 among a crowd of Italian officers and their 
 wives, many foreigners of all sorts, etc., 
 in no action of theirs, as far as I could 
 observe, was there the slightest gaucherie or 
 its cause — false pride. They behaved them- 
 selves as little gentlemen, as one might expect, 
 but not always find, a public-school boy to 
 behave. 
 
 After lunch, and after we had carefully in- 
 spected the Roman theatre and baths (in the 
 latter, when explained to them, my young 
 friends insisted on comparing me with the 
 Romans because I had made it imperative that 
 1 20 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 they should bathe regularly), we proceeded up 
 the hill towards Monte Fiano. This latter 
 very charming villa, dominating Fiesole, and 
 therefore super-dominating Florence and the 
 whole valley of the Arno, is owned by a friend 
 of mine who is a very charming combination 
 of the Oxford Don and the Italian vine 
 farmer. An Oxford Don who, like Pliny, has 
 retired to his Tuscan farm and produces an 
 excellent wine, Monte Fiano, not unknown in 
 the clubs of London. 
 
 I had first visited Monte Fiano some years 
 ago, when my old leader at Toynbee, Canon Bar- 
 nett, had taken it for a spell. Up to it I toiled 
 to pay my respects to this veteran in the service 
 of man, and especially of the poorest among men, 
 and was startled to be received by one who 
 had all the external aspects of a stage brigand : 
 long cloak twirled around the shoulders, stage 
 hat of picturesque aspect, and with all the 
 kindly and genial face of the Canon underneath 
 the hat. It seemed that Canon Barnett had 
 been advised to adopt the costume of the 
 country and had done it thoroughly — very 
 thoroughly. 
 
 My boys and I arrived at the villa and 
 were received in the most distinguished man- 
 
 121 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 ner, the youngsters being put down to mys- 
 terious games, while the kindly lady of the 
 house and my friend " Pliny " talked. After- 
 wards we left our kindly hosts at Monte 
 Fiano, having before leaving been initiated 
 into the art of how the innocent grape can, by 
 a process of natural evolution, be transformed 
 into what some of my friends tell me is the 
 pernicious and soul-destroying wine. And 
 Christ turned water into wine ! I wonder 
 much where truth is to be found in this ever- 
 worrying controversy between the teapot and 
 the wine-flask. 
 
 From here we proceeded partly through 
 vineyards, always commanding grandiose views 
 over Florence, and towards the Vallombrosan 
 mountains to the east, to the Castello di 
 Poggio. Here I knew also we were assured 
 of a kindly reception. This stronghold 
 must have been in fighting days the pleasant 
 head-quarters of a predatory baron. It com- 
 manded many roads — and even now, in these 
 days, it commands many roads, but to offer 
 hospitality, not to extract plunder. 
 
 Indeed, my friend who rents this wild for- 
 tress entertains so many of her friends that 
 she has already been accused by the authorities 
 
 122 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 of predatory instincts — those of a hotel pro- 
 prietor. For this kind of hospitality, as I have 
 said before, is not known much in this part of 
 Italy. We were welcomed not only by our 
 kind hostess and her daughters, but by an 
 interesting house-party, which included my 
 very dear friend the general utility man of 
 Florence, who, to those of his acquaintance — 
 and it is wide and varied — will easily be recog- 
 nised, an eminent painter and a German baron* 
 Now this latter — and this was my first intro- 
 duction to him — became a subject of much 
 interest to me, for not only was he in a position 
 very similar to my own, but no less had he 
 done very similar work in the world. A 
 German cavalry officer who had lived in Eng- 
 land and had settled near Florence to farm, 
 and possessed a thorough sympathy with the 
 people. A cosmopolite, if you like, but not one 
 whit the less a good German for that. I am 
 inclined to wonder for how long a time will 
 the village pumpists of the world, the little 
 worldites, be allowed to dominate inter- 
 national policy. For all over the world I 
 have met men, like my friend here, who love 
 their country and the real and best tradi- 
 tions of their country, and yet care not a jot 
 123 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 or tittle for race as race, or sect as sect. 
 Speaking only my own sentiments now, I am 
 just as liable to become attached to a German, 
 an Italian, a Jew, or a Zulu, as to a man who 
 calls himself British. And yet I wish to 
 see exemplified the best and noblest tradi- 
 tions of my country — and these I think are 
 very noble indeed — just as my friend the 
 German baron wishes to witness his national 
 traditions exemplified. And I admire more 
 especially perhaps the French ideal, without 
 believing for a moment it need run counter 
 to ours. But the silly fools, nay, I fear not 
 fools but interested persons, tell us that 
 racial animosity must exist, and yet every 
 experience of life, and more especially the 
 experience of our cosmopolite empire, tell 
 us it is untrue, and damnably untrue. How- 
 ever, the German baron and I became friends 
 the more especially as he showed great kind- 
 ness to my little friends, and after tea we 
 proceeded to his farm on the slopes of the 
 hills looking on the other side of Florence 
 towards Vallombrosa. 
 
 But before leaving my German friend, 
 which we did at his house, after being in- 
 troduced to his dogs, of which he is greatly 
 124 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 proud, I may be allowed to recall a conversation 
 I had with him just before I left for England 
 on my way to take over those duties, political 
 and social, which we all have to accept. The 
 Dreadnought question was on, and eight or 
 ten or twenty Dreadnoughts were being dis- 
 cussed. As it happens (it is possible that I am 
 mad), I very honestly do not believe that 
 Dreadnoughts, however many, are at all 
 likely to be a serious factor in saving England 
 if it require to be saved. I think what will 
 save our country are the men behind the guns 
 in the Dreadnoughts, and I do not think that 
 at the moment we are doing much to build up 
 these men. This is, of course, a matter of 
 opinion, but it may be noted here as mine. 
 
 So it was not unnatural in our last talk that 
 the Dreadnought question arose. I proposed 
 that he as a patriotic German, and I as a patri- 
 otic Englishman, seeing how great an evil it 
 was to build competitive ships, knowing as we 
 do that in both countries many children must 
 be starved out of life to enable these national 
 luxuries to be indulged in, should agree on a 
 campaign of dynamite — he to agree to blow 
 up the German Dreadnoughts, I to do the same 
 with the British ones. He said this would be 
 125 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 a good scheme for immediate purposes, but a 
 better one would be for our men to work 
 longer — as long as the German workman does. 
 And he then elaborated his theory. He said 
 that the British clerk and the British manu- 
 facturer, owing to their great success in the 
 past, work now on the average about two 
 hours less than the German of the same 
 classes. "You are being beaten," so he asserted, 
 " by the more strenuous work of our people. 
 You are beginning to feel this, and you think 
 that it will be a less uncomfortable way of beat- 
 ing your competitor by getting hired sailors to 
 smash his navy than by yourselves doing more 
 work." 
 
 I wonder whether there is not some truth 
 in what he said, a substratum of truth. 
 
 We parted at his house, and we passed 
 along rough farm-roads, through the vines 
 and through farms, to Compiobbe, a village 
 on the Arno, about five miles from Florence. 
 My little men were getting tired about then, 
 but it was necessary to tramp on another two 
 miles to catch the tramway at Rovezzano, the 
 terminus — and we refreshed ourselves at a 
 cafe by the river, where the carters and the 
 farmers forgather on their way from Florence 
 
 It26 
 
From Fiesole to Monte Fiano 
 
 toward Ponte Sieve. Then they struggled on, 
 and when we got to the tramway the youngsters, 
 dishevelled, dusty, footsore, and tired beyond 
 their wont, settled down on the seats, yet one 
 little hand crept into mine, and a fatigued 
 little voice murmured, "Thank you, Signor 
 Barone, for all your kindness " — and he went 
 to sleep. 
 
 Practical Information 
 Fiesole : Hotel Aurora, with garden and magnificent view. 
 
 127 
 
Chapter X — Florence to Greve and 
 Chianti 
 
 THE day before I started on this 
 expedition I had met the Baroness 
 R , whose husband is a repre- 
 sentative of one of the few remain- 
 ing genuinely feudal families of Tuscany. 
 When this is said it is not intended to cast 
 any doubt on the antiquity of many of them ; 
 there are very many ancient houses ; but, like 
 the majority of our own families, these have 
 not originated in the land, but in the counting- 
 house. There is this difference, however, 
 which can be observed everywhere, that while 
 the British bourgeois-sprung aristocracy was 
 compelled by custom to leave the shop for the 
 manor, the Italian was not so constrained. 
 The head-quarters of the latter remained in 
 the town, as is witnessed by their palaces to- 
 day, while they went to their often magnifi- 
 cent country villas to spend a few weeks or 
 months, much in the same way as the City 
 man goes now to Brighton or Hastings. It 
 128 
 
Florence to Greve and Chianti 
 
 was, therefore, interesting to me to meet a 
 family which has always been a rare exception 
 to this rule, not the less so in that this 
 peculiarity may be possibly accounted for by 
 their territorial origin. 
 
 It was owing to this meeting that I thought 
 of the journey to their ancient castle of 
 
 B , which is in the neighbourhood of 
 
 Greve, though in fact I never arrived at the 
 house. 
 
 The Roman gate out of Florence has a con- 
 siderable interest in my eyes, owing to the 
 fact that, in spite of trams and motors, its 
 neighbourhood still retains some mediaeval 
 characteristics. Now, as in past times, crowd 
 in the wagons of the farmers and form them- 
 selves into a market or fair outside the walls. 
 Here, too, also can be seen the lineal descend- 
 ants and exact reproductions of the mediaeval 
 jugglers, buffoons, and improvisers, and here, 
 too, is the confused crowd of aimless loafers 
 mingled with exasperated persons in a hurry, 
 which Hogarth has so well handed down to 
 us in his pictures. Indeed, many of the scenes 
 in Florence (I took a house there once, partly 
 because it was in a Hogarthian street) vividly 
 recall the work of this master. 
 k 129 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Everyone knows the road by the English 
 cemetery to Galluzzo and the Certosa monas- 
 tery. It was near this latter place I met a 
 friend who has taken many of these walks 
 with me, and I hailed him with joy as a possible 
 companion of the road. Unfortunately this 
 was not to be, because he had just suffered 
 the cruel wrong of having two of his dogs 
 poisoned by some fiends who used phosphorus, 
 and he could not leave one of them who 
 was still alive. At the risk of boring my 
 readers, I must tell the story of this dog, an 
 old friend of mine. 
 
 At first he was a farm dog in the farm 
 which is attached to the villa of my friend. 
 Turco — this is his name — is a splendid speci- 
 men of a black-and-white sheep dog. Born 
 of an adventurous disposition, he explored 
 the neighbourhood, and one sad day was shot 
 at by a German — this was before the Dread- 
 nought scare — and with such little accuracy 
 that his near hind-leg was destroyed. A kindly 
 English lady had him attended by a vet., and 
 he miraculously recovered, but with three legs 
 only. Yet his indomitable daring was not 
 lessened. He still roamed and fought many 
 battles. 
 
 130 
 
Florence to Greve and Chianti 
 
 For a period I occupied the villa, and then, 
 as previously, he practically deserted his master, 
 the farmer, for our garden. Being now useless 
 to his owner, one fine day he was sold, I feared, 
 to the doctors. It was done very secretly, but 
 as soon as it came to my knowledge I offered 
 fifty francs for his return, and he was brought 
 back. 
 
 Then came the poison incident. Burglars 
 had arranged to obtain supplies from my 
 friend's house, and had prepared their way by 
 laying down poison. Yet almost by a miracle 
 Turco recovered after weeks of agony, and 
 regained his spirits too, for he sauntered out 
 one night, had an immense battle with a dog 
 larger than himself, and came back to the 
 house with his fore-leg hopelessly broken. 
 So he has only two legs, or had those when 
 I saw him last, yet, though I had not seen 
 him for more than a year, he limped up to 
 greet me in the wildest of welcome. Such is 
 my friend Turco's story, which I must apolo- 
 gise for giving here. 
 
 Have any of my readers seen the Certosa 
 
 monastery from the banks of the Ema river 
 
 to the west of the road ? for if not, they ought 
 
 to see it, for from that point it has the charm 
 
 131 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 of early romance, with its spires and gables, 
 recalling some half-forgotten youthful dream. 
 Of course, I have been into the Certosa many 
 times, yet always with a sense of disappoint- 
 ment due to the splendour of my first view of 
 it. My opinion is that if the first sight of 
 some place strikes some hidden chord in you, 
 it is the wiser policy not to examine the object 
 closely ; take what the gods give and pass on. 
 Two instances I remember : one, Flushing, 
 that on seeing it first had quite an electric 
 effect on me, which was strangely lessened on 
 closer inspection ; and the village of Parys in 
 the Orange Colony, which I never entered — 
 because the Boers objected — and now remains 
 in my mind a dream village in the setting sun. 
 Fine as is the interior of the Certosa 
 monastery (I am, as an old Carthusian, always 
 specially interested in the order which gave 
 the name to Charterhouse School), there is 
 an inevitable air of melancholy about a vast 
 building now occupied by only two or three 
 pensioner brothers employed to act as Govern- 
 ment showmen to the light-hearted tourist. 
 As to the rights and wrongs of the act 
 suppressing these monasteries we need not 
 here enquire, though in speaking of this with 
 132 
 
Florence to Greve and Chianti 
 
 an Englishman some time ago, who denounced 
 it as an act of " profanation and spoliation," I 
 was forced gently to remind him that the major 
 portion of his own estates in England came to 
 his family by such an act of profanation, etc. 
 I, nevertheless, wonder that such a huge 
 building as is the Certosa is not utilised by 
 the authorities, as, for example, either for the 
 training of children or as an asylum for the 
 aged and infirm. 
 
 The views from the road from here to 
 Tavernuzze have that fascination of mediaeval- 
 ism which strikes one so frequently in the 
 neighbourhood of the larger towns in Tuscany. 
 The high walls, the villa-crowned olive hills, 
 some turn or twist in everything one sees, takes 
 us back to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 
 No doubt this is partly due to the pictures 
 of the old masters, but I think there must be 
 something psychic in it too — some faint remi- 
 niscence of an experience we have misplaced 
 in our brains and forgotten. 
 
 At Tavernuzze, which is the usual Tuscan 
 village, much spoilt by the steam tramway, 
 there is a road to the left which goes up to 
 the old village of Impruneta, with its ancient 
 church, its della Robbias, and its all-pervading 
 133 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 gardens of irises. A very beautiful road takes 
 you thence back to Florence by Ponte a Ema. 
 
 Along the main road, however, the valley 
 of the Greve broadens out, and with its 
 pastureland and copses has much the appear- 
 ance of an English Midland dale. Just here, 
 unlike most Italian scenes, there is the quietude, 
 the peace, some may say the stagnation, of 
 our own countryside, yet suddenly, to dispel 
 this illusion, comes the snorting abomination 
 of the tram. Yet I wonder why it is in 
 England we do not sacrifice some of our 
 eternal calm in the interest of our people. 
 The contrast between the vivacity of Italian 
 country roads and the sober dullness of our 
 own was expressed by one who is nearest to 
 me when I took her for her first drive in 
 England after a prolonged sojourn abroad. 
 She said, " Dear, but where, oh where are your 
 people?'* I wonder where: probably grinding 
 their coaly lives out in the nearest manufac- 
 turing town I 
 
 At Falciani, some few kilometres on, we 
 left the main road to Rome, which crosses 
 the hills at S. Casciano and goes onward by 
 Poggibonsi to Siena, and still keeping to the 
 winding valley of the Greve river through 
 
 i34 
 
Florence to Greve and Chianti 
 
 scenes which gradually, by slow transforma- 
 tion, changed from mid-England to mid-Italy. 
 Soon the vines reappeared, and with them the 
 cypress-decked poderi^ unmistakably Italian. 
 Then more villas came into view, until before 
 we arrived at the large village of Greve we 
 had quite resumed our Italian atmosphere. 
 This latter place is a market town with arcaded 
 streets and a picturesque square. Here I 
 lunched at an old-fashioned inn, where there 
 were many other guests. Most of these had 
 come by tram, either for business or pleasure, 
 and here among them I found a phenomenon 
 which I had not before encountered, the 
 pure and unadulterated Italian bounder. This 
 species has never been treated scientifically 
 and comparatively. To define a bounder I 
 suggest this. A man (or woman) who has no 
 consideration for others, no tact to conceal this 
 lack of consideration, and one who at the out- 
 set assumes that he is superior to all others. 
 It happens I have met this curious species in 
 many countries, and sometimes in very high 
 places, but the most prominent examples of 
 this variety are perhaps the British and the 
 German. While the former (Bounderius 
 Britannicus) as a characteristic displays passive 
 i35 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 insolence towards strangers, but unless drunk, 
 does not assume the aggressive attitude, the 
 latter (Bounderius Germanicus) from the out- 
 set is positive in his superiority, and offensive 
 in asserting it. It is, however, only fair to 
 say that a German of this sort is very seldom 
 met with, because the social training, the in- 
 struction in public conduct, to which the 
 German student is subjected, is very much 
 more thorough than ours. The young Briton 
 often acquires quite excellent manners within 
 his own circle, and yet not seldom is entirely 
 lacking in consideration outside it, and espe- 
 cially in dealing with classes presumably below 
 it. The Teuton as soon as he joins his 
 university is placed under the care of an 
 elder student, and the latter's duty is to 
 advise and instruct the neophyte, not only 
 how he should behave within the corps and 
 university to which he belongs, but no less how 
 he should conduct himself " for the honour of 
 the university " outside the precincts. 
 
 At any rate here at Greve for the first and 
 only time I encountered a party of Italian 
 bounders, male and female, who did every- 
 thing which their kind of other nations could 
 do to offend the susceptibilities of their neigh- 
 136 
 
Florence to Greve and Chianti 
 
 bours. It was an inspiring sight, because I 
 had come reluctantly to believe that this class 
 of person only came from the north of 
 Europe, where at any rate the habits and 
 customs of the Smart Set very much 
 encourage its development ; and now I dis- 
 covered that even the southern sun does not 
 destroy the germ of this kind of vulgarity. 
 
 At Greve I was advised that the road to 
 Broglio was a very bad one, and that it would 
 be difficult to cross the hills from there to the 
 railway in the Arno valley, so decided to go 
 by Castellina in Chianti and thence run down 
 to Poggibonzi and the Val d' Elsa. 
 
 It is a long stiff climb of two hours up to 
 this village, but one is rewarded for the 
 trouble of it by most magnificent views on 
 one's arrival, for this village is about 1 800 feet 
 above sea -level, and commands the whole 
 country to Siena and even to Arezzo in the 
 east. It is a quaint old place, where I noticed 
 many children, whom I set racing for pennies, 
 and at least two blind beggars. These latter 
 reminded me of a curious Italian saying, which 
 rendered into English is to the effect that " a 
 blind man in a family is as valuable as a farm in 
 Chianti," meaning, of course, the profits from 
 137 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 his begging are a precious asset. Perhaps 
 these beggars had the farms also, or had 
 acquired them as the result of charity. 
 I do wish that the Italian Government 
 would pay some attention to founding state 
 asylums for the permanently disabled, though 
 now, undoubtedly, there is much less begging 
 than formerly ; yet one sees a very great 
 number of cripples, and one wonders where 
 these poor wretches live, and how. While it 
 is a mistake, very commonly made by our 
 countrymen, to assert that there are few public 
 charities in Italy — there are very many and 
 well-conducted ones, some dating as far back 
 as the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries — yet 
 I cannot think the authorities spend enough 
 in this line. But, perhaps, now that Italy is 
 prospering financially, more will be done. 
 
 The road down from Castellina is a beautiful 
 one and fairly well kept, and I arrived at 
 Poggibonzi just in time to swallow down a 
 cup of coffee and catch the train to Florence. 
 
 138 
 
Chapter XI — Bagni di Lucca and a 
 Garibaldi Festival 
 
 THE great heat of the Italian summer 
 forces the people from the towns to 
 the mountains, and among the more 
 old-fashioned of these refuges Bagni 
 di Lucca has a conspicuous place. Formerly 
 its position was a pre-eminent one, for it was 
 the place where the Grand Ducal Court retired 
 to take baths. After that it had a period of 
 social decadence, and it is only of late years 
 that foreigners, at any rate, have begun to 
 return in any numbers. That it is destined 
 to regain much of its lost prestige I feel con- 
 vinced, because of its magnificent situation 
 among the chestnut-clad hills and from the 
 fact that there are probably more interesting 
 short excursions to be made thence than in 
 any other place of the kind. Moreover the 
 waters are equal to those of many better-known 
 resorts, and living there is remarkably econo- 
 mical. In many ways it resembles the beauti- 
 ful little watering-place of Hercules Bad in 
 139 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Hungary, and its waters are comparable to 
 those of Aix-les-Bains. 
 
 When I arrived there I was but fresh from 
 very different scenes in South Africa, and my 
 good friend and physician, Dr. Giglioli, had 
 suggested my spending the summer under his 
 amiable treatment. 
 
 However, almost as soon as we arrived, we 
 were launched on a sea of gaiety very different 
 from anything anticipated by either of us. 
 The fact was that the two little villages of 
 Ponte a Serraglio and Bagni di Villa, which 
 together make up the town of Bagni di Lucca, 
 had rejoiced for many centuries in a rivalry 
 almost mediaeval in ferocity. I have been 
 assured that this is carried so far that it is 
 considered extremely disloyal for the people 
 of either of them to marry into families of 
 the other. I do not know about this, but, at 
 any rate, I have always found the inhabitants 
 of both remarkably kindly and charming. 
 
 However, an effort was to be made to com- 
 bine the two villages in a common effort to 
 amuse and entertain the visitors. It must be 
 borne in mind that each has its own excellent 
 Casino, and these had been used as weapons 
 sometimes of offence. For example, it was, I 
 140 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 believe, not uncommon to have balls at both 
 places on the same night. At any rate, ap- 
 parently we came at the psychological moment, 
 and acting on the principle frequently adopted 
 in mediaeval Italian towns of selecting a 
 "foreigner" for Podesta, they elected me 
 chairman of the entertainments and sports 
 generally. 
 
 No doubt they were astute enough to see 
 that a prolonged course of South African War 
 and politics had caused in me a mental de- 
 generacy which gave them hopes of succeeding 
 in their object. My friend, Dr. Giglioli, was 
 also elected Secretary, and we together com- 
 menced our campaign by nominating a strong 
 Committee of leading residents of the two 
 places, with a due proportion of British and 
 Americans. The first meeting of this Com- 
 mittee in the Villa dei Fiori will long remain 
 in my memory. I have been trained in rather 
 a rigid school of committee discipline by the 
 best chairman of committees I have ever 
 known, the Rev. Canon Samuel Barnett, and 
 I was therefore prepared to keep the meeting 
 to the point and to the agenda. I wish Canon 
 Barnett had been there to try his hand, and 
 he would have left that meeting a sadder man. 
 141 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 The proceedings began by my being asked by 
 a certain Conte, who had lived at one of these 
 places for some years, to introduce him to a 
 certain marchese, an old resident who had a 
 house within a mile of him. I humbly pointed 
 out that I had arrived a week before and felt 
 myself incompetent to become in so short a 
 time an introducer-general. I think at that 
 meeting we must have discussed nearly every 
 question of importance outside the agenda. 
 We not only discussed all these questions, but 
 we discussed them nearly all at the same time. 
 One group of three, entirely ignoring the 
 chairman's hammer, would be engaged in a 
 lively altercation on the distress in Calabria, 
 another group equally unamenable to discipline 
 would have before them the rights or wrongs 
 of the Russo-Japanese War, while a third, 
 probably British, would be asserting that what 
 was required in Italy was public-school train- 
 ing. As a sort of postscript to the meeting 
 we passed all the resolutions nemine contradi- 
 cente and started on our campaign. The late- 
 ness of my arrival at my hotel was very 
 unjustly criticised by my wife ! 
 
 The members of the Committee were lead- 
 ing men. Two or three marchesi, conti or 
 142 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 landowners in the neighbourhood, some com- 
 mendatori and cavalieri, chiefly professional 
 men, and a sprinkling of the citizens generally. 
 They all did excellent work eventually, but to 
 dispel the impression that this account of the 
 first Committee Meeting may have induced, 
 I may say that one of the members came up 
 to me afterwards and said : " It seems to me 
 you are going to put Bagni di Lucca under 
 martial law ! " I wished I could ! 
 
 At any rate, most of them worked very 
 well. We had a dance or two a week, fancy- 
 dress balls sometimes, paper-chases on donkeys, 
 and tennis tournaments ; these things are what 
 are wanted in such places. We are all in- 
 clined in these days, or, at any rate, those 
 of us who have to face the seriousness of life, 
 to neglect the social side. A pleasant dance, 
 a boisterous paper-chase, a donkey race even, 
 may effect more in bringing people together 
 than much learned talk on the essential 
 brotherhood of man. I remember two illus- 
 trations of this. Once at a social gathering 
 of the poor in the East End of London it 
 happened I was one of the entertainers, one 
 of the most frivolous, it may be, of the hosts. 
 Every possible or impossible game had been 
 H3 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 tried to work them up into a state of 
 sociability, and without effect. Seeing a friend 
 of mine who could strum on the piano I set 
 him down to play a waltz, and chose the 
 prettiest girl in the room as my partner. 
 That night we danced our guests into fra- 
 ternity in a way which James Paine never 
 achieved by his enunciation of its essential 
 truth. 
 
 The second instance was in South Africa. 
 My little force had been trekking for some 
 days through a waterless and a war-burnt 
 country, and it happened to be New Year's 
 Eve. We arrived at a farm in Cape Colony 
 where the people were badly enough off, and 
 as they were suspected of pro-Boer sympathies 
 were not favoured by the military authorities. 
 They loved us but little in that farm, but 
 after talking to the good Vrowe for some time 
 I reminded her it was New Year's Eve, and 
 that we ought to keep it by a dance, and 
 promised that I would bring a few comrades 
 if her girls were willing. That night, tired 
 as we were after a long march, I believe we 
 danced away many prejudices, the cobwebs 
 of a fratricidal war, and, at any rate, we left 
 the farm on the friendliest terms with its 
 144 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 inmates. In the early hours of the morning, 
 before we marched at dawn, the farmer came 
 to me with a piece of information which prob- 
 ably saved many of my gallant soldiers' lives ! 
 Consequently my readers will see that I am 
 a convinced believer that more can be done 
 for good in the world by social intercourse 
 than by lectures. 
 
 Bagni di Lucca in that season proved some- 
 thing of this. 
 
 To us Britons who care for history there 
 are many things at the Baths of Lucca which 
 recall the past. Here in a house which is 
 now a comfortable pension, the Villa Mar- 
 gherita, dwelt James III of Great Britain, 
 France, and Ireland, whom some call the Old 
 Pretender. Here, too, he was perhaps the 
 last of the Stuart line to receive Royal 
 honours, for he was under the benevolent 
 protection of the Lucca Republic. It is in- 
 teresting to remember in this connection that 
 the honours paid to James III of Great Britain, 
 etc., by the Lucchesi, were strongly resented 
 by the reigning Hanoverians in England, to 
 the extent that, I believe, they threatened to 
 tax Lucca oil out of the British market. 
 Tariff Reformers will please note. Yet all 
 l 145 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 their efforts were of no avail with the people 
 whose faith in the legitimist principle was 
 sufficient to cause them to go every Friday 
 to be cured of the King's Evil by being 
 touched by the Royal and expatriated fingers. 
 
 When James performed this ceremony, it 
 is said that he at the same time gave to the 
 invalids a medal, which he placed round their 
 necks. Alas ! I have not yet been able to 
 find one of these, and I would give a good 
 deal to get one. 
 
 But Bagni di Lucca has a long list of great 
 Britons who resided there, commencing with 
 Byron and Shelley, then to the more recent 
 times of the Brownings, and only within a 
 week of my writing this account I saw poor 
 Ouida laid to rest in the lovely little cemetery 
 of the place. It is a beautiful place, and the 
 people are as kindly as its climate. I could 
 not pay them any greater compliment. 
 
 On a steaming hot morning in July I was 
 moved to walk through the chestnut woods up 
 to the village of Monte Fegatesi. The road 
 from Bagni di Lucci first leads along a pictur- 
 esque valley, through which meanders a 
 delightful stream. A mile or so from the 
 146 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 Baths, however, the real ascent takes place, at 
 a most charming mill. Round this mill grow 
 the best specimens I have seen in this country 
 of that fern which we call maidenhair and 
 which the Italians style the hair of Venus. 
 Mounting thence by a steep stone salita which 
 runs direct, we came, in half an hour, to the 
 little hamlet of Pieve di Villa. The young 
 girl of the inn told me that this was a great 
 day at Monte Fegatesi, as there was high 
 revelry in honour of Garibaldi. Before leaving 
 the village my youthful informant insisted on 
 my seeing all the curious old houses of the 
 place, some of them being cellars with much 
 the suggestion of dungeons. I naturally asked 
 the girl to come with me to the festa, but she 
 could not, though she promised to be there 
 later when the dancing commenced. From 
 this place a bridle-path leads along the ridge 
 first to Monte di Villa, which is a straggling 
 long village having the appearance from a 
 distance of being fixed on the razor edge of a 
 cliff. Here one is somewhat astonished to 
 find most of the younger men speaking English, 
 or rather that variation of it which our 
 American cousins insist is the language of 
 Shakespeare. It is certainly true that the 
 M7 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 latter made use, more than once, of the 
 expression, " I guess," so possibly this proves 
 the American case. At any rate they are a 
 good lot of people in this village, and very 
 friendly disposed towards all Anglo-Saxons. 
 
 On my way from Monte di Villa I overtook 
 an old couple who were with difficulty walking 
 to the festa. As soon as they saw me the old 
 man greeted me in this wise : 
 
 " Signor Capitano, you go with us to do 
 honour to our hero. You English always 
 helped us in the struggle, and I helped too " — 
 and the veteran showed me two medals on his 
 waistcoat. I was glad to meet him. 
 
 As we came within a thousand yards of 
 Monte Fegatesi we could hear that the fun 
 had commenced. Songs and cheers were 
 blown to us by the sympathetic winds, and 
 flags could be seen decorating the houses and 
 even the church. 
 
 It is truly a grand position, perched up on a 
 mound commanding the valley, yet surrounded 
 by the higher mountains of the Apennine 
 group, Rondinaio, Tre Potenze, and Monte 
 Fioriti, far enough, however, from these to 
 secure itself in mediaeval times. It then held 
 command of a valley which led from the states 
 
 148 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 of Modena and Parma to the Republic of 
 Lucca. Without abnormal imagination we 
 could picture the sort of events which took 
 place around here. Modena perhaps wished 
 to damage Lucca, and sent a force over the 
 hills to burn and destroy. They came gaily 
 equipped, but just on the left of their road 
 they found Monte Fegatesi, not within bow- 
 shot, but certainly within striking distance of 
 them. The force which I have imagined was 
 a pleasant prey to the militant villagers, who, 
 I have no doubt, ambuscaded them to their 
 hearts' content in the steep valleys, and 
 obtained loot. When in a village on the 
 Modena side I asked my way to Monte 
 Fegatesi, the information was given, but with 
 the advice that the people of Monte Fegatesi 
 are a " bad people ; one has to be careful in 
 dealing with them." So the mediaeval tradition 
 holds. 
 
 As we arrived at the village we found in the 
 little piazza a large concourse of people listen- 
 ing to an eloquent address. 
 
 I believe it was eloquent, I am sure it was 
 demonstrative. But whether eloquent or de- 
 monstrative or both, it certainly was effective. 
 The orator was the village schoolmaster, and 
 149 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 he was telling the young Italians their duty to 
 United Italy, illustrating it naturally by the 
 life of Garibaldi. It was an excellent speech 
 in quite the best strain. While listening to it 
 I remembered some incidents in the general's 
 romantic career in which he had shown, even 
 at some risk to the great cause he served, 
 especial consideration for children and for the 
 weak. Has it not been written that he was 
 " the tenderest of the brave : he took thought 
 not only for men and women but even for the 
 joys and sufferings of animals ever since the 
 day when, as a child, he had cried over a 
 wounded grasshopper : he was a brother to 
 every living thing " ? " Because," as he said, 
 " the spirit of eternal life is in everything." 
 
 When the oratory was over, the organising 
 secretary came to me with a polite offer of 
 hospitality. 
 
 So about one o'clock in the little local 
 theatre we all sat down to an extensive repast. 
 On my right there was a veteran Garibaldino, 
 in his red shirt and medals, and on my left 
 a man who had served as an artilleryman in 
 the wars for United Italy. Two or three 
 places from me was the Chairman — the Syndic 
 of the Commune — who in his several speeches 
 
 150 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 always referred to the presence of my humble 
 self, il Capitano Inglese. After many such 
 references and much cheering it seemed to me 
 to be my duty to say some few words even if 
 these words were ungrammatically expressed. 
 It is quite certain that grammar had nothing 
 to do with my discourse. 
 
 My speech seemed to please them, for they 
 cheered a great deal ; but what pleased them 
 particularly was an expression of mine respect- 
 ing the draughtiness of the theatre. I had 
 noticed that most of the older veterans of the 
 wars had put on their hats and caps during the 
 banquet. I with a thin crop of hair had found 
 the winds somewhat trying, so I expressed my 
 views to my two veteran neighbours, something 
 to this effect : " Io trovo che la guerra non e 
 buona per i cappelli." 
 
 What I meant to say was, of course, that 
 war did not promote the growth of hair. This 
 certainly is true. 
 
 After the banquet I visited all the points of 
 interest in this place, including the ruins of the 
 ancient castle. 
 
 I was accompanied in my excursions by 
 several of the Garibaldini, one of whom, a 
 gentleman I had known for some time, was an 
 
 151 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 exact replica of Cecil Rhodes, as the latter 
 appeared to me when I met him in 1902. 
 
 At last we parted with a promise that I 
 should be made an honorary member of the 
 Garibaldian Society. Among my most valued 
 credentials I have the badge of this member- 
 ship. 
 
 I passed from Monte Fegatesi down the 
 valley to Tereglio, a large and interesting 
 village, and thence passed to where the Fegana 
 river runs into the Serchio. 
 
 On the whole it was not only a magnificent 
 day in respect to the country I had traversed, 
 but no less interesting in the fact that by chance 
 I had struck a festival of village patriots, had 
 learnt how the ideal of patriotism is inculcated 
 in the young and revered by the old, and 
 moreover I had discovered why it was we 
 English, in spite of our insular prejudices and 
 customs, are always by the Italians better 
 received than men of other races. The reason 
 is clear : we honoured their greatest soldier 
 patriot, Garibaldi, we understood their greatest 
 political idealist, Mazzini, and we supported 
 their greatest statesman, Cavour. 
 
 152 
 
GRANAIOLA— A VILLAGE ABOVE BAGNI DI LUCCA. 
 
Bagni di Lucca and a Garibaldi Festival 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 At Bagni Caldi, near the Baths : 
 
 Hotel des Thermes. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 Hotel Savoia. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 
 At Ponte a Serraglio : 
 
 Royal Casino Hotel. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 
 At Bagni di Villa : 
 
 Hotel de la Ville. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 Hotel Continental. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 Hotel Bellevue. Pension from 5 frcs. 
 Hotel Cherubim. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 Villa Margherita. Pension from 6 frcs. 
 
 Cafes : 
 
 At Ponte a Serraglio : 
 
 Cafe Americano (also restaurant). Good ; excellent ices 
 and pastry. 
 
 English Library : 
 
 Signor Barbagli at the Villa Stisted. 
 
 Physicians : 
 
 Dr. Bastiani. 
 Dr. Cherubini. 
 Dr. Acone. 
 
 Bootmaker (a very necessary person among these hills) : 
 Signor Valsuani., at Bagni di Villa (excellent). 
 153 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Photographer : 
 
 Signor Pellegrini, at Ponte a Serraglio. 
 
 Road to Monte Fegatesi : 
 
 Passing up the hill on which Bagni Caldi (the chief baths) 
 are situate, you pass there and proceed to a small and very 
 picturesque mill called Fronzola. Thence a choice of two 
 roads is offered. Firstly by a salita which runs directly be- 
 hind this mill and steeply ascends the hill to Pieve (about 
 thirty minutes' climb from the mill), and from Pieve to Monte 
 di Villa a fairly level walk of say twenty minutes. Secondly at 
 the mill keep along the small road until the road ceases to 
 be, and there by a salita direct to Monte di Villa ; or branch- 
 ing off to the right before arriving at Monte di Villa, by 
 a salita which passes through the hamlet at Riolo, and thence 
 up through the woods until you strike the path from Monte 
 di Villa to Monte Fegatesi, which runs nearly along the 
 ridge. 
 
 It took me if hours from Bagni Caldi to Monte Fegatesi, 
 but as I am rather a fast walker it may be wiser to count on 
 2 J hours for the whole excursion. 
 
 The return journey by Tereglio and the valley of the 
 Fegana I did in 3 hours. Perhaps 4 hours should be given 
 for average walkers. 
 
 At Pieve di Monte di Villa : Cafe Gabriele Veriade. 
 
 At Monte di Villa : Osteria Eugenia Bartolomeo. 
 
 At Monte Fegatesi : Albergo Alpino. 
 
 154 
 
Chapter XII — Bagni di Lucca to 
 Ghivizzano 
 
 THE life-story of the Gran Capitano, 
 as of all those old warriors who 
 showed by their work that property 
 can only be held by those who are 
 prepared and able to defend it, has always had 
 a peculiar fascination for me. I like the ro- 
 mance of their lives and the exposition of a 
 fundamental truth illustrated by their actions. 
 In a less picturesque way this truth is en- 
 forced by the modern company promoter, 
 and will be as long as the majority of our 
 fellow-subjects allow him to ply his trade. 
 
 Castruccio Castracani 1 spent the major por- 
 tion of his life in fighting for hire and inci- 
 dental looting, and eventually subjugated a 
 
 1 In the Life of Sir Henry Wotton I came upon a refer- 
 ence to Castruccio. Three hundred years after his time 
 Wotton travelled with a descendant of his. In spite of the 
 fact that this man travelled incognito he was in constant 
 danger of assassination by the agents of the Republic of 
 Lucca, because they feared that the family of Antelminelli 
 (Castruccio's House) might again become the "Tyrants of 
 Lucca." 
 
 155 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 district, over which he ruled with great fair- 
 ness and justice. The evening of his days he 
 apparently spent in designing and building 
 the most beautiful bridges in the world, those, 
 for example, at Borgo a Mozzano (the Devil's 
 Bridge), at Calavorno, and at Castelnuovo — 
 all in the Serchio valley. 
 
 What opportunities of romantic acquisition 
 had these old professional soldiers of the thir- 
 teenth and fourteenth centuries ! They were 
 trained in arms by the French wars, and had 
 the richest country in Europe — Italy — as a 
 happy hunting-ground, which land, inhabited 
 by an industrial population generally skilled 
 in every art but that of war, offered every 
 opportunity to the German, French, and 
 Italian trained mercenary. Our own country- 
 men, it is encouraging to remember, also took 
 advantage of this favourable opportunity of 
 living on the fat burgher of the rich Italian 
 cities, for Sir John Hawkwood and his band 
 of English did quite their share in relieving 
 the citizens of the responsibility of their 
 wealth, if the Pisan chronicles speak true. 
 
 Therefore the walk to the head-quarters of 
 Castruccio at Ghivizzano, a pilgrimage, if you 
 like, to the shrine of one who was a man in 
 156 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Ghivizzano 
 
 his time, had a fascination for me. The road 
 from Bagni di Lucca to Ghivizzano passes by 
 the old Ponte di Calavorno, and as I was ac- 
 companied by an able painter and etcher, I felt 
 certain that we should not pass this landmark 
 without a sketch being made of it. 
 
 For half an hour my friend forced me to be 
 a silent witness of the tricks of his delightful 
 trade, under a sun which, I should imagine, 
 ought to have melted the marble hills 
 around. 
 
 On our road from this point we encoun- 
 tered many Italian soldiers flushed with vic- 
 tory on their return from mimic warfare in 
 the north. Like all their gallant kind they 
 refreshed themselves at every inn by the way, 
 and I fancy that the reasonable sobriety of 
 their conduct was due rather to the weakness 
 of the wine than to the intentional wisdom of 
 their actions. They were at any rate happy 
 without being intoxicated, a delightful com- 
 bination seldom arrived at by northern sol- 
 diery. 
 
 Just before we left the high road to follow 
 
 a salito, Ghivizzano came into view. It has a 
 
 fascinating appearance with its two towers and 
 
 churches, its complete aloofness from all 
 
 i57 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 modern standards. There are few towns 
 viewed from a distance which can equal this 
 one in its suggestion of antiquity. It belongs 
 to another age and to ideals of another sort. 
 However, while following a most delightful 
 lane towards this paradise of antiquity, we 
 were brought rather rudely to earth. A 
 peasant woman who had saluted us was 
 spoken to. She was carrying a burden on 
 her head, the like of which I would hardly 
 wish to bear on my shoulders for long. In 
 reference to the country she replied that it was 
 a " paese povero." I observed that it was so 
 little poor as to be rich in everything which 
 is worthy of being called wealth — in beauty, 
 in historical interest, and in a remarkably stal- 
 wart people, points of view which seemed to 
 be new to her. 
 
 The town is approached from this side by a 
 winding lane which towards its end follows 
 the old ditch or moat of the town. The 
 western gate, by which we entered, is cer- 
 tainly the original structure, with the machico- 
 lations complete. It is ornamented above by 
 a fresco of a later date of the Virgin. Inside 
 to the right are a series of arcades, now used 
 as submural streets, which undoubtedly were 
 158 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Ghimzzano 
 
 constructed by Castruccio Castracani for means 
 of defence. 
 
 Through the loopholes in these walls the 
 archers and bowmen fired on the enemy assault- 
 ing the town, and getting them by this means, 
 not, as was usual in mediaeval warfare, from 
 the top of the walls, but right down on a level 
 with the ditch, in fact defending the place by 
 a level fire just as the enemy had obtained the 
 protection of the walls. Castruccio was indeed 
 a gran capitano. These arcaded defences of the 
 old town give an especial character to it, for 
 though now they are used as ordinary byways, 
 they are dark even at noontide. 
 
 The church is a tenth-century structure of 
 no particular interest, but there are two monu- 
 ments of the Castracani family of about 1336. 
 The tower is a good example of early architec- 
 ture, but by no means to be compared with 
 the many beautiful campanili here about, of 
 which the one at Diecemo is perhaps the 
 finest. 
 
 From the main street and from the by- 
 streets there are curious covered shutes run- 
 ning steeply down to the arcades of which I 
 have spoken. These we may presume were 
 made for the purpose of supplying the de- 
 159 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 fenders at the walls with food and ammunition 
 when the shooting had begun. Here, in passing 
 down the rough street, I saw at a door a little 
 lady of some five years, open-eyed at the ap- 
 pearance of us foreigners. I went to her and 
 offered my hand, which she took with inimitable 
 grace, even with dignity, and kissed it. 
 
 After this we went to the rocca or castle close 
 to the parish church, which was built like the 
 other defences by the Gran Capitano, and which 
 shows that safety was esteemed by him of more 
 importance than comfort. Unfortunately the 
 original tower was destroyed in the fifteenth, 
 sixteenth, or seventeenth century, being re- 
 placed by a comparatively modern one. 
 
 We had explored most of the holes and 
 corners, quaint and even gruesome as some 
 of these were, and at the invitation of their 
 owners had entered many of the ancient 
 houses. 
 
 In one of these we found a hand-loom being 
 worked by a very old woman, who made a 
 coarse sort of cloth. The present inhabitants, 
 when they are not mere children, are usually 
 old ; middle age and adult youth hardly exist. 
 The women seemed to average eighty from 
 their appearance, which speaks well for the 
 1 60 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Ghivizzano 
 
 town's salubrity. However, the fact is that in 
 these hill communities a great number of the 
 able-bodied youth go abroad, to America or 
 England, for work, returning with their savings 
 from time to time, and alas ! generally investing 
 these by building appallingly ugly new houses. 
 How is it that in a country where of old so 
 much beauty in art was exemplified the present 
 inhabitants, though surrounded by magnificent 
 monuments of the taste of their forbears, build 
 to-day in a way so vile ? 
 
 Perhaps the charitable explanation of this 
 phenomenon is that people who have lived for 
 so long a time in older houses, in which 
 modern comfort is not easily attainable (and 
 Comfort is the chief of the Gods), by a 
 natural reaction, adopt everything new, in- 
 cluding its hideousness, as the only way of 
 ridding themselves of ancient constraint and 
 its incidental beauty. 
 
 From the very first moment of our arrival 
 the children of Ghivizzano had manifested a 
 sympathetic interest in all our doings, so we 
 decided to reward them with a bountiful distri- 
 bution of sweetstuifs. One elusive little lady 
 in black with a mantella had followed us, but 
 when we tried to catch her, she had run away 
 m 161 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 with the agility and the grace of a ballerina. 
 My little lupino dog, whose demonstrative ac- 
 tions had caused terror to reign among the 
 small people, may have been responsible for 
 this aloofness. However, we proceeded to the 
 only shop which sold sweets, and bought up 
 their whole supply. The shopkeeper quite ob- 
 viously, and perhaps quite naturally, tried to 
 make a profit of ioo rather than his usual 20 
 per centum. We were to him no doubt rich 
 foreigners, and money was no object to us, 
 though had he seen our bank balances he might 
 have displayed less ferocity in gain. We ob- 
 tained the sweets, however, at a fifth reduction 
 on his original price by means of argument, 
 persuasion, and inflexible determination. 
 
 Speaking of these little frauds of trades- 
 people in Italy, one encounters every day the 
 British tourist who with an expansive display 
 of virtue and of waistcoat will declare to you 
 that he does not mind paying, but hates being 
 cheated. Of course we all know that his 
 waistcoat is evidence before God and man 
 that he had no such high principle in his 
 own trade, for undoubtedly in commerce 
 the great proportion of the money made 
 is through the exploitation of the ignorance 
 162 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Ghimzzano 
 
 of the buyer. The legal precept " Caveat 
 emptor" proves it. I remember in the 
 buying of some shares a few years ago a stock- 
 broker who did this for me charged me just 
 double the commission which he ought to have 
 charged. When I remonstrated with him he 
 at once reduced his claim by one-half without 
 a word of shame or apology for this attempted 
 fraud. A short time after this I met this 
 wealthy citizen in Italy, and found him quite 
 hysterically angry with the Italians. A hotel- 
 keeper had charged him double for his wine, 
 and a curio seller had made him pay highly for 
 a worthless article. " There is no honesty 
 among these Italians, you cannot trust them." 
 He had forgotten my little matter of shares ! 
 In effect he charged double to those who did 
 not know and single to those who did, like my 
 friend the sweetstuff seller. I suppose the fact 
 is everybody dislikes being cheated, some for 
 one reason, some for another. Personally I 
 dislike it, not because it lowers my pride of 
 knowledge, for it is impossible for any one 
 person to know the actual value of everything 
 he buys, but rather because it lowers my moral 
 outlook. For instance we went to Ghivizzano 
 believing that all would be as glad at our ar- 
 163 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 rival as we were to visit them. I think the 
 people were so. The one man who tried to 
 cheat us might have poisoned our visit by 
 lowering our estimate of the people there. 
 He was committing a sin against my optim- 
 istic view of life, he was lowering my estimate 
 of human values, which was happily in this 
 case counteracted by a little girl who kissed 
 my hand — the adorable but elusive girl in the 
 mantella — and by many other good people 
 there. 
 
 We certainly left the little home of the rob- 
 ber chief and bridge-builder, Castruccio, not 
 with a less sympathy for human suffering nor 
 with a decreased belief in the goodness of men, 
 especially the children of men the beloved of 
 Christ, but an increased one ; but we left it 
 with a more profound contempt for those 
 things and methods which tend to set men 
 against men and the race against God, which 
 are exemplified by ugly actions and ugly sus- 
 picion, which are not the effect but more 
 often the cause of much of the evil in the 
 world. 
 
 We returned down the beautiful Serchio 
 valley to Bagni di Lucca, through peaceful 
 chestnut woods, under the pergolas of vines 
 164 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Ghivizzano 
 
 and through friendly hamlets, the inhabitants 
 of which were of those who, while suffering 
 much and enduring much, yet make the world 
 a better place by accepting their burdens 
 cheerfully. 
 
 165 
 
Chapter XIII — Mountain Villages of 
 the Lima Valley 
 
 THE beautiful valley of the Lima 
 has been written up and painted 
 until from sheer modesty the rush- 
 ing waters of the stream try to hide 
 themselves from the public gaze by taking 
 cover under their protecting rocks. But this 
 wide publicity ceased two generations ago when 
 the Grand Duke was politely but firmly put 
 over the frontier with the people's parting 
 words to the Prince, " Good-bye, Papa ! don't 
 come back again." At that time Bagni di 
 Lucca, being the winter residence of the little 
 court, was visited by many foreigners, chiefly, 
 I should judge, by the maiden great-aunts of 
 the present generation. These amiable ladies 
 wrote much about this country in the formal 
 copybook style of the early Victorian period, 
 and they sketched much in that formal and 
 very proper copybook manner. Their books 
 and pictures exude an atmosphere of Anglican- 
 ism, a patronising appreciation of " foreign " 
 166 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 landscape and an equally patronising contempt 
 for a people not so well bathed as themselves 
 and who had not the inestimable advantage of 
 having been brought up by a Church reformed 
 under Henry of blessed memory. 
 
 Nevertheless, though in times past this val- 
 ley has been described by many writers, it has 
 been so only from one and the less interesting 
 point of view, namely from the great high- 
 road which leads from Bagni di Lucca to the 
 other summer stations of Abetone and San 
 Marcello. Magnificent as undoubtedly the 
 scenes are one witnesses from the relative ease 
 of the local carriage, glimpses of precipice, of 
 waterfall, of gorge, of mountain peak, and 
 chestnut-clad hill, yet all these can be seen to 
 greater advantage from the heights above, and 
 in addition the traveller has the opportunity of 
 visiting a series of the most interesting and 
 engaging of mountain villages which it has 
 been my lot to explore. 
 
 Starting the other day by the path which 
 runs by the river and keeping for the most 
 part on the side of it away from the road, we 
 followed the bank of the stream as far as a 
 village called Pallegio. Up to this point the 
 valley is fairly narrow, dominated on both 
 167 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 sides by hills thickly clothed in chestnuts, 
 nearly every peak or ridge being crowned 
 by warlike - looking hamlets, tempered, per- 
 haps, by the square towers of the Christian 
 churches. 
 
 I say that the villages are warlike in appear- 
 ance, because in fact most of them are built 
 on the sites of mediaeval fortresses and have 
 largely been moulded into their present form 
 by the ancient ramparts. 
 
 At the village 1 have mentioned above the 
 valley contracts, forming a beautiful gorge, on 
 one side of which may be seen white precipices, 
 and on the other a glorious peak of grey rock. 
 Under the protection of this latter eminence 
 nestle two villages, Casoli and Cocciglia, grey 
 with age and further dignified by their position 
 high up on the mountain side. 
 
 The appearance, however, of Cocciglia from 
 this point is the more striking, framed as it is 
 by higher mountains, itself high up above the 
 world of men, and liberally displaying to the 
 stranger every bit of itself, every house, wall, 
 tower, arch, and even chimney, seen as it is 
 against a background of green and grey. 
 
 This was a bait which my artist friend could 
 not resist, so while I tried to get into human 
 1 68 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 intercourse with the observant children, he 
 essayed to make his canvas speak. One 
 pretty little fair-haired dot of three, habited 
 chiefly in what I should describe as cotton 
 knickerbockers, was gazing at us with round 
 and serious eyes, until my companion, neglect- 
 ing his village picture, attempted to make a 
 pen sketch of her. 
 
 It must be supposed she had no fancy for 
 the role of a professional model, for seeing she 
 was being sketched, she immediately turned 
 her back on us and with dignity expressed in 
 every movement of her shoulders deliberately 
 made her way home. 
 
 Nor did my hysterical offer of sweets alter 
 by one jot or tittle her determination not to 
 be immortalised on canvas. 
 
 Cocciglia, which had been sketched from 
 afar, however, now attracted us to it, so 
 mounting the steep path which leads from the 
 road, we, after fifteen perspiring minutes, 
 arrived at its lower houses. It is literally 
 a village of stairs and arches. 
 
 The steps which form its main street wander 
 
 hither and thither, to right and to left as 
 
 fancy dictates, sometimes plunging through 
 
 the dark tunnels of Norman arches, until at 
 
 169 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 last a miniature piazza is reached. Here we 
 found this place presided over by a remarkably 
 stout and handsome woman seated in the 
 shade and surrounded by her family of small 
 children. She very hospitably offered us re- 
 freshments, which offer we accepted to the 
 extent of a glass of wine. 
 
 The old church here is worthy of a visit, 
 but more especially the fortress above it, 
 though in ruins. It must have been a strong 
 place in its time, and tradition says that it was 
 a favourite refuge of the gallant Chiarello in 
 his fights with the Pallegians. 
 
 But now, having seen and sketched, our 
 object was to find the mountain path to Li- 
 mano, the outskirts of which could be just 
 seen up the valley. I am constantly surprised 
 at the confidence which peasants show in the 
 intelligence of strangers. The most sketchy 
 instructions as to routes appear to these 
 kindly people enough to secure the right path 
 being taken, and the right path is in conse- 
 quence by no means always found. One other 
 thing I have noticed, however, about the in- 
 formation obtained from the people of this 
 part of the country. They nearly always 
 underestimate the time necessary to go on 
 
 170 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 foot between these villages. This is the more 
 remarkable, for my experience both in war 
 and peace has been to the effect that country- 
 people usually overestimate distance. Perhaps 
 it may be accounted for here by the fact that 
 the native politeness of the Tuscan inclines 
 him to put heart into the presumably tired 
 stranger by minimising the difficulties to be 
 overcome ! 
 
 From this place the path runs along the 
 side of a precipice, rough in many parts, but 
 never dangerous, and the views not only of 
 the deep valley below one's feet, but of the 
 high ranges of the Apennines, are here truly 
 magnificent. After an hour's tramp, some- 
 times along these walls of rock, sometimes 
 under the shade of chestnut trees, always in 
 proximity of the vines, now in their most 
 perfect beauty, we arrived at the old town of 
 Limano. This place clings to the spur of a 
 mountain, and the houses straggle along it for 
 nearly a mile, being held up on its extreme 
 edge by the ancient church, as if so placed to 
 prevent the errant house from falling into the 
 valley below. 
 
 We entered from this side through one of 
 those arch-tunnels of which I have spoken 
 
 171 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 before, and made with almost indecent haste 
 for the inn. 
 
 A magnificent view may be seen from the 
 front room — opening on to a balcony — of this 
 place, where we found the whole family of 
 mine host, from the grandmother whose delicate 
 and refined face suggested suffering rather than 
 hard manual work, to the blooming grand- 
 daughter of three. Our landlord spoke French 
 — a clear and distinct relief to those who had 
 been struggling with a language but imperfectly 
 understood ; but had we been more proficient 
 Italian scholars than we can claim to be, it is 
 doubtful whether the people of this village 
 could have understood us. 
 
 They came originally from Corsica, it is 
 said, and still speak something of the patois of 
 that island, which they retain together with 
 many local customs. 
 
 We sauntered along the rough old street up 
 to the church, under which through arches 
 runs the path to some of the lower villages. 
 
 These archways are either the remains of 
 the vaults, or submural chapel, and are of ex- 
 traordinary interest. They are far and away 
 the most picturesque part of a highly pic- 
 turesque village. 
 
 172 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 I was most anxious to visit a neighbouring 
 village with the curious Latin name of Vico 
 Pancellorum, especially on account of a legend 
 which I had read of in an old Italian guide- 
 book. This story refers to the two towns of 
 Vico Pancellorum and Lucchio, both of them 
 possessing a somewhat striking history. They 
 were both border castles of the Republic of 
 Lucca and consequently in constant danger of 
 attack at the hands of the wealthy Republic of 
 Florence. For this reason and others the in- 
 habitants developed an ingrained aversion to 
 paying taxes. Indeed, I presume the tax col- 
 lector himself found the ascent somewhat 
 trying (about 1 900 feet), especially as he might 
 at any time on the way up expect a few rocks 
 rolled down on him by the free and indepen- 
 dent citizens of these places. At any rate it 
 is known that either for this reason or from 
 the fact that they were guardian towns they 
 were relieved of the duty of paying their quota 
 to the Lucca exchequer. To this day I am in- 
 formed that like a good many of us they are 
 opposed in principle to this form of fiscal 
 tyranny. 
 
 But the story of the two girls of Vico who 
 saved Lucchio is too good to be omitted. 
 173 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Years and years ago, somewhere in the fif- 
 teenth century, there was a naughty Captain 
 of Lucchio. He was bad and bold, and like all 
 such people had an especial liking for young and 
 pretty girls. In this respect he was sufficiently 
 human. At any rate it came about that he was 
 suspected of wishing to give up the fortress of 
 Lucchio to the Florentines, and was therefore 
 a traitor to his country and to his oath. The 
 patriotic people of Vico discussed this matter 
 among themselves, and it so happened that 
 it came to the ears of the two fairest maidens 
 of the place that this treachery was to be con- 
 summated on a certain night. Now Tasia and 
 Lucia had had some experience of the effect of 
 their beauty on men — all the male inhabitants 
 of the village were their slaves — so they deter- 
 mined to use this power to good purpose on 
 the susceptible heart of the treacherous governor 
 of the important fortress of Lucchio. The 
 old chroniclers do not tell us how these devoted 
 damsels crossed the deep-cut valley of the 
 Lima, nor how they approached the castle of the 
 Governor. We may reasonably assume that 
 they went alone and in disguise traversed the 
 old bridge, and ascended the perpendicular 
 heights towards sunset, secured by their virtue 
 i74 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 and the power of beauty over the hearts of men. 
 At the castle walls they sang plaintive songs, 
 songs which were of sufficient interest, or 
 resonance, to call the garrison to arms, and the 
 ever-ready Captain was among those who heard 
 their notes. 
 
 They were brought before him while at 
 table, and they pleased him not a little. They, 
 at any rate, received an invitation to his repast, 
 and accepted it. Now it is not clearly stated 
 what happened immediately after their arrival, 
 but we may reasonably presume feasting and 
 songs and the dance. 
 
 What we do know, however, is that the 
 Captain of Lucchio, having forgotten entirely 
 his rather important engagement with the 
 Florentines, was found next morning gagged 
 and securely bound to his proconsular bed- 
 post, the Florentine soldiery had not received 
 the keys of the castle, and Tasia and Lucia 
 were safe back in their homes before dawn. 
 
 It is satisfactory to know that the two 
 patriotic maidens received public recognition 
 of their services, and that Lucchio remains in 
 the Lucchese province to this day. 
 
 I left my companion busily sketching scenes 
 in Limano, and went down and up through 
 175 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the trees to Vico Pancellorum. The road is 
 pleasant, and its beauty was enhanced by a 
 group of three pretty girls — one in orange, 
 one in purple, and the other in red — who were 
 gracefully washing the household linen in a 
 shady dell beside a rushing stream. 
 
 The old church with its tower stands well 
 away and below the village surrounded by 
 woods, while the houses of the hamlet scramble 
 up the steep slope of a mountain — a place 
 picturesque, reposeful, superbly situated, but, 
 alas ! very poor. 
 
 One word as to its name. The Latin geni- 
 tive plural is very rarely found now — one 
 wonders how it has fallen into disuse — but 
 here we clearly have it. There are two ex- 
 planations given : either it means Vico — for 
 narrow street — of the Pancelli, or, from the 
 fact that it has for arms a communion cup and 
 bread, it is a contraction of panis ccelorum^ 
 bread of heaven. Now it is humanly certain 
 that the name is earlier than the general use 
 of armorial insignia, especially of communal 
 insignia ; consequently the latter explanation 
 must be rejected. It is more probable that 
 the arms were adopted on account of the name, 
 so commonly the custom of heralds. I think 
 176 
 
Mountain Villages of the Lima Valley 
 
 it is more than likely, however, that it takes 
 its name from a family of Pancelli, who would 
 themselves, when arms became hereditary in 
 the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, most 
 likely have adopted a charge which had a 
 punning reference to their name. 
 
 In this village, as in so many others, the 
 people speak a special dialect of their own. 
 
 Having returned to my artistic friend at 
 Limano, we left that village by the steep salita 
 which leads down to the main road, where we 
 chartered a light farm cart and returned to 
 Bagni. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Inn : 
 
 Limano : small Restaurant Morandi. 
 
 Roads and Paths : 
 
 From Bagni di Lucca take highroad to San Marcello 
 as far as the bridge (a little beyond Pallegio, 5 \ miles) ; then 
 take mule track beyond the bridge to left of road to Coccig- 
 lia, 1 5 minutes ; through Cocciglia past castle and to one 
 left bypath along the side of the ridge to Limano, 1 \ hours ; 
 Limano to Vico Pancellorum about one hour. 
 
 N 177 
 
Chapter XIV — Bagni di Lucca to 
 San Marcello and Pistoija 
 
 PART of this road has already been 
 followed, and a further portion seen 
 from the Apennines above, and though 
 I hold it is but a commonplace thing 
 to follow roads when there are wide and breezy 
 hills to be conquered, this particular journey 
 has so many attractions that I may be excused 
 in describing it. 
 
 I have said that the valley of the beautiful 
 Lima river is well known, especially to the 
 generation before the last, when Bagni was 
 a centre of the little Grand Ducal Court, but 
 the whole expedition between the Apennines 
 and over the Pistojese mountains is not so 
 commonly made. 
 
 It would be difficult, I think, to find a more 
 charmingly picturesque and romantic road 
 than that which passes through the gorge 
 under and between the mountain villages of 
 Cocciglia and Casoli. Precipices dominate the 
 road on either side, with glimpses above them 
 178 
 
VILLAGE IN THE LIMA VALLEY, FROM THE ROAD. 
 COCCIGLIA. 
 
Bagni di Lucca to San Marcello 
 
 let in of the chestnut woods, and beyond as 
 a background the awe-inspiring mountains of 
 the Libro Operto (open book) and Forno. 
 
 At about the distance of twelve kilometres, 
 we come to a few poor houses and a quaint 
 bridge over the Lima, which has the curious 
 name of Tana termini, or frontier cave, because 
 here there is a grotto of portentous length, and 
 the bridge marks the boundary of the provinces 
 of Lucca and of Florence. The first time I 
 was there, inspired by a spirit of adventure 
 and appropriately accompanied by a medical 
 friend, I explored this cave. In going there I 
 had imagined that it was in some way com- 
 parable to the great caves of South Africa, 
 which, though they cause you to adopt many 
 unnatural methods of progression when far 
 inside them, generally have pleasantly wide 
 and hospitable front doors. This one, how- 
 ever, causes you from the start to adopt a 
 crawling motion, and when I had done this for 
 about twenty yards I began to realise the 
 charms of the wide heavens and ordinary loco- 
 motion — and returned. It is said, however, 
 that some persons of peculiar tastes have spent 
 no less than two days and one night without 
 being able to find the end of this grotto. I 
 179 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 was quite as successful as these adventurers 
 after a ten minutes' experience ! 
 
 From this place ascends the mountainous 
 path to the village of Lucchio, which from here 
 looks as if it had been gummed to the side of 
 a precipice, so steep is the hill on which it is 
 built. The first time I ascended to this 
 mountain fortress I was in the company of 
 a particularly merry party who had driven here 
 in a wagonette. We had started to ascend it 
 with joy and high hopes, particularly high 
 hopes, but it was remarkable how gradually 
 the joy was changed to sadness and the hopes 
 to despair, as on that peculiarly hot day we 
 struggled up the mountain, burdened by the 
 much-wished-for lunch. However, we spent 
 a very pleasant day rambling through the 
 almost vertical lanes of this wonderful place, 
 
 and accompanied by Baron de C we paid 
 
 a visit to Conte de St. G , who lives in 
 
 solitary nobility in the only new house in the 
 place. 1 found in the latter a man who 
 possesses some English blood and who speaks 
 our language extremely well. 
 
 But our road to San Marcello leaves Lucchio 
 on the right hand, and from the bridge we 
 ascend a long hill to the village of Popiglio, in 
 1 80 
 
Bagni di Lucca to San Marcello 
 
 the church of which may be seen some remark- 
 ably fine vestments, for those who take an 
 interest in such things. All along the valley 
 of the Lima in every small hamlet may be 
 noticed paper-mills, worked by water-power. 
 Many of these are co-operative concerns, and 
 very successful. It is always noticeable how 
 popular co-operation has become in Italy, for 
 not only in these places, but almost in every 
 small town, you notice a co-operative bank, 
 Banco Popolare, an institution run in conso- 
 nance with this system, and which provides 
 for the people an easy method of raising 
 money for improvements. 
 
 There is another remarkable institution 
 often found in the small towns, which appeals 
 to me as excellent, namely the Conciliation 
 Committee, a voluntary board appointed to 
 settle disputes, where would-be litigants are 
 invited to have their quarrels arranged gratis. 
 How this would appeal to the lawyers I know 
 not, but it seems useful for the laity. 
 
 There is a beautiful run down from Popiglio 
 to the Ponte del Lima, a handsome bridge 
 constructed by one of the Grand Dukes, near 
 which are situated the extensive paper-mills of 
 Commendatore Cini. This gentleman, who, 
 
 181 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 like my friend at Lucchio, is blessed or cursed 
 with some British blood, has done a very 
 great deal for the improvement of the con- 
 ditions of labour ; indeed, he is one of the 
 most progressive employers in Italy, and 
 there are many progressive employers in that 
 country. I have never had an opportunity of 
 visiting these works, but I am told that they 
 are model factories. 
 
 At Ponte del Lima the highroad to Abetone 
 branches off, and in the summer may be seen 
 motor and other heavy carts taking the pro- 
 visions to that high mountain resort, which I 
 have elsewhere described. The road now 
 ascends to San Marcello, which is a charming 
 little village, placed high up on a grassy spur 
 of the mountains — a great resort of Italians 
 driven away from their baking cities in June, 
 July, and August. Here we were determined 
 to lunch, and did so very comfortably at a 
 restaurant in the village. But I could not 
 pass through this place without paying a visit 
 to my relative Baroness French, who has a 
 charming rustic villa called II Nido (the 
 Nest), right up above the town, among the 
 chestnut woods. 
 
 To get there the nearest and most beautiful 
 182 
 
Bagni di Lucca to San Marcello 
 
 way is through the grounds of the Villa Cini, 
 the country residence of the gentleman men- 
 tioned above, and having an introduction to 
 him, I availed myself of it. These are ex- 
 tremely well worthy a visit, for everything 
 which water and high cultivation, combined 
 with much taste, can do has been done to make 
 them a miniature paradise. Cascades and 
 fountains, grass of greenness worthy of Ireland, 
 and shady bowers are to be seen everywhere, 
 and one cannot imagine a more delightful place 
 in which to rest on a grilling Italian day. 
 
 Having paid the visit to my relative, who 
 is among the most politically active of Italian 
 women, the President of the Women's Liberal 
 Association, with which we recently worked 
 cordially in attempting to relieve the sufferers 
 from the earthquake in Sicily, I returned and 
 we mounted our bicycles for the further ascent. 
 We wound our way at first through charming 
 meadows bounded always by the chestnuts, and 
 backed by the higher peaks, to the summit of 
 the watershed between the Lima and the 
 Romagna plain towards Bologna — and then a 
 run down of a mile or so until we join the 
 Pracchia-Pistoija road. But here, instead of 
 going into Pracchia, we turn to the right and 
 183 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 south through a lovely valley which sometimes 
 narrows to a gorge, and gently up again some 
 miles until the watershed of the Pistoijese 
 mountains is gained at the picturesque village 
 of Piastre. 
 
 Now a truly magnificent view is opened up, 
 an amphitheatre of mountains clothed richly 
 with forests, ornamented with innumerable 
 villages and farms, and below thousands of feet 
 down in the Arno plain the quaint city of 
 Pistoija for its radiant centre-piece. And 
 from here, passing through many a quaint 
 village and town, we coasted right down to the 
 very gates of the city without a conscious 
 movement of the pedal, and arrived at the 
 station exactly five minutes before the last 
 train started to take us back. 
 
 It was a truly pleasant expedition, and one 
 which, as it is in no wise a lengthy one, I 
 commend to all those who enjoy grandiose 
 scenery and quaint village life. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 San Marcello : Albergo della Posta. 
 Pistoija : Albergo del Globo. 
 
 184 
 
Chapter XV — Bagni di Lucca to 
 Pescia and Monte Catini. 
 
 IN our hotel on the hill above Bagni di 
 Lucca we were this year a pleasant 
 party, but it happened we were not an 
 energetic one. In truth, I fear I had 
 frightened some possible victims, for the 
 report was spread that I was a terrible man for 
 walking, and had completely disabled one or 
 two amiable persons. It was hardly a vera- 
 cious account, because the only person to whom 
 I could trace this florid picture of my 
 alleged misdemeanours was an elderly bachelor 
 who had himself proposed to bicycle with me. 
 He had told me that he could easily manage 
 fifty miles, and the first day I rode with him 
 he suddenly collapsed at twenty and asserted 
 that he was so tired that he believed he was 
 going blind. I dare say he was. I make no 
 comment, but clearly he had misled me in 
 respect to fifty-mile power. 
 
 Therefore this season I was, so far as 
 walking was concerned, somewhat left to 
 185 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 my own resources — but it happened that 
 " Amerigo " turned up to save the situation. 
 His first introduction to me was in an in- 
 cident which was at least as unpleasing to me 
 as it could have been to him. Amerigo had 
 been employed as a young waiter in the hotel : 
 he was a peasant youth from a farm down 
 by the river at Bagni di Villa. Naturally he 
 was not, perhaps, an expert waiter, and I forget 
 what happened, he gave me mint sauce with 
 my fish, or bread sauce with my mutton — or 
 something of a venial kind like these — and the 
 head-waiter punished him with dismissal. 
 When I heard of this I was so conscience- 
 stricken — for after all I am sure mint sauce 
 would go very well with fish, and as far as I 
 know bread sauce with mutton — that I found 
 out where he lived and went to see him. He, 
 I found, lived in a little farm among the vines, 
 which place I think must appear in one of the 
 pictures in this book. At any rate I went to 
 see him and his family and made my apologies 
 to him. The mother, and indeed all the 
 numerous tribe of brothers and sisters, re- 
 ceived me with the usual cordiality of the 
 Italian peasant farmer. I was offered the 
 home-made wine, and the excellent polenta. 
 186 
 
OLD HOUSES ON THE LIMA NEAR AMERIGO'S HOME. 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Peseta 
 
 No aspersion is here cast on the wine ; it is, I 
 am sure, good, but it does not agree with me. 
 
 As Amerigo had nothing to do since his 
 failure as a waiter, and seeing that he was 
 a strong young man of twenty or so, I pro- 
 posed to him that he should join me in some 
 walks as my guide, feeling sure that he would 
 not go blind at twenty miles. 
 
 So it was settled that next day we should 
 go over the high hills, through the chestnut 
 forests to Monte Catini — a place which people 
 with disordered livers frequent. 
 
 At an early hour the next morning Amer- 
 igo was waiting for me, and we started along 
 the beautiful road which the last Duke of 
 Tuscany — he who was the father, I sup- 
 pose, of the Princess Luisa by marriage, 
 Crown Princess (and Queen) of Saxony, and 
 by a second alliance Signora Tosseli, the wife 
 of a musician in Florence. I may perhaps 
 be allowed to mention that this lady's es- 
 capades have caused us some little incon- 
 venience. I do not pretend to know the ins 
 and outs of her story, but I do know that 
 when she first came to Florence, having then 
 run away from her husband, the King of 
 Saxony, and herself a daughter of the late 
 187 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany, I felt no little 
 sympathy for her. For this reason : I was 
 informed that she was encompassed by spies, 
 and that her daughter Monica, who was clearly 
 not the daughter of her husband the King, 
 was the object of persons who wished to 
 kidnap her and take the child back to Saxony 
 against the mother's wish. Of course, I was 
 told that she was the injured person. 
 
 Moreover, I had heard some things which 
 I did not believe — such, for instance, as men 
 boasting of their liaisons with her — entirely 
 nasty things, and unchivalrous. 
 
 Up to this point, therefore, thinking she 
 was persecuted, I was quite prepared, and 
 indeed did offer, to organise a guard for her 
 which would at least have made it difficult for 
 her persecutors to effect much. 
 
 But then some kindly English ladies pro- 
 posed that she should be received, and that my 
 wife should be among those to receive her. 
 And then I told these kindly people that, 
 though I had no prejudices at all, my wife 
 must first receive erring dressmakers before 
 she received erring princesses, or queens ; and 
 neither she nor these estimable ladies had done 
 this yet. 
 
 188 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Pescia 
 
 To resume our walk, which, I fear, is con- 
 stantly being interrupted by thoughts of 
 matters which occurred about this time. The 
 Grand Duke's pathway from the hot baths 
 to Villa is quite one of the most beautiful 
 I know. There are glorious views of the 
 Apennines, peak after peak, of the Lima and 
 Serchio rivers, cutting their way through 
 those mountains and making profound gorges 
 of the valleys on all sides. And, above all, 
 the refreshing chestnut woods, which here 
 cover the hills almost to their summits. 
 These, when you know peasant life in Italy, 
 are not only beautiful but extraordinarily 
 beneficial. What some of my peasant friends 
 would do without the aid which these kindly 
 trees afford in the winter for food I cannot 
 imagine. For cakes and bread are made from 
 these, and the products of the forests are 
 free to the people, and give subsistence to 
 thousands who in bad seasons would other- 
 wise have to depend on charity. Nature's 
 charity, or, rather, justice, is better than 
 man's, because it is given without con- 
 descension and without the suspicion of 
 reproach. 
 
 We walked down to Bagni di Villa, crossing 
 189 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the Lima, and up the steep hill, which has 
 on its side the village of Benabbio. We 
 passed on the way a lonely house, called the 
 ghost-house, where a suicidal spirit is sup- 
 posed to be seen. I have stalked that ghost 
 very often, and he has with obstinate persist- 
 ence evaded me. So has my own pet Family 
 Ghost, a lady in white, with a splotch of 
 blood over her breast, who runs, it is said, 
 from the hall into the park and dies there 
 repeatedly, as she died, in fact, three hundred 
 years ago. I am most interested in her, but 
 she never appears to me, which is unkind, 
 though I have waited for her for hours, and 
 she does, it seems, condescend to strangers. 
 Perhaps the Society for Psychical Research 
 will afford me some explanation why those 
 persons most interested in spooks are alone 
 those of whom these phenomena appear to be 
 most shy. At any rate, we saw no sign of 
 the hanged man at this house, and climbed 
 up thence to Benabbio, unaffrighted. This 
 little village is privileged by having — the only 
 hill village about here which has it — a quite 
 excellently engineered road leading to it. So 
 it is much better known to the tourist than 
 most. 
 
 190 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Pescia 
 
 The little church at Benabbio is one not 
 lacking in interest, seeing that it was built 
 as early as the twelfth century. It has a 
 high campanile, I think the original one, 
 from which the whole Lima family can be 
 seen ; and behind the altar is to be found — 
 and if you are fortunate in meeting the priest, 
 who is an enthusiast, can be understood — a 
 picture in the school of Giotto, of the Ascen- 
 sion, which in beauty is hardly excelled in any 
 contemporaneous work. 
 
 We passed through the little village square, 
 being greeted on all sides by the villagers, 
 for my guide Amerigo appeared to be a 
 popular person, and up again into the chest- 
 nut woods. On the left and above is the 
 ruined castle, which I am told once belonged 
 to my historic friend Castruccio Castracani, 
 of whom I have often spoken, and to which 
 place he brought back from exile the noble 
 poet Lupari, who had been expelled by the 
 Guelphs about 1305. My hero Castruccio 
 did a lot of good things in his time, besides 
 looting and building fine bridges. 
 
 Now we passed up a salita, and gradually at 
 about five miles from the village approached 
 the highest point of the ridge which divides 
 191 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the Lima valley from that of the Arno, which 
 point is not lacking in dignity, as it is about 
 as high as the highest mountain in England. 
 From here you can see Pistoija, Florence, and 
 the rich valley of the Arno, as well as on the 
 other side the rugged scenery of the Apennines. 
 Just below the summit and on the other side 
 of it, appeared the Bell Tower of the little 
 village of Boveglio. Here I met, at the first 
 inn I entered, the only rude host I have ever 
 encountered in Italy. It is true I believe he 
 was drunk or recovering from the effects of a 
 carouse, but he certainly did not welcome me 
 with the smile which one becomes so accus- 
 tomed to expect in Italian houses of resort. 
 I was thinking of this question of smiling, 
 when only a few days ago it was my privilege 
 to preach in the parish church of my family a 
 sermon on " Christianity and Courtesy." One 
 notices among the southern races of Europe 
 that a smile seems to come natural to them 
 in greeting — and it is a happy greeting. 
 With us in the North, though often they are 
 glad to see us, an ominously solemn expression 
 is the rule. I wonder whether it is climatic 
 or constitutional ; at any rate it is unpleasing 
 to me, and in some way which I cannot 
 192 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Pescia 
 
 explain or justify, shuts off the good which is 
 in me. 
 
 Could we not train our youths to smile in 
 our Board Schools ? However, this man was 
 quite English in his greeting, so much so that 
 I left his house and went to one where I was 
 received by an amply developed lady, who 
 expressed in every crease in her large figure 
 her pleasure at seeing us. And we lunched 
 well under her kindly administration, and 
 I noticed that which I had observed often 
 before in similar houses, that there was a coat- 
 of-arms on the wall of the family, that of the 
 hostess, by name Lazzari. It had a baron's 
 crown and certainly a knightly helmet, and 
 was quite a good coat-of-arms from an heraldic 
 point of view. One wonders whether some 
 of the old great families are not now in these 
 humble positions ; and, as I have said before, 
 there is every evidence of this in the extra- 
 ordinary distinction of the faces of some of 
 the elder peasants. English dukes and baronets 
 are not in it with some of them ! 
 
 The way down from this old town on the 
 hills is by a stone pathway especially con- 
 structed for mules, but half a mile or so in 
 the valley, a carriage road commences, which 
 o 193 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 leads eventually to a junction on the Pistoija- 
 Lucca line. 
 
 We followed this road until we came to a 
 village which was especially distinguished by 
 a magnificent seventeenth -century villa (or 
 country house built in urban style), with a 
 garden — a real Italian garden — such as we have 
 been copying through the centuries, and which 
 now can almost only be found in English 
 country houses. The Italian garden, with its 
 cropped box-hedges, its statues, its fountains, 
 its general and to me rather objectionable sense 
 of formality, came to England in the sixteenth 
 century and almost ceased to exist in Italy in 
 the seventeenth. We adopted it, and in a very 
 particular way a fathered " it, while its natural 
 parent renounced his offspring. 
 
 Here, however, at Collodi is the most com- 
 plete example of the Italian garden I have 
 ever seen, and it is on the road. You cannot 
 pass it without seeing it, and no member of 
 the family enjoying this pleasaunce can brush 
 his hat or remove a fly from his coat without 
 being seen from the road. 
 
 There are two things which are suggested 
 by this house. In England a villa means a 
 little house, suburban or what not. No man 
 194 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Peseta 
 
 if he can help it will willingly live in a villa ; 
 indeed, I have seen some villas in the suburbs 
 of London dubbed Normanhurst, Alnwick, 
 Roseneath, or Raby House, to avoid the name 
 of villa. Silly as this may seem — for it is 
 always silly to pretend to be what you are not 
 — it is perhaps the more ridiculous when we 
 consider the origin of the word villa — country 
 house. 
 
 The Romans clearly brought it to us in this 
 sense, and if Windsor or Warwick Castles 
 were in Italy they would assuredly be called 
 Villa Windsor or Villa Warwick. But while 
 the Roman's villa became a court, a hall, or a 
 castle in England, and the name villa has been 
 relegated to the houses of suburban genteel 
 folk, the appurtenances of the villa remain in 
 the village, which is no more than the houses 
 near the Roman villa, and the villain who is 
 no more than the occupant of such houses. 
 
 From this village we left the rc°.d, passing 
 to the left through olive woods up and down 
 for two miles or so to Pescia, the small but 
 picturesque episcopal city, the Bishopric of 
 which, I believe, is still held as an hereditary 
 right by a certain Florentine family, much in 
 the same way as the patronage of our livings is 
 i95 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 still retained by our own families. A Bishopric 
 may seem a more formidable privilege than 
 ours of livings, but when it is remembered that 
 such a see would be worth not perhaps as much 
 as £i$o a year, and many of my cousins and 
 neighbours in England own many livings of 
 more value than £s°° each, it need not 
 scandalise us. Pescia is a joyful little town 
 built on the banks of a rushing stream, where 
 on market day may be seen gathered the whole 
 country-side in flaring colours and in genial 
 mood. 
 
 The geniality of the people of the South 
 pleases and astonishes me. An Italian friend 
 of mine described it as God's grace, and if it 
 be, or even if it be the effect of a better 
 digestion, we may reasonably pray that it may 
 be granted to us. 
 
 A walk of a few miles brought us to Monte- 
 catini, where, after reasonable refreshment, 
 Amerigo and I took train for home. 
 
 Practical Information. 
 
 Montecatini. Hotel della Place, pension 1 1 francs. 
 
 196 
 
Chapter XVI — Bagni di Lucca by the 
 Pizzorne to Lucca and the Volto Santo 
 
 MY first attempt to arrive at Lucca 
 over the high plateau of the 
 Pizzorne was somewhat disas- 
 trous. This was possibly due 
 to the fact that I started too late and alone. 
 Of course I cannot say what my readers feel 
 on the subject of lonely walks. Some poets, 
 many historians, more scientists, have asserted 
 that they prefer walking alone, and generally 
 of those who have said it I like neither their 
 poetry, their history, nor their science. I can 
 imagine a sentient human bicycling alone or 
 riding on horseback alone — in either case 
 a certain interest is created by the energy 
 necessary to keep in the saddle ; but to walk 
 alone, where at any rate you cannot fall off 
 unless off the globe itself, is to me a penance, 
 an act of self-immolation. For walking is of 
 the sort of exercise which stimulates the 
 mental machinery in man, and this energy has 
 to be let off somewhere. It is true I have 
 197 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 met men walking alone and apparently address- 
 ing the trees, the rivers, and the creatures 
 which dwell in them, in eloquent and no 
 doubt convincing terms. I noticed, however, 
 that there was no response, and the essence of 
 human intercourse surely is that there must 
 be response. I have addressed village meet- 
 ings in what I thought at the time were 
 eloquent and convincing words, and yet re- 
 ceived no reply, either way, until at times 
 I would have given half a crown to any man 
 who would have stood up and called me 
 a liar. This is the effect which walking alone 
 has on me. It stimulates my brain, but there 
 is no responsive being on whom to act and 
 react. It is as a speech to a meeting of village 
 bumpkins. 
 
 The journey up to Lugliano, the pic- 
 turesque village which dominates the valley of 
 the Lima at Bagni di Lucca, is well known. 
 
 Everyone who has been to Bagni di Lucca 
 knows well the road up to this mountain 
 fortress, for it is truly this, having been built, 
 so far as the old village is concerned, on the 
 exact lines of the citadel. I am very fond of 
 Lugliano and of the people there, for I know 
 it and them very well. I presume other 
 
 198 
 

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 1 fiBlA 
 
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 P" Vff, 
 
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 I/UGLIANO. 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 people have liked them also, for the fountain 
 was given to them in 1825 by Lady Bute and 
 Lord Sandon to commemorate their stay for 
 a season in the village. There is a large ash 
 tree in the garden of the villa of Signor 
 Politi, which is certainly the largest ash I 
 have ever seen, and under the branches of 
 which, I should say, twenty people might com- 
 fortably dine, and from it one of the finest 
 views can be enjoyed. 
 
 Passing through the village I went on up- 
 ward through the trees. I had been provided 
 with a scheme purporting to be directions as 
 to my route to the Pizzorne. To err is 
 human, to forgive divine. Divinely I forgive 
 the author of this scheme, but I do not forget ; 
 for the scheme led me into every hole and 
 corner which is possible of conception, and in 
 a wilderness of trees and along forest ridges 
 of inconceivable fertility. It is true I enjoyed 
 it all, even made friends with the two peasant 
 boys I met in this desert, and always appreci- 
 ated the magnificent views which my lonely 
 journey allowed me to enjoy. I went on and 
 on, through copses, through woods, always at 
 or near the ridges of high mountains ; but 
 never did it seem I came to San Bartolommeo 
 199 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 (which 1 had imagined was a village, but what 
 it is really I will tell you later). At last I 
 arrived at a valley of rocks, where, at any 
 rate sometimes, people worked for stone, but 
 they did not do so that day. There were 
 tram lines for trucks — quite human things I 
 thought them in my lonely mood, but neither 
 trucks nor men were to be seen. I felt as the 
 imaginative writers have made us feel — a man 
 in a moribund moon, a desert which had been 
 inhabited by man, but now deserted. Still, 
 however, I struggled onward through copse 
 and jungle, for I had in me a certain pride ; 
 for had I not been on the veld in South 
 Africa without compass, without guide, and 
 without instruction ? There I had worried 
 through ; but here the deadly silence — there 
 was no silence, at any rate, in South Africa ; 
 Tommy Atkins arranged that — appalled me. 
 Really it appalled me, and now it was growing 
 dark. So I gave up the attempt, and made 
 for the nearest valley, where at any rate 
 men lived and spoke. Down a kloof by a 
 winding stream, without path, and with but 
 little light to guide me until I arrived at a 
 village called Corsagna. Blessed village ! 
 Even here my troubles were not ended, for 
 200 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 still two miles of a path remained before the 
 road was reached, and this path I found try- 
 ing enough, because the enterprising inhabit- 
 ants of these villages have here established an 
 electrical system, a quite good system, but 
 extremely inconvenient to the wayfarer after 
 night sets in, and dark night of a kind which 
 can only be realised under the trees of a moun- 
 tain valley. So completely puzzled was I in 
 the labyrinths of small paths bordering on 
 deep canals — horribly deep canals, and extra- 
 ordinarily narrow paths — that, arriving at an 
 electric station, I decided to either stay under 
 its shade for the night or, as seemed improb- 
 able, awaken the dead in it ; for the whole 
 place looked dead — not a light anywhere, and 
 in the heavens not the sign of a star, and 
 canals everywhere ! 
 
 I knocked for some minutes, and at last 
 was greeted by a young man who had evi- 
 dently just retired. He very kindly took me 
 in hand, and, having obtained some straw, lit 
 it, and by the light it gave me proceeded 
 along the impossible path to Ponte a Ser- 
 raglio. 
 
 But I am sure that in war I have never 
 been nearer death than I was on that dark 
 20 1 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 night in the valley of Pizzorne, close to Bagni 
 di Lucca. 
 
 Thus my first attempt failed. Fortu- 
 nately there arrived at the hotel a Russian 
 gentleman, who was keen for expedi- 
 tions, and he and I agreed to make the 
 trek to Pizzorne together. This time, how- 
 ever, we started early, and went by Benabbio, 
 a journey which I have described in another 
 place. I again took Amerigo for our guide 
 and porter, rather to give him something to 
 do than of necessity. From Benabbio, pass- 
 ing under a curious arch, the road to Pizzorne 
 keeps for a few miles fairly level. Every 
 now and again there are wonderful glimpses 
 of endless chestnut-clad ridges, and one ex- 
 quisite picture, where Brandelia is seen a 
 veritable crown to the high mountain on 
 which it reposes. My Russian friend, who 
 speaks English perfectly, and who knows our 
 country well, is married to a charming com- 
 patriot who was educated at Newnham. We 
 found many subjects in common, the more 
 especially, as the lady is an ardent suffra- 
 gette or suffragist (I do not know the differ- 
 ence), and I had but recently joined the 
 party in favour of votes for women. We 
 202 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 discussed a point in this question not too 
 often referred to, and appropriate, seeing that 
 we too were of different nationality, namely, 
 the effect which the concession of voting 
 power to the female sex might have on inter- 
 national relations. I have always maintained 
 that women, though, as we found them in 
 South Africa, the most patriotic defenders of 
 their own country, would, nevertheless, be 
 generally opposed to aggressive warfare, be- 
 cause it would require their husbands' and sons' 
 service abroad. I suppose it would depend 
 greatly on whether they wished to get rid of 
 them or not, for I remember one lady who it 
 was said went to the War Office and volun- 
 teered her husband's services, and I know 
 one Boer woman who, when her goodman 
 surrendered, refused to live in the same house 
 with one she called a coward. 
 
 In discussing these questions we passed up 
 through the forests until we arrived at the little 
 pilgrimage chapel of San Bartolommeo, which 
 is just under the crest of Monte Barbona, 3250 
 feet. From this point you get a most magnifi- 
 cent view of the Arno valley right up to Flor- 
 ence and beyond it to the Vallombrosan moun- 
 tains, and the panorama includes the ancient 
 203 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 cities of Lucca, Pistoija; and on the other side 
 glimpses are seen of the steep Serchio valley, 
 backed by the sharp peaks of the Apuans. 
 
 To this chapel (where until comparatively 
 recently a hermit dwelt), one day in August, a 
 pilgrimage is made, which like most of them 
 combines the attraction of religious excite- 
 ment with that of an innocent frolic. Hundreds 
 of peasants and their families make their way 
 up to this high spot, take part in the religious 
 ceremony, and then, booths having been fixed 
 up, they dance on the green until a late hour. 
 The Roman Catholic Church has a happy 
 knack of combining duty and pleasure, which 
 might wisely be copied by other denomina- 
 tions. 
 
 The descent on the Lucca side is magnifi- 
 cently steep — almost precipitous ; and here, un- 
 like the other side, unforested. On our way 
 down we passed a curious farm, where I noticed 
 an enormous number of nets, and on enquiry 
 found that it was exclusively a bird-netting 
 farm, the birds being sold for food, or for cages. 
 To us this was not agreeable, for my Italian 
 friends, with many excellent qualities, yet 
 have the altogether atrocious custom of 
 blinding the birds to make them, as they 
 204 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 believe, sing better. I have argued with them 
 until I was tired, but without ever making 
 them understand the barbarity of this habit. 
 
 After passing around a magnificent amphi- 
 theatre of precipices, you double over a spur 
 of the hills and descend on the little village 
 of Matraja, almost as from a balloon. The 
 plateau of Pizzorne, over which we had now 
 passed, must be some miles broad, and over 
 3000 feet above the sea. Here there are 
 delightfully green pasture lands, interspersed 
 with trees, resembling an English park. I 
 should imagine it an ideal place for a summer 
 hotel. 
 
 At Matraja we had a second lunch in an 
 inn, the only one, where we found both host 
 and hostess most interested in everything about 
 us. To them a Russian was somewhat of a 
 novelty, and it took us some time to persuade 
 them that my friend really was a subject of the 
 Czar. I think they expected a Russian to be 
 dressed en Cosacq — and not as this one was, by 
 a London tailor. The host told us he was 
 a tenant of a certain marchese (whom he called 
 by his Christian name), and that they looked 
 forward for the pilgrimage day as the most 
 profitable one of the year, for they had the 
 205 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 contract to supply the pilgrims with dinner 
 upon the top. 
 
 The way down to Ponte a Moriano is steep 
 enough, and on approaching this latter place 
 you pass some magnificent though generally 
 unoccupied villas, this having been in old days 
 the favourite summer residence of the Lucchese 
 aristocracy. 
 
 I was due to pay a visit at one of these, 
 our kind friends the Marchese and Marchesa 
 
 B and their charming family. The 
 
 daughters and sons of this house are im- 
 mensely fond of walking, and many a pleasant 
 expedition in the mountains have I made in 
 their company. 
 
 The immense house in which we were all 
 welcomed is one of those built, I suppose, in 
 the seventeenth or early eighteenth century, 
 which is so large one wonders how any family 
 could occupy it. Of course this was effected 
 by the kindly habit of the Italians of welcoming 
 all branches of their relations under the same 
 roof, married sons and daughters with their 
 wives and husbands. 
 
 Now, alas ! though it is occupied in the 
 summer months it is only partially furnished 
 and looks bare enough. 
 206 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 This family, one of the oldest in Lucca, 
 reside now in Pisa, where the father is a 
 professor at the university, and what he once 
 told me illustrates one phase of Italian life. 
 When he first came to live at Pisa he was 
 looked at as quite a stranger by the nobles 
 there. At heart, in spite of United Italy, 
 these little states remain separate, even 
 though, as in this case, they are only a few 
 miles apart. 
 
 It was with this gentleman that a year ago 
 we tried some experiments with nitrobacterine, 
 the inoculation of the seeds of vegetables 
 with a germ which has the unique characteristic 
 of extracting the nitrogen from the air and 
 fixing it in the soil, and it was through this 
 that I became acquainted (only slightly it is 
 true) with three pretenders to thrones or their 
 relations — the Duchess of Parma, a daughter 
 of Don Carlos of Spain, and Don Miguel of 
 Portugal. 
 
 With much regret I left my friends as we 
 had to proceed to Lucca, where the next day 
 we were to see the famous Volto Santo, the 
 life-sized wooden crucifix whose history is 
 roughly this : A long time ago, somewhere in 
 the eighth or ninth century — but dates in these 
 207 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 matters are of but the slightest importance — 
 a holy Bishop of Lucca had a vision, a dream, 
 or what not, which informed him that a great 
 crucifix which had been carved out of wood 
 by one of the apostles was about to arrive on 
 the coast near there. So the Bishop, being 
 convinced that he was especially enjoined to 
 receive it, with due ceremony, accompanied 
 by his priests and retainers, journeyed to the 
 nearest point on the coast, which then, be 
 it remembered, was much nearer than now, 
 as the mud of the rivers has since pushed the 
 Mediterranean far back. Sure enough, on 
 the horizon was seen a solitary boat drifting 
 towards the coast, and when near enough it 
 was found to contain a great wooden crucifix, 
 but no living occupant. There was much 
 prayer and holy rejoicing at this miracle, so 
 much so that the adjoining Bishop of Pisa 
 heard of it, and sallied forth also in all the 
 pomp and dignity of episcopal glory. It 
 happened that where the sacred relic landed 
 was Pisan soil, and a dispute arose between the 
 Bishops as to whom the great figure belonged. 
 Mind you, it is a nice point, and if as a magis- 
 trate this case had been before me I feel very 
 uncertain as to which claimant I should have 
 208 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 adjudged the relic, and am quite certain the 
 learned judges of the appeal would have 
 divided as equally as possible on it and have 
 mulcted the litigants in enormous fees for so 
 doing. Lucca's claim was visionary in that 
 Lucca had the vision, which clearly indicated 
 that her Bishop had an especial interest in the 
 wooden figure which came by sea, and at that 
 period, as far as I know, Lucchese territory did 
 not touch the sea. On the other hand, though 
 clearly Pisa had not been vouchsafed a vision, 
 the sacred image had obviously chosen Pisan 
 territory to land on. I should say that in law 
 clearly it was Pisan, but in equity, overriding 
 law, it belonged to Lucca. So it turned out, for 
 after the bishops had wrangled for a day or 
 two, some genius suggested that to save time 
 the wooden effigy should be put into an ox- 
 wagon and have done with the contentions. 
 This was done, and as soon as it was so placed 
 off trotted the oxen — (as a matter of fact oxen 
 do not trot, but it would be a pity to spoil the 
 story for this fact) — straight to Lucca. This 
 was conclusive, and the Pisan Bishop returned 
 to his see disconsolate. But the oxen not 
 only " trotted " to Lucca, but, being obstinate 
 animals — I know oxen, and can vouch for 
 p 209 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 this — went not to the chief church [then the 
 cathedral] San Michele, but to a waste space of 
 land under and inside the walls, where they 
 stopped, and all the active and virulent atten- 
 tion of their drivers could not move them. 
 
 So the great crucifix was taken from the 
 wagon and brought on the shoulders of men 
 to the church of S. Michele and there left. 
 
 The next morning, to the surprise of many 
 and the exasperation of all, it was found that 
 the relic had removed itself, or been removed, 
 from the church to the waste land near the 
 walls. It was taken back, and the same thing 
 happened — a third time, and it happened. 
 Then at last it dawned on the spiritually- 
 minded that the figure wished to be left on 
 the waste land, and on the practically-minded 
 that they could not be every day expending 
 large sums re-transporting a very heavy crucifix 
 from one side of the town to the other. 
 
 It was then decided by both parties of the 
 state — these may be likened to the Progressives 
 and Moderates in modern municipalities — that 
 it would be, in the Progressive view, right to 
 follow what was clearly the design of a Superior 
 Power, and from the Moderates what was 
 obviously a saving of expenditure in the long 
 210 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 run — and build for this self-opinionated statue 
 a church of its own. This they did on the 
 waste land near the walls, and this now is the 
 great cathedral of Lucca. It may seem frivo- 
 lous here to quote a remark of General Baden- 
 Powell respecting a certain general who had 
 not moved his head-quarters for some months, 
 but perhaps it is apposite. On being asked 
 
 why General had not moved, B.P. replied, 
 
 " I understand he has pitched his tents for some 
 months up yonder, and now, having become 
 accustomed to the neighbourhood, is building 
 a wall round his tents against the winter." 
 
 So at Lucca they built around their relic a 
 very fine cathedral, one of the most interesting 
 in this part of Italy. 
 
 I went early from my hotel to see the 
 ceremony. Crowds of peasants of all ages, in 
 their picturesque dresses, were sauntering in 
 by the trains, and every street was filled with 
 them enjoying their outing as much as Eton 
 and Harrow boys enjoy their " festa " at 
 Lord's. There were all kinds of quite pleasing 
 flirtations, which expressed themselves in the 
 liberality of man to woman in treats of fairings 
 in the Piazza San Michele where the booths 
 were. 
 
 211 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 In the solemn cathedral, however, every- 
 thing was decorous. The Volto Santo is kept 
 in a special iron-protected and ornate chapel, 
 almost in the centre of the cathedral — a sort of 
 decorated prison. On ordinary days all that 
 can be seen of the figure is, I believe, its feet, 
 for though there are representations of it 
 everywhere, only the feet of the real statue 
 are exposed. 
 
 But on this day the whole figure, which must 
 be eight feet high, including the cross, was to 
 be shown. I have said that I was present 
 when the first preparations were made. Gradu- 
 ally and one by one the candles round the altar of 
 the image were lighted. There was an expec- 
 tant crowd behind held back by the cathedral 
 police. It happened that I had a special pass 
 which allowed me to be within the barrier, so 
 I could observe. The officiating priests were 
 two elderly men who were clearly devout, and 
 a third younger one of whose spiritual out- 
 look I am not quite so sure. This latter per- 
 formed the dramatic part of it by pulling back 
 the curtain — but I doubt, I doubt his faith. 
 As soon as the sacred image was exposed to 
 view one realised how extraordinarily interest- 
 ing it was — not from a religious but more 
 
 212 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 especially from an antiquarian point of view. 
 Here, undoubtedly, was shown a Syrian wood 
 sculpture of our Lord crucified, clearly Syrian, 
 obviously Oriental. Moreover, quite certainly 
 early in modelling, if not contemporaneous 
 with our Lord, at any rate, not far from this 
 period. Moreover, the figure is decorated by 
 the devout of the centuries with gold and 
 jewels priceless in worth, which alone are sig- 
 nificant of its power and the power of the 
 Church, immensely interesting to the student 
 of humanity, and of God. 
 
 Sometimes I laugh unduly, sometimes I 
 wish to cry — and could do so were I not 
 English, I suppose — at these things. An 
 image decked with priceless jewels and my 
 friends the adoring peasants, living on pasta 
 and vinegar, content to worship and to suffer. 
 Almost every day of my life I am an optimist 
 and a pessimist in turn. I see, as I saw to-day, 
 a kitten persecuted by boys, and for a moment, 
 in restraining them, became an anarchist, a 
 red-hot one too, to aid radically in changing 
 a system under which these wretched boys, 
 themselves of the persecuted of the world, 
 yet take an unholy delight in persecution. 
 And last night I heard a demagogue of the 
 213 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 gutter preaching the most grievous nonsense 
 as to the owners of land, and so far as he was 
 concerned I became, and in respect to him, a 
 Divine Right Tory. So here in Lucca one 
 saw deserving poverty content in the worship 
 of an object on which great sums had been 
 expended, and satisfied that this money should 
 still remain idle while the worshippers them- 
 selves live in poverty. It is altogether quite 
 pleasing, but is it not wonderful ? 
 
 When the curtain was drawn the crowd 
 were admitted, and there was a rush, such as 
 happens on the opening of the pit doors of 
 one of our -theatres. Women with babies, 
 men, girls and boys, all struggled to get in. 
 For my own part I followed only one woman, 
 who had in her arms a tender child, and, as far 
 as I could, protected her and her infant. The 
 baby had in his hands a balloon of the ordinary 
 kind, in which he was immensely interested. 
 The mother, devoutly wrapped up in the cere- 
 monial, followed en queue to the sanctuary, 1 
 playing my humble part by interesting myself 
 with the baby and his balloon. I did it quite 
 well, for when the crucial moment arrived, and 
 the mother knelt down to kiss the feet of the 
 wooden figure of our Lord, the baby was still 
 214 
 
Bagni di Lucca by the Pizzorne to Lucca 
 
 playing, with some energy, with his balloon on 
 his mother's shoulder, and 1 tried to calm him. 
 But the baby showed throughout no reverence, 
 which seems to demonstrate that reverence is 
 not natural, but acquired. 
 
 I remember we took part in the ceremonial 
 march round the cathedral : I in the second 
 row after the Bishop, who is a charming and 
 a genial man. But as we solemnly paraded 
 the church, aisle after aisle, modernism inter- 
 posed its inconvenient hand. The electric-light 
 wires crossed and recrossed the aisles, and 
 these were not regulated always in conformity 
 with the height of the episcopal mitre. For 
 at a certain point this mitre came off, and we 
 were all on the ground struggling to recover it 
 for his lordship. Yet the procession of the 
 faithful went on, in spite of modern electric 
 wires, and I expect it will always go on, if its 
 authorities have wisdom. And I sincerely 
 hope it will for ever and for ever, because 
 there is much in it, not all, but much ! 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels : 
 
 Lucca : Hotel de l'Univers. 
 Hotel Corona. 
 
 215 
 
Chapter XVII — Bagnito Monte For- 
 ato and Matanna 
 
 TRAVELLERS passing by train from 
 Spezzia to Viareggio may have ob- 
 served a white splash on one of the 
 high Carrara mountains, which some 
 take to be snow and others to be an outcrop 
 of marble. It is neither of these, but is, on 
 the contrary, a large and natural archway which 
 pierces the mountain high up, near to its 
 summit. 
 
 To this point it had long been my wish to 
 ascend, but to do so from the inland side, from 
 the country called Garfagnana. This district is 
 little known to tourists, for it can only be 
 approached by road either from Bagni di Lucca 
 on the south-east or from Aulla on the north- 
 west. It has a peculiar charm of its own, 
 not only from its remoteness, but no less from 
 the fact that it is closed in by two high ranges 
 of mountains, the Apennines and the Apuan 
 Alps. 
 
 Our starting-place was the picturesque vil- 
 216 
 
ARCHES IN THE PUBLIC ROAD OF AN APUAN 
 MOUNTAIN VILLAGE. 
 
Bagni to Monte Forato and Matanna 
 
 lage of Gallicano, built on and almost over- 
 hanging the rocky sides of a ravine, through 
 which runs a rapid stream with an enviable 
 reputation for trout. Gallicano itself is ap- 
 proached from Bagni di Lucca by a road which 
 follows the windings of the Serchio river, 
 which road presents to the traveller a view 
 of the Apennines and the mountain villages 
 of Ghivizzano, Coreglia, Barga, and innumer- 
 able others, all set in a framework and back- 
 ground of peaks, such as Rondinaio, Tre 
 Potenze, and Monte Giovo. The scene is one 
 which vividly recalls in the middle and farther 
 distance many a mediaeval painting, to such an 
 extent that one is induced to expect the appear- 
 ance on the road of a knight in glistening 
 armour, or of a saintly figure passing on his 
 way to perform a sacrifice of which the world 
 has heard for these many centuries past. 
 
 The village of Gallicano itself, however, has 
 not only as attractions its native and palatable 
 trout and its romantic position. The ancient 
 church contains what appears to my amateurish 
 eyes as one of the best examples of the work 
 of Luca della Robbia in a large Coronation 
 of the Virgin with a saint on either side and 
 two exquisite angels above. 
 217 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 From this place we — namely, a Russian 
 friend and our porter, a mountain-bred youth 
 — started on foot up the mule track towards 
 the remote little village of Forno Velasco, a 
 walk of three hours. It would be difficult to 
 exaggerate the beauties of this route, for while 
 it is generally shaded by the chestnuts, and 
 winds along the bank of a roaring stream, it 
 at times allows of views of the awe-inspiring 
 " massif" of the Pannia, which dominates the 
 whole of this valley. And the Pannia, or 
 rather the two Pannias, form a magnificent 
 background in shape, rugged, threatening, and 
 bare, looking from the stream almost perpen- 
 dicular, and gleaming in the sun with a white- 
 ness as of snow. A spring of water, which 
 issues with great force from the rocky side 
 of the valley, has an interest for those interested 
 in municipal expenditure, even though it be a 
 melancholy one, for it was bought some years 
 ago by the corporation of Florence, with a 
 view to supplying the city with water. Alas ! 
 however, after the purchase-money had been 
 paid, it was found that while the spring could 
 be sold, no water from it could be taken, for 
 the rights belonging to the riparian owners 
 below forbade it. 
 
 218 
 
Bagni to Monte Forato and Matanna 
 
 On the way up to Forno we passed a large 
 number of boys and girls carrying on their 
 backs enormous loads of wood ; so we stopped 
 one of these and enquired about their employ- 
 ment. It seems that they walk the three 
 hours, backward and forward, always twice 
 and sometimes thrice in the day, carrying 
 supplies to the upland village, and returning 
 with their loads of wood to Gallicano, for the 
 magnificent sum of eighty or ninety centimes. 
 Poor little people, no wonder they looked 
 thin and pale ! 
 
 Forno Velasco is one of those curiously 
 picturesque little hamlets, with quaint arches 
 and perilously steep streets, in which for- 
 tunately there is generally an inn where one 
 may eat well. There we lunched, and there 
 we made friends with the heroine of this 
 chapter, the cat o' the mountain. She intro- 
 duced herself after our hearty lunch, a very 
 small and thin kitten with enormous and 
 penetrating eyes that regarded us with a 
 seriousness which suggested that their owner 
 was looking into our very souls and knew 
 more of our past than any of us care to 
 have enquired into. She condescended to eat, 
 and with remarkable zest, but beyond fondling 
 219 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 her a little, we thought no more of her at the 
 time. 
 
 From Forno up to the great arch in the 
 mountain, which was our objective, the track 
 is very steep and very difficult to follow. 
 Indeed, towards the latter part no track is 
 visible, and it means a rough scramble up a 
 grass slope almost on hands and knees. Just 
 before reaching the top, burning with the 
 noonday heat, what time we were looking 
 forward to the cool breeze we expected when 
 the sea would lie at our feet, I heard the 
 smallest and most plaintive cry behind me, 
 and turning back saw a crumpled and way- 
 worn kitten, four inches long, with difficulty 
 climbing up the steep ascent. She was our 
 friend of the inn, tired — for she had followed 
 us for an hour — dishevelled, and unhappy, 
 but still possessing those penetrating and far- 
 seeing eyes which I have mentioned as 
 characteristic of her. Of course I adopted 
 her, and for that day and the next carried her 
 in my arms. 
 
 The view through the enormous aperture, 
 a hundred feet in diameter at least, was 
 stupendous. Appearing straight down be- 
 neath our very feet lay the villages of Cardoso, 
 220 
 
Bagni to Monte Forato and Matanna 
 
 Volegno, Relignano, and Ponte Stazzimese. 
 Thousands of feet below, further on, could be 
 seen Serravezza and Pietrasanta, and then the 
 blue Mediterranean sprinkled over with the 
 white sails of fishing boats from Spezzia to 
 Leghorn. No finer view can be imagined, 
 especially as it is a Gargantuan picture framed 
 by the rugged walls surrounding this glorious 
 arch of nature. 
 
 Having fed the kitten and drunk our fill 
 of that sense of power natural to those who 
 look down on a world from high places, we 
 proceeded along the razor edge of this hill 
 until we came to the mule pass of Petrosciana, 
 a pass which leads from Garfagnana to the sea, 
 and then proceeded along a foot track on the 
 sea side of these mountains, commanding 
 always most magnificent views, to the hill of 
 the Porchetti ("Little Pigs"), called by this 
 name for a reason which I have not yet been 
 able to discover. Thence we ascended again 
 by a path which leads in an hour to the 
 Matanna mountain and to the new Mountain 
 Hotel kept by mine excellent host, Alemanno 
 Barsi. This is an inn for the elect of the 
 mountains, those who wish to study nature at 
 her best and are not afraid of a two hours' 
 
 221 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 walk or mule ride to attain this object. Here 
 among the thirty guests we found many- 
 friends and spent the night, being well enter- 
 tained by the proprietor. My cat o' the 
 mountain, my kitten of Monte Forato, was 
 received with distinguished consideration as 
 a mountaineer and adventurer. 
 
 The next day we descended from Alto 
 Matanna to Camaiore by the beautiful Foce 
 Crocione and Casoli, thence to Viareggio. 
 Here we spent some hours, the kitten enjoy- 
 ing novel experiences, especially when she met 
 the first cart in her life — for carts are unknown 
 in her part of the country. So surprising 
 was it to her that she sat up on my shoulder 
 with arched back, and received it with execra- 
 tion, the while spitting vehemently. 
 
 She is now of my family, a favoured mem- 
 ber, and shows no especial desire to return to 
 her native heights, except perhaps a certain 
 love of climbing trees, a somewhat incon- 
 venient habit to her master, who is not 
 arboreally inclined. 
 
 222 
 
Bagni to Monte Forato and Matanna 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels, Inns, etc. : 
 
 Gallicano : Albergo Giglio (a small inn, but good ; 
 ask for trout). Cafe Carlo del Prete (owner speaks 
 English). 
 
 Forno Velasco : Albergo Americano (good for meals). 
 
 Matanna: Albergo Matanna. noo feet above sea. 
 Open from 1st June to ist Octbber. Pension 7 frcs. To 
 get there you must go either by rail to Diecemo (Bagni di 
 Lucca line), thence drive to Pescaglia, 1 J hours, and thence 
 by mules, about 2 hours, to hotel, or via Viareggio to 
 Camaiore, 35 minutes by tramway, thence by mules, 3 J to 
 4 hours, to hotel. 
 
 Camaiore : Albergo il Giardinetto. 
 
 Roads and Paths : 
 
 From Bagni di Lucca to Gallicano 10 miles, good road. 
 Pass to right of station (1 mile) up valley of the Serchio, 
 cross old bridge of Calovorno (3 miles) to right bank. Pass 
 Turrite di Cava (inn for meals ; 5 J miles). 
 
 From Gallicano to Forno, 3 hours on foot (good path). 
 Pass through town and up right bank of stream to Chieva 
 (2 hours), where cross to right bank ; thence to Forno. 
 
 From Forno Velasco to Monte Forato and Matanna 
 Hotel, guide desirable, man or boy for 4 to 5 lire. Steep 
 climb to Monte Forato (1 hour). Thence along ridge to 
 Matanna (2 J to 3 J hours) ; magnificent views. 
 
 223 
 
Chapter XVIII — Bagni to Castelnuovo 
 and Careggine 
 
 NO railway has yet disturbed the 
 ancient repose of this district, which 
 dates from that period when the 
 Romans made a " De Wet " drive 
 for the purpose of cornering the Etruscan 
 " Boers " in this valley between the Apuan 
 Alps and the Apennines, and to this day 
 few tourists corrupt the simplicity of its 
 people. From Bagni di Lucca to the capital 
 town of Garfagnana, namely Castelnuovo — a 
 distance of eighteen miles — the road runs 
 along the valley of the Serchio, which narrows 
 considerably after passing Gallicano. Every- 
 where it is beautiful — could it be otherwise 
 with its chestnut-clad hills backed by the 
 grand mountains of Carrara and Apennine ? — 
 but now its character somewhat alters. From 
 the wide valley with its panorama of mediaeval 
 villages framed by the Apennines, of which I 
 have spoken elsewhere, the scene becomes 
 crabbed and confined. The hills close in on 
 224 
 
Bagni to Gastelnuovo and Careggine 
 
 the river until they threaten to suffocate it, 
 yet on the precipitous sides of these heights 
 are seen everywhere the square campanili of 
 churches which indicate the presence of un- 
 seen villages. One wonders how the ancient 
 builders reconciled themselves to the adoption 
 of such sites, while understanding full well 
 their dominant reason, namely, that of safety. 
 Has it ever struck the traveller in Italy to 
 what extent this fact of the villages being 
 generally on the tops of hills and not on the 
 banks of streams must in the course of the 
 ages have affected the physique of the people 
 and even their character ? The inhabitants ot 
 hot countries are of necessity lethargic, but 
 there is little room for lethargy when after a 
 day's work it is incumbent to descend two 
 thousand feet to buy necessary food from the 
 town which is lazily situate on the river 
 below. This is literally what these excellent 
 peasants have to do, and, perhaps, conse- 
 quently they are among the hardest-working 
 people in the world. They go everywhere to 
 almost every country, as labourers on railways, 
 as street repairers, as builders ; and employers 
 admit they are the strongest, the most capable, 
 and the most enduring among our brothers 
 Q 225 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 who do the heavy work of the world. The 
 rapid decadence of the inhabitants of the 
 towns in Italy need not be dwelt on — we have 
 a like question in our own country — but, at 
 any rate, the mountaineers may thank Provi- 
 dence (I fear they do not) for the fact that this 
 mysterious Power has decided that they shall 
 dwell on the heights. 
 
 In this connection it would be interesting to 
 discuss how far the recent industrial renais- 
 sance in Italy, so unexpected as to have 
 astonished all serious thinkers, is due to the 
 fact that Italy has a large population of healthy 
 hill-dwellers ready and willing to augment 
 their scanty incomes by work in factories. In 
 war it is the reserve which really counts — the 
 nation which has the greatest reserve force is 
 the one which eventually wins. It is probably 
 so in peace ! 
 
 I was immensely impressed when visiting 
 some of the recently established cotton fac- 
 tories by the strength of the workers, both 
 female and male. They were healthy people, 
 looking like peasants with good out-of-door 
 complexions. How different from my good 
 Manchester friends of the same class, as they 
 have been seen by me ! 
 226 
 
Bagni to Castelnuovo and Careggine 
 
 To return to our immediate moutons. After 
 passing the village of Gallicano we cycled 
 for some three miles until we arrived at 
 an inn by the great stone bridge, which 
 with its chestnuts in front seemed to invite 
 us to rest. It apparently had invited many 
 others also, for outside it there was a crowd 
 of peasants and wagoners who had made this 
 open-air retreat into a veritable club. It is a 
 convenient place of rest for the men who 
 drive the ox-wagons from the Carrara moun- 
 tains, and it is evidently a centre for the 
 peasants of the surrounding villages of the 
 heights there to meet their wagoner friends. 
 At any rate, many tables were placed under 
 the trees, and four or five parties were engaged 
 in a local game which seemed as engrossing as 
 that of our all-prevailing bridge. Cards of 
 an interesting sort were dealt, halfpennies 
 passed, and, as far as I saw, law and order 
 were preserved. 
 
 Besides the mere card games, which, know- 
 ing little of them, I despise, as we always 
 despise that which we do not know (unless we 
 are afraid of it), there was a game of bowls 
 which I tried to learn from a sympathetic 
 peasant. This game can be played anywhere, 
 227 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 up hill and down dale, and, like original golf, 
 does not require the service of man. It 
 demands the intelligence of man, not auxiliary 
 service. This point is of importance. I doubt 
 whether any game or sport which claims, and 
 necessarily pays for, the work of people un- 
 interested in the special game, is good or 
 respectable, because we are thereby creating a 
 class of parasitic sportsmen. 
 
 In this game you throw a smaller ball in 
 turn anywhere you like, in highways or by- 
 ways in the happy Italian fashion. The two 
 antagonists by successive throws of a heavy 
 ball have to cause their ball to arrive as near 
 the smaller one as possible. It is extremely 
 difficult in a mountainous country (this from 
 personal experience I can assure the reader) 
 to get that larger ball near the smaller one. 
 
 From here we proceeded up the valley, 
 always ascending, but in a most Christian and 
 gentle manner. At one turn of the road of 
 many, suddenly, Castelnuovo comes into view, 
 built on and overhanging the river. It has 
 at first an appearance of being much larger 
 than it really is, for there are several remark- 
 ably striking buildings of the ancient time. 
 In truth it is but a small town, but it has all 
 228 
 
BRIDGE AT CASTELNUOVO. 
 
Bagni to Castelnuovo and Careggine 
 
 the sedate pride of a capital. We arrived, hot 
 enough, in the little square, and were served 
 with drinks by fair maidens of the country, 
 one of whom at least was of remarkable 
 beauty. It was now about nine ; so as our 
 objective was the mountain village of Careg- 
 gine (2866 feet), we had to leave at once if 
 we desired to lunch at that place. 
 
 This place is said to be no more than six 
 and a half miles from Castelnuovo, but we 
 had reason to doubt the accuracy of this local 
 information. Moreover, we missed the way 
 passing along the road on the left bank of the 
 Serchio towards Fivizzano. At a beautiful 
 little hamlet called Villetta, by enquiry we 
 discovered our error ; we were then some six 
 miles on the wrong road, and we must cross 
 the river. An amiable peasant volunteered to 
 be our guide ; so following him we descended 
 the steep hill which slopes down to the stream. 
 Here we had to perform a little South African 
 work by wading the river and a little moun- 
 tain battery work in pushing our bicycles up 
 the almost precipitous hill on the other side. 
 After much hard work we arrived on the 
 other road, a little short of the small village 
 of Poggio, and extremely out of breath. 
 229 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 We offered the friendly guide a franc for 
 his services of an hour. He said, " Ma 
 troppo " (" but too much "). We, however, 
 did not agree with him. 
 
 From this place to Careggine there is a road 
 which is somewhat sarcastically described as 
 "passabile" in the guide-book — which I pre- 
 sume is Italian for passable — but only with 
 the assistance of a balloon could it honestly 
 be so described for bicyclists. 
 
 After pushing and carrying our machines 
 for an hour and a half we eventually arrived at 
 the village, where we found a good little inn. 
 Whatever may have been the trouble in 
 arriving at this village in the skies, we cer- 
 tainly had our reward in the view we obtained. 
 From here close round us were the splendid 
 peaks, the Sumbra, Tambura, Pizzanino, and 
 Umbriana. Nearly every peak of the Carraras 
 seems within a stone's throw, and in addition 
 practically the whole circle of the horizon is 
 filled by these and the Apennines. I have 
 never, even in Switzerland, seen a finer 
 panorama of mountain heights. Moreover, 
 the position of the village renders it a 
 suitable summer resort, for, placed as it is 
 on a long ridge, you get from there a mile or 
 230 
 
Bagni to Castelnuovo and Careggine 
 
 so of level walking, quite exceptional in a 
 place so high above the sea. That dreadful 
 road, that politely indescribable road, the more 
 awful in that it has been very well engineered, 
 seems the only bar to this happy result. I 
 hope the County Council of Garfagnana — if 
 such exist — will see to it, or let a Sindaco or 
 two hang for it. 
 
 After a rest we left this charming and 
 beautiful spot, returning by the nearer road to 
 Castelnuovo and thence to our head-quarters at 
 Bagni di Lucca. 
 
 Practical Information 
 Hotel, Inns, etc, : 
 
 Castelnuovo : Albergo il Globo. 
 Careggine : Only one inn. 
 
 Roads : 
 
 From Bagni di Lucca pass to right of the station and 
 along highroad on left bank of the Serchio river to the old 
 bridge at Calavorno (3 miles), which cross to right bank and 
 follow good undulating road to Galcano (10); thence con- 
 tinue to Castelnuovo (18 miles). From here pass out of 
 town by street to the left of the square in which the Albergo 
 il Globo is situated, and to Poggio and Careggine (about 25 
 miles from Bagni). 
 
 231 
 
Chapter XIX — Bagni and Palagnana 
 {a Mountain Retreat) 
 
 WE found ourselves, a party of old 
 friends, in an inn between the 
 mountains. Our special circle 
 included the most sympathetic 
 lady in the world, her husband the antiquarian, 
 the glorious baby, her grandchild, the present 
 writer, his wife and (as the hotels have it) 
 suite. 
 
 We had come, a veritable convoy of mules, 
 from Pescaglia, where the highroad ends, and 
 the procession had been as impressive as awe- 
 inspiring. First one lady on a mule, armed 
 with a white umbrella and protected by a blue 
 veil, then her maid riding shakily behind, the 
 antiquarian very much en militaire carefully 
 balancing the glorious baby on the pommel of 
 his saddle, the nurse having refused to accept 
 this responsibility ; afterwards another lady of 
 the party armed and protected as before, and 
 with a dog on her saddle ; finally another maid 
 rather more shaky than the former one ; and on 
 232 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 foot mule drivers, curious sightseers, and the 
 present writer, as a sort of informal infantry. 
 
 We had come for rest, and on the whole we 
 achieved our object. The inn is situated in 
 a most beautiful valley, and is surrounded on 
 all sides by glorious chestnut woods, while an 
 impetuous stream pursues its adventurous 
 career close under the walls of the inn. 
 
 However, we were not the only residents at 
 this place, for there was an intelligent manu- 
 facturer from Leghorn, who had studied his 
 business in Manchester, and who is the only man 
 I have ever met who prefers the murky atmo- 
 sphere of this latter city to the blue skies of 
 Italy. I think that his trade of cotton manu- 
 facture has something to do with this odd 
 liking. He is only equalled in eccentricity by 
 an Italian cafe owner at Gallicano, who, having 
 resided in Chicago, informed me that he much 
 preferred the Anglo-Saxon Sunday to the more 
 human, if more arduous one, of Italy. 
 
 There were also at our inn a learned and 
 very agreeable doctor from the Pisa Univer- 
 sity, the family of a wealthy merchant of 
 Lucca, and some others. 
 
 This was the first time I had come into in- 
 timate social contact with Italians of the upper 
 233 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 bourgeoisie, and I am bound to say the experi- 
 ence was a pleasant one. Intelligent, energetic, 
 enterprising, they contrast certainly very 
 favourably, from the social standpoint, with 
 a large proportion of the Italians of the noblesse 
 whom I know. The reason is clear enough, 
 for the former have an object in life, while 
 to-day, speaking generally, the latter have 
 none. 
 
 It was not long before we formed ourselves 
 into a pleasant circle, and even in this far-away 
 corner of Italy had evening dances, and those 
 which were of the greatest interest were when 
 the peasants around were asked to join. The 
 complicated steps which they indulgently taught 
 us were something of a revelation, and one 
 dance which I shall never forget, a crab-like 
 side movement, in which the man chases his 
 partner in the deliberate manner of these Crus- 
 tacea, had never been seen by me before, though 
 I have danced in many places, from native huts 
 in Africa to Buckingham Palace. 
 
 When, however, our Italian fellow residents 
 learnt of my passion for mountain climbing, it 
 was agreeably arranged by them that an ascent 
 of the Pannia della Croce should be made. 
 This is the highest and most rugged of the 
 234 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 hills hereabout, being some 5600 feet above 
 the sea, and looking sheer on to it. 
 
 My friend the Leghorn manufacturer, another 
 Livornese, and I, with two guides, therefore 
 started at dawn one morning ; while it was ar- 
 ranged that the antiquarian, the sympathetic 
 lady, and my wife were to meet us at lunch at 
 the foot on our descent. 
 
 From Palagnana to the slope of the great 
 Pannia is a rough walk of some three hours, 
 up and down rocks ; but the real climb com- 
 mences from a place up above Forno Velasco. 
 This is a remarkably steep slope of rock and 
 slippery grass which certainly would be trying 
 to inexperienced climbers. From here it takes 
 an hour or so to the shoulder, round which 
 the actual peak has to be attacked. We noticed, 
 while struggling up, a good many men and 
 boys coming down laden with blocks of frozen 
 snow, and by enquiry found that this was a pro- 
 fitable industry in the summer, for a cave near 
 the summit has snow in it all year round. 
 This snow is taken to the valleys, where it is 
 used in the hotels and restaurants. But it is 
 extraordinary the immense size of the blocks 
 which these by no means strong-looking men 
 carry, the more especially as the latter part of 
 235 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 the climb is one requiring considerable care. 
 For as soon as you cross the shoulder, there is 
 but a very narrow and slippery ledge of marble. 
 Yet these men make the journey twice a day, 
 and, as far as we could ascertain, without 
 serious accidents occurring. 
 
 After passing the ledge referred to, the 
 journey to the top is a rough scramble over 
 what looks like a badly kept cemetery for 
 giants, for huge masses of white rock project 
 everywhere. But when we arrived at the 
 summit, which we did about nine o'clock, it 
 indeed repaid us for our labours. The 
 Mediterranean is in front, and really a con- 
 siderable section of it is visible, for clear as it 
 was with us that day, the coastline can be 
 made out from the hills above the French 
 frontier at Menton, through Genoa, Spezia, 
 and Leghorn to the Maremma, not far from 
 the mouth of the historic Tiber. Corsica can 
 be seen, Elba can be seen, Giglio, Caprera, 
 and the other islands of the Italian coast, and 
 a haze to the left of Corsica we were informed 
 was as much of Sardinia as the powers willed 
 us to see. My guide informed me that he had 
 once seen the Sicilian coast from this point of 
 vantage. Inland again every mountain of the 
 236 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 Apuan and Apennine chains down to the very- 
 borders of the Roman campagna, while of 
 towns Florence, Lucca, Pisa, Genoa, among 
 others, are visible. Even from a historic 
 point of view this expedition should be made, 
 for what rolls of history are suggested by these 
 same names ! Once, and once only, I have 
 witnessed a landscape chronicle of as wide an 
 interest. This was from a peak of the Monte 
 Rosa range, when by exceptional good fortune 
 the whole of Lombardy was visible, bounded 
 by the Adriatic, the Apennines, and the 
 Mediterranean — the most wonderful landscape 
 in the world. 
 
 We returned the way we had come, and 
 found our party waiting for us for lunch at 
 the great hole in the mountains, Monte Forato, 
 which I have before described. 
 
 Our sojourn at Palignana naturally brought 
 us into touch with many of the peasants, these 
 mountain folk whose lives are a continual 
 struggle with adverse conditions. Moreover 
 my mountain excursions caused me to see 
 more of them than otherwise would have been 
 likely, for I often employed the children as 
 guides. Oi.e day, when we were strolling past 
 one of these cottages, we heard unusual sounds, 
 237 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 and were somewhat surprised to be accosted 
 by the father of some of our young friends, 
 who in the most courteous manner invited us 
 to enter. In the house we found displayed 
 a banquet composed of home-made cakes of all 
 kinds, red wine, and the rest, which they 
 informed us was to do us honour. They told 
 us they were grateful for our notice of the 
 children, and begged us to accept their hospi- 
 tality. Naturally we did this with pleasure, 
 and many healths were drunk of course. 
 
 This little event was certainly agreeable 
 evidence that these good folk appreciated the 
 small kindnesses we had been able to show to 
 the youngsters — kindnesses is hardly the mot 
 juste, for the soldi were given for services 
 rendered to us. 
 
 But in this charming valley among the chest- 
 nut woods we were not entirely occupied in 
 grand excursions up mountains or in the more 
 feminine work of reading under the trees. 
 The stream, which is the dominant factor at 
 Palignana, runs its wild and obstreperous way 
 over rocks and down minor waterfalls. Now 
 one of these latter had attracted me as a refresh- 
 ing douche, and to this I went every morning. 
 But above the cascade on a rock the village 
 238 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 blacksmith lived, literally under not one but 
 many spreading chestnut trees. A fine figure 
 of a man was he, six feet, and quite as inde- 
 pendent as our old friend of Longfellow's 
 verse. I am sure he owed no man anything, 
 yet once I owed him for a pair of his boots. 
 Coming one day from the mountains with 
 mine torn to ribbons, I exchanged with him, 
 to the benefit, I believe, of both parties in the 
 contract, for whereas I had ten miles to go and 
 my soles were worn out, though the uppers 
 were sound, he gave me a pair with soles 
 quite good, while the remainder of the shoes 
 was not worth much more than the day's 
 walk. 
 
 In our many conversations this man gave 
 me a piece of information which seems of 
 interest, namely, that all the villages around 
 had their respective shapes in spades. We all 
 remember the Devonshire blacksmith who 
 recognised Prince Charles Edward after 
 Worcester from the fact that his horse had 
 been shod in different counties, by his know- 
 ledge of the methods in each. So this man 
 could have told whence a labourer came 
 from the shape of his spade. And many of 
 these implements are curious, suggesting to my 
 239 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 heraldic mind that the designs had been taken 
 from the eleventh or twelfth century shields. 
 Many say that the shield came from the spade. 
 Probably it did so in origin, but I am convinced 
 that the latter has been modified by the former, 
 according to the fashion of the period, many a 
 time. For in the examples of spades which 
 this blacksmith showed me, I could recognise 
 the forms not only of twelfth and fourteenth 
 century shields, but the varieties of German, 
 French, and Italian prevalent in the earlier 
 portion of the Middle Ages. 
 
 Someone should make a study of the 
 Italian spades, especially at this period when 
 we are beating our swords into "plough- 
 shares," which latter, from a purely agri- 
 cultural point of view, seems to me a rather 
 futile occupation. At least I cannot recom- 
 mend my sword for this purpose to my 
 Cumberland friends. 
 
 The Leghorn manufacturer, his companion 
 of the same town and I, started one day to 
 cross the mountains from Palignana to Gal- 
 licano and the Serchio valley. The path from 
 our hotel led first down the winding stream 
 on which the inn is built, and arrives after 
 half an hour's meandering at the picturesque 
 240 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 village of Campo Lemisi (assuredly from its 
 name a Roman outpost), always under luxuri- 
 ant trees and always cheered by the sound of 
 the boisterous waters below. 
 
 From this village the mule track leads up 
 and along the ridge which is between Monte 
 Bicocca and Monte Paladina, a wonderfully 
 beautiful road which gives views of both the 
 valleys of the cave and Gallicano, having as 
 dominant factors on the left the two grand 
 mountains of the Pannia. A two hours' 
 tramp, however, brings us in sight of the 
 village of Trasilico below us on a ridge, yet 
 at no mean height, for it stands 2400 feet 
 above the sea. Here in a small inn we rested, 
 looking out on the narrow lane which is the 
 High Street of the village. Presently by the 
 shouts and laughter outside we were made 
 aware that something unusual was astir, and 
 on looking out saw in the middle of a ring 
 of people of all ages two women alternately 
 fighting and orating. The amused interest of 
 the crowd and the encouragement given to 
 the belligerents caused me to enquire what 
 was the cause of it all. It seems that the 
 husband of one of them, after a lengthy 
 sojourn in America, had returned, and, alas ! 
 r 241 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 had been attracted by the other. No doubt 
 some encouragement was given, and now the 
 case was being settled, not in a divorce court 
 as with us, but on the cobble stones of the 
 street. The philandering husband had in the 
 meantime pusillanimously retired to his cham- 
 ber, disapproving of all this publicity. I did 
 not learn who won, nor if the winner had 
 the right to the errant affections of the beau, 
 but at any rate it was a curious if a some- 
 what painful sight. 
 
 From these heights above Trasilico runs an 
 aerial ropeway for carrying wood to the valley, 
 which is the longest I have seen, it being not 
 less than four or five miles from end to end. 
 They say there that it is the only punctual 
 railroad in Italy, but as to this I give no 
 opinion. Certainly the wood trucks run down 
 the rope at a great speed. 
 
 The descent from Trasilico to Gallicano 
 takes an hour, and thence I returned by the 
 Serchio valley. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels and Litis : 
 
 Palignana (2270 ft.) : pension 6 to 7 frcs. 
 Gallicano : Albergo Giglio ; Caff£ del Prete. 
 242 
 
Bagni and Palagnana 
 
 Roads : 
 
 To get to Palignana the nearest way is by train to Diecemo 
 (Bagni di Lucca railway), thence by carriage or diligence 
 to Pescaglia (ij hours), and from Pescaglia by mules, 
 which are sent on demand by the proprietor of the hotel 
 at Palignana. The hotelkeeper's name is Alemanno Barsi, 
 and he owns also the Alto Matanna Hotel mentioned in 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 The cost of mules from Pescaglia is 3 frcs. each. 
 
 243 
 
Chapter XX — Bagnicmd over the Car- 
 raras 
 
 THE lovely road up the Serchio valley 
 to Castelnuovo in Garfagnana has 
 already been described, but an inci- 
 dent on my way to the latter place 
 is not unworthy of notice. I observed near to 
 a hamlet called Turrite di Cava an awning 
 spread round an enclosure in a wood. So I 
 went to an opening and asked the price. Two 
 soldi, and I passed through. Here I found a 
 pastoral play in full swing, a real genuine medi- 
 aeval mystery play with all its addenda. In the 
 centre of the grass plot which served for a 
 stage was erected a leafy bower, in which sat a 
 venerable man with a long white beard — quite 
 clearly Merlin or some other wise man in his 
 post of judgment, a twelfth-century umpire. 
 On the left of this tribunal there were four 
 men in pasteboard armour and red crosses, 
 clearly Crusaders, armed with short, wooden, 
 cross-handled swords. These knights wore 
 also yellow tabards coming below their paste- 
 244 
 
Bagni and over the Carraras 
 
 board breastplates. On the opposite side were 
 ranged three men intended for Saracens, with 
 crescents in their turbans. Very fierce they 
 looked. The only other actor was a young 
 man, who was taking the part of a girl, and 
 who was without doubt an object of conten- 
 tion between the two sides. 
 
 In the first instance one of the knights came 
 forward and challenged the Saracens, pointing 
 to and talking at the girl. Then one of the 
 Saracens came out, and the two fought, swords 
 crossed up and then down, down and then up, 
 and so on. All the time the fight continued 
 one or other of the combatants was declaiming 
 in a monotonous drawl blank verse of a kind. 
 The knight got the worst of it, and others 
 came to his rescue and the rest ! 
 
 But the whole thing was of immense interest 
 here, out under the trees on the mountain side, 
 these mediaeval mummers playing to an eager 
 crowd of peasants, none of whom probably was 
 aware that he was taking part in a perform- 
 ance which is in fact the histrionic ancestor of 
 the modern stage. I learnt afterwards that 
 the performers came from a village called, 
 I think, Sant' Anna, in which it is a tradition 
 to do this thing, and that they went round 
 245 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 in the summer playing throughout the 
 district. 
 
 Castelnuovo is a place of too great interest 
 to be dismissed with only a few words, even if 
 it had no other claim to attention than as the 
 residence of Ariosto, who lived in the fortress 
 when Governor of Garfagnana in 1522. Here 
 he wrote some of his verses, and it is said a 
 part of Orlando Furioso. But the town deserves 
 notice for other reasons, the chief being that it 
 is the capital of a most interesting province. 
 Moreover, the people of this country are a 
 people apart, and their traditions are jealously 
 kept. I visited the library, where I found 
 fourteenth and fifteenth century documents 
 very carefully arranged and indexed. There 
 I could have spent many days of useful 
 research. In the church of St. Peter and 
 St. Paul is a fine altar by one of the Delia 
 Robbias, representing St. Joseph, who, it is 
 agreeable to note, possesses a brown face worthy 
 of his native land, and therefore more exact 
 than most of his portraits. The face of the 
 saint is very fine, as also are those of two of 
 the angels. I explored the little town thor- 
 oughly, and before resuming my walk smoked 
 a cigar on the old bridge. Looking down 
 246 
 
Bagni and over the Carraras 
 
 from it on that hot June day, I saw on one 
 side of the bridge the work and on the other 
 the play of the world. A worn, tired-looking 
 woman and a poorly fed child were washing 
 the household linen, such a rubbing and a 
 scrubbing and a thumping, until one wondered 
 how the thin, much-used clothes could stand 
 the strain. On the other side in the stream 
 there was a band of sturdy youngsters with 
 bare, brown legs pretending to be Indians and 
 incidentally whipping the stream for fish. 
 Wild-haired, laughing little figures they were : 
 and all the time the patient careworn woman 
 went on beating her clothes in her sad manner, 
 taking no sort of notice of her neighbours, 
 these miniature savages. I could not help 
 thinking how differently this glorious scene of 
 mountain and river must appear to the over- 
 worked mother, to the lively and irresponsible 
 children, and to myself, who had seen much 
 more than they of this beautiful but exceed- 
 ingly hard world. 
 
 From here up into the bosom of the Carraras 
 you follow a good but undulating road along 
 the left bank of the Serchio, passing under 
 San Romano. This village is interesting 
 enough, and but a short time ago was the 
 247 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 scene of an accident, when part of the old 
 church fell, killing, I believe, many of its good 
 people. 
 
 I walked for some two or three hours until 
 the shadows began to lengthen. Then at a 
 handsome new bridge over the river, which I 
 learnt was at a place called Piazza al Serchio, I 
 looked out for a night's lodging. After going 
 to several houses, I was directed to the one at 
 which the post-cart starts to Castelnuovo, and 
 there was received with great hospitality by 
 the host. An excellent room was provided, 
 and while waiting for dinner to be cooked I 
 chatted with the landlord. As I expressed an 
 interest in heraldry and genealogy, he told me 
 of his own people. They were originally the 
 feudal chiefs of the valley, and he presented 
 me with his card, on which was printed "Nobile 
 Agostino," I think. A charming man he was, 
 quite free from affectation, with a genuine and 
 quite natural pride in his traditions. I remem- 
 bered that not long before this in England a 
 gentleman, reduced to the humble occupation 
 of an innkeeper, had succeeded to an ancient 
 baronetcy, and how this event had been com- 
 mented upon in our papers. Here it seemed 
 that it was looked upon as an everyday event 
 248 
 
Bagni and over the Carraras 
 
 for the descendant of the ancient chiefs to drive 
 the post-cart through the valley over which his 
 ancestors had ruled. 
 
 However, my genuine interest in the matter 
 caused him to ask me to dine with him, at 
 which repast he produced an excellent bottle of 
 Italian champagne, with which we drank each 
 other's health. 
 
 My friend of the inn promised to drive me 
 the next morning a part of the way towards 
 the foot of the mountains, to Gramolazzo, 
 where I hoped to find a guide. 
 
 At Gramolazzo, where I left mine host 
 with many professions of goodwill on both 
 sides, a strong middle-aged man volunteered 
 to take me over a track to Massa, passing by 
 the Orto delle Donne, and between the impres- 
 sive peaks of Pizzanino and Uccello. Now 
 for some unexplained reason I had got it into 
 my obstinate head that the Orto delle Donne 
 (the Garden of the Women) was a hotel, and 
 I had pleasant visions of lunch, partaken of in 
 a garden and served by fair country maidens. 
 Therefore I refused to take food with me. 
 We proceeded up the valley, passing to the 
 left of Minucciano, a fascinating small town at 
 the height of nearly 2000 feet, and up along a 
 249 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 steep mountain path on the slopes of the Pizzo 
 d' Uccello, which, so far as its top is concerned, 
 is formed of white marble. As the day wore 
 on I expressed my anxiety to arrive at the 
 Orto and lunch, and so we did somewhere 
 about one o'clock. My readers may imagine 
 my feelings when on arriving there this sup- 
 posed bower of fair women appeared to my 
 disillusioned eyes as a particularly rocky plateau 
 on which grew hardly a blade of grass, no 
 trees, and not the slightest intimation of human 
 existence. People certainly ought to be prose- 
 cuted for giving misleading names to places, 
 and this region is remarkable for this pecu- 
 liarity. For instance the mountain before 
 referred to as Pizzanino (I presume it means 
 little peak) is the highest in the whole range, 
 namely about 6000 feet, and Monte Altissimo, 
 which to my humble intelligence seems to sug- 
 gest that it is the loftiest, is really a mere 
 stripling of some 4800 feet. 
 
 The Pizzo Uccello, or the Peak of the Bird, 
 is not quite so misleading, for there certainly 
 may be one bird on it, though he was out 
 when I passed ; but it is unlikely there are 
 many, owing to its height and formation. 
 
 However, my guide cheered me up by saying 
 250 
 
Bagni and over the Carraras 
 
 that in an hour we could get to a hut in which 
 many of the marble workers had their meals ; 
 so we proceeded. We arrived there and found 
 a straggling wooden structure and some 25 
 labourers eating their pasta and drinking the 
 local vinegar. They looked like stage brigands, 
 but were extremely cordial to us, more espe- 
 cially so when they learnt I was a Liberal can- 
 didate for Parliament. They told me of 
 their work. These men earn from 2 to 3 francs 
 a day, equivalent to an average of about 17 
 shillings a week, in payment for a very arduous 
 and a very dangerous labour, and they work 
 about ten hours each day. How dangerous it 
 is may be gauged by the fact that as we passed 
 up to the hut we were obliged to cross a marble 
 shute, and were arrested by shouts from above. 
 Suddenly rushed down a block of marble about 
 two yards high, broad and long, whose weight 
 I dare not guess at, which went at a hundred 
 miles an hour to some depth below. There is 
 a large casualty list each year from this cause 
 alone. Moreover, marble dust mixed with air 
 is not recommended by the medical authorities 
 as good for lung diseases, and many lose their 
 lives by the dynamite explosions. 
 
 However, these workers were a cheery lot, 
 251 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 reminding me somewhat of my friends in the 
 plaster works near Tutbury, of whom I have 
 seen something. 
 
 On leaving this place — and all the men came 
 to see us off — we clambered up a precipitous 
 slope to the shoulder, just under the Pizzo 
 d' Uccello, and thence for an hour along the 
 north-western slope overlooking the great 
 valley of the Magra, with Aulla and Pontremoli 
 in the distance. Then over the Foce di Vinca, 
 and down a most horrible precipice towards 
 Forno di Massa. There was no apparent track; 
 I knew nothing of my guide, who, though he 
 was an excellent fellow as it turned out, had 
 lost himself once; my shoes were heavily nailed, 
 all the rocks were of slippery marble, and I 
 was carrying clothes for two days. There were 
 some places on that slope at which I felt more 
 real fear than on any of the more difficult peaks 
 around Zermatt or even on Tover Kop in 
 South Africa. 
 
 After a struggle of two hours we arrived 
 on the road below, and half an hour's walk 
 brought us to Forno. This village is almost 
 entirely composed of huge workmen's dwell- 
 ings, which are built in modern style, over- 
 hanging the steep rocks of a mountain torrent. 
 252 
 
Bagni and over the Carraras 
 
 It possesses a tramway line connecting it with 
 Massa, and I had hoped to have finished 
 comfortably in that little city. Alas for 
 human hopes ! The trams only run here on 
 festas y and so we dined and slept, fairly com- 
 fortably, at a small inn in this workmen's 
 village under the great hills. My guide left 
 me the next morning, happy and contented, 
 with, however, ten francs less than he had 
 asked me, but with probably twenty francs 
 more than his due. But he is a good fellow, 
 and I can recommend him. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels and Inns : 
 
 Castelnuovo : Albergo il Globo. 
 
 Piazza al Serchio : Albergo della Posta. 
 
 Massa: Hotel Massa; pension 6.50 frcs. Restaurant 
 Giappone in square. 
 
 Roads, etc. : 
 
 Leave Castelnuovo by bridge crossing the Serchio river 
 and to the left on other side by the road to Aulla (ask for 
 road to San Romano) ; San Romano (6 miles), thence to 
 Piazza al Serchio (9 miles from Castelnuovo, 3 miles from 
 San Romano). From Piazza rough road, on part of which 
 there is a tramway belonging to marble works, to Gramo- 
 lazzo (5 J miles). Here ask for guide if you wish to cross 
 the mountains. To Minucciano from Gramolazzo ( 1 J miles). 
 
 253 
 
Chapter XXI — Bagni to Abetone by 
 the Mountains 
 
 THE path leads by Monte Fegatesi, 
 which has been described in Chap- 
 ter VI, and we started at six so 
 that we might breakfast at this 
 place in the little Albergo Alpino, trusting to 
 find a guide there who would conduct us over 
 the pass between the mountains of Rondinajo 
 and Tre Potenze. Having satisfied the inner 
 man we awaited the guide, whom our landlord 
 had promised to provide for us, with some 
 impatience. Suddenly to us appeared an old 
 woman whom we took to be the mother of 
 our conductor, and so we bargained with her 
 accordingly. 
 
 What was our surprise to learn that this 
 elderly dame herself was our destined leader, 
 and indeed she was got up for the fray in long 
 boots and short skirts with a workmanlike- 
 looking stick ! It is true I am a little afraid 
 of ladies in the mountains from an experience 
 I had once at Zermatt. An Anglican curate 
 254 
 
Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains 
 
 at our hotel had confided to me that his 
 young and pretty wife desired to adventure up 
 one of the least difficult peaks about, just to 
 see how she liked it ; would I escort her ? 
 With the greatest pleasure ; and so we went 
 up until we arrived on a steepish slope which 
 led down to a precipice, and there of all places 
 my pretty companion broke down, crying 
 hysterically. Knowing that the sole danger 
 lay in her slipping, and as she had quite lost 
 control over herself, my position as guide was 
 not an enviable one, and I was thankful indeed 
 when we arrived at the hotel, and she to the 
 protection of her husband. 
 
 But our companion to-day was of another 
 mould, and if either of us was to succumb, 
 certainly she would not have been the victim. 
 
 On we tramped, she always ahead, walking 
 with a fine military swing which a Life Guards- 
 man might have envied. The path leads down 
 and around the base of Prato Fiorito and Tre 
 Potenze, crossing finally the road to Modena 
 which Marie Louise, Duchess of Lucca, had 
 munificently built, which road, however, the 
 authorities have not thought fit to keep in 
 repair. This work was constructed in 1 8 19 at 
 the cost of ^"40,000, and since that time nothing 
 255 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 has been done to it, consequently it cannot be 
 used for vehicles. It is well planned, how- 
 ever, and deserves a better fate. 
 
 Here our guide conducted us to a steep 
 path which follows a small and rushing stream 
 issuing out of the side of Rondinaio, and up 
 it we ascended for an hour or more until the 
 pass was reached. We here had the merciful 
 intention of sending the old woman back, an 
 intention, however, she very strongly opposed. 
 It was only by allowing her to come some few 
 miles further that we could induce her to leave 
 us at all. 
 
 Really the prospect of arriving in the 
 ultra - fashionable summer resort of Abetone 
 escorted by an ancient beldame was some- 
 what frightening, and I cannot help ascribing 
 her persistency to the blandishments of my 
 friend the Tariff Reformer. However, 1 was 
 able to get a very good snapshot of the 
 two walking together, which I presented to 
 this political economist's wife. 
 
 Naturally in the company of so enthusiastic 
 a believer in this means of righting the wrongs 
 of our commercial system, the more especially 
 as he is a personal friend of the great inspirer 
 of this heresy, Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, the 
 256 
 
Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains 
 
 subject was not neglected. In one thing, how- 
 ever, as a free trader, I was firm. Economic 
 discussions were barred when ascending slopes. 
 The idea was intolerable of being forced to 
 answer complicated arithmetical conundrums 
 when out of breath and thirsty. 
 
 However, we discussed it on the level road 
 round Monte Tre Potenze, I am afraid with- 
 out the conversion of either party. How 
 curious it is that no two Englishmen ever 
 remain together for long without the subject 
 of politics being entered upon, or perhaps I 
 should say that we almost alone among the 
 peoples of the earth place in the forefront 
 this special subject ! The Latin races, French, 
 Italian, Spaniards, in ordinary conversation, 
 rather avoid offering an opinion on the politi- 
 cal questions of the day. 
 
 I suppose the reason of the difference is 
 this, that in our more fortunate isles party 
 disagreements have been discussed for so long 
 unaccompanied by revolutions or actual con- 
 flict, while on the Continent within a com- 
 paratively short time factions have caused 
 bloodshed. We cannot, therefore, justly re- 
 proach them for avoiding subjects of such 
 danger. 
 
 s 257 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 We at any rate amicably opposed and 
 defended Free Trade on our journey to 
 Abetone. The first approach to this place 
 from the Modena road suggests a German 
 Spa, for two large hotels are seen high up on 
 the hills, and but few other houses of any 
 kind. When, however, you pass the old 
 boundary between Modena and Lucca, signi- 
 fied by two small pyramids at the top of the 
 pass, you enter a pine wood which leads to 
 the little village of Boscolungo, which is 
 almost entirely given up to the entertainment 
 of the summer visitors. But Abetone deserves 
 some description, the more so as it is charac- 
 teristic of much of the higher social life of 
 Italy. Some enterprising person in the society 
 of Florence or Rome discovered this little 
 village, and like Beau Brummell at Bath, made 
 it fashionable. Now it is inhabited during 
 the two hot months by members of the fami- 
 lies of the Roman and Florentine aristocracy 
 living in comparatively humble little hotels 
 (with the exception of one or two larger ones) 
 made into the semblance of hotels of the first 
 order. The life these people spend there is 
 especially characteristic both of the innate 
 domesticity of the Italian and also of their 
 258 
 
Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains 
 
 inveterate provincialism. 1 remember speaking 
 to a great Italian lady some years ago, a very 
 great woman indeed, who had been an Am- 
 bassadress at many European courts, who said 
 that when she returned to Rome she felt that 
 she was in the same atmosphere as that of a 
 small English county. At the time her views 
 scandalised me, not only on account of Rome 
 being the ancient capital of the world, but 
 from the fact that after all it is a city to-day 
 possessing a cosmopolitan society. Moreover 
 I could not see the connection between the 
 feudal exclusiveness of an English county 
 and the partly feudal, partly commercial, 
 and partly religious, social life in the Italian 
 capital. 
 
 But her words came back to me when 
 studying manners at this mountain village of 
 Abetone. You saw there the resentment, 
 not offensively expressed, at the presence of 
 strangers, simply as strangers (forestieri), 
 which one observes in our own dear land. 
 " 'E's a furriner," " 'Eave 'arf a brick at him." 
 The brick was not there, but the energy 
 behind the brick was quite apparent. 
 
 On the other hand a man of Lucca or of Pisa, 
 of quite good and even of historic family, will 
 259 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 often be ignored by the " set " because not 
 a Roman or Florentine. There was rather a 
 good example of this extraordinary form of 
 exclusiveness exhibited at Abetone when I was 
 there. 
 
 A marchese from one of these towns, whose 
 palace is known to all persons who pass through 
 it for its wonderful collection of old masters, 
 whose ancestors had for four centuries been 
 prominent citizens of the city and in a way 
 made history, came to me one day and said : 
 " What do you think of Abetone ? " I replied 
 I thought it very nice, but they dressed too 
 well for a country place and did not do enough. 
 He replied : M That is not what I mean, but 
 are they friendly? for we have been in our inn 
 for two weeks, and no single person has 
 spoken to us ! We feel out of it." He was 
 quite surprised when I told him that we, as 
 foreigners, had made the acquaintance of all 
 the people in ours. 
 
 He said then : " It is wonderful to us how 
 you English always seem to be friends or to 
 make friends, while we are not even friendly 
 with our own people." 
 
 What this excellent man meant was just 
 this : the British of the upper class always 
 260 
 
Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains 
 
 recognise each other ; there is a masonry 
 between them, and they at once become 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Beyond this there is among the Anglo- 
 Saxons generally the human sentiment of fra- 
 ternity, due to the fact that owing to class 
 distinctions there is little chance of annoyance 
 by open intercourse. 
 
 Consequently, if in any inn or hotel we meet 
 a man of our own rank we are at once on 
 good terms with him, and through him perhaps 
 on good terms with Italians of various classes. 
 On the other hand the Italian gentry, principi, 
 marchesi, conti, baroni, being about ten per 
 cent of the population, are too numerous for 
 any such masonry to exist, and clearly it does 
 not exist. 
 
 So at Abetone. Society represented by a 
 certain number of Florentine, Roman and 
 other families, with their relatives by marriage 
 or of acquaintance, form a set. It is quite 
 a pleasant one, especially on the children's side 
 of the matter, for the Italian fathers and 
 mothers are really devoted to their offspring. 
 The Roman, who in his day has been known 
 as the wildest of the wild, tossing his baby in 
 his arms, trundling the perambulator, or play- 
 261 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 ing hide-and-seek with his children, is a 
 pleasing sight. And it is quite genuine, no 
 mere pose, for the Italians of whatever class 
 make good fathers. I am not sure that in 
 this respect we might not take lessons from 
 them. And the wives become good mothers, 
 "almost savagely devoted mothers," to their 
 offspring, as an English marchesa said to me. 
 On this side of the question, the domestic 
 side, Abetone may be considered a revelation 
 and perhaps an example. 
 
 On the other side, the social one, it is equally 
 instructive. Here are a number of people of 
 easy means living the "country life," and 
 living it in the proper sense not at all. I am 
 informed by one who ought to know, that the 
 ladies change their dresses three times a day. 
 Of the men I can speak with more exact 
 knowledge. They are dressed as a City clerk 
 might be dressed for a wedding — dark clothes, 
 patent-leather boots, and that kind of thing. 
 They play tennis a little, they walk through 
 the woods a little, they even make expeditions 
 to Monte Cimone (two hours) on mules, always 
 on mules. They amiably philander, dawdle, 
 and gossip as they would do the same in the 
 Via Tornabuoni or on the Pincio. But of 
 
 262 
 
Bagni to Abetone by the Mountains 
 
 country life they know nothing, care nothing, 
 and if they cared, the patent-leather boots 
 would certainly be a deterrent. 
 
 Like their delightful prototypes of the Louis 
 Quinze and Louis Seize periods, inspired by 
 a belief in simplicity, they attempt to attain 
 their object in the costume which is habitual 
 to them, and with the ideals which inspire 
 them. 
 
 In fact they are townsmen, bred and born, 
 very charming townsmen, but their attempt 
 at living the country life is foredoomed to 
 failure just because they are not a feudal 
 nobility, but a town aristocracy, and no more 
 able to imitate squires in England or barons 
 in Germany than are mine-owners or stock- 
 brokers when they buy English estates. 
 
 Certainly it is far from my meaning to 
 present this aspect of the life at Abetone in an 
 uncomplimentary light. To us it seems 
 funny ; that is all. 
 
 Abetone, so far as this goes, is very in- 
 structive, because everything is in a small 
 compass. One cannot help being amused at 
 seeing the untravelled Englishman floundering 
 in among the billows of a social sea so unlike 
 his own, that he is stunned by the shocks it 
 263 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 gives him. Everyone he meets, knowable or 
 unknowable, is a conte, a marchese, or a duca. 
 It must indeed be paradise for the British or 
 American bourgeois unaccustomed, perhaps, to 
 meeting on equal terms men of title of his 
 own race, and I am sure he thoroughly enjoys 
 it. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Monte Fegatesi : Osteria Alpino. 
 Abetone : Hotel Bellini. 
 
 Roads, etc. : 
 
 From Bagni to Monte Fegatesi see Chapter VI. From 
 Monte Fegatesi the nearest road is difficult to find without 
 a guide, but by descending into the valley the old disused 
 road can easily be struck, and to follow that is not difficult. 
 You strike the great road to Modena about two miles north 
 of Abetone. (From Bagni to Abetone about 26 miles.) 
 
 264 
 
Chapter XXII — Bagni di Lucca to 
 Massarosa and a visit to " Ouida" 
 
 1 HEARD through the Corriere della Sera 
 that the popular novelist whose name is 
 Mile, de la Ramee, and who is known 
 to all of us as u Ouida/' 1 was in my 
 neighbourhood, and, as reported, in some 
 distress. Therefore I determined to pay her 
 a visit, in spite of many warnings that visitors 
 were not usually well received by her, believ- 
 ing that an old acquaintanceship of twenty 
 years and a sincere desire to help her would be 
 my passport. And I was not mistaken. 
 
 From Bagni di Lucca to Massarosa, where 
 " Ouida " then was, one passes down the beau- 
 tiful valley of the Serchio, a river which here 
 need not fear comparison with the most re- 
 nowned parts of the Rhine. Indeed, it is 
 finer ; for though the river itself is not so 
 large, the mountains around are higher and 
 
 1 Since I wrote this " Ouida " died at Viareggio on 
 January 25, 1908, and I paid my last and sad homage to 
 her by attending her funeral. 
 
 265 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 in aspect more majestic. Here we are in a 
 narrow pass between the Apennines and the 
 Apuan Alps, with their village fortresses 
 perched up on rocks which to the Londoner 
 would seem inaccessible. Here, too, are found 
 examples of the commercial renaissance of 
 Italy in the nineteenth century, as remarkable 
 in its way as the intellectual revival of four 
 centuries ago. At one of the villages (Piag- 
 gione) at which I paused, there is a cotton 
 factory, small it is true, but complete in its 
 way, with one of the best systems of work- 
 men's dwellings which I have yet seen. I 
 made friends with some of the workers, and 
 was asked to enter their houses. Mostly 
 these are flats of five to seven rooms each, 
 all lighted by electricity, all well arranged in 
 respect to sanitation, and let to the occupiers 
 for a sum of money so small that I dare not 
 put it down here for fear that our northern 
 fellow citizens may be incited to emigrate. 
 Every time I have been at Piaggione — and I 
 have been often, at night, in full day, on holi- 
 days, in times of distress, in fair weather and 
 in foul — always I have found these humble 
 cotton labourers extraordinarily well be- 
 haved, self-respecting, dignified, and hospit- 
 266 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Massarosa 
 
 able. Thence I passed through another 
 industrial village, Ponte a Moriano by name, 
 thence by wondrous lanes under and between 
 trellised vine groves and fields of maize, to 
 the mountains, on the other side of which, 
 within sight of the Mediterranean, lies the 
 village of Massarosa. Massarosa is placed on 
 the lowest spurs of the Apuan mountains, 
 and is framed in a setting of magnificent peaks, 
 whose outlines can hardly be matched in the 
 Higher Alps. The village straggles along the 
 road, making little incursions here and there 
 into the olive valleys of the hills. There was 
 no difficulty in finding the poor house in which 
 dwelt the once fashionable authoress. In a 
 square of dull-looking grey houses some way 
 off the highroad I was directed to Number 37, 
 and knocked, and was presently admitted to 
 the kitchen, which gives on to the street, and 
 there I waited until my letter was presented 
 and my credentials inspected. It so happened 
 that I had met " Ouida " some twenty years 
 ago in a house in London where " lions " were 
 perpetually on show, and she then was among 
 the most leonine of them all. While waiting, 
 I strolled out into the cottage garden, and 
 there encountered a disconsolate reporter who 
 267 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 had been waiting an audience for many hours, 
 for our authoress would not receive anyone 
 she did not personally know. 
 
 "Ouida," I think, has been often misjudged. 
 She wrote, it is true, very extravagant accounts 
 of the less worthy side of the social life in 
 great cities. Her gilded and perfumed officers 
 of the Guards were only interesting when, as 
 occasionally occurred, they ceased to be gilded 
 and perfumed and went to war. At other 
 times they were mostly vulgar and always 
 stupid. Generally she gave an exaggerated 
 account of a side of life sufficiently nauseating 
 without exaggeration. But, after all, her " so- 
 ciety" characters were not one whit more 
 objectionable, unreal, or contemptible than the 
 curled and befrizzled " lords " of Disraeli. On 
 the other hand, "Ouida's" human studies were 
 delightful and true. Her pictures of Italian 
 peasant life, of the life of the poor in many 
 countries, of French soldiers and English 
 sportsmen would redeem much graver faults 
 than those which I have mentioned. In fact, 
 in literature " Ouida " travelled, as some of 
 us travel in trains, first or third class, never 
 second. She could portray a serious and 
 earnest noble and a hard-working peasant 
 268 
 
Bagni di Lucca to Massarosa 
 
 family, but she could not, perhaps because she 
 hated the development so much — she could 
 not put on paper a sympathetic sketch of 
 modern irresponsible wealth. It was curious 
 to find her in these later days living in the 
 house of one of the peasants she immortalised 
 in the Village Commune^ for Massarosa is the 
 place which I believe she had in mind when 
 writing this work. She had been ill, and un- 
 doubtedly she should be cared for better than 
 was possible in the humble house in which she 
 then dwelt. For herself, I do not think there is 
 any place she would have preferred to live in, 
 but, as I told her, those who value her work 
 should have seen that she had every comfort in 
 her old age. After all, England and Italy owe 
 something to her, for she was the first of a 
 series of writers who brought the true Italy 
 and the true Italian home to us, forced us out 
 of our insular prejudice, and made us friends 
 in a more intimate manner than even national 
 ententes can ever do, and in that manner gave 
 sight and understanding to the people of both 
 races. "Ouida" did not wish for personal 
 descriptions of herself — a wish which I, as an 
 acquaintance, can but respect. It is sufficient 
 for my purpose to say that I was received by 
 269 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 an elderly lady, feeble now with years, gracious 
 and kindly, and retaining that trait of hers 
 which will ever be appreciated by myself — an 
 unlimited love for her canine friends in number 
 beyond count. 
 
 270 
 
Chapter XXIII — Bagni to Viareggio 
 and the Sea 
 
 THE other day, while toiling up one 
 of the steep paths which lead from 
 Bagni di Lucca to one of the many 
 mountain villages, I encountered a 
 little boy of twelve years old, with eyes as 
 blue as those of the Vikings, carrying a sack 
 of wheat so heavy (for I tried it) that I would 
 not have cared to undertake to bear his burden 
 for an hour. It was close on noon, and he 
 had been doing this thing since seven o'clock. 
 We entered into conversation, and I asked 
 him had he ever been to the nearest seaside 
 place — Viareggio. He had never been, nor 
 had he ever seen the sea, which was the more 
 remarkable in that a mountain not far behind 
 his own village of Colle gives a very good 
 distant prospect of the Mediterranean, from 
 Genoa to Leghorn. Only a few weeks before, 
 in England, I had been inspired by a desire to 
 witness a Bank Holiday at Southend. It was 
 Whit Monday of this year, so I travelled down 
 271 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 first class to that place in a carriage which con- 
 tained eighteen persons (all, I believe, except 
 my friend and myself third-class passengers) 
 though originally intended for eight. In this 
 carriage it seemed to be the pleasant fashion 
 that each man should bear the burden of his 
 wife or sweetheart, for in every case the woman 
 reclined on the knees of the man as a matter 
 of course. Indeed, not being East-enders, be- 
 fore the journey was over we felt quite lonely, 
 outside of the fashion and custom of the 
 season. 
 
 I have mentioned this Southend experience 
 to explain why it was I made an offer to the 
 little peasant boy to come with me one day to 
 Viareggio. Almost all of our poor in the 
 slums of our great cities have, in one way 
 or another, the opportunity of obtaining the 
 benefit of change of scene which even one 
 day at the seaside means, and this little fellow 
 had never had such a chance. I gave it 
 to him. 
 
 Beppi (that is his name) and his cousin 
 Dario came with me one day in August by 
 early train from Bagni di Lucca via Lucca to 
 Viareggio. They were dressed in their Sunday 
 best, straw hats, black coats, etc. ; indeed, they 
 272 
 
Bagni to Viareggio and the Sea 
 
 were almost as neat as Eton or Harrow boys 
 at their great festival at Lord's. 
 
 By Divine dispensation, or a dispensation as 
 near the Divine as is conceivable — that of the 
 Italian Government Railroad Council — it was 
 ordained that we should wait for one hour at 
 Lucca. Now neither of these children living 
 within a stone's throw, or at least a big gun's 
 throw, of Lucca had ever seen this town. 
 They were little peasants of the hills, and 
 towns were new to them. In execrable Italian 
 I tried to do the Cook's interpreter and 
 guide to explain to them the antiquity of San 
 Michele and the Duomo, to point out the 
 beauties of these temples of human hopes 
 and despair, in that one hour ; but I am afraid 
 I failed. They said it was molto grande^ one 
 street was bigger than the whole of Bagni di 
 Lucca ! What they said was true ; what they 
 thought, who knows? 
 
 By rail from Lucca to Viareggio we pro- 
 ceeded leisurely, and we arrived about ten 
 o'clock. My small friends, when they first 
 saw a sailing-ship in the port, wished to go 
 on board it ; but I pointed out to them that 
 we had no rights in this matter, though I 
 promised them a sail later on. The sea did 
 t 273 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 not impress them by its wideness or by its 
 placidity or by its sense of power. They had 
 never witnessed a storm ! But in every direc- 
 tion they asked to where it led. Over there 
 was it America ? over here England ? where 
 were France and Corsica ? — until they taxed 
 my geographical knowledge somewhat unduly. 
 We lunched on the sea at the excellent Balena 
 Restaurant, built on a pier. The boys had 
 their bath in the waters of the Mediterranean, 
 and they took part in many shows. 
 
 One incident, however, which illumines my 
 experience with these youngsters, and con- 
 secrates it, must be mentioned, because it 
 illustrates the innate nobility of the good 
 Lucchese people. I was ordering lunch for 
 them, and as it had been a long day, tried to 
 do them well. " Signore," one of them said, 
 " I beg you not to spend much on us." It 
 was rather nice, and a reward for my humble 
 services, a greater reward than I had ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Certainly Viareggio in the season is one of 
 the wonders of the world, and any English- 
 man who has not seen an Italian watering- 
 place such as this has lost much. Here you 
 have a wide open sea-front of miles of sandy 
 274 
 
Bagni to Viareggio and the Sea 
 
 beach, backed always by some of the finest 
 mountains I have ever seen, the Carraras. 
 
 But for a mile or so this sandy coast is given 
 up to amusements to please the tripper, the 
 amiable Mediterranean lending itself to this 
 spoliation. As of course the tides in this inland 
 sea are of no account, so practically the whole 
 frontage, in defiance of Neptune, is invaded by 
 tiers of bathing establishments. Row on row, 
 line after line, the stakes have been driven into 
 the sand, and on these stakes are constructed, 
 to suit all tastes and purses, huts in which the 
 bather may clothe himself for his bath. The 
 little room into which you are shown if you 
 are among the mighty of this earth is furnished 
 with one chair, or table, a broken looking-glass, 
 and a mangy comb and hairbrush. It is com- 
 fortable, however, and as the staircase leads 
 straight into the ocean, it is convenient. You 
 simply undress, put on your bathing attire, and 
 descend by your own private stairs into the 
 water. 
 
 When you are there the scene reminds you 
 of Fleet Street on a busy morning. Almost 
 every square yard of water is occupied by a man, 
 woman, or child, all as jolly as sand-boys and 
 all playing, laughing, and, I regret to say, 
 275 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 spitting, in quite a free and easy manner. It 
 is, however, a cheery crowd as we saw it on 
 this day, a friendly crowd without the suspicion 
 of self-consciousness or restraint. 
 
 Everyone played in a quiet manner with 
 everyone else, and the only introduction which 
 seemed necessary was that of the god Neptune, 
 at whose court we were all paying homage. 
 Apart from the bathing itself, pleasant enough 
 in many respects as it is at Viareggio, is the 
 convenience which is provided of lunching or 
 dining at the establishments on the sea. This 
 place, as may be imagined, is very warm in 
 midsummer, but the fact that at two or three 
 restaurants you can obtain a decent luncheon 
 on your exit from the water, and at the same 
 time enjoy the sea breezes under cool awnings, 
 makes the experience quite delightful. 
 
 After the bathandbeforetheluncheon it is the 
 custom here to have a sort of drying parade. 
 Wrapped round in a cloak which resembles 
 the Soudanese chief's mantle of state, the 
 fashionable Italian dries himself in the sun. 
 He, or even sometimes she, smokes the pacify- 
 ing cigarette and discusses questions of mo- 
 ment in the drying. 
 
 But the beach is more interesting than the 
 276 
 
Bagni to Viareggio and the Sea 
 
 more comfortable establishments, for here you 
 see human nature very much unadorned. 
 The whole sandy front for a mile or so is given 
 up to a series of encampments resembling 
 Kaffir locations not a little. The huts are 
 built with bamboos, and the leaves of this 
 valuable tree form the sides and roofs of these 
 structures. Old men, old women, young men 
 and children crowd out of and around each, 
 but in dresses, or undresses, which again very 
 vividly brought back to mind my good Zulu 
 and Batalong friends in South Africa, and all 
 of them thoroughly enjoying their play on the 
 sands. 
 
 The children gambolled around, gambolling 
 with the Mediterranean very much as a cat 
 plays with a ball, and a particularly stout 
 burgess of Florence was seen by me buried in 
 the sand, practically leaving only the most 
 prominent part of his stomach visible. I 
 confess that having imbibed the spirit of the 
 fun of the place it was only with considerable 
 self-restraint that I prevented myself from 
 jumping on this prominent and aggressive 
 object. 
 
 But on the whole this Italian seaside place 
 at the height of its season is pleasant and in- 
 277 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 structive. The people do what they like 
 without criticism, or anyhow without ill- 
 natured criticism. They play, they frolic, 
 they even do things which we do not like, but 
 they do them all in the spirit of children. 
 They are very free from self-consciousness, 
 these Italians by the sea. 
 
 It was near Viareggio, it will be remem- 
 bered, that the poet Shelley was drowned, and 
 a square and a monument now honour his 
 memory there. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Hotels and Pensions : 
 
 Lucca : 
 
 Hotel Royal Univers. Rooms, 3 frcs. Petit dejeuner, 
 1 frc. Lunch, 2J frcs. Dinner, 4 frcs. Pension in winter, 
 
 7J frcs. ; in summer, 7 frcs. 
 
 Viareggio : 
 
 Grand Hotel. Pension in winter, 6 to 7 frcs. ; in 
 summer, 10 to 12 frcs. 
 
 Hotel de Nice. Pension in winter, 6 to 7 frcs. ; in 
 summer, 7 to 8 frcs. 
 
 Hotel della Pace. 
 
 Pension Pini. 
 
 Restaurant (on sea), Balena, a la carte. 
 
 Physicians : 
 
 Dr. Pini, Dr. Munro. 
 
 278 
 
Chapter XXIV — From Viareggio over 
 the Apuans 
 
 IT is possible that many of my readers 
 have never heard of the little old-world 
 town of Camaiore. Those who have 
 not, however, if in the neighbourhood, 
 may find it worthy of a visit from the fact 
 that it has hardly been altered since the 
 fifteenth century. It is said that someone 
 asked an inhabitant of that town which was 
 the largest town in the world, and he replied 
 that without doubt Rome was the capital, but 
 that Camaiore was the second. It may be seen 
 therefore that the Camaiorsi (if that is what 
 they call themselves) are not lacking in local 
 patriotism. They have another great virtue 
 also, for they are among the most courteous 
 people in this country, where courtesy is 
 studied as an art. 
 
 The stranger is nearly always saluted by 
 
 them, and though in their hearts they may 
 
 look upon him as an unlucky being in that 
 
 he does not reside at Camaiore, possibly this 
 
 279 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 very reason inspires them with a gentle pity, 
 and induces them to treat him with especial 
 politeness. An Englishman of my acquaint- 
 ance the other day spent some time in this 
 place, and returned saying that he supposed 
 the people had mistaken him for the deputy, 
 for everyone he met capped him. 
 
 After a visit to the church, where I believe 
 there is some very fine old tapestry, which, 
 alas ! we could not see, and a general survey 
 of the place, my friend and I started along the 
 Lucca road, meaning to branch off from it and 
 cross the mountains to the Serchio valley, not 
 far from Bagni di Lucca. The first two miles 
 is flat enough, the road running by a stream, 
 though at all points commanding magnificent 
 views of the mountains at the back, Monte 
 Piglione, Monte Matanna, and up to the 
 Pannia della Croce ; but on arrival at the 
 small village of Nocchi the ascent commences. 
 Here are two very large villas, belong- 
 ing, I believe, to a wealthy manufacturer, 
 though we had no time to visit them. 
 At this point we left the road, or, more 
 correctly, it left us, for the carriage way here 
 ceases, and we took a mule path up the 
 mountain side. The first part of the ascent 
 380 
 
A VILLAGE LACE SCHOOL^AT VIAREGGIO. 
 
From Viareggio over the Apuans 
 
 is through olive woods, the salita itself being 
 good but exceedingly rocky. This fact is 
 mentioned because we suffered a little from 
 these boulders and for the following reason. 
 My friend, like myself, is a bit of a politician, 
 as I have hinted in the previous chapter, and 
 a philosopher. His politics and philosophy 
 have led him to become a confirmed Tariff 
 Reformer, a pronounced High Church Angli- 
 can, and I think an enthusiastic believer in 
 grape nuts. These are matters of faith in 
 respect to which I am but a heretic. There- 
 fore some of these subjects were discussed, 
 without much reference to our foothold, and 
 not infrequently with dire results to our feet, 
 illustrating the superiority no doubt of mind 
 over matter. At one time I think I was 
 attempting to make my misguided friend see 
 some of the beauties of municipal socialism, 
 and came so great a cropper in consequence, 
 that it would have taken several of the mem- 
 bers of the London Council to have placed me 
 in mental, or indeed physical, equilibrium. 
 
 The road after it emerges from the olives 
 
 presents many fine views over the plain 
 
 towards the sea at Viareggio, and as we 
 
 mounted the steep ridges gave us occasional 
 
 281 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 glimpses of the higher peaks still covered with 
 their winter snows. One meets few people on 
 these mountain tracks at this time of the year, 
 but we came upon one regular procession of 
 wood carriers bearing enormous burdens on 
 their heads, composed of grandmother, mother, 
 and grandchildren of all ages, from, I imagine, 
 five upwards, and of both sexes. The children 
 were pretty and healthy-looking, and apparently 
 thought nothing of carrying their bundles the 
 four or five miles from this place to Camaiore. 
 From the top of this pass one has a good 
 view down the narrow valley which leads to 
 the Serchio, showing several mountain villages. 
 At this point we entered the chestnut woods, 
 through which the track goes right down to 
 the river bed, passing the quaintly situated 
 village of Convalle, tightly plastered up against 
 the steep side of a mountain. Nearly every 
 village we passed possessed a handsome cam- 
 panile, though the body of the churches had 
 often been modernised, on account, I pre- 
 sume, of the sins of the people. After about 
 a three hours' tramp we arrived at Trebbio, 
 where we proposed to lunch at an inn, where 
 a family of children exists, all of whom are 
 very good friends of mine. 
 282 
 
From Viareggio over the Apuans 
 
 We were both by this time a little anxious 
 about lunch. Fortunately my companion is 
 a man of simple tastes. He had previously 
 explained this to me in these words : " You 
 know I am all for plain living. For lunch, 
 for example, I never require more than say 
 a hors cTceuvre, perhaps a dozen native oysters, 
 a small entree^ and a little game to follow, 
 washed down by Chablis." 
 
 The sausages which decorated the roof of 
 the room certainly did not present a very 
 appetising appearance, for they were of a 
 mouldy white -green colour. However, we 
 overcame our prejudice by the assumption 
 that sausages like old port ought to be crusted 
 if good, and indeed found them very palat- 
 able. 
 
 From Trebbio we crossed another ridge, on 
 which stands the picturesque village of Fon- 
 dagna, where the beautiful tower of the church 
 tempted us to enter, only to find the interior 
 decorated in the worst style of modern Italian 
 art. The old masters — we have the authority 
 of Mark Twain for this — are dead ; and the 
 new ones yet, alas ! unborn. 
 
 The Val d'Otava, which is now traversed, 
 is one of the prettiest in these hills. The 
 283 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 walk itself is for a mile or so covered with 
 a pergola of vines, a stream of clear water 
 makes its boisterous way down towards the 
 greater river, and on its banks even now the 
 spring flowers are budding. The little villages 
 are ideally situated between the hills, and the 
 people are a friendly and kindly lot. Last 
 year I had passed it, and then made the 
 acquaintance of a " Signora inglese," married 
 to an Italian tradesman in London, who had 
 come to live here. As she was brought up 
 on the property of a family in Norfolk with 
 whom I am acquainted, we had become great 
 friends, a friendship which I was glad to 
 renew. 
 
 This year another young English woman 
 had arrived. She also had been fascinated by 
 some gay young Italian in London, and now 
 had come to live in this far-away village with 
 her husband. It was particularly interesting 
 to hear what she thought of Italy and the 
 Italians, seeing that she came from near Clap- 
 ham Junction, and had only been in this 
 country two months. As far as I could make 
 out, the only grievance she had against them 
 was in that the people did not speak English, 
 a matter in which I could entirely sympathise 
 284 
 
From Viareggio over the Apuans 
 
 with her. Let us hope that Esperanto may 
 soon settle these difficulties ! 
 
 We were most kindly entertained by the 
 good people, and with many good wishes bade 
 them farewell. Thence we walked on to the 
 village, on the Serchio river, of Piagione, where 
 we intended to catch a train for Viareggio. 
 Again our interest in human affairs, called 
 Politics, impeded us, for while waiting for the 
 train we entered into a friendly discussion 
 of the new Army reforms sponsored by Mr. 
 Haldane. So eager were we in this great 
 Imperial question, that time slipped away as 
 easily as principles, and the last train was 
 lost. 
 
 Ill winds and even punctual trains — this 
 train was alarmingly punctual — sometimes have 
 their uses, for in bargaining for a carriage to 
 take us to Lucca, we came into contact with 
 a great number of the people of Piagione. 
 Now this place is interesting, for here has 
 been established for some fifteen years a factory 
 of cotton goods. (My companion, of course, 
 got a word in about the merits of tariff reform.) 
 The owner of these works has established a 
 number of excellent workmen's dwellings on 
 modern lines — there are some iooo workers 
 285 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 of both sexes employed — and we were anxious 
 to visit one of these. Several people offered 
 to show us over, and we accepted the hospi- 
 tality of one of these, visiting an excellently 
 arranged five-room flat, well kept and scrupu- 
 lously clean, which was let to the tenant for 
 the sum of eleven francs a month, including 
 the use of electric light, with which all these 
 houses are supplied. We have nothing, I 
 think, as cheap as this in England, nor have 
 we anything better managed. 
 
 After much friendly talk with the workers, 
 we at last entered our carriage for Lucca to 
 catch a train, which delivered us in due course 
 at Viareggio, where we were both staying. 
 
 Practical Information 
 Hotels and Inns : 
 
 Viareggio : see Chapter X. 
 Camaiore : Albergo il Giardinetto. 
 
 Roads : 
 
 From Viareggio an excellent little steam tramway starts 
 from the railway station, which brings you to Camaiore 
 in 35 minutes (about 5 J miles). From Camaiore, making 
 straight through the main street, you follow the Lucca road 
 until you come to the stone bridge (ij miles) over the river, 
 then leaving the bridge on your right (not crossing it) you 
 286 
 
From Viareggio over the Apuans 
 
 follow the road to Nocchi (f mile). From this place a mule 
 path leads by the village of Miseri, over the pass to Trebbio. 
 At Nocchi ask for road to Miseri, after Miseri ask for road 
 to Trebbio. Thence either by carriage road to Diecemo, or 
 from Trebbio over the ridge on which is the village of Fon- 
 dagno through the Val d* Otava to Piagione. (Railway.) 
 
 287 
 
Chapter XXV — From Sarzana to 
 Spezzia 
 
 1HAD met Alessandrina, a veritable 
 sylph of the woods, bare-legged, bare- 
 headed, a little person of four years, 
 in the Pine Forest near Viareggio. 
 We had naturally got into conversation, and 
 I was so fascinated by her air of self-posses- 
 sion and of friendliness that I postponed my 
 walk to talk to her. She with much dignity 
 asked me to go with her to her house, which 
 I willingly consented to do ; so we started 
 through the woods, she skipping beside me, 
 yet skipping with an admirable sense of self- 
 restraint and dignity. After a scramble we 
 arrived at three dome-shaped huts made, as 
 far as I could see, of twigs, surrounded by 
 a cultivated patch of land. In one of these 
 cabins was a cow, in the other certain garden 
 implements, and the third one was Alessan- 
 drina's home. I was formally presented by my 
 young hostess to her mother, a good-looking, 
 kindly, middle-aged woman, and to her father, 
 288 
 
From Sarzana to Spezzia 
 
 who had the appearance and dress of being 
 half a Neapolitan fisherman, half farmer, for 
 he wore one of those red woollen flabby caps. 
 And, of course, I made the acquaintance of 
 brothers and sisters of varying ages. The 
 round hut inside had two rooms, quite nice 
 and clean rooms, a bedroom, and a sitting- 
 room and kitchen combined. How they 
 managed to be so tidy, seeing the size of the 
 family, it is impossible to imagine, but they 
 were neat and clean. 
 
 This was the commencement of our ac- 
 quaintance, and I never failed if I were passing 
 near to pay them a visit. And sometimes they 
 called on me in town, when they were milk or 
 vegetable-selling. 
 
 It came about, then, that I knew them well, 
 and one day, as I had proposed to myself 
 a walk to Spezzia, I made the suggestion that 
 Alessandrina should accompany me. The 
 powers that be, however, thought the walk 
 would be too far for her, so it was settled that 
 her brother Emilio, a strong boy of eleven or 
 twelve, should take her place. Now Emilio 
 had never been to any town except Viareggio, 
 which is really no more than a large seafaring 
 village, though I would not like the Viaregini 
 u 289 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 what profession 1 belonged to, and whether 
 I had any children. They are a most delight- 
 fully, yet inoffensively, inquisitive people ; for 
 while the questions were of somewhat a deli- 
 cate nature, they were asked so clearly in the 
 spirit of genuine interest in me that only a 
 stupid man could take offence. When, how- 
 ever, she heard that I had no children the 
 woman 6aid, " Oh, you ought to have married 
 me, and then we should have had a large family." 
 This was very possible and reassuring ! We 
 walked the rest of the way into the town, and 
 through the long and straggling suburbs until 
 we struck the sea-shore, on what I consider is 
 one of the most magnificent parades I have 
 seen. For at Spezzia there are fertile gardens 
 and parks all along the sea, culminating in a 
 handsome square, where the soldiers and sailors 
 " make music " on Sundays and festas. I 
 should say that there can be few towns more 
 pleasing to dwell in, and certainly no naval 
 station to compare with it. When one thinks 
 of the hideousness of Portsmouth and Gos- 
 port, though it is true these are somewhat 
 relieved by the breeziness of Southsea, I must 
 confess to a preference for life in the Italian 
 to that in our Gargantuan naval service. We 
 292 
 
From Sarzana to Spezzia 
 
 sauntered about the bay, and Emilio, as quick 
 and inquisitive as a town-bred lad, was es- 
 pecially struck with the size of the two or 
 three Italian men-of-war in the harbour. 
 
 I had determined to give my companion a 
 really good lunch, especially with the object 
 not only of giving him something which he 
 did not every day enjoy, but also to see how 
 he would adapt himself to the habits of a 
 first-class restaurant — this cabin-bred boy. If 
 I had expected any awkwardness of behaviour, 
 then I certainly was mistaken, for from the 
 first he behaved as if it had been his habit 
 to lunch at the " Savoy " or " Ritz " all his life. 
 Indeed, he was somewhat profuse in his ex- 
 pressions of gratitude to me, but as to any 
 sort of shyness or awkwardness in a company 
 which must have been novel, he showed no 
 sign of any such thing. After lunch, to give 
 him a vivid remembrance of the beautiful 
 bay, we chartered a boat and were rowed out 
 to the extreme end of the promontory, and 
 landed for a short time at Porto Venere. 
 Here we explored all that was to be seen of 
 this quaint little town, a village perched on a 
 rock in the sea. And such rocks, and what a 
 magnificent sea ! It was altogether an ex- 
 293 
 
Walks and People in Tuscany 
 
 perience which I have reason to remember 
 with gladness, and half the pleasure of it was 
 in the real enjoyment, restrained, but ever 
 present, of my young friend the brother of 
 my Alessandrina of the woods and of the hut 
 in the woods. 
 
 Practical Information 
 
 Spezzia : Hotel Croce di Malta. 
 Restaurant Albergo Giappone. 
 
 The walk from Sarzana about 10 miles. You follow the 
 main road for about 2 J, then turn abruptly to the left, where 
 the village of Areola is seen perched high up, and there ask 
 for the mule track (salita) to Spezzia. 
 
 THE END 
 
Dates of Persons Mentioned in Text 
 
 Boccaccio, born 131 3, died 1375. 
 
 Charles Bonaparte, born 1746, died 1785, married in 1767, 
 took part in Paoli's rebellion 1768. 
 
 Marie Elisabeth Bonaparte, Duchess of L cca and Piombino 
 1805, Duchess of Tuscany 1809; married Felice 
 Bacciochi. 
 
 Byron, Lord (George G. N. Byron), born 1780, died 1824. 
 He resided at Ravenna from Jan. 1820 to Nov. 1821. 
 
 Cagliostro (the famous necromancer), born at Palermo 1 743, 
 came to England, having been condemned, 1 786. Returned 
 to Rome 1789, when he was arrested and imprisoned at 
 San Leo, where he died 1795* 
 
 Castruccio Castracani, born Lucca 1283, of the family of 
 Antiminelli. Went to England 1303, served in army 
 under Edward I. Left England and served under Philip 
 le Bel, King of France. Returned to Lucca 13 16 and 
 became tyrant of that place. He beat the Florentines 
 1325, was created Duke of Lucca and Count Palatine ; 
 died owing to his exertions at siege of Pistoia 1328. 
 
 Cavour, born 18 10, died 1861. 
 
 Clement XII (Lorenzo Corsini), raised to Papal Throne 
 1730, died 1740. 
 
 Andrea della Robbia (nephew to Luca), born 1435, died 
 1525. 
 
 Luca della Robbia, born 1399, died 1482. 
 295 
 
Dates of Persons Mentioned in Text 
 
 Saint Francis d'dssisi, born about 1 1 82. He went to Morocco 
 in 12 14 and was in Rome 12 15. Canonised 1228 
 
 Garibaldi, born 1 807, died 1882. Fought in South America, 
 returned to Italy to fight in defence of Roman Republic 
 1848-9. Settled at Caprera 1854. Fought against 
 Austria 1859-60 and in latter year with his famous 1000 
 men conquered Sicily and Naples. 
 
 The Conti Guidi were finally overthrown by the Florentine 
 Republic in 1440. The family had ruled in the Casentino 
 for two centuries. The natural defences of the territory 
 are very great, surrounded as it is by the Apennines, and 
 in fact they were only defeated in the end by overwhelming 
 numbers supported by the immense wealth of the Florentine 
 merchants. 
 
 Sir John Hawkzuood, born in Essex. Served in French wars 
 under Black Prince. Came to Italy on disbanding of 
 army with his troop. Served Pisan Republic, then Floren- 
 tine, and eventually the Visconti of Milan. Was granted 
 independent territory of Bagno Cavalli near Ravenna. 
 
 Holy Roman Empire, founded by Charlemagne 800, ended by 
 resignation of last Emperor 1 806. 
 
 Emperor Justinian, born 483, died 565, codified Roman law. 
 
 San Marinus, born in Dalmatia in fourth century. Went to 
 Rimini and worked as a mason. It is believed he helped 
 to build the bridge there. Because a Christian was per- 
 secuted, and retired as a hermit to Monte Titano (the 
 present San Marino). This territory was granted to him 
 for a monastery, but he preferred to found a republic, the 
 present Republic of San Marino. 
 
 Mazzini, born 1805, died 1872. 
 296 
 
Dates of Persons Mentioned in Text 
 
 Milton, travelled in Italy in 1637-9. He was born 
 1608 and died 1674. 
 
 Napoleon I, born 1769, died 1821. 
 
 Napoleon III, born 1808, died 1873. 
 
 Cecil Rhodes, born 1853, died 1902. 
 
 Shelley, born 1792, drowned 1822 at Viareggio. 
 
 This list is, of course, not complete. Onofri, Pauline 
 Bonaparte, Robert Dudley, etc., are not included — to say 
 nothing of Oscar Browning ! 
 
 297 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abetone, 256, 258, 259 
 
 Adriatic, 25, 26 
 
 " Alessandrina," 288 
 
 Ambrogia, Villa, 34 
 
 Areola, 291 
 
 Argenta, 71 
 
 Arno, canals of, 49 
 
 — valley, 43 
 Aristocracy, 128 
 Austria and Italy, 26 
 
 Baden-Powell, General, 2 1 1 
 
 Badia, 18 
 
 Bagni di Lucca, 139, 198 
 
 — entertainments at, 141- 
 
 143 
 
 — - "Ouida" at, 146 
 Barnett, Canon, 121, 141 
 Beggars, 116, 137, 138 
 Benabbio, 190 
 Bibbiena, 16 
 Bologna, 96 
 Bonaparte, Charles, 38 
 
 — family, 36 
 Boveglio, 192 
 "Bounders,'' 135, 136 
 Bourgeoisie, 232 
 Browning, Oscar, 32 
 
 — Mr. Robert Barrett, 109 
 
 Cagliostro, 22 
 Camaiore, 279 
 Campo Lemisi, 241 
 Careggine, 229 
 Carmichael, Mr., 52 
 Casentino, 14 
 Casoli, 168 
 Castellina, 137 
 Castello di Poggio, 122 
 Castelnuovo, 228, 246 
 Castruccio Castracani, 155, 
 
 191 
 Cecil Rhodes, 152 
 Certaldo, castello of, 56, 57 
 — slums of, 58, 59 
 Certosa monastery, 1 3 1 
 Charlemagne, 40 
 Cini, Commendatore, 181 
 Clement XII, 28 
 Cocciglia, 168, 169 
 Collodi, 194 
 
 Conciliation committees, 181 
 Consuma road, 1 5 
 Convalle, 282 
 Co-operation in Italy, 1 8 1 
 Coronets, origin of, 38 
 Corsagna, 200 
 Cotton industry in Italy, 45 
 Cromwell, 40 
 
 301 
 
Index 
 
 Crown Princess of Saxony, 
 the, 187, 188 
 
 Dances, Italian, 232 
 Dino, Dini, Mr., 48 
 "Dreadnoughts," 125 
 Dudley, Robert, 53 
 
 Emigration, 161 
 
 Empoli, 35, 43 
 
 English sets in Florence, 10 
 
 Esquires and Italian titles, 10 
 
 Faenza, 67 
 Ferrara, 72 
 Fiesole, 114 
 
 Florence, reflections on 
 hotels, 80, 81 
 
 — society, 4, 5, 6, 7 
 Fognano, 65, 66 
 Fondagna, 283 
 Forbes, Colonel H., 29 
 Forno Velasco, 218 
 Fraternising, 143, 144 
 French, Baroness, 182 
 Fucecchio, 33, 38, 39 
 
 Gallicano, 217 
 Garfagnana, 216 
 Garibaldi, 29 
 
 — festival, a, 147-152 
 German industry, 126 
 Ghivizzano, 157-163 
 Giglioli, Dr., 140 
 Gordon, Lina Duff, 290 
 Gramolazzo, 249 
 Greve, 135 
 
 Guastala, 87, 88 
 Guidi, Count, 1 5 
 
 Hague Conference, 40 
 Hawkwood, Sir John, 66, 1 5 6 
 Hill-dwellers of Italy, 225, 
 
 226 
 Hungary, the Magyars, 33 
 
 Impruneta, 133 
 
 Italian manner compared with 
 
 English, 47 
 Italy, King of, 10 
 
 James III at Lucca, 145 
 Jesuits, 1 1 8 
 
 Lamone, valley of the, 64 
 Lastra a Signa, 33 
 Leghorn = Livorno, 42 
 
 — attractions of, 54 
 
 — the " Factory cemetery 
 of, 54 
 
 — cinematograph at, 50, 51 
 Levi, Baron, 1 12 
 
 Lever, Charles, 3 
 Lima valley, the, 166 
 Limano, 171 
 Lucca, 44, 207, 273 
 Lucchio, 173, 180 
 Lugliano, 198 
 
 Maraddi, 63 
 Marble workers, 2 5 1 
 Marcignana, 36 
 Marecchia, 18 
 Massarosa, 267 
 Matraja, 205 
 Mereworth Castle, 105 
 Messina Earthquake Relief, 
 100-102 
 
 302 
 
Index 
 
 Modena, 96 
 
 Monte Barbona, 203 
 
 — Catini, 187, 196 
 
 — di Villa, 147 
 
 — Fegatesi, 146-152 
 
 — Fiano, 121 
 Montelespio, legend of, 34 
 Montemignajo, 14 
 Monteregione, 62 
 Monte Titano, 24 
 Morgan, Pierpont, Mr., 48 
 Motoring in Italy, 48 
 Mummers, 244 
 
 Napoleon the Great, 28 
 Nobility, Italian, 37 
 
 Onofri, 28 
 
 Orto delle Donne, 249 
 
 "Ouida," 3, 146, 265-270 
 
 Padua, 72 
 
 Panciatici, Marchese, 1 1 2 
 
 Pannia della Croce, 234 
 
 Pannias, the, 218 
 
 Paradiso, Vallombrosa, 13 
 
 Parma, 90 
 
 Peasant farmers of Italy, 6 5 
 
 Pennabili, 19, 20 
 
 Pescia, 195, 196 
 
 Petrosciana, Pass of, 221 
 
 Piaggione, 266, 283 
 
 Piastre, 184 
 
 Pistoija, 184 
 
 Pizzorno, 199, 202, 205 
 
 Pizzo d'Uccello, 250 
 
 " Pliny," 121, 122 
 
 Po, the river, 83, 84 
 Poggibonsi, 61 
 Poggio, 229 
 
 Politeness of Italian chil- 
 dren, 108 
 Ponte a Moriano, 206 
 Pontederra, 45, 46 
 Poppi, 1 5 
 Popiglio, 180 
 Porto (Arno river), 34 
 Porte Venere, 291 
 
 Ranks, confusion of, 39 
 Ravenna, 68-70 
 Reflections on fox-hunting, 
 
 Re gg 10 > 94 
 Rigneno, 1 1 2 
 Rimini, 29, 30 
 Romagna, plain of, 66 
 Rotta, 45 
 Rubiera, 94, 95 
 
 San Bartolommeo, 203 
 
 — Donato in Collina, 109 
 
 — Gimignano, 59 
 
 — Leo, 21, 22 
 
 — Marcello, 182 
 
 — Marino Citta, 23 
 Borgo, 29 
 
 — Marino, history of, 30, 
 
 (Parliament), 27 
 
 Prince Captains, 27, 
 
 28 
 
 State, 24 
 
 view from, 2 5 
 
 — Miniato, 32, 36 
 
 303 
 
Index 
 
 San Bartolommeo Romano, 
 
 44 
 
 — Sepolcro, 18 
 
 — Stefano, 17 
 St. Francis, 16 
 Sa Penna, 16 
 Sa Verna, 16 
 Sarzana, 290 
 
 Scenery, British and Italian 
 
 contrasted, 1 1 o, 1 1 1 
 Serchio valley, 164. 
 Serravalle, 29 
 Society, Italian, 261 
 Spades, 239, 240 
 Spezzia, 292 
 
 Tariff Reform, 256, 257 
 
 — Reformers, hint to, 145 
 Tavernuzze, 133 
 Tradesmen, 162, 163 
 
 Tiber, source of, 17 
 Titles, Italian, 9 
 Trasilico, 241 
 Trebbio, 282 
 Turrite di Cava, 244 
 
 Val d'Otava, 283 
 Venice, 73 
 
 — people of, 74, 75 
 
 — types of visitors, 74-77 
 Via Maggio, 18 
 Viareggio, 271, 272 
 
 — bathing, 275 
 
 Vico Pancellorum, 173 
 Villa, Italian, 45, 46 
 Village Pumpism, 123, 124 
 Villas, English and Italian, 
 
 195 
 
 Volto Santo, 207-215 
 Votes for Women, 202 
 
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