is about seventy-five feet wide, and three times as much in length, and
the transept is not much less; and this unencumbered space has a noble
effect. Beyond the transept is a range of seven chapels; in one of which
is a painting by Guido di Siena, a cotemporary of Giotto: but he was
rather a maker of pictures in the Greek style, than a restorer of the
art. There is an interesting gallery in the city, containing a great
number of very early paintings.
Siena is said at one time to have had a population of a hundred thousand
inhabitants, which are now reduced to seventeen thousand. I suspect some
exaggeration in the first number; but there can be no doubt that a very
great change has taken place. It was the rival of Florence, and like the
other Italian republics, always at war with its neighbours, or wasted by
internal dissensions. Then it was commercial, flourishing, and populous.
Now under a peaceable government, and very far from an oppressive one,
grass grows in the deserted streets. How is this to be accounted for?
After leaving Siena, the country became less pleasing, consisting of
bare clay hills, the highest of which, as at Siena itself, are crowned
with a sandy stratum, which rarely can deserve to be called rock. It
contains shells, but they are very tender, and I did not succeed in
procuring any.
The tops and flatter spaces of these hills are not unproductive. I met
indeed some Italians who complained of the barrenness of this country. I
remarked to them that the remaining stubble proved it to have been
cultivated; but perhaps, said I, the grain is in small quantity, or of
bad quality. No, it was both plentiful and good, but the soil produced
nothing else; neither vines nor olives. There is no wood. The rain is
continually moving the soil, and furrowing the slopes of the hills in
various directions, leaving or making, conical points of naked earth,
with hardly any trace of vegetation. Earthquakes are frequent, but they
seem rather to be landslips arising from the nature of the material
which forms the hills, than the violent convulsions we usually
understand by that name.
A second carriage had been following us for some time, and on arriving
at our sleeping place at Buon Convento, we found that it contained two
brothers, Frenchmen, the younger of whom was very handsome, and
perfectly conscious of it. We had all united round the same fire, when
the elder brother started up, exclaiming there was a mouse, and in fact
something seemed to be running about the room, and hiding itself
occasionally in the clothes of the company. The younger German almost
fancied himself bitten, and had pulled off his coat to shake off the
troublesome animal, before we discovered that our companion was a
ventriloquist. He amused us afterwards with various stories of tricks
that he had put upon custom-house officers, by one of which lately at
Scaricalasino, he had prevented the examination of his luggage; and once
in the south of France he frightened away some robbers, who were going
to rifle his trunk. On another occasion he amused himself with making a
Jew believe he had a rat about him, till the poor fellow stript himself
almost naked, to get rid of it. The next day the Jew came into a
coffee-house where our ventriloquist was seated, and without seeing him,
abused him violently for the trick he had played. The day after, our
companion procured a living rat, and wrapped it up very carefully in
paper, except the head; he then returned to the coffee-house, and
finding the Jew there, secretly slipt the rat into his pocket. He
afterwards advanced in front of the poor Jew, and saluted him. The Jew
immediately began his invectives: the ventriloquist coolly defended
himself, and said at last, “Why you had a rat about you, and I’ll lay
you a wager that you have one now.” The Jew flew into a furious passion,
and offered to bet twenty-five louis. “No,” says the ventriloquist, “I
will not lay twenty-five louis, but I will bet you two.” The bet was
accepted, and the money produced, and given to a bystander; when the
ventriloquist began to imitate the squeaking of a rat from the pocket.
“Ah! it is you, you cursed _ventriloque_; I saw you.” “Well, but only
just empty your pocket and see if it be not there.” The Jew put his hand
in, in order to do so, and then began dancing about the room. “Oh! oh!
this is no _ventrilo_, this is no _ventrilo_.” Our companion however
restored him the money, being contented with the laugh he had raised
against him. All this he told admirably, imitating the Jew’s passion,
and his bad French. From this place the two carriages accompanied each
other as far as Viterbo, stopping at the same places; and our
ventriloquist amused himself and us, by pretending to catch chickens,
and to hide them under his coat; frightening the maid-servants with his
imaginary mice, making people appear to come down the chimney, or
advance with threatening language to the door, and then burst it open.
We left Buon Convento at half past four, and passed through a dreary
country, like the worst of that of the preceding day, to Radicofani. The
village stands on the summit, and the posthouse at the foot of a mass of
volcanic tufo, which crowns a lofty hill of Siena clay. This group of
mountains is entirely detached from the Apennines, and rises like an
island between the Arno, the Tiber, and the sea. A rapid descent, still
on the same barren clay, brought us to Torricelli, a miserable place,
where we had a bad supper, bad attendance, and bad beds. At half past
four, on the 29th, we set out again, and reached Acquapendente in the
dark. Here our passports were examined, and the luggage _bollata_, that
is, it had seals of lead put upon it, to secure us from any interference
of other custom-houses till our arrival at Rome. Papers were brought for
us to sign. I read mine, which seemed to be considered rather an unusual
degree of curiosity, and found that it contained the substance of my
passport, with a statement, that having been asked whether I should stay
at Acquapendente, I had replied in the negative, but professed my
intention to stay a month at Rome: what was the object of this form I
have not been able to learn. These things detained us above an hour, and
it began to dawn as we left the town. The soil of the elevated plain on
which we were travelling is a volcanic tufo, but the clay still forms
all the low parts, and may be traced even to Rome. The country is
pleasant, the ground gradually rising for some miles till we reach the
brow of the hill, above the Lake of Bolsena, a noble expanse of water
thirty miles in circumference, bounded everywhere by woody hills, here
and there mingled with rocks. The scenery on the descent is exquisitely
beautiful, the road passing among fine trees; and the ruined town of San
Lorenzo seated on a low rocky point, but abandoned on account of the
_mal aria_, formed a most picturesque object. A little farther, the town
and castle of Bolsena were hardly inferior. The character of the scenery
was that of the highest beauty, with enough of the rugged and
picturesque to keep off any idea of the insipidity, which according to
Uvedale Price, belongs to the beautiful. I believe all the lakes in this
part of Italy are unwholesome; they are pools of still water, in a rich
soil, and warm climate, and the abundant vegetation, and its consequent
rapid decay, are the sources of the evil. Some of them are of a noble
size, but in summer they have hardly any change of water, and the
Italian atmosphere is not sufficiently exercised by winds to purify
them.
Bolsena is the ancient Volsinium; and there are said to be traces of the
Etruscan city on the slope of the hill above, but we did not visit them;
and there are Roman arches, and abundance of architectural fragments,
nearer the lake; from the description of an amphitheatre, and various
fragments of brickwork, I suspect that the remains on the hill, are, in
part at least, also of Roman times. Just out of the town is a church,
more celebrated for being the scene of the famous miracle of the bloody
wafer, in 1263, than for the beauty of its architecture. It is a triple
church, and a gloomy vault, which forms a sort of chapel to one of them,
is pointed out as the scene of the miracle. One of the buildings has a
façade of the cinque cento, with some very beautiful ornaments, but it
has been sadly abused. In the court in front is a portion of a large
granite basin, and other fragments of antiquity.
The road from Bolsena runs along the shores of the lake, and in one
place passes by some basaltic columns on the steep slope of the hill
which descends to it. On leaving the lake, we again mount a high, steep,
woody[42] hill, with beautiful views behind us, over the expanse of
water. The road passes on the outside of Monte Fiascone, which stands on
a summit commanding the whole country. The cathedral is said to be an
early work of Sanmicheli. The front is unfinished, and the parts are not
very beautiful, yet it has an air of magnificence, inside and out. An
old castle occupies the apex of the hill; and this, and the church and
town, combine together into a fine object. A little out of the city is a
curious old church, which contains the well known inscription:
EST, EST, EST, PROPTER NIMIUM
EST, HIC IO. DE YC. D.
MEUS MORTUUS EST.
The stone makes part of the pavement at the foot of the altar, is much
broken at the edges, and seems hardly to be in its place. The church is
in two heights, the intermediate floor having a large opening in the
middle. It is partly of an ornamental pointed architecture, and partly
of what we might call Saxon or Norman, of which style we also find a
little church within the town. There is a road from Bolsena to Orvieto,
but it is very bad; part of it is on an old Roman way, formed of large
blocks of lava, many of which have been displaced. From Monte Fiascone
the road is good, and towards Orvieto, beautiful. This city stands upon
an insulated hill, or rather on a perpendicular rock of tufo, resting on
a considerable hill of the Siena clay. The hills towards Bolsena are
formed in the same manner, and where the tufo is of small extent, it
offers very striking features. The approaches to Orvieto seem entirely
artificial; and the only entrance for carriages is of recent
construction. The city abounds in large palaces, which announce its
former prosperity, but our first object is of course the cathedral. This
was founded in 1290, in memory of the miracle at Bolsena, and dedicated
to Santa Maria Annunziata. The first stone was laid by Pope Nicolas IV.,
and the first mass was celebrated in 1297, so that part at least seems
to have been run up very quickly. The following inscription is on the
outside:
EDAT LAPIS HIC NOMEN PENE OBLITERATUM LAURENTIUS
MAYTANI SENENSIS PRIMUS MIRIFICI HUJUS OPERIS
MAGISTER, POST DIUTINOS IN EODEM IMPENSOS LABORES,
AB URBE VATANA REPUBLICA PREMIIS ABUNDE CUMULATUS,
OBIIT ANNO 1330.
We had letters to a Signor Palazzi, who seemed to have all the dates of
every thing in Orvieto at his command. This gentleman assured us, that
the whole body of the edifice, including the front, was the work of one
man; and moreover that there were entries in the church books, of
certain sums of money paid to Laurentius Maytani for drawings on
parchment of the façade. He had found in an old lumber-room, among other
things belonging to the church, two drawings on parchment, one very
nearly resembling the present front, and the other somewhat more
different. They are worm-eaten, and otherwise damaged, and the drawing
partly obliterated, and he concludes these to be the very drawings
mentioned and paid for. The evidence seems pretty strong, yet it is not
quite decisive, and the styles of the front and sides are so different,
that I can hardly believe them to be the designs of the same person. The
work not only does not unite, but the heights do not correspond. The
front is highly ornamented and very rich, but hardly pleased me as well
as I expected. Some large faces at the bottom of the piers, which are
enriched with sculpture, must be condemned, because they interrupt the
apparent construction. Perhaps it was to obviate such an objection, that
they are not plane surfaces, but form a sort of sculptured tapestry,
indicating in some degree the form of the piers below. This contrivance
injures the effect of the sculpture, without doing any thing for the
building, but I will not enumerate all the little faults. In the middle
is a great square with numerous figures, and in the centre of this is a
large rose-window, which is beautiful both on the outside, and on the
inside. This disposition forms at once the finest and most peculiar
feature in the design. There are two windows over the side-doors, which
are filled with slabs of alabaster, and there are others partially
filled in the same way. Externally, this has very much the appearance of
a blank, but internally the effect is good, where the slabs fill the
divisions of the architecture; but where they are composed of small
pieces, whose colours and veinings do not correspond, it is bad. The
sculpture is in general very good, and some of the figures are even
beautiful. There is a row of leaves on one of the mouldings surrounding
each doorway, which is executed at once with freedom and delicacy; while
a similar decoration to one of the side-doors, has all the hardness and
dryness you would expect in the thirteenth century. The stone chiefly
employed is a yellowish marble, with veins of a colour somewhat deeper:
a beautiful material. A reddish brown limestone, or marble, is also
employed, and there is a small quantity of very dark serpentine. The
whole effect of colour is very beautiful. There are mosaic ornaments and
pictures of the same material. The latter do not harmonize very well,
and perhaps do not belong to the original design. The body of the church
is striped with alternate courses of a whitish limestone, and dark gray
lava. A semicircular rib goes up each pier, but there are no buttresses
exposed; the lower windows do not correspond in position with those of
the clerestory, and are more ornamented; they have a mullion which the
others have not. The mass of the building inside retains its original
form, but the details of the side-aisles have been sadly modernized. The
length of the transept is only equal to the width of the nave and
aisles. This and the choir are vaulted, but there is no preparation for
vaulting the nave or side aisles. There are two magnificent marble
monuments at the altars opposite the aisles, where many of the
architectural enrichments are beautifully designed and exquisitely
executed. If they have a fault it is, that the precision and fineness of
the edge gives them something of a metallic appearance. At each end of
the transept is a small chapel. That on the left, called the Chapel of
the Sacrament, is said to have been added about 1350. The other,
dedicated to the Madonna, in 1500. On comparing them, we find that the
first has some marks of a higher antiquity than the other, but the two
openings from the church are exactly alike, and I must confess, if I had
not been told the contrary, I should have considered both as nearly
coeval with the body of the building, except in a few mouldings, which
might have been added or altered afterwards. Besides the drawings
attributed to Lorenzo Maytani, Sr. Palazzi shewed us others, also on
parchment, exhibiting projects of alterations by Ippolito Scalzi. I at
first suspected that they were all by this artist, but a more careful
consideration convinced me of the contrary. Scalzi’s have no feeling of
the character and expression of Gothic architecture. We were shown also
the ancient robes, the _pianeti_ and the _tondinella_, embroidered about
the year 1200, and ornamented with figures which have considerable
merit.
Adjoining to the cathedral is the ancient palace of the bishop. The
great hall seems to have been a fine Gothic edifice, but is now a
store-house, and we could not persuade the owner to admit us. Another
part has pointed windows divided by mullions, and with an immense width
of ornament in brickwork surrounding them. This was erected in 1417.
Similar windows abound in Orvieto, except that the arch is generally
semicircular.
There have been several other Gothic churches in Orvieto, but they have
been modernized, and present nothing remarkable. The church of San
Michele must have been an elegant little Saxon edifice in its original
form, but it is cut to pieces in all directions. Under the church of San
Domenico is a sepulchral chamber, by the architect Sanmicheli. Its form
is octagonal, with a double square appended to one side; the effect is
pleasing. A little out of the town is the church of San Lorenzo, erected
by the same architect. This is also octagonal, and put me in mind of
that at Fiascone, but it is a much superior performance. The outside has
a face of four pilasters, with a pediment over the two central ones. The
middle space is about double that of the sides, and the arch occupying
it seems to give a reason for the difference. The ornamental façade
appears to be inscribed in a square, and the proportion is pleasing, but
there is a high, plain, stuccoed octagon above, which injures the
effect. The inside also is very good. The order is Corinthian, but with
a cornice so plain that it might almost be called Tuscan; yet it is by
no means offensive.
We of course visited the famous Pozzo of San Gallo, which was dug in
order to supply Orvieto with water during a siege. It consists of a well
of brickwork, surrounded by two spiral, inclined planes, one of which
you may go down, and ascend by the other. In the outer cylinder, the
upper part is cut through the volcanic tufo which supports itself; but
the lower part being in the clay, is executed in brickwork, so that in
the same well, you have bricks below, and the native rock above. This
well is now useless, as the inhabitants prefer going out of the town for
their good water. San Gallo built the Palazzo Soliana in this city,
which is a very elegant structure; it is now a convent. Most of the
palaces of Orvieto were designed by Ippolito Scalzi, and if there is
nothing very striking in the architecture, they may be praised for just
proportions and a pleasing distribution of the parts. Some of them are
very large. The Palazzo Gualtieri contains some very admirable large
chalk drawings, and the owner was polite enough to show us a small
collection of gems of first-rate excellence.
From Monte Fiascone, a long descent brought us into the naked plain of
Viterbo. Before arriving at the town, we pass the Bollicame, a pool,
whence some sort of gas escapes in such quantity as to give the water
the appearance of boiling with great violence in several places. In
shallow parts near the edges, the water was hardly tepid; but
approaching as nearly as I could to those places where the agitation was
considerable, I found it as warm as my hand could well bear. It has but
little smell.
Viterbo is a curious looking city, with abundance of caverns in the
perpendicular faces of the rocks, bordering a little valley which passes
through it. The Duomo has a range of columns on each side, with
grotesque capitals, supporting semicircular arches. These, and perhaps
parts of the choir, are ancient; the rest is modernized without any
accordance with the style of the original. The Trinità is a handsome
modern church. Its form is that of a Latin cross, with a dome in the
centre. That of San Francesco is a large building. The transept has
pointed vaulting, and there are two fine archways of the pointed style
leading into chapels, and some Gothic tombs. It boasts also a Pietà
painted by Sebastian del Piombo, from designs by Michael Angelo. The
friars would sell it, if they could obtain permission and a purchaser.
We resumed our journey at half past six the next morning, and wound up
the hill of Monte Cimino, which rises above the city; here we are still
on volcanic ground, which I believe continues all the way to Rome, with
perhaps some partial exceptions. A thick fog concealed the route we had
passed, and it was only for a minute that we were able to distinguish
the rocky point at Radicofani. To the left were the chain of the
Apennines, whose summits were white with snow, and nearer to us, a
little south of east, the detached mountain of Soracte. The Lake of Vico
formed a beautiful object, irregular in its form, with steep woody hills
on one side, and a country nearly flat on the other. We thought we saw a
stretch of the Tiber, and were told that had the air been clear we might
have seen Rome. To the west was the Mediterranean; my first view of the
sea so long the centre of the civilized world, was hazy, and indistinct,
so that I beheld doubtingly, and did not feel the pleasure of a sudden
and perfect vision. Before the descent to Ronciglione, a small road
conducts the traveller to Capraruola, where he finds a great palace of
the Farnese family, considered as one of the finest productions of
Vignola. The form is pentagonal, but I do not perceive that any thing is
gained by this peculiarity. The situation is on the slope of a hill,
with the village, consisting of one long, straight, descending street,
opposite to the entrance. The woods are rich and the view very fine, but
for the site of a building there are positions lower down which would be
much superior. The building is magnificent by the size and simplicity of
the mass, which is however, perhaps, rather too high in proportion to
its extent. The basement and Ionic order above it are finely
proportioned, but there are many things to be blamed in the whole
composition. The little bastions which the architect has introduced at
the angles are trifling, and quite insufficient to give the appearance
of a fortress; and it would be bad if they did. The internal circular
court is fine, but it is rather the general form which pleases than any
peculiar merit in the management. Some of the apartments are noble, but
on the whole I was rather dissatisfied, both with the inside and the
out. I had been told that some of the original drawings of Vignola were
in the hands of a peasant in this neighbourhood, but I inquired for them
in vain. We visited the church of the Teresiane to admire a painting of
Guido. The architect of that building has made each side of the nave a
distinct composition, by which he has entirely destroyed the unity of
the whole. This preservation of unity is at least as important in
architecture as in the other fine arts, but it has been sadly
transgressed. The road wound down to Ronciglione, where we stopt to
dine, or breakfast, call it which you please. This is a town seated on
the edge of a rocky chasm, and on a point of rock which divides this
chasm into two branches. I cannot think of a better object of comparison
than Shanklin Chine; you must conceive it four times as wide, and the
cliffs twice as high, fringe them with ilex and other shrubs, and put
some large trees in the hollow. Here I apprehend we entered upon the
Campagna di Roma, “A dreary waste, expanding to the skies;” not entirely
uncultivated, or uninhabited, but neither the one nor the other is at
all in proportion to the extent; it is not flat, but varied by hills and
vallies; or rather it is an inclined plane, intersected by vallies,
sometimes as much as one hundred and fifty feet in depth, with steep,
broken, and often rocky banks, more or less covered with brushwood, and
a few trees scattered here and there.