THE CAMPAGNA AND BEYOND
The environs of Rome--those parts not given over to fox-hunting and
horse-racing, importations which have been absorbed by the latter day
Roman from the _forestieri_--still retain most of their characteristics
of historic times. The Campagna is still the Campagna; the Alban Hills
are still classic ground, and Tivoli and Frascati--in spite of the
modernisms which have, here and there, crept in--are still the romantic
Tivoli and Frascati of the ages long gone by.
The surrounding hills of Rome are, really, what give it its charm. The
city is strong in contrast from every aspect, modernity nudging and
crowding antiquity. Rome itself is not lovely, only superbly and
majestically overpowering in its complexity.
The Rome of romantic times went as far afield as Otricoli, Ostia, Tivoli
and Albano, and, on the east, these outposts were further encircled by
a girdle of villas, gardens and vineyards too numerous to plot on any
map that was ever made.
Such is the charm of Rome; not its ruined temples, fountains and statues
alone; nor yet its great churches and palaces, and above all not the
view of the Colosseum lit up by coloured fires, but Rome the city and
the Campagna.
There is no question that the Roman Campagna is a sad, dreary land
without a parallel in the well populated centres of Europe. Said
Chateaubriand: "It possesses a silence and solitude so vast that even
the echoes of the tumults of the past enacted upon its soil are lost in
the very expansiveness of the flat marshy plain."
Balzac too wrote in the same vein: "Imagine something of the desolation
of the country of Tyre and Babylon and you will have a picture of the
sadness and lonesomeness of this vast, wide, thinly populated region."
The similes of Balzac and of Chateaubriand hold good to-day. Long horned
cattle and crows are the chief living things--and mosquitoes. One can't
forget the mosquitoes.
Here and there a jagged stump of a pier of a Roman aqueduct pushes up
through the herb-grown soil, perhaps even an arch or two, or three or
five; but hardly a tangible remembrance of the work of the hand of man
is left to-day, to indicate the myriads of comers and goers who once
passed over its famous Appian Way. The Appian Way is still there, loose
ended fragments joined up here and there with a modern roadway which has
become its successor, and there is a very appreciable traffic, such as
it is, on the main lines of roadway north and south; but east and west
and round about, save for a few squalid huts and droves of cattle, sheep
and goats, a wayside inn, a fountain beneath a cypress and a few sleepy,
dusty hamlets and villages, there is nothing to indicate a progressive
modern existence. All is as dead and dull as it was when Rome first
decayed.
Out from Rome, a couple of leagues on the Via Campagna, on the right
bank of the Tiber, one comes to the sad relic of La Magliana, the
hunting lodge of the Renaissance Popes. The evolution of the name of
this country house comes from a corruption of the patronymic of the
original owners of the land, the family of Manlian, who were farmers in
390 B. C.
The road out from Rome, by the crumbling Circus Maxentius, the lone
fragments of Aqueduct, and the moss-grown tomb of Cecilia Metellag,
runs for a dozen kilometres at a dead level, to rise in the next dozen
or so to a height of four hundred and sixty odd metres just beyond
Albano, when it descends and then rises again to Velletri ultimately to
flatten out and continue along practically at sea-level all the way to
Cassino, a hundred and ninety kilometres from Rome. The classification
given to this road by the Touring Club Italiano is "mediocre e
polveroso," and one need not be a deep student of the language to evolve
its meaning.
A little farther away, but still within sight of the Eternal City, just
before coming to Albano, is Castel Gandolfo, a Papal stronghold since
the middle ages. Urban VIII built a Papal palace here, and the
seigniorial château, since transformed into a convent, was a sort of
summer habitation of the Popes. The status of the little city of two
thousand souls is peculiar. It enjoys extra-territorial rights which
were granted to the papal powers by the new order of things which came
into being in 1871. A zone of loveliness surrounds the site which
overlooks, on one side, the dazzling little Albano Lake and, on the
other, stretches off across the Campagna to the shores of the
Mediterranean.
Just beyond Castel Gandolfo is Albano, still showing vestiges of the
city of Domitian, which, in turn, was built upon the ruins of that of
Pompey. Albano's fortifications rank as the most perfect examples of
their class in all Italy. They tell a story of many epochs; they are all
massive, and are largely built in rough polygonal masonry. Towers,
turrets and temples are all here at Albano. Still the town is not ranked
as one of the tourist sights.
The Albano Lake is another one of those mysterious bodies of water
without source or outlet. It occupies the crater of an extinct volcano,
so some day it may disappear as quickly as it came. Concerning its
origin the following local legend is here related: "Where the lake now
lies there stood once a great city. Here, when Jesus Christ came to
Italy, he begged alms. None took compassion on Him but an old woman who
gave Him some meal. He then bade her leave the city: she obeyed; the
city instantly sank and the lake rose in its place."
This legend is probably founded on some vague recollection or tradition
of the fall of the city of Veii, which was so flourishing a state at the
time of the foundation of Rome, and possessed so many attractions, that
it became a question whether Rome itself should not be abandoned for
Veii. The lake of Albano is intimately connected with the siege of Veii
and no place has more vivid memories of ancient Roman history.
Here, overlooking the lake, once rose Alba Longa, the mother city of
Rome, built by Ascanius, the son of Æneas, who named it after the white
sow which gave birth to the prodigious number of thirty young.
On the shore of the lake, opposite Albano, is Rocca di Papa. The convent
of the Passionist Fathers at Rocca di Papa, (the city itself being the
one-time residence of the Anti-pope John) was built by Cardinal York,
the last of the Stuarts, of materials taken from an ancient temple on
the shores of Lake Albano.
Rocca di Papa is a most picturesque little hilltop village. Its
sugar-loaf cone is crowned with an old castle of the Colonnas which
remained their possession until 1487, when the Orsini in their turn took
possession.
Frascati, on the Via Tusculum, about opposite Castel Gandolfo, as this
historic roadway parallels that of Claudius Appius, was Rome's patrician
suburb, and to-day is the resort of nine-tenths of the excursionists out
from Rome for a day or an afternoon.
Frascati, the villa suburb, and Tivoli alike depend upon their sylvan
charms to set off the beauties of their palaces and villas. It was ever
the custom among the princely Italian families--the Farnese, the
Borghese, and the Medici--to lavish their wealth on the laying out of
the grounds quite as much as on the building of their palaces.
Frascati's villas and palaces cannot be catalogued here. One and all are
the outgrowth of an ancient Roman pleasure house of the ninth century,
and followed after as a natural course of events, the chief attraction
of the place being the wild-wood site (_frasche_), really a country
faubourg of Rome itself.
The Popes and Cardinals favoured the spot for their country houses, and
the nobles followed in their train. The chief of Frascati's
architectural glories are the Villa Conti, its fountains and its
gardens; the Villa Aldobrandini of the Cardinal of that name, the nephew
of Pope Clement VIII; and the Villa Tusculana, or Villa Ruffinella, of
the sixteenth century, but afterwards the property of Lucien Bonaparte
and the scene of one of Washington Irving's little known sketches, "The
Adventure of an Artist." The Villa Falconieri at Frascati, built by the
Cardinal Ruffini in the sixteenth century, formerly belonged to a long
line of Counts and Cardinals, but the hand of the German, which is
grasping everything in sight, in all quarters of the globe, that other
people by lack of foresight do not seem to care for, has acquired it as
a home for "convalescent" German artists. Perhaps the omnific German
Emperor seeks to rival the functions of the Villa Medici with his Villa
Falconieri. He calls it a hospital, but it has studios, lecture rooms
and what not. What it all means no one seems to know.
Minor villas are found dotted all over Frascati's hills, with charming
vistas opening out here and there in surprising manner. Not all are
magnificently grand, few are superlatively excellent according to the
highest æsthetic standards, but all are of the satisfying, gratifying
quality that the layman will ever accept as something better than his
own conceptions would lead up to. That is the chief pleasure of
contemplation, after all.
Above Frascati itself lies Tusculum, founded, says tradition, by a son
of Ulysses, the birthplace of Cato and a one time residence of Cicero.
This would seem enough fame for any small town hardly important enough
to have its name marked on the map, and certainly not noted down in many
of the itineraries for automobile tourists which cross Italy in every
direction. More than this, Tusculum has the ruins of an ancient castle,
one day belonging to a race of fire-eating, quarrelsome counts who
leagued themselves with any one who had a cause, just or unjust, for
which to fight. Fighting was their trade, but Frederic I in 1167 beat
them at their own game and razed their castle and its town of allies
huddled about its walls. That is why Tusculum has not become a tourist
resort to-day, but the ruin is still there and one can imagine a
different destiny had fate, or a stronger hand, had full sway.
From Albano, another cross road, via Velletri to Valmontone, leads in
twenty odd kilometres to Palestrina, whence one may continue his way to
Subiaco and thence to Tivoli and enter Rome again via the Porta San
Lorenzo, having made a round of perhaps a hundred and fifty kilometres
of as varied a stretch of Italian roadway as could possibly be found.
The gamut of scenic and architectural joys runs all the way from those
of the sea level Campagna and its monumental remains to the verdure and
romance of the Alban and Sabine Hills and the splendours of the memories
of the Villa of Hadrian at Tivoli.
Lying well back from the Alban hills is Palestrina, the greatest
stronghold of the Colonnas and where a branch of the family still
maintains a country house. The cradle of this great family, which gave
so many popes to Rome, and an inspiration and a divinity to
Michelangelo, was a village near Palestrina. It had a Corinthian column
rising in its _piazza_ and from it the Colonna took their family arms.
It is found on all documents relating to their history; on tapestries,
furniture and medals in many museums and in many wood carvings in old
Roman churches.
Palestrina, too, has memories of Michelangelo. The treasures of
masterpieces left by him are scattered all over Italy to keep fresh the
memory of his name and fame.
Subiaco should be made a stopping place on every automobilist's
itinerary out from Rome. Some wit has said that any one living in a
place ending with o was bound to be unhappy. He had in mind one or two
sad romances of Subiaco, though for all that one can hardly see what the
letters of its name have got to do with it. Subiaco has for long been
the haunt of artists and others in search of the picturesque, but not
the general run of tourists.
[Illustration: _Subiaco_]
Subiaco is still primitive in most things, and this in spite of the fact
that a railway has been built through it in recent years. In feudal
times the town could hardly have been more primitive than now, in
fact the only thing that ever woke it from lethargy was a little game of
warfare, sometimes with disaster for the inhabitants and sometimes for
the other side.
The castle of the ruling baron sat high upon the height. What is left of
it is there to-day, but its capture has been made easier with the march
of progress. Down from the castle walls slopes the town, its happy,
unprogressive people as somnolent as of yore.
Subiaco is one of the most accessible and conveniently situated hill
towns of Italy, if any would seek it out. Nero first exploited Subiaco
when he built a villa here, as he did in other likely spots round about.
Nero built up and he burned down and he fiddled all the while. He was
decidedly a capricious character. History or legend says that Nero's cup
of cheer was struck from his hand by lightning one day when he was
drinking the wine of Subiaco here at his hillside villa. He escaped
miraculously, but he got a good scare, though it is not recorded that he
signed the pledge!
Subiaco's humble inn, "The Partridge," is typical of its class
throughout Italy. It is in no sense a very comfortably installed
establishment, but it is better, far better, than the same class of inn
in England and America, and above all its cooking is better. A fowl and
a salad and a bottle of wine and some gorgonzola are just a little
better at "La Pernice" than the writer remembers to have eaten elsewhere
under similar conditions.
Tourists now come by dozens by road and rail to Subiaco--with a
preponderance of arrivals by road--whereas a few years ago only a few
venturesome artists and other lovers of the open knew its charms. Some
day of course this charm will be gone, but it is still lingering on and,
if you do not put on too great a pretense, you will get the same good
cheer at five francs a day at "The Partridge" whether you arrive in a
Mercédès or come as the artist does, white umbrella and canvases slung
across your back. The proprietor of "La Pernice" has not as yet
succumbed to exploiting his clients.
From Subiaco back to Rome via Tivoli is seventy kilometres and all down
hill.
One can have no complete idea of Roman life without an acquaintance with
the villas and palaces of Frascati and Tivoli. Tivoli was the summer
resort of the old Romans. Mecenate, Horace, Catullus and Hadrian built
villas there and enjoyed it, though in a later day it was reviled thus:
[Illustration: _Villa d'Este, Tivoli_]
Tivoli di mal conforto--O piove, o tira vento, o suona a morto!
Tivoli may be said to have received its boom under the Roman nobles of
the Augustan age who came here and set the fashion of the place as a
country residence. Things prospered beyond expectations, it would seem,
land agents being modest in those days, and by the time of Hadrian
reached their luxurious climax.
Pope Pius II founded Tivoli's citadel on the site of an already ruined
amphitheatre in 1460. The Villa d'Este at Tivoli, built by the Cardinal
Ippolito d'Este in 1549, is usually considered the most typical suburban
villa in Italy. The house itself is an enormous pile, on one side being
three stories higher than on the other. It is a terrace house in every
sense of the word. Statuary, originally dug up from Hadrian's villa,
once embellished the house and grounds to a greater extent than now, but
under the régime of late years many of these pieces have disappeared.
Where? The palace itself is comparatively a modest, dignified though
extensive structure, the views from its higher terraces stretching out
far over the distant _campagna_.
Hadrian's Villa, with its magnificent grounds, occupies an area of vast
extent. According to Spartian, Hadrian, in the second century B. C.,
built this marvel of architecture and landscape gardening according to a
fond and luxurious fancy which would have been inconceivable by any
other who lived at his time. All its great extent of buildings have
suffered the stress of time, and some even have entirely disappeared, as
a considerable part of the later monuments of Tivoli were built up from
their stones. Many of its art treasures were removed to distant points,
many found their ways into public and private museums, and many have
even been transported to foreign lands. The Italian government has now
stopped all this by purchasing the site and making of it a national
monument.
[Illustration: HADRIAN'S VILLA]
With Hadrian's Villa is connected a sad remembrance. Piranesi, that
accomplished and erratic draughtsman whose etchings and drawings of
Roman monuments have delighted an admiring world, died as a result of
overwork in connection with a series of measured drawings he was making
of this great memorial of Rome's globe-trotting Emperor.