We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley
passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on its
ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the
project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply
between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of money.
This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly
disappointed when it was thrown aside.
There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his
health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we
left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some
friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as
to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man,
could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he
enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave
his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the
highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice.
Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at Pisa
agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we
remained.
In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house
of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose
myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the
carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his
poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house, which
was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who was an
engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger
days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her
frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of
knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness
of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favourite friend of
my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and
cordial friendship was established between us.
Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At
the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the
Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking
its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is
below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was
speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in
the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in
the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet. It
was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the cattle
from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was kept up
to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals
showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was
reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.
We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. The
extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude was
enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance cast
us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very
peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not distant
sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful
excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on
account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us with terror.
We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed,
entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still
delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I believe we should
have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of
travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities,
is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time,
although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over
our destiny.