University of Virginia Library

62. LETTER LXII.

I left Florence on one of the last days of May for
Pisa, with three Italian companions, who submitted as
quietly as myself to being sold four times from one
vetturino to another, at the different stopping-places,
and we drove into the grass-grown, melancholy streets
of Pisa, in the middle of the afternoon, thankful to
escape from the heat and dust of the low banks of the
Arno. My fellow-travellers were Florentines, and in
their sarcastic remarks upon the dulness of Pisa, I
imagined I could detect a lingering trace of the ancient
hatred of these once rival republics. Preparations
for the illumination in honor of the new grand
dutchess, were going on upon the streets bordering
the river, but other sign of life there was none. It
must have been solitude itself which tempted Byron
to reside in Pisa. I looked at the hot sunny front of
the Palazzo Lanfranchi in which he lived, and tried
in vain to imagine it the home of anything in the
shape of pleasure.

I hurried to dine with the friends whose invitation
had brought me out of my way (I was going to Leghorn),
and with a warm, golden sunset flushing in the
sky, we left the table a few hours after to mount to
the top of the “leaning tower.” On the north and
east lay the sharp terminating ridges of the Appenines.
in which lay nested Lucca and its gay baths, and on
the west and south, over a broad bright green meadow
of from seven to fourteen miles, thridded by the Arno
and the Serchio, coiled the distant line of the Mediterranean,
peaked with the many ships, entering and
leaving the busy port of Leghorn, and gilded like a
flaunting riband, with the gold of the setting sun.
Below us lay Pisa, and away to the mountains, and off
over the plains, the fertile farms of Tuscany. Every
point of the scene was lovely. But there was an unaccustomed
feature in the southern view, which had
more power over my feelings than all else around me.
Floating like small clouds in the distance, I could
just distinguish two noble frigates, lying at anchor in
the roads. The guardian of the tower handed me his
glass, and I strained my eye till I fancied I could see
the “stars and stripes” of my country's flag flying at
the peaks. I pointed them out with pride to my
English friends; and while they hung over the dizzy
railing, watching the fading teints of the sunset on the
mountains of Tuscany, I kept my eye on the distant
ships, lost in a thousand reveries of home. The
blood so stirs to see that free banner in a foreign land.

We remained on the tower till the moon rose, clear
and full, and then descended by its circling galleries
to the square, looked at the tall fairy structure in her

mellower light, its sides laced with the shadows of the
hundred columns winding around it, and the wondrous
pile, as it leaned forward to meet the light, seeming in
the very act of toppling to the earth.

I had come from Florence to join the “United
States,” at the polite invitation of the officers of the
ward-room, on a cruise up the Mediterranean. My
cot was swung immediately on my arrival, but we lay
three days longer than was expected in the harbor,
riding out a gale of wind, which broke the chain
cables of both ships, and drove several merchant vessels
on the rocks. We got under way on the third of
June, and the next morning were off Elba, with
Corsica on our quarter, and the little island of Capreja
just ahead.

The firing of guns took me just now to the deck.
Three Sardinian gun-boats had saluted the commodore's
flag in passing, and it was returned with twelve
guns. They were coming home from the affair at
Tunis. It is a fresh, charming morning, and we are
beating up against a light head-wind, all the officers
on deck, looking at the island with their glasses, and
discussing the character of the great man to whom
this little barren spot was a temporary empire. A
bold fortification just appears on the point, with the
Tuscan flag flying from the staff. The sides of the
hills are dotted with desolate looking buildings, among
which are one or two monasteries, and in rounding
the side of the island, we have passed two or three
small villages, perched below and above on the rocks.
Off to the east, we can just distinguish Piombino, the
nearest town of the Italian shore, and very beautiful
it looks, rising from the edge of the water like Venice,
with a range of cloudy hills relieving it in the rear.

Our anchor is dropped in the bay of Porto Ferrajo.
As we ran lightly in upon the last tack, the walls of
the fort appeared crowded with people, the whole
town apparently assembled to see the unusual spectacle
of two ships-of-war entering their now quiet
waters. A small curving bay opened to us, and as we
rounded directly under the walls of the fort, the tops
of the houses in the town behind, appeared crowded
with women, whose features we could easily distinguish
with a glass. By the constant exclamations of the
midshipmen, who were gazing intently from the quarter
deck, there was among them a fair proportion of
beauty, or what looked like it in the distance. Just
below the summit of the fort, upon a terrace commanding
a view of the sea, stood a handsome house,
with low windows shut with Venetian blinds and shaded
with acacias, which the pilot pointed out to us as the
town residence of Napoleon. As the ship lost her
way, we came in sight of a gentle amphitheatre of
hills rising away from the cove, in a woody ravine of
which stood a handsome building, with eight windows,
built by the exile as a country-house. Twenty
or thirty, as good or better, spot the hills around,
ornamented with avenues and orchards of low olive-trees.
It is altogether a rural scene, and disappoints
us agreeably after the barren promise of the outer
sides of the isle.

The Constellation came slowly in after us, with
every sail set, and her tops crowded with men, and as
she fell under the stern of the commodore's ship, the
word was given, and her vast quantity of sail was
furled with that wonderful alacrity which so astonishes
a landsman. I have been continually surprised in the
few days that I have been on board, with the wonders
of sea discipline; but for a spectacle, I have seen
nothing more imposing than the entrance of these two
beautiful frigates into the little port of Elba, and their
magical management. The anchors were dropped,
the yards came down by the run, the sails disappeared,
the living swarm upon the rigging slid below, all in a
moment, and then struck up the delightful band on
our quarter deck, and the sailors leaned on the guns,
the officers on the quarter railing, and boats from the
shore filled with ladies, lay off at different distances,
the whole scene as full of repose and enjoyment, as if
we had lain idle for a month in these glassy waters.
How beautiful are the results of order!

We had made every preparation for a pic-nic party
to the country-house of Napoleon yesterday — but it
rained. At sunset, however, the clouds crowded into
vast masses, and the evening gave a glorious promise,
which was fulfilled this morning in freshness and sunshine.
The commodore's barge took off the ladies
for an excursion on horseback to the iron mines, on
the other side of the island — the midshipmen were set
ashore in various directions for a ramble, and I,
tempted with the beauty of the ravine which enclosed
the villa of Napoleon, declined all invitations with an
eye to a stroll thither.

We were first set ashore at the mole to see the town.
A medley crowd of soldiers, citizens, boys, girls, and
galley-slaves, received us at the landing, and followed
us up to the town-square, gazing at the officers with
undisguised curiosity. We met several gentlemen
from the other ship at the café, and taking a cicerone
together, started for the town-residence of the emperor.
It is now occupied by the governor, and stands on
the summit of the little fortified city. We mounted
by clean excellent pavements, getting a good-natured
“buon giorno!” from every female head thrust from
beneath the blinds of the houses. The governor's
aid received us at the door, with his cap in his hand,
and we commenced the tour of the rooms with all the
household, male and female, following to gaze at us.
Napoleon lived on the first floor. The rooms were as
small as those of a private house, and painted in the
pretty fresco common in Italy. The furniture was all
changed, and the fireplaces and two busts of the emperor's
sisters (Eliza and Pauline) were all that remained
as it was. The library is a pretty room, though
very small, and opens on a terrace level with his favorite
garden. The plantts and lemon-trees were planted
by himself, we were told, and the officers plucked souvenirs
on all sides. The officer who accompanied us
was an old soldier of Napoleon's, and a native of Elba,
and after a little of the reluctance common to the teller
of an oft-told tale, he gave us some interesting particulars
of the emperor's residence at the island. It appears
that he employed himself, from the first day of
his arrival, in the improvement of his little territory,
making roads, &c., and behaved quite like a man, who
had made up his mind to relinquish ambition, and content
himself with what was about him. Three assassins
were discovered and captured in the course of
the eleven months, the first two of whom he pardoned.
The third made an attempt upon his life, in the
disguise of a beggar, at a bridge leading to his country-house,
and was condemned and executed. He was a
native of the emperor's own birthplace in Corsica.

The second floor was occupied by his mother and
Pauline. The furniture of the chamber of the renowned
beauty is very much as she left it. The bed
is small, and the mirror opposite its foot very large, and
in a mahogany frame. Small mirrors were set also in
to the bureau, and in the back of a pretty cabinet of
dark wood standing at the head of the bed. It is delightful
to breathe the at mosphere of a room that has
been the home of the lovely creature whose marble
image by Canova thrills every beholder with love, and
is fraught with such pleasing associations. Her sitting-room,
though ess interesting, made us linger and
muse again. It looks out over the sea to the west, and
the prospect is beautiful. One forgets that her history
could not be written without many a blot. How
much we forgive to beauty! Of all the female branches
of the Bonaparte family, Pauline bore the greatest

resemblance to her brother Napoleon. But the grand
and regular profile which was in him marked with the
stern air of sovereignty and despotic rule, was in her
tempered with an enchanting softness and fascinating
smile. Her statue, after the Venus de Medicis, is the
chef d'œuvre of modern sculpture.

We went from the governor's house to the walls of
the town, loitering along and gazing at the sea; and
then rambled through the narrow streets of the town,
attracting, by the gay uniforms of the officers, the attention
and courtesies of every smooched petticoat far
and near. What the faces of the damsels of Elba
might be, if washed, we could hardly form a conjecture

The country-house of Napoleon is three miles from
the town, a little distance from the shore, farther round
into the bay. Captain Nicholson proposed to walk
to it, and send his boat across — a warmer task for the
mid-day of an Italian June than a man of less enterprise
would choose for pleasure. We reached the
stone steps of the imperial casino, after a melting and
toilsome walk, hungry and thirsty, and were happy to
fling ourselves upon, broken chairs in the denuded
drawing-room, and wait for an extempore dinner of
twelve eggs and bottle of wine as bitter as criticism.
A farmer and his family live in the house, and a couple
of bad busts and the fireplaces, are all that remain of
its old appearance. The situation and the view, however,
are superb. A little lap of a valley opens right
away from the door to the bosom of the bay, and in
the midst of the giassy basin lies the bold peninsular
promontory and fortification of Porto Ferrajo, like a
castle in a loch, connected with the body of the island
by a mere rib of sand. Off beyond sleeps the mainland
of Italy, mountain and vale, like a smoothly-shaped
bed of clouds; and for the foreground of the
landscape, the valleys of Elba are just now green
with fig-trees and vines, speckled here and there with
fields of golden grain, and farmhouses shaded with all
the trees of this genial climate.

We examined the place, after our frugal dinner, and
found a natural path under the edge of the hill behind,
stretching away back into the valley, and leading, after
a short walk, to a small stream and a waterfall.
Across it, just above the fall, lay the trunk of an old
and vigorous fig-tree, full of green limbs, and laden
with fruit half ripe. It made a natural bridge over the
stream, and as its branches shaded the rocks below,
we could easily imagine Napoleon, walking to and fro
in the smooth path, and seating himself on the broadest
stone in the heat of the summer evenings he passed
on the spot. It was the only walk about the place,
and a secluded and pleasant one. The groves of firs
and brush above, and the locust and cherry-trees on
the edges of the walk, are old enough to have shaded
him. We sat and talked under the influence of the
“genius of the spot,” till near sunset, and then, cutting
each a walking-stick from the shoots of the old
fig-tree, returned to the boats and reached the ship as
the band struck up their exhilarating music for the
evening on the quarter-deck.

We have passed two or three days at Elba most
agreeably. The weather has been fine, and the ships
have been thronged with company. The common
people of the town come on board in boat-loads, men,
women, and children, and are never satisfied with gazing
and wondering. The inhabitants speak very pure
Tuscan, and are mild and simple in their manners.
They all take the ships to be bound upon a mere voyage
of pleasure; and, with the officers in their gay
dresses, and the sailors in their clean white and blue,
the music morning and evening, and the general gayety
on board, the impression is not much to be wondered
at.

Yesterday, after dinner, Captain Nicholson took us
ashore in his gig, to pass an hour or two in the shade.
His steward followed, with a bottle or two of old wine,
and landing near the fountain to which the boats are
sent for water, we soon found a spreading fig-tree, and,
with a family of the country people from a neighboring
cottage around us, we idled away the hours till
the cool of the evening. The simplicity of the old
man and his wife, and the wonder of himself and several
laborers in his vineyard, to whom the captain gave
a glass or two of his excellent wines, would have made
a study for Wilkie. Sailors are merry companions for
a party like this. We returned over the unruffled expanse
of the bay, charmed with the beauty of the
scene by sunset, and as happy as a life, literally sans
souci, could make us. What is it, in this rambling absence
from all to which we look forward to in love and
hope, that so fascinates the imagination?

I went, in the commodore's suite, to call upon the
governor this morning. He is a military, commanding
looking man, and received us in Napoleon's saloon,
surrounded by his officers. He regretted that
his commission did not permit him to leave the shore,
even to visit a ship, but offered a visit on the part of
his sister and a company of the first ladies of the town.
They came off this evening. She was a lady-like
woman, not very pretty, of thirty years perhaps. As
she spoke only Italian, she was handed over to me, and
I waited on her through the ship, explaining a great
many things of which I knew as much as herself.
This visit over, we get under way to-morrow morning
for Naples.