"Because," he replied, "those to whom the charge of these matters belongs,
will not take the trouble. Somebody must devise a plan for the purpose,
and somebody must take upon himself the labor of seeing it executed. They
find it easier to put it off."
The antiquities of Volterra consist of an Etruscan burial-ground, in
which the tombs still remain, pieces of the old and incredibly massive
Etruscan wall, including a far larger circuit than the present city, two
Etruscan gates of immemorial antiquity, older doubtless than any thing at
Rome, built of enormous stones, one of them serving even yet as an
entrance to the town, and a multitude of cinerary vessels, mostly of
alabaster, sculptured with numerous figures in _alto relievo_. These
figures are sometimes allegorical representations, and sometimes embody
the fables of the Greek mythology. Among them are some in the most perfect
style of Grecian art, the subjects of which are taken from the poems of
Homer; groups representing the besiegers of Troy and its defenders, or
Ulysses with his companions and his ships. I gazed with exceeding delight
on these works of forgotten artists, who had the verses of Homer by
heart—works just drawn from the tombs where they had been buried for
thousands of years, and looking as if fresh from the chisel.
We had letters to the commandant of the fortress, an ancient-looking
stronghold, built by the Medici family, over which we were conducted by
his adjutant, a courteous gentleman with a red nose, who walked as if
keeping time to military music. From the summit of the tower we had an
extensive and most remarkable prospect. It was the 19th day of March, and
below us, the sides of the mountain, scooped into irregular dells, were
covered with fruit-trees just breaking into leaf and flower. Beyond
stretched the region of barrenness I have already described, to the west
of which lay the green pastures of the Maremma, the air of which, in
summer, is deadly, and still further west were spread the waters of the
Mediterranean, out of which were seen rising the mountains of Corsica. To
the north and northeast were the Appenines, capped with snow, embosoming
the fertile lower valley of the Arno, with the cities of Pisa and Leghorn
in sight. To the south we traced the windings of the Cecina, and saw
ascending into the air the smoke of a hot-water lake, agitated perpetually
with the escape of gas, which we were told was visited by Dante, and from
which he drew images for his description of Hell. Some Frenchman has now
converted it into a borax manufactory, the natural heat of the water
serving to extract the salt.
The fortress is used as a prison for persons guilty of offenses against
the state. On the top of the tower we passed four prisoners of state,
well-dressed young men, who appeared to have been entertaining themselves
with music, having guitars and other instruments in their hands. They
saluted the adjutant as he went by them, who, in return, took off his hat.
They had been condemned for a conspiracy against the government.
The commandant gave us a hospitable reception. In showing us the fortress
he congratulated us that we had no occasion for such engines of government
in America. We went to his house in the evening, where we saw his wife, a
handsome young lady, whom he had lately brought from Florence, the very
lady of the pianoforte whom I have already mentioned, and the mother of
two young children, whose ruddy cheeks and chubby figures did credit to
the wholesome air of Volterra. The commandant made tea for us in tumblers,
and the lady gave us music. The tea was so strong a decoction that I
seemed to hear the music all night, and had no need of being waked from
sleep, when our _vetturino_, at an early hour the next morning, came to
take us on our journey to Sienna.
The End.