On entering into conversation with some soldiers belonging to
the Papal army, who were stationed at this place, I found that most of them
had served under Napoleon.
They spoke of him with tears of affection in
their eyes, and I pleased them much by reciprocating their opinions of that
great man. To speak well of Napoleon is the surest passport to civility and
good treatment on the part of the soldiers and douaniers.
In the evening we arrived at Bolsena, the ancient Volsinium, a city of the
Volscians. It is an ancient looking town, not very clean, and inhabited by
indolent people. It is situated on the banks of a large lake, on which
there are three small islands. It is very aguish and unhealthy, and the
inhabitants appear sickly, with marvellous sallow complexions. The inn
where we put up was a pretty good one, and as this lake abounds in fish, we
had some excellent trout and pike for supper; among other dishes there was
one that was very gratifying to me, an old East and West Indian; and that
was the Peveroni or large red and green peppers or capsicums fried in
oil. Some excellent Orvieto wine crowned our repast, and helped to restore
us from our fatigues.
On leaving Bolsena the next morning, the 7th, and within a very short
distance from that town we entered a thick and venerable forest, thro'
which the road runs for several miles. Fine old trees of immense height
covered with foliage and thickly studded together give to this forest an
aweful and romantic appearance. It is quite a lucus opaca ingens. This
forest has been held sacred since the earliest times and is even now held
in such superstitious veneration by the people that they do not allow it to
be cut. The Dryads and Hamadryads have no doubt long ago taken their
flight, but the wood, from its length and opaqueness, inspired me with some
apprehension lest it might be the abode of some modern votaries of Mercury,
people having confused ideas of meum and tuum, and the appropriative
faculty too strongly developed in their organization, and I expected every
moment to hear a shot and the terrible cry of ferma; but we met with no
accident nor did we fall in with a living soul. On issuing from this forest
we perceived on an eminence before us, at a short distance, the town of
Montefiascone. We stopped there as almost all travellers do to taste the
famous Montefiascone wine or Est wine, as it is frequently called. This
wine is fine flavored, petillant and wonderfully exhilarating. It is
renowned for having occasioned the death of a German prelate in the
sixteenth century, who was travelling in Italy and who was remarkably fond
of good wine. The story is as follows. He was accustomed to send on his
servant to the different towns thro' which he was to pass with directions,
to taste and report on the quality of the different wines to be found
there, and if they were good to mark the word Est on the casks from which
he tasted them. The servant, on arrival at Montefiascone, was highly
pleased with the flavour of the wine, of which there were three casks at
the inn where they put up. He accordingly wrote the word Est on each of
the casks. The Bishop arrived soon after and took such a liking to this
wine that he died in a few days of a fever brought on by continual
intoxication. He was buried in one of the churches at Montefiascone and the
monks of the Convent there, themselves bons-vivans, determined to give
him a suitable epitaph. They accordingly caused to be engraved on his tomb
the following Latin inscription commemorative of the event: Est, Est, Est,
propter nimium Est, Dominus Episcopus mortuus EST. From the above
circumstance this wine is called Vino d'Est, and it affords no small
revenue to the proprietor of the cabaret on the road side who sells it.
We arrived at Viterbo to breakfast and at Ronciglione in the evening.
Viterbo is a large and handsome city and contains several striking
buildings. It is paved with lava and contains a great variety of fountains.
There is some appearance of commerce and industry in this town and there
are several maisons de plaisance in the neighbourhood. From Viterbo,
thro' Monterosi, to Ronciglione the road lies over a mountain of steep
ascent; here and there are patches of forest. There is not a house to be
seen on this route and from there being a good deal of wood, and no
appearance of cultivation, one fancies oneself rather in the wilds of a new
country like America, than in so old a one as Italy.
Ronciglione is an old rubbishing town half in ruins and contains no one
thing remarkable.
The next morning at four o'clock we started from Ronciglione and reached
Baccano to breakfast.
Baccano contains only two buildings; but they are both very large and
roomy; the one is the inn, and the other serves as a barrack for the
Military. There is always a strong military detachment here for the
security of the road against robbers, who occasionally infest this
neighbourhood. The inn is of immense size. Travellers, who arrive here
late, would do well to halt here the whole night, as not only the road is
dangerous on account of robbers, but because if they arrive at Rome after
five o'clock p.m., they cannot release their baggage and carriage from the
Custom house till next day. Every carriage public or private that arrives
in Rome is bound, unless a special permission to the contrary be obtained
from the Government, to drive direct to the Custom house (Dogana). In the
like manner, on travelling from Rome to Florence, people generally prefer
to start from Rome at twelve o'clock and bring to the night at Baccano, so
as to avoid the bad inn at Ronciglione and sleep in preference at Viterbo.
I here speak only of those who travel by short stages as the vetturini
do.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 75 of 149
Words from 75789 to 76819
of 151859
