Bird Notes & News 



ISSUED QUARTERLY BY THE ROYAL SOCIETY 

 FOR THE PROTECTION OF BIRDS 



Vol. X.] 



SUMMER, 1923. 



[No. 6. 



The Bird Sanctuary at Assisi 



A CENTURY and more ago Goethe, a 

 solitary wanderer, visited the little 

 Umbrian town of Assisi. He climbed the 

 steep street to the Piazza, looked for a 

 few moments at the portico of the ancient 

 temple of Minerva, which stands to-day 

 as it stands in Giotto's fresco in the great 

 church ; and then he went away. To- 

 day three hotels can scarcely accom- 

 modate the crowd of visitors of aU 

 nationalities who flock to Assisi at Easter. 

 They do not come to see the temple of 

 Minerva : there are better temples at 

 Rome and elsewhere. They come to see 

 the glories of 13th and 14th century art in 

 the little town, the delightful hill country 

 close at hand, and the superb view of the 

 Plain of Umbria with its walls of soft- 

 contoured hills ; and they come because 

 Assisi is the home of St. Francis, the 

 " great lover " of all things in heaven and 

 earth. 



Standing between earth and sky out on 

 the turfy top of Monte Subasio, to whose 

 skirt the town clings like a child to its 

 mother, the visitor may feel something 

 of that joy in the freedom and purity of 

 the outdoor world which was his to the 

 very end ; and may hear in fancy the 

 sound of his voice breaking forth in the 

 impromptu hymns and songs of his own 

 making, in praise of Brother Sun or 

 Brother Sky or " my little sisters the 

 birds." 



Looking up the green length of the 

 valley to where it melts darkly into the 

 mountains at the southern end, are seen 

 the little towns with their towers and 

 campaniles, growing like colonies of 

 mushrooms on every buttress and coign 

 of vantage on the lower slopes — towns 

 Mdth magical names, Spallo, Foligno, 



Spoleto, each with its special legend of 

 some miracle or deed of love wrought by 

 the Poverello during one or other of his 

 Umbrian pilgrimages. Specially dear to 

 bird-lovers should be Bevagno, for here, 

 according to tradition, was one of the 

 places where he preached to the birds. 



A mile or so from the town walls a path 

 climbs along the side of Monte Subasio 

 among olive groves where the white oxen 

 are ploughing, until, rounding a corner, 

 it turns its back on the plain and makes 

 for the heart of the mountain. The 

 pilgrim, hot and tired, perhaps, after the 

 long climb, stops for a moment to admire 

 and rejoice before hurrying on with 

 renewed energy. For here the mountain 

 suddenly breaks down into a deep gorge ; 

 its sides are dotted with trees of many 

 kinds, but chiefly with ilexes, the beauti- 

 ful bushy evergreens for which visitors to 

 Italy learn to be grateful even under only 

 an April sunshine. A wall runs round the 

 wood, and the first sign of man within is 

 a notice : — 



Bandita assolutamente la Caccia 



(Shooting strictly prohibited). The path 

 leads on into the upper part of the wood, 

 and here, just where the mountain sides 

 fall sheer into the dry gorge below, a tiny 

 monastery has been built. It is now five 

 hundred years old, and in its humble un- 

 pretentiousness is quite in keeping with 

 its wonderful surroundings. As the 

 visitor approaches the door Brother 

 Blackcap bursts into a song of welcome, 

 calhng forth a tribute of thanks. It seems 

 but natural in such a place to talk to the 

 birds and trees. The little merry-eyed 

 friar who opens the gate completes in- 

 stead of spoiling the picture. He does 

 the honours of the romantic place in the 



