It has been said that the face which exercises most permanent charm is the face whose attractions defy analysis; one in which beauty is subtle, compounded of many and varied qualities, so that, gazing at the harmonious whole, it is impossible to specialise its fascination.
Such a face will not, at first, reveal its charm, for much of this does not lie only in regularity of feature, or in beauty of colouring, nor even in the trick of a smile; the spell is so potent, that when one at last tries to find out its secret, the mind refuses to dispel the sweet illusion by any such work-a-day process, and agrees with the hasheesh smoker, "to enjoy the sweet dream while it lasts."
Places, as well as faces, exert this undefined attraction, but in the former, association often intrudes itself, a conscious ingredient in the witchery they possess for us.
I am just now thinking of a city where much of the historic association is repulsive, even horrible; looking at the old grey walls of Perugia, the mind strays backward, to times when these ancient palaces with barred lower windows were gloomy fortresses, in which ghastly tragedies were acted over and over again.
In some of the old houses dissolute sons plotted how to murder their fathers and brothers, how to commit every sort of crime; blood has run like water in the grass-grown streets and piazzas,—and not only with the blood of an Oddi, shed by a fierce Baglione, the two leading families always fighting for power in their city: the one party being Guelph, and the other Ghibelline.
There was even worse strife than this: at times near and dear kinsmen fought hand to hand in the constant brawls of Perugia; murder was done in the churches, even before the high altar of the cathedral.
Softer, quainter memories, however, linger in this hill-throned and hill-girdled city, and permeate the atmosphere, in spite of the "reek of blood" which, a poet once told me, "taints Perugia."
Up the brick-stepped way, beneath a tall dark arch, came, even in those years of rapine and murder, the grave Urbino painter, Giovanni Sanzio, with his fair-haired son, Raffaelle. Giovanni came to Perugia to place the lad with the illiterate genius of Città del Pieve, Pietro Vannucci, whose praise was in every one's mouth, and who had already set up a school and was ranked a great painter. The Perugians still fondly call him "il nostro Perugino." It is said that Pietro was born in the ancient hill-city.
One feels sure that Raffaelle must have been petted and tenderly loved. The father and son made a striking picture as they came from the dark archway into the sunlight,—Raffaelle mounted on his mule, his dainty locks falling over his shoulders in glossy waves of brightness.
Years before he came, the sun saw a very different picture, when poor, roughly clad, coarse-featured Cristoforo Vannucci came trudging along on foot from Città del Pieve, holding the red fist of his little son, Pietro. The square-faced, square-headed boy was only eleven years old, yet his father already firmly believed in his genius, and had brought him all the way from Città del Pieve to present him to the great Umbrian master, Benedetto Bonfigli, who was then at work on the famous frescoes still to be seen in the Palazzo Pubblico of Perugia. There are, both in the Sala del Cambio and elsewhere in the city, proofs that Raffaelle actually worked here, and that he studied under Perugino with Pinturicchio, Lo Spagna, Eusebio di San Giorgio, and the great master's other pupils.
One learns in Perugia how the student from Città del Pieve raised the tone and widened the scope of the existing Umbrian school, and gave to it a grace and ease, to say nothing of higher qualities, which have rarely been excelled. Yet, except in the frescoes of the beautiful Sala del Cambio, much of Perugino's best work is to be found elsewhere, rather than in the town wherein he established his academy, and from which he took his name as a painter.
The southern side of the city holds a still more absorbing association in the gate near the old church and convent of San Pietro de Casinensi; for by this gate is the way to Assisi, and it has often been trodden by Francesco Bernardone and his disciples.
But I am straying from my text: the mysterious fascination which the grey old city on the hill has for those who linger in it.
I have been told that some travellers "do" Perugia in six hours, or between trains; I have heard the Via Appia compared with the Holborn Viaduct; but these travellers do not come under the spell of the place; they see only an old city, part Etruscan, part Roman, chiefly mediæval, perched on top of a hill, girt with massive walls which look down thirteen hundred feet and more, to the fertile valley of the Tiber.
The steep slopes as they descend are in summer-time silver with olive-groves, golden with plots of maize; later on they are studies of golden-green and yellow, with richly festooned vines laden with fruit.
These rapid travellers may, perhaps, admire the triple ranges of purple Apennines that on every side form a varied background to this picturesque fertility, and to the lesser hills below them, spurs projecting boldly forward into the deep valley, above which the old city shows her towers and massive walls; they will, perhaps, notice, as they go downhill again, how quaintly the wall is carried in and out, starwise, as it follows the indentations of the hills, and how boldly at each projecting angle a warmly tinted tower stands out against the sky. They can hardly fail to observe these salient features; but they will not have time to study the varied form of each hill, or to watch the sun set opposite grand old Monte Subasio.
That is a sight worth going far to see; the intense glow dyes the white houses of Assisi as they cling to the mountain-side, a pale rose against the flame-like orange tint that seems to burn in the very heart of Subasio, rather than to be reflected from the opposite side of the horizon.
And the hurrying travellers will not have time to enjoy the charming drives among the olives in the valley, or to visit the many places of interest which can be reached from Perugia. They go home, and say, "Oh yes, we saw Perugia,—a dull old city, without a shop worth looking into."
A part of the indescribable fascination of the place is felt in long wanderings through the narrow streets, often deeply shadowed by tall palaces with grated windows and bricked-up doorways.
Come with me under a lofty archway, made with uncemented stones on either side, so huge that surely giants must have placed them in position. Now we are in a vaulted way, beneath ancient houses built over the street; these archways are frequent, sometimes low-browed and round-headed, mere tunnels through which one almost gropes one's way, and finds at the farther end a sudden descent down a flight of half-ruined brick steps, which turn so quickly that a keen interest insists they must be followed to the end. Sometimes the arch is Etruscan, tall and pointed, and instead of a descent, steps go upwards to another lofty archway with a darkness beyond it that still beckons on the explorer.
Day after day I have wandered up and down those twisting, hilly streets, often losing my way, and as often stumbling upon some fresh interest; some portion of Etruscan wall, or some exquisite point of view; a vista at the far-off end of a street, and often when this is arrived at, a grander and more varied picture, with part of Perugia for foreground.
One may easily lose one's way in Perugia. At first the city seemed to us a hopeless maze of twisting streets; but after a little we succeeded in realising the peculiarity of its form. It is said to be that of a star; but it is more like a lobster, with its head on one side, and outstretched tail and claws; or it is like a comet with star-shaped sides, the head on its long neck inclined westward, and a longer tail pointing south-east.
A great charm for those who stay in this city is the comfortable, home-like resting-place to be found in the Hotel Brufani. On our first visit this hotel was in progress of erection, but its predecessor existed in the house on the spur of the hill, outside the city gates. We have been told that the Albergo di Belle Arti is both very comfortable and moderate.
I shall not soon forget the delight of that first arrival.
The heat was so intense in Tuscany that we could not travel in daytime, so we left Florence at night, and had a dull, sleepy journey, arriving at Perugia towards morning.
As we came into the hall and the long corridor of the hotel, the dim light fell mysteriously on plants and flowers, showing curios on the wall behind them; to our joy, when we reached our charming cool room and opened the persiennes, we saw the exquisite light of early morning crowning the dim, far-off hills.
The day dawned golden with sunshine, the air breathed a delightful freshness. We strolled into the garden, which had at one end two majestic aloes in full bloom and a group of sun-flowers. Oleanders, covered with rosy blossoms, stood at the garden entrance; beyond was a bower of golden-green acacias, wreathed to their topmost branches with blue and white morning glories; below us we saw a varied landscape, the distant hills tinted with delicate morning light.
We found our quarters delightful, and our host and hostess full of attentive kindness. This was continued when the hotel removed to its present quarters in the large house at the beginning of the city. The views from the Brufani Hotel terrace and windows are superb; they command both the Val di Tevere and several points of the town itself.
Alas! both our good hosts, Signor and Madame Brufani, have passed away, but the well-arranged house remains, and is said to be very comfortable still.
ALOES IN BLOOM.
RAFFAELLE.
The day after our arrival we went up some steps near the hotel, bordered by aloes not yet in bloom, and gemmed with brilliant-eyed lizards darting in and out in the sunshine; presently we found ourselves under the lofty walls that once supported the fortress built by command of Pope Paul III., on the site of the Baglioni palaces. In this wall is bricked up an ancient Etruscan gate—the Porta Marzia, which came in the way of this erection.
One is glad, for the sake of freedom, to think that not so many years ago the citizens of Perugia pulled down and utterly destroyed this hated fortress, set up by the tyrant Pope when the hill-city submitted to his dominion.
From a picturesque point of view, the fortress was probably more in harmony with the old streets behind it, especially with the frowning walls, than are the modern buildings that now border the new Piazza Vittor Emanuele, and take off the charm of approach on this side.
One need not, however, enter Perugia by way of Piazza Vittor Emanuele. Keeping below the huge wall, beside an avenue of green acacias, we climbed by a wide flight of shallow brick steps past the picturesque church of San Ercolano, then went through a lofty archway, with huge projecting imposts, into a street with tall, grey houses on either side.
One of these was evidently the back of a palace, and indeed it forms part of the Palazzo Baglione which fronts the next street, Via Riario; the very name Baglione made one shiver, remembering the chronicles of that bloodthirsty race.
We halted here before a shop, to its owner, a well-to-do merchant of Perugia, we had been given an introduction; he most courteously offered to show us his wine cellar, in which is a portion of the veritable Etruscan wall of Perugia, in excellent preservation. Some of the stones are about thirteen feet long and eighteen inches thick, huge uncemented blocks of travertine. The floor of the cellar is formed by the ancient way, so that one actually treads the road used by Etruscans before Rome was thought of!
The amount of forced labour represented by these walls of Perugia is painful to think of, for the stones in the merchant's cellar must have been brought from a very great distance. The blocks of travertine are certainly the finest specimens we saw in the city. The old wall went on from them by way of the Porta Marzia to the Porta Eburnea, then northwards (there are visible fragments of it in the Rione Eburnea) till it reached the famous arch near the Piazza Grimani, and so on eastward to Monte Sole, where it took a southern course again, to join the remains in Signor Betti's cellar.
The house stands on the edge of the hill, and from its back windows there is an extended view over the country on that side, and, looking south, over the garden of San Pietro de Casinensi, then kept in order by the boys of the reformatory. The fine old machicolated spire of San Pietro and the quaint campanile of San Domenico are striking landmarks from the high road winding out to the Tiber and Ponte San Giovanni.
We discovered one secret in the charm of Perugia when we turned from this lovely and varied landscape to the vivid contrast offered by the old grey street.
SAN DOMENICO
PERUGIA
Near to Signor Betti's house is a little curiosity shop, and in its window was a proof that the belief in "mal occhio" still exists among the peasants. Hanging from a rough brass watch chain, much the worse for wear, was a little bunch of hairs from a horse's tail, set as a charm, and considered to be a specific against "mal occhio," or any spell cast on horses, cows, etc. Near it was an irregular, stumpy bit of coral, a man's safeguard against a like disaster.
During our stay in Perugia we made acquaintance with Signor Bellucci, a very learned and courteous professor of the university, who most kindly showed us in his rooms, not only a very interesting and valuable collection of implements and other articles, beginning at the Stone Age, but also a collection of amulets and charms. Some of these, especially those for protection from lightning, are bits of prehistoric stones, and exhibit a grotesque mingling of pagan and mediæval superstition.
A little case embroidered with the Agnus Dei contained a triangular stone arrow-head, and this, the Professor said, used to be hung at the bed-head of the owner, between pictures of saints; on the occasion of a storm, candles were lighted, and prayers were offered before the amulet.
This collection of charms amounts to nearly two hundred specimens; it is full of interest, and it would require many pages to do it justice.
A very curious amulet was the fragment of a human skull enclosed in a little brass reliquary, considered to be a sovereign protection against epilepsy and kindred disorders. Tradition said that this bit of bone had belonged to the skull of a person, dead some two hundred years before, who had worked so many wonderful cures by his skill in medicine, and had lived such a long and saintly life, that he had been loved and venerated by all.
The Professor told us it was not uncommon, when a body was dug up in the course of excavations, to find a bit of the skull missing, and this amulet doubtless explained the use that had been made of such lost fragments.
Another charm was a little cross of holly-wood carved by Capuchin friars; it had been found hanging at an old woman's bed-head, to protect her from the spells of a witch. She would only part from it on condition that she might reserve some splinters of the wood, so as to prevent the witch from visiting her, and tormenting her for having parted from her safeguard.
In Brittany we often saw a branch of holly hanging beside the bed for the same purpose. There were corals in this Perugian collection of various shapes, for women and children, for safety in teething, for protection against "mal occhio," to stop bleeding, and above all, for the cure of melancholy. The dark stone with red spots, which I have heard called in England bloodstone, is said to be infallible in checking bleeding; it must be useful in a country where blood-letting and leeching are still common and frequent remedies.
One of the most amusing of the charms was a heart-shaped agate with a hole through the top. This was found in a house not far from Perugia, where from time immemorial it had been held in reverence, and in which its influence was supposed to have maintained perfect harmony among the inmates of the house. Professor Bellucci did not tell us why its possessors were willing to give it up: did they want a little change from this perpetual harmony?
Belief in witches is still very prevalent in Umbria. They are said to haunt cross-roads persistently at night-time, it is also said that he who walks late in the environs of Perugia will do well to carry a few small coins in his pocket, and to fling them abroad as an offering when he comes near to a cross-road, for assuredly a witch lies there in ambush, ready to work him harm. Also, when the traveller sees in some unfrequented by-road a heap of stones beside the way, he must at once add another stone to this cairn, so that he may keep down the phantom of the murdered traveller, whose unblessed body has been hastily put underground in the lonely spot.
FOUNTAIN OUTSIDE SAN DOMENICO.
Among these ciottoli, however, I did not see any of the charming little coral hands to be found farther south, with the forefinger and little finger, the other fingers closed, pointed in defence against "mal occhio." It is possible that this belief in the virtue of coral may have originated the custom of the long coral necklace so frequently worn by the peasant women of Umbria.
San Domenico is near the Professor's house; a flight of steps leads up to the church, and before it is a fountain bearing on its side the Griffin of Perugia. The lofty campanile makes this church conspicuous from every part of the city. It must have been tall, indeed, before the tyrannical Pope ordered its two upper storeys to be demolished. The original church is said to have been built early in the fourteenth century, from the designs of Giovanni Pisano; it was, however, almost all rebuilt three centuries later. The very large and richly coloured east window, and the beautiful tomb with its remarkable canopy, were both in the first church. The tomb, that of Pope Benedict XI., who died in Perugia from eating poisoned figs, is the work of Giovanni Pisano. Some intarsia work in the choir stalls is very good, but with this exception, and the Pope's monument, San Domenico is not nearly so interesting as San Pietro de' Casinensi.
Past the little Gothic church of San Ercolano, and a line of acacias with exquisite yellow-green foliage, the tender greys of the city seemed suddenly galvanised into vivacious colour, for Piazza Sopra Mura was thronged with merry chattering crowds of market buyers and sellers; many of the handsome peasant women standing or sitting behind their wares wore a necklace of coral beads.
PIAZZA SOPRA MURA.
This long Piazza is built on substructures which connect the two hills on which Perugia stands; these substructures are said to be in some places built on the foundation of the Etruscan wall. The Piazza itself is full of infinite variety: on the right are two quaint grey mediæval palaces, with balconies and windows; the Palazzo del Capitano del Popolo or del Podestà, and the ancient university, are now used as Law Courts. One can fancy the sometimes inflammatory, sometimes soothing discourses that have been pronounced from the ringhiera of the ancient Palazzo del Capitano del Popolo. Nearly opposite this building stands a fountain. The laughing, gesticulating, ever-moving crowd in the market-place, and the brilliant hues of tomatoes, melons, and vegetables, made one's eyes ache. There was a certain sobriety in the colour of the women's gowns, for the most part pale lilac or yellow cotton prints, with sometimes white jackets enlivened by the favourite necklace of coral beads.
The dark eyes, brilliant skins, and the red-gold hair of many of these women actually seemed to burn under the gay flower-like headkerchiefs, which looked at a little distance like some huge tulip-bed, so bright was the orange, chocolate, scarlet, and rose colour mingled with white and green. The laughing women mostly showed white, even teeth. The buzz of talk and laughter was so gay and animated that one wondered they could manage the buying and selling in such a hubbub.
We especially noticed an old dame, her white hair showing under a gay kerchief with a sea-green border, and a bunch of roses in the corner hanging behind her head. She too had a long string of coral, that set off the orange-brown of her skin and her clear blue eyes. Her features were regular; she had not lost her teeth, so that the form of her mouth was still good. She had been bargaining and gesticulating with a dark lustrous-eyed girl, with blue-black hair, for a pair of snowy struggling pigeons, and when she went back to her place behind a basket of ripe figs she moved like an old Juno.
Some of the young women were singularly handsome. Among these peasants and the people of Perugia we noticed two distinct types of face: regular features and deeply set eyes, like the faces in the old tomb of the Volumni, were frequent; some of these faces had blue eyes and beautiful red-gold hair, and were set on round pillar-like throats and well-developed figures. Others—and perhaps the greater number of the town shop-keeping class—had a far less refined type of face, turned-up noses and sensual mouths; though many of them were very attractive, especially when they wore the graceful black lace mantilla, so well suited to their brilliant complexions, dark shining eyes, and full red lips. Some of the men were also handsome, but not so well grown as the women were.
Probably the custom of carrying a huge basket or a tall pitcher on her head, up and down the hills and hilly streets, gives to the peasant woman in Umbria the stately grace that distinguishes her movements.
These peasants seem to take an interest in foreigners, and are much pleased to be spoken to by them. One girl who kept a handkerchief stall greatly amused us. I had been trying to bargain with her for some of her gaily-coloured wares, but she asked such a price that I turned away; she came after me, almost crying:
"If the signora will explain her ideas on the subject, we may be able to arrange," she said.
I am bound to say that we met with much courtesy and fair dealing in Perugia. Even at the fruit-stalls, where we stood studying heaps of lemons, full of colour from bluish green to most golden of yellows, the owner left us in peace, and seemed pleased that we should take our fill of gazing.
But the market is soon over; the baskets empty quickly; the unhappy turkeys and cocks and hens, tied by the feet, are soon handed over head downwards to fresh owners; the lemon heaps, some exquisitely green, with a leaf or so hanging from the fruit stalks, have dwindled till the remaining fruit lies flat on the large board near the fountain; of the scarlet army of tomatoes not one is left, and all the cool, pink-fleshed slices of water melon, sown with black seeds, have disappeared.
NICOLO PISANO.
The next morning we took our way up a side turning into the Corso, the handsomest street in Perugia. The shop windows had the day before been made extra gay, to attract the market-sellers; they still showed long strings of cut coral beads.