The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
Yet, to tell the truth and shame a certain nameless
gentleman, before my head had been long laid upon the pillow, I would
willingly have exchanged the grandeur and the spaciousness of the room
in which I was courting the sweet restorer of tired nature, for the
plainness and contractedness of any of the closets to which I have
alluded. Verily I paid for my magnificence. Never did I suffer from
cold as on that night--the very exercise which I took in shaking and
shivering ought to have induced perspiration, but in spite of a
respectable quantity of bed-clothes, with the addition of all my
habiliments piled on top of them, I could not make myself warm enough
to allow the god of sleep to exercise his balmy influence upon my eyes
for an instant. Italian dwellings, unfortunately, as I thought then,
are constructed much more in reference to the weather of the torrid
than of the frigid zone. Every method is devised of letting in as much
of the coolness of the external atmosphere as possible, and of adapting
the materials of the apartments to the nullification of all caloric;
and the one in which I was quaking, was in no way an exception to the
prevalent custom. The marble floors and unpapered walls,
notwithstanding the warmth of the colors with which the latter were
filled, created a resistless disposition to chilliness in themselves;
the wind came pouring through several windows, reaching almost from the
ceilings to the floor, whose looseness provided it with abundant
facility for ingress; no fire-place offered its aid for combating the
power of the blusterer; and the bed in which I lay, curled up into a
heap, to prevent the "genial current" from entirely freezing, was of
amplitude commensurate with the dimensions of the chamber. Napoleon,
with his whole staff, might have been accommodated in it, when he
visited Genoa. Whenever I attempted to make a change of position, I
might as well have fallen into an ice-house. What joy when the
morning's light dawned upon my eyes! Never did I observe the maxim with
regard to early rising with so much good-will, as when I left the
inhospitable couch, determined not to entrust myself to it again. By
the time I had dressed I was as near congelation as I well could be;
the only thing that kept my blood in circulation was the prospect of an
exhilirating fire in the sitting-room, and there I steered with all
possible speed; but alas, for human expectations! On opening the door
my optics were immediately filled with smoke, and as they are not of
that "nice" character which are requisite "to see what is not to be
seen," I could discern nothing like a blaze. The badly constructed
hearth manifested the most invincible repugnance to permit the wood to
ignite, but kindly enabled us to obtain all the warmth we could from
fumigation. I confess I became somewhat dispirited. One of my motives
in coming to Italy was to escape the cold of the winter at home, and
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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