A walk round the ramparts at Lucca gives you a very good idea of the surrounding country. Near you is a rich cultivated valley of very even surface; beyond this, about north-west by west, the mountains rise in distant succession to a lofty point, called Pico d’Uccello, or Lapania, where there is a patch or two of snow, but the rocks are for the most part too steep to retain it. The entrance of the valley of the Serchio into the basin of Lucca takes place nearly north of Lucca, but there is hardly any distinguishable separation of the mountains. Pleasant, shady hills towards the north and north-east hide the more distant elevations, except that the summit of Monte Pellegrino just rises above them. To the east the plain appears boundless. On the south, rises the chain of hills above the baths of Pisa, and between these and the western range, the Serchio finds a passage where the eye does not from Lucca perceive any opening. The scene is very varied, and everywhere very beautiful.
All the relations of my young friend Pardini, are anxious to treat me with the utmost kindness in return for the little attention I showed to him at Rome; I must be treated at the coffee-houses and at the theatre, and wherever else they think I can receive any amusement. His father insisted upon taking me to the baths of Lucca, and on my departure from that city, I found it impossible to pay any thing at the inn: I called for the account, scolded, and did all but quarrel, but it was in vain; and as I found I could not refuse their kindness without offence, I at last gave up the point.
We had a soaking wet ride to the baths, but the rich bunches of saxifrage which fringed the rocks, only looked the more beautiful. The immediate situation of the baths has little to recommend it, it is among steep slopes and narrow valleys, partially cultivated with vines and olives, but the whole seems taken out of an immense forest of chesnut-trees, which extends for many miles in all directions. It has all the appearance of a native forest, yet I was assured that each tree had been grafted; and indeed, on examination, there seemed sufficient proof of this assertion, though some of them are five or six feet in diameter. Two streams, the Lima and the Camaglione, meet at the foot of a small, but steep hill, which is connected only by a very narrow ridge with the general mass. Four sets of warm springs rise from this peninsulated hill, the lowest perhaps at an elevation of a hundred feet above the junction of the streams, the highest not less than two hundred and fifty. The temperature of the hottest is 128 or 129 of Fahrenheit. The soil is everywhere a micaceous grit, except at one point, where we see a calcareous rock, accompanied with a breccia of rounded pebbles, the cement of which is, I believe, also calcareous, dipping rapidly under the hill.
The next morning began in the same way, but after a time it cleared up, and I proceeded to visit the Prato Fiorito, a mountain a few miles distant, of whose botanical treasures both learned and ignorant had talked to me with raptures. It amused me as I walked along to hear my guide ask the peasants if the field were in flower. It is in fact, a high, sloping meadow of close turf, intermixed with mosses, and embellished at this season with quantities of the Narcissus poeticus, here called violets, and Gentiana acaulis. There is also a profusion of cowslips, which are here rarities. Lilium Martagon, and L. croceum, Pæonia officinalis, and many other showy plants, are said to be very abundant at a later season. The elevation of the summit does not probably exceed 4,000 feet, as snow lies on it very little even in the winter. On the south-east it is precipitous, and some of the neighbouring mountains are very craggy, but clouds obscured the higher ridges, which occasionally appeared covered with forests, and the summits streaked with snow. The view is quite Apennine, exhibiting steep slopes and sharp ridges, without the solid masses which characterize the Alps. The mountain on which we stand (Monte a Celle) divides into two heads. One which seems to be entirely of limestone, carries on its back the Prato Fiorito. The other is called Monte Coronata, probably from a thick bed of chert, which forms a crest near its summit. The back and summit of this are covered with what appears to be a red marl, sometimes containing a dark red jasper. The limestone has a conchoidal fracture, and smells when breathed upon. I observed one ribbed, bivalve shell, and a portion of a smooth shell on the ascent of Monte Coronata; but these were the only traces I could find of organic remains.
1825.
A new road has been made across the mountains to Modena, which is perhaps the most interesting to a naturalist, of all the carriageable passes of the Apennines. We there see the limestone in the valleys and lower hills frequently following the shape of the ground, the strata dipping sometimes one way and sometimes another: sometimes they are horizontal, and sometimes vertical. The upper beds are thin, and interstratified with a red, jaspery substance. The higher parts of the mountains are formed of a solid, micaceous grit, not without some disturbance, but in general dipping at a comparatively small angle towards the north-east. In one part the road cuts through the limestone, where a rock of this grit rises almost perpendicularly above it. On returning from Terraglio, which was my sleeping-place on an excursion along this road, I went a little out of my way up the valley of the Serchio to Ghivizzano, where I was told that a bed of coal had been discovered, but I found only a lignite, under a bed of coarse gravel. The greatest thickness of the lignite is about two feet. A large portion has evidently been wood; the rest seems to consist of leaves, but I could not determine any species; perhaps by digging into the hill we might find more perfect remains.
On this occasion I also visited Viareggio, the only port possessed by the government of Lucca, or rather the only place on the shore, for it cannot be called a port. A wide marshy tract, and a strip of sand separate the mountains from the sea; the sand is in great measure covered with the wood, and immediately south of Viareggio this consists principally of the Pinus Pinaster. There is a considerable lake; and on its borders, at a place called Massa Ciuccoli, at the foot of the hills, there are remains of baths, which probably belonged to some Roman villa. I went from Viareggio by water, and found enough to gratify me in the antiquities, though they are hardly such as could excite any interest in the description. In 1826 I crossed the Apennines from Pistoja to Modena. The road is much less interesting than that from Lucca to Modena, but there is a tolerable inn at La Bettona, just at the summit of the pass; an accommodation which the other wants. The distance between them is small, and the roads unite a few miles beyond the summit. The highest point of the Apennines in this neighbourhood is Monte Cimone, which is hardly ever free from snow, and must exceed 7,000 feet in elevation. It advances a little north from the general range, and on the Modena side towers over all the rest. My guide in a walk from La Bettona, an intelligent woodman, assured me that there was limestone in almost all the bottoms. The wood-cutters fell the trees, (chiefly the Pinus Pinea) and form oars and other articles; but the great staple is oars. Afterwards come the charcoal-makers; and since the establishment of some iron-founderies in the valleys, the natural reproduction falls far short of the waste, and no means are taken to supply it, though it seems to be agreed that the wasteful character of the torrents descending from the Apennines is very much increased by the destruction of the woods.
A little beyond the summit I overtook a boy who was going to school. We past near the establishment, which seems a very large one. The boy said there were so many schools that he could tell nothing of the number of boys. This is the Italian practice. The pupils are divided into several large classes, and each class forms a school, occupying its peculiar room, and having its own master. I stopt at Birigazza, to see what is called a volcano, i. e. flames issuing from the ground. These are much stronger than those of Pietra Mala were when I saw them in 1817, but the weather had been rainy before I arrived at Birigazza, and the flames are always most considerable in wet weather. They sometimes go out, and do not inflame again of themselves. The smell was that of a clear, coal fire, and I could distinguish nothing of that of sulphur. There was a small deposit of soot on some of the stones. There seem to be several of these places on the northern side of the Apennines.