RECOLLECTIONS OF MADEIRA DURING THE WINTER OF 1844-5.* CHAPTER VI. "The groves of Eden, vanished now so long, POPE. THE climate of Madeira has been often described, and its characteristics have long rendered it, in common parlance, the finest in the world. It is, however, a mistake to talk about the climate: there are half a dozen. That of Funchal has become our criterion, because it happens to suit, in a peculiarly beneficial manner, those who are most likely to write about it-the invalids. Its equability, and moderate heat during the winter months, so desirable for people who can bear neither sudden changes nor extremes of temperature; its softness, so luxurious to those who are incapable of much physical exertion; and its extraordinary brightness, so cheering to drooping and desponding spirits, have made Funchal the home-alas! too often the last resting-place on the road to "The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns" of confirmed invalidism. In a word, the climate of Funchal is a fine one for bad constitutions, and a bad one for fine constitutions. It has a lazy, enervating effect, both physically and intellectually; pleasant enough, I admit, but pernicious to a man in good health, whose nature, however robust, will not long resist its relaxing tendency. I hold it has much to do with the degraded condition of the pale-faced Portuguese who habitually reside in Funchal ; and even the sturdy Englishman who braces his nerves in the strong atmosphere of the hills, complains, with a listless air, of his die-away sensations. But the fact is, Funchal is the exception to the general state of climate in Madeira. By ascending the hills you may meet with almost any degree of temperature you desire; half an hour's ride from town will place you in an atmosphere 10 degrees colder, and in double that time you may arrive at an elevation where the very feel is English, autumnal, with the thermometer ranging from 45 degrees to 50 degrees. Again, the climate of the north is distinct from that of * Continued from page 327. the south, and Santa Cruz, which is only ten miles distant from Funchal, and on the same coast, is materially different. I think Madeira should be celebrated for something better than the climate of Funchal, where one can neither read, nor think, nor do anything, in fact, but feel that you can do nothing. It should be celebrated for its glorious scenery, some of the most remarkable in the world; and, for the climate of the mountains, pure, strong, and exhilarating, but so clear, that it is at first almost dazzling to an eye accustomed to the dull, leaden atmosphere of England. Subject to changes, these districts are no worse than all mountainous countries; and in fine weather (which, after all, continues the greater part of the year), under a cloudless sky, and two or three thousand feet above the sea, the climate of Madeira is-perfect! I shall not stay to discuss scientifically the nature of these things. I simply state my own feeling on the subject: to those who wish to know more, is it not all written in the book of the Chronicles of Sir James Clark upon climate?* For my own part, I began to hate the mildness of Funchal very shortly after I landed there, and having no reason to climatize myself in that town, I soon learned to forsake billiards, and lounging, and gossiping, to listen to the murmurs of a distant torrent in preference to the puny voices of envy and stupidity; to hear the loud breeze sweeping over the mountain peaks, rather than the harsh tongue of slander; and to feel myself free as all the noble scenes around me, from the factious and unpleasing interference of Puseyism, and Scandalism, and Donkeyism, with which Funchal was teeming. The worst of it was, I never could get a companion; no entreaties will induce an invalid to stir out of town unless the weather is perfectly settled; and the residents appreciate the wine of Madeira better than the wonders of its" visible world." I spent whole days in the hills; and at night, when more agreeable amusements put an end to the gossip of the morning, I sought society under its most favourable aspect. But before making our way to the hills, we will first glance at the grape country of the south, which is the finest in the island, and lies between the range of hills I have so often mentioned, I beg leave to say, that I am not advertising for Sir James; and in proof of my sincerity, I may add, for the benefit of those who do not wish the trouble of referring to his climate book, that the average winter temperature of Funchal is 62 degrees Fahr., the summer about 72 degrees Fahr.; so, it will be seen that it is not the mere height of temperature, but the nature of the climate, which renders it enervating to strong people. By the bye, clothes are hung in the open air, exposed to the sun, as the only means of drying, all the winter, which looks as if it was somewhat temperate. But, I repeat, for dews, and damps, and Fahrenheit, and all that, I refer my readers to the stastistics of those wandering savans who have made the thing their study. and the coast. The rides to the westward of Funchal are best for obtaining an idea of the profuse fertility of this side of Madeira. I have before spoken of the vast, sloping, hill-bound amphitheatre stretching down to the bay of Funçhal. The town is placed on the extreme eastern end of this fertile country, whose productive soil extends for miles to the westward; in fact, with the exception of an insignificant range of hills, which crosses it at the Saint Antonio Point, it reaches to the village of Câma do Lobos, some seven or eight miles from Funchal. Thus, while the roads to the villages of Santa Cruz, and Machico, to the eastward, run along a barren and uninteresting coast, the routes to Câma do Lobos, Campanario, Cabo Geráo, and the western portion of the island, passing through this highly cultivated and productive basin, exhibit evidence of extraordinary vegetable growth. Nothing can exceed the luxuriant vegetation of the hill sides. Looking from any elevation over this extensive tract of country, the vine is seen in every direction planted upon artificial terraces, or upon the natural slopes of the hill, if the declivity is not too great, spreading its tortuous stems over trellis-work of cane, which, visible amongst the leaves, gives an appearance of ragged fertility to the whole not at all consonant with the idea of neat and careful cultivation. Often in the midst of the vine itself, but wherever its tendrils cease to cling, spring up the gigantic-leaved, wide-spreading banana, with its bunches of yellow fruit; in large patches the green blades of the sugar cane; clusters of the bushy, well-rounded orange tree, its golden fruit contrasting so well with the dark foliage; the grotesquely branching fig; the smallleaved coffee; the graceful lime, the lemon, the guava, the peach, the pear, and the walnut; here and there a dark cedar, or a waving plantation of chesnuts, and occasionally beds of the light-green foliaged yam. Sometimes the enormous pumpkin peers from its thick overgrowth, or the luscious melon; and various kinds of cacti, but chiefly the prickly pear, cling to the walls, and overspread every available morsel of ground. Myriads of harmless lizards creep about the walls, basking and gambolling in the sun, and rustle away on the slightest disturbance. Bright-winged insects and twittering birds flit across your path, and give life and lightness to the scene. The effect of all is that of an overgrown and deserted garden, which had once been exquisitely stocked, looking brilliant in its disorder, and finely contrasted by the dark deep shades of the mountain gorges. One beautiful morning (the mornings are all beautiful at Funchal!) I rode through this country on my way to the Great Cape. The road goes past the village of Camera, or Câma do Lobos. Never had I seen the Little Wolf Den looking more April, 1847.-VOL. XLVIII.-NO. CXCII. GG picturesque. Its romantic situation is worthy of the name it bears-Câma do Lobos-the bed of the wolves. It lies at the head of a small creek, scarcely a stone's throw across, indented on the bold coast; on either side the cliffs rise to a stupendous height. Some of those sharp black rocks so common on the Madeira coast spring up at the entrance, the surf and spray dashing far above their sharp heads. On the beach are strewn many gaudy-coloured, clumsy, but picturesque country boats; one or two rock lazily on the water; groups of ragged boatmen loll about. The ground rises abruptly above the village, whose few white and green balconied houses, with their bright roofs, are completely imbedded in this wild recess. Approaching the little town by sea, you would think that the only way it could be reached. And a giant's hand would cover the wholechurch spire-creek-boats-houses-fishermen, and all: it was the prettiest picture! : The vine, the vine, nothing but the vine, twists and spreads over the country. The land is valuable, and its cultivation seems more cared for the varied vegetation almost ceases in this district where the Malmsey grape is grown, the finest that the island produces. Some gigantic cacti, whose stems are like the trunks of large trees, are the only vegetable curiosities. What a spot to grow rich in and sip one's Madeira wine! Well, the single street of the village was soon passed; the excitement caused by my arrival among groups of ragamuffins soon subsided; and one or two dark pairs of eyes, and amazingly nice faces, whose fair owners had been beguiled to the balconies by the sound of a horse's foot, vanished to my extreme mortification, as I turned round in my saddle for the third time of asking. I determined to apply to the bishop for an injunction, or a bull, or something, to restrain such unpardonable coquetry, and I remember taking particular notice of those identical balconies for that purpose. Whether it was that I found his lordship was no ladies' man, or whether I changed my mind the next time I rode through Câma do Lobos, I shall not pretend to say; but I never confided these matters in that very agreeable and accomplished Father, the Right Reverend Senhor Bispo of Funchal. I peeped into the church (I never miss the churches), which was preparing for a festival. How glad I was to escape from its faint and perfumed atmosphere, and unnatural light, into the pure air without, and pursue my way and thoughts to Cape Giram. Never mind the thoughts, but the way. One or two fine valleys have to be crossed after leaving Câma do Lobos, but they struck me as being less fertile, and possess no distinctive or remarkable beauty. On we went, and wound round, and down, and up again, many a stiff hill, till a regular cul de sac, in the form of a considerable ascent, and a narrow goat tract on one side of it, brought me to a halt. I had little time for reflection; a troop of shirted young ruffians, holding an apology for a carapuça in their hands, because, consisting only of the tail, it could not of course be kept in its proper position on their heads, informed me by frightful gestures that I must dismount, which I eventually did, more to gratify their young minds than to satisfy my own inclination. My foot was no sooner out of the stirrup than the shouting, vociferating, and scrambling for the horse was exceedingly startling; but as I knew the vagabonds well, I made a dispersing onslaught among them, and giving the bridle to one who, in addition to the shirt costume, boasted a pair of quercas, and a single boot, a distant approach to respectability, I made signs, in which the whip bore a prominent part, that if the beast went out of his hands, I should certainly kill him (the holder) on my return. Then choosing the fattest and least ravenous-looking of the young wolves, I gave him a small basket of provisions to carry, and after a terrific descent upon a third, making myself master of his pole, I commenced my march. First, however, as I could not speak one word of Portuguese, beyond making the fellows believe that they were incorrigible thieves, and had not the remotest chance of being saved from eternal condemnation, I endeavoured to tell them by signs what fearful vengeance I should take upon all those, except the one I had chosen, who attempted to follow me. Now, the path these juvenile delinquents pointed out, seemed to lead to the lower part of the coast, while the steep hill, whose pathless ascent first stopped my progress, was evidently the way to some more elevated position; but to all my attempted questions relative to the route, the only answer I could get, was "Sim, Senhor!" So, I hoped I was going to the Cape, and trudged on. After a mile of rough walking, the sea opened on us; then the outlined coast, and by and by, we were evidently on the edge of the cliff. I rushed forward to gaze over the awful crag, reached the place, and-to my disappointment and vexationI looked over a crumbling, sloping, sliding cliff. Grand enough -it ought perhaps to have satisfied me; but where was the highest perpendicular cliff in the world ?* Casting my eye upwards, to my left, about a quarter of a mile off, I saw the brow of the great Cape, beetling some hundred feet above me, with a perpendicular fall, whose depth-seen from where I stood-was wonderful, and wonderfully great. In my admiration, I almost forgave the cheating young vagabond, who had brought me, by an easy path, to the lower crag; I hardly noticed three other delinquents, whom even my fearful threats had not restrained from following; but, to gain the cliff was the next thought. To * So it is said to be. The fall is upwards of 1,900 feet. |