The Italian sketch book :: :: University of Virginia Library

As the season of mildness and salubrity unfolds
with the rapidity and luxuriance peculiar to southern
Europe, the pleasures of pedestrianism and excursions
into the vicinity are augmented. To gain the
summit of Fiesole, the place of Cataline's encampment,
and gaze from off the beautiful and cypress-decked
esplanade in front of the old monastery there
situated, upon the city beneath, and the snowy
heights in the distance, or to thread the sunny path
that skirts the river, becomes daily more delightful.
The song of birds in the groves, the rustling of the
bright lizards among the dead leaves, and the hum
of insects in the warm air are too spring-like not to
excite, with their genial vivacity, the contemplative
spirit. On these occasions the converse of friendship
would frequently and almost spontaneously die
away before the subtle influence of awakening and
teeming nature. Ever and anon we involuntarily
paused to admire the beauty around. The river
presenting an increased body of water, rapidly purling
along its wayward course; the opposite bank
displaying its numerous and various trees, now
becoming more deeply umbrageous and verdant,

while, upon each hand, that glorious object, the
hoary mountain ranges, reflecting the scattered sunlight,
and contrasting with the indented slopes, combined
to form a landscape of peculiar cheerfulness
and beauty.

It was on a day like this that I extended my
acquaintance with the environs of the city, much
beyond the limits to which previous excursions had
carried me. After six miles of riding we reached
Pratolino, a villa of the Grand Duke, and perambulated
its park-like grounds, the wooded parts of
which forcibly reminded me of Mount Auburn.
Here we viewed a most colossal statue, composed of
brick, plaster-work and stone, which, from its awful
size and muscular development, presents a mammoth
rather than a truly sublime object. The fountain
designed to flow over it was quite dry. The figure
is human and in a sitting posture. We went
through the ceremony of ascending and entering
the enormous head of this monstrous result of the
labours of Giovanni di Bologna. The old lacquey
de place who accompanied us promised to point out
his country house on the road; and when we were
passing a broad plain having a large cross in the
centre, declared that to be the `home in the country'
to which he confidently expected to retire. It was
the public burying-ground. Thus spoke he of the
last resting place of his body, and in his habit and
easy manner of sustaining the mortal coil, I recognized
one of those peculiar philosophers, of whom
Goldsmith so often and charmingly speaks.