We were, however, told that, without much adding to the length of our walk, we should considerably increase its charm, if, instead of passing out by the Porta Costanzo, we turned aside by the Porta San Pietro, or Romana, as it is called, and quitted the city by the little gate at the bottom of the descent. This is indeed a delightful walk under the old grey walls, and from it one has a perfect view over the lovely country and the purple hills.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TOMBS OF THE VOLUMNII
GIRL'S HEAD.
A few days later, as we went along a lane, with grassy flower-pied banks, and with purple hills as background to the sunlit glory which surrounded us, we recognised the delightful landscape so frequently used by Perugino. The way was rather long, but there was more in it to interest than to tire us. We at last arrived at the dark descent beside the road, which forms the entrance to the sepulchre of the Volumnii. Many years ago there was supposed to be a necropolis existing in this hill, and on excavation several small cells were discovered. In more recent years an ox was seen suddenly to stumble on the hill above, and to be unable to rise. Going to help it, beneath the hole into which the creature had thrust its foot a subterranean arch was revealed, and subsequent excavation brought to light the wonderful, long-closed tombs of the Etruscan Volumnii.
We went down some rugged steps to the mouth of the gloomy cavern, and found ourselves in a dark passage-way, with stone benches on either side. The weird, mysterious atmosphere of the Etruscan vault is indescribable. Several chambers or cells, in this underground house of the departed, branch out on either side of the dark vaulted passage, but we saw them in such semi-darkness, that by the light of a single torch it was very difficult to make out details. As we went along the dark vault, our guide raised his torch on high. In a moment we seemed to be in an enchanted cavern, where the silent inhabitants were guarded by strange forms; gorgon heads, owls, and serpents stared at us from roof and walls. We could fancy that, as we passed by, the snake heads seemed to dart from the walls, to bristle and hiss; and the grand Medusa-faces overhead looked down on us full of dire warning, when at the end of the passage we entered the tomb of the Etruscan family. Here are the Volumnii sitting in a group, realistic terra-cotta figures guarding their urns, just as they have been guarding them for perhaps two thousand years.
Aruns Volumni, the father, reclines on his sarcophagus, which is guarded by two furies; on his left his daughter sits on her urn, and on his right is his son. Their faces look dull and uninteresting, but they seem aware of their own importance. The fourth figure of the group, seated next the son of Aruns, is Veilia, his fair young wife. She has an exquisite face, and one is not surprised to learn that she died young; she must have felt isolated among such unsympathetic family surroundings. Her face and those of the majestic solemn-eyed Medusas are the most interesting treasures of the tomb. All the faces and figures of the Volumnii are intensely life-like; Aruns himself has a purse-proud expression.
Coming out into welcome fresh air and daylight, we saw that the entrance to the tomb was fringed by a profusion of maidenhair fern, growing between the blocks of travertine. A weird-faced child, with dark eyes shining through a tangle of dusky hair, showed a brilliant gleam of white teeth as she offered us tufts of this fern ruthlessly torn out by its roots. She seemed the uncanny guardian of the place.
Another walk with an outlook less splendid than that of the Veduta and others, yet with a special charm of its own, was a great favourite with us. To reach it one has to go past the interesting old church of San Ercolano, instead of turning up beside it, till some iron gates are arrived at; outside these, the way was blocked on the right, so we turned leftwards, and followed the course of the picturesque old wall; ancient houses rise above it, and the wall itself is crowned with flowers in pots and stone vases. Here and there we saw vine-wreathed loggias; then, at the far end of a sudden turn, there came into view Monte Luce, with its old church and convent, and grand blue hills rising beyond. I believe the church is really called Santa Maria Assunta; it is the bourne of a yearly pilgrimage at the time of the great cattle fair, which takes place on the green down across the road.