... We had a beautiful journey to Rome, with fine weather and no annoyance, notwithstanding the disturbed state of the country. At Padua we only remained long enough to see the churches, and it was impossible to pass within a few miles of Arquà without paying a visit to the house of Petrarch. At Ferrara we had a letter to the Cardinal Legate, who was very civil. His palace is the ancient abode of the house of Este.... We had a long visit from him in the evening, and found him most agreeable; he regretted that there was no opera, as he would have been happy to offer us his box. Fourteen of those unfortunate men who have been making an attempt to raise an insurrection were arrested the day before; and the night before we slept at Lugo, the Carabineers had searched the inn during the night, entering the rooms where the people were sleeping. We should have been more than surprised to have been wakened by armed men at midnight. In travelling through Italy the reliques and history of the early Christians and of the Middle Ages have a greater attraction for me than those of either the Romans or Etruscans, interesting though these latter be, and in this journey my taste was amply gratified, especially at Ravenna, where the church of San Vitale and the Basilica of St. Apollinare in Classis, both built early in the 6th century, are the most magnificent specimens imaginable. Here also is the tomb of Theodore, a most wonderful building; the remains of his palace and numberless other objects of interest, too tedious to mention. Every church is full of them, and most valuable MSS. abound in the libraries. I like the history of the Middle Ages, because one feels that there is something in common between them and us; their names still exist in their descendants, who often inhabit the very palaces they dwelt in, and their very portraits, by the great masters, still hang in their halls; whereas we know nothing about the Greeks and Romans except their public deeds—their private life is a blank to us. Our journey through the Apennines was most beautiful, passing for days under the shade of magnificent oak forests or valleys rich in wine, oil, grain, and silk. We deviated from the main road for a short distance to Gubbio, to see the celebrated Eugubian tables, which are as sharp as if they had been engraved yesterday, but in a lost language. We stopped to rest at Perugia, but all our friends were at their country seats, which we regretted. The country round Perugia is unrivalled for richness and beauty, but it rained the morning we resumed our journey. It signified the less as we had been previously at Città della Pieve and Chiusi; so we proceeded to Orvieto in fine weather, still through oak forests. Orvieto is situated on the top of an escarped hill, very like the hill forts of India, and apparently as inaccessible; yet, by dint of numberless turns and windings, we did get up, but only in time for bed. Next morning we saw the sun rise on the most glorious cathedral. After all we had seen we were completely taken by surprise, and were filled with the highest admiration at the extreme beauty and fine taste of this remarkable building....
Your affectionate mother,
Mary Somerville.
FROM MISS JOANNA BAILLIE TO MRS. SOMERVILLE
Hampstead, December 27th, 1843.
Besides being proud of receiving a letter from you, I was much pleased to know that I am, though at such a distance, sometimes in your thoughts. I was much pleased, too, with what you have said of the health and other gratifications you enjoy in Italy. I should gladly have thanked you at the time, had I known how to address my letter; and after receiving your proper direction from our friend Miss Montgomery, I have been prevented from using it by various things.... But though so long silent I have not been ungrateful, and thank you with all my heart. The account you give of Venice is very interesting. There is something affecting in still seeing the descendants of the former Doges holding a diminished state in their remaining palaces with so much courtesy. I am sure you have found yourself a guest in their saloons, hung with paintings of their ancestors, with very mixed feelings. However, Venice to the eye, as you describe it, is Venice still; and with its lights at night gleaming upon the waters makes a very vivid picture to my fancy. You no doubt have fixed it on canvas, and can carry it about with you for the delight of your friends who may never see the original.
In return to your kind inquiries after us, I have, all things considered, a very good account to give. Ladies of four score and upwards cannot expect to be robust, and need not be gay. We sit by the fire-side with our books (except when those plaguy notes are to be written) and receive the visits of our friendly neighbours very contentedly, and, I ought to say, and trust I may say, very thankfully.... This morning brought one in whom I feel sure that you and your daughters take some interest, Maria Edgeworth. She has been dangerously ill, but is now nearly recovered, and is come from Ireland to pass the winter months with her sisters in London: weak in body, but the mind as clear and the spirits as buoyant as ever. You will be glad to hear that she even has it in her thoughts to write a new work, and has the plan of it nearly arranged. There will be nothing new in the story itself, but the purpose and treating of it will be new, which is, perhaps, a better thing. In our retired way of living, we know little of what goes on in the literary world.... I was, however, in town for a few hours the other day, and called upon a lady of rank who has fashionable learned folks coming about her, and she informed me that there are new ideas regarding philosophy entertained in the world, and that Sir John Herschel was now considered as a slight, second-rate man, or person. Who are the first-rate she did not say, and, I suppose, you will not be much mortified to hear that your name was not mentioned at all. So much for our learning. My sister was much disappointed the other day when, in expectation of a ghost story from Mr. Dickens, she only got a grotesque moral allegory; now, as she delights in a ghost and hates an allegory, this was very provoking.
Believe me,
My dear Mrs. Somerville,
Yours with admiration and esteem,
J. Baillie.
FROM MISS JOANNA BAILLIE TO MRS. SOMERVILLE