LETTER XXVII.
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.