LETTER FOURTEENTH.

PISA, November, 18—.

MY DEAR

FOR some days back the dull town has been in a perfect ferment in anticipation and preparation for the grand battagla di ponte-battle of the bridge, and its attendant gran illuminare, or great illumination, which have just taken place. The former is an old absurd remnant of the customs and manners of the middle ages, and is now distasteful to the enlightened and civilised classes, and is only continued on account of an ancient rich fund, by which the numerous combatants, all of the lower orders, are most handsomely remunerated for their trouble of arming and fighting on the bridge, not to speak of the thumps and bruises they receive, as well as the danger of a man being occasionally drowned when tossed into the Arno, which is a necessary part of the ceremony, indispensable as established by the ancient deed. The combatants are

arranged with nearly equal numbers on each side, in ancient armour, cap-a-pie, with sword and javelins of wood, marshalled in splendid fighting order, commanded by their officers, and directed by their staff. At an appointed hour the bell sounds, an in two long processions they advance from the opposite sides of the river to the great middle marble bridge, the handsomest of the three, attended by the whole population of Pisa, with that of all the neighbouring towns, villages, and country. The trumpet sounds the charge, and they rush forward from each side, and the tilting begins with great animation; nothing worse, however, than hard knocks and bruises are ever either given or received, and as but a small proportion of the combatants can assemble in the middle of the bridge, the whole fighting is confined to that spot, and their pushing one another backwards and forwards with little variety or advantage on either side, becomes at length tedious and almost childish. The great feat attempted, and generally successful, to the amount of six or eight (said to be all previously arranged), is throwing men over the bridge into the Arno, where, from the great height and the weight of their armour, they fall with a dreadful splash, amid the loud hurrahs of the delighted million. But it becomes annoying waiting at the windows, even in company with the ladies, for those exciting denouements, which, however, occur as if regulated by the

clock, and exactly according to the terms of the rich fund from which the unfortunate, half-drowned combatants receive a handsome, soothing douceur. Boats are in attendance filled with men to fish up the fallen heroes, which is not always so easy a matter as may be imagined, for the Arno is pretty deep, and, at times, the current very rapid. The peals of laughter, and loud shouts from thousands, as the poor wretches are picked out of the water, is beyond all description; indeed, were it not for those somewhat perilous immersions, the scene would hardly have any interest, and the enormous assemblage would find the battle, so long anticipated, flat, dull, and unprofitable. The numerous combatants on either side are swayed back and forward with nearly equal success, and no other incident of interest, excepting the necessary chutes and immersions that I have mentioned, till at last (as previously arranged,) one party begins to prevail, the other to yield, and is put to flight, the victors thumping their opponents on their helmets and cuirasses with tremendous noise and shouting, knocking down many amid the yells and shouts of the multitude, who now rush in among the combatants, and with peals of laughter carry off the wounded on their shoulders; the greater part, however, make their exit with wonderful celerity, considering the weight of their armour, mighty glad to reach their houses, and get off a load

only worn once in three years, enjoy the fruits of their prowess, and get their bruises and thumps attended to, if they have any. The victorious party parade through the city, colours flying, drums beating, brass bands braying forth their triumph, and such is their excitement and exultation, that one might almost believe that they in reality had obtained some glorious victory.

The illumination which takes place in Pisa every third year is said to be the finest scene in any part of Europe, is connected with their superstition, and is chiefly conducted by the church, who manage to have ample funds for every pompous display in any way connected with their ritual, and hold it in honour of the tutelary saint of their city-San Raniere. It is conducted on a most magnificent plan, at an enormous expense, the funds being received from the court of Rome, and other Catholic powers. The whole buildings on each side of the Arno and the contiguous parts of the city, are covered with an immense framework of black wood, of great extent and height, arranged for innumerable small lamps, which, in the fine taste for which the people of this country are distinguished, are so disposed as to represent in a body of light almost all the finest pieces of architecture in Europe-St. Peter's of Rome, the Coliseum, the Pantheon, St. John in Laterano, Santa Maria Maggiore, Palazzo Pitti, with many of the finest edifices of Florence,

and even of Paris, are pictured in this style, most exactly and beautifully. For several days previously strangers began to pour in from all parts of Europe, and among these were many of the highest rank and celebrity. The streets of Pisa became now almost as crowded as those of London, and the grass on most of them, where formerly the donkeys had a good bite, was now fairly trodden down and obliterated. The people of Pisa, I assure you, many of whom are dreadfully poor, make an excellent harvest of this festival. Every house that is safe to enter is occupied, and a high price given for a bed, now exceedingly scarce; even our old odd mansion has come in for its share, and had the high honour to lodge a German prince, his physician, secretary, and ten servants. He is called Prince John of Leichtenstein, a general of cavalry in the Austrian service, and considered next to Prince Esterhazy, the wealthiest noble in that empire. Not being able to find accommodation nearer the middle of the city, some one had mentioned to him that this house was well liked by the English, and he having been in England, imagined from his knowledge of our habits that it would probably be somewhat comfortable. His secretary, therefore, having made an arrangement with Casimiro, he arrived with a long procession of heavy Austrian carriages, which we at first conceived, with some alarm, would be all filled with people, but