Part 12

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.

LETTER XXVIII.

The Col Fiorito of the Apennines.—A race for a good breakfast. Tolentino.—Macerata.—Reconati.—Loretto: The _Santa Casa_, or Shrine.—Infirmary: Designs by Raphael.—Ancona.—Sinigaglia.—Castle at La Catolica.—Scenery near the Adriatic.—Rimini.—Procession for rain.—San Marino.—The Rubicon.—Cesena.—Forli.—Napoleon and his roads.—Faenza.—Imola.—Country from Ancona to Bologna.

The day was just dawning as we drove through the gate of Foligno. Until now we had merely skirmished with the outposts of the Apennines; but here we were compelled to cross the great ridges, as had been done in the year 1828, between Bologna and Florence. All eyes looked curiously ahead, as, having passed some distance into a gorge by the side of a stream, we began to ascend a winding road where the nakedness of the hills permitted us to see a mile or two in advance; for every body was anxious to know whether any of the great flight were likely to take the same direction as ourselves. Nothing was seen, and we went our way rejoicing.

This passage of the Apennines is called the Col Fiorito, and although the road is good, and the mountains are not Alpine, the ascent is long and sharp. We alighted and walked two or three miles before we gained the summit of the pass. Before we reached the top, however, I gave a look behind us, and was half amused and more vexed at seeing the eternal yellow chariot and three horses of the _Grognon_ toiling its way up after us, perhaps a league in our rear! It appeared as if the man had come this way expressly to bring matters _à l’outrance_.

This sight quickened our movements, for it was understood that breakfast, which every body was in a good humour to enjoy, must be had in a poor mountain hamlet, or delayed until afternoon. Luckily, when we took this alarm, we had little more climbing to do, and our road was nearly all descent to the village; whereas our pursuers would be obliged still to walk an hour before they could break into a trot. This made the betting in our favour, “Lombard street to a china orange.”

In an hour we were at the inn door. A boy was put on a horse and despatched for milk, for you may have wine in Italy when you cannot get milk. Lucie was sent into the kitchen with a biggin, (not the cup, but the coffee-pot,) and in twenty minutes every body was at table, and, literally, every eatable in the house, bread excepted, was devoured. I had been informed that two roasted fowls might be had at a sort of eating-house in the village, and these were also secured, and eaten, by way of precaution against a rescue.

Breakfast over, we left the inn and were about to walk ahead of the carriages, as the chariot and three came rolling down the declivity into the village. Seeing us apparently in possession, the _Grognon_ thrust out his head, gave a growl and an order, and the equipage moved proudly on, as if it disdained stopping. We followed, telling the servants they would find us on the road below. To our surprise, at the bottom of the hamlet we met the _Grognon_ and his party on foot, walking sulkily back towards the inn, with the manner of people humbled by misfortune, and yet not totally above indignation. The last house was the eating-house in question, and stopping to inquire, we discovered that he had heard of the two roasted fowls, in Foligno probably, and finding us at the inn, had pushed on to seize these devoted birds, which, alas! were already eaten. Necessity has no law, and this gallant man was compelled to subdue his stomach, lest his stomach should subdue him. We sympathized with his situation, precisely as the well-fed and contented are apt to sympathize with the unlucky and hungry; or, in other words, we determined that, in an extremity, one might breakfast even on bread. W—— affirmed that the man was rightly served;—“Let him take a fourth horse, instead of compelling three to drag that heavy chariot up these mountains, if he wish to eat chickens.”

The road was beautiful the remainder of the day. It had at first a sort of camera-lucida wildness about it; a boldness that was quite pleasing, though in miniature, after the grandeur of the Alps; and as the day drew towards a close, we rolled, by a gradual and almost imperceptible descent, into a lovely region, affluent in towns, villas, hamlets, and all the other appliances of civilized life. This was in the March of Ancona, and our day’s work terminated at Tolentino, a place celebrated for one of Napoleon’s early negotiations.

Tolentino stands on an insulated hill, in the midst of a beautiful but broken country, and it struck us as a place more important as lying near this pass, than from any other cause. The Serra valle, a gorge in the road above, has a reputation, but it is not of Swiss frightfulness. Earlier in the spring and in winter, however, the passage of the Col Fiorito is a matter of more gravity. Starvation was the only danger on this occasion. We watched impatiently the arrival of the _Grognon_, but he disdained entering within the walls of Tolentino that night.

The fine country continued next day, the road being principally a descent until we rose another eminence, and stopped at Macerata. This was once the capital of the March, and the Adriatic became visible from the inn, a silvery belt in the horizon, distant some eight or ten leagues. All the towns in this district appear to be built on isolated hills, that once admitted of being strongly fortified. As other hills are all around them, however, the circumstance is of little use as against modern warfare. Of these towns, we passed two after breakfast, one of which, Reconati, stands on a ridge, the ascent to and descent from which were like _Montagnes Russes_.

About three in the afternoon we came to the foot of another ridge, that runs at right angles to the coast of the Adriatic, from which it might be distant a league. The ascent was longer and easier than that of Reconati: and having overcome it, we found ourselves in a village of a single long street, that was terminated by a pretty good square and a large church, with other ecclesiastical edifices, of pretty good architecture, and which were tolerably spacious even for the States of the Church. These were the village and the celebrated shrine of Loretto, a spot that formerly filled a place in the Christian world second only to Jerusalem.

The books say Loretto contains five thousand souls: my eyes would reduce this number one half, but it may be true nevertheless. It is simply, not to say meanly, built, the ecclesiastical edifices excepted; and, as at Einsiedeln, in Schwytz, most of the small houses are either inns, or shops for the sale of rosaries and other similar accessories of Catholic worship. We took rooms—no _Grognon_ near—ordered dinner, and went forth to see sights.

The church of Loretto is of better architecture than that of Einsiedeln, but scarcely so large. Its riches and construction are Italian, which it would be hardly fair to the latter to put in competition with those of the Cantons. It stands at the head of the square, and on its left stretches a large pile, which I believe is the palace of a bishop, and a library; and partly facing the church are other buildings connected with the establishment, for many ecclesiastics are kept here to do the service of the shrine. There are many chapels within the church, and some of them are curious by their associations.

The _Santa Casa_ itself, or the shrine, as you most probably know, is affirmed to be the house of Joseph. It stands near the centre of the church, which has been erected around it, of course as an honourable canopy. The house is also cased externally with Carrara marble, wrought beautifully, after designs of Bramante. It is ornamented with sculpture, that represents scenes from the history of the Mother of Christ. The original wall, which is exposed in the interior, where little is concealed, is of brick, pieces of stone being intermixed, as was much practised formerly in Europe, whatever may have been the case in Palestine. It is fair to presume it was a general usage. The image of the Virgin, which is separated from those within the house by a grating, is said to be made of the cedar of Lebanon, and it wears a triple crown. It is gorgeously attired, bears a figure of the Child in one arm, and has the bronzed, mysterious countenance that it is common to find about all the more renowned altars of Mary. There is a small fire-place and a solitary window. By the latter the angel is said to have entered at the Annunciation. The dimensions of the house of Joseph are about thirty feet long, fourteen wide, and near twenty high. If there ever was an upper room, no traces of it remain.

The history of this shrine, as it is given in a little book sold on the spot, is virtually as follows:—The house, of course, was originally built in Nazareth, where Jesus was reared. In 1291, angels raised it from its foundations and transported it to Dalmatia. Here it remained between four and five years, when it was transferred to Italy by the same means. It was first placed in a wood near Reconati, on the land of a lady named Laureta; whence the present name of Loretto. The road to it being much infested by robbers, the angels again removed it a short distance, leaving it on the property of two brothers. These brothers quarrelled and fought about the profits of the pilgrims, who began to frequent the shrine in throngs, and both were killed: whereupon the house was finally removed to its present site.

Various physical proofs are alleged in support of this history. The house in Nazareth is said to have disappeared, and the foundation to have remained. This foundation and the house, it is affirmed, correspond as to fractures, materials, and dimensions; and, I believe, some geological proof is also adduced, in connexion with the materials.

What is one to think of such a history? Do they who promulgate it believe it themselves; or is it a mere fiction invented to deceive?—_Can_ it be true? Certainly it might, as well as that this earth could be created, and continue to roll on in its orbit.—_Is_ it true? That is certainly a great deal more than I shall presume to affirm, or even to believe, accompanied with circumstances of so little dignity, and facts so little worthy of such a display of Divine power.—Do the people themselves, they who frequent the shrine, believe it? Of that I should think there is little doubt, as respects the great majority.—I cannot express to you the feelings with which I saw my fellow-creatures kneeling at this shrine, and manifesting every sign of a devout reliance on the truth of this extraordinary legend. One woman, a well-dressed and respectable female to all appearances, was buried in the recess of the fire-place, where she remained kneeling, nearly an hour, without motion!

Loretto is no longer much frequented by pilgrims from a distance. Formerly, the treasury had the reputation of being immensely rich, and a garrison was maintained in the place to guard it. There are, even now, the remains of military defences around the church, which stands at a point where the rock falls away rapidly towards the Adriatic. It has been said, the popes availed themselves of these riches at different times; and it is pretty certain most of them have disappeared since the period of the French invasion. The French bear the opprobrium of having despoiled the shrine; but it is quite as probable that they were anticipated; for who that knew their career in Upper Italy would have waited, on such an occasion, until the enemy was at the gate? Little remains; though we saw some things of price in the treasury, several of which were quite recent gifts from royal personages.

There is an infirmary for the pilgrims annexed to the establishment, and I went into it to see some designs of Raphael’s that were painted on the jars and other vessels which held the medicines. They are extraordinary things in their way, and prove that the divinity of the school of Raphael is not the divinity of an anchorite. These gallipots, and the house near the _Porta del Popola_ at Rome, exhibit the author of the Transfiguration, very much as Ovid betrays his taste in the Metamorphoses, and Juvenal his in his Satires.

We passed the night at Loretto, where we purchased sundry rosaries made of shells from the adjoining coast, candles, _agnus dei_, and other memorials of the place, all of which were properly authenticated by a certificate.

I cannot discover how far the Church of Rome at this day attaches importance to belief in the history of the Santa Casa. It is not now, and probably never was, a matter essential to communion with the Catholic Church, though it certainly did receive support from the head of the Church at one time. So far as I can discover, intelligent Catholics, especially those out of Italy, wish to overlook this shrine, which, they say, may be believed in, or not, as one credits or discredits any other legend of ancient date. Its history is not sacred, and it is not obligatory to put faith in it. Certainly, I should say, that the more enlightened Catholics, even here, regard the whole account with distrust: for he who really believed that God had made such a manifestation of his will, would scarcely hesitate about worshiping at the shrine, if he worshiped at all, since the building would not have been transferred by a miracle without a motive. It is fair, then, to suppose that few among the intelligent now put any faith in the tradition; for it is certain few of that class continue to make pilgrimages to the spot. The time will probably come when shrine and legend will be abandoned together.

The next day’s work was short, carrying us only to Ancona. The road was through a pleasing country, and some of the views, especially towards the mountains, were exceedingly beautiful. The eastern faces of the Apennines, like the southern faces of the Alps, appear to be more precipitous than those of the reverse side. The summit of the range was now white with snow, while the entire foreground offered an exquisite picture of verdure and sunny fertility, imparting to the view, notwithstanding the principal elements were the same, peculiarities that were not often observable among the Swiss peaks. There was a warmth in the tints, a softness that, though it left the brilliancy, destroyed the chill of the summits, and, all together, a gentleness of atmosphere and a calm about this landscape, that I do not remember to have ever witnessed in Switzerland, except on the Italian side of the mountains.

Ancona is only some sixteen or eighteen miles from Loretto. We got in, therefore, early, and had an opportunity to examine the place. The port is formed, in part, by the bluff against the side of which the town is principally built, aided by a mole of considerable extent. A part of this mole is very ancient, for there is an arch on it, which was raised in honour of Trajan, though it is vulgarly called the Arch of Augustus. Another arch, farther advanced, shows that the popes have greatly added to the work. The harbour is pretty and safe, but it appears to want water. Here we first stood on the shores of the Adriatic. The colour of this sea is less beautiful than that of the Mediterranean; its waters having a stronger resemblance to those of our own coast than to those of the neighbouring sea.

The view was fine from the promontory above the town; but I looked in vain for the opposite coast of Dalmatia. There is a cathedral on this height, and in it a picture of great merit by Guercino, an artist little appreciated by those who have not visited the States of the Church. This town is pretty well fortified, and seems intended for a military post of some importance.

On leaving Ancona next morning, we commenced a journey of some twenty or thirty leagues, nearly every part of which was within a mile or two of the Adriatic, and much of it so near as to give us constant views of that sea. The first stage was to Sinigaglia, a pretty little town with a sort of a port; for all the places along the shore have some pretension to be considered sea-ports, although the coast is a low sandy beach, almost without points, or bays, or head-lands: a small creek has usually sufficed to commence a harbour, and by means of excavations, and perhaps of a small mole at the outlet, to prevent the accumulation of sands by the south winds, the thing has usually been effected. Some of the connexions of the family of Bonaparte reside in or near Sinigaglia, which has many good houses in its vicinity.

We passed the night at Fano, a town of several thousand souls, in which there are some respectable Roman remains, though of the later periods of the empire. The next morning we went to La Catolica, a small and insignificant place, to breakfast; passing Pesaro, a place of more importance, without stopping.

We saw the remains of a considerable castle near La Catolica, which had once belonged to the Dukes of Urbino, and is even now, I believe, kept up as a sort of fortress of the pope’s. It was rather a striking structure of the sort for Italy; this country not being at all remarkable for buildings of this nature. One reads of moated castles among the Apennines in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels; but I have not yet seen an edifice in all Italy that would at all justify her descriptions. Such things may be, but none of them have lain in my path. With the exception of the Castel Guelfo, near Modena, and the regular forts and citadels, I do not remember to have seen a moated building in the whole country. Some of the castles on the heights are gloriously picturesque, it is true, of which that of Ischia is a striking example; but, on the whole, I should say few parts of Europe have so little embellishment in this way as Italy. The Romans do not appear to have built in the castellated form at all, it being a fashion of the middle ages; and during the latter period, most of the fastnesses of this part of the world were made out of the ruins of Roman works. At all events, after passing near two years in Italy, and traversing it from Nice to Naples, and from Naples to this point, I have not seen the castles of the romances at all.

The English novels in general, more particularly those written a few years since, give very false notions of the state of the Continental society; as, indeed, do those of the Continent give false notions of that of the English. Nothing, for instance, can be more outrageously absurd than Richardson’s story of Clementina, in Sir Charles Grandison, which betrays an entire ignorance of Italian usages. But Richardson evidently knew very little of the better classes of his own country; for though lords and ladies in his time may have worn wigs and hoops, they were not the arrant coxcombs and formalists he has made them.

This morning, walking ahead of the carriages, we amused ourselves for several hours on the beach. I felt what wanderers we had truly become, when I beheld the children I had seen gathering shells on the coast of America, on the shores of the Mediterranean, and those of the North Sea, now amusing themselves in the same way on the beach of the Adriatic. We quitted the duchy of Urbino and entered the Romagna, as it is called, near La Catolica.

The scenery improved as we advanced, the mountains drawing nearer to the coast, and the foreground becoming undulating and verdant.—We had the sea always on our right, and seized every good occasion to stroll on its beach. Our day’s works were easy, the towns lying at convenient distances asunder, and, what rendered this part of the journey more pleasant, not a travelling vehicle of any sort was met on the road: even the _Grognon_ had vanished, a defeated man.