A CHAPTER IX. FROM SCORANO TO TODI. S the not very important length of the river between. Scorano and Borghetto is traversed by the railway, and I had already passed it several times before, being thus familiarised with the aspects of the river between these points, I thought it sufficient to take the train from Rome to Borghetto in company with Mr. Hemans, who had specially visited many of the localities, so as to be able to indicate any point of particular interest. Accordingly, Mr. Hemans, myself, and Mr. Barclay, who joined us for the purpose of exercising his pencil and studying the valuable works of art that we should meet with, one morning took train from Rome to Borghetto. It will be sufficient to notice the chief features of the country and landscape in passing. For some distance beyond Scorano the little-cultivated Campagna passes into well-cared-for plains of pasture and arable land, varied with wide patches of sombre woodland. Presently, these plains rise into sloping hills, until they attain a considerable elevation, the summits of which are picturesquely crowned at intervals with towns and villages that seem to belong to the kingdom of the air more than the earth, each with its graceful campanile and perhaps a grey tower or two, bearing on its battered walls memorials of the feudal past. Nothing could be more charming than the situation of these miniature citadels, sometimes built upon a shelf of rock, sometimes rising from groves and trees, sometimes having their foundations laid in slopes of emerald grass. The hills also are very lovely. Their sides are clothed with varied tints of vegetation, broken with soft grey patches of lichened rock. Through this delightful region the river flows, wandering hither and thither, as if to leave no beauty unexplored, no nook, however remote and secluded, unvisited, fed from time to time in his course by the tiny tributaries of meadow-brook or hillside torrent running down joyfully to greet him. At every turn Mount Soracte (now called St. Oreste) presents its majestic outline and torn peak with still clearer distinctness, the tiny convent at its summit like a speck against the sky. This classic mountain properly belongs to the Apennine limestone range, though situated in the midst of a volcanic country. Its name is frequently met with in ancient writers. "Dost thou see how high Soracte stands," says Horace, in his well-known winter piece, "white with deep snow, whilst the labouring woods are crushed beneath their load?"* It was once famous as the site of a temple dedicated to Apollo, whose priests were supposed to possess miraculous powers over the element of fire, which it was believed could not injure them. Virgil alludes to this in the prayer of Arruns before slaying Camilla, when he makes him exclaim, "Highest of the gods to me, Apollo, guardian of holy Soracte, whom first we honour, for whom is fed the blaze of pines piled up, whose votaries we, passing through the fire in the strength of our piety, press the soles of our feet on many a burning coal, grant, almighty Father, that by my arms may be abolished our dishonour."t * Vides ut alta stet nive candidum Flumina constiterint acuto. O. i. 9. + Summe Deûm, sancti custos Soractis Apollo, &c. Æn. xi. 785. |