A view like that of a
narrowing gorge, with a bridge arched boldly over it, awakens at once
his artistic sense. Even the smallest details give him delight through
something beautiful, or perfect, or characteristic in them--the blue
fields of waving flax, the yellow gorse which covers the hills, even
tangled thickets, or single trees, or springs, which seem to him like
wonders of nature.
The height of his enthusiasm for natural beauty was reached during his
stay on Monte Amiata, in the summer of 1462, when plague and heat made
the lowlands uninhabitable. Half-way up the mountain, in the old
Lombard monastery of San Salvatore, he and his court took up their
quarters. There, between the chestnuts which clothe the steep
declivity, the eye may wander over all Southern Tuscany, with the
towers of Siena in the distance. The ascent of the highest peak he left
to his companions, who were joined by the Venetian envoy; they found at
the top two vast blocks of stone one upon the other--perhaps the
sacrificial altar of a prehistoric people--and fancied that in the far
distance they saw Corsica and Sardinia rising above the sea. In the
cool air of the hills, among the old oaks and chestnuts, on the green
meadows where there were no thorns to wound the feet, and no snakes or
insects to hurt or to annoy, the Pope passed days of unclouded
happiness.
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