ST. FRANCIS
The road from thence begins to ascend the Apennines, and oxen were hired at La Strettura. The travellers dined at Spoleto, and crossed the river Trevi, ‘the ancient Clitumnus,’ where ‘there is a singular temple, very perfect, upon the margin of the rivulet; it is not in the purest taste and is probably a fabric erected in the lower ages.’ They reached Foligno late that evening.
Monday, 17th June.—The morning was so rainy that I imprudently indulged in a prolonged nap, which threw us back on our journey. The road lay through a rich and highly cultivated country, neither hilly nor flat, abounding in trees. Assisi, the birthplace of the celebrated St. Francis, whose fame is confined to the legend that records his miracles, etc. At the age of 25 he, by his eloquence and example, induced multitudes voluntarily to renounce the enjoyments of life and enter a system of abstinence and self-denial in every shape. All the mendicant orders owe their origin to him, as Franciscan is the generic term for Capuchins, Carmelites, Carthusians, etc. There is a new church built over his humble dwelling. We crossed a torrent over a very steep bridge.
We reached this place (Perugia) very late. I had a letter to Mr. Molloy, an Irish priest at St. Augustin: he was of use in showing me the town. This was the birthplace of Pietro di Perugino, more known by the works of his disciples than from his own merits. The town is adorned by his first and finest works. In the Convent of St. Augustin many paintings, but in a hard, stiff manner. Four heads in crayons, by Raphael, charmingly executed. They preserve a letter from Pietro di Perugino, written to the Prior of the Convent, begging him to send him some grain: the writing is execrable, which tempted a wag to write:—
Fu restaurator della pittura
Ma guastator della scrittura.
A fine view from the church of St. Peter’s out of the city walls. The town is situated upon a very steep hill, and is exposed to the fury of the winds.
Tuesday, 18th.—The road from Perugia to the Lake[52] very rough; the jolts were insufferable.
A very fatiguing journey of 9 hours brought us to Comania, which is composed of a few scattered houses at the foot of Cortona. Cortona is en l’air, at the top of a high, bleak, black, desolate hill composed of schistos interspersed with sandstone and mica. Cortona is one of the most ancient towns in Etruria; there are still slight remains of the Etruscan walls. We set off from Comania upon somarelli. Our entry was in a grotesque style, a drunken cicerone conducted us to a mad chanoine.
CELARI