Alle dieci di Febraro,
E successo un caso raro,
A un Leon creduto forte
Diede un asino la morte.
_16th._ To-day I made an excursion to Tivoli, with Hofrath F---- of
Darmstadt, whom I had met a day or two before by mere chance, in the
street, and who kindly greeted me as an old friend. We followed the
same road which I had passed over with Sir Humphry when we visited
the Solfatara; and about two miles beyond the little bridge over the
canal, we again crossed the Teverone, by the Ponte Lucano, near which
is the sepulchre of the Plautian family, built of travertine, in the
shape of a round tower, and on the front of it are still the remains
of some columns and Latin inscriptions. Three or four miles beyond
this monument lies Tivoli, where we arrived about ten o'clock in the
morning, having quitted Rome at an early hour, and we occupied the
whole morning in viewing the ruins and cascades. Our first visit was
to the Temple of Vesta, generally called the Temple of the Sybil, a
beautiful and elegant ruin, situated immediately above the Falls of the
Aniene. It is of a circular form, and appears to have been surrounded
by eighteen columns, ten of which are still remaining. These columns
are of travertine, and of the Corinthian order. Close to this temple
stands another small one, which is said to have been dedicated to the
Tiburtine Sybil, of a square form, with four Ionic columns in front.
Descending near this temple, a very good path led us down to the
Grotto of Neptune, into which the waters of the Aniene precipitate
themselves with impetuosity, forming on two sides beautiful cascades,
which fall into the same pool, and run from it through a very narrow
and highly picturesque valley, round the hill upon which Tivoli is
situated. Leaving the grotto and town, we walked along the side of
the mountains which look towards the _campagna_ and Rome; and during
our walk, our guide showed us the remains and situations of some of
the most celebrated villas; the country-house of the poet Catullus,
and that of Horace and Quintillius Varo. Before we ascended to the
villa of Mæcenas, we passed by the _Cascatelle_, beautiful and highly
picturesque falls, which seem to rise out of the town of Tivoli, and
leap down the hill into the valley in many a varied bound. The villa
of Mæcenas is now used as an iron manufactory; many of the rooms and
corridors are still distinct, and the roof is still perfect. The view
from hence towards Rome is magnificent, embracing the whole _campagna_,
with the different towns and villages in it, and is bounded by the
cupola of St. Peter's. The Villa d'Este is of modern architecture, and
must formerly have been very splendid; but it is now falling fast into
decay, and its fine gardens are no longer attended to; the fountains in
them are dry, and the numberless statues that adorn them have become
brown and dirty.
After dining at Tivoli we returned to Rome, but stopped for two hours
at the Villa Adriana, to view the astonishing ruins of this wonderful
spot, where the Emperor Hadrian attempted to unite all the grand and
beautiful objects which he had beheld in Greece and Egypt. He here
built a Lycæum, an Academy, a Pritaneum, like those he had seen at
Athens; he formed the Vale of Tempe, in imitation of the celebrated
Thessalian Valley; and not content with earthly subjects, he imagined
Tartarus and the Elysian Fields, as described in the ancient mythology.
The ruins of this stupendous villa cover a surface of seven miles in
circumference, in which are found the remains of circuses, temples,
theatres, libraries, baths, palaces, &c. &c., which still present an
astonishing proof of the almost inconceivable grandeur and magnificence
of the ancient lords of the Roman Empire. The mind that planned and
executed this mighty work, and conceived the idea of bringing together
into one spot of ground the noblest edifices scattered over the surface
of the gigantic empire which he governed, could have been of no common
mould, nor can any one dwell upon it as such, whilst wandering amid
these now mouldering ruins. Leaving the villa, we proceeded to the
Solfatara, Hofrath F---- not having yet seen it, and from thence
returned to Rome, where I arrived just in time to read to Sir Humphry,
after having spent a day of no common pleasure, which had not been a
little heightened by the kind and friendly interest shown me by the
Hofrath.
_20th-28th._ These days have been to me days of extreme anxiety, and
often of fearful anticipation. On the 20th Sir Humphry was attacked
with a renewed stroke of palsy, which had nearly proved fatal to him.
In the morning he had, after breakfast, been dictating to me his
dialogues, which he had nearly finished, and he appeared even to be
better, and more gay than I had seen him for some time. I left him at
eleven o'clock, and went to my adjoining room to continue the fair
copy, but had scarcely seated myself, when I heard him hastily call
me, and upon entering the room I found him fallen upon the sofa, and
deprived apparently of the use of his limbs. He evidently thought
himself dying, but his voice was quite audible, and he told me, that
on attempting to rise from the sofa, he felt that he had no power
over his limbs, more especially those of his right side, and that he
felt sick at his stomach. With the assistance of the servants I got
him into bed as quickly as possible, and I sent immediately for Dr.
Jenks, who came directly, bringing with him Dr. Morichini. They each
did all that was possible to relieve Sir Humphry's apprehensions,
and assured me the danger was not so immediate as he imagined. After
they left, I wrote both to Doctor and Lady Davy, and then read to Sir
Humphry during the remainder of the day, which seemed to quiet and calm
him. He slept very little in the night, and continued much in the same
state through the next day, though he was able during it to dictate
some codicils to his will, and to finish the little that remained of
the Dialogues. On the 22nd he was rather better, although he had much
fever, and was able, with the help of my guiding his hand, to sign two
or three papers of importance. On the 23rd, however, he became worse,
and he dictated a letter to his brother, Dr. Davy, to say that he was
dying; but the physicians who visited him daily three times, said he
was not materially worse. He has often taken large doses of laudanum
and acetate of morphine, (of the latter in one day upwards of twenty
grains,) even more than his physicians approved, and on the 24th he was
much worse, having passed a sleepless and very restless night. He was
extremely weak, and his voice had sunk to a whisper scarcely audible;
he said he felt his forces going, and that he should not outlive the
day; yet his mental faculties maintained their power and activity, and
seemed to be always occupied with the same subject, his Dialogues,
the title of which, "Philosophical Dialogues," he said he wished to
have changed for "The Last Days of a Philosopher; or, Consolations in
Travel." I could not persuade him to take anything during the morning,
and even the little which he had spoken to me seemed to have exhausted
him. The idea that his dissolution was close at hand, was fixed in his
mind, and saying that he had but a few hours longer to live, he begged
to be left quiet and alone, and pressing my hand said, "God bless you,
I shall never see you again." After this he lay in a torpor for many
hours, but in the afternoon he revived a little, and Dr. Morichini at
length succeeded in persuading him to take a little broth and a glass
of champagne. The reading to him seems to afford him much pleasure, and
I have often read to him till midnight; George always sits up with him,
and, when anything occurs, immediately calls me. Since the 24th he has
gradually got better, and on the 25th he recovered his voice, and was
not quite so desponding as before, and the three following days found
him still better, but now and then delirious, from the quantity of
acetate of morphine which he has taken and still takes.
_29th-1st April._ Sir Humphry has been gradually recovering, and has
now considerably regained the power over his limbs, and is often
able to be upon the sofa the greater part of the day. It seems
impossible for him to exist without being read to, and on one day I
read Shakspeare to him for _nine_ hours. On the 15th of March Dr. Davy
arrived from Malta, and Lady Davy from London on the 30th, she having
travelled day and night. Their arrival relieved me from much anxiety.
When Sir Humphry is able to bear travelling we shall leave Rome, and
proceed to Geneva by way of Florence and Genoa, and at the latter city
Dr. Davy will probably quit us to return to Malta. Sir Humphry has
latterly found himself so much better, that he often takes a drive for
an hour or two.
_20th._ This being Easter Monday, Sir Humphry determined to drive
out and see the grand illumination of St. Peter's, which takes place
annually on this evening. It was indeed one of the grandest sights
imaginable, and we were remarkably fortunate in seeing it this year,
when it was said to be more magnificent than usual, in honour of the
newly elected pope. Between six and seven o'clock in the evening,
thousands and thousands crowd over the Ponte St. Angelo to gain a place
in the grand Piazza of St. Peter's. Only the carriages belonging to
the cardinals and foreign ambassadors are allowed to pass over that
bridge on this evening, all others being obliged to make a considerable
detour. At seven o'clock the Piazza is crowded with all sorts of
carriages, and upwards of an hundred thousand people. This front of
the church, the cupola, and two smaller domes, are seen illuminated
with innumerable small paper lanterns, fixed at regular distances. This
lasts till nearly eight, and in the meanwhile the mass of the people
in the Piazza are loud in their expression of joy and expectation, but
as the hour of eight approaches all becomes still and hushed, and only
a half-breathed solitary _adess', adesso_, is now and then heard. With
the first stroke of the clock, the great bell of St. Peter's sounds
_one_. All eyes turn instantly to the cross on the top of the cupola,
from out of which a magnificent column of flame is seen suddenly to
burst. A _second_ stroke upon the great bell, and the fire is seen
descending with the rapidity of lightning over the cupola and the other
parts of the church. The bell strikes for a _third_ and last time, and
the two magnificent semicircular colonades which surround the Piazza,
are beheld in a blaze of illumination. The whole is the work of three
or four seconds, and so great is the light produced, that of the former
illumination not a trace is visible. This lasted for about half an
hour, when the lights faded away, and the crowd began to disperse.
_21st._ This day was celebrated by a magnificent display of fireworks,
which the Italians call _la Girandola_, on the Mausoleum of Hadrian.
They are announced by the explosion of a tremendous maroon, which
seems to shake Rome to her centre; this is followed by the eruption
of Vesuvius, formed by thousands of rockets, which rise at the same
moment, and give to a person who has not witnessed an eruption, a
terrific idea of that phenomenon. After this follow all kinds of
fireworks of the most brilliant description, the whole fort is seen
illuminated, and on the top appears the name of the Pope in gigantic
flaming letters; suns and stars are seen bursting from the dense clouds
of smoke which hang heavy in the air, and the scene closes by another
eruption of Vesuvius, which throws a red and fiery glare upon the
neighbouring cupola of St. Peter's.
_30th._ We this morning quitted Rome by the same gate through which we
entered, and dined at Baccano, where we found the inn thronged with
strangers, chiefly English, all flocking to the north. A few miles
beyond Monte Rosa we turned out of our former road, and drove on to
Ronciglione, a small village of dark black houses, in the midst of
which rises a newly white-washed church and cupola, like a shining
light in the village of darkness.
_1st May._ Leaving Ronciglione, we passed by the Lago di Vigo, a small
lake, which lay beneath us as we wound up a very steep hill, from the
top of which we enjoyed a magnificent view. In the plain beneath us
lay Horace's Soracte; and beyond this mountain, and stretching towards
the north as far as the eye could reach, the chain of the Appenines,
whose lower regions were clad in the fresh green of spring, while the
higher ridges were mostly covered with snow, above which rose the more
distant summits of the Velino and many other snowy peaks, now hidden
by light fleeting clouds, and then again glittering in a morning sun.
At the bottom of the hill we passed through Viterbo, and after a drive
of some hours over a hilly country, we came to Montefiascone, a small
place, celebrated for its wine, which, if the following anecdote be
true, once cost a reverend prelate his life. He was a great friend
of good wines, and when on a journey used always to send a courier
on before to taste the wines of the different places through which
he was to pass, and when it was good he was ordered to write to his
master _est bonum_, and when remarkably good, _est, est_. On tasting
the wine at Montefiascone, the courier wrote _est, est, est bonum_, and
his judgment seemed to have been right; for when his right reverend
master arrived, he drank such a quantity of it that it occasioned his
death. From the hill on which the town stands is a fine view of the
lake of Bolsena, which appears to be the crater of an immense volcano
of a former world. In the middle of the water rise two islands of solid
rock, seemingly basalt, which is found in considerable quantity on the
banks, and appears in some very remarkable formations near Bolsena,
and the whole country around is volcanic tufa. Bolsena is the ancient
capital of the Etruscans; it lies rather above the road, and we did not
pass through it, but drove on to St. Lorenzo, a miserable collection of
a few houses, where we stopped for the night at a very bad inn.
_2nd_. The first town after leaving St. Lorenzo was Aquapendente, a
small and very ancient place, romantically situated in a rocky ravine.
Between this town and Radicofani we left the Papal territories, and
entered Tuscany. Radicofani is a small and very old town, on the brow
of a steep hill, which is surmounted by an ancient ruined castle.
The change in the Italian pronunciation almost instantly strikes the
ear; for here a guttural sound is always predominant. The dress of
the peasants also seems to have changed with the change of country;
instead of the white and stiffly-starched handkerchiefs of the Roman
females, laid in a square upon the head, and falling down the back,
we now meet women with pretty black turbans, which give them a much
more picturesque appearance; many of them also wear men's hats, only
adding one or more black feathers as ornament. In this neighbourhood
grows the famous wine of Monte-pelluciano, called by Redi, _Il re dei
vini_. It was not, however, at all to my taste, for it seemed to me a
strong, rough, red wine. The green-jacketed postilions of the Pope have
disappeared, and in their place we met with red jackets, turned up with
black. Having dined at Radicofani, we drove on through a hilly and
barren country to La Scala, a lone house, where the vetturini stop for
the night.
_3rd._ We quitted La Scala early, and passing through the same hilly
and uninteresting country, arrived and dined at Buonconvento, a small
and rather more modern town than any we have yet seen. After dinner
we went on to Sienna, and the country became rather more interesting,
being now and then diversified with country houses and villas. The
roads are excellent, and very well kept. Sienna lies very high, and is
seen from a considerable distance, especially two of its towers; one of
them very lofty and slender, and the other streaked alternately with
black and white lines, just like a Prussian boundary-post. We entered
the town by a spacious old brick gateway, and driving through a long
and wide street, paved with broad flagstones, arrived at the _Aquila
Nera_, a very good inn. With the exception of the chief street, the
others seem narrow and dark. Sienna is remarkable for the pure Tuscan
which the inhabitants speak, as a proof of which they relate the
following anecdote:--A preacher of some celebrity being on the road to
Sienna, to edify its inhabitants with an oration, met a peasant girl
on the road, and asked her how far distant he was from the town? She
replied to him--
"Sbarcate il fiume, salite il monte,
Avrete Sienna in fronte."
The orator is said to have been so astonished at hearing these words
from a peasant, that he instantly gave up his intention of preaching
to such connoisseurs of Italian, and returned from whence he came.
Not only for its pure language is Sienna famous, but also for its
beautiful women; and this very justly, for no where have I seen so many
well-made and handsome figures as in the streets of this town. The
cathedral is one of the strangest buildings I ever saw; it is entirely
built of alternate layers of black and white marble, and the Prussian
boundary-post which we saw from a distance is its chief tower. The
portico is a fine, but very incongruous piece of Gothic architecture;
pillars of all sorts and sizes are intermingled with statues of saints,
bas-reliefs, horses' heads, and the gaping mouths of dragons, some
gilt, some bronze, and others in white marble. The black marble in
the interior seemed to overpower the white, and threw a strange and
unearthly gloom over the broad aisles as I saw them in the dusk of
evening, hung with flags, and lighted with a few flickering tapers,
which hardly served to discover here and there some solitary devotee,
praying at the altar of his patron saint.
In the evening, after reading to Sir Humphry, I went for an hour to
the theatre, where I found a juggler amusing a numerous and delighted
assembly with his tricks.
_4th._ This was a very rainy day, and Sir Humphry determined to remain
at Sienna, to rest himself from the fatigue of the journey, which he
has, however, borne much better than could have been expected. In the
morning I went again to the cathedral, to see the paintings of Raphael.
They are painted on the walls of the sacristy, and represent scenes
from the life of Clement II. It is said they were only designed by
Raphael when he was very young, and afterwards coloured by another
master; good judges, however, can alone decide upon this point. In the
same room are some beautifully illuminated old missals, and a fine
marble monument by Ricchi, to the memory of the celebrated anatomist
Mascagni, who was a native of Sienna. It represents a weeping female
in a sitting posture, holding a scroll in her hand, on which is an
inscription in letters of gold, and around her lie different anatomical
instruments and books. In the middle of the room, on a lofty pedestal,
is an antique group in marble, representing the three Graces. They were
found in repairing the foundations of the church, and, though much
mutilated, are beautifully executed, and may probably have given Canova
the idea of his Graces, as the sacristan told me he had repeatedly
visited them, and spent much time in the study of them. The cathedral
also contains many fine pictures of very ancient date, one as early
as the year 1280. The pulpit of African marble is very remarkable for
the beauty of its sculpture, and the inlaid and carved pavement before
the altar is also very curious, but its chief boast is the possession
of one of the arms of John the Baptist; it however has lost its little
finger, which a bishop of Florence is said to have bitten off through
envy, while _devoutly_ kissing the relic. St. John's head is said to be
at Genoa, and I suppose his other limbs are to be found in some part
of Italy.
_5th._ It rained heavily this morning, but cleared up before we left
Sienna. The country at first is rather barren and hilly, but improves
the nearer we approach to Florence. Tavernelle, where we stopped to
dine and bait the horses, is a small and insignificant village; the
country beyond it becomes very pretty; the road is bordered with neat
villages and villas, from the gardens of which immense clusters of
roses hang over the walls, and the distant hills are covered with fine
wood, and with the beautiful fan pine. We saw Florence in the valley of
the Arno long before we reached it; in itself smaller than I expected
it, but surrounded on all sides by innumerable villas and hamlets,
peeping through the fine woods, or standing in the midst of beautifully
cultivated fields. We entered the city by the Porta Romana, a plain
old brick gateway, and drove to the Hôtel de l'Europe, where we were
splendidly and comfortably lodged.
_6th-9th._ We remained these days at Florence, that Sir Humphry might
a little recruit his strength; and during this time, at intervals
when he did not want me to read to him, I saw as much as I could of
the curiosities of this magnificent capital. The celebrated gallery,
which is perhaps its greatest attraction, I was only able just to
look at, having but two hours to devote to it. The anatomical cabinet
of preparations in wax is undoubtedly the finest thing of its kind
existing, and shows what effects patience and perseverance can produce,
being chiefly the work of one person. Many rooms are filled with
glass cases, containing the most beautiful and exact representations
of the structure of the human body in all its parts, moulded in wax.
The finest and most intricate parts of the human frame are delineated
and traced with a distinctness and exactitude hardly to be conceived,
and the slightest ramifications of the nerves and vessels have been
followed with a clearness and accuracy rarely seen in the most exact
preparations of the best cabinets of anatomy. The collection is not
confined only to the anatomy of the human body, but contains also
numerous specimens of comparative anatomy, amongst which is a most
beautiful one of a fish, with all its internal organs. In the museum
annexed to the anatomical cabinet are also three representations of the
plague at Florence, describing this terrific scourge with a horrible
and disgusting accuracy. This, and all other collections, are open on
certain days, and at fixed hours, to the public, and any one is allowed
to enter, and without paying.
The cathedral is a fine building, in the same style of architecture as
that at Sienna, and, like it, is built of black and white marble. The
celebrated _Campanella_, or belfry, is a lofty square tower, detached
from the church, and built in a fine and light style; when I was there
it was closed, and I had not time to repeat my visit, so that I did not
see the interior. One evening I went to the Pergola, a very fine and
large theatre: it is extremely simple and elegant, the ground-colour
being shining white, relieved by light gilt ornaments, and the opera
and ballet were in a style of corresponding elegance. I went once to
see the house of Dante, now called the Palazzo Dante, and the residence
of the French Ambassador. Near it is also the dwelling place of the two
Guicciardini.
_9th._ We quitted Florence this morning for Genoa, and drove on to
Pistoja in two hours and a half. The road runs through a long continued
row of villages and villas, linked together by the graceful festoons of
the green vine. The plain is covered with Italian vineyards, in which
the vines are trained from tree to tree, very different from those
of Germany. The villages are full of roses; and the nearer hills are
spotted with white houses, rising among the green trees, and beyond
them appears a chain of loftier snow-tipped mountains. The inhabitants
of the villages were all sitting in the sun before their doors, chiefly
employed in plaiting straw for the Leghorn hats. The drive from Pistoja
to Lucca is most beautiful; the land is in high cultivation, and
appears to be very rich. The mountains became grander, more rugged
and bolder, as we approached the Lucchese territory, which we entered
about eight miles from Lucca. The ramparts surrounding the town are all
planted with lofty trees, which perfectly conceal the houses beyond
them, so that, with the exception of one or two towers, no part of the
town is visible from without the walls. The streets are old, narrow,
and dirty, and the cathedral is an awkward building, the front of which
is formed of rows of small arches, one above another, surmounted by a
gigantic uncouth white angel, in whose head was stuck a great dry bush.
_10th._ We quitted Lucca at seven in the morning, and from the top
of the hill beyond it, I discovered the straight blue line of the
Mediterranean. Descending the hill, and driving about ten miles through
groves of olives and rows of poplars, from which the vines hung down in
long single festoons, we passed the boundary of the Lucchese territory,
and entered the small dukedom of Massa-Carrara, and shortly after into
the town of Massa, a neat and airy though old town. White marble is
generally used here for the stairs, and for the facings of the doors
and windows. Whilst dinner was preparing, I took a walk up to the old
castle above the town, now emphatically called _the fortress_. Its
only garrison, however, seemed to consist of four or five soldiers,
who were provided with one old rusty cannon. The view from the ruined
battlements was highly beautiful: in front lay the wide sea, glancing
in the beams of the sun, so bright that the eye could not bear to look
upon it; to the left, in the distance, appeared the island of Gorgona,
rising like a dark blue rock out of the glittering waves; to the right,
two smaller islands were seen, beyond which appeared promontory upon
promontory, conveying their woods of olives far out into the sea.
Below the castle a vast plain covered with vineyards and groves of
olives was seen, stretching down to the edge of the water, intersected
by a silvery river winding among the trees, whilst immediately under
the hill, and half hidden by it, lay Massa, like the plan of a town
spread open before me. Beyond it were seen the wooded hills leading to
Carrara, and behind the castle rose rocky and rugged mountains, here
and there spotted with a field or two of remaining snow, and, like the
Alps, hiding their lofty heads in dark grey clouds.
Quitting Massa, we drove over a noble bridge of one lofty arch built
entirely of white marble, and after winding across a long hill, we
passed through Carrara, near which, in one of the lateral vallies, are
the celebrated marble quarries. A little beyond this village we entered
the Piedmontese territory and the dominions of the King of Sardinia,
and soon arrived at Sarzana, a small ill-looking town. It being Sunday,
the road and town were covered with peasants in their holiday suits:
the dress of the women is one of the oddest I have yet seen; they wear
no stockings, and their clothes seem huddled on all in a bundle; their
hair is drawn away from their foreheads, and tied up behind in a bag of
silk, of different colours, some red, some blue, some black, and always
with three or four tassels hanging down from the end, whilst on the top
of this bag is stuck the funniest little straw hat possible, looking
much like a soup plate turned topsy-turvy, and made of frizzled straw,
ornamented with coloured ribbons. The women of a higher rank wear white
veils over their heads, and no bags.
_11th._ Leaving Sarzana, we crossed the river Magara in a ferry-boat,
and after a pleasant drive arrived at Spezia, a small narrow-streeted
town, beautifully situated at the head of the gulf of Spezia, and
surrounded on the side near the sea by spacious walks and groves of
acacias, which were covered with their long white blossoms, and exhaled
a most delightful perfume. In the middle of the gulf, not far from
the town, we were informed that a spring of fresh water rises through
the sea, forming a pool of fresh water of thirty to forty yards in
circumference in the middle of the salt-water. I had however no time to
visit this phenomenon, for Sir Humphry wished to be read to for an hour
or two, and we shortly after quitted Spezia and with it the sea, and
drove on to Borghetto, a little miserable village, the road to which
was not yet finished, and very bad, though running through a beautiful
valley, much resembling some of those of Austria, with its clear stream
and finely wooded mountains.
_12th._ We quitted Borghetto early, and winding over a very long and
high mountain for four hours, we again saw the sea, two or three
thousand feet below us, spotted by many a white flitting sail. In the
distance was Gorgona, and still further, scarcely visible to the eye,
the hazy blue line of Corsica, which was however soon lost to us. A
great part of the mountain was composed of _serpentine_, with which
also the roads were mended. From the top we looked down upon other
mountains, covered with villages, but very barren, a few olive groves
here and there being the only mark of vegetation. At the bottom of the
hill we passed through Sestri, a pretty little town close upon the sea,
and from thence over a beautiful road on the sea shore to Chiavari, a
larger town, rather more distant from the sea, and partly hidden by
trees, above which rose its white steeples and some of its houses. The
gulf of Sestri is far more beautiful and diversified even than that of
Spezia.
_13th._ We quitted Chiavari this morning for Genoa. The road is
beautiful and romantic, running for miles along the side of a mountain,
and hanging perpendicularly over the sea, which lies many hundred
feet below it. In many parts it appears very dangerous, and were the
carriage to upset, the traveller would be instantly precipitated into
the waves below. Between Chiavari and Rapal there are two tunnels cut
through the solid rock. This latter place is a very pretty village
or small town, close upon the sea, and the whole country round it
seems very populous; country-houses, villas, and farms, appearing
on all sides among the vineyards and olive woods. At the top of the
last hill, after leaving Rapal, we came to another tunnel, which was
carried through the summit for one hundred yards or more, and presented
us with one of the most striking views possible. Looking through the
mountain we first saw the blue and tranquil sea, with a few passing
sails, then presently rose to view, as it were out of the ocean, the
white and glittering towers of _Genova la superba_, and its field
of masts, scarcely visible to the eye. Emerging from the tunnel the
view became more extensive, for we could trace the road to Genoa,
about ten miles off, running along the mountains somewhat above the
sea, and lined with villages and villas lying upon the sides of the
hills, which, however, were not so finely wooded as those we had just
passed. This city of palaces much disappointed me, and does not at all
answer to its splendid appearance from a distance; it seems like two
different towns brought together from the opposite parts of the world,
and built for very different inhabitants. The upper part of the city
consists of magnificent streets, or rather rows of marble palaces,
while the streets of the lower town form only an assemblage of dirty
and narrow lanes. Our hotel, La Villa, looks out upon the harbour,
which is chiefly filled with small craft. In the middle of the gulf,
however, were three frigates in full sail, which were bearing the King
of Sardinia and his suite to Naples.
_14th-17th._ Sir Humphry has determined to remain here two or three
days to recover from the fatigues of the journey hither. Dr. Davy,
who was to have left us here and return to Malta, has determined upon
accompanying his brother to Geneva. I generally read to Sir Humphry the
greater part of the day, but I went on the 15th for a couple of hours
upon one of the hills behind the town, and took a sketch of it as it
lay stretched out beneath me. The hills are indeed rather barren, and
this, combined with the scarcity of fish, speak for the truth of at
least a part of the following proverb,
Mare senza pesce,
Montagne senza legno,
Donna senza pudore,
which is often applied to Genoa. I went one evening to the theatre,
after Sir Humphry had retired to bed, and was much amused by a
magnificent ballet, Carlo di Borgogna, which, however, ended in a very
tragical manner, the heroine being struck dead by lightning amongst
rocks and snow, and precipitated into a roaring torrent. The theatre is
quite new, and is splendidly decorated.
_18th._ We quitted Genoa this morning, and drove through the whole
town round by the harbour and lighthouse, from which spot the city is
seen to the greatest advantage, the white and magnificent buildings
and churches rising one above another above the thick crowd of masts,
whilst behind the city the hills appear almost covered with country
villas and gardens, which in some measure make up for the want of
wood. On one or two of these hills are fortresses, which were nearly
concealed by the dark and lowering clouds. We drove for some way
through a long and very populous suburb on the sea-shore, and then
turned off into the valley; and upon reaching the top of a very steep
hill, took a last view of the Mediterranean. We reached Ronco, a small
and dirty village, but with a decent inn, in a very heavy shower of
rain, and having dined there, we afterwards continued our journey to
Novi, a small common-place town, where we remained for the night.
_19th._ We quitted Novi early, and dined at Alexandria, passing over
the plains of Marengo, now fine and flourishing corn-fields. In spite
of the thick clouds, we now and then caught a glimpse of the white snow
on the distant Alps. Alexandria is a small, and apparently not a very
strong fortress. After dinner we drove on to Asti, the birth-place of
Alfieri, but as much or more celebrated for its fine wines.
_20th._ We left Asti, and reached Piorino by dinner-time; the roads
were very bad, and became still worse between the latter place and
Turin. Some time before we reached Turin we came to the Po, which is
here not quite so large as the Neckar, but is deep and muddy. Turin
lies flat, and has not the appearance of a great city from a distance.
A fine bridge over the Po leads into the Piazza del Po, a noble square,
forming the entrance into the town. The streets are all built at right
angles, which gives to the whole city a neat and regular appearance.
We remained here during the 21st, which was a completely wet day, the
rain beginning in the morning and continuing without intermission.
_22nd._ Quitting Turin, the road for the first eight or ten miles was
excellent, but afterwards was not so good. St. Ambrosio, where we
dined, is a small and dirty village. Every body already speaks French,
and the Piedmontese-Italian, which we met with at Sarzana, and heard
spoken till we reached Turin, is now quite lost in _patois_ of French
and Italian. From St. Ambrosio we had a wet drive to Susa, a small
town, prettily situated at the foot of Monte Cenisio or Mont Cenis. Our
road lay through a valley bounded on each side by snowy Alps, mostly
hidden in the dark grey clouds, which towards evening fell in a heavy
shower, and then sailed away up the mountain, leaving the evening finer
than could have been expected, and promising a fair day for the ascent
of Mont Cenis to-morrow.
_23rd._ I have now crossed Mont Cenis, one of the highest and most
celebrated alpine passes, and I have been much disappointed; though I
have seen it not only in the dark and veiling gloom of an approaching
storm, but have also gazed upon its bleak and rugged rocks, its frozen
lake, and its fields of snow, glittering in the redoubled splendour
of the returning sunbeams after the storm had passed away; for I must
confess that it cannot bear comparison either with the pass of the
Löbel, or the Tauern. It has not the brilliant vegetation of either of
these to relieve the eye during the long ascent, nor is the wanderer
struck with the fine views that meet him on the Austrian passes, either
during the ascent, on the summit, or on the descent. After leaving Susa
and the lower vallies, all is bleak and dreary, rock or snow; the road
is very good, and often defended by very stout bars. Ascending higher,
we reached the _Case di ricovero_ or houses of refuge, small square
cottages built on the road side at short distances from one another,
and which afford shelter to travellers during the storms that are very
frequent here, and are generally accompanied by tremendous winds.
During our ascent we were visited by a storm of hail and rain, which
lasted for about an hour. Nearly on the summit of the mountain is a
hospital, with a few other houses, and two or three inns, and the whole
bears the name of Les Tavernes. We here passed the boundary of Italy,
and entered into the duchy of Savoy. In front of the little village is
a small lake, which was still frozen, and the people at one of the inns
told me that in summer its banks are haunted by large, but harmless
serpents, which are very good to eat. About half a league beyond Les
Tavernes we found ourselves on the summit of the pass, and looked
down upon Lans-le-bourg, at the bottom of a wide but barren valley. A
few snowy mountains appeared in the distance, but they were neither
remarkable in form or height. The road on the French side is by no
means so long or so steep as that on the Italian side, though it often
winds round very unnecessarily. We descended to Lans-le-bourg in less
than two hours, and remained there for the night.
_24th._ Quitting Lans-le-bourg we followed the valley, which becomes
more beautiful as we advanced further to St. Michael. The sides are
frequently covered with fine woods, from amongst which many grand and
lofty cascades come rushing down into the Ose, which foams and hurries
on in its rocky bed by the road side. Near St. Michael is a large and
strong fortress, which quite commands the road in the valley. From
hence we drove on through St. Jean, a small town, prettily situated and
surrounded by some fine rocky scenery, to La Chambre, a paltry little
village, with a miserable inn, where however we were obliged to spend
the night.
_25th._ We quitted La Chambre early, and drove on through Aiguebelle,
where we quitted the valley, and passed on through a more open and
hilly country to Maltaverne, a very good inn, with one or two small
houses near it. The surrounding country seems very well cultivated, and
appears to be very productive.
_26th._ We left Maltaverne this morning early, for Aix-aux-Bains,
passing through Mount Melian, a small town on the Ose, the same river
which we followed from the foot of Mount Cenis, and which we here
left a broad and navigable stream. Three leagues further we passed
through Chambery, the capital of Savoy, an old town, with dirty and
narrow streets, at least those through which we drove, but beautifully
situated in a valley, and surrounded with magnificent hills and woods.
A very fine road up a long and steep hill, brought us in a couple of
hours to Aix, which is a very neat little bathing place, and which
appears, from the list of last year, to have been much frequented
during the season. The springs, which are warm and cold, contain
chiefly sulphur and alum. Near the village is the lake of Bourget,
which is pretty, though not on a grand or imposing scale. I took a
sketch of it from a stone pier which is built out to a short distance
in the lake, and then returned to read to Sir Humphry, who seemed
pleased with the sketch, and said he should like to have it introduced
in a future edition of "Salmonia," it being one of the lakes which he
speaks of in his last dialogue.
_27th._ Quitting Aix, we passed through a finely cultivated, though
not very pretty country, the nearer hills being rather barren, and the
distant view obscured by clouds, as it has been for the last day or
two, to Frangy, a small country village, where we passed the evening,
as Sir Humphry did not wish to go on any further.
_28th._ We quitted Frangy this morning, and reached Geneva by twelve
o'clock, and drove to the _Couronne_. Sir Humphry is in very tolerable
spirits, and the journey seems to have fatigued him so little, that he
intends to-morrow morning going out to fish in the lake.
_29th May._ I quitted Sir Humphry yesterday evening, after having read
to him as usual, since we left Rome, till about ten o'clock. Our book
was Smollet's "Humphry Clinker," and little did I think it was the last
book he would ever listen to. He seemed in tolerable spirits, but upon
going to bed was seized with spasms, which, however, were not violent,
and soon ceased. I left him when in bed, and bidding me "Good night,"
he said I should see him better in the morning.
Lady Davy and the Doctor also quitted him, and George went to bed in
his master's room, as he always had done since Sir Humphry's illness
at Rome. At six o'clock this morning, Lady Davy's man-servant came to
my room, and told me that Sir Humphry Davy was no more. I replied that
it was impossible, and that he probably only lay in a torpor; but I
went down to his room instantly, when I found that the servant's words
were, alas! but too true. I asked George why he had not called me, when
he said that he had sent up, but now found that it had been to a wrong
room. He told me that Sir Humphry went to sleep after we had left him,
but that he had twice waked, and that at half-past one, hearing him
get out of bed, he went to him, when Sir Humphry said he did not want
his assistance, and poured some solution of acetate of morphine into a
wine glass of water; but this still remained untouched upon his table.
George then helped him into bed, where he says he lay quite still till
a little after two o'clock, when hearing him groan, he went to him,
and found that he was senseless and expiring. He instantly called up
Lady Davy and the Doctor, and sent up, as he believed, to me; but Sir
Humphry, he says, never spoke again, and expired without a sigh.
I had so often, whilst at Rome, seen Sir Humphry lie for hours together
in a state of torpor, and to all appearance dead, that it was difficult
for me to persuade myself of the truth; but the delusion at length
vanished, and it became too evident that all that remained before me
of this great philosopher, was merely the cold and senseless frame
with which he had worked. The animating spirit had fled to its oft
self-imagined planetary world, there to join the rejoicing souls of the
great and good of past ages, soaring from system to system, and with
them still to do good in a higher and less bounded sphere, and I knew
that it was freed from many a wearisome and painful toil: yet I could
not look upon Sir Humphry as he was, without remembering that which he
had been, and my tears would fall, spite of my effort to restrain them.