Departure from Rome.—A scolding traveller put off by a roguish
innkeeper at Cività Castellana.—Pilgrims returning from
Rome.—Narni.—Falls of Terni.—Spoleto.—Hermitages.—Temple of
Clitumnus.—Foligno.
After five delightful months passed at Rome, the moment for departure
arrived. Every one waited to the end of the Holy Week, and then every
one seemed impatient to fly. We delayed a few days, in order to visit
Tivoli, and a few other places that had been neglected; and then we
reluctantly drove through the Porta del Popolo, with the rest of them.
Our own carriage, drawn by four active white horses, and a carriage of
the vetturino, drawn by four sturdy brown ones, made the cortège. I took
the vetturino carriage on account of its conveniences; for it was roomy,
and rendered a _fourgon_ unnecessary.
The first stage was altogether on the Campagna, and it brought us to an
insignificant village, where we breakfasted. The road was lined with
carriages, but some knowledge of horse-flesh had given us cattle that
passed every thing but the post-horses. Now, you are to know that the
throngs on the highway, just at this moment, are so great as to render
it a matter of some importance who reaches the end of a stage first. At
the house where we breakfasted was an English post-chariot, drawn by
three horses, and containing three people besides servants; the master
wearing a particularly expressive countenance, that induced my children
to name him the _Grognon_. He scolded a little about his breakfast,
which was certainly any thing but excellent, and preceded us on the
road. The man appeared to have screwed himself up to a week of
grumbling.
The country, for the rest of the day, was volcanic, and, although it was
still a plain, it was more cultivated and habitable than the Campagna
had been. Soracte appeared on our right, and we were gradually working
our way into its rear. The stopping-place for the night was Cività
Castellana. This town, like Sorrento, has a natural ditch, formed by the
crevices of the volcanic rock. When we entered its principal square, I
thought all the vetturini carriages in Italy had got there before us. My
man, however, drove boldly up to the best inn, where only a carriage or
two were visible, and, winking, he told me to be prompt.
I sought the landlord, whom I found in hot discourse with the _Grognon_,
concerning certain rooms, the best he had. These rooms, he swore
volubly, were already bespoke by a gentleman who had sent a courier from
Rome for that express purpose. This much I overheard as I approached,
and thought it argued ill. In the mean time, the rogue looked out of the
window, and perceiving that, including postillions and servants, we were
a party of eleven, with eight horses, he drew in his head, and
exclaimed, “Ah! this is the very gentleman. Here, Signore, this is the
apartment that you can have. I am very sorry for this other Signore, but
he must be satisfied with those rooms opposite. You know _you_ have
bespoken these.”
Though ready to laugh in the fellow’s face, I did not deem it necessary
to enter into explanations with the Englishman, but, asking pointedly of
the innkeeper, if I could have these rooms, and receiving a satisfactory
answer, I took possession of them, with a determination not to be easily
ejected. The _Grognon_, who now began to merit his title, was obliged to
succumb, though I believe he suspected the truth. I went on the
principle of doing as I _should have been_ done by.
Every one was off with the dawn, the carriages streaming out of the gate
of Cività Castellana in a line like that of the baggage of a regiment.
We took the lead, and soon had the road to ourselves. A bridge carried
us over the Tiber, and we began to ascend the Apennines. We breakfasted
on their side at a hamlet, and, leaving the horses to bait, I walked
ahead. It was a solitary wild mountain road, though perfectly good; and
I soon fell in company with a party of pilgrims on their return from
Rome. These men carried the staves and scrips, and wore a species of
light cloak, with the capes covered with scallops. They were
conversable, and any thing but solemn or way-worn. They had been
employed in some of the recent ceremonies of the Church.
When the carriages came up, we had a wild picturesque country,
especially about Narni, where were also some Roman remains. Here we
descended into a beautiful valley; and in the bottom are the remains of
a fine bridge of the time of Augustus. Passing through vineyards,
olive-trees and fruit-trees, we reached the little city of Terni, a
place of six or seven thousand souls, and which is prettily placed on
the river Nera, in the centre of a very fertile region. This is the
country of Tacitus.
Although still early, we drove to an inn, and secured good lodgings;
after which we proceeded to the falls. The latter lie more than a league
from the town, as we found to our cost, for we made the mistake of
undertaking to walk to them. We luckily got a few asses on the road;
though W—— and myself walked the entire distance there and back.
These celebrated falls are artificial, having been made by the Romans
some centuries before Christ, by turning the course of a pretty little
stream. They are reputed the finest waterfalls in Europe; a quarter of
the world that, while it has many cascades, has few fine cataracts.
These of Terni are between the two, being insignificant for the last,
and large for the first. Those of our party who have seen the Falls of
Trenton think them much finer than these of Terni; but I have never seen
the first myself. There is a “method in the madness” of these falls
that, I think, slightly impairs their beauty, though very beautiful they
are. The thing at Tivoli will not compare with them; but I am told the
falls of Tivoli have been much injured by some public works. This, you
know, is the case with the Cohoos.
Between Terni and Spoleto, next day, we had another reach of mountains,
and of mountain scenery. There are Roman remains at the latter place,
which is prettily placed on a rocky and irregular hill that is thought
to be an extinct crater. An aqueduct, that is called Roman, has arches
of the Gothic school, and is probably a work of the middle ages. There
is also a high bridge across a valley, that communicates with a
hermitage; a proof of what religious feeling can effect even when ill
directed.
There is a poetry, notwithstanding, about these hermitages that makes
them pleasing objects to the traveller. I may have seen, first and last,
a hundred of them in Europe, though many are now untenanted: these of
Italy are generally the finest.
At Spoleto there was another rush of coaches, and the _Grognon_, looking
war and famine, made his appearance at the same inn as ourselves. The
scuffling for breakfast and rooms was sufficiently disagreeable, though,
preceding all the others, we escaped the _mêlée_.
The valley beyond Spoleto was very beautiful. On one side there is a
_côte_, as the French term it, and houses and churches were clinging to
its side, almost buried in fruit-trees. While trotting along pleasantly,
beneath this teeming hill side, we came up to a small brick edifice that
stood near the highway, and between it and the meadows, which had spread
themselves on our left, more like a country north than one south of the
Alps. This little building was about the size of the small temples of
the Campagna so often mentioned, and, like them, it is, beyond question,
of Roman origin. It is called the Temple of Clitumnus, from the
circumstance of its standing at the sources of that classical stream;
but is now a Christian chapel. You would be surprised to find these
temples so small, for this makes the twentieth I have seen, all of which
are still standing, that has not been much larger than a large
corn-crib. The workmanship of this is neat but plain; though it is
probable that its marbles have shared the fate of those of so many
amphitheatres, theatres, forums, and temples that are found all over
Italy. It is with these ruins as with our departed friends: we never
truly prize them until they are irretrievably lost.
We reached Foligno in good season, and, by a little manœuvring, managed
to get nearly the whole of a retired but very respectable inn to
ourselves. As we intended to diverge from the beaten path at this point,
we now flattered ourselves with being so far out of the current, that we
should no longer be compelled to scuffle for our food, or to wrangle for
a room or a bed.