ROME
We spent a week in visiting the city of the Cæsars, running through
churches, art-galleries and other regulation sights, according to
Baedecker, from morning till night. We followed our guide with
uncomplaining stoicism from one Museum to another. I was not feeling
altogether at my ease when visiting the catacombs, and wished myself
anywhere else all the time. We had to come down slowly through dark stone
passages with our folding lantern in which a reluctant wax-taper went
out at regular intervals. We saw caverns containing skeletons which fell
to dust when you touched them, and petrified corpses in coffins under
a glass cover. Truly it was a ghastly sight! There are often crumbling
stones too in the Catacombs, and you can easily find your death under
them.
In the church of “Santa Croce” we saw the staircase (Scala Pia) brought
forward from Jerusalem, reputed to have belonged to Pilate’s Palace,
where they were trodden by Christ at the time of his trial. Pilgrims are
permitted to ascend the steps on their knees only. Two smart ladies were
toiling slowly up the long ladder, stopping at every step to arrange the
folds of their skirts. Some peasant women, who had begun their ascent
much later, soon overtook them. I am sure that they have more chance of
getting to the Kingdom of Heaven.
The Pantheon, where the remains of King Vittorio Emmanuele repose, is
the only ancient edifice in Rome, which is conserved perfectly intact.
It has no ceiling, and the Roman sun and the Roman moon shine through
the open roof. The sepulchre in which the body of Vittorio Emmanuele is
laid is covered all over with garlands of flowers and is guarded by three
veterans of the Italian army, who watch over a big book in which all
those who wish to honour the memory of the “King Galantuomo” sign their
names.
We had to cross the Tiber to arrive at the Vatican, where we found
ourselves on Papal territory, which has a particular clerical aspect. The
population is very poor here, a great part of their existence is spent
in the open. There was a crowd of women, ragged and unkempt creatures,
sitting in front of their houses in a bath of sunshine, bearing the pure
classical Roman type. They were surrounded by a swarm of children with
unwiped noses, who stared at us with their fingers in their mouths. I
can’t make out how these matrons had the time to bring such a lot of
children into the world. We met a number of prelates in the streets, and
ladies in black dresses and long black veils, prescribed by etiquette
for ladies going to an audience with the Pope, and wearing mourning in
the memory of the abolished clerical potency. The Pope, deploring his
decay, has shut himself up in the Vatican, vowing never to leave it until
the King abdicates the throne. The doors of the Vatican are closed to
all persons belonging to the Court of Italy, Baron Rosen, the Russian
attaché, in the number.
There was much to see in the Vatican Palace. We went from room to room
admiring the immortal masterpieces. In the “Sixtine Chapel” we saw the
famous picture of the “Last Judgment” painted by Michael Angelo. We could
hardly get away from the place. Then we stepped into a long gallery all
lined with pictures on Scripture subjects, arranged like a museum and
leading to the private apartments of the Pope. Groups of Papal guards,
the last remains of the Papal power, in their picturesque uniforms, with
striped yellow and black legs, were walking to and fro with a rifle on
their shoulder. After leaving the Palace we strayed down the wide stairs
into the beautifully kept gardens which surrounded it, and saw wild deer
and pheasants walking about freely. The Pope feeds them himself every
morning during the voluntary prisoner’s drive in the alleys of the Park.
On leaving the Vatican Gardens the head-gardener presented me with a
splendid bouquet.
On the great Square before the bronze gates of the Vatican, in front of
St. Peter’s Cathedral, we saw the black statue of St. Peter, sitting in
his stone chair under a golden baldaquin, holding in his hand the “Keys
of Paradise.” Through the continual contact of worshippers lips, one of
the Saint’s toes was almost completely worn out. After having admired
the rich monuments of all the interred Popes, and the shrine containing
St. Peter’s relics, we drove along the ancient “Latin Road” to Monte
Palanchino, one of the most interesting reminiscences of past ages. A
whole army of workmen, under the superintendence of a group of engineers
and archeologists, continue to excavate making splendid discoveries. A
whole street intact has recently been dug out. The pavements and houses
with their mosaic floors are marvellously preserved. We stood on the
roof of one of the newly excavated houses watching the workmen who were
destroying—on the mountain side over us—a splendid villa which had
belonged to Napoleon the Third, in order to continue to dig out the
street under its foundation.
On the eve of our departure from Rome we went to see the Coliseum, a ruin
of former glory where gladiators have fought, the largest amphitheatre in
the world, which could hold about ten thousand spectators. Before turning
to the hotel we took a drive in Monte Pincio, the Hyde Park of Rome. The
large alleys are filled with riders, drivers and pedestrians. On both
sides of the drive stand white marble statues of gods and goddesses. In
the very beginning is erected the statue of Vittorio Emmanuele, in the
memory of the taking of Rome by his armies. In front of the round tower
of the summer-house, sheltered by magnificent magnolia and orange trees,
there is a high terrace. We mounted on it, and Rome lay below us like a
city from a balloon. It was very still and peaceful, the noise of the
street did not penetrate to this place. Suddenly the evening bells began
to ring all over Rome. On our way back, when passing before the “Trevi
Fountains,” we called to mind the popular saying that if you want to
return to Rome once more, you must drink some water out of this fountain,
and we swallowed two glasses of the miraculous water which we purchased
at a little shop near by.
After having seen all the sights of the Eternal City we started for
Naples. We had quite enough of all these churches and museums, and were
tired out by too much admiration. The tenants of our railway carriage
were but three, but they had managed things so nicely that not a square
inch of spare room was visible, engrossed by a fabulous number of bags,
baskets, etc., etc. “Partenza!” shouted the railway officials, bang-bang
went the doors, and our train left the station and began to wind round
the low hills of the “Campagna.”