la biblioteca di Louise Colet

Franz Liszt

Franz Liszt

 

Percy B. Shelley

Percy B. Shelley

 

Scritti di Viaggiatori

Charles Dickens, 1846
The moon was shining when we approached Pisa, and for a long time we could see, behind the wall, the leaning Tower, all awry in the uncertain light; the shadowy original of the old pictures in school-books, setting forth 'The Wonders of the World'. Like most things connected in their first associations with school-books and school-times, it was too small. I felt it keenly. It was nothing like so high above the wall as I had hoped. It was another of the many deceptions practised by Mr. Harris, Bookseller, at the corner of St. Paul's Churchyard, London. HIS Tower was a fiction, but this was a reality - and, by comparison, a short reality. Still, it looked very well, and very strange, and was quite as much out of the perpendicular as Harris had represented it to be. The quiet air of Pisa too; the big guard-house at the gate, with only two little soldiers in it; the streets with scarcely any show of people in them; and the Arno, flowing quaintly through the centre of the town; were excellent. So, I bore no malice in my heart against Mr. Harris (remembering his good intentions), but forgave him before dinner, and went out, full of confidence, to see the Tower next morning. I might have known better; but, somehow, I had expected to see it, casting its long shadow on a public street where people came and went all day. It was a surprise to me to find it in a grave retired place, apart from the general resort, and carpeted with smooth green turf. But, the group of buildings, clustered on and about this verdant carpet: comprising the Tower, the Baptistery, the Cathedral, and the Church of the Campo Santo: is perhaps the most remarkable and beautiful in the whole world; and from being clustered there, together, away from the ordinary transactions and details of the town, they have a singularly venerable and impressive character. It is the architectural essence of a rich old city, with all its common life and common habitations pressed out, and filtered away.

Tobias Smollet, 1766
Pisa is a fine old city that strikes you with the same veneration you would feel at the sight of an antient temple which bears the marks of decay, without being absolutely delapidated. The houses are well built, the streets open, straight, and well pavged; the shops well furnished; and the markets well supplied; there are some elegant palaces, designed by great masters. The churches are built with taste, and tolerably ornamented. There is a beautiful wharf of free-stone on each side of the river Arno, which runs through the city, and three bridges thrown over it...

From Journeys through France and Italy

Vittorio Alfieri
Mezzo dormendo ancor domando: piove?
Tutta la intera notte egli è piovuto.
Sia maledetta Pisa! Ognor ripiove;
anzi, a dir meglio, e’ non è mai spiovuto.

Almen, quando adirato il pluvio Giove
Fea d’abitanti l’universo muto,
Acqua in ciel fabbricando in fogge nuove,
Quell’acquosa sua rabbia ha un modo avuto:

Ma qui, non degni or di affogar ci crede;
Né di goder del Sol la dolce vista;
Purché in molle ei ci tenga, e il capo e il piede.

Siam forse noi di quella specie trista,
Che né in ben né in mal far mai non eccede,
Sì che di noia il Ciel sol ci contrista?

Rime, La pioggia a Pisa, 1785

Percy B. Shelley
Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay
Immovably unquiet, and forever
It trembles, but it never fades away;
Go to the...

You, being changed, will find it then as now.

Evening: Ponte al mare, Pisa

Franz Liszt
This beautiful forest exposes to the sun the quivering dome of pine trees bent by the sea-wind and replies with an unbroken wail to the hollow murmuring of the waves that come to die at its feet. Restless groups of deer roam the sandy glades traversed by sunlight while camel and buffalo quietly graze in the fragrant grass, or led by the forester draw away the remains of the age-old trees.

(Letter to Berlioz, 1839)


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