from St. Irvyne; or The Rosicrucian by Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1810

"We will go to Genoa," said Megalena. "We will, my fair one. There, entirely devoted to each other, we will defy the darts of misery."

Megalena returned no answer, save a look of else inexpressible love.

It was now the middle of the day; neither Wolfstein nor Megalena had tasted food since the preceding night; and faint, from fatigue, Megalena scarce could move onwards. "Courage, my love," said Wolfstein; "yet a little way, and we shall arrive at a cottage, a sort of inn, where we may wait until the morrow, and hire mules to carry us to Placenza, whence we can easily proceed to the goal of our destination."

from Memoirs of Thomas Jones of Penkerrig by Thomas Jones, November 1776

Wednesday 13th – 

called at 3 and set off at 4 – a low country intersected with Rivers & Canals – along the banks of these we traveld –crossed the River Po at 11, and entered the City of Piacenza or Placentia – examined slightly at the Dogana or Customhouse, – After dinner went to see the 2 large equestrian Statues of Alexander Farnese & Ranuccio his Son situated in the great Square –the Cathedral &c & set off again about 2 – The fog cleared up – fine weather in the Afternoon – saw Mountains on our Right at a great distance which I suppose [those Mountains that we now saw at a great distance on our Right deleted] must have been the Appenines – above Bologna – fine Cornfields divided by rows of Mulberry trees & festoons of Vines – by 5 arrived at Fierenzuola a wretched Inn, where we heard of the Couriere & 2 other persons being robbed within half a mile of the place but 3 nights before –

from Cathedrals and Churches of Northern Italy by T. Francis Bumpus, 1907

But they are wearisome, these Lombard plains, spite of so much luxuriance and the nightingales, — who sing by day however, as not specified in poetry; they 'are up quite as early as the lark, and the green hedges are alive with their gurgling and changeful music till twilight. At night, the hedges and fields are perfectly illuminated by fireflies, whom I found really quite companionable during a subsequent solitary and tedious ride from Parma to Piacenza, when I might as well have tried the poetical impossibility of "reading by the glow-worm's light" as endeavour to see anything by the finger glass which dimly illuminated the long third-class railway carriage.

from ONCE A WEEK, weekly magazine, London 1868

SHOOTING OVER A BULL-DOG.

One morning in April, 1857, I left Pavia for Piacenza in, a little one-horse carriage, driven by a dwarf called Ferdinand Hercules Goodcomfort. The roads were heavy from rain, and all the saints in the Italian calendar were invoked to get the old white animal in the shafts along. When we arrived at the banks of the Po, the ferryboat was of course, on the opposite side. Ferdinand Hercules divested himself of his great blue cloak lined with green baize, and

commenced a noise to attract the ferrymen, a noise like the yelling of the first-mate of a timber ship that is being loaded with cargo. When, perfectly black in the face and speechless, he sat down in despair, and I had to take his place. After three quarters of an hour of this pleasant occupation, the ferrymen came slowly out of a small hut, and pretending that they had just heard us, proceeded to bring the boat over the river. Evidently, the white horse did not inspire them with much confidence as to a buonamano.

Ferdinand Hercules, having by this time recovered the use of his lungs, commenced cursing the people very freely and went on doing so until we arrived at St. Giovanni Castello, where we stopped to bait the white horse and breakfast. The house was half farm-house, half inn, of the sort common in Italy in out-of-the-way places.

In a large vaulted kitchen, which served for dining room and drawing-room combined, we got a verygood meal of Milanese cutlets, omelette well powdered with onions, strachino cheese, and country wine. As I was finishing breakfast, I heard an odd cracking noise coming down the stairs, the cause of which shortly appeared in the shape of the landlord of the place, clad in full sporting costume - a velveteen jacket and waistcoat; thick gamboge-coloured leather breeches and gaiters (the former the cause of the noise), a carnassière with muzzle and dog whip attached to it ; two powder horns; two shot belts; a blue cotton umbrella, about the size of those used for carriages, in one hand ; and a single-barrelled, brass mounted, flint-locked gun in the other. He announced his departure for the chase, and invited me to accompany him. On my stating that my time was limited, he said that it was of no consequence, as the game was in close proximity to the house, and, his first beat being by the high-road, my carriage could pick me up without loss of time. Having then loaded his gun with about two ounces of powder, a sheet of brown paper, and plenty of No. 3 shot, he emerged from the kitchen, and, blowing a shrill whistle, desired one of his men to unchain Bobbi. I remarked that at the first sound of the whistle, a series of fat pigs comfortably reposing in the central mud of the farmyard,

got up and retreated to a far corner, forming themselves into a hollow square, ready for emergencies. A powerful bark in the distance announced the arrival of a dog of some sort; when, almost immediately a great saffron coloured bulldog, with brindled legs, and the most repulsive set ot features I ever saw, came bounding into the place. He had on a collar well furnished with spikes and bells. The landlord assured me that he was molto bravo, and that of pure breed used by all English lords when at the chase. The animal at once gave evidence of his sporting qualities by chasing all the ducks and chickens into a pond, out of which the latter had to be got with poles. Being then pacified by a block of meat, he consented to accompany us to fulfil his duties.

The game did lie close to the house; for we had hardly entered the first field, when I saw my friend the landlord stand still and look about with a puzzled appearance. "I hear him," he said, "but I cannot see him." Presently he started, threw out his left leg, got his body well fixed in the muddy ground, and slowly brought his gun to the shoulder. 

After a most deliberate aim, the gun went off, with a prolonged fizz, like a damp squib, and the game - a small hedge-sparrow distant twenty yards - felt to the ground. Bobbi at once rushed in and began to eat him; nothing but incessant showers of stones would induce him to relinquish his prey, which he did at last, growling fiercely as he retreated. The landlord then stepped in and recovered the beak, tail, and one leg of the bird, which he put carefully away in the carnassière. He, then said that Bobbi's conduct was quite insopportable, and sent in for more meat, with a view to putting on the muzzle. 

A long piece of bullock's pipe being furnished to him, he said to me, "Caro Signore, oblige me by muzzling him while I load my gun." I did not much fancy this job ; but getting behind the dog with the muzzle in both hands, just as he had finished the last three inches of meat, I slipped it over his head, and I believe (from the gurgling noise) buckled the meat in his throat. This made him very sulky, und we were in full cry after a blackbird, when two cows yoked to a small cart turned the corner of the road, a fat man asleep inside the vehicle. Bobbi at once rushed at the cows, turned them short round and the whole concern was upset into the ditch.

Ferdinand Hercules arriving with the carriage, we succeeded in getting the cart righted ; the fat man gave Bobbi a tremendous crack on the head with his goad which sent him yelping home, and abused us for owning such a vicious brute. The real owner was far away in the distance, having fired ten successive shots at the blackbird without effect.

from a letter to Charles L. Eastlake, dated February 16, 1829, by J.M.W. Turner

Now for my journey home. Do not think any poor devil had such another, but quite satisfactory for one thing at least, viz. not to be so late in the season of winter again, for the snow began to fall at Foligno, tho' more of ice than snow, that the coach from its weight slide about in all directions, that walking was much preferable, but my innumerable tails would not do that service so I soon got wet through and through, till at Sarre-valli* the diligence ziz'd into a ditch and required 6 oxen, sent three miles back for, to drag it out; this cost 4 Hours, that we were 10 Hours beyond our time at Macerata, consequently half starved and frozen we at last got to Bologna, where I wrote to you. But there our troubles began instead of diminishing - the Milan diligence was unable to pass Placentia. we therefore hired a voitura, the horses were knocked up the first post, sigr turned us over to another lighter carriage which put my coat in full requisition night and day, for we never could keep warm or make our day's distance good, the places we put up at proved bad till Firenzola being even worst for the down diligence people had devoured everything eatable (Beds none) ... 

*Serravalle del Chiento

from Journals and Notebooks: 1826-1829 by Washington Irving

... we were fortunate enough to arrive rather early for shortly after the inn was crouded with new comers who found great difficulty in finding beds.

April 28  We left Fiorenzolo this morning about sun rise, having been cautioned by Mr Morelli of Bologna not to travel in these parts in the dark. Indeed we had heard from others as well from him (Mr Morelli) that the country as you approach Milan is very infested by robbers, particularly after leaving Lodi. Between that place and Milan it is dangerous to travel either before sun rise or after dark, and very often at midday as at that time the peasantry are not in the fields, but at home eating dinner, which affords a good opportunity for the Robbers. Mr Morrelli had been robbed himself, in these, near Milan last summer.

We had sufficient proof that his information was well grounded, for between Fiorenzola and Piacenza we passed several crosses (in three places) nailed to trees near which travellers had been robbed and murdered. One of the crosses appeared quite new. In one place five crosses were naild on one tree, in another place two. The scenery was the same as yesterday except that to the right we saw the chain of Alps covered with snow, that run along the borders ...

from Of Those We Loved: A Narrative 1914-1919 Remebered and Illustrated (The Overland Route, 1918) by I.L. (Dick) Read

That afternoon we halted on the outskirts of a fair-sized town. The cold drizzle still persisted, and on leaning out of the window to see what was happening, we saw on the tracks below an italian sentry up at the train in a listless, dejected attitude, back hunched, carbine slung, so that he could put both hands in his pockets. Raindrops glistened and dropped from his moustache onto his cape. Thinking to ask him the name of the town, I proffered a cigarette and addressed him in vile French. The cigarette he took with a gesture of appreciation and, spitting vigorously, left me bereft of further speech. 'Say, you guys,' he ejaculated, 'this is one goldarned shithouse of a country, ain't it?' All crowded the window to hear this American son of Italy voice his disgust with things in general until such time as the train started again. The town was Piacenza.