XII.

_ROME._

WE had about a month previously taken rooms in Madame Tellenbach’s

Pension for the 15th of March, but at her suggestion, as the weather

had been cold and wet, had given them up. We obtained quarters in the

Hotel de Londres, on the opposite side of the Piazza di Spagna. This is

a large open space, in what is considered to be the strangers’ quarter,

and most of the principal hotels are in it, or in its neighbourhood. It

is very necessary to be cautious where one sleeps in Rome, and we heard

that cases of fever had happened even in some of what are considered

the best hotels. It is said that it is not desirable to have rooms

immediately under the Pincian Hill; while, oddly enough also, it is

believed that the most healthy localities are those in which the houses

and their inhabitants are most crowded, as in the Ghetto. I cannot

vouch for either of these theories. After being two nights in the Hotel

de Londres, we procured rooms in Madame Tellenbach’s. There are some

advantages attaching to a house of this description in a place like

Rome; principally because the people mingle more sociably together than

in an hotel, arising, I suppose, from the lady of the house sitting

at table and introducing her guests to each other. It is also less

expensive than an hotel. It cost me from 4 to 5 francs per day for each

of my party more at the hotel than at the pension, the difference

necessarily being more or less according to circumstances, and

especially according to the rooms taken in the one and in the other.

But it must be admitted that there is a certain amount of additional

comfort, tidiness, and appearance, which are usually obtained at an

hotel, which a little judicious expenditure in a pension might secure.

And for a short visit the hotel is, in any view, preferable.

Those who intend to spend the winter in Rome can, if they so desire,

procure lodgings; and sometimes they can be obtained at a moderate

rate. A friend had (winter 1878–79) for six months a suite of rooms

(two public and three bed rooms) neatly furnished, in a good street

near the Piazza di Spagna, for 320 francs per month, service included.

The rooms, however, were on the fourth _piano_ or storey, and on a

lower floor would have been greatly more. But in Rome, as in Italian

towns generally, it is an advantage to be high up; and, indeed, one

may toil up a long stair, as we have done, and find an excellent

private dwelling on the top floor; for many of the houses in Rome

resemble the ‘tenements’ or ‘lands’ so common in Scotland, divided into

‘flats,’—that is, a separate dwelling on each floor, and communicating

with the street by a common stair.

* * * * *

The Piazza di Spagna is a very convenient central position for all

parts of Rome, and it is filled with carriages for hire—both landaus

with two horses, and little carriages with one horse, principally the

latter. None of the horses look very strong, but they go actively

about. Carriage fares are moderate, a course in a one–horse carriage

being 80 centimes, with 20 centimes extra for each passenger beyond

two; nor is _buono mano_ (drink money) expected. Per hour, the charge

is 1 franc 70 centimes for one horse, and 2 francs 20 centimes for two

(scarcely 2s.). It is well that fares are so moderate, because Rome is

a place where people are cautioned not to fatigue themselves by much

walking.

* * * * *

We were fortunate enough to get into good genial weather, with the

exception of an occasional shower, and remained in Rome at this time

for nine or ten days, when we went to Naples, and on our return spent

about a fortnight longer. Both visits combined made but a short period

in which to see all that is to be seen in Rome; but we did see (in a

general way) a great deal in that time, which it would be impossible

for me to describe fully in small compass. My object here is not to

describe in detail, or to furnish the information which may be had in

guide–books, or in more important works, and particularly in such books

as Hare’s _Walks in Rome_, which is a most exhaustive guide to all that

can be seen, or Sir George Head’s _Rome, A Tour of Many Days_, which,

in three volumes, furnishes very full accounts of everything; it is

simply to give a mere outline of some places we saw, so as to offer a

general idea of them, and be as hints to those who visit the old city.

Photographs and engravings have made all the important objects familiar

to the eye.

Some people set about the seeing of sights in Rome in a very

methodical, systematic manner, and so as to ensure their missing

nothing, planning minutely each night what is to be done next day. This

exhaustive method of ‘doing’ Rome is calculated rather to make a toil

of a pleasure; but some degree of pre–arrangement is necessary, so as

to economize time and to see as much as possible without weariness.

Having decided where to go, we usually after breakfast engaged a

carriage by the hour, or, if desirous of seeing a gallery of paintings

or a palace, which would consume an hour, drove to the place, dismissed

the cab, and on leaving took the first vacant one at the door. In the

city itself there is no difficulty in at once procuring one anywhere.

But in the outskirts they are not so easily found. This difficulty

happened once to ourselves, on occasion of visiting St. John in

Lateran. Having in view to see the church, museum, baptistery, Santa

Scala, and other neighbouring places, which would take at least two

hours, we unluckily dismissed our carriage, and when we left had to

walk some distance before obtaining another to take us back to town.

* * * * *

Our first day in Rome was a Sunday. We readily found the Presbyterian

or Scotch church just outside the Porto del Popolo. It is a large,

airy, nice place of worship. The climate of Rome, however, does not

suit every one, and may produce weakness or develop what is latent. We

met at Mentone, in the following winter, an esteemed Scotch clergyman,

who ascribed debility to having in a previous year had three months’

duty in Rome. He had never, he said, been in good health since.

* * * * *

Next morning we drove to St. Peter’s, which is generally the first

object of attraction to the visitor. The way to it leads through narrow

insignificant streets till the Ponte St. Angelo be reached. This bridge

across the Tiber is decorated on each side parapet with five white

marble statues, looking very black with exposure to the weather. The

Tiber rolls below, yellow, muddy, and unalluring, and is in breadth

between 300 and 400 feet, or about one–third the width of the Thames at

Blackfriars Bridge.

The Castle of St. Angelo is one of those marked features of old Rome

which engravings enable us at once to recognise. It was built by

Hadrian as a mausoleum for himself and succeeding emperors, and the

square base of this immense monument covered an acre and a half of

ground. The round tower, which rises from the base, is now 188 feet

in diameter; but it is stripped of its outer case of stone and white

marble, and it no longer possesses what it is believed to have had, a

dome 300 feet high, together with encircling statues. When built, it

was no doubt a monument of the greatest magnificence; but its massive

strength caused it to be for centuries occupied as a fort, and the

successive sieges to which it has been subjected have brought about the

destruction of all its adornment. Its history is to a large extent,

since it was built, the history of the city of Rome, and may be seen

set forth in Mr. Storey’s _Castle of St. Angelo_.

* * * * *

Passing the castle on the right, the Tiber being on the left after

crossing the bridge, the way lies along one of several narrow streets

terminating in the great Piazza San Pietro, so that till the Piazza be

reached St. Peter’s is obscured. It was not without emotion we arrived

in view of this noble building, sending out from it on each side, like

huge arms, imposing colonnades, consisting of no less than 284 columns

each 64 feet high, which enclose so far the Piazza. The Egyptian

obelisk brought to Rome by Caligula has been placed in the centre

of the Piazza, attaining, with its pedestal, a height of 127 feet 6

inches, and yet dwarfed in presence of the great temple, the dome of

which, however, is not well seen from the Piazza, or, indeed, from any

place near. The obelisk is flanked on each side by a large and handsome

fountain always playing, and in windy weather sending a shower of spray

to a considerable distance leeward.

The cab stopped at the bottom of the long flight of steps which led

up to the grand portico, and ascending it, we passed through, and

pushing aside the heavy mat which, as usual in Italian churches,

depends upon the door, looked eagerly in, and were—must I confess

it?—at first disappointed. One expects a great deal, and the magnitude

of the building at first sight did not strike us as so overwhelming. I

suppose this was partly owing to its admirable proportions; but when

we had walked round the interior, the vastness of the structure seemed

to grow upon us, and with every successive visit we felt its solemn

grandeur and majestic harmony impressing more and more. We contented

ourselves on the present occasion with walking round, Bædeker in hand,

studying the plan, and making ourselves familiar with the different

parts. St. Peter’s drew us to it repeatedly afterwards, and as this is

not a journal of visits, I may here simply notice the result of the

impressions which we formed.

* * * * *

This grand edifice, the largest church in Christendom, is in every

respect on a colossal scale. There is nothing paltry about it, unless

it be the statue of St. Peter himself. This is frightfully hideous,

and why it should have been allowed to be set and to remain in a

place where everything is in such good taste, is very extraordinary.

The statue is a sitting one, bolt upright, and holding up two

fingers of the right hand in a stiff manner. The face is ugly, and

certainly has not anything of the Jewish type about it. Every minute

people are seen coming up to kiss the toe of this odious image, the

kissing being performed by all classes of people. I observed how

inconsistent it was with the character of the apostle, who, with

all his forwardness, had a profound consciousness of his own sinful

humanity, and who himself, when ‘Cornelius fell down at his feet

and worshipped him, took him up, saying, Stand up, I myself also

am a man.’ A story goes that a person affected with sore eyes had

gone up and rubbed them upon the toe, and immediately afterwards a

gentleman, ignorant of this remedial operation, coming in, kissed it.

Let us hope he was straightway informed by some charitable onlooker

of what had previously been done, and that the fact opened his eyes

to the grossness of such superstitious idolatry. It is strange that

Peter should be forced into association with Rome, because, as those

who have anxiously investigated the subject consider, there is no

actual proof of the ‘first’ (called) of the apostles ever having been

there. And yet in the Mamertine prison, the place is shown where it

is given out that Peter and Paul were imprisoned; and so far do they

presume on credulity, that a hollow in the wall is actually pointed

out and gravely affirmed to have been made upon it by contact with the

energetic apostle’s head, I suppose during animated discussions with

Paul. If I am not mistaken, it was Adam Smith who left the mark of his

head on the wall paper of the room in which he wrote his _Wealth of

Nations_; but Peter’s head must have been formed of stuff harder and

rougher even than that of his statue, to have hollowed out a hole in

a stone wall. A more wonderful stone, however, is shown in a little

chapel outside the gates, fixed on the floor, where we were gravely

informed, for the charge of, I think, 5 soldi (twopence halfpenny),

that the deep impression of two feet—pretty large ones too—were the

marks of Peter’s feet. This marvellous petrifaction is protected by

an iron grating.[29] To crown all, the dome of St. Peter’s is held to

cover the site of the burial–place of the apostle, and beneath lies

his tomb. Over the supposed tomb and over the high altar attached, at

which only a pope or a cardinal delegate can officiate on important

occasions, a canopy (_baldacchino_) rises ninety–five feet high, to

which, architecturally, exception has been taken. More exception might

be taken to the reality of the place of sepulture. It cannot even be

proved that Peter was put to death at Rome, and is it likely that

his persecutors would allow him to be buried in the spot alleged, or

that any succeeding emperor, supposing he was desirous of removing

the martyr to a place with which he, the apostle of the Jews, had

no peculiar connection, would have been able to have recovered and

identified the body?

* * * * *

The grand central aisle of the cathedral is flanked by colossal

columns, the size of which can hardly be appreciated without actual

measurement or veritable comparison with other known heights. On each

side the aisles, of proportionate size, contain large chapels, one

of which is used for the ordinary services of the Church, which are

chanted by the pope’s choir. Gigantic statues and monuments of popes

adorn the aisles and transept. The altars, as usual, are enriched

by paintings, which at our first visit, being in Lent, were, as in

all the churches at that season, veiled. The altars themselves are

rich, but not obtrusively so—all in quiet keeping with the august

building. In the transept, wooden confessional boxes are set, each

different confessing nation, England included, having one. Looking up

the gigantic dome, we find the walls covered with mosaics. The four

Evangelists occupy a first course, and high above them other figures.

Once a week, Thursday mornings, before ten o’clock, the public are

admitted to ascend the dome, which, to the top of the lantern, is

403 feet high, the extreme height at the summit of the cross being

435 feet. The ascent, which can be made on horseback to the roof, is

extremely interesting, and gives a better idea of the magnitude of the

building than any perambulations below. It is effected by a special

tower situated near the portico. By a gentle slope the passage rises,

winding and winding round this huge tower, along the sides of which

inscriptions, cut in the stone, bear the names of monarchs who have

made the ascent, till, after a long and wearisome progression, the roof

of the cathedral is reached, and stepping out on it we see its great

extent and the gigantic size of the statues, which, having regard to

view from below, are three times the size of life. Walking across the

roof and mounting a few steps, we enter the dome, and get into the

first gallery which encircles it within. Even from this elevation,

gazing down, the people walking on the floor below looked like pigmies.

At this point we were brought into proximity to the mosaics, and

perceived the colossal scale upon which they are constructed. The

Evangelists, who look like life–size below, are found to be of immense

magnitude; and what look like small cherub boys below, are huge giants,

the dimensions of which I would not venture to name, because in St.

Peter’s all computations by the eye are deceptive, and it is only by

referring to actual measurement that sizes can be safely reckoned.

Here also the width of the dome (178 feet) is observable by finding

what a long walk it is round the gallery. A further ascent up narrow

stairs leads to the second gallery over the first and inside the

dome, and from this gallery everything below is still more dwarfed.

Then, by contracted stairs between the inner and outer walls of the

dome, the lantern is gained. It would be a dizzy height were it not

for the platform of the roof more immediately below. From this point

an admirable bird’s–eye view of Rome is had. Unfortunately the day

we ascended was gusty and wet with occasional showers, rendering it

undesirable to stand at the embrasures, and disturbing our view. But

we could catch a glimpse of the lie of the town and its extent, which

appeared less than we had expected to see it. Rome is compact, and this

city, once the mistress of the world, and said to have in the days of

its glory possessed a population exceeding that of London, does not

appear to cover one–third of the ground on which the city of Edinburgh

stands. The greatest length of the inhabited part seems to be about 1¾

miles, its greatest width about the same. According to the last census,

the present population is under 250,000. The town, as now occupied,

dates back only to the end of the sixteenth century.

The second Sunday we were in Rome was Palm Sunday, and after an early

breakfast we drove to St. Peter’s. A tedious service kept us waiting

about an hour, when the priests formed in procession and marched to the

portal with palms in their hands. These were blanched palms, twisted

into fantastic shapes, and not, as one would suppose, of the long

natural green branches, which would certainly have been more suitable.

The great door was opened and half the procession passed through and

stood outside, the remainder standing within. Some form of blessing

or other ceremony took place, and then they all marched back again.

Altogether it was a very poor affair, although, when it used to be

performed by the pope himself, I believe it was more imposing; but the

absence of the pope (Pius IX.), who since 1871 had never appeared in

public at this or other ceremonials, stripped the pageant of its wonted

attractions.

* * * * *

The Vatican adjoins St. Peter’s, and consists of immense ranges

of buildings, said to contain 11,000 chambers. It is no ornament,

architecturally, to the cathedral, upon which it impinges, the portion

seen from the Piazza of St. Peter’s having too much the appearance

of a huge factory. Attached to it, and seen from some of the windows

of the Vatican, the pope’s garden occupies a large piece of ground,

very stiffly laid out, in which His Holiness can, unincommoded by the

public, who are not admitted to it, take his walks or drives. Admission

to the Vatican is by means of _permessoes_, which are procurable

through booksellers and others. To obtain these documents, people

are put to trouble and expense, while it must cost a little to issue

them, and really they seem required without adequate reason. As the

_permesso_ is given up at the door, a fresh one is necessary at every

visit, unless the visitor express a desire to retain it for use again;

when he intimates this at entering, gets it back at going out, and pays

the doorkeeper 1 franc for the privilege. Whatever may be the object of

employing them, it does not save fees, which are payable at every door

which is opened. The doors are very numerous, but fortunately the fee

expected is small—half a franc, or even, in some cases, quarter of a

franc from each party suffices for each janitor. These ‘proud porters’

have no objection to copper. It would be really much better if all

fees and _permessoes_ were abolished and strictly _prohibited_, and a

fee not exceeding a franc for a party of, say, four were exacted at

each visit. The galleries of the Vatican are places which most people

desire, when they go to Rome, to see over and over again.

The great gate of the galleries, in which the sculptures are deposited,

is reached by driving or walking all round St. Peter’s; and by making

the circuit, although it is rather long, one obtains another idea of

the vast extent and huge proportions of the cathedral.

The galleries containing the paintings are situated in other rooms, and

require separate days as well as separate orders for their examination.

The entrance is reached by the Scala Regia in the Colonnade, on the

right side approaching St. Peter’s.

We devoted two separate afternoons to each.

The sculptures are far more numerous than the paintings, and even after

two inspections, we could only consider we had seen them in a very

general way. To do them justice, one would almost require to bestow

upon each different group of halls a distinct visit. The number of

statues, busts, urns, and other sculptured objects exhibited, is very

great. Most, if not all of them, have been recovered from the ruins of

ancient Rome while under the government of the popes. The visitor is

brought face to face with the original of the Apollo Belvedere, the

Laocoon, and many other statues and groups familiar to all by copies or

by engravings. But it is necessary to watch carefully, lest omission be

made of some of the rooms; for we discovered, on going a second time,

rooms we had previously overlooked, and which contained some of the

finest statuary. Of many of the halls and of the individual statues,

photographs can be purchased in the shops, which, to those who have not

seen them, convey some idea of the galleries and their contents, and

are exceedingly useful to those who have, in recalling them. Without

this help, the multiplicity of objects tends to obscure and confuse the

recollection. There is one annoying feature about the statue galleries

of the Vatican, that in place of the names of the objects, there is

painted upon them the name of the pope by whom they were placed where

they stand. One gets quite irritated by the vanity of Pius VI. and Pius

VII., leading them in so objectionable a manner to obtrude their names

upon the public.

The examination of the picture galleries is much more easily

accomplished. The good paintings are in reality confined to two or

three rooms, and one or two more, in which are fine frescoes by

Raphael and others. The great attractions of this gallery are—’The

Transfiguration,’ by Raphael; ‘The Madonna di Foligno,’ a fine

work of the same great master; and ‘The Communion of St. Jerome,’

by Domenichino. The upper portion of ‘The Transfiguration’ is so

exquisitely beautiful as to suggest whether it would not have been

better severed from the lower half, representing the writhing boy in

the midst of the perplexed disciples, which, though it may have been

designed by Raphael, was painted by his pupils. Indeed, the insertion

of the scene may be said to be an anachronism, because the cure was

effected on ‘the next day,’ while its introduction detracts from the

feeling of sublime elevation above the world and the things of the

world which the upper portion of the picture breathes.

There are many other fine pictures in the rooms by the old masters.

One in particular, which struck me for its softness and beauty of

colouring, was a ‘Madonna and Child,’ by Sasso Ferrato, although it

must be confessed both the mother and child are rather plumply fat. I

asked the price of a photograph of it for sale in the rooms, taken from

an engraving, and was asked 4 francs. It is so often the way in such

places to demand long prices.

We had not an opportunity of seeing the library of the Vatican.

The Sistine Chapel is what nobody omits to see. The entrance to it is

from the Scala Regia, just before coming to the picture galleries.

We saw it once, and I must own it fell short of expectation. The

chamber is dark, the frescoes are fading, and to see some of them it

is necessary to lie on one’s back and look up. The view, therefore,

is indistinct and uncomfortable; but though they are from the hand of

a great master, the eye experiences a want of repose, the effect of

over–decoration.

* * * * *

It is usually recommended to people visiting Rome for the first time,

to take a preliminary drive of some hours, to form a general idea of

the city. This, after our first visit to St. Peter’s, we did, and found

it attended with considerable advantage. Except where it is bounded

by the Tiber, Rome is surrounded by walls of defence, in which are

several gates. Outside of some of these gates, the town has slightly

extended; but, for the most part, the walls stretch a good way beyond

the inhabited portion of the town, which is very compactly built, there

being no large public gardens or parks within the city, and scarcely

an open square, while the streets are narrow and the houses high. The

seven hills upon which Rome has always been regarded as standing,

are rather hillocks than hills, and do not, seen from the Campagna,

bulk much upon the eye. They vary in height from 156 feet to 218 feet

above the level of the sea; so that, deducting at least 40 feet for

the general level of the city, the highest is but low. From the Porto

del Popolo, outside of which the Protestant churches are, with one

exception, placed, and inside of which is one of the largest piazzas,

or open places, in Rome, three straight–leading streets branch out,

diverging at acute angles—viz., the Via Babuino, conducting into the

Piazza di Spagna; a centre street, the famous Via del Corso; and a

third, the Via di Ripetta, which passes by or near to the banks of the

Tiber. All these streets proceed (a wonderful circumstance in Rome) in

straight lines to a considerable distance, the Corso fully a mile in

length, the vista of all being terminated at the one end in the Piazza

del Popolo by the Flaminian Egyptian obelisk, the third in altitude in

Rome. The Corso, the longest and central one, terminates at a point

not far from the forum of Trajan and the Capitoline Hill, in the

vicinity of which the principal ruins of Rome lie. Out of the Corso,

however, except where it is crossed for a short way after leaving the

Porto del Popolo by a few regular streets, the streets of Rome are so

tortuous that I do not recollect any other city, at least similar in

size, where it is so puzzling to find one’s way about. I did once or

twice adventure on a walk, just to try and familiarize myself with

the streets, but in doing so found it necessary to take the bearings

very exactly, and to keep the map in hand, to prevent my getting

bewildered. These tortuous streets are irregular and narrow, sometimes

with scarcely room for two little cabs to pass. They are causewayed,

but have no footpath. Even the three leading streets I have named

are extremely narrow. The Corso is only 40 to 50 feet wide, and the

footpaths which have been placed there are proportionately contracted,

leaving, I may say, no room in some places for two foot–passengers

to pass each other. The streets are now, however, like other Italian

towns, lighted with gas, the want of proper lighting previously having

been much felt. The principal shops are in the Corso, the Piazza di

Spagna, and the Via Condotti, which crosses from the Corso to the

Piazza. Some of the chief booksellers are in the Piazza, but the

jewellers’ and photographers’ shops are the kind which are most largely

patronized by strangers. None of the shops, however, are capacious, and

the wares they contain are in general marvellously limited in quantity.

* * * * *

Beyond the inhabited part of Rome, there are many good roads,

principally conducting to or from the gates, and leading to the country

beyond. As one passes along the streets, the eye is continually met by

churches, palaces, and other public buildings; but the great attractive

interest lies in what remains of the grand buildings of ancient Rome,

which for the most part are found in proximity to each other.

Of these, the one which predominates, and by its imposing mass

generally claims the first examination, is the Colosseum. It stands

nearly free from other buildings, in all the sublimity of age and

magnitude. But not far from it are the Arches of Titus and Constantine,

the ruins of the Temple of Venus, of the Basilica of Constantine, of

the palace of the Cæsars on the Palatine Hill, of the Forum Romanum,

and of many other ancient buildings and places, familiar to all who

have read about Rome, and which one could not see for the first time

without being profoundly stirred. There are gentlemen—I suppose they

may be called clinical lecturers—who give descriptions on the spot

of these interesting old places, and the information so afforded is

useful, because the results of study are imparted by the living voice

in a familiar way, and special attention is called to the historical

associations, which otherwise to most people might remain unknown.

One of these gentlemen, Mr. Forbes (charge, 3 fr. each), makes up

two parties per day, one before and one after lunch—regularity in

taking which, in Rome, is always recommended as essential to health.

I had an opportunity on one occasion of accompanying him, and there

was certainly an advantage in hearing his explanations. There is so

much, however, to see in Rome, and that of a diversified character,

that this was the only time I managed to do so. Mr. Shakespeare Wood

is another who occasionally goes out in this way, but I was apprised

that he would not form a party during the time we were in Rome. He is

said to be remarkably well informed, and is usually engaged by Mr.

Cook for his special excursions. To those who would study old Rome,

great assistance might be found in a series of instructive papers,

evincing great literary research, and evidently of minute exactness of

statement, printed in the _Transactions of the Architectural Institute

of Scotland_, written by the late Mr. Alexander Thomson of Banchory.

It would be well if these scholarly papers could be collected and

published by themselves, for, as they stand, they are not within the

reach of the general public. Some of the statements I shall hereafter

make on Old Rome will be on his authority.

* * * * *

It would not be possible, according to the plan I have adopted of

a rapid survey of what is to be seen in Rome, to give any detailed

description of the various ancient buildings, which, besides, are by

means of photographs and engravings so familiar even to those who never

have visited Italy.

The Colosseum[30] is an immense mass of building, notwithstanding not

only that it was long occupied as a fortress, and subjected to the

injury resulting from attack and defence, but that it was, like so many

others, used for centuries as a quarry for its stones, its marble,

and even its iron. Happily this species of destruction was stopped by

the French, and steps have also been taken for its preservation by

building strong and lofty supports. The Colosseum is at least twice as

large as the arena at Nismes, and even as it now remains it is twice as

high,[31] but that at Nismes is in much better preservation. The outer

walls, galleries, and arches of the Colosseum are built of massive

blocks of stone, bound together with iron; but brick composed what was

below. Brick, evidently of a hardy quality, cemented by a very strong,

durable mortar, appears, indeed, to have been very largely used by the

Romans for the carcases or substantial and concealed portions of their

buildings. These brick carcases, however, were either built over with

substantial stone–work, or faced with slabs of marble, sometimes both;

and in a building of this magnitude, even the outer deceptive covering

of stone or marble would be of immense mass. By the removal of vast

quantities of the large stones forming the casing, a great deal of this

brick carcase or underwork has been laid bare, so that the interior of

the building has a very ruinous look. Externally, also, the removal

of courses of stone, in some parts combined with the ravages of time,

impart to it the aspect of a huge ruin. There is free entrance to the

public to the arena or central area. We seldom passed the Colosseum

without going in to take a glance at it. One could hardly, however,

forget what deadly scenes had been enacted there, what agonies had been

endured, what cries of pain had been uttered, what savage shouts had

once filled its walls, or help feeling thankful that the barbarous and

brutalizing spectacles which were then found necessary ‘to make a Roman

holiday,’ were now happily things of a long–past age.

I was so fortunate as to be in the city on Saturday, 21st April 1877,

which was held as the birthday of Rome (the 2630th, I believe), and

beheld a spectacle in the Colosseum which never had greeted the eyes

of the old Romans. Nearly the whole population was, in the evening

of that day, drawn to the great amphitheatre and its neighbourhood.

Joining a party of ladies from our house, with considerable difficulty

we drove through the crowded streets, and, dismissing the carriage,

we succeeded in getting inside the Colosseum along with a large but

orderly mass of people. After waiting long, we were at last rewarded.

All of a sudden, the various galleries, which I suppose had been lined

with soldiers, were illumined with coloured lights. On one half of the

huge building red lights were burned; on the other half, green. When

the powders were burned down, others were substituted, the colours

being reversed. The effect was magnificent. Every figure in the place

was bathed in coloured light, while the walls were one mass of a

glowing hue, disclosing the colossal proportions in all their ruinous

irregularity, and, where red was burned, looking as if it were a huge

lump of burning lava or molten iron. This over, with some trouble we

managed to edge away from the crowd to the outside, to see the further

operations elsewhere. The Colosseum itself was first lighted on the

exterior, which, fine as the effect was, I think could hardly be

compared with the interior view. Lights were then successively burned

to illuminate the Arches of Constantine and Titus and the Basilica

of Constantine—the figures of the persons running about in charge

appearing at a little distance, wrapped in the carmine colour, like so

many incarnate demons. Last of all, the Forum, the Capitoline Hill,

and the surrounding buildings and ruins, were several times similarly

illuminated, while a display of fireworks from the Capitol terminated

this very imposing spectacle.

* * * * *

The grand dimensions of the Colosseum drew us often there. It seemed

at every visit more and more imposing. Leaving it, and proceeding by

the Via Sacra to the Capitoline Hill, which lies about half a mile

distant, one passes upon the left the Arch of Constantine, standing at

the entrance to a broad wooded roadway, called the Via di Gregorio,

running between the Palatine Hill (on which are the ruined palaces of

the Cæsars) on the right side, and the Church of San Gregorio Magno and

other buildings on the left side, and leading out towards the Appian

Way. The fine sculptures upon the arch are well preserved, and give a

richer appearance to it than to any other arches now standing; but have

been taken from buildings of an earlier age than that of Constantine,

and thought to be of the time of Trajan, whose life they illustrate.

About 200 yards farther on we pass under the Arch of Titus. The

bas–relief, exhibiting the triumphal procession and captive Jews, is of

itself sufficient to confer a lasting interest upon this arch. It forms

a grand contemporaneous record of the siege of Jerusalem, and of the

forms of some of the sacred furnishings of the temple.

Here we find and drive over a portion of the veritable paving–stones

of an old Roman road, the Via Sacra. Considering how frequently our

roads and streets require to be re–paved, re–laid, or re–macadamized,

it seems little short of a miracle that any portion of the old Roman

paving should have remained for so many centuries. But the Roman

roads were constructed in a special manner, with the great object in

view of ensuring their being solid, dry, level, and direct. The under

foundation was of three courses of broken stones of different given

sizes for each course, and altogether 3 feet deep, with a top course of

closely–jointed stone, generally basalt, a foot thick. The roads were

narrow, sometimes only 12 feet wide, and had a rise of 3 inches in the

centre to allow the rain to run off. The making of roads was considered

a matter of prime importance and a most laudable undertaking, so that

enormous sums were spent on them. In Britain alone there were 2500

miles of Roman roads. The roads of Rome were the more durable, inasmuch

as they were not subjected to the heavy traffic of our streets, the

carriages being small and light; while, as no gas and water pipes

underlay them, there was no everlasting turning of them up to get at

things below, and as little were there tramway lines to shake the

foundations or injure the surface.

The space of ground on which the Forum Romanum stands lies on the

Colosseum side of the Capitol. It is sunk many feet below the level

of the roads which now surround it, and which, no doubt, have been so

raised above it by the accumulation of rubbish during centuries. Little

is left entire in this open or excavated space but the Arch of Severus;

the remainder, inclusive _inter alia_ of the once splendid Basilica

Julia, and the temples of Saturn and Vespasian, are in ruins, only a

few pillars remaining to testify to what they were, and in some cases

not even so much. But enough remains to show how very elegant these

buildings must have been, although one would think, judging from their

present appearance, they were rather too much crowded together for

effect. The whole of the space, however, between the Capitoline Hill

and the Colosseum was at one time a scene of great magnificence, and

all glistening in white marble. Classic temples and other buildings

apart from the Forum were ranged upon one side, with the Quirinal and

Esquiline Hills, and Trajan’s Forum and Column in the background; while

the other side was bordered by the Palatine Hill (118 feet above the

valley), crowned by the grand palace of the Cæsars. This is now almost

a mass of ruins, but much excavation has of late years been made,

rendering a visit to it exceedingly interesting. We spent some hours

one day exploring the ground, admission to which is by payment of one

franc each.

The Capitoline Hill, attained from the Forum by two roads, and covering

an area of 16 English acres, is crowned, as seen from the direction

of the Colosseum, with a building which has little but some age to

recommend it, and from which a square tower rises. It turns its back on

the Forum below. The hill, however, in the time of the old Romans, was

undoubtedly decorated with imposing buildings worthy of its situation.

The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus is now ascertained to have stood upon

the highest part of the hill, on the site of the present Church of St.

Maria in Ara Cœli, reached by a very ladder of steps (124 in number)

from the level plateau on the main crown of the hill, formerly the

valley of the Intermontium, now called the Piazza del Campidoglio. This

church dates from the tenth century, and is the oldest extant in Rome.

It is large, but, though curious, cannot be said to equal many others,

and, I suppose, derives its chief importance from its association with

the miracle–working Bambino, which marvellous doll finds its abode

there. The Capitoline Museum stands on one side of the Piazza, and the

Palace of the Conservatori on the other. These are modern buildings,

but they contain a large collection of sculptures found in or about

Rome, and a large picture gallery comprehending many fine paintings

by the old masters. One of the sculpture rooms is devoted to busts of

the Roman emperors, and is considered to be the best collection of

them. It is strange and deeply interesting to look at these marble

representations, executed from the living person, of men who existed so

long ago, and whose actions are so noted in history. Where there are

more than one of the same man, they invite comparison to notice their

accordances or their dissimilarities. The galleries also comprise many

other objects of great attraction; for example, what is commonly called

‘The Dying Gladiator,’ which, thus seen in the original, far excels any

copy. Indeed, it is seldom that copies approach originals. They want

the delicate shades and lines, and other evidences of masterly power

denoting that marked superiority which raises the great creations of

genius above the works of the common herd. In another room we saw the

famous Capitoline Venus.

In a side street we were shown the place which is held to have been the

site of the Tarpeian Rock, from which malefactors were hurled; but if

this be the true site, the ground below has been much filled up, as the

height seems little enough for producing so violent a death. Near to

it the spot is also pointed out where Tarpeia opened the gate of the

citadel to the Sabines, and received the reward of her treachery.

In the centre of the Piazza the noble equestrian statue of Marcus

Aurelius arrests the eye. There is a vigorous power about horse and

rider to which no other similar statue rises. I have felt it impossible

to compare with it the equestrian statue of Charles I. at Charing

Cross, in London, or even that of Charles II. in the Parliament Square,

Edinburgh, although this last is considered a fine work of art. A

broad, handsome flight of steps conducts to the town below. Descending

a little way, there may be seen two wolves, kept within an iron–barred

cage in memory of the traditional story regarding Romulus and Remus.

We found not far from the Capitoline Hill the beautiful little

circular Temple of Vesta, which has been made familiar to everybody

by photographs and engravings, and in its neighbourhood a small part

of the Cloaca Maxima. This is a portion of the great system of drains

(either for sewage or for removing stagnant marsh water) with which

Rome was supplied. There it stands to this day, for everything with the

Romans was not only made adequate to subserve its purpose, but built to

endure, if only the destructive hand of man would let it alone.

* * * * *

It would, however, be perfectly endless to attempt to enumerate, much

less describe, all the ancient buildings of interest in Rome. There

are now upwards of twenty temples, about a dozen triumphal and other

arches, and many other buildings, more or less in a state of ruin. To

describe all these would be beyond the scope of the present work. But I

can hardly, in narrating our visit, omit to advert to one or two more

of the features of Old Rome still remaining.

* * * * *

There are scattered over the old city various prominent pillars and

obelisks, which naturally attract attention. The most important of

the monumental columns are those of Trajan and of Marcus Aurelius,

and there is also in the Forum Romanum a small pillar of a different

character, that of Phocas.

The pillar of Trajan is familiar to all by engravings. The

_bassi–relievi_ which encircle it contain no less than 2500 figures

of men, besides those of animals and other objects. It was erected

not merely as a monument to the man, but as a record in its height

of the depth of the huge work of excavation on the Quirinal Hill,

undertaken and accomplished at its site. The sculpture which adorns it

is a beautiful and interesting record of events in Trajan’s history.

The pillar was planted in the middle of a forum, and surrounded by

buildings of such wonderful beauty, and composed of materials so rich

and varied, that those who beheld them found themselves utterly at a

loss for words to express their admiration; but now, so far as any

remains are extant, altogether in ruins, while the rest has been built

over.

The column of Marcus Aurelius in the Piazza Colonna, is a similar

though less perfect structure.

* * * * *

But the obelisks in Rome are more remarkable than the columns. When we

think of the difficulty we have recently had in removing to London a

single obelisk, and that not of the largest size, it seems incredible

to hear, notwithstanding Rome is so much nearer Egypt, that at one time

there were no less than forty–eight Egyptian obelisks standing in that

city. Of these, only twelve now remain visible and erect, and most of

them have been removed from other positions they formerly occupied in

Rome. The remainder, excepting two (one taken to France, and the other

to Florence), are, it is supposed, buried in the ruins of ancient

Rome. The twelve now standing vary in height from a very short one, 8

feet 6 inches high, to the largest, 102 feet high, not reckoning the

pedestals, which—in some cases inappropriate—add much to the height,

nor the additions, equally inappropriate, made to some of them upon the

apex. All have been hewn out of the syenite red granite quarries of

Egypt, but three of them, including that in the Piazza of St. Peter,

were extracted by the Romans themselves from these quarries, and have

no hieroglyphics, the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the remainder

attesting their true Egyptian origin. The obelisk now in London is 68

feet 5½ inches high, being scarcely the height of the fourth in size in

Rome, which is 69 feet. But the weight of the London obelisk is only

186 tons, while the weight of the largest (also the oldest, dating

back to 1740 B.C.) obelisk in Rome, that placed before the Church of

St. John Lateran, is 437 tons, or considerably more than double. The

removal to Rome of this last–mentioned huge and weighty block of stone,

and its erection on its pedestal, was an undertaking of immense labour

and cost, taxing the resources and appealing to the honour of emperors

for its accomplishment. The mere erection upon its present position of

that now standing in the Piazza of St. Peter’s (the second in size,

and weighing 331 tons), in the time of Sextus V., cost £9000. It was

on this memorable occasion, when under pain of death, certain to be

inflicted, all were commanded to be silent, and the ropes were about to

give way, the Italian sailor from Bordighera, at the peril of his life,

called out, ‘Wet the ropes!’ and saved the obelisk from destruction.

He was himself pardoned, and obtained for Bordighera as reward the

privilege of supplying Rome with palm leaves at Easter.

* * * * *

Outside the walls of Rome, particularly on entering or leaving by

railway, long lines of lofty arches are seen, more or less ruinous

(having suffered dilapidation at the hand of enemies), which supported

aqueducts by which ancient Rome was supplied with water. At one time

there were no less than twenty–four of these aqueducts, entering Rome

from various distances. The water was brought along on the gravitation

principle, the inclination being believed to have been 1 foot in 400;

for although it seems the Romans were acquainted with the scientific

fact of which we now avail ourselves, that water in a closed pipe

will find its own level, they did not to any extent act upon their

knowledge of it. The water so brought in was distributed to an immense

number of small reservoirs, or wells or fountains, for the use of the

inhabitants, the surplus water being scrupulously employed to flush

and scour the sewers. But it was also used to supply the baths of

Rome. The bath was regarded by the old Romans as a necessary of life;

and many luxurious men, who had not the newspaper or the last new

book to wile away the time, bathed as often as seven or eight times a

day—great and small, men and women, all mingling promiscuously in the

water. To provide for this voluptuous habit, the baths were numerous,

and constructed on an enormous scale. There were no less than sixteen

establishments throughout Rome, intended not merely for the purposes of

ablution, but to supply other means of recreation, and public places

where the citizens might meet each other. The Thermæ of Agrippa, of

Caracalla, of Constantine, of Diocletian, and of Titus, still exist in

ruins, some of them exemplifying their magnitude. Those of Diocletian,

close by the railway station, were the most extensive, measuring more

than a mile in circumference. Our time permitted of a visit to only one

of these Thermæ, the Thermæ of Caracalla, which, enormous in extent

as they were, were only half as large as those of Diocletian. They

lie about three–quarters of a mile from the Arch of Constantine, and

usually, in a drive to the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, are taken going

or returning. The extent of the rooms is something marvellous. The

building itself was an oblong enclosed by walls, and is stated to be

above 700 feet in length, by nearly 400 feet wide, or nearly half a

mile in circuit.[32] Little remains of the structure excepting huge

walls or carcases of brick, at one time covered with plates or blocks

of marble, which have been removed, and either used in churches or

other buildings, or, in accordance with a very vexatious custom, burnt

for lime. The rooms, as indicated by the ruins left, must have been

of great magnificence, not merely from their size and their marble

pillars, coating, and flooring, but from the mosaics with which they

were inlaid, and the splendid statues with which they were adorned.

Some of the statues have been dug out of the ruins, and among them the

famous large group called the Farnese Bull, which we saw in the museum

of Naples, with many others now deposited in the museums of that city

and of Rome. To accommodate the bathers, there were placed around the

baths polished marble chairs (cool seats for the undressed), in those

of Caracalla to the number of 1600, in those of Diocletian to the

number of 3200. The scene during the bathing hours was no doubt very

animated, for the baths were crowded.

I may here state that the supply of water to modern Rome is both

abundant and of good quality, a circumstance of great importance, and

not always to be reckoned upon in other Italian cities, where the water

is looked upon, perhaps justly, with great suspicion.

* * * * *

The Catacombs of Rome are very numerous and of great extent, and it has

been calculated that if all the passages were placed in continuous

line, they would extend to 545 miles. Those of Calixtus are what are

most commonly visited.

The drive to the Catacombs of Calixtus is very interesting; the ground

lies by the Appian Way some distance out of the city, and beyond the

Porta St. Sebastian. On the way the tombs of the Cæsars and Scipios

are passed, and in a neighbouring private garden (on entering which it

is highly proper to settle the fee to be paid) there are two buildings

sunk in the ground, termed Columbaria—pigeon–holes—apartments probably

about 20 feet square, judging from recollection. Descending by a narrow

stair, the walls are found covered over with small plates of marble,

and under each plate a little niche is formed, containing a vase. The

marble plates bear the names of persons deceased, and in the vases

below their ashes were deposited. They are curious, carrying one back

to ancient times, and becoming, too, a sort of preparative for the

visit to the Catacombs, to see which a _permesso_ is requisite, a fee

being, however, paid at exit to the conductor for each person, varying

a little in amount according to the number. As soon as a sufficient

party is collected, and waiting until the party which may be below has

reappeared, for only one set is taken at a time, the man in charge of

the Catacombs makes up the company for the visit. Each person then

lights the taper with which he or she ought to be provided (which, as

tapers are not supplied at the place, must be brought from the city,

a circumstance sometimes overlooked), and descent is made by a stair.

The visitors are rapidly marched or whisked along the narrow intricate

passages, on each side of which they see the catacombs in which the

bodies of persons deceased were formerly laid—the great burial–place

of the first Christians. There are many old Latin inscriptions, which

the guide stops a minute to point out; but with a very large number it

is difficult for all to get near him. It does not appear as if the

passages lay far below ground, I should imagine not exceeding 50 feet;

but though the air is warm, it is a dismal place, which the generality

of people, seeing once, will not care to see again. One requires to be

careful to follow the guide to avoid being lost. The examination does

not occupy so much as half an hour.

* * * * *

On returning to the light of day we were glad to take a drive farther

along the Appian Way. This famous old Roman road was constructed at

enormous cost, and was 26 feet wide. At one part a mountain was cut

down 120 feet, to obtain that levelness which the Romans always desired

for their roads. In its original state it must have offered a very

remarkable scene. For, though not unusual for the Romans to bury, or at

least to erect monuments to the dead, along the side of public roads,

the Appian Way was the favourite part for entombment. For many miles

on each side it was lined by sculptured monuments or tombs in marble,

of more or less size or magnificence. But all that is now left is, in

general, nothing but portions of the brick carcases which underlay the

stone or marble surface. Vast numbers of these monuments have been

destroyed for the sake of the material. The only notable monument

remaining to some extent in preservation is the large and massive tomb

of Cecilia Metella—a circular tower 70 feet in diameter, the walls

of which are 25 feet thick. Its strength caused it at one time to be

used as a fortress. The Appian Way itself fell into ruin and became

impassable, but has now been cleared; and one can look along it and

see it proceeding as far as the eye can reach in a straight line. It

terminates at Puteoli, which when we were at Naples we visited, and so

had the good fortune, if it may be so called, to pass over both ends

of the road, immortalized by the Scripture record as that by which the

Apostle Paul went on his way to Rome.

Mr. Thomson, in an interesting paper on the _Recent Excavations in

Rome_, in which he gives, by illustrative restorations as proposed by

Canina of monuments in portions of the Way, some idea of its grandeur,

says (p. 28):

‘Altogether the Via Appia, when in its pristine glory, must have been

a wondrous scene, with its innumerable monuments extending on both

sides of fifteen miles of roadway, varied by occasional villas of

great extent and beauty, by temples, by exedræ or covered seats, and

by fountains. These are of every age and style, from the simplest

republican to the richest adornments of imperial times.

‘The Via Appia was the road by which travellers from Spain, or Africa,

or the East, arrived at the city.

‘How striking this approach to the Mistress of the World! How

heart–stirring the memories of the illustrious departed which it must

have called up in every heart!

‘We are not aware of any similar arrangement of equal extent and

grandeur among all the remains of ancient times.’

So numerous are the churches in Rome, that I believe it may be said

there is one for every day in the year. They abound everywhere, and

during a short visit one can only, of course, see a few of those which

may be regarded as among the chief. All of them, however, possess some

distinguishing mark to attract attention. We entered a good many, the

very names of which we did not know. And it is useful to notice that in

general it is necessary to visit the churches before twelve o’clock;

after the hour of noon they are closed, except in the case of some of

the more important.

The Pantheon (built B.C. 27) is the only ancient building in Rome

which is now standing entire, although bereft of its ornamentation;

but such has been the accumulation of rubbish around it, that the

steps leading up to it are now considerably below the level of the

street. The edifice itself, also, is much hid by surrounding houses,

and is not seen till one is close upon it. Passing through a grand

columnar portico, we enter a vast circular expanse 140 feet wide,

surmounted by a dome 140 feet high. There are large recesses or deep

niches around, which were formerly used as receptacles for statues of

the gods, when it became a Roman temple. The place now looks very

vacant. The building has been stripped also externally of its marble

covering or skin and other adornments, so that it no longer exhibits

the magnificence it once possessed. But here Raphael and other great

painters have been buried, and here the body of Victor Emmanuel, the

gallant first King of Italy, has found its resting–place. Mr. Thomson

observes:

‘The noblest of all the remains of ancient Rome, the Pantheon was,

without doubt, originally built as a portion of these (Agrippa’s)

baths; it is proved by the contiguity of the other fragments, and

by the identity of the style of the brickwork. It was turned into a

temple by Agrippa himself, on which occasion he added the portico of

sixteen Corinthian columns of granite, each of one stone, 50 feet 9

inches in length and 5 feet 9 inches in diameter. Thirteen of these

remain as originally placed; the three on the east side are modern

restorations.’[33]

San Pietro in Vinculi is visited because it possesses Michael Angelo’s

grand colossal statue of Moses. Notwithstanding its masterly power, it

is far from pleasing in the confined space in which it is placed.

The Jesuit Church (under which one of the lost obelisks has been

unfortunately buried) is very gorgeously adorned, and the altar of St.

Ignatius (the body of Ignatius Loyola lies below it) exhibits a globe

of lapis lazuli, said to be the largest known. This, like every other

church at Rome, is besieged by beggars at the door, who whiningly

importune for coppers, and one of them always officiously pushes open

the thick, heavy, greasy mat placed swinging at the doorway, to keep

out the cold air and to offer a convenient asylum to the insect world,

and thus, as it is never cleaned, affording a valid excuse for a demand

(were reason required). But in all the churches where anything is to

be seen inside, a spider is on the watch in the shape of a guardian,

who, keys in hand, proffers his services to open locked doors and

exhibit the treasures of the church, or to draw curtains which conceal

principal paintings. However, the fee is small; one franc or half a

franc for the party generally suffices.

One of these churches, containing a veiled picture, the celebrated

St. Michael of Guido Reni, is that of the Capuccini. The picture is

certainly well worth seeing, and, in some respects, it may claim a

preference over that of the same subject by Raphael in the Louvre.

But why should such pictures—except for fees—be veiled? The veiling

is very detrimental to the colour, as the exclusion of sunlight will

in time make a picture black. Italian churches are dark enough as

built, without shutting out the light of day from the paintings by an

impervious curtain.

That for which, however, people chiefly go to the Capuccini is the

extraordinary vaulting below the church. Here are arranged in all

manner of devices the bones of the monks attached to the Capuccini

monastery, of which this is the church. The skeletons of the more noted

are exposed entire in their garments, some of them 300 years old. It

is a ghastly spectacle, and was shown to us by a monk, who told us he

expected his own bones, when he died, would be placed in the vaults,

although we had understood the practice had been stopped.

Of a very different kind of interest was what is underground of two

other churches,—San Clementi and San Cosmo in Damian. In the vaults

below them we were shown the remains of the original churches, built

not later than the fourth century, though the precise date cannot be

ascertained. Those of San Clementi, discovered in excavating since

1858, are extensive and extremely interesting, including frescoes of

the eighth and ninth centuries—one of them being the Crucifixion. It

carries one back to Christianity in Rome of a very early period.

No visitor to Rome fails to visit San Giovanni in Laterano. This

is a spacious edifice with altars all round, and is one of the

grand churches in Rome, dating back a long way, and historically

celebrated. It is, of course, splendidly adorned. The baptistery, like

that at Pisa, is an entirely separate building in the Piazza. The

Lateran Museum adjoins the church, and on the ground floor contains

a collection of ancient statues, the entrance to which we had some

difficulty in finding. The upper floor is chiefly remarkable for its

collection of inscriptions inserted in the walls, taken from the

Catacombs, and of which there is an immense number; but there was

nobody to give any information. The famous Santa Scala, said to be

the steps of the staircase of Pontius Pilate’s house, up which, it is

given out, our Lord walked, is on the opposite side of the Piazza. The

steps are covered with wood to prevent them being further worn. We saw

a good many of the faithful painfully and laboriously ascending it

upon their knees,—a very tedious operation, and sometimes, it is said,

from its difficulty and unwonted novelty, a ludicrous one, the people

(who are of all classes, and fine ladies as well as common men) in

their contortions nearly tumbling over or knocking each other about.

At every few steps there is a fixed cross to kiss, and at each step

fresh paternosters are said; and when at last they attain the top (the

stair consists, according to my reckoning, of twenty–eight steps), they

kneel upon a small bench and look through an opening into a sacred

chapel beyond, and perform further devotions. We heretics ascended more

rapidly by one of the two side stairs by which the devotees descend.

A more splendid church than that of the Lateran is the Santa Maria

Maggiore, so named from being the largest of eighty churches in

Rome dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It is also one of the oldest

churches in existence, and has a handsome façade, in front of which

a lofty Corinthian column stands, surmounted by a statue of Philip

IV. of Spain. The interior is profusely decorated, and is remarkably

beautiful.

But perhaps the church which of all others, after St. Peter’s,

attracts most attention, is that of ‘San Paolo fuori le mura.’ This

is situated about a mile and a half outside the Porta San Paolo, in

a road where foot passengers had been lately robbed, and was not,

therefore, considered to be very safe for them. But no apprehension

was felt in proceeding by carriage, and it forms a pleasant drive from

the city. In going, the English cemetery, and the Pyramid of Cestus

adjoining, both outside the walls, are passed. These we had intended

visiting, but by a mistake of our driver we were taken some way beyond

the entrance gate, and then unluckily postponed our visit for another

opportunity, which never came, and our return to the city on the

occasion was by a different route. The Church of St. Paul, erected on

the road to Tre Fontane, where it is said the apostle was beheaded,

is a new one, the former one having been destroyed by fire in 1823.

The original church was founded so far back as the fourth century, and

became in time one of great magnificence. Externally there is nothing

remarkable about the present building, but internally it is one mass

of marble ornament on a grand scale. It was expected, when commenced,

the cost would amount to £1,500,000; but it is alleged that as much as

£10,000,000 sterling have already been spent upon it. This may be quite

the case. £10,000,000 according to some, and £20,000,000 according to

others, have in three centuries been expended on St. Peter’s, and that

during times when money was more valuable. But whatever has been the

cost, it must necessarily have been enormous. The church consists of

immense, square–shaped rooms,—huge boxes,—which are not over–pleasing

architecturally. Floors and walls are covered with large plates of

marble of every description, and long rows of costly granite pillars

(80 in number) and of oriental alabaster pillars imposingly line the

aisles. Four of the oriental yellow alabaster columns are supported on

malachite pedestals presented by the Emperor of Russia. The ceilings

(flat) are decorated; and along the walls under them a very long

series of portraits of all the popes has been executed in mosaic.

The windows are filled with stained glass containing representations

of sacred events. The decorations of the church, which comprise some

saved from the fire, are not yet completed, and at present (that is,

when we saw it) a feeling of emptiness was conveyed; but when, in

course of time, it is filled up with fine statues, paintings, and other

ornaments, like other Roman Catholic churches, as no doubt it will

be, this feeling of vacancy will disappear, and although in design it

may not brook comparison with other churches, it will probably be the

most sumptuous building in the world. Outside the church there is a

beautiful court of cloisters of the Benedictine monastery; but the site

is unhealthy, and the monastery cannot be inhabited during the summer.

If nobody remains in charge of this costly church during summer, I do

not know how it is guarded from depredation. It seems a great risk to

build it in such a situation. Perhaps the laws against sacrilege may be

so severe as to deter.[34]

There are many other churches in Rome which should be visited, but

cannot be described in a sketch like the present. Indeed, the fullest

description of such places can only enable a stranger to realize them

very imperfectly.

* * * * *

The palaces in Rome, or what are termed such, are as great an

attraction as the churches, and to many much more so. There are about

seventy of one kind or another, generally huge old buildings, some

of which are open to the public on certain days of the week, or on

other stated days,—a fee of 1 franc per party being given to the

doorkeeper at leaving, which is always the time in Italy when fees

are paid, except when admission is by ticket, paid for at entrance.

Most of these palaces are visited for the collections of paintings

and sculptures which they contain, some of which are very valuable.

Generally the second storey is devoted to these collections, the first

being sometimes occupied as shops or as servants’ apartments, and the

upper floors by the family. Leaving umbrellas and sticks at the door,

visitors pass from one room to another unattended, although there are

men usually going quietly about to keep watch. There are lists in each

room, printed on cardboard, of the pictures in it,—one side being

generally in Italian, and the other in French. It would be perfectly

endless to describe these various collections. Those most worthy of

notice are specified in Hare’s _Walks in Rome_, which is a useful guide

to them. But it would really be conferring a great boon upon visitors

to Rome if some one were to publish a catalogue of all the collections

in the manner of the _Academy Notes_, illustrating the noteworthy. Only

by such means is it possible to retain in memory, or recall distinctly

and without confusion, some recollection of their varied contents, and

where given pictures are to be found.[35] Photographs of many can no

doubt be procured, and are useful, and, so far as they go, better than

the little rough sketches of the _Academy Notes_; but the collection

of such photographs is limited (they are for the most part taken from

engravings), and they can only be picked up by degrees. There is,

however, a very valuable collection of engravings, published under

direction of the Italian Government, of the choicest of the pictures

and sculptures; and a few pounds may be well spent in purchases, which

can be safely carried home rolled in tin cases which are supplied

for the purpose. The shop in which they are sold is close to the

Fountain of Treves, No. 6 Via Stamperia. The catalogue, extending to

33 pages, is divided into three parts,—_Pittura_, _Scultura_, and

_Architettura_,—and in the first part comprises the works of 43

painters. The engravings are fairly moderate in price.

* * * * *

The galleries for the most part contain specimens of the great

masters,—such as Titian, Guido Reni, Vandyke, and almost every other

master of note,—though most frequently of the Italian masters and

artists. Some of these collections are very extensive. That of the

Borghese Palace occupies no less than twelve rooms. Among so many

pictures there is always to be found a great amount of mediocrity,

interspersed with works and gems of the highest art, over which one

could gladly linger. On most of them age has bestowed its mellow tint.

There is a richness and power in these old masters which one misses

in modern galleries; and after visiting the principal collections in

Italy, and fresh from the Louvre in Paris, I felt as if landed in a new

world on entering the Royal Academy in London.

In some of the galleries persons are usually to be seen making copies

of more or less merit of noted paintings, the copying of pictures being

apparently, as it is in other Italian cities, a considerable branch of

business in Rome. The casino of the Rospigliosi is visited principally

for the celebrated Aurora of Guido Reni, with which that of Guercino

cannot compare. It is a large work of art, which, like too many others,

is painted on a ceiling, at all times an awkward position in which to

be seen; and so awkward, too, for the artist, that to copy it always

seems a very wonderful effort of execution. In this case, however, with

much consideration for visitors’ necks, a mirror is placed on a table

below for the purpose of reflecting it at a convenient angle, and in

this way it can be studied. As the masterpiece of the great painter

(for Guido can hold his place alongside of Titian and Raphael), this

picture is a very favourite subject of copy; and while we were in the

room, there were three or four artists making copies of it varying in

size. I asked the price of one good–sized copy, the execution of which

was remarkably good, and the answer was, 600 francs—£24 nominally,

or about £21 calculating according to the then state of the exchange

(which, however, does not enter into the artist’s calculations) with

England. There was a good deal of work upon it, and it might possibly

be fairly worth the money; but, according to the Italian mode of

dealing, more may have been stated than would be taken, although it is

only fair to say that in any transactions I have myself had with the

Italian painters, this does not seem to be a practice which extends to

them.

At the Barberini Palace, the favourite subject of copy is what is

termed the head of Beatrice Cenci, by Guido Reni, although doubt has

been cast upon the statement that it is the portrait of her who was

executed upon being, rightly or wrongly, condemned as one of the

murderers of her father. Whoever it may represent, the eyes in this

lovely pale face, with a quiet, tender, inexpressible sorrow, fix

themselves on the spectator; but it is a melancholy and suggestively

sad picture, to which the white headgear very much adds. Why people

should desire to have copies of it, it is difficult to say. Its

attraction lies in its inimitable painting, which none of the copies

reproduce. Indeed, some of them are simply hideous or grotesque. Yet

copies, more or less bad, are seen everywhere; and not merely is the

head copied on canvas, but it is transferred to china, to wood, and

other material on which reproduction is necessarily coarse; as if the

subject in itself were attractive.

* * * * *

Besides the palaces, there are regular galleries, such as the Academia

di San Luca, a collection of the old masters, although not very

extensive. Visitors also can obtain admittance to the studios of

artists and sculptors, who are always glad to see them. We did not do

much, however, in this way. We called on Mr. Glennie, an English artist

settled in Rome, to whom we had an introduction, and had the pleasure

of seeing several of his pictures, principally in water–colour.

Mr. Lawrence MacDonald, the venerable–looking old Scotchman, since

deceased, kindly with his son showed us over their studio, in which

were many fine pieces of sculpture; and Signor Rosetti was also good

enough to let us see his collection, which contained a large number of

finely conceived and executed sculptures in white marble, at prices

much below what is expected at home for similar works. A small fee (1

franc) is given at leaving to the workman who attends or opens the door.

* * * * *

We heard that the Royal Palace (Quirinal) could be seen, and

accordingly visited it. After inscribing our names in a visitors’

book, we were shown round the rooms by an attendant. The palace is

on the Quirinal Hill, and is one of several which the King of Italy

maintains; some of which, I doubt not, he would gladly dispense with,

as adding unnecessarily to the cost of his establishment. It formerly

belonged to the Popes, and the room was shown us in which the cardinals

used to sit in conclave for the election of the Pope, which, when

completed, was announced from a balcony to the people congregated

outside. There are several spacious apartments in the building, adorned

by some interesting paintings and sculptures. We were taken through

the audience and other public _salons_, including the ballroom, which

is decorated in a peculiar manner, especially by mirrors, on which

appropriate figures have been depicted. The ceiling is painted to

represent dancers in the air, and the floor is of polished wood. Some

of the rooms are tapestried. A franc to the attendant, and a half–franc

to the porter who had charge of our umbrellas, was all that was

expected.

* * * * *

The grounds of some of the villas about Rome are also opened to the

public; but they are not kept with the neatness and tidiness which

characterize gentlemen’s grounds at home. The most important or most

extensive is probably the Villa Borghese. The gate of entrance to this

great park, laid out in a way which is peculiarly Italian, is just

outside the Porta del Popolo. The grounds are open daily, except on

Mondays, and it is a favourite resort for all classes in the afternoon.

After a long drive through them we reached the Casino, a building

of many rooms, on two floors, devoted to a very large collection

of sculptures, which well merits several visits. The Roman ladies,

like other Italians, are very fond of driving about in style, with

coachman and footman on the box; and a good part of their afternoon

appears to be spent in these grounds and on the Pincian Hill, which

adjoins, and in the gardens of which a band of music plays in the

afternoons, attracting, as the only public garden—and it is of small

dimensions—which the Romans seem to have, a fashionable crowd. The

Pincian gardens are very prettily laid out, and there are excellent

views of Rome from this height (one of the two highest of the hills of

Rome), especially looking towards St. Peter’s. A splendid survey of the

city is also obtained from the hill on which San Pietro in Montorio

stands, being to the south–west of St. Peter’s, and therefore facing

the Pincian Hill. From both points, as well as from others in Rome, the

eye takes in the prospect of the Campagna, and of the mountains beyond;

among which nestle several villages by name well known, such as Albano,

Frascati, and Tivoli.

* * * * *

To see the last mentioned, together with a little of the Campagna,

we devoted a day. For this purpose we hired a carriage, the charge

for which was 35 francs. Bædeker says it is 25 francs; one of those

instances which show that implicit reliance cannot always be placed on

guidebook figures, although it is quite possible that a person resident

in Rome, and acquainted with the ways and language, might bargain for

the lesser sum.

There had been some wet weather, and the morning on which we were

to start was overcast; but our coachman was confident that the day

would be fine, as indeed it proved, and we left at half–past seven—a

necessarily early hour, so as both to afford time for the trip and

to obtain the cool of the day for the drive. Although the excursion

was very enjoyable, a great part of the road lay through the flat,

uninteresting Campagna, relieved by here and there a few houses, by an

old robber’s castle, and by other ruins. It is melancholy to observe

these extensive plains now so unhealthy, formerly so salubrious and

fertile; now apparently all but uninhabited, but in the days of Rome’s

glory so full of life. Hardly a tree is to be seen, and one could wish

very much that there was an extensive planting of the Eucalyptus tree,

which, if it would thrive, might probably contribute to the restoration

of the land to a healthy condition, or to some extent neutralize the

malaria, believed to arise from the destruction of the villas and

gardens and groves with which it was formerly covered, and from the

festering of the ruins below ground. It is said that the natives, who

probably get to a certain extent inured to residence in a locality

so unhealthy, object to plantation; and perhaps the climate might in

winter be too severe for a tree which is easily blighted by the frost.

Other and hardier trees may, however, be equally well adapted for the

purpose, and as the whole subject has been and is under consideration

of the authorities, perhaps we may soon hope to see better things.

Indeed, I should imagine that the Campagna has already been improved

by drainage or otherwise; at all events, if haze be a symptom of the

unhealthiness, we did not observe much haze hanging over the fields.

The way was enlivened by occasionally passing regiments of Italian

soldiers, here as elsewhere engaged closely at drill, no doubt in

preparation for the possibility of being called upon to engage on

one side or the other (for the side was a matter uncertain) in the

war which had then recently been commenced, or at least declared,

between Russia and Turkey, and into which there seemed the lamentable

possibility of the other European nations being drawn. These little

Italian soldiers were clad as usual in that compound of warm and light

clothing which is suitable for a climate where one part of the day is

cold and another hot. In fact, it is very curious, in a country with

which one associates so much of sun and heat, to see how universally

the Italian men, at all events in spring–time, go about with heavy

thick cloth greatcoats or cloaks, sometimes half on, dangling from the

shoulder, but ready to be wrapped about them when the cold descends.

We also occasionally passed one of those picturesquely–dressed mounted

shepherds which are seen in pictures; more frequently we overtook some

of the country carts, drawn by the strong and patient buffaloes, so

common in Italy, but which strike a native of Britain as singularly

primitive.

About half–way to Tivoli, which is sixteen miles from Rome, we

approached the Lago di Tartari and a sulphurous stream which issues

from it and flows under the road, scenting the air for some distance

around. As we drew near to the mountains, which are all along in sight,

the country improved; and diverging by a road to the right, we arrived

at Hadrian’s Villa, the admission to which is by ticket, 1 franc each.

This is the ruin of an extraordinary country residence, built by the

Emperor Hadrian on a most magnificent and extensive scale. It contained

a theatre, a hippodrome, baths, temples, and every description of

edifice in use in the time of the Romans, and that on a grand plan, and

adorned with marble and sculptures, some of which have been recovered

from the ruins—a walk among which gives, though imperfectly, a

wonderful idea of the extraordinary splendour and opulence of the Roman

emperors.

Returning to the main road, and slowly proceeding up a long, steep

ascent, the town or village of Tivoli was reached. It stands high,

and the ruins of two temples are situated close upon the famous

waterfalls. Visitors here stop at the little Sibylla Hotel, usually

bringing their lunch with them, as we did, and a table is spread under

the temple of the Sibyl, on a platform which commands views towards

the falls and mountains. For the accommodation so afforded we were

charged 4 francs, and we enjoyed their Frascati wine. When we rose to

make the usual round, we were besieged by loitering guides and idle

people offering to take us to the falls. Having hired a donkey for my

wife, I told the rest we had no need for them. But they would take no

refusal; and although informed decidedly they were not wanted, two men

with a chaise _à porteur_ persistently followed us all the way down,

asking to be engaged, and diminishing their demands as we descended

and the prospect of employment became more and more hopeless. We were

also annoyed by all sorts of begging and methods of asking money; one

respectable–looking woman, who had a child suspended in a peculiar sort

of go–cart, which, as a curiosity, we were looking at, was not ashamed

to ask for some _soldi_ in respect of the ‘bambino;’ in fact, nobody

there, or elsewhere in Italy, seems ashamed to beg.

The falls were not so grand as we had expected to find them, although

there is one thundering cascade. We had intended going to see the Villa

d’Este, but a lady who had been there before dissuaded us, as not worth

seeing, though I understand the grounds are; and as it would have taken

time, and we were anxious to be home early, for it is not good to be

out in the Campagna after dusk, we left in the afternoon in spite of

the protestations of the coachman, who for some unknown reason would

have detained us two hours longer, and got back to Rome about half–past

six, in time for dinner, and sufficiently late at that season to be

out. Outside the walls we stopped at the Church of San Lorenzo fuori

le mura, and entered it. Its old pillars, pavement, and mosaics, its

pulpit and its peculiar construction, make it remarkable, and well

worthy of a visit. On returning to the carriage, one of the ladies

missed a cloak, which in all likelihood had been adroitly abstracted

by a loitering beggar, of whom there were several at the gate of the

church.

* * * * *

In any mention of a visit to Rome, one can scarcely omit some notice

of the Roman shops. I suppose that no visitor to Rome leaves without

making purchases of one description or another, or of all. Apparently,

the Americans go in more largely than others for purchases of all

kinds, and one reason for that may possibly be the fear their visit to

Italy may never be repeated. One lady, in the house in which we were,

had bought so many things of divers sorts that she required to get

seven boxes made to hold them. They comprised marble busts, copies of

paintings, bronzes, photographs, and I know not what besides. All these

can be bought at prices not only greatly less than in America, where

everything is dear, but also much less than in Great Britain, if indeed

they can be had out of Italy; but to the price the purchaser requires

in his calculations to add the cost of carriage and import duty (where

exigible), and to take into view the risk of transit.

There are many photograph shops in Rome, and at most of them one can

purchase cheaply all descriptions. They are often filled with people

selecting examples, chiefly of buildings and pictures. It is needful

to know where to go, but this is soon learned, either by experience or

by recommendation of fellow photograph–hunters. I have seen the same

photographs, and equally good, sold at one shop at half the price they

were sold at another. The cheaper shops are therefore crowded, while

the others (in which, however, some large and good photographs claiming

to be high–class are sold) enjoy their _otium cum dignitate_. Some

of the photographs exhibited in the windows—as, for example, of St.

Peter’s and the Colosseum—are of great size, requiring to be printed on

two or three large sheets.

Another description of shop, the most numerous of all, is that for the

sale of Roman, mosaic, and other species of jewellery. The windows

of these jewellers’ shops are filled with very elegant specimens of

mosaic work, in the form of brooches, bracelets, ear–drops, shawl–pins,

etc., composed of minute coloured stones put together in all sorts of

devices, sometimes in miniature copies of well–known pictures. The

execution is marvellous.[36] The prices are moderate, but one requires

to keep in mind, in some cases, the Italian method of demanding a

larger price than will be taken. Even in shops professedly dealing on

the principle of fixed prices, the shopkeepers are not insusceptible

of a diminution, at least upon goods of a high price, although an

offer of a lower price should be made only when it seems likely to be

accepted. The Italians’ idea of selling in general apparently is, that

if they can make a profit, however small, rather to sell than lose the

chance. The system of asking a long price, to be met with an equally

low offer, and by gradual approximations to come to terms, is a mode of

transacting extremely repugnant to British habits, but it is sometimes

encountered. I have heard of the same article being offered to an

English person at one price, and sold to a native at little more than

half. At the same time, it is only right to say that this was not in

Rome, where, I think, on the whole, prices seem to be fair and fixed.

Ladies find in the pretty silk Roman sashes and ribbons, woven, I

believe, by girls on antiquated small looms in the shops where they are

sold, another species of attraction.

Other shops, again, are devoted to the sale of bronze and marble

copies, on a small scale, of statues, heads, and ruins, particularly

columns in the Forum and elsewhere; and some have small alabaster or

Roman marble copies of sculptures, though for such articles Florence

is the greater mart. Other shops sell copies of celebrated paintings.

The visitor, therefore, has very little difficulty, if possessed of

time, inclination, and money, in making a good collection to take home

of objects of _virtu_, or, at least, of what will give a pleasing

recollection of what one has seen in Old Rome.

* * * * *

But what one sees in Rome can only give the faintest idea of what it

was when mistress of the world. In place of being confined to the

comparatively circumscribed limits of the walls, a space which at

present it only partially covers, the city, besides being composed of

high, many–storied houses, like those in the Old Town of Edinburgh,

extended for miles over the Campagna, and that perhaps very densely.

Instead of a population now of scarcely a quarter of a million, the

population then is thought to have greatly exceeded that of London

at the present day. Indeed, some have not hesitated to state it at

as high a figure as 14,000,000, while others, more moderate in their

calculations, have placed it at from 4,000,000 to 6,000,000. But

whatever it may have been (for this is a _questio vexata_), it was

many times what it has now become. Then consider the magnificent

multiplicity of its buildings and decorations. For, besides 700

temples[37] and other structures of whose number no record perhaps

exists, there were in ancient Rome at one time, 31 theatres, 11

amphitheatres (and we have seen the scale upon which these erections

were constructed), 48 obelisks, 66 ivory statues, 82 equestrian

statues, 3785 bronze statues, 1352 fountains, 2091 prisons, 9025 baths,

17,097 palaces. Then keep in view that this was all during a period

when classic taste prevailed, and everything, as the remains now left

testify, was in the utmost perfection of art, and sometimes of the

most wonderful magnificence. Keep also in view that thousands of Roman

citizens were then of immense opulence, one evidence of which was

that they were possessed of crowds of slaves, some of them having as

many as 10,000 or even 20,000; and think what pomp and style must have

been kept up in the 17,000 palaces of Rome, surging out upon its 360

spacious streets and its countless minor _vias_, and one approaches

to an idea of the superb grandeur of the great city; in the presence

of which it does make us feel small to think, that while we lavish

millions on war, we cannot so much as, at the hundredth part of the

cost of one of our little wars, build and complete a single temple in

the perfection of the ancients, seeing we have the National Monument on

the Calton Hill, so bravely begun, in a condition calculated merely to

expose the indifference to high art with which the British nation is

afflicted. But we cannot be sorry for the fall of Rome, and only should

take warning from it, because its power was built up on military force,

and its riches were got, not by the successful prosecution of peaceful

pursuits, but by the conquest and plunder and the subjection of other

nations.

Nor can we any more deplore that modern Rome is now shorn of the

prestige it enjoyed while the Popes were once all–potent. Strangers

can no longer be gratified by the sight of priestly pageants and papal

shows. But let us be thankful that, as the Pope hides his head, the

civil power has risen; and now, in place of persecution, torture, and

death for those who would not bow the knee to a corrupted religion, the

Inquisition—that cruel, hateful instrument of religious intolerance and

priestly tyranny—is at an end, and every one can worship God within

the walls of Rome as his conscience dictates, none daring to make

him afraid. The only strange reflection[38] which arises is, that

while so many in England, where education prevails and people should

know better, are allowing themselves to be drawn back again into the

trammels of Rome, the people of Rome and of Italy, with all their

ignorance, are shaking off a yoke which neither they nor their fathers

were able to bear, and rejoicing to be free.

* * * * *

We had been nine days in Rome, and before seeing it further, thought

it advisable to take a run to Naples, and rest in that locality, for

so much sight–seeing was fatiguing. During even this short time we

had done a great deal, and the break of going away operated, as it

were, as a first visit, preliminary to a further investigation upon

our second visit of what then became to us in a manner as familiar

old friends. Even in both our visits, made out of the common motive

of curiosity, and with no higher aims, we could only consider we had

examined things in a most superficial way, leaving besides a great deal

that was unexplored. It is often said that even a whole winter in Rome

is inadequate to do justice to its sights. In a single forenoon we have

been to as many as a dozen different places. We entered Rome with the

idea that it would be the first and only visit of a lifetime. We left

it with the feeling that we had only seen enough to make it more easy

for us to comprehend the subject at home, so that some years later we

might all return to investigate it together in greater detail, or with

more perfect acquaintance with what we had to see, to know, and to

think about. Alas! how little did we then anticipate that that future

day, to one of us at least, whose hopes were bright and whose enjoyment

of all was deep and thorough, would never come!