He derived some little benefit from the treatment at Ischl, and in October went to Trieste, where he carried out his projected experiments on the electricity of the torpedo, the results of which he communicated to the Royal Society. This paper was the last of his scientific memoirs. In the middle of November he arrived at Rome, where he learnt that Wollaston also had been stricken with paralysis.[K] On February 6th, 1829, he wrote to Poole:—
[K] He died on December 22nd, 1828.
“I am here wearing away the winter,—a ruin amongst ruins! ... I hope you got a copy of my little trifle ‘Salmonia.’... I write and philosophise a good deal, and have nearly finished a work with a higher aim than the little book I speak of above, which I shall dedicate to you. It contains the essence of my philosophical opinions, and some of my poetical reveries. It is like the ‘Salmonia,’ an amusement of my sickness; but ‘paulo majora canamus.’ I sometimes think of the lines of Waller, and seem to feel their truth—
‘The soul’s dark cottage, batter’d and decay’d,
Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.’”
The work to which he here alludes, and which he did not live to see printed, was his “Consolations in Travel; or, The Last Days of a Philosopher.” He had practically finished it at the date of his letter, and had written in his journal: “Si moro, spero che ho fatto il mio dovere, e che mia vita, non e stato vano ed inutile.” On February 20th he was seized with a new attack, and his right side was quite powerless. On the 23rd he dictated the following letter to his brother, who was then at Malta:—
“Notwithstanding all my care and discipline, and ascetic living, I am dying from a severe attack of palsy, which has seized the whole of the body with the exception of the intellectual organ ... the weakness increases and a few hours or days will finish my mortal existence. I shall leave my bones in the Eternal City. I bless God that I have been able to finish all my philosophical labours.... I hope you will have the goodness to see these works published.... I have given you, by a codicil to my will, the copyright of these books.... God bless you, my dear John! May you be happy and prosperous!”
The letter was signed by him, and he added in his own handwriting, only just legible, “Come as quickly as possible.”
Two days afterwards he dictated another letter, in which he gives minute directions concerning some experiments on the torpedo which he wished his brother to make. He describes the apparatus which may be employed and indicates where the torpedoes may be procured, and he concludes: “Pray do not neglect this subject, which I leave to you as another legacy.” It was the 16th of March before Dr. Davy could reach Rome. The stricken man’s pale and emaciated countenance lighted up as he saw his brother at his bedside. He spoke as if he had only a few hours to live, and rejected all expectation and hope of recovery, saying he was sure his career was run.
Under the care and medical skill of Dr. Davy, however, he rallied.
“As he mended,” says his brother, “the sentiment of gratitude to Divine Providence was overflowing, and he was most amiable and affectionate in manner. He often inculcated the propriety, in regard to happiness, of the subjugation of self, in all selfishness, as the very bane of comfort, and the most active cause of the dereliction of social duties, and the destruction of good and friendly feelings; and he expressed frequently the intention, if his life were spared, of devoting it to purposes of utility (seeming to think lightly of what he had already done), and to the service of his friends, rather than to the pursuits of ambition, pleasure, or happiness, with himself for their main object.”
But, Dr. Davy adds:—