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WALKS IN ROME
TWO VOLS.--I.
WALKS IN ROME
BY AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE
AUTHOR OF "MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE," "WANDERINGS IN SPAIN," ETC.
TWO VOLUMES.--I.
_FIFTH EDITION_
LONDON
DALDY, ISBISTER & CO.
56, LUDGATE HILL
1875
[_All rights reserved_]
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
TO
HIS DEAR MOTHER
THE CONSTANT COMPANION OF MANY ROMAN WINTERS
These pages are Dedicated
BY THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY.
PAGE
THE ARRIVAL IN ROME 9
CHAPTER I.
DULL-USEFUL INFORMATION 27
CHAPTER II.
THE CORSO AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD 36
CHAPTER III.
THE CAPITOLINE 109
CHAPTER IV.
THE FORUMS AND THE COLISEUM 159
CHAPTER V.
THE VELABRUM AND THE GHETTO 221
CHAPTER VI.
THE PALATINE 273
CHAPTER VII.
THE CŒLIAN 316
CHAPTER VIII.
THE AVENTINE 348
CHAPTER IX.
THE VIA APPIA 372
CHAPTER X.
THE QUIRINAL AND VIMINAL 433
INTRODUCTORY.
THE ARRIVAL IN ROME.
"Again this date of Rome; the most solemn and interesting that my hand
can ever write, and even now more interesting than when I saw it last,"
wrote Dr. Arnold to his wife in 1840--and how many thousands before and
since have experienced the same feeling, who have looked forward to a
visit to Rome as one of the great events of their lives, as the
realization of the dreams and longings of many years.
An arrival in Rome is very different to that in any other town of
Europe. It is coming to a place new and yet most familiar, strange and
yet so well known. When travellers arrive at Verona, for instance, or at
Arles, they generally go to the amphitheatres with a curiosity to know
what they are like; but when they arrive at Rome and go to the Coliseum,
it is to visit an object whose appearance has been familiar to them from
childhood, and, long ere it is reached, from the heights of the distant
Capitol, they can recognize the well-known form;--and as regards St.
Peter's, who is not familiar with the aspect of the dome, of the
wide-spreading piazza, and the foaming fountains, for long years before
they come to gaze upon the reality?
"My presentiment of the emotions with which I should behold the Roman
ruins, has proved quite correct," wrote Niebuhr. "Nothing about them is
new to me; as a child I lay so often, for hours together, before their
pictures, that their images were, even at that early age, as distinctly
impressed upon my mind, as if I had actually seen them."
Yet, in spite of the presence of old friends and landmarks, travellers
who pay a hurried visit to Rome, are bewildered by the vast mass of
interest before them, by the endless labyrinth of minor objects, which
they desire, or, still oftener, feel it a duty, to visit. Their Murray,
their Baedeker, and their Bradshaw indicate appalling lists of churches,
temples, and villas which ought to be seen, but do not distribute them
in a manner which will render their inspection more easy. The promised
pleasure seems rapidly to change into an endless vista of labour to be
fulfilled and of fatigue to be gone through; henceforward the hours
spent at Rome are rather hours of endurance than of pleasure--his
_cicerone_ drags the traveller in one direction,--his antiquarian
friend, his artistic acquaintance, would fain drag him in others,--he is
confused by accumulated misty glimmerings from historical facts once
learnt at school, but long since forgotten,--of artistic information,
which he feels that he ought to have gleaned from years of society, but
which, from want of use, has never made any depth of impression,--by
shadowy ideas as to the story of this king and that emperor, of this
pope and that saint, which, from insufficient time, and the absence of
books of reference, he has no opportunity of clearing up. It is
therefore in the hope of aiding some of these bewildered ones, and of
rendering their walks in Rome more easy and more interesting, that the
following chapters are written. They aim at nothing original, and are
only a gathering up of the information of others, and a gleaning from
what has been already given to the world in a far better and fuller, but
less portable form; while, in their plan, they attempt to guide the
traveller in his daily wanderings through the city and its suburbs.
It must not, however, be supposed, that one short residence at Rome will
be sufficient to make a foreigner acquainted with all its varied
treasures; or even, in most cases, that its attractions will become
apparent to the passing stranger. The squalid appearance of its modern
streets, the filth of its beggars, the inconveniences of its daily life,
will leave an impression which will go far to neutralize the effect of
its ancient buildings, and the grandeur of its historic recollections.
It is only by returning again and again, by allowing the _feeling_ of
Rome to gain upon you, when you have constantly revisited the same view,
the same temple, the same picture, that Rome engraves itself upon your
heart, and changes from a disagreeable, unwholesome acquaintance, into a
dear and intimate friend, seldom long absent from your thoughts.
"Whoever," said Chateaubriand, "has nothing else left in life, should
come to live in Rome; there he will find for society a land which will
nourish his reflections, walks which will always tell him something new.
The stone which crumbles under his feet will speak to him, and even the
dust which the wind raises under his footsteps will seem to bear with it
something of human grandeur."
"When we have once known Rome," wrote Hawthorne, "and left her where she
lies, like a long-decaying corpse, retaining a trace of the noble shape
it was, but with accumulated dust and a fungous growth overspreading all
its more admirable features--left her in utter weariness, no doubt, of
her narrow, crooked, intricate streets, so uncomfortably paved with
little squares of lava that to tread over them is a penitential
pilgrimage; so indescribably ugly, moreover, so cold, so alley-like,
into which the sun never falls, and where a chill wind forces its deadly
breath into our lungs--left her, tired of the sight of those immense
seven-storied, yellow-washed hovels, or call them palaces, where all
that is dreary in domestic life seems magnified and multiplied, and
weary of climbing those staircases which ascend from a ground-floor of
cook-shops, cobblers'-stalls, stables, and regiments of cavalry, to a
middle region of princes, cardinals, and ambassadors, and an upper tier
of artists, just beneath the unattainable sky,--left her, worn out with
shivering at the cheerless and smoky fireside by day, and feasting with
our own substance the ravenous population of a Roman bed at night, left
her sick at heart of Italian trickery, which has uprooted whatever faith
in man's integrity had endured till now, and sick at stomach of sour
bread, sour wine, rancid butter, and bad cookery, needlessly bestowed on
evil meats,--left her, disgusted with the pretence of holiness and the
reality of nastiness, each equally omnipresent,--left her, half lifeless
from the languid atmosphere, the vital principle of which has been used
up long ago or corrupted by myriads of slaughters,--left her, crushed
down in spirit by the desolation of her ruin, and the hopelessness of
her future,--left her, in short, hating her with all our might, and
adding our individual curse to the infinite anathema which her old
crimes have unmistakeably brought down:--when we have left Rome in such
mood as this, we are astonished by the discovery, by-and-by, that our
heartstrings have mysteriously attached themselves to the Eternal City,
and are drawing us thitherward again, as if it were more familiar, more
intimately our home, than even the spot where we were born."
This is the attractive and sympathetic power of Rome which Byron so
fully appreciated--
"Oh Rome my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and controul
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye!
Whose agonies are evils of a day--
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
"The Niobe of nations! there she stands
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,
Whose sacred dust was scattered long ago;
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress!"
The impressiveness of an arrival at the Eternal City was formerly
enhanced by the solemn singularity of the country through which it was
slowly approached. "Those who arrive at Rome now by the railway," says
Mrs. Craven in her 'Anne Severin,' "and rush like a whirlwind into a
station, which has nothing in its first aspect to distinguish it from
that of one of the most obscure places in the world, cannot imagine the
effect which the words 'Ecco Roma' formerly produced, when on arriving
at the point in the road from which the Eternal City could be descried
for the first time, the postillion stopped his horses, and pointing it
out to the traveller in the distance, pronounced them with that Roman
accent which is grave and sonorous, as the name of Rome itself."
"How pleasing," says Cardinal Wiseman, "was the usual indication to
early travellers, by voice and outstretched whip, embodied in the
well-known exclamation of every vetturino, 'Ecco Roma.' To one 'lasso
maris et viarum,' like Horace, these words brought the first promise of
approaching rest. A few more miles of weary hills, every one of which,
from its summit, gave a more swelling and majestic outline to what so
far constituted 'Roma,' that is, the great cupola, not of the church,
but of the city, its only discernible part, cutting, like a huge peak,
into the dear winter sky, and the long journey was ended, and ended by
the full realization of well-cherished hopes."
Most travellers, perhaps, in the old days came by sea from Marseilles
and arrived from Civita Vecchia, by the dreary road which leads through
Palo, and near the base of the hills upon which stands Cervetri, the
ancient Cære, from the junction of whose name and customs the word
"ceremony" has arisen,--so especially useful in the great neighbouring
city. "This road from Civita Vecchia," writes Miss Edwards, the talented
authoress of 'Barbara's History,' "lies among shapeless hillocks, shaggy
with bush and briar. Far away on one side gleams a line of soft blue
sea--on the other lie mountains as blue, but not more distant. Not a
sound stirs the stagnant air. Not a tree, not a housetop, breaks the
wide monotony. The dust lies beneath the wheels like a carpet, and
follows like a cloud. The grass is yellow, the weeds are parched; and
where there have been wayside pools, the ground is cracked and dry. Now
we pass a crumbling fragment of something that may have been a tomb or
temple, centuries ago. Now we come upon a little wide-eyed peasant boy,
keeping goats among the ruins, like Giotto of old. Presently a buffalo
lifts his black mane above the neighbouring hillock, and rushes away
before we can do more than point to the spot on which we saw it. Thus
the day attains its noon, and the sun hangs overhead like a brazen
shield, brilliant, but cold. Thus, too, we reach the brow of a long and
steep ascent, where our driver pulls up to rest his weary beasts. The
sea has now faded almost out of sight; the mountains look larger and
nearer, with streaks of snow upon their summits, the Campagna reaches on
and on and shows no sign of limit or of verdure,--while, in the midst of
the clear air, half way, so it would seem, between you and the purple
Sabine range, rises one solemn solitary dome. Can it be the dome of St.
Peter's?"
The great feature of the Civita Vecchia route was that after all the
utter desolation and dreariness of many miles of the least interesting
part of the Campagna, the traveller was almost stunned by the
transition, when on suddenly passing the Porta Cavalleggieri, he found
himself in the Piazza, of St. Peter's, with its wide-spreading
colonnades, and high-springing fountains; indeed the first building he
saw was St. Peter's, the first house that of the Pope, the palace of the
Vatican. But the more gradual approach by land from Viterbo and Tuscany
possessed equal if not superior interest.
"When we turned the summit above Viterbo," wrote Dr. Arnold, "and opened
on the view on the other side, it might be called the first approach to
Rome. At the distance of more than forty miles, it was of course
impossible to see the town, and besides the distance was hazy; but we
were looking on the scene of the Roman history; we were standing on the
outward edge of the frame of the great picture, and though the features
of it were not to be traced distinctly, yet we had the consciousness
that they were before us. Here, too, we first saw the Mediterranean, the
Alban hills, I think, in the remote distance, and just beneath us, on
the left, Soracte, an outlier of the Apennines, which has got to the
right bank of the Tiber, and stands out by itself most magnificently.
Close under us in front, was the Ciminian lake, the crater of an extinct
volcano, surrounded as they all are, with their basin of wooded hills,
and lying like a beautiful mirror stretched out before us. Then there
was the grand beauty of Italian scenery, the depth of the valleys, the
endless variety of the mountain outline, and the towns perched upon the
mountain summits, and this now seen under a mottled sky, which threw an
ever-varying light and shadow over the valley beneath, and all the
freshness of the young spring. We descended along one of the rims of
this lake to Ronciglione, and from thence, still descending on the
whole, to Monterosi. Here the famous Campagna begins, and it certainly
is one of the most striking tracts of country I ever beheld. It is by no
means a perfect flat, except between Rome and the sea; but rather like
the Bagshot Heath country, ridges of hills with intermediate valleys,
and the road often running between high steep banks, and sometimes
crossing sluggish streams sunk in a deep bed. All these banks are
overgrown with broom, now in full flower; and the same plant was
luxuriant everywhere. There seemed no apparent reason why the country
should be so desolate; the grass was growing richly everywhere. There
was no marsh anywhere visible, but all looked as fresh and healthy as
any of our chalk downs in England. But it is a wide wilderness; no
villages, scarcely any houses, and here and there a lonely ruin of a
single square tower, which I suppose used to serve as strongholds for
men and cattle in the plundering warfare in the middle ages. It was
after crowning the top of one of these lines of hills, a little on the
Roman side of Baccano, at five minutes after six, according to my watch,
that we had the first view of Rome itself. I expected to see St. Peter's
rising above the line of the horizon, as York Minster does, but instead
of that, it was within the horizon, and so was much less conspicuous,
and from the nature of the ground, it looked mean and stumpy. Nothing
else marked the site of the city, but the trees of the gardens and a
number of white villas specking the opposite bank of the Tiber for some
little distance above the town, and then suddenly ceasing. But the whole
scene that burst upon our view, when taken in all its parts, was most
interesting. Full in front rose the Alban hills, the white villas on
their sides distinctly visible, even at that distance, which was more
than thirty miles. On the left were the Apennines, and Tivoli was
distinctly to be seen on the summit of its mountain, on one of the
lowest and nearest parts of the chain. On the right and all before us
lay the Campagna, whose perfectly level outline was succeeded by that of
the sea, which was scarcely more so. It began now to get dark, and as
there is hardly any twilight, it was dark soon after we left La Storta,
the last post before you enter Rome. The air blew fresh and cool, and we
had a pleasant drive over the remaining part of the Campagna, till we
descended into the valley of the Tiber, and crossed it by the Milvian
bridge. About two miles further on we reached the walls of Rome, and
entered it by the Porta del Popolo."
Niebuhr coming the same way says:--"It was with solemn feelings that
this morning from the barren heights of the moory Campagna, I first
caught sight of the cupola of St. Peter's, and then of the city from the
bridge, where all the majesty of her buildings and her history seems to
lie spread out before the eye of the stranger; and afterwards entered by
the Porta del Popolo."
Madame de Staël gives us the impression which the same subject would
produce on a different type of character:--
"Le comte d'Erfeuil faisait de comiques lamentations sur les environs de
Rome. Quoi, disait-il, point de maison de campagne, point de voiture,
rien qui annonce le voisinage d'une grande ville! Ah! bon Dieu, quelle
tristesse! En approchant de Rome, les postillons s'écrièrent avec
transport: _Voyez, voyez, c'est la coupole de Saint-Pierre!_ Les
Napolitains montrent aussi le Vésuve; et la mer fait de même l'orgueil
des habitans des côtes. On croirait voir le dôme des Invalides, s'écria
le comte d'Erfeuil."
It was by this approach that most of its distinguished pilgrims have
entered the capital of the Catholic world: monks, who came hither to
obtain the foundation of their Orders; saints, who thirsted to worship
at the shrines of their predecessors, or who came to receive the crown
of martyrdom; priests and bishops from distant lands,--many coming in
turn to receive here the highest dignity which Christendom could offer;
kings and emperors, to ask coronation at the hands of the reigning
pontiff; and among all these, came by this road, in the full fervour of
Catholic enthusiasm, Martin Luther, the future enemy of Rome, then its
devoted adherent. "When Luther came to Rome," says Ampère, in his
'Portraits de Rome à Divers Ages,' "the future reformer was a young
monk, obscure and fervent; he had no presentiment, when he set foot in
the great Babylon, that ten years later he would burn the bull of the
Pope in the public square of Wittenberg. His heart experienced nothing
but pious emotions; he addressed to Rome in salutation the ancient hymn
of the pilgrims; he cried, 'I salute thee, O holy Rome, Rome venerable
through the blood and the tombs of the martyrs.' But after having
prostrated on the threshold, he raised himself, he entered into the
temple, he did not find the God he looked for; the city of the saints
and martyrs was a city of murderers and prostitutes. The arts which
marked this corruption were powerless over the stolid senses, and
scandalised the austere spirit of the German monk; he scarcely gave a
passing glance at the ruins of pagan Rome;--and inwardly horrified by
all that he saw, he quitted Rome in a frame of mind very different from
that which he brought with him; he knelt then with the devotion of the
pilgrims, now he returned in a disposition like that of the _frondeurs_
of the Middle Ages, but more serious than theirs. This Rome of which he
had been the dupe, and concerning which he was disabused, should hear of
him again; the day would come when, amid the merry toasts at his table,
he would cry three times, 'I would not have missed going to Rome for a
thousand florins, for I should always have been uneasy lest I should
have been rendering injustice to the Pope.'"
When one is in Rome life seems to be free from many of the petty
troubles which beset it in other places; there is no foreign town which
offers so many comforts and advantages to its English visitors. The
hotels, indeed, are enormously expensive, and the rent of apartments is
high; but when the latter is once paid, living is rather cheap than
otherwise, especially for those who do not object to dine from a
_trattoria_, and to drive in hackney carriages.
The climate of Rome is very variable. If the _sirocco_ blows, it is mild
and very relaxing; but the winters are more apt to be subject to the
severe cold of the _tramontana_, which requires even greater precaution
and care than that of an English winter. Nothing can be more mistaken
than the impression that those who go to Italy are sure to find there a
mild and congenial temperature. The climate of Rome has been subject to
severity, even from the earliest times of its history. Dionysius speaks
of one year in the time of the republic when the snow at Rome lay seven
feet deep, and many men and cattle died of the cold.[1] Another year,
the snow lay for forty days, trees perished, and cattle died of
hunger.[2] Present times are a great improvement on these: snow seldom
lies upon the ground for many hours together, and the beautiful
fountains of the city are only hung with icicles long enough to allow
the photographers to represent them thus; but still the climate is not
to be trifled with, and violent transitions from the hot sunshine to the
cold shade of the streets often prove fatal. "No one but dogs and
Englishmen," say the Romans, "ever walk in the sun."
The _malaria_, which is so much dreaded by the natives, lies dormant
during the winter months, and seldom affects strangers, unless they are
inordinately imprudent in sitting out in the sunset. With the heats of
the late summer this insidious ague-fever is apt to follow on the
slightest exertion, and particularly to overwhelm those who are employed
in field labour. From June to November the Villa Borghese and the Villa
Doria are uninhabitable, and the more deserted hills--the Cœlian, the
Aventine, and the greater part of the Esquiline,--are a constant prey to
fever. The malaria, however, flies before a crowd of human life, and the
Ghetto, which teems with inhabitants, is perfectly free from it. In the
Campagna,--with the exception of Porto d'Anzio, which has always been
healthy,--no town or village is safe after the month of August, and to
this cause the utter desolation of so many formerly populous sites
(especially those of Veii and Galera) may be attributed:--
"Roma, vorax hominum, domat ardua colla virorum;
Roma, ferax febrium, necis est uberrima frugum:
Romanæ febres stabili sunt jure fideles."
Thus wrote Peter Damian in the 10th century, and those who refuse to be
on their guard will find it so still.
The greatest risk at Rome is incurred by those who, coming out of the
hot sunshine, spend long hours in the Vatican and the other galleries,
which are filled with a deadly chill during the winter months. As March
comes on this chill wears away, and in April and May the temperature of
the galleries is delightful, and it is impossible to find a more
agreeable retreat. It is in the hope of inducing strangers to spend more
time in the study of these wonderful museums, and of giving additional
interest to the hours which are passed there, that so much is said about
their contents in these volumes. As far as possible it has been desired
to evade any mere catalogue of their collections,--so that no mention
has been made of objects which possess inferior artistic or historical
interest; while by introducing anecdotes connected with those to which
attention is drawn, or by quoting the opinion of some good authority
concerning them, an endeavour has been made to fix them in the
recollection.
So much has been written about Rome, that in quoting from the remarks of
others the great difficulty has been selection,--and the rule has been
followed that the most learned books are not always the most instructive
or the most interesting. No endeavour has been made to enter into deep
archæological questions,--to define the exact limits of the Walls of
Servius Tullius,--or to hazard a fresh opinion as to how the earth
accumulated in the Roman Forum, or whence the pottery came, out of which
the Monte Testaccio has arisen; but it has rather been sought to gather
up and present to the reader such a succession of word pictures from
various authors, as may not only make the scenes of Rome more
interesting at the time, but may deepen their impression afterwards.
This was the work which the late illustrious M. Ampère intended to carry
out, and which he would have done so much better and more fully.
From the experience of many years the writer can truly say that the more
intimately these scenes become known, the more deeply they become
engraven upon the inmost affections. Rome, as Goethe truly says, "is a
world, and it takes years to find oneself at home in it." It is not a
hurried visit to the Coliseum, with guide book and cicerone, which will
enable one to drink in the fulness of its beauty; but a long and
familiar friendship with its solemn walls, in the ever-varying grandeur
of golden sunlight and grey shadow--till, after many days'
companionship, its stones become dear as those of no other building ever
can be;--and it is not a rapid inspection of the huge cheerless
basilicas and churches, with their gaudy marbles and gilded ceilings and
ill-suited monuments, which arouses your sympathy; but the long
investigation of their precious fragments of ancient cloister, and
sculptured fountain,--of mouldering fresco, and mediæval tomb,--of
mosaic-crowned gateway, and palm-shadowed garden;--and the
gradually-acquired knowledge of the wondrous story which clings around
each of these ancient things, and which tells how each has a motive and
meaning entirely unsuspected and unseen by the passing eye.
The immense extent of Rome, and the wide distances to be traversed
between its different ruins and churches, is in itself a sufficient
reason for devoting more time to it than to the other cities of Italy.
Surprise will doubtless be felt that so few pagan ruins remain,
considering the enormous number which are known to have existed even
down to a comparatively late period. A monumental record of A.D. 540,
published by Cardinal Mai, mentions 324 streets, 2 capitols--the
Tarpeian and that on the Quirinal,--80 gilt statues of the gods (only
the Hercules remains), 66 ivory statues of the gods, 46,608 houses,
17,097 palaces, 13,052 fountains, 3785 statues of emperors and generals
in bronze, 22 great equestrian statues of bronze (only Marcus Aurelius
remains), 2 colossi (Marcus Aurelius and Trajan), 9026 baths, 31
theatres, and 8 amphitheatres!
It is impossible to speak too highly of the facilities afforded to
strangers for seeing and enjoying everything, especially by the Roman
nobility. The beautiful grounds of the Villa Borghese and the Villa
Doria appear to be kept up at an enormous expense, solely for the use
and pleasure of the public, and almost all the palaces and collections
are thrown open on fixed days with unequalled liberality. In almost all
these galleries, museums, and gardens the stranger is permitted to
wander about and linger as he pleases, entirely unmolested by officious
servants and ignorant _ciceroni_.
Those will enjoy Rome most who have studied it thoroughly before leaving
their own homes. In the multiplicity of engagements in which a foreigner
is soon involved, there is little time for historical research, and few
are able to do more than "read up their Murray," so that half the
pleasure and all the advantage of a visit to Rome are thrown away: while
those who arrive with the foundation already prepared, easily and
naturally acquire, amid the scenes around which the history of the world
revolved, an amount of information which will be astonishing even to
themselves. "People out of Rome," says Goethe, "have no idea how one is
_schooled_ there;" but then, as the author of 'Vera' remarks, "that is
true of Rome, which Madame Swetchine said of life, viz. that you find
exactly what you put into it."
The pagan monuments of Rome have been written of and discussed ever
since they were built, and the catacombs have lately found historians
and guides both able and willing,--about the later Christian monuments
far less has hitherto been said. In English, except in the immense
collection of interest which is imbedded in the works of Hemans, and in
the few beautiful notices of some of the early martyrs by Mrs. Jameson,
very little has been written; in French there is far more. There is a
natural shrinking in the English Protestant mind from all that is
connected with the story of the saints,--especially the later saints of
the Roman Catholic Church. Many believe, with Addison, "that the
Christian antiquities are so embroiled in fable and legend, that one
derives but little satisfaction from searching into them." And yet, as
Mrs. Jameson observes, when all that the controversialist can desire is
taken away from the reminiscences of those, who to the Roman Catholic
mind have consecrated the homes of their earthly life, how much
remains!--"so much to awaken, to elevate, to touch the heart;--so much
that will not fade from the memory, so much that may make a part of our
after-life."
No attempt has been made in these pages to describe the country round
Rome, beyond a few of the most ordinary drives and excursions outside
the walls. The opening of the railways to Naples and Civita Vecchia have
now brought a vast variety of new excursions within the range of a
day's expedition--and the papal citadel of Anagni, the temples of Cori,
the cyclopean remains of Segni, Alatri, Norba, Cervetri, and Corneto,
and the wild heights of Soracte, will probably ere long become as well
known as the oft-visited Tivoli, Ostia, and Albano. It is intended to
supplement these "Walks in Rome" by a similar volume of "Excursions
round Rome."
CHAPTER I.
DULL-USEFUL INFORMATION.
_Hotels._--For passing travellers or bachelors, the best are: Hotel
d'Angleterre, Bocca di Leone; Hotel de Rome, Corso. For families,
or for a long residence: Hotel des Iles Britanniques, Piazza del
Popolo; Hotel de Russie (close to the last), Via Babuino; Hotel de
Londres, and Hotel Europa, Piazza di Spagna; Hotel Costanzi, Via S.
Nicolo in Tolentino, in a high airy situation towards the
railway-station, and very comfortable and well managed, but further
from the sights of Rome. Less expensive, are: Hotel d'Allemagne,
Via Condotti; Hotel Vittoria, Via Due Macelli; Hotel d'Italie, Via
Quattro Fontane; Hotel della Pace, 8 Via Felice; Hotel Minerva,
Piazza della Minerva, very near the Pantheon. A large new hotel is
the "Quirinale," in the Via Nazionale.
_Pensions_ are much wanted in Rome. The best are those of Miss
Smith and Madame Tellenbach, in the Piazza di Spagna; Pension Suez,
Via S. Nicolo in Tolentino; and the small Hotel du Sud, in the Capo
le Case.
_Apartments_ have lately greatly increased in price. An apartment
for a very small family in one of the best situations can seldom be
obtained for less than 300 to 500 francs a month. The English
almost all prefer to reside in the neighbourhood of the Piazza di
Spagna. The best situations are the sunny side of the Piazza
itself, the Trinità de' Monti, the Via Gregoriana, and Via Sistina.
Less good situations are, the Corso, Via Condotti, Via Due Macelli,
Via Frattina, Capo le Case, Via Felice, Via Quattro Fontane, Via
Babuino, and Via delle Croce,--in which last, however, are many
very good apartments. On the other side of the Corso suites of
rooms are much less expensive, but they are less convenient for
persons who make a short residence in Rome. In many of the palaces
are large apartments which are let by the year.
_Trattorie_ (Restaurants) send out dinners to families in
apartments in a tin box with a stove, for which the bearer calls
the next morning. A dinner for six francs ought to be amply
sufficient for three persons, and to leave enough for luncheon the
next day. _Restaurants_ where luncheons or dinners may be obtained
upon the spot, are those of Bedeau, Via della Croce, and Nazzari,
Piazza di Spagna. Those who wish for a real Roman dinner of
Porcupine, Hedgehog, and other such delicacies, find it at the
Falcone, where Ariosto used to lodge when in Rome.
_English Church._--Just outside the Porta del Popolo, on the left.
Services at 9 A.M., 11 A.M., and 3 P.M. on Sundays; daily service
twice on week-days. The _American Church_ is in the same building,
with an entrance further on.
_Post Office._--In the Piazza Colonna. The English mail leaves
daily at 8 P.M.
_Telegraph Office._--121 Piazza Monte-Citorio. A telegraph of 20
words to England, including name and address, costs 11 francs.
_Bankers._--Hooker, 20 Piazza di Spagna; Macbean, 378 Corso;
Plowden, 50 Via Mercede; Spada and Flamini, 20 Via Condotti.
_For sending Boxes to England._--Welby, Strada Papala. (His agents
in London, Messrs. Scott, 11 King William St.)
_English Doctors._--Dr. Grigor, 3 Pa di Spagna; Dr. Small, 56 Via
Babuino; Dr. Gason, 82 Via della Croce. _German_: Dr. Taussig, 144
Via Babuino. _American_: Dr. Gould, 107 Via Babuino. _Italian_: Dr.
Valeri, 138 Via Babuino.
_Homœopathic Doctor._--Dr. Liberali, 69 Via della Frezza.
_Dentist._--Dr. Parmby, 93 Piazza di Spagna.
_Sick-nurses._--Mrs. Meyer, 44 Via delle Carozze; the Nuns of the
Bon-Secours at the convent in the Via del Banchi.
_Chemists._--English Pharmacy, 498 Corso; Sininberghi, 134 Via
Frattina; and Borioni, Via Babuino, are those usually employed by
the English; but the chemists' shops in the Corso are as good, and
much less expensive.
_English House Agent._--Shea, 11 Piazza di Spagna.
_English Livery Stables._--Jarrett, 3 Piazza del Popolo; Ranucci, Vicolo
Aliberti.
_Circulating Library._--Piale, 1, 2, Piazza di Spagna.
_Booksellers._--Monaldini, Piazza di Spagna; Spithover, Piazza di
Spagna; Bocca, 216 Corso; Loesther, 346 Corso.
_Italian Masters._--Vannini, 31 Via Condotti (in the summer at the Bagni
di Lucca); Monachesi (a Roman), 8 Via S. Sebastianello; Gordini, 374
Corso; N. Lucantini, 17 Via della Stamperia.
_Photographers.--For views of Rome._--Watson, Via Babuino; Macpherson,
12 Vicolo Aliberti; Mang, 104 Via Felice; Anderson (his photographs sold
at Spithover's); Joseph Phelps, 169 Via Babuino; Maggi, 329 Corso. _For
Artistic Bits_, very much to be recommended, De Bonis, 11 Via Felice.
_For Portraits_.--Suscipi, 48 Via Condotti (the best for medallions);
Alessandri, 12 Corso (excellent for Cartes de Visite); Lais, 57 Via del
Campo-Marzo; Ferretti, 50 Via Sta. Maria in Via.
_Drawing Materials._--Dovizelli, 136 Via Babuino; Corteselli, 150 Via
Felice. For commoner articles and stationery, the "Cartoleria," 214
Corso, opposite the Piazza Colonna.
_Engravings._--At the Stamperia Nazionale (fixed prices), 6 Via della
Stamperia, near the fountain of Trevi.
_Antiquities._--Depoletti, 31 Via Fontanella Borghese; Innocenti, 118
Via Frattina; Santelli, 141 Via Frattina; Capobianchi, 152 Via Babuino.
_Bronzes._--Röhrich, 104 Via Sistina; Chiapanelli, 92 Via Babuino;
Dressler, 17 Via Due Macelli.
_Cameos._--Saulini, 96 Via Babuino; Neri, 72 Via Babuino.
_Mosaics._--Rinaldi, 125 Via Babuino; Boschetti, 74 Via Condotti.
_Jewellers._--Castellani, 88 Via Poli (closed from 12 to 1), very
beautiful, but very expensive; Pierret, 20 Piazza di Spagna; Innocenti,
33 Piazza Trinità de' Monti.
_Roman Pearls._--Rey, 122 Via Babuino; Lacchini, 70 Via Condotti.
_Bookbinder._--Olivieri, 1 Via Frattina.
_Engraver._--(For visiting cards, &c.), Martelli, 139 Via Frattina.
_Tailors._--Mattina (the "Poole" of Rome), Corso, opposite S. Carlo,
entrance 2 Via delle Carozze; Vai, 60 Piazza di Spagna; Reanda, 61
Piazza. S. Apostoli; Evert, 77 Piazza Borghese.
_Shoemakers._--Rubini, 223 Corso (none good).
_Dressmaker._--Clarisse, 166 Corso.
_Shops for Ladies' Dress._--Massoni, Palazzo Simonetti; the Ville de
Lyon, 48 Via dei Prefetti (behind S. Lorenzo in Lucina); Sebastiani, 8
Via del Campo-Marzo; Giovannetti, 50 to 53 Campo-Marzo.
_Roman Ribbons and Shawls._--Arvotti, 66 Piazza Madama (fixed prices);
Bianchi, 82 Via della Minerva.
_Gloves._--Cremonesi, 420 Corso; 4 Piazza S. Lorenzo in Lucina.
_Carpets and small Household Articles._--Cagiati, 250 Corso.
_German Baker._--Colalucci, 88 Via della Croce (excellent).
_English Grocer._--Lowe, 76 Piazza di Spagna.
_Italian Grocer and Wine Merchant._--Giacosa, Via della Maddalena.
_Oil, Candles and Wood, &c._--Luigioni, 70 Piazza di Spagna.
_English Dairy._--Palmegiani, 66 Piazza di Spagna.
_Artists' Studios._--
Benonville, 61 Via Babuino,--landscapes.
Brennan, 76 Via Borghetto.
Coleman, 16 Via dei Zucchelli,--very good for animals.
Corrodi, 25 Angelo-Custode,--water-colour landscapes, very highly finished.
Desoulavy, 33 Via Margutta,--landscapes.
Fattorini, Via Margutta,--a very beautiful copyist.
Flatz, 3 Mario di Fiori,--sacred subjects.
Haseltine, J. H., 59 Via Babuino.
*Joris, 33 Via Margutta,--quite first-rate for figure subjects
in water-colour.
Garelli, 217 Ripetta,--an admirable copyist, generally to be found
in the Capitoline Gallery.
*Glennie, 17 Piazza Margana,--water-colour, first-rate.
Knebel, 33 Via Margutta,--oil landscapes.
Maes, 33 Via Margutta.
*Marianecci, 53 Via Margutta,--the prince of copyists.
Muller, 60 Piazza Barberini,--water-colour landscapes.
Podesti, 55 Via Margutta,--oil: large historical and sacred subjects.
Poingdestre, 36 Vicolo dei Greci--oil: landscapes.
Buchanan Read, 55 Via Margutta.
*Rivière, 36 Vicolo dei Greci,--water-colour.
De Sanctis, 33 Via Margutta.
Strutt (Arthur), 81 Via della Croce,--landscapes and figures,
both oil and water-colour.
Tapiro (Spanish), 72 Sistina,--admirable for figures.
Tilton, 20 Via S. Basilio,--remarkable for his drawings of the Nile.
Vertunni, 53 Via Margutta.
Wedder, 55A Via Margutta.
*Penry Williams, 12 Piazza Mignanelli.
* * * * *
_Sculptors' Studios._--
D'Epinay, 57 Via Sistina.
Fabj-Altini, 4 S. Nicolo in Tolentino.
Miss Foley, 53 Via Margutta,--admirable for medallion portraits and
busts, also the author of a beautiful fountain.
*Miss Hosmer, 118 Via Margutta--(Gibson's studio).
Miss Lewis, 8 Via S. Nicolo in Tolentino.
Macdonald, 7 Piazza Barberini.
Rosetti, 55 Via Margutta.
Story, 2 Via S. Nicolo in Tolentino.
Tadolini, 150A Via Babuino.
Wood (Shakspeare), 504 Corso,--excels in medallion portraits.
Wood (Warrington), 7 Piazza Trinità de' Monti.
It is impossible for a traveller who spends only a week or ten days in
Rome to see a tenth part of the sights which it contains. Perhaps the
most important objects are:
_Churches._--S. Peter's, S. John Lateran, Sta. Maria Maggiore, S.
Lorenzo fuori Mura, S. Paoli fuori Mura, S. Agnese fuori Mura, Ara
Cœli, S. Clemente, S. Pietro in Montorio, S. Pietro in Vincoli,
Sta. Sabina, Sta. Prassede and Sta. Pudentiana, S. Gregorio, S.
Stefano Rotondo, Sta. Maria sopra Minerva, Sta. Maria del Popolo.
_Palaces._--Vatican, Capitol, Borghese, Barberini (and, if
possible, Corsini, Colonna, Sciarra, Rospigliosi, and Spada).
_Villas._--Albani, Doria, Borghese, Wolkonski, and, though less
important, Ludovisi.
_Ruins._--Palace of the Cæsars, Temples in Forum, Coliseum, and, if
possible, the ruins in the Ghetto, and the Baths of Caracalla.
It is desirable for the traveller who is pressed for time to apply at
once to his Banker for orders for any of the villas for which they are
necessary. The following scheme will give a good general idea of Rome
and its neighbourhood in a few days. The sights printed in italics can
only be seen on the days to which they are ascribed:--
_Monday._--General view of Capitol, Gallery of Sculpture, Ara
Cœli, General view of Forum, Coliseum, St. John Lateran (with
cloisters), and drive out to the Via Latina and the aqueducts at
Tavolato.
_Tuesday._--Morning: St. Peter's and the Vatican Stanze. Afternoon:
_Villa Albani_, St. Agnese, and drive to the Ponte Nomentana.
_Wednesday._--Go to Tivoli (the Cascades, Cascatelle, and Villa
d'Este).
_Thursday._--Morning: _Palace of the Cæsars._ Afternoon: drive on
the Via Appia as far as Torre Mezzo Strada; in returning, see the
Baths of Caracalla.
_Friday._--Morning: Palazzo Borghese, Palazzo Spada, The Ghetto,
The Temple of Vesta, cross the Ponte Rotto to Sta. Cecilia; and end
in the afternoon at St. Pietro in Montorio and the _Villa Doria_
(or on Monday).
_Saturday._--Frascati and Albano. Drive to Frascati early, take
donkeys, by Rocca di Papa to Mte. Cavo; take luncheon at the
Temple, and return by Palazzuolo and the upper and lower Galleries
to Albano, whither the carriage should be sent on to await you at
the Hotel de Russie. Drive back to Rome in the evening.
_Sunday._--Morning: Sta. Maria del Popolo on way to English Church.
Afternoon: St. Peter's again; drive to Monte Mario (Villa Mellini),
or in the Villa Borghese, and end with the Pincio.
_2d Monday._--Morning: Sta. Prassede, Sta. Pudentiana, Sta. Maria
Maggiore. Afternoon: Sta. Sabina, Priorato Garden, English
Cemetery, S. Paolo, and the Tre Fontane.
_2d Tuesday._--Morning: Vatican Sculptures. Afternoon: S. Gregorio,
S. Stefano Rotondo, S. Clemente, S. Pietro in Vincoli, Sta. Maria
degli Angeli, S. Lorenzo fuori Mura, and drive out to the Torre dei
Schiavi, returning by the Porta Maggiore.
_2d Wednesday._--Morning: Palazzo Barberini, _Palazzo Rospigliosi_,
(and on Saturdays) Vatican Pictures. Afternoon: Forum in detail,
SS. Cosmo and Damian, and ascend the Coliseum.
* * * * *
The following list may be useful as a guide to some of the best subjects
for artists who wish to draw at Rome, and have not much time to search
for themselves:--
_Morning Light_:
Temple of Vesta with the fountain.
Arch of Constantine from the Coliseum (early).
Coliseum from behind Sta. Francesca Romana (early).
Temples in the Forum from the School of Xanthus.
View from the Garden of the Rupe Tarpeia.
In the Garden of S. Giovanni e Paolo.
In the Garden of S. Buonaventura.
In the Garden of the S. Bartolomeo in Isola.
In the Garden of S. Onofrio.
On the Tiber from Poussin's Walk.
From the door of the Villa Medici.
At S. Cosimato.
At the back entrance of Ara Cœli.
At the Portico of Octavia.
Looking to the Arch of Titus up the Via Sacra.
In the Cloister of the Lateran.
In the Cloister of the Certosa.
Near the Temple of Bacchus.
On the Via Appia, beyond Cecilia Metella.
Torre Mezza Strada on the Via Appia.
Torre Nomentana, looking to the mountains.
Ponte Nomentana, looking to the Mons Sacer.
Torre dei Schiavi, looking towards Tivoli.
Aqueducts at Tavolato.
_Evening Light_:
From St. John Lateran.
From the Ponte Rotto.
From the Terrace of the Villa Doria (St. Peter's).
Palace of the Cæsars--Roman side--looking to Sta. Balbina.
Palace of the Cæsars--French side--looking to the Coliseum.
Apse of S. Giovanni e Paolo.
Near the Navicella.
Garden of the Villa Mattei.
Garden of the Villa Wolkonski.
Garden of the Priorato.
Porta S. Lorenzo.
Torre dei Schiavi, looking towards Rome.
Via Latina, looking towards the Aqueducts.
Via Latina, looking towards Rome.
The months of November and December are the best for drawing. The
colouring is then magnificent; it is enhanced by the tints of the
decaying vegetation, and the shadows are strong and clear. January is
generally cold for sitting out, and February wet; and before the end of
March the vegetation is often so far advanced that the Alban Hills,
which have retained glorious sapphire and amethyst tints all winter,
change into commonplace green English downs; while the Campagna, from
the crimson and gold of its dying thistles and fenochii, becomes a
lovely green plain waving with flowers.
Foreigners are much too apt to follow the native custom of driving
constantly in the Villa Borghese, the Villa Doria, and on the Pincio,
and getting out to walk there during their drives. For those who do not
care always to see the human world, a delightful variety of drives can
be found; and it is a most agreeable plan for invalids, without
carriages of their own, to take a "course to the Parco di San Gregorio,"
or to the sunny avenues near the Lateran, and walk there instead of on
the Pincio. A carriage for the return may almost always be found in the
Forum or at the Lateran.