THE PILGRIMAGE OF THE TIBER.*

THIS is a pleasant book by a cultivated man, and a substantial addition to the library of the traveller in Italy, whom it will lead to spots of rare beauty and interest undreamt of by the con- ventional crowd of tourists, and hitherto but slenderly referred to by the best guide-books. It is true that it may also lead him to many things which may not be equally - agreeable. Mr. Davies thinks it singular that he is the first regular explorer of the classic river, but the causes are not far to seek. They lie on the surface of his own book, and are such as have hitherto practi- cally confined the researches of both foreigners and natives to the great roads and cities. He who would trace the Tiber to its source must lay his account with a full measure of the annoyances, discomforts, and impediments which all over the peninsula blockade the fairest spots from the tourist, and make the vale of Amsanctus, the shades of Vallornbrosa, and the now, alas ! curtailed hospitalities of Monte Cassino, mere names, with no association but the charm of the 'unvisited' to mark them in the recollection of the traveller. Bad roads or none, the most tedious progress in the least interesting portions of the journey, wretched food and accommodation, apathetic assistance on the part of the inhabitants, and the haunting dread of brigandage over all, are amply suffi- cient to account for the freshness of the task which Mr.

• The Pilgrimage of the Tiber, from its Mouth to its Source; with Some Amount of Lie Tributaries. By William Davies. London: Sampson Low and Co. 1873.

Davies found awaiting him. He has done his work with commend- able thoroughness ; there are, indeed, not a few pages which might have been spared, while, on the other hand, we have to note omis- sions which may perhaps be designed, but which we should hardly have expected from one who is generally so copious a describer. Mr. Davies was also most fortunate in his companions. Few men. know so much of Italian history and legend as Mr. IIemans, and the artistic powers of Mr. Edgar Barclay have been already well proved in Italian life and scenery. Mr. Davies's style, though now and then verging on the florid, is as agreeable and refined as- we should have expected from his poetry, and his power of pic- turesque description is not below the mark required for his subject.

The book offers little scope for fault-finding ; but the length at which certain points are treated has, we fear, deprived us elsewhere of something we should have been glad to know. Mr. Davies has given three chapters-100 out of 340 pages—to Rome, which of course he could not pretend to exhaust, though he has told a great. deal about it which most people know already. No doubt it would require a certain happy audacity for a man to write about the Tiber and pass over Rome ; yet if Mr. Davies, undeterred by the saying about the part of Hamlet, had exhibited this amount of courage, or had at most confined himself to that only which could in the interpretation be held to attach to the banks of the river, he would have treated his subject with more judgment. Every- body who cares to read such a book as this has had enough. of Horatius Codes and Cincinnatus, and of Augustus and other worthies who were buried in the Castle of St. Angelo. Bat a man who has been up the Tiber must have the wherewithal to fill up the space of all this " skip " with something really new and interesting. He might have enlarged his chapter on popular songs, or have given us more extracts from medimval chronicles, like those he has quoted in the accounts of Perugia and Orvieto.

On the other hand, we have to note some omissions on points more directly relating to the subject than much which Mr. Davies has inserted. At Ostia, where the journey commences, he gives no description of the towers of St. Michele and Boacciano, which all who have visited the ,scene must remember as enhancing the desolate effect of the marshes near the mouth of the river ; and a little more antiquarian information would have been welcome regarding the successive encroachments of the land on the sea, such as are indicated in Canina's large map of the Carnpagna. Nor does be refer to the curious maze which is figured on a mosaic pavement among the ruins. The notice of the Cloaca 3Iaxima adds nothing to the old account of that work, though recent excavations have, if we mistake not, developed its course somewhat further than of old in the direction of the ntedix: cryptam sub urrie, of which Juvenal speaks as in communication with it. In describing the bank of the river above the Ripetta, no mention is made of the murder of the Duke of Gandia ; nor in the notice of the Poute Molle does Mr. Davies take the oppor- tunity, for which Gregorovius's History would have afforded hins the materials, of exploding the fable about the seven-branched candlestick, which has-been, we suspect, at the bottom of all the agitation about draining the Tiber,—a wild project, which, we are sure, the Italian Government has not the least notion of enter- taining. The fate of Rosa Bathurst is a tale of the last genera- tion ; yet the recollection of it adds a certain interest to the sullen swirls of the river as it sweeps past the narcissus-covered meadows and Poussinesque rocks of the Acqua Acetosa, and would not have been out of place in these pages. By the way, has Mr. Davies ever tasted that medicinal fount, a belief in whose powers of purifying the blood, if taken in spring, is an article of faith with the lower class of Romane ?

In his description of Tivoli we are glad to see that Mr. Davies. doesjustice to the lovely gardens of the Villa d'Este, a spot which the dull remark of Murray that "its formal plantations and clipped hedges find few admirers after the natural beauties of the surrounding scenery," would lead a traveller perhaps wholly to

neglect, if the guide-book writer did not contradict himself a few lines further on. Our author, however, has unduly curtailed his- description of the Auio above Tivoli, of Subiaco and its magnifi- cent church, only second in its effects of colour to St. Mark's at. Venice ; and if he had told us fewer legends in Rome, he might. have profitably laid out the space on the upper portion of the Anio, a region now as unknown, except to a few artists, as the upper part of the Tiber. We are also surprised to find mention made of the present state of the Ponte Salaro, picturesque in its ruins, and deserving a sketch, were it only as a record of what we may hope is not to last for ever. Returning to the Tiber, Mr. Davies omits any mention of the Castello della Crescenza (sometimes called Poussin's Villa), though it is one of the most

imposing of the fortified farms of the Campagna ; and we think— though we are not in a position to supply the omission—that there is a curious story connected with one of the tombs on the Via Flaminia as to the discovery in England of a missing portion of the sculptures, which it would have been interesting to see included in the work before us. Soracte figures as an illustration, but the party do not seem to have ascended it. This, again, is a spot not so distant from the Tiber but that it might have entered into their plan, and as it is comparatively rarely visited, some information about it would have been acceptable.

The illustrations are of various degrees of merit. They are entirely confined to landscape, which we rather regret, as the subject of costume is mentioned by Mr. Davies, and with Mr. Barclay at hand, we might have hoped for some interesting bits. We e can only conclude that the party felt this departatent of art to have been so hackneyed in the Roman studios, that they really could not bring themselves to put any more of it on paper. Among the landscape illustrations, the two best are the view of Orte, by Mr. Barclay, and that of the country near Perugia, by Mr. Elihu Vedder; the former is a most striking sceue, and the latter gives a most faithfully topographical, as well as artistic, panorama. As regards Mr. Barclay's sketches, without meaning any disrespect to Messrs. Leitch and Skelton, who have drawn them on wood in the artist's absence from England, we confess we should have preferred a literal transcript of the handiwork of the painter of " Anacapki Steps," to the more conventional style of execution which appears to have been adopted. In the most striking subject, that of Civita Bagnorea, we suspect the work of the secondary draughtsman has unduly encroached on that of the original artist. The houses of the town look too large for the rock they stand on, the crater-like form of the surrounding hills is barely indicated, and considering the geology of the country, we doubt the slopes of the mountain standing at angles so acute as those figured in the cut. Some of tha illustrations have nothing to do with the Tiber, notably that of the Pincio from the Villa Borghese, in which, moreover, the delicate lines and subtle grada- tions of the scene are very inadequately given. The same remark applies to Veii, which affords one of the finest subjects for a land- scape painter in the whole of the Campagna, but which is here treated in a quite unrecognisable manner. Neither would the peculiar situation of Assisi be divined from Mr. Davies's view of it. The illustrations, however, which we have mentioned with praise, as well as many others we have not adverted to, are sufficient to redeem any shortcomings in the others, and the tone of all of them is imaginative, and in keeping with the picturesque character of the book.

Such faults as we have found with Mr. Davies's work, though they take up considerable space in our article, are, after all, minor points, and may well be condoned, in view of the very interesting matter he has contributed to our knowledge of Italy, both in his chapter on the popular songs and in his description of the less known parts of the Tiber. The gift of improvisation is common among the untaught peasantry of these districts, and their pro- ductions, unlike the too literary effusions of the dwellers in towns, are characterised by a grace, simplicity, and directness of purpose which would have done no discredit to Horace, Catullus, or Herrick, and by a delicacy and purity of moral tone far beyond the usual level of popular poetry. Some of them remind us of the old sonnets and canzoni which Mr. Rossetti translated in his Early Italian Poets, and Mr. Davies, himself no mean poet, has trans- lated many of these little poems with a fidelity and grace which leave little to be desired. In the collection of them he seems to have been much aided by Signor Ferrari, and as he does not positively describe his taking down any orally in his own person, we presume his debt to the Italian collector is considerable ; but we are anyhow thankful for his introduction of them to us, and shall quote some specimens, which show that if the old Latin poets were tempted to borrow from foreigners, the lyric songsters of Italy at the present day have no reason to resort to any inspiration but their own. Here is one which has an Ovidian ring :—

" Ere I do leave thee, gentle lady bright,

The solid stones shall melt like wax away, The mother of shadows change to morning light, And eve proclaim the tidings of midday, Fire and water in one bond unite, And spring unchanged for ever bold his sway: Then shall our ended loves be finished quite, When earth its primal chaos shall display.

Ero I do leave thee, gentle lady bright, The solid stones shall melt like wax. away."

Another is much more tender and subtle :-

"Go forth, my sigh, go Badly forth, and find Her who doth feed my heart with sorrow's flow ;

And if thou reach her, tell her all my mind, Recount my griefs and paint my wasting woe; Tell her I suffer still—through her, unkind, My life's last hour in anguish seems to go; Tell her that though she scorn me, still I bind My soul to hers with love no change can know— And if. sad sigh, thou find her unrelenting, Then dio upon the air in vain lamenting."

Another is supposed to be addressed by "any wife to any hus- band" on the eve of a journey :— " 0 golden mouth in silver apples set,

I know the time is come when you must go. Go, thou; your parting with contentment met ; Remember, dear, the service that you owe : And by the way green herbage you will find; Remember, dearest, whom you leave behind: And by the way bright blossoms will onweave; Remember, my sweet idol, her you leave : And by the way hard rocks and stones will lie ; Remember her to whom you say good-bye."

We wish Mr. Davies would give us a collection of Italian popular songs, with a translation by himself opposite ; we have just enough in this volume to make us wish for more.

Here and there in Mr. Davies's route the inns were what they usually are in unfrequented parts of Italy, intolerable, and he had to find accommodation at private houses. Of a family at Orte, to which he carried an introduction from Rome, he gives a pleasant picture

The house of our destination was entered at the back by a narrow passage. On presenting myself I was met by a venerable-looking gentleman in a lone- coat, and wearing a berretta or cap of dark velvet on his head. He had a long grey beard, a mild expression of counte- nance, an eye. undimmed by age, and that gentleness and repose of manner and demeanor which is the proper heritage of ages of culture and refinement. At the same time his daughter came forwards with a pleasant smile. She had passed the ago of girlhood, but was still young. With considerable claims to good looks, she was something better than good-looking. Her smile was as open as sunshine, her manner easy and elegant. She welcomed me as the lady of the house and said that they had provided accommodation for us with them. In vain I pro- tested against the inconvenience that three guests, and those strangers, must make in their quiet household. No 'nay' would be allowed ; everything had been prepared and we must come. The warmth and generosity of our reception, than which nothing could have boon more friendly or homelike, soon put us at our ease. The house was a very old-fashioned one, built of good solid modiwval stone. It was one of those situated on the edge of. the precipice, overlooking the picturesque, winding valley through which the yellow river flowed in sweeping curves and long-tracked lines. The interior consisted of a central hall, in which was a ponderous fire-place surmounted by a heavy stone cornice, something like our English residences of three hundred years ago. Out of this central hall the bed-chambers opened. The room was ornamented with some very creditable oil paintings from the hand of our accomplished hostess. A guitar with some music lay upon the table; other signs of cultivatod occupation being visible. What was not the least remarkable was that in one of the dirtiest towns of Italy, apparently with no underground drainage, and amidst so much that was squalid and filthy, here the most perfect and. scrupulous cleanliness reigned throughout, from speckless linen to well-washed floors and walls."

After a walk about the town, the travellers returned to a good supper, excellent wine, and the conversation of their host, and songs to the guitar by the daughter of the house finished the day. Mr. Davies was more fortunate in his entertainers than Mr. Lear and some other Englishmen have occasionally been. In the remoter parts of Italy, the traveller must to a great extent rely on private hospitality, and whether he is expected to pay or not, the courtesy and attention he meets with are much the same; but in any case he must join his hosts in their evening gossip, and unless the family are as refined as that which fell to the lot of our author, their society after supper may prove somewhat of a bore to a tired Englishman, who not improbably would prefer his bed to a common-place discussion of Italian politics, in a company which is sure to be loud-voiced, if not numerous. Even in the family just described,

on the second day,— "Whilst we were sitting in the house in the evening, Basile°, our promised guide, came in, drew a chair into the circle, and joined in the conversation. Here indeed the kind of sacredness which belongs to the English household did not appear to be at all understood, for presently a woman with a child on some little errand entered in the same unceremonious manner, as if the privilege of the house were free to all."

Without pursuing Mr. Davies's route through all the towns near which the Tiber flows, we may mention as among the most in- teresting, either for situation or for antiquarian reasons, Bagnorea, Todi, Perugia, Assisi, Citat a di Castello—the ancient Tifernum, near which the younger Pliny had once a villa—and Borgo San Sepolcro, celebrated for its fine specimens of Pietro della Francesca. The last town on the Tiber is Pieve Santo Stefano, a homely little agricultural place, at which the travellers arrived on a market day, and saw all the costumes, bargaining; and love-makings of the country-aide. Twenty miles above this is the source of the Tiber, hidden in a vast beech forest covering the side of a mountain :—

" The trees were almost all great gnarled veterans, which had borne the snows of many winters: now they stood basking above their blackened shadows in the blazing sunshine. The little stream tumbled from ledge to ledge of splintered rock (here a limestone in which small nummulites and other organic remains are visible), sometimes creeping into a hazel thicket green with long ferns and soft moss, and then leaping once more merrily into the sunlight. Presently it split into numerous little rills. We followed the longest of these. It led us to a carpet of smooth green turf amidst an opening of the trees ; and there, bubbling out of the green sod, embroidered with white strawberry blossoms, the deli- cate blue of the crane's-bill and dwarf willow herb, a copious little stream arose. Here the old man paused, and resting upon his staff, raised his age-dimmed eyes, and pointing to the gushing water, said, questo si ehiama ii Terere a Roma!' (' And this is called the Tiber at Rome.') We stooped and drank of the cool clear water where it first saw the light. We reverently gathered some of the flowers that bent above its little basin ; and then we went away. I with the words still ringing in my ears, And this is called the Tiber at Rome!"

The source itself offered "little for the pencil to seize. It was but a carpet of soft green grass in an opening in the wood, out of which the clear stream welled." It must have been a charming place to loiter in, but unfortunately a band of brigands was known to be in the neighbourhood, and it was not safe to remain. So the party turned down stream again, but not before a couple of sketches near the source had been obtained, one of which graces this volume, and suggests a pretty bit of forest scenery, which but for its ledges of rock might have been taken from Burnham or Epping. By a slightly different route back to San Sepolcro a visit was made to Caprese, the birthplace of Michael Angelo, a nearly ruined town, of which the elder Buonarotti was Governor for a year at the time his celebrated son was born.

Mr. Davies's success in accomplishing the purpose of this journey, and the interesting manner in which he has described it, will pro- bably induce other travellers to follow in his steps. We are aware that it has not been his object to write a guide-book, but in behalf of those who may wish to use this volume in that capacity, we hope that in any future edition he will add such prosaic infor- mation about times, routes, and expense, as may be necessary, to make it as complete in that point of view as it is in its picturesque and historic aspect.