A series of heads of popes, alternating with triglyphs, forms a sort of entablature over the lower arches; and circular niches with busts, occur in the spandrils. Some change of design seems to have taken place in the progress of the work; and in the choir, some of the arches appear to be obtusely pointed; they spring from a pedestal above the capital, and the lower capitals are omitted. Here then is another style of the architecture of the middle ages, which can hardly be classed either with our Norman or Gothic, and which, in a large building like this, where all the parts are rich, splendid, and harmonious, can hardly fail to be magnificent. Yet I would by no means recommend it as a model. The pavement is covered with a sort of engraving on a large scale, by lines upon the marble, from designs of Beccafiumi. There is some shading produced by a pale gray marble, and a small quantity of black and of buff, of which latter, however, little use is made. In order to preserve the work, the best part is covered with boards, and instead of a rich effect, we have the appearance of poverty. The sacristy is adorned with a history of Eneas Sylvius, afterwards Pope Pius II., partly painted by Raphael at a very early age, and partly from his designs; and in the same room, is a most beautiful antique groupe of the three graces, one of which in particular, is an exquisite figure.
Under the cathedral is a subterranean church dedicated to San Giovanni, to which you obtain a level access from a lower street: we visited it, but did not find any thing particularly worthy of observation.
After having surveyed the cathedral, we were conducted to the Hospital, from the back window of whose hall, is a very beautiful view. In the church, or chapel of this establishment, the circular tribune is painted so as to represent a perspective of straight-lined architecture. An ingenious and difficult folly, which can only look well just in one point of view, and everywhere else is distorted, or rather indeed, totally unintelligible.
The church of San Domenico deserves a visit from the architect. The nave 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: