underneath it they have constructed an uncouth supporting column of elephantine thickness. Its coarse shadow is the only discordant note in a sublime silhouette. The impotent bluster of the little parapetted castle adjoining the loggia does not injure the effect of its agreeable mass and detail. From the depths of the valley, moreover, it assumes a formidable bulk indeed. Soaring buttresses have been called into play to prevent it from tumbling pell-mell down the hill.
For centuries sculptors have come to Viterbo, enchanted by its fountains; poets have lyricized its bubbling sources and playwrights have woven scenes about them. Strangely enough, the inhabitants of the city do not seem to consider their fountains to be of particular interest. Yet no city of similar size in Italy has as many or as fine fountains as these. Wander up an unexpected side
street and the chances are more than good that you will find a mossy veteran bubbling away. Their number is really remarkable. I counted nineteen in a few days of wandering about the town, and there must be others in obscure corners. Their abundance is due of course, to the restless streams which descend from the distant gallery of mountain peaks, pausing for an instant to bubble through Viterbo’s pleasant fountains and then rippling onward to the sea.
There is a striking similarity of partie to most of the fountains. The round open fountain, panelled in stone and approached by two or three steps is repeated many times. A small shaft, round or hexagonal, sprouts up in the middle, and on this is squandered the detail. A few of the fountains are decidedly Baroque, bristling with defiant lions and writhing with undulating mould
VITERBO
FONTANA DELLA ROCCA, VITERBO