_10th._ I left Trieste early this morning, with a guide, to visit the grotto. After a three hours' walk over two very long and steep hills, from which however the view over the Adriatic, with numberless white sails flitting across its waves, the two coasts, the harbour with its shipping, the town and the gardens surrounding it planted with cypresses and olives, was magnificent, we reached Corneale, a small and dirty village, and having here provided ourselves with a man carrying a large lamp, and some boys with candles, proceeded over some very rough and stony fields to the grotto. The entrance was not, as I had expected, in the side of a hill, but in the open fields, and surrounded by a wall. Having lighted our lamp and candles, I took off my coat, and we began the descent down some very slight wooden stairs, the steps and railing of which were, as I afterwards found to my cost, not only slippery, but quite rotten from the continual dripping. The entrance, or hall, is a fine lofty dark vault, supported in the middle by one enormous stalactite column. Beyond this the cave becomes narrower, and the numberless stalactites of all sizes present a greater variety of forms than it is possible to describe: immense cauliflowers, trunks of trees, fruits; rounds and ovals of all sizes, from that of a marble to globes of many feet in diameter; pyramids rising up from below, and whose bases are lost in profound darkness; myriads of peaks hanging from the roof, often invisible to the eye, are seen at every step.
These different forms, the deathlike stillness of the cave, the total darkness, except in those points where the guides placed themselves so as to illuminate the most striking objects; deep precipices before and around me, from out of which here and there a single snow white column rose, formed, and still forming, by the water which falls in measured time from the unseen roof; the flickering lights of our candles,--all this, and the thought of where I should roll to were I to slip from the frail steps into one of those dark abysses, produced an indescribable feeling of awe and fear. Descending further into the cavern, we passed by the _Lion's head_, the _Melon_, the _Death's head_, and two magnificent single pillars, the one plain, the other beautifully fluted, both of which upon being struck by the hand emit a loud sonorous sound, that thrills mournfully through the surrounding silence. Beyond these we came to the _Waterfall_, one of the finest specimens of stalactites in the cavern; other pillars and pyramids, and last of all to the _Baldachin_, or canopy formed of beautifully fluted hanging stalactites. Beyond this point the cave had not been explored, as the precipices are very dangerous. Even the descent to this spot is not very safe, being often along very narrow slippery paths and rotten stairs, or rather ladders. On my return I sketched different subjects in the cave, and whilst drawing the entrance-hall, incautiously sat upon the wooden hand-rail, when I heard a sudden crack, and felt that I was falling backwards. Not being able to recover myself, I slipped from rock to rock, turning twice head over heels, but without injury, and with perfect presence of mind, although I expected every instant to be dashed over the edge of a precipice. As soon as I felt my fall become slower, I stopped myself with my hands, with my head downwards, and my heels in the air. In this position I remained some minutes, not daring to move a finger, till the guide came down through the rocks with his lamp to my assistance; with his help I regained my feet, and found that I had been lying on the very verge of a smooth rock, beneath which was a dark and impenetrable abyss. My next fall would probably have been into eternity.