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Extended Contents
Preface
How to use this book
Thank You
Symbols used in this book
Some maths revision
1 Why is my evil lecturer forcing me to learn statistics?
1.1 What will this chapter tell me?
1.2 What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here
1.3 The research process
1.4 Initial observation: finding something that needs explaining
1.5 Generating and testing theories and hypotheses
1.6 Collecting data: measurement
1.7 Collecting data: research design
1.8 Analysing data
1.9 Reporting data
1.10 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
1.11 What next?
1.12 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
2 The SPINE of statistics
2.1 What will this chapter tell me?
2.2 What is the SPINE of statistics?
2.3 Statistical models
2.4 Populations and samples
2.5 P is for parameters
2.6 E is for estimating parameters
2.7 S is for standard error
2.8 I is for (confidence) interval
2.9 N is for null hypothesis significance testing
2.10 Reporting significance tests
2.11 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
2.12 What next?
2.13 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
3 The phoenix of statistics
3.1 What will this chapter tell me?
3.2 Problems with NHST

8
 3.3 NHST as part of wider problems with science
3.4 A phoenix from the EMBERS
3.5 Sense, and how to use it
3.6 Pre-registering research and open science
3.7 Effect sizes
3.8 Bayesian approaches
3.9 Reporting effect sizes and Bayes factors
3.10 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
3.11 What next?
3.12 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
4 The IBM SPSS Statistics environment
4.1 What will this chapter tell me?
4.2 Versions of IBM SPSS Statistics
4.3 Windows, Mac OS, and Linux
4.4 Getting started
4.5 The data editor
4.6 Entering data into IBM SPSS Statistics
4.7 Importing data
4.8 The SPSS viewer
4.9 Exporting SPSS output
4.10 The syntax editor
4.11 Saving files
4.12 Opening files
4.13 Extending IBM SPSS Statistics
4.14 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
4.15 What next?
4.16 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
5 Exploring data with graphs
5.1 What will this chapter tell me?
5.2 The art of presenting data
5.3 The SPSS Chart Builder
5.4 Histograms
5.5 Boxplots (box–whisker diagrams)
5.6 Graphing means: bar charts and error bars
5.7 Line charts
5.8 Graphing relationships: the scatterplot
5.9 Editing graphs
5.10 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
5.11 What next?

9
 5.12 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
6 The beast of bias
6.1 What will this chapter tell me?
6.2 What is bias?
6.3 Outliers
6.4 Overview of assumptions
6.5 Additivity and linearity
6.6 Normally distributed something or other
6.7 Homoscedasticity/homogeneity of variance
6.8 Independence
6.9 Spotting outliers
6.10 Spotting normality
6.11 Spotting linearity and heteroscedasticity/heterogeneity of
variance
6.12 Reducing bias
6.13 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
6.14 What next?
6.15 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
7 Non-parametric models
7.1 What will this chapter tell me?
7.2 When to use non-parametric tests
7.3 General procedure of non-parametric tests using SPSS
Statistics
7.4 Comparing two independent conditions: the Wilcoxon rank-
sum test and Mann–Whitney test
7.5 Comparing two related conditions: the Wilcoxon signed-rank
test
7.6 Differences between several independent groups: the
Kruskal–Wallis test
7.7 Differences between several related groups: Friedman’s
ANOVA
7.8 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
7.9 What next?
7.10 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
8 Correlation
8.1 What will this chapter tell me?
8.2 Modelling relationships
8.3 Data entry for correlation analysis

10
 8.4 Bivariate correlation
8.5 Partial and semi-partial correlation
8.6 Comparing correlations
8.7 Calculating the effect size
8.8 How to report correlation coefficents
8.9 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
8.10 What next?
8.11 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
9 The Linear Model (Regression)
9.1 What will this chapter tell me?
9.2 An introduction to the linear model (regression)
9.3 Bias in linear models?
9.4 Generalizing the model
9.5 Sample size and the linear model
9.6 Fitting linear models: the general procedure
9.7 Using SPSS Statistics to fit a linear model with one predictor
9.8 Interpreting a linear model with one predictor
9.9 The linear model with two or more predictors (multiple
regression)
9.10 Using SPSS Statistics to fit a linear model with several
predictors
9.11 Interpreting a linear model with several predictors
9.12 Robust regression
9.13 Bayesian regression
9.14 Reporting linear models
9.15 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
9.16 What next?
9.17 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
10 Comparing two means
10.1 What will this chapter tell me?
10.2 Looking at differences
10.3 A mischievous example
10.4 Categorical predictors in the linear model
10.5 The t-test
10.6 Assumptions of the t-test
10.7 Comparing two means: general procedure
10.8 Comparing two independent means using SPSS Statistics
10.9 Comparing two related means using SPSS Statistics
10.10 Reporting comparisons between two means

11
 10.11 Between groups or repeated measures?
10.12 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
10.13 What next?
10.14 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
11 Moderation, mediation and multicategory predictors
11.1 What will this chapter tell me?
11.2 The PROCESS tool
11.3 Moderation: interactions in the linear model
11.4 Mediation
11.5 Categorical predictors in regression
11.6 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
11.7 What next?
11.8 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
12 GLM 1: Comparing several independent means
12.1 What will this chapter tell me?
12.2 Using a linear model to compare several means
12.3 Assumptions when comparing means
12.4 Planned contrasts (contrast coding)
12.5 Post hoc procedures
12.6 Comparing several means using SPSS Statistics
12.7 Output from one-way independent ANOVA
12.8 Robust comparisons of several means
12.9 Bayesian comparison of several means
12.10 Calculating the effect size
12.11 Reporting results from one-way independent ANOVA
12.12 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
12.13 What next?
12.14 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
13 GLM 2: Comparing means adjusted for other predictors (analysis
of covariance)
13.1 What will this chapter tell me?
13.2 What is ANCOVA?
13.3 ANCOVA and the general linear model
13.4 Assumptions and issues in ANCOVA
13.5 Conducting ANCOVA using SPSS Statistics
13.6 Interpreting ANCOVA
13.7 Testing the assumption of homogeneity of regression slopes
13.8 Robust ANCOVA

12
 13.9 Bayesian analysis with covariates
13.10 Calculating the effect size
13.11 Reporting results
13.12 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
13.13 What next?
13.14 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
14 GLM 3: Factorial designs
14.1 What will this chapter tell me?
14.2 Factorial designs
14.3 Independent factorial designs and the linear model
14.4 Model assumptions in factorial designs
14.5 Factorial designs using SPSS Statistics
14.6 Output from factorial designs
14.7 Interpreting interaction graphs
14.8 Robust models of factorial designs
14.9 Bayesian models of factorial designs
14.10 Calculating effect sizes
14.11 Reporting the results of factorial designs
14.12 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
14.13 What next?
14.14 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
15 GLM 4: Repeated-measures designs
15.1 What will this chapter tell me?
15.2 Introduction to repeated-measures designs
15.3 A grubby example
15.4 Repeated-measures and the linear model
15.5 The ANOVA approach to repeated-measures designs
15.6 The F-statistic for repeated-measures designs
15.7 Assumptions in repeated-measures designs
15.8 One-way repeated-measures designs using SPSS
15.9 Output for one-way repeated-measures designs
15.10 Robust tests of one-way repeated-measures designs
15.11 Effect sizes for one-way repeated-measures designs
15.12 Reporting one-way repeated-measures designs
15.13 A boozy example: a factorial repeated-measures design
15.14 Factorial repeated-measures designs using SPSS Statistics
15.15 Interpreting factorial repeated-measures designs
15.16 Effect sizes for factorial repeated-measures designs
15.17 Reporting the results from factorial repeated-measures

13
 designs
15.18 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
15.19 What next?
15.20 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
16 GLM 5: Mixed designs
16.1 What will this chapter tell me?
16.2 Mixed designs
16.3 Assumptions in mixed designs
16.4 A speed-dating example
16.5 Mixed designs using SPSS Statistics
16.6 Output for mixed factorial designs
16.7 Calculating effect sizes
16.8 Reporting the results of mixed designs
16.9 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
16.10 What next?
16.11 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
17 Multivariate analysis of variance (MANOVA)
17.1 What will this chapter tell me?
17.2 Introducing MANOVA
17.3 Introducing matrices
17.4 The theory behind MANOVA
17.5 Practical issues when conducting MANOVA
17.6 MANOVA using SPSS Statistics
17.7 Interpreting MANOVA
17.8 Reporting results from MANOVA
17.9 Following up MANOVA with discriminant analysis
17.10 Interpreting discriminant analysis
17.11 Reporting results from discriminant analysis
17.12 The final interpretation
17.13 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
17.14 What next?
17.15 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
18 Exploratory factor analysis
18.1 What will this chapter tell me?
18.2 When to use factor analysis
18.3 Factors and components
18.4 Discovering factors
18.5 An anxious example

14
 18.6 Factor analysis using SPSS Statistics
18.7 Interpreting factor analysis
18.8 How to report factor analysis
18.9 Reliability analysis
18.10 Reliability analysis using SPSS Statistics
18.11 Interpreting reliability analysis
18.12 How to report reliability analysis
18.13 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
18.14 What next?
18.15 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
19 Categorical outcomes: chi-square and loglinear analysis
19.1 What will this chapter tell me?
19.2 Analysing categorical data
19.3 Associations between two categorical variables
19.4 Associations between several categorical variables:
loglinear analysis
19.5 Assumptions when analysing categorical data
19.6 General procedure for analysing categorical outcomes
19.7 Doing chi-square using SPSS Statistics
19.8 Interpreting the chi-square test
19.9 Loglinear analysis using SPSS Statistics
19.10 Interpreting loglinear analysis
19.11 Reporting the results of loglinear analysis
19.12 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
19.13 What next?
19.14 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
20 Categorical outcomes: logistic regression
20.1 What will this chapter tell me?
20.2 What is logistic regression?
20.3 Theory of logistic regression
20.4 Sources of bias and common problems
20.5 Binary logistic regression
20.6 Interpreting logistic regression
20.7 Reporting logistic regression
20.8 Testing assumptions: another example
20.9 Predicting several categories: multinomial logistic
regression
20.10 Reporting multinomial logistic regression
20.11 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane

15
 20.12 What next?
20.13 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
21 Multilevel linear models
21.1 What will this chapter tell me?
21.2 Hierarchical data
21.3 Theory of multilevel linear models
21.4 The multilevel model
21.5 Some practical issues
21.6 Multilevel modelling using SPSS Statistics
21.7 Growth models
21.8 How to report a multilevel model
21.9 A message from the octopus of inescapable despair
21.10 Brian’s attempt to woo Jane
21.11 What next?
21.12 Key terms that I’ve discovered
Smart Alex’s tasks
Epilogue
Appendix
Glossary
References
Index

16
Preface

Karma Police, arrest this man, he talks in maths, he buzzes like a

fridge, he’s like a detuned radio

Radiohead, ‘Karma Police’, OK Computer (1997)

Introduction
Many behavioural and social science students (and researchers for that
matter) despise statistics. Most of us have a non-mathematical background,
which makes understanding complex statistical equations very difficult.
Nevertheless, the evil goat-warriors of Satan force our non-mathematical
brains to apply themselves to what is the very complex task of becoming a
statistics expert. The end result, as you might expect, can be quite messy.
The one weapon that we have is the computer, which allows us to neatly
circumvent the considerable disability of not understanding mathematics.
Computer programs such as IBM SPSS Statistics, SAS, R, JASP and the
like provide an opportunity to teach statistics at a conceptual level without
getting too bogged down in equations. The computer to a goat-warrior of
Satan is like catnip to a cat: it makes them rub their heads along the ground
and purr and dribble ceaselessly. The only downside of the computer is
that it makes it really easy to make a complete idiot of yourself if you
don’t understand what you’re doing. Using a computer without any
statistical knowledge at all can be a dangerous thing. Hence this book.

My first aim is to strike a balance between theory and practice: I want to

use the computer as a tool for teaching statistical concepts in the hope that
you will gain a better understanding of both theory and practice. If you
want theory and you like equations then there are certainly more technical
books. However, if you want a stats book that also discusses digital rectal
stimulation, then you have just spent your money wisely.

Too many books create the impression that there is a ‘right’ and ‘wrong’
way to do statistics. Data analysis is more subjective than is often made
out. Therefore, although I make recommendations, within the limits
imposed by the senseless destruction of rainforests, I hope to give you
enough background in theory to enable you to make your own decisions

17
about how best to conduct your analysis.

A second (ridiculously ambitious) aim is to make this the only statistics

book that you’ll ever need to buy (sort of). It’s a book that I hope will
become your friend from your first year at university right through to your
professorship. The start of the book is aimed at first-year undergraduates
(Chapters 1–10), and then we move onto second-year undergraduate-level
material (Chapters 6, 9 and 11–16) before a dramatic climax that should
keep postgraduates tickled (Chapters 17–21). There should be something
for everyone in each chapter, and to help you gauge the difficulty of
material, I flag the level of each section within each chapter (more on that
later).

My final and most important aim is to make the learning process fun. I
have a sticky history with maths. This extract is from my school report at
the age of 11:

The ‘27=’ in the report is to say that I came equal 27th with another
student out of a class of 29. That’s pretty much bottom of the class. The 43
is my exam mark as a percentage. Oh dear. Four years later (at 15), this
was my school report:

The catalyst of this remarkable change was a good teacher: my brother,

Paul. I owe my life as an academic to Paul’s ability to teach me stuff in an
engaging way – something my maths teachers failed to do. Paul’s a great
teacher because he cares about bringing out the best in people, and he was
able to make things interesting and relevant to me. Everyone should have a
brother Paul to teach them stuff when they’re throwing their maths book at
their bedroom wall, and I will attempt to be yours.

18
I strongly believe that people appreciate the human touch, and so I inject a
lot of my own personality and sense of humour (or lack of) into
Discovering Statistics Using … books. Many of the examples in this book,
although inspired by some of the craziness that you find in the real world,
are designed to reflect topics that play on the minds of the average student
(i.e., sex, drugs, rock and roll, celebrity, people doing crazy stuff). There
are also some examples that are there simply because they made me laugh.
So, the examples are light-hearted (some have said ‘smutty’, but I prefer
‘light-hearted’) and by the end, for better or worse, I think you will have
some idea of what goes on in my head on a daily basis. I apologize to
those who think it’s crass, hate it, or think that I’m undermining the
seriousness of science, but, come on, what’s not funny about a man putting
an eel up his anus?

I never believe that I meet my aims, but previous editions have certainly
been popular. I enjoy the rare luxury of having complete strangers
emailing me to tell me how wonderful I am. (Admittedly, there are also
emails accusing me of all sorts of unpleasant things, but I’ve usually got
over them after a couple of months.) With every new edition, I fear that the
changes I make will ruin my previous hard work. Let’s see what you’re
going to get and what’s different this time around.

What do you get for your money?

This book takes you on a journey (I try my best to make it a pleasant one)
not just of statistics but also of the weird and wonderful contents of the
world and my brain. It’s full of daft examples, bad jokes, and smut. Aside
from the smut, I have been forced, reluctantly, to include some academic
content. It contains everything I know about statistics (actually, more than
I know …). It also has these features:

Everything you’ll ever need to know: I want this book to be good

value for money, so it guides you from complete ignorance (Chapter
1 tells you the basics of doing research) to being an expert in
multilevel linear modelling (Chapter 21). Of course, no book can
contain everything, but I think this one has a fair crack. It’s pretty
good for developing your biceps also.
Stupid faces: You’ll notice that the book is riddled with ‘characters’,
some of them my own. You can find out more about the pedagogic
function of these ‘characters’ in the next section.

19
 Data sets: There are about 132 data files associated with this book on
the companion website. Not unusual in itself for a statistics book, but
my data sets contain more sperm (not literally) than other books. I’ll
let you judge for yourself whether this is a good thing.
My life story: Each chapter is book-ended by a chronological story
from my life. Does this help you to learn about statistics? Probably
not, but it might provide light relief between chapters.
SPSS tips: SPSS does confusing things sometimes. In each chapter,
there are boxes containing tips, hints and pitfalls related to SPSS.
Self-test questions: Given how much students hate tests, I thought
that the best way to commit commercial suicide was to liberally
scatter tests throughout each chapter. These range from simple
questions to test what you have just learned to going back to a
technique that you read about several chapters before and applying it
in a new context. All of these questions have answers so that you can
check on your progress.
Online resources: The website contains an insane amount of
additional material, which no one reads, but it is described in the
section about the online resources so that you know what you’re
ignoring.
Digital stimulation: No, not the aforementioned type of digital
stimulation, but brain stimulation. Many of the features on the
website will be accessible from tablets and smartphones, so that when
you’re bored in the cinema you can read about the fascinating world
of heteroscedasticity instead.
Reporting your analysis: Every chapter has a guide to writing up
your analysis. How one writes up an analysis varies a bit from one
discipline to another, but my guides should get you heading in the
right direction.
Glossary: Writing the glossary was so horribly painful that it made
me stick a vacuum cleaner into my ear to suck out my own brain. You
can find my brain in the bottom of the vacuum cleaner in my house.
Real-world data: Students like to have ‘real data’ to play with. The
trouble is that real research can be quite boring. I trawled the world
for examples of research on really fascinating topics (in my opinion).
I then stalked the authors of the research until they gave me their data.
Every chapter has a real research example.

What do you get that you didn’t get last time?

20
I suppose if you have spent your hard-earned money on the previous
edition, it’s reasonable that you want a good reason to spend more of your
hard-earned money on this edition. In some respects, it’s hard to quantify
all of the changes in a list: I’m a better writer than I was five years ago, so
there is a lot of me rewriting things because I think I can do it better than
before. I spent 6 months solidly on the updates, so, suffice it to say that a
lot has changed; but anything you might have liked about the previous
edition probably hasn’t changed:

IBM SPSS compliance: This edition was written using version 25 of

IBM SPSS Statistics. IBM releases new editions of SPSS Statistics
more often than I bring out new editions of this book, so, depending
on when you buy the book, it may not reflect the latest version. This
shouldn’t worry you because the procedures covered in this book are
unlikely to be affected (see Section 4.12).
New! Chapter: In the past four years the open science movement has
gained a lot of momentum. Chapter 3 is new and discusses issues
relevant to this movement such as p-hacking, HARKing, researcher
degrees of freedom, and pre-registration of research. It also has an
introduction to Bayesian statistics.
New! Bayes: Statistical times are a-changing, and it’s more common
than it was four years ago to encounter Bayesian methods in social
science research. IBM SPSS Statistics doesn’t really do Bayesian
estimation, but you can implement Bayes factors. Several chapters
now include sections that show how to obtain and interpret Bayes
factors. Chapter 3 also explains what a Bayes factor is.
New! Robust methods: Statistical times are a-changing … oh, hang
on, I just said that. Although IBM SPSS Statistics does bootstrap (if
you have the premium version), there are a bunch of statistics based
on trimmed data that are available in R. I have included several
sections on robust tests and syntax to do them (using R).
New! Pointless fiction: Having got quite into writing a statistics
textbook in the form of a fictional narrative (An Adventure in
Statistics) I staved off boredom by fleshing out Brian and Jane’s story
(which goes with the diagrammatic summaries at the end of each
chapter). Of course, it is utterly pointless, but maybe someone will
enjoy the break from the stats.
New! Misconceptions: Since the last edition my cat of 20 years died,
so I needed to give him a more spiritual role. He has become the
Correcting Cat, and he needed a foil, so I created the Misconception
Mutt, who has a lot of common misconceptions about statistics. So,

21
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 I remember also with pleasure, the family of Mr. S—, the English
Consul at Brussa, in whose house we dined, in company with his
daughter and son-in-law, the Consul of Bucharest. That evening,
while we talked in the drawing-room of Turner and Landseer, Ruskin
and Tennyson, I would almost think myself in a London drawing-
room. But at that moment I turned round to the open window, and
saw the stars shining with Eastern splendour, and then I
remembered where I was.
I was quite sad when I took leave of M. and Mme. S— and their
daughters; but sorrows and joys pass quickly on a journey. When I
had mounted Mme. S—’s charming little horse she kindly lent me,
and was cantering along on our way to Gimlek, where we were to
find a boat to take us back to Constantinople, I felt all my spirits
return. We accomplished that journey, which usually takes six hours,
in four, although we rested twice, at a little kind of caravansery, and
had coffee.
Soon after our return from Brussa we left Constantinople, and, if
that only is well which ends well, Constantinople was not well, for
going on board the French steamer, which was to take us to
Messina, was even less agreeable than our embarkation at Rettimo
had been. I wished to make a few trifling purchases on my way
down to the embarcadair, and my husband therefore proposed to
take our luggage to the custom-house, and see it safely on board,
while I should join him under the escort of the dragoman. When I
got into the boat I much regretted having quitted my husband, for
the day being windy and squally, I found the sea very rough. The
steamboat was far out, and the waves so high, that the spray quite
wetted me, and I had not the warm hand of my husband, but only
the cold wet board of the boat to cling to. I was frightened. Still this
was nothing to the terror I felt, when at last safely on board the
vessel I found that the luggage had arrived, but not my husband.
When he saw that the sea was rough, and knowing that I am of a
timid disposition, he had sent on the luggage, thinking he would try
to find me and take me on board himself. When I heard this I was
nearly in despair, however ridiculous this may seem now. There was
I in the steamboat, and my husband still on shore. With the strong
current and sea, the boat took much longer time than usual. Might
the steamboat not take me to Messina and leave him behind? Would
he not, when he found I was gone, take one of those nutshells of a
Kaik instead of another boat, and be drowned? for the Kaiks are very
dangerous in rough weather. He soon arrived, however, safely in a
boat, and I, immensely relieved, but cold and wet and shivering,
went down into my cabin to change my wet things. While there I felt
the machine begin to work and the boat slowly moving. I hastened
on deck. We were just turning round the Seraglio Point, and even
under the cold threatening sky that hung over the town, it was a
glorious sight. But I turned away from it without regret. It had
interested, but not attracted me. I did not wish for a palace on the
Bosphorus, as I had wished for a castle on the Rhine, or a villa on
the Bay of Naples. Indeed, I think I would rather live in a little
cottage in an English village, than inhabit one of the dreary palaces
of Stamboul.
 CHAPTER IV.
FROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO FLORENCE.

“Land of the Sun! where’er my footsteps roam,

My thoughts return to thee—thou art my spirit’s home.”
J. H. Pringle.

And thus the days of Constantinople had gone by, and we were on
our voyage back, westward ho! The ship had spread its sails, and
the fresh north wind sped us on our way. The sea was very rough;
but the movement of the ship, going with the wind, was not
unpleasant.
The second night of our voyage I slept very soundly; the waves
had rocked me to sleep. Suddenly I was roused by cannon shots,
which appeared to be fired-off close to my cabin-window, and shook
our vessel. I rose quickly, and found that we had cast anchor in the
harbour of Piræus, which was full of men-of-war and other vessels
belonging to different nations. All had hoisted their flags, and the
Greek vessels were cannonading, for it was the 5th of May—King
George’s birthday. But I had no time to lose in looking at what was
going on in the harbour of Piræus, for in a few hours our boat would
leave for Messina, and I wanted to see Athens during that time. I am
almost ashamed to say that we did not stop a few days at Athens,
but there is only one boat in the week that leaves Athens for
Messina, and as we could not spare a week, we had to content
ourselves with a few hours. But shall I say the pleasure was not
great because it was short? Are not most of the greatest joys of life
counted by minutes and hours rather than by weeks and months?
 It was a splendid morning, full of clouds and sunshine. The clouds
hung over the mountains, but over head smiled the blue Ionian sky.
What a pleasant drive it was from Piræus to the Acropolis. After the
roads of Turkey it was a great pleasure to drive at a quick pace over
a good one. The road was white and dusty, a true summer-road, of
which I am very fond. I should most probably have liked it better, if
the dust had not been blown into our faces, but I was that morning
not in a humour to find fault with anything. I think, in spite of much
that is attractive and interesting, I was inwardly glad to be out of
Turkey, and if ever I see it again it will not be from choice. The road,
after we had driven through some waste and barren land, led
through cornfields, where the corn seemed almost ripe; through
hayfields and vineyards, which were studded with olive and fruit
trees.
Before I left England, the wife of a soldier, who had accompanied
her husband to the Crimean war, told me that she had also been at
Athens, and that it was “not far from Greece.” I found it, however,
farther from Piræus than I expected. It is an hour’s sharp drive, and
although the hour passed pleasantly, it seemed long; perhaps
because my wish to see the Acropolis was great. We stopped,
however, first before the Temple of Theseus; I had seen it at some
distance from the window of our carriage, and had admired the
grand and noble structure. When I saw it near I found it was but
small, and admired the art that could make a comparatively small
and very simple building look so imposing.
A short walk brought us to the Acropolis, and when the keeper
unlocked the wooden gate, my heart beat at the thought that I was
in ancient Greece. With a strangely solemn feeling I ascended the
steps of the Propylæa, and then I found myself surrounded by the
glorious remains of those noble works of art which, for simple
grandeur and beauty, are unsurpassed by anything the genius of
man has since produced. Through those noble columns I beheld the
very same features of land and sky on which the sages, the orators,
the artists of Greece had gazed. I gathered a handful of flowers that
grew among the ruins. I picked up some tiny fragment of marble,
and looked at it with a feeling akin to that with which a devout
Roman Catholic contemplates a relic of his patron saint. At the same
moment my foot stumbled against a broken piece of a cannon-ball.
And then I remembered that the “barbarous Turk,” more than the
ravages of time, had changed these precious monuments of ancient
art into ruins; that the Turks had made a powder magazine of the
Parthenon, which exploded through a Venetian bomb, and destroyed
the Temple of Minerva. And I felt that the Greeks were not to blame
for hating them. I felt as if I should have liked to pull down with my
own hands the rude, ugly remains of the walls with which they have
disfigured the temples of the gods. I felt also very indignant against
the Venetians who had no small share in the destruction of those art
treasures. They should have known better than to commit such
sacrilege. And shall I not say that Lord Elgin, too, committed a great
wrong in carrying off those marbles that still adorned the Parthenon?
There, under the blue sky of Greece, was their home, and they
ought to have remained there. It is true enough that now they can
be seen by “the million” that visit the dim rooms of the British
Museum; but he has for ever robbed those that might have seen
them where they were first placed, of one of the greatest
enjoyments art can give to those that love the beautiful.
When we left the fine harbour of Piræus, the Captain pointed out
to us the Bay of Salamis, the Throne of Xerxes, the Tomb of
Themistocles, and other famous and interesting spots; but I listened
only with half attention, for my eyes tried still to distinguish the
Acropolis, and I cast many a “long, lingringlook behind;” steam and
wind, however, carried me quickly away, and soon I saw nothing but
the bare, cheerless coast of Greece.
Towards evening the movement of the ship became more violent;
the sea rolled in large foaming waves, and when towards nine
o’clock we turned Cape St. Angelo, we had some very heavy gusts of
wind, which produced such rolling of the boat, that I held to the
bench in order to keep my seat. It was a grand sight, but I have no
liking for that kind of grandeur, so I stumbled down stairs as well as
I could, in order to see no more of it.
On awaking next morning, I found, to my great satisfaction, that
the ship moved along with a motion hardly perceptible, the sky was
almost cloudless, and the air mild and balmy. That day passed
pleasantly. I wrote my letter to my children, read a Waverley Novel,
and watched the poor little swallows and turtledoves, that came with
weary wing to rest on the masts of our ship. One was so tired that a
boy belonging to the crew caught the little wanderer in his hand. We
gave it some food and water and a free passage to Sicily, where it
was set free.
I awoke early next morning, and peeping through my cabin
window, saw in the rays of the rising sun the coast of Calabria. “Ah
mio Lindoro presto vedremo l’Italia.” I sang, and awoke my husband.
We were soon on deck. The sea was calm, and the air as soft and
balmy as the day before. The coast of Calabria lay before us, and a
little towards the left towered Mount Etna, from whose snow-
covered crater arose a white column of smoke, as if Nature was
bringing there her morning sacrifice. As we neared the coast the sea
became enlivened with boats, whose white sails were reflected in
the mirror of the calm sea. We gradually came so close to the coast
of Calabria, that we could distinguish houses, trees, gardens, and
even human beings and cattle. Through my opera glass I
distinguished the very colours of the gaily dressed peasant women
that were going to mass, for it was Sunday, and about church time.
The first place at which I looked with special interest was Milito,
the little village where Garibaldi ran his ship ashore, when he came
to conquer Naples, and was pursued by Neapolitan men-of-war. The
Captain that pointed the place out to us, told us that there were still
some débris left of the vessel that brought the deliverer of Southern
Italy to the shores of Calabria. Then came Reggio, the Neapolitan
fortress which the brave Garibaldians took under the command of
our friend Colonel Chiassi, and a little further on lay Aspramonte.
What a story those three places tell! I looked with a feeling of deep
sadness at the mountains over which the flying Garibaldians had
carried their wounded General, and thought of Columbus brought
back to Spain in chains, of poor John Huss burned at the stake, of
Galileo languishing in the prisons of the Inquisition, and how the
world has ever cried “crucify him” against its benefactors.
The coast of Calabria looked cheerful and well cultivated; the
mountains have wild strange shapes, but at their feet are orange
groves, and mulberry plantations, with here and there, growing in
the midst of the bright green, the sombre foliage of the olive. I
observed many new comfortable looking houses, with large windows
and green shutters, which I hope speak of an improved state of the
country, and which contrast favourably with the old dwellings of the
Italian peasantry. The latter are generally very wretched looking
places, with small dismal looking holes instead of windows.
We stayed a day at Messina, and profited by it to look at the town,
the churches, etc. How everything is relative in this world. Had I
gone to Messina after visiting Florence and Naples, instead of
before, I should most likely have thought it a very insignificant
looking place. But after Constantinople and Smyrna, it looked a town
of palaces. The nice pavement, the fine large stone houses, with
their balconies before every window, on which dark girls in gay
Sunday dress stood among flowers. It looked quite grand, and very
pleasant. The churches are rich in precious marbles and gildings, but
built in a very degenerate style of architecture. The pictures with
which they are decorated generally represent tortured saints, and
are even less satisfactory than the buildings themselves. I wanted to
see a little of the country, and we therefore took a drive. I saw
however nothing of it, except a dusty road between high walls,
which seemed to enclose orchards, for the branches of orange, fig,
mulberry, and olive trees, were visible above the walls. I cannot tell
whether all the roads around Messina are like this one, or if our
coachman was to blame for his choice. We found it difficult to
understand the Sicilian dialect, and almost required an interpreter to
translate it into Italian.
 We left Messina the following afternoon. The weather was still
calm and beautiful; the sky cloudless, and the sea shining in the
sunlight, as calm as a lake. A short time after we had left Messina,
we passed Scylla and Charybdis, the first only discernible by a very
slight movement in the water, the latter a rather prominent rock on
the opposite coast. It must have been very different in the time of
Homer, I should think, for even the boldest imagination could not
see in the present Scylla and Charybdis, anything like what Homer
describes it to have been. As for Schiller’s beautiful description of it,
in his ballad “The Diver,” it is purely imaginative, for Schiller never
visited Italy. The next day we passed Stromboli, an island formed by
a large volcano rising out of the sea. The mountain, a grand and
imposing cone, was in a somewhat active state, much more so than
Etna. I was sorry we did not see it by night, for the thick column of
smoke that rises out of it, then looks red and fiery. It was however
out of sight long before evening, but there were other lights burning
through the balmy night, and throwing rays of silver light across the
placid waters, Hesperus and “Cynthia’s shining orb.” It was past
midnight before we went down stairs, and we had slept but few
hours, when the bustle and noise that always follow the arrival of
the boat in port, awoke me. When I got on deck, the sun was rising
over Naples. I saw the Bay, and Vesuvius and Capri. All these
wonderful names were no longer empty sounds, but had become a
reality, and I rejoiced in that thought.
I have not spoken of any of my travelling companions since I left
Constantinople. The reason is, that they hardly deserved any special
notice. They were such people as any one is likely to meet. Several
English families, that had wintered abroad, and returned most of
them with coughs and sore throats. Some of the girls were very
pretty, perhaps all the more so because they looked so fragile, it
seemed one cold East wind would blow the pretty blossoms away.
Then there was a rich Jewess from Constantinople, with three
daughters, who were all “musical young ladies.” They were going to
some European watering-place, not for their health though, I should
think, for they looked as strong and hearty as one could wish. The
Messageries Impériales steamers are unfortunately provided with a
piano, which I consider a most inconsiderate arrangement on the
part of the Company; for I had to listen for several hours daily to the
performances of these young ladies, playing either singly or in
couples. The nuisance became almost intolerable, when they were
joined at Messina by a musical young gentleman, an officer from
Malta, who, between the fantasias and sonatas of the young ladies,
treated us to a succession of quadrilles and polkas. It broke into and
spoiled the calm enjoyment of one of the most beautiful moonlight-
nights on the Mediterranean, when nature seemed so hushed and
still, that I involuntarily spoke in whispers.
There were also two interesting honey-moon couples on board:
one of them always sitting in out-of-the-way corners, so that
perhaps I might have been altogether unaware of their presence, so
little were they in any body’s way, had they not turned up regularly
at meal times. The other couple never turned up at all, at least not
the lady. She was very poorly, and in fair or foul weather always
lying down in the Ladies’ Saloon; to the open door of which the
devoted young husband came ever so many times a day, offering
lemonade, coffee, and other refreshments to the sufferer, who
however seemed unable to relish any thing.
And I must not forget Miss L—, because of the singular adventure
that happened to her. She was of middle age and rather delicate
constitution, had spent the winter with some friends at Malta, and
was now on her way home. We had been neighbours at dinner, and
exchanged a few words. Early in the evening, after we had left
Messina, where she came on board, she came to me in great
agitation, and asked my advice under what were certainly trying
circumstances. The stewardess in showing her to her cabin, had said
that there would be but one other occupant, viz. a “jeune
demoiselle.” How surprised and horrified therefore was the poor lady
when, wishing to retire early, she had gone into her cabin, and saw
standing before the other berth a pair of man’s boots, and a man
lying dressed on it, who had his face covered with a silk
handkerchief. She rushed back and told the stewardess that there
was a man in her cabin. The stewardess however replied good
humouredly, and with a smiling face: “Non, Madame, ce n’est pas un
homme, mais une jeune demoiselle noire qui s’habille comme çà.”
She told her at the same time that she was sorry there was no
empty berth in any other cabin, as she seemed to dislike sleeping
with the “jeune demoiselle noire.” At this information, the slight
knowledge of the French language which Miss L— possessed,
seemed quite to forsake her, she found no words to reply, and came
in despair to me, as the only person with whom she had exchanged
a few words on board. “What am I to do?” so the poor thing
concluded her story, “I cannot sleep in the Saloon because it is full
of gentlemen, and to remain on deck would be sure to make me ill,
as I am very susceptible to colds.” I took her to my husband, as the
tribunal to which I appeal in difficult cases, and he at once reassured
her by his promise that he would take care she should not sleep in
the same room with the black person, who travelled under the name
of a “jeune demoiselle.” He went straight to the Captain, and what
the stewardess said she could not do, the Captain arranged. She
slept comfortably in the same room with some other ladies, who
neither wore male attire, nor “the shadowy livery of a warmer sun.”
Her gratitude to my husband was boundless, and she remained
my constant companion till we reached Naples, where we landed,
while she proceeded to Genoa and Marseilles. We saw the “jeune
demoiselle,” as we called the black person, a good deal on deck and
at meals. Miss L— always kept as far as possible away from her, and
I did not wonder at it. In looking at the African I felt more than ever,
that, although in theory the Americans may be to blame for their
manifest dislike to the Negroes; in practice I should find it very
difficult not to do as they do, and avoid any intercourse with them.
And I admired more than ever the heavenly kindness of Mrs.
Beecher Stowe’s little Eva, who broke her heart at the fate of this
race. I forget at this moment, if, according to Mr. Darwin’s theory, we
have a common origin with them, or are descended from them. In
the latter case I hope nobody will ever ask me the question Farinato
addresses to Dante in the Inferno: “Chi fur i maggior tuoi”—as I
should be rather ashamed to mention these ancestors.
Goethe quotes Pliny’s description of Naples, and what Goethe did I
surely may be allowed to do. Instead, therefore, of trying to describe
Naples myself, I will translate what he has quoted: “So happy, lovely,
blessed is that region, that one perceives Nature has rejoiced in her
work there. Such vital air, such continued salutary clemency of the
sky, such fruitful fields, such sunny hills, such innoxious woods, such
shady groves, such useful forests, such airy mountains, such far-
extending cornfields, such an abundance of vines and olive-trees,
such fine wool of the sheep, such fat necks of the oxen, so many
lakes, such an abundance of irrigating rivers and streams, so many
seas, so many harbours! The earth opens her bosom everywhere to
commerce, and, almost anxious to assist man, stretches her arms
into the sea.” After reading such a description, the well-known “Vedi
Napoli e poi mori,” does not seem very exaggerated; nor when
Goethe writes of his father: “It is said that he who has seen a ghost
can never more be joyful, so on the contrary one might have said of
him (his father) that he could never become quite unhappy, because
he thought himself always back again at Naples.” That the days I
spent there brought me enjoyment and delight, every one will easily
suppose. People always call Paris a “gay” place, and such no doubt it
is, still thousands and thousands lead a dreary and dismal life there,
which seems hardly possible in Naples. Nature supplies all the
necessaries of life in such abundance that even poverty ceases to
cause real suffering. The climate is so mild that the want of what we
should call indispensable clothing brings no discomfort; while a plate
of macaroni, a dried fish, or a slice of melon seems to be all the food
they require. They are exceedingly fond of music and dancing, and
the Neapolitan airs are lively and pretty, and pleased me more than
any I have heard in Italy. The performers who sing before the hotel,
the caffés and restaurants, and accompany their songs with the
guitar and the liveliest expression and gesticulations, look
delightfully merry and cunning. Many of them improvise in a ready,
pretty manner. Who can be sad and morose in a place like this,
where everybody looks smiling, good-natured and contented? To be
merry, joyful and happy lies in the air there, and is contagious like
an epidemic. And I do not think the expression of good-nature and
contentment one sees in almost every face, belies their feelings. The
Neapolitans appeared to be very kind-hearted, and to delight in
giving pleasure. We received, during our short stay at Naples,
several marks of good will from them, of which I remember one
especially with pleasure. We had stopped, on our way back from a
short excursion to Posilipo, at a pretty restaurant, where we took
some refreshments on an open platform overlooking the sea. While
sitting there, and looking at the Bay and all the beauty surrounding
it, a boat passed with a merry party in it, four of whom were
amateur musicians. They played on two guitars, a flute, and a
trombone. As soon as they saw us they stopped the boat right under
our platform and played a pretty Neapolitan air, with the simple
intention of giving us pleasure. When they had finished they greeted
us and left. We returned the kind salute, and listened to their
“renewed strain” till it became indistinct, and the accompanying
sounds of the trombone only reached us.
After the great variety of Eastern costume the dress of the
Neapolitans looked rather tame. The dress of the women is neat and
clean, their full black hair is well plaited and shines like satin; but
they wear nothing that can be called a costume, and I found even
crinoline introduced to a great extent. If it were not for the dress of
the different orders of monks and nuns, of boatmen and fishermen,
and here and there a contadina in her pretty dress, the crowd would
be not much more picturesque than an English one, from which
however it would be easily distinguished by the darker complexion of
the people, the animated features, and the lively gesticulations with
which they accompany all they say.
We were at Naples the week after the first Sunday in May, which
is one continual festival in honour of St. Gennaro, the great patron
saint of Naples. Thus I had an opportunity of witnessing the
celebrated miracle of liquefaction of the blood of the saint, which is
kept in two phials in the chapel “del Tesoro” adjoining the cathedral,
for the blood liquefies daily during the festival when high mass is
celebrated. The chapel is wonderfully magnificent; the three altars
with their ornaments, and the statues of more than forty saints,
being all of silver. The most magnificent of all is, of course, that of
Saint Gennaro standing on the high altar, whose mitre of gold is
covered with precious stones of great size, and who wears round his
neck enough ornaments to deck a whole crowd of queens and
duchesses. They are the gifts of different kings and queens of
Naples. Napoleon I., who stripped so many churches of their
treasures, made a present to this all-powerful saint, and Victor
Emanuel seems to have thought that in this respect he too must
follow the example of his predecessors, for the saint wears two
magnificent crosses of amethysts and diamonds, the gift of the Rè
Galantuomo. My husband did not approve of this, and even
expressed a wish that Garibaldi had melted down the gold and silver
saints, and invested the money so obtained in schools for the
people, and other public and charitable institutions.
But who can tell if even Garibaldi, the idol of the people of Naples,
and the saint they perhaps most adore after St. Gennaro, could have
done this. The priest to whom I expressed my astonishment, that
the treasures of this chapel had escaped the vicissitudes of so many
revolutions and wars, said it was evidently a miracle wrought by the
saint.
If the great St. Gennaro has as yet escaped peculation, the
common little saints that used to stand at every street corner of
Naples, have not fared so well of late. They were all of them
removed in one night, by order of General La Marmora, then
Governor of Naples. The people, especially the women, became
clamorous and noisy on the discovery next morning, but were told
that the Governor was so fond of the Saints, that he wished to take
better care of them. He had therefore removed the Saints from their
uncomfortable quarters in the street, to snugger ones in the
Churches and Convents, where they would be much better off. This
entirely satisfied the crowd.
The removal of the Saints, and that of the pigs of St. Antonio,
which Garibaldi effected, has much changed the appearance of the
streets of Naples. The pigs of the Convent of St. Antonio, that used
to run about in the principal streets of Naples, even in the fine
Strada Toledo, and which lived upon public charity, were a terrible
nuisance. The ignorant populace held these pigs of the holy fathers
in great veneration, and fed them well, and I have been assured on
good authority, that if a man had with his cart or carriage run over a
child in the streets, he might possibly have escaped unpunished, but
had he hurt a pig in that way, the infuriated mob would almost have
killed him.
The morning I went to hear High Mass in the Chapel del Tesoro, it
presented an animated and magnificent spectacle. The windows
were darkened by crimson blinds, to keep the strong sunlight out,
and the chapel was lighted up by numberless candles, the light of
which was reflected by the silver ornaments that deck the whole
chapel. The way up to the altar was lined with soldiers, I suppose to
prevent disturbances in the eager crowd that longed to kiss the
liquefied blood.
The people walked up in good order to the altar, but on the sides
down which they returned, there was a good deal of squeezing and
pushing. The priest that held the little glass case, containing the two
phials in his hand, and who showed them to the congregation, shook
the liquefied blood about, and thrust the case into the people’s faces
with so rudely irreverent a manner, that I, who am no believer in the
miracle, felt shocked; what impression it made upon the other
people I cannot tell. They looked however quite contented and
pleased. They were mostly priests and nuns, and persons of the
lower orders, but I observed also some who appeared to belong to
the upper classes.
 While the crowd kissed the blood of the Saint the choir sang a
most beautiful mass, and the rich voices with which bountiful Nature
has endowed so many of her children under the blue sky of Naples,
filled the chapel with harmony, and made the chords of my heart
vibrate in unison. There was a bass voice among them that
reminded me of Lablache.
On the evening of the same day I had witnessed the miracle of
the liquefaction in the Chapel del Tesoro, the son of the famous
conjuror Bosco repeated the trick before the boxes crowded with
elegant ladies at the Theatre St. Carlo, but I did not go to see it.
Ever since I am out of my teens, I no longer care for conjuring
tricks; besides I had seen it done so well in the morning. I was
however told that the trick in the evening succeeded quite as well,
and was repeated several times before a smiling and applauding
audience. I visited most of the other principal churches of Naples.
The Church of St. Severo is full of fine modern statues. One
representing a man who is trying to free himself from the meshes of
a net in which he is entangled, and which is called “the snares of the
world,” is very clever. Another one called “Modesty” is graceful, but
as a representation of modesty, might have a somewhat thicker veil.
At the Museo Borbonico, now called “Reale,” I admired some of the
finest Greek marbles I have ever seen. The grand Torro Farnese, the
wonderful Hercules, of the same famous collection, a Flora, that
looks something between a Juno and a Venus, stately and graceful
at the same time, the most charming representation of virgin youth I
have ever seen. There is a whole room full of Venuses, of which one
is certainly very beautiful, although apparently too conscious of her
charms to please me very much.
“I must go up Mount Vesuvius before we leave Naples,” I said to
my husband, and he, not less desirous than myself to visit a volcano,
set out with me early the next morning, for the ascent of the
mountain.
I know it is considered a beautiful sight to see the sun rise from
the top of Vesuvius, but as it rises in the middle of May at a most
unreasonably early hour, we despaired of getting to the top before
the sun, so we let the god travel alone for several hours, and did not
leave our hotel in the Chiatamone till a little after six o’clock. An
hour’s quick drive brought us to Resina. Our way to the latter led us
through the village of St. Giovanni, where one sees nothing but
macaroni and pigs. Most of the houses are small macaroni
manufactories, and the fresh macaroni are on long sticks, hung out
into the street to dry. Most of the manufacturers keep a pig, which is
tied to some post in the street, not far from the door of the house,
or if a very tame, good little pig, runs about free.
After St. Giovanni, we passed through Portici, the home of
Masaniello and his poor sister Fenella. Here there are delightful
villas, with gardens sloping down to the bay, and close to it lies
Resina, where the ascent of the mountain on horseback begins.
There used to be a fine carriage road as far as St. Salvator, which is
about an hour’s ride up the mountain, but the lava streams of the
great eruption of 1859, have entirely destroyed it. We had not been
more than ten minutes on our horses, when we came to these
formidable traces of the last great eruption of the volcano. In broad
thick masses the lava had flowed down the sides of the mountain
into the blooming orchards and fruitful vineyards, to which the dark,
dead rivers of stone presented a striking contrast.
These lava streams have a strange and diverse appearance.
Sometimes the surface is roughly even and resembles immense
masses of curiously twisted burnt trunks, and branches of trees. At
other places it is more like a roughly ploughed field that by a sharp
frost has become still more broken up than by the plough. Between
the lava are large beds of ashes and cinders.
The ride to the foot of the cone, which lasted about an hour and a
half, presented no difficulty, for the road rises very gradually and is
broad, and lava presents a rough surface on which the horses’ feet
do not slip. The cone must be climbed on foot, and is a very tiring
piece of work even with the assistance of two guides, the one to pull
you up with the help of a band fastened round his waist, the other
pushing you up by placing one of his hands against your back. As
climbing does not easily tire me I wanted to walk up, to which my
husband however objected; so I had to sit down in a chair in which
the guides carried me up. One guide in front held the two poles
which were fastened to the chair in his hands, two men behind
carried each one on his shoulder, and thus kept the chair in a
horizontal position. It must be very hard work indeed to carry any
body for an hour up so steep an ascent; for my husband, although
he was assisted in the already described manner by two guides,
found it very tiring indeed. The men did it however cheerfully, and
with less appearance of fatigue than I had expected. When we had
reached the top, and my husband and the men had rested awhile,
we walked to the brink of the crater, and now I saw, with my own
eyes, the strange and grand spectacle to the description of which I
remember to have listened with almost incredulous wonder when a
little school girl, and which to see I had longed for ever since we had
passed Mount Etna and Stromboli.
The volcano was in a very fair state of activity. Thick volumes of
smoke issued from it, and about every two minutes there was a loud
report as of thunder or cannon, and then flames appeared, and
ashes and stones were ejected flying high up into the air, and falling
down with a rattling noise. It must not however be thought that we
stood close to the terrible opening out of which rose the flames and
smoke. Within the large crater from the brink of which we witnessed
the spectacle, rises, what looks a Vesuvius on a smaller scale, and
on the top of this, which is however below the level of the place
where we stood, is the real crater. It is very fascinating to watch the
eruptions, and we found it difficult to turn our backs upon it, and
look a little at the scene around us in the beautiful world below.
The top of Vesuvius looks terribly dreary; the dread abode of
horror and destruction. Nothing but the dark lava stones and ashes
all around. There is of course no trace of animal or vegetable life
visible anywhere. The sad monotony is however a little relieved by
the different colours of the lava and the stones; especially by the
bright yellow of the sulphur one sees in large quantities. This
hideous image of death and destruction rises abruptly out of Elysian
plains and vallies; its foot is washed by the azure sea dotted with
emerald islands, and above smiles a limpid sky.
The view is very extensive, because Vesuvius is a mountain of
considerable altitude; yet as it rises so abruptly out of the plain and
sea, the view has the distinctness of no great distance, which adds
much to its charm. It is lovely on all sides; but from the point that
overlooks Naples, the Bay and its lovely shores, the Mediterranean,
and the islands of Capri, Ischia and Procida, it is deservedly
considered one of the most lovely in the world.
In going up the volcano the guides had chosen a stony, rough
stream of lava, which affords a safe footing; in going down, on the
contrary, they chose a bed of fine cinders and ashes, and ran or slid
rapidly down. What it had taken us an hour to ascend, my husband
descended in six minutes, and I, chair and all, took only about
double that time. It is a very dusty affair, the black ashes whirl up
under the feet of the men, and envelope one completely. Never was
a tepid bath more refreshing than the one I enjoyed in the evening
after I had come home from my visit to Vesuvius.
The guides had pointed out to us the lava streams of the different
eruptions, and the immense stones and pieces of rock which were
ejected by the volcano in 1822. In looking at these formidable pieces
of rock, of which some were at a great distance from the crater, one
gets an idea of the power that is working within it, and the fate of
Herculaneum and Pompeii becomes intelligible. The latter place we
had visited the day before. All I felt there is expressed in those few
words: “Sic transit gloria mundi.” But never before had I realized so
fully what the instability of all earthly greatness means. In this city of
the dead I felt far, far removed from the present, and my mind for a
moment seemed to realize what the future really means. A time,
when the lovely city I had just left would have disappeared from the
face of the earth, and its old site be a matter of doubt and
uncertainty, when the language of Dante would survive perhaps in
his book only, when the very features of sea and mountain around
me might be changed; for had not eighteen hundred years ago, the
waves of the gulf washed the walls of Pompeii that now lies far
inland, and another Vesuvius burned than the one we ascended?
And I saw with my mind’s eye the proud city across the sea, which I
had left a few months before, as Macaulay, thinking of a time to
come, describes it, a heap of ruins; and a traveller in a strange
dress, speaking a language which is not yet formed, sitting on a
broken arch of London Bridge, meditating like me at that moment on
the truth of the words, “Sic transit gloria mundi.” We did not, as
Murray recommends, enter Pompeii by the Strada dei Sepolcri, but
through the Porta del Mare, and I liked it better, as the Strada de
Sepolcri forms the fittest finale of the town.
I have heard of people who have been disappointed in Pompeii,
others have said the same of the Acropolis. I cannot understand
such people. They must be more dead than the very stones there,
for they spoke to me, and what they said moved me deeply. When I
first entered the city of the dead, I felt strange and bewildered like
in a dream. Surely “reality is stranger than fiction.” What can be
more strange than that the sun should shine again into the streets,
and light up the painted walls and mosaic pavement of Pompeii. And
yet so it is. That very old Pompeii, that lay for nearly eighteen
centuries buried, is risen again. We walk through its streets, and
tread the very stones worn out by the footsteps of Roman citizens,
and by the wheels of their chariots.
We see their houses, their temples, their judgment halls, their
baths and theatres, their gardens and court-yards, in which however
the little fountain is silenced for ever. In walking into their houses we
seem to become strangely familiar with their former inhabitants; we
see everywhere traces of their being, of their virtues and vices, of
their greatness and their folly. I daresay by night the spirits of the
departed haunt the silent town; but it was by broad cheerful daylight
that I visited it, and therefore it seemed inhabited only by pretty
little lizards, which I saw flitting about on every wall, and between
the delicate ferns that grow in the silent streets of Pompeii.
Of our journey from Naples to Leghorn, there is not much to be
said, although it was very pleasant. We went with the Italian
steamer “Principe Umberto,” which was filled with passengers, most
of whom were going like ourselves to Florence, for the Dante
festival, which was to be celebrated there on the 14th, 15th, and
16th of May. Several of the passengers were deputies sent to
Florence from different towns in Calabria. The company was lively
and merry. The piano in the saloon sounded almost the whole day,
but being touched by skilful fingers it did not annoy me like the
performances of the young ladies from Constantinople, or the
quadrilles of the young English officer.
We arrived at Leghorn on the 13th of May, after a journey of
twenty-four hours, there we remained the night, not daring to
proceed to Florence, for we knew that all the hotels were over-
crowded, and that we should find it difficult to get a room if we
arrived late at night.
After a stroll through the town, which is a well built modern place,
we went to rest, in order to be better able to bear the fatigues, and
enjoy the pleasures of the days to come.
 CHAPTER V.
THE DANTE FESTIVAL AT FLORENCE.

“Del bel paese la dove il si suona.”

Dante.

And now the great day had come, the 14th of May, 1865! I had to
rise very early, for we intended to leave by the first train, which
started from Leghorn at four o’clock in the morning. Although rather
averse to early rising in England, it cost me no effort here. The
thought of going to Florence roused me, besides the warm bright
twilight of an Italian May morning lighted up my bedroom, and the
street was already full of people, all in holiday dress, and taking the
road towards the station, in order to secure places in the train that
was to take them to Florence.
We were not the last in the crowd, and three hours after, arrived
at Florence, where Italy was going to celebrate on that day the sixth
centenary anniversary of the birth of Dante. Truly this solemn event
happened “in the fulness of time,” and every thing concurred to
make it as splendid and happy a festival as any nation has ever
celebrated. Now, for the first time, the grand idea of Dante, a free
and united Italy, has almost become a complete reality, and the
hearts of all his people rejoice that from the Alps to Mount Etna, one
law now reigns, and hopefully trust that the other great thought of
Dante, the deliverance of the Church from the burden of temporal
power, will ere long also become a reality. The disappointment and
irritation the Italians felt at the loss of Savoy and Nice, has almost
entirely passed, while what they have gained has still all the charm
of a new possession, and something of the passion and enthusiasm
of honeymoon-love in it. Is it therefore to be wondered at that the
people of Italy rejoiced on the 14th of May? that every countenance
wore a smile, and that their lively eyes sparkled with joy!
The festival happening in Spring-time was also a favourable
circumstance. Dante, near the entrance of Hell, felt comforted
because it was “la bella stagione,” was it therefore not natural that it
added much to the splendour and enjoyment of a fête in “blooming
Florence!” Had the anniversary happened in December or January,
where could the flowers have come from, and the glory of the
golden sunshine round Dante’s statue. A pelting rain might easily
have damped the enthusiasm of his countrymen, as it would most
certainly have spoiled the pretty bonnets of his fair compatriots, that
made so nice a show in seats round the Piazza Santa Croce.
Most favourable for the celebration of the anniversary of Dante’s
birth, was lastly, that it happened at Florence, the very town in all
the world best adapted for the celebration of such an event.
Fancy a national festival at Paris or London! The size of those
towns does not admit of a general decoration; but even if such a
miracle could be performed, nobody would ever see a tenth part of
it, as one would be nearly dead with fatigue getting half way from
the Marble Arch to St. Paul’s. Another serious drawback are the
immense multitudes that inhabit these monster towns, and create
unpleasant crowds, which, to all that have not nerves of iron, and
great physical strength, destroy all feeling of enjoyment. None of
these unfavourable conditions existed in Florence. It is but a little
place, though such a gem of a town, and can therefore be uniformly
decorated, changed into a gigantic palace, through whose halls and
corridors the inhabitants and visitors, that do not number by
millions, gaily move. And such a place Florence appeared on that
day. All the houses had red, green, or yellow silk hangings falling
down from their windows, and were besides richly decorated with
pictures, busts, flags, flowers, and evergreens. The noble
architecture of the town, the nice clean streets, which are neither
too narrow to look sombre, nor too broad not to be easily spanned
by garlands of flowers, all united to produce the happiest effect. On
all the principal places, statues of great Italians had been placed, or
trophies in remembrance of some great national event, which
happened on that particular spot. There was a great number of
them; for the Florentines boast, and not without some reason, that if
a stone were to mark every glorious memory of the town, there
would hardly be a stone in Florence that did not deserve special
distinction. I could not attempt to find out what all the statues and
trophies meant, but even if I had looked at them all, and
remembered every inscription, I could not enumerate them here,
else what is to be but a chapter would become a volume.
I must however mention a fine statue of Galileo, on the Piazza
Santa Maria Novella, with the following inscription:—
“A Galileo.
Finirà la tua gloria
quando il genere umano
cessi di vedere il sole ed abitare la terra.”[G]

[G]
Thy glory will end, when the human race
shall have ceased to see the sun, and to
inhabit the earth.

Near the Ponte alla Carraia, there was a statue to Goldoni, the
great writer of comedies, and on the Piazza del Duomo, those of the
famous architects Arnolfo and Brunelesco. On the houses where
celebrated men were born, lived, or died, tablets were placed
recording their names and deeds, ornamented with banners,
wreaths of flowers and laurels, and often with the bust or portrait of
the illustrious dead.
The Bruneleschi palace, where Michael Angelo lived and died, and
which still contains his books, furniture, etc., interested me much.
On a house in the Corso, I noticed the following inscription:—
 O voi che per la via d’amor passate
volgete uno sguardo alle mure
ove naque nell’ aprile del 1266
Beatrice Portinari,
prima e purissima fiamma,
che accese il genio
del Divino Poeta
Dante Alighieri.[H]

[H]
You that walk in the path of love, cast a
look upon these walls, where in April 1266,
was born Beatrice Portinari, etc.

The house of Giovanni Battista Strozzi, named the Blind, the great
scholar and philosopher of the 17th century, was beautifully
decorated. I remarked also Frescobaldi’s, the friend of Dante, which
stands in the Via Maggio, and not far from it, on the Piazza Santa
Trinità, the house in which Robert Dudley, an English mathematician
of the 17th century lived, whose memory still survives in Florence.
In Sta. Maria Maggiore, I observed a tablet which marks the spot
where Brunetto Latini, Dante’s master, is buried. Under the name
was written the following line from the Divina Comedia, which is
deservedly considered a grander and more lasting monument than
any that could be erected in marble:
“M’insegnavate come l’uom s’eterna.“[I]

[I]
You taught me how a man becomes
immortal.

On the Piazza del Duomo, is the “Sasso di Dante,” a stone upon

which the great man often sat in meditations, as lofty and grand as
the glorious Dome on which he was silently gazing.
 In a niche in the wall over that spot, was placed the bust of
Dante, surrounded by laurel wreaths and flowers. The Piazza dei
Signori, looked magnificent and most beautiful of all that part which
is formed by the Loggia dei Lanzi, under whose noble arches are
placed some of the finest works of art: the Theseus by Benvenuto
Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines by Giovanni di Bologna, and others.
This gem of architecture is at all times splendid, but now its walls
were covered with the most exquisite Gobelin tapestry, after designs
by Michael Angelo. They represented the history of Adam and Eve,
from their creation to their expulsion from Paradise.
The greatest care had however been bestowed on the decoration
of the Piazza Santa Croce, where the inauguration of the national
monument to Dante was to take place. This piazza is a large oblong
space, whose houses were covered with flowers and rich red silk
hangings, and the background was formed by the splendid marble
façade of the church of Santa Croce. The piazza had been boarded
and carpeted all over, and raised seats were erected for the
spectators who had obtained tickets. When these seats and the
windows round the piazza were all filled, principally with ladies, in
the most elegant spring toilets, the effect was the gayest
imaginable.
Behind the seats were placed thirty-eight paintings imitating bas-
relief, illustrating the life of Dante. The first represented him when,
nine years old, he first saw Beatrice, in the house of her father; the
last showed his burial in Ravenna. There were also the portraits of
about forty celebrated contemporaries, translators, or commentators
of Dante.
Round the piazza were placed rich banners of Florence and
Tuscany, the poles of which were festooned with wreaths of laurels
and flowers. On the pole of each banner was placed a tablet with
some verses from the great poem of Dante; many of which
anticipated the great political and religious events of the day, for the
accomplishment of which 550 years ago, Dante had longed with
passionate desire. I noted down a few, which I will transcribe here.
Soleva Roma, che’l buon mondo feo,
Duo Soli aver, che l’una e l’altra strada
Facean vedere, e del mondo e di Deo.
L’un l’altro ha spento, ed è giunta la spada
Col pastorale: e l’un coll ’altro insieme
Per viva forza mal convien che vada.[J]
Purgatorio, Canto 26.

[J]
Rome, that turned once the world to good
Was wont to boast two suns, whose several
beams
Cast light in either way; the world’s and God’s.
One since has quenched the other, and the
sword
Is grafted on the crook; and so conjoined
Each must perforce decline to worse, unawed
By fear of other.
Cary’s translation.
 Di oggimai, che la chiesa di Roma
Per confondere in sè duo reggimenti
Cade nel fango, e sè brutta e la soma.[K]
Purg. Canto 26.

[K]
The Church of Rome,
Mixing two governments that ill assort,
Hath missed her footing, fallen into the
mire,
And there herself and burden much defiled.

Ahi, Costantin, di quanto mal fu matre

Non la tua conversion, ma quella dote,
Che da te prese il primo ricco patre![L]
Inferno, Canto 19.

[L]
Ah Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,
Not thy conversion, but that plentous dower,
Which the first wealthy Father gained from
thee.
Cary’s Dante.

Non fu nostra intenzion, ch’a destra mano,

De’nostri successor parte sedesse,
Parte dall’altra, del popal cristiano,
Nè che le chiavi, che mi fûr concesse,
Divenisser segnacolo in vessillo,
Che contra i battezzati combattesse.[M]
Paradiso, Canto 27.

[M]
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