CHAPTER XXI.
JOURNEY TO FLORENCE—MY FRIEND LUISH—A SUSPICIOUS LANDLADY—MONTEROSI—NEPI—THE HOTEL—LUISH’S HAT—CIVITA CASTELLANA—OTRICOLI—MY WASHERWOMAN’S COUSIN—THE MERCHANDIZE CART—NARNI—TERNI—PIE-DI’-LUCO—THE ECHO—STRITTURA—EGG DIET—FULIGNO—PERUGIA—BOARDING-HOUSES—FLORENCE.
JOURNEY TO FLORENCE—MY FRIEND LUISH—A SUSPICIOUS LANDLADY—MONTEROSI—NEPI—THE HOTEL—LUISH’S HAT—CIVITA CASTELLANA—OTRICOLI—MY WASHERWOMAN’S COUSIN—THE MERCHANDIZE CART—NARNI—TERNI—PIE-DI’-LUCO—THE ECHO—STRITTURA—EGG DIET—FULIGNO—PERUGIA—BOARDING-HOUSES—FLORENCE.
The warm season was now coming on, and with its approach came my old tormentor, the rheumatism. I found that I had worn out the remedies prescribed by my friendDr.A—— of Cairo, which had procured me considerable relief whilst in Egypt and under his immediate care, but now seemed entirely without effect. I therefore determined upon a farther change of air and scene, and having heard of a celebrated English physician at Florence, made up my mind to proceed thither and consult him, and as most of my countrymen quit Rome during the extreme heat of the summer months, I had no difficulty in meeting with a travelling companion. It happened that a young architect, named Luish, had long been meditating a journey northwards,and he and I agreed to set off on a walking tour together, preferring such a mode of locomotion, to eithermalleposteorvetturino. We were both anxious to see the country, and to have the option of making digressions from the beaten track, wherever some piece of scenery more than ordinarily beautiful might offer the inducement.
Our resolution was no sooner formed, than carried into effect, and bidding a temporary adieu to our Roman friends, a party of whom accompanied us to the Porta del Popolo, we entered on the Flaminian Way, and took the road towards Florence, provided only with trusty sticks, and our knapsacks, sending our portmanteaux bydiligenceas far as Perugia, there to await us. I believe our appearance was anything but remarkable on the score of good looks, as we both wore the velveteen jacket of the Roman artist, whilst my companion had marred the appearance of his ensemble, by the assumption of a wretched old white hat from Bread Street, which he regarded and stuck to, as a valued relic. In one respect, our questionable shape was an advantage, as no highway robber would have thought it worth his while to molest us; at least such was our fancied security. The day was insufferably hot, and the roads dusty, so that we could scarcely hope to get on very far at a stretch, and onreaching a little road-side osteria, called Il Fosso, a few miles beyond the posting station of La Storta, we began to feel so weary, that the landlady’s offer of beds at a paul each, was no sooner made than accepted. As our bed-room did not boast of any other furniture than the two beds, Luish and I made our morning toilette at a delicious fountain, just outside the house, where we soused and splashed away to our hearts’ content, my companion running about to dry himself, whilst I performed the same operation with an ample Egyptian towel, which I carried in my knapsack. This latter proceeding attracted the notice of our landlady, who had no idea of so unwonted a luxury on the part of a poor walkingpittore, and ultimately arrived at the conclusion, that I had appropriated the supper-cloth of the previous evening. To disabuse the old woman of her odd suspicion, was the work of a moment, but the hard impeachment was by no means very flattering.
Having paid our little score, we pursued our walk, passing the miserable village of Borghettaccio, and the pestilential Baccano. Here a boy overtook us with two return horses, on whose bare backs we got a lift to the posting village of Monterosi, where we entered an osteria, and called for some refreshment. This we were not suffered to enjoy in peace,as a lot of rude fellows came in soon after, and endeavoured to provoke us into abroglio, with a view most probably to hustle and deprive us of our knapsacks. We managed to defeat their intentions, by taking their insults in good part, until we had settled our reckoning, and got clear into the street, where they were afraid to tackle us. A more villainous-looking set of people than those of Monterosi, I never saw. Ugly old women grinned maliciously at us as we passed by their filthy dwellings—the men were all dirty and unshorn, lame, blind, and crippled, and the very children hopped after us on crutches, to solicit a stray bajocco. We were heartily glad when we had quitted the village, and exchanged the dull and uncultivated campagna, for a thickly-wooded, hilly landscape.
A little beyond Monterosi, the road diverges; one branch leading to Florence, by Viterbo and Siena, and the other by Perugia. The first is the great post-road, shorter and more frequented, but the latter is by far the most interesting, and abounds with charming scenery. My companion and I had already made up our minds, and pushed onwards towards Nepi, a strongly fortified little town, in a picturesque situation, where we decided upon passing the night. I believe we went to the only, and therefore the best inn in the place,but the single bench for the accommodation of weary travellers, wasinthe great chimney of the kitchen, where our heads were exposed to an intense draught of smoke and wind, whilst our boots were nearly reduced to cinders. In this comfortable state of things, we hastily swallowed our supper, and were shown to the only bed-room in the house, which proved to be a general dormitory, two out of its four beds being already tenanted by snoringcarrettieri. As we had determined before quitting Rome, to make the best of everything, and see all we could at any cost, we turned in without hesitation, tucking our trousers and valuables under our bolsters, by way of precaution.
Our intention was to have walked onwards early the next morning, but on quitting our little inn, we found ourselves the gazing-stock of the whole town, in consequence of the dilapidated condition of my friend’s hat, which now looked as ifitalso had been tucked for a night under his pillow. It was indeed such a truly “bad” one, that we resolved it should be replaced by something a little more respectable, although upon inquiry, we found that Nepi did not boast a hatter’s shop. The young man whom we interrogated, said he had at home a hat, which he thought might answer the purpose, and a bargain was soon struck, in the presenceof some thirty of the townsfolk. The discarded gossamer was consigned to the gutter, where it served as a foot-ball for a crowd of idle boys, and eventually found its way to the head of a drunken shoemaker. In the shop of a little tobacconist, we met with an intelligent German, who, observing that we were foreigners, very kindly conducted us to some fine points of view, and so tempting did we find them, that the rest of the day was passed in sketching. We afterwards took a few random profiles in the cigar shop, and among others that of our new friend, who seemed very much delighted when I cut it out of my sketch-book and presented it to him.
The next day we took the mountain road to Civita Castellana, along a rocky bridle path, which saves a few miles, and is much more interesting than the carriage-road. The Mons Soracte, or as it is now called,St.Oreste, was constantly before us, rising from the midst of a fertile plain, and forming a pleasing part of the landscape. As we walked, we were waylaid by a couple of rough-looking customers, whose intentions were evidently dishonest. We gave them the slip by sheer good running, clearing the last mile into the valley below Civita in excellent style, but so knocked up and out of breath, that once within reachof friendly shelter, we took our time in ascending the zigzag steps which lead to the lofty summit of rock on which the city is built. A little inn called the “Moro,” furnished us with tolerable accommodation, and we were no sooner fairly housed, that the rain began to descend in such a determined drizzle, that we should have been disappointed had the next morning proved bright and sunshiny. Civita Castellana is about the last of all places in which a traveller would wish to be weather-bound, and Luish and I started off in the wet for Otricoli. Near a post-house called Borghetto, we crossed the Tiber, which is there a beautiful stream, fertilizing a wide valley between rugged hills, and navigable below the bridge for boats drawing only four or five feet of water. We had a very up-hill walk to Otricoli, a miserable little town with a locanda of the meanest description. As a set-off, however, against its variousdesagrèmenswe found a most obliging landlady, who no sooner observed that our knapsacks were drenched, and that we must lie in our beds until a change of linen was ready, than she very kindly provided us with sundry articles from the wardrobe of hersposo.
As I stood at the door of the inn, under shelter of its rude and stuccoless piazza, eyeing the big drops whichcame splashing down before me, I was accosted by a dapper-looking young Roman in blue velveteen, who inquired if I were theSignor Bevano, adding, that he was charged, if he overtook us on the road, to give us a lift in his merchandize cart, as far as our way might lie together. Having acknowledged my identity, I learned that the order emanated from my Roman washerwoman, who upon hearing that hercuginowas travelling our way on one of his monthly journeys, had begged him to give us a cast, and we agreed to accept his offer the next morning. Otricoli abounds with remains of former splendour, and it is said that the suburbs of ancient Rome extended thus far. I walked with Luish to see what was most interesting within the precincts of the town, but our landlord’s clothes and boots fitted us so badly, and the enormous red cotton umbrellas soaked in such a power of rain water, and were so very heavy, that our researches were soon concluded. Our friend having called us at five o’clock, we descended from the cloudy regions of Otricoli, and as the weather was now much improved, enjoyed one of the finest rides imaginable. As we approached Narni, the road skirted the edge of a tremendous ravine overhanging the Nera, a mountain torrent of the Appenines, rushing between rockyand beautifully wooded precipices, until swallowed up in the Tiber below Otricoli.
The merchandize cart was well-horsed, and driven in a way that would not have disgraced a more elegant turnout. Thecuginowould accept nothing by way of reward, save a breakfast at the “Lion ofSt.Marc,” in the little piazza of Narni, where he deposited us with many protestations of good-will, and a regret that his business did not call him farther on our road. Narni is an interesting town perched on the side of a steep declivity, and famed in history for the extraordinary valour of its inhabitants, who devoured their wives and families rather than surrender to the enemy! We remained there one day for the sake of sketching the ruins of a fine bridge erected by the Emperor Augustus, of which one arch is still perfect. Our road then lay through the valley of the Nera, and from its extreme flatness, would have been barely interesting but for the prospect of the blue Appenines in the distance before us.
Towards evening we reached Terni. The waiter at “Les Iles Britanniques” seemed rather to hesitate about taking an order for dinner from a pair of such seedy looking pedestrians as ourselves, and I believe was considering thepropriety of informing us with the ready lie peculiar to his species, that the hotel was quite full, when we were seen and recognized by our friend A——, who had been staying there some days. This caused a diversion in our favour, and the waiter, who declared he had mistaken us for German “Handverke,” was now all smiles and attention.
The next day was of course devoted to the Falls, which are as well known to tarry-at-home travellers, as those of the Coliseum and Zoological gardens. I shall therefore, spare my readers the customary quotation from Childe Harold, which, as I could not call it to mind as we stood gazing at the cascade, and have not since had occasion to remember, I shall not now take the trouble to search after. Suffice it to say, that the Velino tumbles over the same rock as heretofore, in its own old-fashioned way, from the same “headlong height,” and with a tolerably considerable “roar of waters.” My friend Luish hinted something about “Phlegethon,” but as none of our fifteen guides had ever heard of such a thing, we agreed to drop the subject, and proceeded onwards to the small lake of Luco, where we were rowed out to a distant promontory to hear an extraordinary echo, repeating hexameter lines and sentences of ten or twelve words. Here we sat on a bench overlooking thelake and opposite village of Piè-di-luco, and treated its inhabitants to a sort ofobligatoconcert. Among other choice morceaux, were some verses of the GermanKuhreihe, orJodeln, which I had picked up in some Tyrolese valley, and these seemed so much to astonish the unsophisticated villagers, that one old fellow put off in a boat and rowed over to us, to see what was the matter. Having repeated my song, he insisted upon taking us home with him to dinner, and introducing us to his family. A more jolly old fellow than the Signor Lazzaro I never met with, and his wife and daughters were equally agreeable. I suppose our attempts at Italian were of the queerest, for we seemed to afford the whole family a good share of amusement. We were not suffered to depart until after we had partaken of an early supper, when the kind old gentleman had his horse and cabriolet brought to the door, and drove us back again into Terni.
Strittura was our next halting-place, where we could get nothing to eat but eggs, the staple commodity of all small Italian villages:
“We’d eggs in all shapes, ‘a la coq,’ ‘in tegame,’Eggs hard boiled, and soft boiled, and fried withsalame.”
It was curious to observe the shifts that our good landladywas put to, in order to vary our oviparous entertainment. Thetegameis a little earthen stew-pan, like the saucer belonging to our flower-pots, with a handle, and in this the eggs are stirred up with butter, forming a favourite Italian dish. As we swallowed our eggs in the kitchen, two empty one-horse waggons, which were proceeding in our direction, arrived at the door. On entering into conversation with thecarrettieri, we found that they were going as far as Fuligno, and as their easy speed would exactly suit our own notions of getting over the ground, we struck a bargain with them for four pauls each, Luish taking one cart, and I the other. As they were roomy, and had each a good shake-down of clean straw, we found that we could either sit, stand, or lie down, as we listed, and with this ability to change our position, we greatly enjoyed our ride. Passing over the Somma, a lofty point of the Appenines, we drove round the walls of Spoleto, without entering the city, being anxious to reach the little village of San Giacomo to sleep. Here the inn proved almost a repetition of that at Il Fosso, already mentioned, our morning ablutions being made at a fountain in the yard: I was not however, this time, honoured by any suspicions on the part of the landlady.
Journeying onwards, we picked up a nail-maker ofFuligno, who proved a very chatty fellow, and furnished us in his own person, with a good specimen of the Fulignese character, remarkably for its intelligence and energy. He pointed out to us the beautiful little temple of Diana, near the source of the fertilizing Clitumnus, and quoted appropriately from the Georgics of Virgil. This once pagan temple, is now dedicated to some Christian saint, and though the sacrificial rites, have long since been forgotten, the architectural beauty of the building remains unimpaired, and the oxen of the Clitumnus are as white as ever.
Fuligno is an interesting and well-built city, and a place of considerable trade, with manufactories of silks and woollen stuffs. Being anxious to reach Perugia, my companion and I got two places in the “legno” of a Vetturino, in preference to walking over a long piece of road, offering but little that is interesting to the pedestrian. I shall not now describe the church of the “Madonna degli Angeli,” nor the neighbouring town of Assisi, at which latter, I subsequently made a sojourn of some weeks, but will at once pass on to Perugia, a large Etruscan town, romantically perched upon the summit of a lofty hill, and very strongly fortified. Our old Vetturino was obliged to avail himselfof the aid of two heavy oxen to assist us up the steep ascent which had once frightened Hannibal, and it was near the hour of Ave Maria, when we were set down at the door of the Casa Zanetti, a private house to which we had been strongly recommended. These Italian boarding-houses, are a great accommodation to such as may not like the bustle and expense of an inn, and are much frequented by artists, who may thus find a quiet home and every possible attention, in almost any part of the country. From three to five pauls, or fifteen pence to two shillings a-day, is the price of board and lodging, including bed, breakfast, dinner and supper, the meals being taken with the family, and at regular hours.[36]
Perugia, independently of its being a fine city, and architecturally beautiful, offers great attractions to the artist, in the productions of the celebrated Perugino, Guido, Andrea, Sacchi, and others. In the church ofSt.Peter, which was one of my favourite haunts, is a fine copy by Sasso Ferrata of a picture of Raffaelle’s, and some good paintings by Vasari. In the choir are some specimens ofwood-carving, from designs by Raffaelle, which are exceedingly bold and clever. Perugia is also the seat of a university, and boasts of many public institutions, besides a museum, rich in Etruscan relics. I staid a week with my friend Luish at the Casa Zanetti, where we were well entertained, and made some very agreeable acquaintance, but the rheumatism, which seemed in no degree alleviated by the exercise of walking, induced me to press onwards, that I might the sooner obtain medical advice. For a sum of eightscudi, including “pasta la sera,” or bed and supper, we hired a rickety old machine, and a surly driver, to convey us to Florence.
For many miles after passing Magione, the first village beyond Perugia, our road skirted the memorable lake of Thrasymene, famed for the bloody exploits of Hannibal, and then, passing without difficulty the Tuscan frontier, we breakfasted at the little village of Ossaja, which is said to have taken its name from the bones of the slaughtered Romans. The contrast between the rich vine-clad hills of Tuscany, and the barren wastes of the dominions of the Pope, is very striking to the traveller, whilst there is also a manifest difference in the appearance of the inhabitants. Instead of the ugly squalid-looking wretches, and fierce threateninglooks, which had almost frightened us at Monterosi, we were now greeted with passing smiles and happy faces, betokening a feeling of contentment, quite unknown on the other side the frontier. As we approached Arezzo, the fields on each side of us assumed the appearance of a well-cultivated garden, and our ride was accompanied with such varied and pleasurable emotions, that the futile endeavours of our old coachman to urge on his jaded horse, and the miserably slow pace at which we advanced, served rather to amuse us than otherwise. At length we reached the clean and well-built Arezzo, the birth-place of Vasari and Petrarca, and having been almost jolted to a jelly in our miserablelegno, were glad enough to swallow some supper and retire early to our beds, in the hotel of la Posta.
The following day brought us to Florence.
FOOTNOTES:[36]At Amalfi, there is a locanda, where the above, with washing included, may be had at eight pauls, or exactly sixpence a-day, each person!!
[36]At Amalfi, there is a locanda, where the above, with washing included, may be had at eight pauls, or exactly sixpence a-day, each person!!
[36]At Amalfi, there is a locanda, where the above, with washing included, may be had at eight pauls, or exactly sixpence a-day, each person!!