Our road now gradually turned off from the lake to the left, and kept ascending, with a fine ruin on our right. We reached the brow; and the Apennines were spread beneath us, with ruined castles of every age crowning their noble summits. On our left, lay the deep valley of Maggiore; and, amidst its broken grounds, we saw many countenances that flashed sternly on us, and sent a thrill to our hearts. But brigands, and deeds of darkness, were soon banished from our thoughts; and we seemed to have entered an enchanted valley. The richest foliage of autumn mantled the earth. On our right rose a succession of hills, exquisitely wooded, with mingled beech and chesnut and oak, embowering and revealing, with more than a painter's skill, the grey ruins of old castles. On our left were lofty mountains, on whose dreary peaks were convents; the mould of the foreground was of the deepest brown, and formed a beautiful relief to the bright yellow of the fading vine; and the glowing beams of the setting sun threw a magic tint over the whole scene. But the Umbrian peasant-girls catch no hints from nature-they wear a heavy towel, square upon their heads, and pinned under their chins. We gradually ascended towards Perugia-a city whose origin, like that of Clusium and Cortona, is lost in the obscurity of distant time. It has shared in all the calamities of Italy. Seated on the summit of a mountain, which we could scarcely manage to climb with the addition of two oxen, it is the first large town on the Papal territory; its gateway and ramparts are of extraordinary height. We entered so late, that we went at once to the inn-an old palace, the doors and panels painted with very pretty landscapes, and the whole furniture splendid. On quitting the town very early, we caught a glimpse of the Arch of Augustus and an amphitheatre. All its other antique treasures and pictures, (particularly those of Perugiano, which we longed to see, notwithstanding their formality,) with its academy and university, we were obliged to leave to more fortunate travellers. The priests appeared to form a very considerable portion of the inhabitants; and they stood gazing at us as we got out of the carriage, as if there had been a fresh importation from New Zealand. We were now on the alert, looking out for the Tiber. Its yellow windings soon appeared, coming down from the source in the higher Apennines. As we approached the town of Madonna degli Angeli, the mountains crossed finely, mantled with snow; and the beautiful church, erected by Vignola, lay sheltered beneath them. To the left, on the slope of the hill, is Assisi: there, we were told, is kept the holy body of St. Francis. We observed various colonnades; the portico mentioned as having belonged to Diana's Temple; various towers and pillars, and an amphitheatre. The Tiber and Timiar were now near, but not in sight. Continuing our route, we saw on our right masses of bricks, the remains of another amphitheatre; and on our left a very gloomy town, on an eminence, probably the ancient Spellum, now called Spetto. All the towns in this part of Italy have a noble and picturesque effect, forming amphitheatres within the lofty hollows of hills, or finely crowning their summits. A sort of Spartan feeling for the aged and the miserable (for these towns are both) adds to their interest. At the busy, bustling, dirty Foligno, we saw the cathedral. It has at its high altar twisted pillars, said to be in imitation of those in the temple of Jerusalem; and fine pavement, in mosaic, with some good frescoes. The subject at the east end is St. Felice, the patron saint of the town, entreating the favour of the Virgin for its protection!their original patroness, the Virgin, is now among the fine paintings of the chambers of Raffaello at the Vatican. Here, on every side, is the thick gloom of superstition. No voice is heard to say, with David, "He that is our God, is the God of salvation." The priests were running about very busy, making white their sepulchre-actually whitewashing their church, dedicated to St. Felice, and not to God. We proceeded to the nunnery of Bethlemme, and entered the chapel. Over the high altar was a painting by Carracci: the children were exquisitely done; and the discovery of our Lord to the disciples in breaking of bread, made one share their surprise. On looking up, we perceived some nuns behind the grating, peeping at us with great curiosity, but they quickly withdrew on catching our eye. At the convent of Contessi, we saw a curious sketch by Raffaello. It is said his patroness declared he must remain, or at least visit her continually, till the picture was finished: he never finished it. On quitting Foligno, we looked out anxiously for the ancient Clitumnus, on whose banks the sacred victims were bred and pastured. It is a narrow stream, now winding through vineyards. As we advanced towards its source, we found, on the brow of a hill overhanging its limpid waters, the little temple formerly dedicated to Jupiter Clitumnus. The pediment is ornamented with grasses and flowers. On the western side is a pretty portico, with four pillars; the two central are sculptured all over with olive-leaves, the other two in serpentine lines; beneath are dark vaults. The whole is now dedicated to the Virgin. It is a pretty place, sweetly situated, and well suited for a little temple in which to offer thanksgiving to Him who is the author and giver of all things. There was certainly something very poor, as well as horribly false, in thus morselling out divine power. A late poet has beautifully described the spot; and it echoes, to a passing stranger, more than the poet's thought. "If on the heart the freshness of the scene The Lupino and Maraggia wind through the adjacent fields. Our next town, Spoletto, apparently built on an ancient crater, circles the foot of a very curious mountain; and from ridge to ridge of its deep valley are thrown arches, uniting them in a very picturesque way; and at this moment Aurora was throwing her ruddy beams upon the hills, and tinting the fine trees and lengthened colonnade belonging to an ancient convent that stood on our right. The morning was cold, and as frosty as some of our fine November days, when we began slowly to climb Monte Somma, three thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight feet above the level of the sea; and we put two oxen to our three horses. In addition to those features which most high mountains present, its buttresses were wooded knolls, sometimes deeply green with the sempervirens oak; sometimes rich and glowing with the autumnal hues of the round and beautiful beech; and perpetually, through a foreground of seven or eight of these crossing hills, retiring in softest gradation from the eye, you caught the snowy tops of higher Apennines, rosy in the morning light. As we wound up the steep acclivity, soldiers placed for the apprehension of the brigands of the mountain, reminded us that even here beauty was not always safety. We had scarcely discussed the convenience of the spot for bandit operations, than a culprit appeared ironed, and conducting by two soldiers to prison. The vicinity of the Abruzzian mountains gives extraordinary facility for escape and ambush; we understood that this man had not been plundering on the road. We looked in vain for the remains of the temple dedicated to Jupiter Summanus; would that all idolatry perished, as its outward signs decay. But alas! this seems a folly that springs up indigenous in the human heart, and is ever renewing its outward symbols, or its unseen, though not less deplorable, "chambers of imagery." The lofty tops of Monte Velino, St. Vito, Monte Leone, and a long range of snowy Apennines, appeared on the left, and we passed through the wild and rocky pass of Strettura to the plains of Terni, where the whole Apennian ridge turns to the east, and a lower range commences across the plain, which lasts, with but a few interruptions, to the very gates of Rome. |