Katharine S. Macquoid

The Oratory of San Bernardino is near to gardens, orchards, and drying grounds. Beyond the convent of San Francesco the ancient wall goes northward, and then turns east towards the Porta Augusta, but this afternoon we went southwards.

A short walk down a steep narrow street beneath an archway led us out of the low-browed passage of the Etruscan Porta Susanna on to the wall itself. This rises up directly from La Cupa, as the indentation which the valley here makes is called. The wall follows the curves of the hills, always keeping close to the edge of the descent, and, as I have already said, where an angle is sharply turned a bold round tower stands out sentinel-wise against the blue sky.

PORTA SUSANNA

Below the wall the fertile dell was literally covered with vines, olives, fig and mulberry trees; plots of blue-green cabbage and shining lettuce covered bare spaces of brown earth. In winter a torrent flows through the Cupa.

To-day the long range of hill on the left looked red-brown, variegated with green and grey; behind its shoulder a more distant mountain showed opal; tall regular houses of the ancient city rose one behind another on the right, and the last brick tower, that of the Scalzi, rose above them all.

The wall makes here an inward angle before it goes out far away westward to another point of the star-shaped hill, and here the view becomes more beautiful. The outlines of the mountains cross, and reveal through the openings yet another ridge behind, and this farther ridge looks a delicate opal, while the sunbeams become less powerful. On the right the hills stretched in two purple undulating lines, between them a rosy vapour moved slowly, deepening in tint as it rose towards the orange-coloured clouds. Masses of grey now sent up warnings from below, and partly obscured the rosy vapour; southward the grey took a lurid tinge, and across it floated pale phantom-like cloudlets. The far-off hill, as we looked southward, had become a purple-blue, while the town in the space between climbed upwards in terraces, the houses bowered in vines and garden blossoms.

This is not so extended a prospect as some others that are to be had from the walls of Perugia, but I am inclined to consider it one of the most interesting, from the double view it offers of the town and of the quaint formation of the steep-sided, triangular valley, with its mysterious depth of vegetation below.

We kept along the wall for some distance, then our road led us away from it between old stone garden walls, supports for vines and figs, and brilliant orange begonia blossoms which peep above them. Quaint side-streets looked tempting on our left. Going up one of these, we found a portion of Etruscan wall with an opening in it of the same period of stone-work.

The street beyond mounted steeply to where a brick arch spanned it: on one side a flight of broken steps led up to a tall house above the wall; a loggia, corbelled out from between the house and the grey pointed arch, was filled with charming foliage and flowers; an iron crane projected from the balcony over a brick water-tank beside the broken steps. The variety of form and colour was most vivid against the shadow within the arch; its two projecting imposts were massive slabs of travertine, and beside one of these, gleaming out of the shadow, was a little shrine with a nosegay of freshly-gathered flowers.

In and out of narrow streets, up and down quaint steps, we reached at last the Ivory Gate, the Etruscan Porta Eburnea,—that very quaintly-placed old gate, from which a steep road goes down into the country.

We had here an extended view of the wall, curving grandly forward to a projecting point, and completely obscuring all view of La Cupa; the point itself crowned by a most picturesque round tower, standing out vividly from its background of purple hills.

PORTA EBURNEA

The road from Porta Eburnea looked attractive. On this special day it was thronged with peasants going home from market. Some of the women stopped outside the gate; taking off their boots, they slung them over their shoulders, or put them in their baskets; then, with brown bare feet and legs, they went down the steep dusty road with rapid, swinging steps. Most of these bare-footed women wore handsome coral necklaces; and yet shopkeepers asked from eighty to three hundred francs for a string of these beads. Just outside the gate a man and several boys were playing some game with walnuts.

OUTSIDE PERUGIA.

Coming home one evening from the twisting way behind the cathedral, we reached a lofty arched opening with "Via Appia" printed on one side. The arch itself has a house above it; a second arch within, with grey projecting imposts, shows a broad steep descent,—a long flight of shallow brick steps, so undecided as to the course they shall take that they curve first one way and then another, before they reach the bottom of the descent.

Some way down, a viaduct supported by three broad arches comes out beside the stone-edged brick steps, while transversely right and left are stone walls; that on the right is high and massive, and from its grey-green stones were hanging long garlands of white-blossomed caper plant.

Beyond, just before the wall joins some old stone houses, we saw a little pergola covered with the tender green of the vine. From the deep hollow into which the steps descend the town rises up in front, and as we go down, the old houses on our left, with gardens and orchards, stand at a great height above us, looking black against the glowing sky.

VIA APPIA AND TOWN.

From this viaduct is an extended view over many curious roofs covered with semicircular tiles, frosted with gold and silver lichens and patches of green moss. First comes a series of gardens, green with vines and fig-trees; beyond these, among the grey houses and trees, appears the great modern building of the University. Beyond it is the silk factory of Count Faina; behind all are the purple hills.

Instead of crossing the viaduct we went down to the bottom of the seemingly interminable brick staircase, catching sight through the viaduct arches on the left of a succession of pictures: cottages backed by trees with children in front at play, all in a vivid effect of light and shade, framed in by the low, broad arches.

This brought us finally on to a road leading back into the town, spanned on the left by another broad arch of the viaduct. Through this a group of feathered acacias glowed golden-green in the sunshine against picturesque houses backed by the hills.

The pointed arch on the right looks quaint, from the contrast of its huge grey stones and small many-shaped windows, mostly open; some of them gay with scarlet flowers; one window had a faded green curtain, drawn half across; a bird-cage hung outside it. Behind the curtain the olive-hued face of a woman peeped out.

Through the arch was a strong effect of golden light and blue-purple shadow; while we looked behind, there came a donkey, driven by a merry-eyed, bare-footed lad, dragging a cart heaped with brushwood. A little way on along the road is the mosaic pavement discovered several years ago in some Roman baths. The pavement is in singularly good preservation, and the design is very remarkable. Orpheus, a colossal black figure on a white ground, sits with outstretched arm, while a lion, a tiger, an elephant, a hippopotamus, stags, a rhinoceros, a horse, birds of various kinds, a snail, a monkey, a tortoise, and other creatures are drawn towards him from all sides.

ARCO DELLA CONCA, PERUGIA.

A handsome dark-eyed girl kept on sweeping dust from the mosaic, and was eager to point out that the brick-work on one side has not been examined, and probably hides a good deal more of the pavement, as yet unexcavated. The girl was so bright and good to look at, that she seemed quite a part of the show. Turning through the arch, we very soon reached Piazza Grimani, which has on one side the Palazzo Antinori. Close by is the wonder of Perugia—the Etruscan gateway, or, as it is called from the inscription set over it by the Romans when they took the city, the Porta Augusta. It was growing dusk, and the effect of this grand mass of stone-work was stupendous. On each side of the arched gateway are massive towers,—the upper part of the structure is less ancient than the towers are; one of them is surmounted by a loggia. Some of the blocks of stone in the Etruscan part of the wall are enormous, many of them four feet long, and within the gloom of the arch is the wall, built on the same gigantic scale.

As we went home through the narrow, dark Via Vecchia, we saw a very quaint scene. In a long, dark room, dimly lighted by two oil-lamps hanging from the ceiling, a man and woman were selling soup and cold meat at a sort of counter. The brown characteristic faces and shining eyes of their ragged customers told out wonderfully as occasional gleams from the lamps above singled them from the semi-darkness. In this street we saw many examples of the walled-up doors by which the dead had been formerly carried out, closed up, so that the living might never pass by the same way.

Our next view of Porta Augusta was by daylight. We had been told by some one staying in Perugia where to seek a special point of view from the old walls near this arch. The Porta Augusta is even finer in full light, which reveals the immense strength of its construction. When one considers that these great blocks of stone must have been brought from a long distance, it is sad to think of the poor slaves whose labour brought them and set them in their places for their Etruscan masters. Near here must have been the house of that chief citizen who, seeing the Romans, headed by Octavius CÆsar, masters of his native city, and that there was no longer a hope of freedom from the detested yoke, set fire to his dwelling, and burned himself and his whole family therein, heedless that the blaze spreading in all directions destroyed the chief part of Etruscan Perugia.

Instead of following the Via Lungari, or Garibaldi, on this occasion, our instructions sent us down a narrow street in a parallel direction, until we were stopped by the inward curve of the city wall. Just before we reached this, our way was blocked by two wine carts laden with barrels of new-made wine, and drawn by a pair of huge cream-coloured oxen, with soft dark eyes and long horns reaching from one side of the street to the other. I delight in these splendid creatures; they look so gentle, and though so huge they seem unconscious of their power. They moved on at last, and permitted us to reach our bourne.

The Porta Buligaia was certainly the most beautiful point we had yet seen, and we felt very grateful to the great artist who, knowing every street of Perugia, had so kindly told us how to take this walk; for the little narrow street opposite the Porta Augusta had hitherto escaped our notice, although we had spent so many weeks in Perugia.

Just before the old wall reaches the Porta it curves into a trefoil, and goes down steeply to the fertile valley. Through the open, green doors of the gate the road winds beside the grand wall, which, covered with greenery, strikes forward to the north, tall grass atop waving like pennons among the trees above it.

The inner wall sends out a long flank to reach the gate, and above, level with its top, is a vine-covered pergola with quaint gabled houses behind it; these command a grand view over the hills which circle round in shades of exquisite blue, fading at last to opal. Plots of maize glow through a grey mist of olives; the vines, swinging from tree to tree, are golden-green. As the road goes down beside the wall beyond the gate, it passes a white-walled cottage nestled in trees. The view tempted us along this road, and soon a path, bordered by a black handrail, mounted on the left beside a caper-wreathed wall of stones: following it, we crossed a sort of farmyard, where an enormous gourd vine lay atop a brick wall; huge pumpkins were sunning themselves among enormous leaves.

Beyond this, towards Perugia, the land was richly cultivated; maize and vegetables, fruit-trees and vines, covered every scrap of ground. Here and there a tangled bit of hedge served to prop the luxuriant vines; there was no primness anywhere, and yet the ground seemed well cultivated.

Going on, the way curved, and the view became still more extended; at last we found ourselves in the road again, and went on till we reached the extreme northern point of Perugia—Porta San Angelo.

Some little way outside is the convent of San Francesco, and just within the gate, from which, up a side path, there is another delightful view, we came to the round church of San Angelo, or San Michele. This is very ancient, and is said to have been formerly a pagan temple dedicated to Vesta. The lower part is round, the upper eight-sided, but the interior is circular. The upper portion is supported by a circle of sixteen dark-grey columns; anciently there were three circles of these columns. All but one of the two outer circles have been taken away to other parts of Perugia: we had already seen some in San Pietro, and there are two in one of the palaces on the market-place; one still remains in the second circle at San Angelo. This interior is very interesting. In it is a well-preserved sacrificial altar, and the woman who guided us explained with much unction how the victims were formerly sacrificed. She also showed us some horrible instruments of torture, and another altar, said to be Roman. There is a curious bas-relief on the wall near the sacristy. We had already seen this church on a festa, when, the altar blazing with candles, the gaily-dressed people kneeling in front of it and between the surrounding circle of pillars, had a very picturesque effect,—marred, it is true, by the presence of sundry dogs among the worshippers, and the extremely cracked and untuneful sounds proceeding from the music gallery. Our brown-faced, withered guide was full of talk; when we got into the sacristy, she confided to me she had been foolish enough to marry late in life; then, her man had managed so badly that he died and left her to take care of herself. "Ah, yes," she said, "and there is more than myself, there is a boy, and he is nine years old; he eats well,—the Signora knows how a boy eats at nine? Dio! he is voracious; then he must be taught, and school costs money, much money! and yet, Dio! what a thing it is to have schooling! I can neither read nor write, and can earn but little; I wish my son to do better than I, and yet, Signora, I am not sure if it is wise." Her keen black eyes twinkled at me.

I suggested that she must be right in giving her son some schooling. She sighed heavily, and darted another keen glance at me out of her hungry dark eyes.

"Yes, the Signora is right; but if I spend money in teaching my son I can have none for myself. Dio! what can become of me when these"—she stretched out her brown, capable-looking hands—"can no longer work for me? Holy Virgin! I know not." She gave another heavy sigh, and again she looked wistfully at me.

I said that if she did her duty by her son he would be sure to take care of her hereafter, but at this her face showed me that we took different views. She shook her head.

"It ought to be so, Signora," she said, "but it is not; Dio, I have lived in the world many years, and I have not found that men are what they ought to be. No! not one.—Pardon me, Signore," she looked deprecatingly towards my companion. "The Signora has as much money as she wants, and she does not hear the truth; she sees the best side of people, they show the worst to us poor ones."

Poor woman! I hastened to assure her that I was not in the happy state she fancied. I felt ashamed at giving her my modest fee, and said I wished it could have been larger; but evidently she was not greedy, she clasped both her brown hands round my arm and squeezed it, while she poured forth effusive thanks. Then she went back to the heap of stones near the entrance of the cave where I had found her, sitting like a hungry spider in wait for an inquiring fly, in the shape of a traveller.