’The most lovely scenery met the eye.  As you look to the west from the higher houses, the view reaches beyond Ilcinum and Siena as far as the Pistorian Alps.  To the north a variety of hills and the pleasant green of woods presents itself, stretching a distance of five miles; if your sight is good, your eye will travel as far as the Apennine range and can see Cortona.’

There he passed the time, shooting birds, fishing, and rowing.

’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 annoy, the Pope passed days of unclouded happiness.’

This is thoroughly modern:  ‘Silvarum amator,’ as he calls himself, he includes both the details of the near and the general effect of the far-distant landscape.

And with age his appreciation of it only seemed to increase; for instance, he says of Todi: 

’A most lovely view meets the eye wherever you turn; you can see Perusia and all the valley that lies between, full of wide—­spreading forts and fertile fields, and honoured by the river Tiber, which, drawing its coils along like a snake, divides Tuscia from Umbria, and, close to the city itself, enters many a mountain, passing through which it descends to the plain, murmuring as it goes, as though constrained against its will.’

This is his description of a lake storm, during an excursion to the Albanian Mountains: 

As far as Ostia ’he had a delightful voyage; at night the sea began to be most unwontedly troubled, and a severe storm arose.  The east wind rolled up the waters from their lowest depths, huge waves beat the shore; you could have heard the sea, as it were, groaning and wailing.  So great was the force of the winds, that nothing seemed able to resist it; they raged and alternately fled and put one another to rout, they overturned woods and anything that withstood them.  The air glittered with frequent lightning, the sky thundered, and terrific thunder-bolts fell from the clouds....  The night was pitch dark, though the flashes of lightning were continuous.’

And of a lake at rest he says: 

’The beauty of that lake is remarkable; everywhere it is surrounded by high rocks, the water is transparently clear.  Nature, so far superior to art, provided a most pleasant journey.  The Nemorian lake, with its crystal-clear waters, reflects the faces of those that look into it, and fills a deep basin.  The descent from the top to the bottom is wooded.  The poetic genius would never be awakened if it slept here; you would say it was the dwelling-place of the Muses, the home of the Nymphs, and, if there is any truth in legends, the hiding-place of Diana.’

He visited the lakes among the mountains, climbing and resting under the trees; the view from Monte Cavo was his favourite, from which he could see Terracina, the lakes of Nemi and Albano, etc.  He noted their extent and formation, and added: