In spring we hired a villa on the Colline above Turin. The house was in a garden, with a terrace, whence the ground sank rapidly to the plain; low hills, clothed with chestnut forests, abounding in lilies of the valley, surrounded us behind. The summer had been stormy, and one evening we walked on the terrace to look at the lightning, which was very fine, illuminating the chain of Alps. By-and-by it ceased, and the darkness was intense; but we continued to walk, when, to our surprise, a pale bluish light rose in the Val di Susa, which gradually spread along the summit of the Alps, and the tops of the hills behind our house; then a column of the same pale blue light, actually within our reach, came curling up from the slope close to the terrace, exactly as if wet weeds had been burning. In about ten minutes the whole vanished; but in less than a quarter of an hour the phenomena were repeated exactly as described, and were followed by a dark night and torrents of rain. It was a very unusual instance of what is known as electric glow; that is, electricity without tension.
On our road to Genoa, we went to see some kind Piedmontese friends, who have a château in the Monferrat, not many miles from Asti, where we left the railroad. We had not gone many miles when the carriage we had hired was upset, and, although nobody had broken bones, I got so severe a blow on my forehead that I was confined to bed for nearly a month, and my face was black and blue for a much longer time. Nothing could equal the unwearied kindness of our friends during my illness.
When I was able to travel, we went to Genoa for the winter, and lived on the second floor of a large house on the Acqua Sola, and overlooking the sea. Here first began our friendship with the Marchesa Teresa Doria, whose maiden name was Durazzo; in her youth one of the handsomest women in Genoa, a lady distinguished for her generous character and cultivated mind, and who fearlessly avowed her opinions at a time when it was a kind of disgrace to be called a Liberal. Her youngest son, Giacomo, has devoted his life to the study of natural history, and his mother used all her influence to encourage and help him in a pursuit so unusual amongst people of rank in this country. Later, he travelled in Persia for two years, to make collections, and since then resided for a long time in Borneo, and is now arranging a museum in his native city. The Marchesa has always been a warm and devoted friend to me and mine.
It was here that we got our dear old parrot Lory, who is still alive and merry.
Our next move was to Florence, where we already knew many people. We had a lease of a house in Via del Mandorlo, which had a small garden and a balcony, where we often sat and received in the warm summer evenings. My daughters had adorned it and the garden with rare creepers, shrubs, and flowers.
We had a visit from our friend Gibson, as he passed through Florence on his way to Switzerland. He told us the history of his early life, as given in his biography, and much that is not mentioned there. He was devotedly attached to the Queen, and spoke of her in his simple manner as a charming lady.
Miss Hosmer was travelling with Gibson, an American young lady, who was his pupil, and of whose works he was very proud. He looked upon her as if she had been his daughter, and she took care of him; for he was careless and forgetful when travelling. I have the sincerest pleasure in expressing my admiration for Miss Hosmer, who has proved by her works that our sex possesses both genius and originality in the highest branches of art.
It was at Florence that I first met my dear friend and constant correspondent, Frances Power Cobbe. She is the cleverest and most agreeable woman I ever met with, and one of the best. There is a distant connection between us, as one of her ancestors married a niece of Lord Fairfax, the Parliamentary general, many of whose letters are in the possession of her family. A German professor of physiology at Florence roused public indignation by his barbarous vivisections, and there was a canvass for a Memorial against this cruel practice. Miss Cobbe took a leading part in this movement, and I heartily joined, and wrote to all my acquaintances, requesting their votes; among others, to a certain Marchese, who had published something on agriculture. He refused his vote, saying, "Perhaps I was not aware that the present state of science was one of induction." Then he went on explaining to me what "induction" meant, &c., &c., which amused me not a little. It made my family very indignant, as they thought it eminently presumptuous, addressed to me by a man who, though a good patriot and agriculturist, knew nothing whatever about science, past or present. A good deal of political party spirit was brought into play in this instance, as is too often the case here. It is not complimentary to the state of civilisation in Italy, that in Russia and Poland, both of them very far behind her in many respects, there should exist societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, to which all the most distinguished people have given their names.
I rejoice to say that this stain on Italian civilisation is now wiped away. My mother just lived to hail the formation of the Società Protettrice degli Animali.—Ed.