CHAPTER I

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ROMAN MOSAICS

OR

STUDIES IN ROME AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD

BY

HUGH MACMILLAN

D.D., LL.D., F.R.S.E., F.S.A. Scot.

AUTHOR OF

'BIBLE TEACHINGS IN NATURE,' 'FIRST FORMS OF VEGETATION,'

'HOLIDAYS IN HIGH LANDS,' 'THE RIVIERA,' ETC.

London

MACMILLAN AND CO.

AND NEW YORK

1888

PREFACE

The title of this book may seem fanciful. It may even be regarded as

misleading, creating the idea that it is a treatise like that of Mr.

Digby Wyatt on those peculiar works of art which decorate the old

palaces and churches of Rome. But notwithstanding these objections, no

title can more adequately describe the nature of the book. It is

applicable on account of the miscellaneous character of the chapters,

which have already appeared in some of our leading magazines and

reviews, and are now, with considerable changes and additions,

gathered together into a volume. There is a further suitableness in

the title, owing to the fact that most of the contents have no claim

to originality. As a Roman Mosaic is made up of small coloured cubes

joined together in such a manner as to form a picture, so my book may

be said to be made up of old facts gathered from many sources and

harmonised into a significant unity. So many thousands of volumes

have been written about Rome that it is impossible to say anything new

regarding it. Every feature of its topography and every incident of

its history have been described. Every sentiment appropriate to the

subject has been expressed. But Rome can be regarded from countless

points of view, and studied for endless objects. Each visitor's mind

is a different prism with angles of thought that break up the subject

into its own colours. And as is the case in a mosaic, old materials

can be brought into new combinations, and a new picture constructed

out of them. It is on this ground that I venture to add another book

to the bewildering pile of literature on Rome.

But I have another reason to offer. While the great mass of the

materials of the book is old and familiar, not a few things are

introduced that are comparatively novel. The late Dean Alford made the

remark how difficult it is to obtain in Rome those details of interest

which can be so easily got in other cities. Guide-books contain a vast

amount of information, but there are many points interesting to the

antiquarian and the historian which they overlook altogether. There is

no English book, for instance, like Ruffini's _Dizionario

Etimologico-Storico delle Strade, Piazze, Borghi e Vicoli della Città

di Roma_, to tell one of the origin of the strange and bizarre names

of the streets of Rome, many of which involve most interesting

historical facts and most romantic associations of the past. There is

no English book on the ancient marbles of Rome like Corsi's _Pietre

Antiche_, which describes the mineralogy and source of the building

materials of the imperial city, and traces their history from the law

courts and temples of which they first formed part to the churches and

palaces in which they may now be seen. Every nook in London, with its

memories and points of interest, has been chronicled in a form that is

accessible to every one. But there is an immense amount of most

interesting antiquarian lore regarding out-of-the-way things in Rome

which is buried in the transactions of learned societies or in special

Italian monographs, and is therefore altogether beyond the reach of

the ordinary visitor. Science has lately shed its vivid light upon the

physical history of the Roman plain; and the researches of the

archæologist have brought into the daylight of modern knowledge, and

by a wider comparison and induction have invested with a new

significance, the prehistoric objects, customs, and traditions which

make primeval Rome and the surrounding sites so fascinating to the

imagination. But these results are not to be found in the books which

the English visitor usually consults. In the following chapters I have

endeavoured to supply some of that curious knowledge; and it is to be

hoped that what is given--for it is no more than a slight sample out

of an almost boundless store--will create an interest in such

subjects, and induce the reader to go in search of fuller information.

Many of the points touched upon have provoked endless disputations

which are not likely soon to be settled. Indeed there is hardly any

line of study one can take up in connection with Rome which does not

bristle with controversies; and a feeling of perplexity and

uncertainty continually haunts one in regard to most of the subjects.

It is not only in the vague field of the early traditions of the city,

and of the medieval traditions of the Church, that this feeling

oppresses one; it exists everywhere, even in the more solid and

assured world of Roman art, literature, and history. Where it is so

difficult to arrive at settled convictions, I may be pardoned if I

have expressed views that are open to reconsideration.

I am aware of the disadvantages connected with thus collecting

together a number of separate papers, instead of writing a uniform

treatise upon one continuous subject. The picture formed by their

union must necessarily have much of the artificiality and clumsiness

of the mosaic as compared with the oil or water-colour painting. But

only in this form could I have brought together such a great variety

of important things. And though I cannot hope that the inherent defect

of the mosaic will be compensated by its permanence--for books of this

kind do not last--yet it will surely serve some good purpose to have

such a collocation of facts regarding a place whose interest is ever

varying and never dying.

The personal element is almost entirely confined to the first chapter,

which deals on that account with more familiar incidents than the

others. Twelve years have elapsed since my memorable sojourn in Rome;

and many changes have occurred in the Eternal City since then. I have

had no opportunity to repeat my visit and to add to or correct my

first impressions, desirable as it might be to have had such a

revision for the sake of this book. I duly drank of the water of Trevi

the night before I left; but the spell has been in abeyance all these

years. I live, however, in the hope that it has not altogether lost

its mystic power; and that some day, not too far off, I may be

privileged to go over the old scenes with other and larger eyes than

those with which I first reverently gazed upon them. It needs two

visits at least to form any true conception of Rome: a first visit to

acquire the personal interest in the city which will lead at home to

the eager search for knowledge regarding it from every source; and

then the second visit to bring the mind thus quickened and richly

stored with information to bear with new comprehension and increased

interest upon the study of its antiquities on the spot.

HUGH MACMILLAN.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

A WALK TO CHURCH IN ROME

A Walk to Church in Country--In the Town--Residence in Capo le

Case--Church of San Guiseppe--Propaganda--Pillar of Immaculate

Conception--Piazza di Spagna--Staircase--Models--Beggars--Church of

Trinita dei Monti--Flowers--Via Babuino--Piazza del Popolo--Flaminian

Obelisk--Pincian Hill--Porta del Popolo--Church of Santa Maria del

Popolo--Monastery of St. Augustine--Presbyterian Church--Villa

Borghese--Ponte Molle

CHAPTER II

THE APPIAN WAY

Formation of Appian Way--Tombs on Roman Roads--Loneliness of Country

outside Rome--Porta Capena--Restoration of Appian Way--Grove and

Fountain of Egeria--Baths of Caracalla--Church of Sts. Nereus and

Achilles--Tomb of Scipios--Columbaria--Arch of Drusus--Gate of St.

Sebastian--Almo--Tomb of Geta--Plants in Valley of Almo--Catacombs

of St. Calixtus--Catacomb of Pretextatus--Catacomb of Sts. Nereus

and Achilles--Church of St. Sebastian--Circus of Romulus--Tomb of

Cæcilia Metella--Sadness of Appian Way--Imagines Clipeatæ--Profusion

of Plant and Animal Life--Solitude--Villa of Seneca--Mounds of

Horatii and Curiatii--Villa of Quintilii--Tomb of Atticus--Casale

Rotondo--Frattocchie--Bovillæ--Albano--St. Paul's Entrance into

Rome by Appian Way

CHAPTER III

THE CUMÆAN SIBYL

Promontory of Carmel--Westmost Point of Italy--Mode of reaching

Cumæ--Few Relics of Ancient City--Uncertainty about Sibyl's

Cave--Loneliness of Site--Roman Legend of Sibylline Books--Mode

of Keeping Them--Sortes Sibyllinæ--Different Sibyls--Apocalyptic

Literature--Existing Remains of Sibylline Books--Reverence paid

to Sibyl by Christian Writers--Church of Ara Coeli--Roof of Sistine

Chapel--Prospective Attitude of Sibyl--Retrospective Characteristic

of Greek and Roman Religion--Connection between Hebrew and Pagan

Prophecy--Pagan Oracles superseded by Living Oracles of the Gospel

CHAPTER IV

FOOTPRINTS IN ROME

Footprints of our Lord in Church of Domine quo Vadis--Slabs

with Footprints in Kircherian Museum--St. Christina's Footprints

at Bolsena--Significance of Footmarks--Votive Offerings--Footprint

of Mahomet at Jerusalem--Footprint of Christ on Mount of

Olives--Footprints of Abraham at Mecca--Drusic Footprints--Phrabat,

or Sacred Foot of Buddha--Famous Footprint on Summit of Adam's Peak

in Ceylon--Footprints at Gayá--Footprints of Vishnu--Jain

Temples--Prehistoric Footprints--Tanist Stones--Dun Add in

Argyleshire--Mary's Step in Wales--Footmarks in Ireland, Norway,

Denmark, and Brittany--Classical Examples--Footprints in America

and Africa--Connection with Primitive Worship

CHAPTER V

THE ROMAN FORUM

Geological History--Volcanic Origin--Early Legends--Cloaca

Maxima--Work of Excavation--Ærarium--Capitol--Temple of Concord--Temple

of Jupiter--Arch of Septimius Severus--Milliarium Aureum--Mamertine

Prison--Pillar of Phocas--Suovetaurilia--Curia Hostilia--Comitium--Curia

of Diocletian--Basilica Julia--Vicus Tuscus--Temple of Castor and

Pollux--Atrium Vestæ--Temple of Vesta--Temple of Antoninus Pius

and Faustina--Church of SS. Cosma e Damiano--Colosseum--Conflagration

in Forum

CHAPTER VI

THE EGYPTIAN OBELISKS

Number of Obelisks in Rome--Sun Worship--Symbolism of Obelisk--Obelisk

of Nebuchadnezzar--Original position of Obelisks--Egyptian

Propylons--Changes connected with Obelisks in Egypt--Transportation

of Obelisks to Rome and other places--Obelisk of Heliopolis--Obelisk

of Luxor--Karnac--Lateran Obelisk--Obelisk in Square of St.

Peter's--Obelisk of Piazza del Popolo--Association of Fountains with

Obelisks--Obelisk of Monte Citorio--Esquiline and Quirinal

Obelisks--Obelisk of Trinita dei Monti--Pamphilian Obelisk--Obelisks

near Pantheon--Superiority of Oldest Obelisks--Obelisk of

Paris--Cleopatra's Needles in London and New York--Religious Devotion

of Ancient Egyptians

CHAPTER VII

THE PAINTED TOMB AT VEII

Excursions in neighbourhood of Rome--History of Veii--Uncertainty

of its Site--Journey to Isola Farnese--Village of Isola--Romantic

Scenery--Desolate Downs--Roman Municipium--Old Gateway--Ponte

Sodo--Necropolis of Veii--Painted Tomb--Archaic Frescoes--Objects in

Inner Chamber--Etruscan Tombs imitative of Homes of the Living--Worship

of the Dead--Cellæ Memoriæ--Antiquity of Tomb at Veii--Mysterious

character of Etruscan Language and History

CHAPTER VIII

HOLED STONES AND MARTYR WEIGHTS

Bocca della Verita--Primitive Worship of Clefts in Rocks and

Holes in Stones--Cromlechs--Passing through beneath Cromlechs and

Gates--Tigillum Sororium--Pillars in Aksa Mosque at Jerusalem--"Threading

the Needle" in Ripon Cathedral--Standing Stones of Stennis and Oath

of Odin--Cremave--Jewish Covenant--Martyr Stones--Originally Roman

Measures of Weight--Made of Jade or Nephrite--Remarkable History of

Jade--Prehistoric Glimpses--Relics of Stone Age in Rome--Conservation

of things connected with Religion

CHAPTER IX

ST. ONOFRIO AND TASSO

Church of St. Onofrio--Monastery--Garden--Tasso's Oak--Grand View of

Rome and Neighbourhood--Tasso's Birthplace at Sorrento--Remarkable

Epoch--Bernardo Tasso--Prince of Salerno--Youth of Tasso--Visit

to Rome--Sojourn at Venice--Student of Law at Padua--First Poem

_Rinaldo_--University of Bologna--House of Este--Leonora--Composition

of _Gerusalemme Liberata_--Death of Tasso's Father--Visit to

France--_Aminta_ and Pastoral Drama--Publication of _Gerusalemme

Liberata_--Della Cruscan Academy--Ariosto--Cold Treatment of Tasso

by Alfonso--Confinement in Hospital of St. Anne--Story of Hapless

Love--Alleged Madness--Hospital of St. Anne--_Torrismondo_--Release

of Tasso--Pilgrimage to Loretto--Residence at Naples--Connection with

Milton--_Gerusalemme Conquistata_--Universal Recognition of Poet--Better

Days--Closing Scenes of Life at St. Onofrio--Proposed Coronation at

Capitol--Too Late--Death--Estimate of Life and Work

CHAPTER X

THE MARBLES OF ANCIENT ROME

Pleasures of Marble Hunting in Rome and Neighbourhood--Artistic

and Educational Uses of Marble Fragments--Geological Formation of

Rome--Building Materials of Ancient Rome--Marbles of Conquered

Countries introduced into Rome--Christian Churches made up of Remains

of Pagan Temples--Parian Marble--Porine and Pentelic Marbles--Hymettian

Marble--Thasian, Lesbian and Tyrian Marbles--Marble of Carrara--Apollo

Belvedere--Colouring of Ancient Statues and Buildings--Gibson's

Colour-creed--Time's Hues on Dying Gladiator--Cipollino--Giallo

Antico--Africano--Porta Santa--Fior di Persico--Pavonazzetto--Rosso

Antico--Sedia Forata--Faun--Black Marbles--Lumachella Marbles--Column of

Trajan--Breccias--Alabasters--Verde Antique--Subterranean Church of San

Clemente--Ophite and Opus Alexandrinum--Jaspers--Murrhine Cups--Lapis

Lazuli--Church of Jesuits--Abundance of Marbles in Ancient Rome

CHAPTER XI

THE VATICAN CODEX

Vatican Library--Origin and History--Monastery of Bobbio--Splendour

and Charm of Library--Contents of two Principal Cabinets--Letters

of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn--Vatican Codex--Freshness of

Appearance--Continuity of Writing--Vacant Space at end of St. Mark's

Gospel--A Palimpsest--Origin of Vatican Codex--Sinaitic and Alexandrine

Codices--History of Vatican Codex--Edition of Cardinal Mai--Edition

of Tischendorf--Disappearance of all Previous Manuscripts--Faults and

Deficiencies of Vatican Codex--Vatican Codex used in Revised Version

of New Testament--Formation of Sacred Canon

CHAPTER XII

ST. PAUL AT PUTEOLI

Landing of St. Paul in Ship _Castor and Pollux_ at Puteoli--Loveliness of

Bay of Naples--Crowded Population and Splendour of Villas--Dissoluteness

of Inhabitants--Worship of Roman Emperors--St. Paul's Grief and

Anxiety--Encouragement from Brethren--Christians in Tyrian Quarter at

Puteoli and at Pompeii--Southern Italy Greek in Blood and Language--Quay

at Puteoli--Temples of Neptune and Serapis--Changes of Level in Sea and

Land--Monte Nuovo--Destruction of Village of Tripergola--Filling up of

Leucrine Lake--Lake of Avernus--Sibyl's Cave--Lough Dearg and Purgatory

of St. Patrick--Death Quarter among Prehistoric People in the

West--Phlegræan Fields--Scene of Wars of Gods and Giants--Elysian

Fields--Pagan Heaven and Hell--Via Cumana and St. Paul--Amphitheatre

of Nero--Solfatara--Relics of Volcanic Fires and Ancient Civilisation

mixed together--Volcanic Fires and Landscape Beauty--Completion of Gospel

in St. Paul's Journey from Jerusalem to Rome

CHAPTER I

A WALK TO CHURCH IN ROME

I know nothing more delightful than a walk to a country church on a

fine day at the end of summer. All the lovely promises of spring have

been fulfilled; the woods are clothed with their darkest foliage, and

not another leaflet is to come anywhere. The lingering plumes of the

meadow-sweet in the fields, and the golden trumpets of the wild

honeysuckle in the hedges, make the warm air a luxury to breathe; and

the presence of a few tufts of bluebells by the wayside gives the

landscape the last finishing touch of perfection, which is suggestive

of decay, and has such an indescribable pathos about it. Nature pauses

to admire her own handiwork; she ceases from her labours, and enjoys

an interval of rest. It is the sabbath of the year. At such a time

every object is associated with its spiritual idea, as it is with its

natural shadow. The beauty of nature suggests thoughts of the beauty

of holiness; and the calm rest of creation speaks to us of the deeper

rest of the soul in God. On the shadowed path that leads up to the

house of prayer, with mind and senses quickened to perceive the

loveliness and significance of the smallest object, the fern on the

bank and the lichen on the wall, we feel indeed that heaven is not so

much a yonder, towards which we are to move, as a here and a now,

which we are to realise.

A walk to church in town is a different thing. Man's works are all

around us, and God's excluded; all but the strip of blue sky that

looks down between the tall houses, and suggests thoughts of heaven to

those who work and weep; all but the stunted trees and the green grass

that struggle to grow in the hard streets and squares, and whisper of

the far-off scenes of the country, where life is natural and simple.

But even in town a walk to church is pleasant, especially when the

streets are quiet, before the crowd of worshippers have begun to

assemble, and there is nothing to distract the thoughts. If we can say

of the country walk, "This is holy ground," seeing that every bush and

tree are aflame with God, we can say of the walk through the city,

"Surely the Lord hath been here, this is a dreadful place." And as the

rude rough stones lying on the mountain top shaped themselves in the

patriarch's dream into a staircase leading up to God, so the streets

and houses around become to the musing spirit suggestive of the

Father's many mansions, and the glories of the City whose streets are

of pure gold, in which man's hopes and aspirations after a city of

rest, which are baffled here, will be realised. I have many pleasing

associations connected with walks to church in town. Many precious

thoughts have come to me then, which would not have occurred at other

times; glimpses of the wonder of life, and revelations of inscrutable

mysteries covered by the dream-woven tissue of this visible world. The

subjects with which my mind was filled found new illustrations in the

most unexpected quarters; and every familiar sight and sound furnished

the most appropriate examples. During that half-hour of meditation,

with my blood quickened by the exercise, and my mind inspired by the

thoughts of the service in which I was about to engage, I have lived

an intenser life and enjoyed a keener happiness than during all the

rest of the week. It was the hour of insight that struck the keynote

of all the others.

But far above even these precious memories, I must rank my walks to

church in Rome. What one feels elsewhere is deepened there; and the

wonderful associations of the place give a more vivid interest to all

one's experiences. I lived in the Capo le Case, a steep street on the

slope between the Pincian and Quirinal hills, situated about

three-quarters of a mile from the church outside the Porta del Popolo.

This distance I had to traverse every Sunday morning; and I love

frequently to shut my eyes and picture the streets through which I

passed, and the old well-known look of the houses and monuments. There

is not a more delightful walk in the world than that; and I know not

where within such a narrow compass could be found so many objects of

the most thrilling interest. For three months, from the beginning of

February to the end of April, twice, and sometimes four times, every

Sunday, I passed that way, going to or returning from church, until I

became perfectly familiar with every object; and associations of my

own moods of mind and heart mingled with the grander associations

which every stone recalled, and are now inextricably bound up with

them. With one solitary exception, when the weather in its chill winds

and gloomy clouds reminded me of my native climate, all the Sundays

were beautiful, the sun shining down with genial warmth, and the sky

overhead exhibiting the deep violet hue which belongs especially to

Italy. The house in which I lived had on either side of the entrance a

picture-shop; and this was always closed, as well as most of the other

places of business along the route. The streets were remarkably quiet;

and all the circumstances were most favourable for a meditative walk

amid such magnificent memories. The inhabitants of Rome pay respect to

the Sunday so far as abstaining from labour is concerned; but they

make up for this by throwing open their museums and places of interest

on that day, which indeed is the only day in which they are free to

the public; and they take a large amount of recreation for doing a

small amount of penance in the interests of religion. Still there is

very little bustle or traffic in the streets, especially in the

morning; and one meets with no more disagreeable and incongruous

interruptions on the way to church in the Eternal City than he does at

home. At the head of the Capo le Case is a small church, beside an old

ruinous-looking wall of tufa, covered with shaggy pellitory and other

plants, which might well have been one of the ramparts of ancient

Rome. It is called San Guiseppe, and has a faded fresco painting on

the gable, representing the Flight of the Holy Family into Egypt,

supposed to be by Frederico Zuccari, whose own house--similarly

decorated on the outside with frescoes--was in the immediate vicinity.

From the windows of my rooms, I could see at the foot of the street

the fantastic cupola and bell-turret of the church of St. Andrea delle

Fratte, which belonged to the Scottish Catholics before the

Reformation, and is now frequented by our Catholic countrymen during

Lent, when sermons are preached to them in English. It is the parish

church of the Piazza di Spagna, and the so-called English quarter. The

present edifice was only built at the end of the sixteenth century,

and, strange to say, with the proceeds of the sale of Cardinal

Gonsalvi's valuable collection of snuff-boxes; but its name, derived

from the Italian word _Fratta_, "thorn-bush," would seem to imply that

the church is of much greater antiquity, going back to a far-off time

when the ground on which it stands was an uncultivated waste. A

miracle is said to have happened in one of the side chapels in 1842,

which received the sanction of the Pope. A young French Jew of the

name of Alfonse Ratisbonne was discovered in an ecstasy before the

altar; which he accounted for by saying, when he revived, that the

Virgin Mary had actually appeared to him, and saluted him in this

place, while he was wandering aimlessly, and with a smile of

incredulity, through the church. This supernatural vision led to his

conversion, and he was publicly baptized and presented to the Pope by

his godfather, the general of the Jesuits; receiving on the occasion,

in commemoration of the miracle, a crucifix, to which special

indulgences were attached.

At the foot of the Capo le Case is the College of the Propaganda,

whose vast size and plain massive architecture, as well as its

historical associations, powerfully impress the imagination. It was

begun by Gregory XV., in 1622, and completed by his successor, Urban

VIII., and his brother, Cardinal Antonio Barberini, from the plans

partly of Bernini and Borromini. On the most prominent parts of the

edifice are sculptured bees, which are the well-known armorial

bearings of the Barberini family. The Propaganda used to divide with

the Vatican the administration of the whole Roman Catholic world. It

was compared by the Abbé Raynal to a sword, of which the handle

remains in Rome, and the point reaches everywhere. The Vatican takes

cognisance of what may be called the domestic affairs of the Church

throughout Europe; the College of the Propaganda superintends the

foreign policy of the Church, and makes its influence felt in the

remotest regions of the earth. It is essentially, as its name implies,

a missionary institution, founded for the promotion and guidance of

missions throughout the world. Nearly two hundred youths from various

countries are constantly educated here, in order that they may go back

as ordained priests to their native land, and diffuse the Roman

Catholic faith among their countrymen. The average number ordained

every year is about fifty. No one is admitted who is over twenty years

of age; and they all wear a uniform dress, consisting of a long black

cassock, edged with red, and bound with a red girdle, with two bands,

representing leading-strings, hanging from the shoulders behind. The

cost of their education and support while in Rome, and the expenses of

their journey from their native land and back again, are defrayed by

the institution. Every visitor to Rome must be familiar with the

appearance of the students, as they walk through the streets in groups

of three or four, eagerly conversing with each other, with many

expressive gesticulations. For the most part they are a fine set of

young men, of whom any Church might well be proud, full of zeal and

energy, and well fitted to encounter, by their physical as well as

their mental training, the hard-ships of an isolated life, frequently

among savage races.

An annual exhibition is held in a large hall attached to the college

in honour of the holy Magi, about the beginning of January, when

students deliver speeches in different languages, and take part in

musical performances, the score of which is usually composed by the

professor of music in the college. The places of honour nearest the

stage are occupied by several cardinals, whose scarlet dresses and

silver locks contrast strikingly with the black garments of the

majority of the assemblage. The strange costumes and countenances of

the speakers, coloured with every hue known to the human family, the

novel sounds of the different languages, and the personal

peculiarities of each speaker in manner and intonation, make the

exhibition in the highest degree interesting. Its great popularity is

evinced by the crowds that usually attend, filling the hall to

overflowing; and though a religious affair, it is pervaded by a lively

spirit of fun, in which even the great dignitaries of the Church join

heartily.

The jurisdiction of the Propaganda is independent. The "congregation"

of the college is composed of twenty-five cardinals, sixteen of whom

are resident in Rome. One of their number is appointed prefect, and

has a prelate for his secretary. They meet statedly, once a month, for

the transaction of business, in a magnificent hall in the college.

Previous to 1851, the affairs of the Roman Catholic Church in England

were administered by the Propaganda; our country being included among

heretical or heathen lands to which missionaries were sent. But after

that memorable year they were transferred to the ordinary

jurisdiction of the See of Rome. This movement was the first distinct

act of papal aggression, and provoked fierce hostility among all

classes of the Protestant community. However some of us may regret

that such powerful and well-organised machinery is employed to

propagate to the ends of the earth a faith to which we cannot

subscribe, yet no one can read the proud inscription upon the front of

the edifice, "Collegio di Propagandâ Fide," and reflect upon the grand

way in which the purpose therein defined has been carried out, without

a sentiment of admiration. At a time when Protestant Churches were

selfishly devoted to their own narrow interests, and utterly unmindful

of the Saviour's commission to preach the gospel to every creature,

this college was sending forth to different countries, only partially

explored, bands of young priests who carried their lives in their

hands, and endured untold sufferings so that they might impart to the

heathen the blessings of Christian civilisation. There is not a region

from China and Japan to Mexico and the South Sea Islands, and from

Africa to Siberia, which has not been taken possession of by members

of this college, and cultivated for the Church. Names that are as

worthy of being canonised as those of any saint in the Roman calendar,

on account of their heroic achievements, their holy lives, or their

martyr deaths, belong to the rôle of the Propaganda. And while

sedulously spreading their faith, they were at the same time adding to

the sum of human knowledge; many of the most valuable and important

contributions to ethnology, geography, philology, and natural science

having been made by the students of this college. Pope Pius IX. in his

early days, after he had renounced his military career and become a

priest, was sent out by the Propaganda, as secretary to a

politico-religious mission which Pius VII. organised and despatched to

Chili; and in that country his missionary career of two years

exhibited all the devotion of a saint.

I had the pleasure of going through the various rooms of this famous

institution in the appropriate company of one of the most

distinguished Free Church missionaries in India; and was shown by the

rector of the college, with the utmost courtesy and kindness, all that

was most remarkable about the place. The library is extensive, and

contains some rare works on theology and canon law; and in the Borgian

Museum annexed to it there is a rich collection of Oriental MSS.,

heathen idols, and natural curiosities sent by missionaries from

various parts of the world. We were especially struck with the

magnificent "Codex Mexicanus," a loosely-bound, bulky MS. on white

leather, found among the treasures of the royal palace at the conquest

of Mexico by Cortes. It is full of coloured hieroglyphics and

pictures, and is known in this country through the splendid

reproduction of Lord Kingsborough.

But the most interesting of all the sights to the visitor is the

printing establishment, which at one time was the first in the world,

and had the means of publishing books in upwards of thirty different

languages. At the present day it is furnished with all the recent

appliances; and from this press has issued works distinguished as much

for their typographical beauty as for the area they cover in the

mission field. Its font of Oriental types is specially rich. We were

shown specimens of the Paternoster in all the known languages; and my

friend had an opportunity of inspecting some theological works in the

obscure dialects of India. The productions of the Propaganda press are

very widely diffused. There is a bookseller's shop connected with the

establishment, where all the publications of the institution,

including the papal bulls, and the principal documents of the State,

may be procured. Altogether the college has taken a prominent part in

the education of the world. Its influence is specially felt in

America, from which a large number of its students come; the young

priest who conducted us through the library and the Borgian Museum

being an American, very intelligent and affable. The Roman Catholic

religion flourishes in that country because it keeps clear of all

political questions, and manifests itself, not as a government, in

which character it is peculiarly uncompromising and despotic, but as a

religion, in which aspect it has a wonderful power of adaptation to

the habits and tastes of the people. The Propaganda rules Roman

Catholic America very much in the spirit of its own institutions; and

one of the most remarkable social phenomena of that country is the

absolute subserviency which the political spirit of unbridled

democracy yields to its decrees. The bees of the Barberini carved upon

its architectural ornaments are no inapt symbol of the spirit and

method of working of this busy theological hive, which sends its

annual swarms all over the world to gather ecclesiastical honey from

every flower of opportunity.

Passing beyond the Propaganda, we come to a lofty pillar of the

Corinthian order, situated at the commencement of the Piazza di

Spagna. It is composed of a kind of gray Carystian marble called

_cipollino_, distinguished by veins of pale green rippling through it,

like the layers of a vegetable bulb, on account of which it is

popularly known as the onion stone. It is one of the largest known

monoliths, being forty-two feet in height and nearly five feet in

diameter. It looks as fresh as though it were only yesterday carved

out of the quarry; but it must be nearly two thousand years old,

having been found about a hundred years ago when digging among the

ruins of the amphitheatre of Statilius Taurus, constructed in the

reign of Cæsar Augustus on the site now called, from a corruption of

the old name, Monte Citorio, and occupied by the Houses of Parliament.

When discovered the pillar was unfinished, a circumstance which would

indicate that it had never been erected. It was left to Pope Pius IX.,

after all these centuries of neglect and obscurity, to find a use for

it. Crowning its capital by a bronze statue of the Virgin Mary, and

disfiguring its shaft by a fantastic bronze network extending up

two-fifths of its height, he erected it where it now stands in 1854,

to commemorate the establishment by papal bull of the dogma of the

Immaculate Conception. It was during his exile at Gaeta, at a time

when Italy was torn with civil dissensions, and his own dominions were

afflicted with the most grievous calamities, which he could have

easily averted or remedied if he wished, that this dogma engrossed the

mind of the holy father and his ecclesiastical court. The

constitutionalists at Rome were anxiously expecting some conciliatory

manifesto which should precede the Pope's return and restore peace and

prosperity; and they were mortified beyond measure by receiving only

the letter in which this theological fiction was announced by his

Holiness. The people cried for the bread of constitutional liberty,

and the holy father gave them the stone of a religious dogma to which

they were wholly indifferent; thus demonstrating the incompatibility

of the functions of a temporal and spiritual sovereign.

The pillar of the Immaculate Conception is embellished by statues of

Moses, David, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, with texts from Scripture, and very

inferior bronze bas-reliefs of the incidents connected with the

publication of the dogma. As a work of art, it is heavy and graceless,

with hard mechanical lines; and the figure of the Virgin at the top is

utterly destitute of merit. The whole monument is a characteristic

specimen of the modern Roman school of sculpture. For ages Rome has

been considered the foster mother of art, and residence in it

essential to the education of the art-faculty. But this is a delusion.

Its atmosphere has never been really favourable to the development of

genius. There is a moral malaria of the place as fatal to the

versatile life of the imagination as the physical miasma is to health.

Roman Catholicism has petrified the heart and the fancy; and a petty

round of ceremonies, feasts, and social parties dissipates energy and

distracts the powers of those who are not under the influence of the

Church. The decadence of art has kept pace with the growing corruption

of religion. Descending from the purer spiritual conceptions of former

times to grosser and more superstitious ideas, it has given outward

expression to these in baser forms. Even St. Peter's, though

extravagantly praised by so many visitors, is but the visible

embodiment of the vulgar splendour of later Catholicism. The pillar of

the Immaculate Conception is not only a monument of religious

superstition, but also of what must strike every thoughtful observer

in Rome--the decadence of art in modern times as compared with the

glorious earlier days of a purer Church. And the art of the sculptor

is only in keeping with that of the painter in connection with this

dogma. For the large frescoes of Podesti, which occupy a conspicuous

place in the great hall of the Vatican, preceding the stanze of

Raphael, and depict the persons and incidents connected with the

proclamation of the Immaculate Conception, are worthless as works of

art, and present a melancholy contrast to the works of the immortal

genius in the adjoining halls, who wrought under the inspiration of a

nobler faith. No Titian or Raphael, no Michael Angelo or Bramante, was

found in the degenerate days of Pio Nono to immortalise what he called

the greatest event of his reign.

The square in which the pillar of the Immaculate Conception is

situated, along with the surrounding streets, is called the "Ghetto

Inglese," for here the English and Americans most do congregate. At

almost every step one encounters the fresh open countenances, blue

eyes, and fair hair, which one is accustomed to associate with darker

skies and ruder buildings. The Piazza di Spagna, so called from the

palace of the Spanish ambassador situated in a corner of it, is one of

the finest squares of Rome, being paved throughout, and surrounded on

every side by lofty and picturesque buildings. In the centre is a

quaint old boat-shaped fountain, called Fontana della Barcaccia, its

brown slippery sides being tinted with mosses, confervæ, and other

growths of wet surfaces. It was designed by Bernini to commemorate the

stranding of a boat on the spot after the retiring of the great flood

of 1598, which overwhelmed most of Rome. On the site of the Piazza di

Spagna, there was, in the days of Domitian, an artificial lake, on

which naval battles took place, witnessed by immense audiences seated

in a kind of amphitheatre on the borders of the lake. As an object of

taste the boat-shaped fountain is condemned by many; but Bernini

adopted the form not only because of the associations of the spot, but

also because the head of water was not sufficient for a jet of any

considerable height. Quaint, or even ugly, as some might call it, it

was to me an object of peculiar interest. Its water is of the purest

and sweetest; and in the stillness of the hot noon its bright sparkle

and dreamy murmur were delightfully refreshing. No city in the world

is so abundantly supplied with water as Rome. You hear the lulling

sound and see the bright gleam of water in almost every square. A

river falls in a series of sparkling cascades from the Fountain of

Trevi and the Fontana Paolina into deep, immense basins; and even into

the marble sarcophagi of ancient kings, with their gracefully

sculptured sides, telling some story of Arcadian times, whose nymphs

and naiads are in beautiful harmony with the rustic murmur of the

stream, is falling a gush of living water in many a palace courtyard.

This sound of many waters is, indeed, a luxury in such a climate; and

some of the pleasantest moments are those in which the visitor lingers

beside one of the fountains, when the blaze and bustle of the day are

over, and the balmy softness of the evening produce a dreamy mood, to

which the music of the waters is irresistibly fascinating.

The most distinguishing feature of the Piazza di Spagna is the wide

staircase which leads up from one side of it to the church of the

Trinita dei Monti, with its twin towers, through whose belfry arches

the blue sky appears. This lofty staircase comprises one hundred and

thirty steps, and the ascent is so gradual, and the landing-places so

broad and commodious, that it is quite a pleasure, even for the most

infirm persons, to mount it. The travertine of which it is composed is

polished into the smoothness of marble by constant use. It is the

favourite haunt of all the painters' models; and there one meets at

certain hours of the day with beautiful peasant girls from the

neighbouring mountains, in the picturesque costumes of the contadini,

and old men with grizzled beards and locks, dressed in ragged cloaks,

the originals of many a saint and Madonna in some sacred pictures,

talking and laughing, or basking with half-shut eyes in the full glare

of the sun. These models come usually from Cervaro and Saracinesco;

the latter an extraordinary Moorish town situated at a great height

among the Sabine hills, whose inhabitants have preserved intact since

the middle ages their Arabic names and Oriental features and customs.

On this staircase used to congregate the largest number of the beggars

of Rome, whose hideous deformities were made the excuse for extorting

money from the soft-hearted forestieri. Happily this plague has now

greatly abated, and one may ascend or descend the magnificent stair

without being revolted by the sight of human degradation, or

persecuted by the importunate outcries of those who are lost to shame.

The Government has done a good thing in diminishing this frightful

mendicancy. But it is to be feared that whilst there are many who beg

without any necessity, sturdy knaves who are up to all kinds of petty

larceny, there are not a few who have no other means of livelihood,

and without the alms of the charitable would die of starvation. The

visitor sees only the gay side of such a place as Rome; but there are

many tragedies behind the scenes. Centuries of misrule under the papal

government had pauperised the people; and the sudden transition to the

new state of things has deprived many of the old employments, without

furnishing any substitutes, while there is no longer the dole at the

convent door to provide for their wants. The whole social organisation

of Italy, with its frequent saints' days, during which no work is

done, and its numerous holy fraternities living on alms, and its

sanctification of mendicancy in the name of religion, has tended to

pauperise the nation, and give it those unthrifty improvident habits

which have destroyed independence and self-respect. Although,

therefore, the Government has publicly forbidden begging throughout

the country, it has in some measure tacitly connived at it, as a

compromise between an inefficient poor-law and the widespread misery

arising from the improvidence of so many of its subjects; the amount

of the harvest reaped by the beggars from the visitors to Rome being

so much saved to the public purse. And though one does not meet so

many unscrupulous beggars as formerly in the main thoroughfares of

Rome, one is often annoyed by them on the steps of the churches, where

they seem to have the right of sanctuary, and to levy toll upon all

for whom they needlessly lift the heavy leathern curtain that hangs at

the door. We must remember that mendicancy is a very ancient

institution in Italy, and that it will die hard, if it ever dies at

all.

The church of the Trinita dei Monti, built in 1494 by Charles VIII. of

France, occupies a most commanding position on the terrace above the

Spanish Square, and is seen as a most conspicuous feature in all the

views of Rome from the neighbourhood. An Egyptian obelisk with

hieroglyphics, of the age of the Ptolemies, which once adorned the

so-called circus in the gardens of Sallust on the Quirinal, now

elevated on a lofty pedestal, dedicated to the Holy Trinity, and

surmounted by a cross, stands in front of the church, and gives an air

of antiquity to it which its own four hundred years could hardly

impart, as well as forms an appropriate termination to the splendid

flight of steps which leads up to it. The church is celebrated for the

possession of the "Descent from the Cross," a fresco by Ricciarelli,

commonly known by the name of Daniel of Volterra, said to be one of

the three finest pictures in the world. But the chapel which it adorns

is badly lighted, and the painting has been greatly injured by the

French, who attempted to remove it in 1817. It does not produce a very

pleasing impression, being dark and oily-looking; and the cross-lights

in the place interfere with the expression of the figures. We can

recognise much of the force and graphic power of Michael Angelo, whom

the painter sedulously imitated, in various parts of the composition;

but it seems to me greatly inferior as a whole to the better-known

picture of Rubens. In another chapel of this church was interred the

celebrated painter Claude Lorraine, who lived for many years in a

house not far off; but the French transferred the remains of their

countryman to the monument raised to him in their native church in the

Via della Scrofa.

Adjoining the church is the convent of the Sacred Heart, which

formerly belonged to French monks, minims of the order of St. Francis.

It suffered severely from the wantonness of the French soldiers who

were quartered in it during the French occupation of Rome in the first

Revolution. Since 1827 the Convent has been in possession of French

nuns, who are all ladies of rank. They each endow the Convent at their

initiation with a dowry of £1000; the rest of their property going to

their nearest relatives as if they were dead. They spend their time in

devotional exercises, in superintending the education of a number of

young girls in the higher branches, and in giving advice to those who

are allowed to visit them for this purpose every afternoon. The

Trinita dei Monti is the only church in Rome where female voices are

to be heard chanting the religious services; and on account of this

peculiarity, and the fresh sweet voices of the nuns and their pupils,

many people flock to hear them singing the Ave Maria at sunset, on

Sundays and on great festivals, the singers themselves being

invisible behind a curtain in the organ gallery. Mendelssohn found

their vespers charming, though his critical ear detected many

blemishes in the playing and singing. I visited the church one day. As

it is shut after matins, I was admitted at a side door by one of the

nuns, who previously inspected me through the wicket, and was left

alone, the door being locked behind me. The interior is severely

simple and grand, preserving the original pointed architecture

inclining to Gothic, and is exquisitely clean and white, as women

alone could keep it; in this respect forming a remarkable contrast to

the grand but dirty church of the Capuchin monks. I had ample leisure

to study the very interesting pictures in the chapels. The solitude

was only disturbed by a kneeling figure in black, motionless as a

statue behind the iron railing in front of the high altar, or by the

occasional presence of a nun, who moved across the transept with slow

and measured steps, her face hid by a long white veil which gave her a

spirit-like appearance. In the heart of one of the busiest parts of

the city, no mountain cloister could be more quiet and lonely. One

felt the soothing stillness, lifted above the world, while yet

retaining the closest connection with it. It is sweet to leave the

busy crowd of various nationalities below, intent only upon pleasure,

and, climbing up the lofty staircase, enter this secluded shrine, and

be alone with God.

In the Piazza di Spagna some shops are always open on Sundays,

especially those which minister to the wants and luxuries of

strangers. Rows of cabs are ranged in the centre, waiting to be hired,

and groups of flower-sellers stand near the shops, who thrust their

beautiful bouquets almost into the face of every passer-by. If Rome is

celebrated for its fountains, it is equally celebrated for its

flowers. Whether it is owing to the soil, or the climate, or the mode

of cultivation, or all combined, certain it is that nowhere else does

one see flowers of such brilliant colours, perfect forms, and

delicious fragrance; and the quantities as well as varieties of them

are perfectly wonderful. Delicate pink and straw-coloured tea-roses,

camellias, and jonquils mingled their high-born beauties with the more

homely charms of wild-flowers that grew under the shadow of the great

solemn stone-pines on the heights around, or twined their fresh

garlands over the sad ruins of the Campagna. In the hand of every

little boy and girl were bunches for sale of wild cyclamens, blue

anemones, and sweet-scented violets, surrounded by their own leaves,

and neatly tied up with thread. They had been gathered in the princely

grounds of the Doria Pamphili and Borghese villas in the neighbourhood

of Rome, which are freely opened to all, and where for many days in

February and March groups of men, women, and children may be seen

gathering vast quantities of those first-born children of the sun. The

violets, especially in these grounds, are abundant and luxuriant,

making every space of sward shadowed by the trees purple with their

loveliness, like a reflection of the violet sky that had broken in

through the lattice-work of boughs, and scenting all the air with

their delicious perfume. They brought into the hot hard streets the

witchery of the woodlands; and no one could inhale for a moment, in

passing by, the sweet wafture of their fragrance without being

transported in imagination to far-off scenes endeared to memory, and

without a thrill of nameless tenderness at the heart. Some of the

bunches of violets I was asked to buy were of a much paler purple than

the others, and I was at no loss to explain this peculiarity. The

plants with the deep violet petals and dark crimson eye had single

blossoms, whereas those whose petals were lilac, and whose eye was of

a paler red colour, were double. Cultivation had increased the number

of petals, but it had diminished the richness of the colouring. This

is an interesting example of the impartial balancing of nature. No

object possesses every endowment. Defect in one direction is made up

by excess in another. The rose pays for its mass of beautiful petals

by its sterility; and the single violet has a lovelier hue, and is

perfectly fertile, whereas the double one is pale and cannot

perpetuate itself. And the moral lesson of this parable of nature is

not difficult to read. Leanness of soul often accompanies the

fulfilment of our earthly desires; and outward abundance often

produces selfishness and covetousness. The peculiar evil of prosperity

is discontent, dissatisfaction with present gain and a longing for

more, and a spirit of repining at the little ills and disappointments

of life. Humble, fragrant, useful contentment belongs to the soul that

has the single eye, and "the one thing needful;" and the more we seek

to double our possessions and enjoyments in the spirit of selfishness,

the less beautiful and fragrant are we in the sight of God and man,

and the less good we do in the world.

From the Piazza di Spagna I passed onward through a long street called

the Via Babuino, from an antique statue of a satyr mutilated into the

likeness of a baboon, that used to adorn a fountain about the middle

of it, now removed. More business is done on Sunday in this street

than in any other quarter, with the exception of the Corso. Here a

shop full of bright and beautiful flowers, roses, magnolias,

hyacinths, and lilies of the valley, perfumed all the air; there a

jeweller's shop displayed its tempting imitations of Etruscan

ornaments, and beads of Roman pearls, coral, lapis lazuli, and

malachite; while yonder a marble-cutter wrought diligently at his

laths, converting some fragment of rare marble--picked up by a tourist

among the ruins of ancient Rome--into a cup or letter-weight to be

carried home as a souvenir.

The Via Babuino opens upon the Piazza del Popolo, the finest and

largest square in Rome. In the centre is a magnificent Egyptian

obelisk of red Syene granite, about eighty feet in height, carved with

hieroglyphics, with four marble Egyptian lions at each corner of the

platform upon which it stands, pouring from their mouths copious

streams of water into large basins, with a refreshing sound. Perhaps

the eyes of Abraham rested upon this obelisk when he went down into

Egypt, the first recorded traveller who visited the valley of the

Nile; and the familiarity of the sight to the Israelites during their

bondage in the neighbourhood may have suggested the wonderful vision

of the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night which regulated

their wanderings in the wilderness. God does not paint His revelations

on the empty air, but weaves them into the web of history, or pours

them into the mould of common earthly objects and ordinary human

experiences. Many of the rites and institutions of the Mosaic economy

were borrowed from those of the Egyptian priesthood; the tabernacle

and its furniture were composed of the gold and jewels of which the

Israelites had spoiled the Egyptians; and its form, a tent moved from

place to place, accommodated itself to the wandering camp-life of the

Israelites. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to suppose that He who

appeared to Moses at Horeb, not in some unknown supernatural blaze of

glory altogether detached from earth, but in the common fire of a

shepherd in the common dry vegetation of the desert, and who made use

of the common shepherd's rod which Moses carried in his hand to

perform the wonderful miracles before Pharaoh, would also make use of

the obelisk of Heliopolis, one of the most familiar objects which met

their eye during their captivity, as the pattern of the Shechinah

cloud which guided His people in their journey to the land of Canaan.

The symbol of the sun that shone upon their weary toil as slaves in

the clay-pits beside the Nile, now protected and illumined them in

their march as freemen through the desert. What they had probably

joined their oppressors in worshipping as an idol, they now beheld

with awe and reverence as the token of the overshadowing and

overshining presence of the living and true God. That flame-shaped

obelisk was the link between Egypt and the Holy Land. The divine

effigy of it in the sky of the desert--like the manna as the link

between the corn of Egypt and the corn of Canaan--marked the

transition from the false to the true, from the old world of dark

pagan thought, to the new world of religious light. I need not say

with what profound interest such a thought invested the obelisk in the

Piazza del Popolo. I was never weary of looking up at its fair

proportions, and trying to decipher its strange hieroglyphics--figures

of birds and beasts in intaglio, cut clear and deep into the hard

granite, and all as bright in colour and carving as though it had been

only yesterday cut out of the quarry instead of four thousand years

ago. It was my first glimpse into the mysterious East. It made the

wonderful story of Joseph and Moses not a mere narrative in a book,

but a living reality standing out from the far past like a view in a

stereoscope. Every time I passed it--and I did so at all hours--I

paused to enter into this reverie of the olden time. The daylight

changed it into a pillar of cloud, casting the shadow of the great

thoughts connected with it over my mind; the moonlight shining upon

its rosy hue changed it into a pillar of fire, illumining all the

inner chambers of my soul. Every Sunday it was the cynosure guiding me

on my way to church, and suggesting thoughts and memories in unison

with the character of the day and the nature of my work. No other

object in Rome remains so indelibly pictured in my mind.

From the Piazza del Popolo, three long narrow streets run, like three

fingers from the palm of the hand; the Via Babuino, which leads to the

English quarter; the famous Corso, which leads to the Capitol and the

Forum; and the Ripetta, which leads to St. Peter's and the Vatican.

These approaches are guarded by two churches, S. Maria di Monte Santo

and S. Maria dei Miracoli, similar in appearance, with oval domes and

tetrastyle porticoes that look like ecclesiastical porters' lodges.

The name of the Piazza del Popolo is derived, not from the people, as

is generally supposed, but from the extensive grove of poplar-trees

that surrounded the Mausoleum of Augustus, and long formed the most

conspicuous feature in the neighbourhood. The crescent-shaped sides of

the square are bounded on the left by a wall, with a bright fountain

and appropriate statuary in the middle of it, and a fringe of tall

cypress-trees, and on the right by a similar wall, adorned with marble

trophies and two columns rough with the projecting prows of ships

taken from the ancient temple of Venice and Rome, and rising in a

series of terraced walks to the upper platform of the Pincio. At the

foot of this _Collis Hortulorum_, "Hill of Gardens," which was a

favourite resort of the ancient Romans, Nero was buried; and in

earlier republican times it was the site of the famous Villa of

Lucullus, who had accumulated an enormous fortune when general of the

Roman army in Asia, and spent it on his retirement from active life in

the most sumptuous entertainments and the most prodigal luxuries. Here

he gave his celebrated feast to Cicero and Pompey. From Lucullus, the

magnificent grounds passed into the possession of Valerius Asiaticus;

and while his property they became the scene of a tragedy which

reminds one of the story of Ahab and Jezebel and the vineyard of

Naboth. The infamous Messalina, the wife of the Emperor Claudius,

coveted the grounds of Asiaticus. With the unscrupulous spirit of

Jezebel, she procured the condemnation to death of the owner for

crimes that he had never committed; a fate which he avoided by

committing suicide. As soon as this obstacle was removed out of her

way, she appropriated the villa; and in the beautiful grounds

abandoned herself to the most shameless orgies in the absence of her

husband at Ostia. But her pleasure and triumph were short-lived. The

emperor was informed of her enormities, and hastened home to take

vengeance. Having vainly tried all means of conciliation, and

attempted without effect to kill herself, she was slain in a paroxysm

of terror and anguish, by a blow of the executioner's falchion; and

the death of Asiaticus was avenged on the very spot where it

happened.

The gardens of the Pincio are small, but a fairer spot it would be

hard to find anywhere. The grounds are most beautifully laid out, and

so skilfully arranged that they seem of far larger extent than they

really are. Splendid palm-trees, aloes, and cactuses give a tropical

charm to the walks; rare exotics and bloom-laden trees of genial

climes, flashing fountains, and all manner of cultivated beauty,

enliven the scene; while the air blows fresh and invigorating from the

distant hills. From the lofty parapet of the city-wall which bounds it

on one side, you gaze into the green meadows and rich wooded solitudes

of the Borghese grounds, that look like some rural retreat a score of

miles from the city; and from the stone balustrade on the other side

you see all Rome at your feet with its sea of brown houses, and beyond

the picturesque roofs and the hidden river rising up the great mass of

the Vatican buildings and the mighty dome of St. Peter's, which

catches like a mountain peak the last level gold of the sunset, and

flashes it back like an illumination, while all the intermediate view

is in shadow. No wonder that the Pincian Hill is the favourite

promenade of Rome, and that on week-days and Sunday afternoons you see

multitudes of people showing every phase of Roman life, and hundreds

of carriages containing the flower of the Roman aristocracy, with

beautiful horses, and footmen in rich liveries, crowding the piazza

below, ascending the winding road, and driving or walking round

between the palms and the pines, over the garden-paths, to the sound

of band music. And thus they continue to amuse themselves till the sun

has set, and the first sound of the bells of Ave Maria is heard from

the churches; and then they wind their way homewards.

We pass out from the Piazza through the Porta del Popolo, the only way

by which strangers used to approach Rome from the north. It was indeed

a more suitable entrance into the Eternal City than the present one;

for no human being, with a spark of imagination, would care to obtain

his first view of the city of his dreams from the outside of a great

bustling railway station. But the Porta del Popolo had annoyances of

its own that seemed hardly less incongruous. One had to run the

gauntlet of the custom-house here, and to practise unheard-of

briberies upon the venal douaniers of the Pope before being allowed to

pass on to his hotel. And the first glimpse of the city from this

point did not come up to one's expectations, being very much like that

of any commonplace modern capital, without a ruin visible, or any sign

or suggestion of the mistress of the world. The Porta del Popolo

almost marks the position of the old Flaminian gate, through which

passed the great northern road of Italy, constructed by the Roman

censor, C. Flaminius, two hundred and twenty years before Christ,

extending as far as Rimini, a distance of two hundred and ten miles.

Through that old gate, and along that old road, the Roman cohorts

passed to conquer Britain, then a small isle inhabited by savage

tribes. Hardly any path save that to Jerusalem has been trodden by so

many human feet as this old Flaminian road. The present gate is said

to have been designed by Michael Angelo; but it shows no signs of his

genius. On the inner side, above the keystone of the arch, is a lofty

brick wall in the shape of a horse-shoe, built exclusively for the

purpose of displaying in colossal size, emblazoned in stucco, the city

arms, the sun rising above three or four pyramidal mountains arranged

above each other. The external façade consists of two pairs of Doric

columns of granite and marble flanking the arch, whose colour and

beauty have entirely disappeared through exposure to the weather. In

the spaces between the columns are two statues, one of St. Peter, and

the other of St. Paul, of inferior merit, and very much stained and

weather-worn. The inscription above the arch, "To a happy and

prosperous entrance," seemed a mockery in the old douanier days, when

delays and extortions vexed the soul of the visitor, and produced a

mood anything but favourable to the enjoyment of the Eternal City. But

now the grievances are over. The occupation of the place is gone. The

barracks on the left for the papal guards are converted to other

purposes; no custom-house officer now meets one at the gate, and all

are free to come and go without passport, or bribe, or hindrance.

Since I was in Rome this old gateway being found too narrow has been

considerably widened by the addition of a wing on each side of the

large central arch, containing each a smaller arch in which the same

style of architecture is carried out.

On the right as you go out is the remarkable church of Santa Maria del

Popolo. It is built in the usual Romanesque style; but its external

appearance is very unpretending, and owing to its situation in a

corner overshadowed by the wall it is apt to be overlooked. It is an

old fabric, eight hundred years having passed away since Pope Paschal

II. founded it on the spot where Nero was said to have been buried.

From the tomb of the infamous tyrant grew a gigantic walnut-tree, the

roosting-place of innumerable crows, supposed to be demons that

haunted the evil place. The erection of the church completely

exorcised these foul spirits, consecrated the locality, and dispelled

the superstitious fears of the people. Reconstructed in the reign of

Sixtus IV., about the year 1480, this church has not the picturesque

antiquity in this dry climate and clear atmosphere which our Gothic

churches in moist England present. Not more widely did the external

aspect of the tabernacle in the wilderness, with its dark goat-skin

coverings, differ from the interior of the Holy of holies, with its

golden furniture, than does the commonplace look of the outside of the

church of Santa Maria del Popolo differ from its magnificent interior.

It is a perfect museum of sculpture and painting. Splendid tombs of

eminent cardinals of the best period of the Renaissance, rare marbles

and precious stones in lavish profusion adorn the altars and walls of

the chapels; while they are further enriched by beautiful frescoes of

sacred subjects from the pencils of Penturicchio and Annibale Caracci.

Above the high altar is an ancient picture of the Madonna, with an

exceedingly swarthy eastern complexion, which is one among several

others in Rome attributed to the pencil of St. Luke the Evangelist,

and which is supposed to possess the power of working miracles. One

especially magnificent chapel arrests the attention, and leaves a

lasting impression--that of the Chigi family, built by Fabio Chigi,

better known as Pope Alexander VII. The architecture was planned by

Raphael. The design of the strange fresco on the ceiling of the dome,

representing the creation of the heavenly bodies, was sketched by him;

and he modelled the beautiful statue of Jonah, sitting upon a

whale--said to have been carved from a block that fell from one of the

temples in the Forum--and sculptured the figure of Elijah, which are

among the most conspicuous ornaments of the chapel. This is the only

place in which Raphael appears in the character of an architect and

sculptor. Like Michael Angelo, the genius of this wonderfully-gifted

artist was capable of varied expression; and it seemed a mere accident

whether his ideals were represented in stone, or colour, or words. On

his single head God seemed to have poured all His gifts; beauty of

person, and beauty of soul, and the power to perceive and embody the

beauty and the wonder of the world; the eye of light and the heart of

fire; "the angel nature in the angel name." And yet amid his fadeless

art he faded away; and at the deathless shrines which he left behind

the admirer of his genius is left to lament his early death.

Such thoughts receive a still more mournful hue from a touching

tomb--touching even though its taste be execrable--which records a

husband's sorrow on account of the death of his young wife--a princess

of both the distinguished houses of Chigi and Odescalchi--who passed

away at the age of twenty, in the saddest of all ways--in childbirth.

It goes to one's heart to think of the desolate home and the bereaved

husband left, as he says, "in solitude and grief." And though the

weeper has gone with the wept, and the sore wound which death

inflicted has been healed by his own hand nearly a hundred years ago,

we feel a wondrous sympathy with that old domestic tragedy. It is a

touch of nature that affects one more than all the blazonry and

sculpture around. In this weird church of Santa Maria del Popolo,

which seems more a mausoleum of the dead than a place of worship for

the living, the level rays of the afternoon sun come through the

richly-painted windows of the choir; and the warm glory rests first

upon a strange monument of the sixteenth century at the entrance,

where a ghastly human skeleton sculptured in yellow marble looks

through a grating, and then upon a medallion on a tomb, representing a

butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, illumining the inscription, "Ut

Phoenix multicabo dies." And this old expressive symbol speaks to us

of death as the Christian's true birth, in which the spirit bursts its

earthly shell, and soars on immortal wings to God. And the church

straightway to the inner eye becomes full of a transfiguration glory

which no darkness of the tomb can quench, and which makes all earthly

love immortal.

A venerable monastery, tenanted by monks of the order of St.

Augustine, is attached to this church, upon whose brown-tiled roofs,

covered with gray and yellow lichens, and walls and windows of extreme

simplicity, the eye of the visitor gazes with deepest interest. For

this was the residence of Luther during his famous visit to Rome. He

came to this place in the fervour of youthful enthusiasm; his heart

was filled with pious emotions. He knelt down on the pavement when he

passed through the Porta del Popolo, and cried, "I salute thee, O holy

Rome; Rome venerable through the blood and the tombs of the martyrs!"

Immediately on his arrival he went to the convent of his own order,

and celebrated mass with feelings of great excitement. But, alas! he

was soon to be disenchanted. He had not been many days in Rome when he

saw that the city of the saints and martyrs was wholly given up to

idolatry and social corruption, and was as different as possible from

the city of his dreams. He cared not for the fine arts which covered

this pollution with a deceitful iridescence of refinement; and the

ruins of pagan Rome had no power to move his heart, preoccupied as it

was with horror at the monstrous wickedness which made desolate the

very sanctuary of God. When he ascended on his knees the famous Scala

Santa, the holy staircase near the Lateran Palace--supposed to have

belonged to Pilate's house in Jerusalem, down whose marble steps our

Saviour walked, wearing the crown of thorns and the emblems of mock

royalty which the soldiers had put upon him--he seemed to hear a voice

whispering to him the words, "The just shall live by faith." Instantly

the scales fell from his eyes, and he saw the miserable folly of the

whole proceeding; and like a man suddenly freed from fetters, he rose

from his knees, and walked firm and erect to the foot of the stairs.

He could not remain another day in the city. Returning to his

monastery, he there celebrated mass for the last time, and departed on

the morrow with the bitter words, "Adieu, O city, where everything is

permitted but to be a good man!" Ten years later he burnt the Bull of

the Pope in the public square of Wittemberg, and all Europe rang with

the tocsin of the Reformation. I never passed that venerable monastery

without thinking of the austere German monk and his glorious work; and

the old well-known motto of the Reformation which had been his

battle-cry in many a good fight of faith received new power and

meaning from the associations of the place. To the enlightenment

received there, paving the way for religious and political liberty

throughout Christendom, I owed the privilege of preaching in Rome.

The Presbyterian church--I speak of the past, for since my visit the

church has been removed to a more suitable site within the walls--is

a little distance farther on, on the opposite side of the street. You

enter by a gateway, and find yourself in an open space surrounded with

luxuriant hedges in full bloom, and large flowering shrubs, and

commanding a fine view of Monte Mario and the open country in that

direction, including the meadows where the noble Arnold of Brescia was

burnt to death, and his ashes cast into the Tiber. The church is a

square, flat-roofed eastern-looking building, in the inside tastefully

painted in imitation of panels of Cipollino marble; and on the neat

pulpit is carved the symbol of the Scotch Church, the burning bush and

its motto, nowhere surely more appropriate than in the place where the

Christian faith has been subjected to the flames of pagan and papal

persecution for eighteen hundred years, and has emerged purer and

stronger. In that simple church I had the privilege of preaching to a

large but fluctuating congregation, each day differently composed of

persons belonging to various nationalities and denominations, but

united by one common bond of faith and love. At stated intervals we

celebrated together the touching feast that commemorates our Saviour's

dying love, and the oneness of Christians in Him. The wonderful

associations of the place lent to such occasions a special interest

and solemnity. Surrounded by the ruins of man's glory, we felt deeply

how unchanging was the word of God. In a city of gorgeous ceremonials

that had changed Christianity into a kind of baptized paganism, we

felt it indescribably refreshing to partake, in the beautiful

simplicity of our own worship, of the symbols of the broken body and

shed blood of our Lord. We seemed to be compassed about with a great

cloud of witnesses, apostles, martyrs, and saints, who in the early

ages of the Church in this city overcame the world by the blood of the

Lamb, and by the word of their testimony, and loved not their lives

unto the death. More vividly than anywhere else, we seemed in this

place to come to the general assembly and church of the first-born,

which are written in heaven, and to the spirits of just men made

perfect, and to realise that we were built upon the foundation of the

apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief

cornerstone.

On the opposite side of the road is the classic portico that leads to

the Borghese Villa. The gate is almost always open; and every person

is free to wander at will through the magnificent grounds, upwards of

three miles in circuit, and hold picnics in the sunny glades, and pull

the wild flowers that star the grass in myriads. On Sunday afternoons

multitudes come and go, and a long line of carriages, filled with the

Roman nobility and with foreign visitors, in almost endless

succession, make the circuit of the drives. The Porta del Popolo

becomes too strait for the seething mass of carriages and human beings

that pass through it; and it is with difficulty, and some danger to

life and limb, that one can force a passage through the gay

pleasure-loving crowd. At the Carnival time the ordinary dangers and

difficulties are increased tenfold; and the scene presents anything

but a Sabbath-like appearance. Nor are the danger and difficulty over

when the gate is passed; for the Piazza del Popolo and the streets

that lead from it are crowded with carriages and pedestrians going to

or returning from the favourite promenade on the Pincian Hill. One

runs the gauntlet all the way; meditation is impossible; and the

return from church in the afternoon is as different as possible from

the morning walk to it. What pleasure can these people derive from the

beautiful walks and drives in the Borghese grounds, except perhaps

that of seeing and being seen in a crowd? There is no seclusion of

nature, no opportunity of quiet thought.

On week-days, at certain hours, one may enjoy the place thoroughly

without any distraction, and feel amid the lonely vistas of the woods

as if buried in the loneliest solitude of the Apennines. And truly on

such occasions I know no place so fascinating, so like an earthly

Eden! The whole scene thrills one like lovely music. All the charms

of nature and art are there focussed in brightest perfection. The

grounds are gay with starry anemones, and billowy acacias crested with

odorous wreaths of yellow foam, dark and mysterious with tall ilexes,

cypresses, and stone-pines, enlivened by graceful palms and tender

deciduous trees, musical with falling and glancing waters, and haunted

by the statues of Greek divinities that filled men's minds with

immortal thoughts in the youth of the world--dimly visible amid the

recesses of the foliage. The path leads to a casino in which sculpture

and painting have done their utmost to enrich and adorn the

apartments. But the result of all this prodigal display of wealth and

refinement is exceedingly melancholy. It would be death to inhabit

these sumptuous marble rooms when their coolness would be most

agreeable; and the witchery of the shadowy wood paths and bowers in

their summer perfection can be enjoyed only at the risk of catching

fever. Man has made a paradise for himself, but the malaria drives him

out of it, and all its costly beauty is almost thrown away. Only

during the desolation of winter, or the fair promise and

half-developments of spring, can one wander safely through the place.

The sting of the serpent is in this Eden. Cursed is the ground for

man's sake in the fairest scene that his industry, and genius, and

virtue can make for himself; but cursed with a double curse is the

ground that he makes a wilderness by his selfishness and wickedness.

And this double curse, this fatal Circean spell, has come upon these

beautiful grounds in common with all the neighbourhood of Rome because

of ages of human waste and wrong-doing. How striking a picture do they

present of all earth's beauties and possessions, which promise what

they cannot fully accomplish, which give no rest for the head or home

for the heart, and in which, when disposed to place our trust, we hear

ever and anon the warning cry, "Arise and depart, for this is not your

rest, for it is polluted, for it will destroy you with a sore

destruction." And not without significance is the circumstance that

such a lesson on the vanity of all earthly things should be suggested

by what one sees over against the house of prayer. It illustrates and

emphasises the precept which bids the worshipper set his affections on

things above, so that the house of God may become to him the very gate

of heaven.

From the entrance of the church, through a long suburb, you trace the

old Flaminian road till it crosses the Tiber at the Ponte Molle, the

famous Milvian Bridge. It is strange to think of this hoary road of

many memories being now laid down with modern tramway rails, along

which cars like those in any of our great manufacturing towns

continually run. This is one of the many striking instances in which

the past and the present are incongruously united in Rome. You see on

the right side of the road a picturesque ridge of cliffs clothed with

shaggy ilexes and underwood, overhanging at intervals the walls and

buildings. It was formed by lava ejected from some ancient volcano in

the neighbourhood; and over it was deposited, by the action of

acidulated waters rising through the volcanic rock, a stratum of

travertine or fresh-water limestone. Not far off is a mineral spring

called Acqua Acetosa, much frequented by the inhabitants on summer

mornings, which may be considered one of the expiring efforts of

volcanic action in the neighbourhood. The Milvian Bridge is associated

with most interesting and important historical events. The Roman

citizens, two hundred years before Christ, met here the messengers who

announced the defeat of Asdrubal on the Metaurus at the end of the

second Punic war. Here the ambassadors of the Allobroges implicated in

Catiline's conspiracy were arrested by order of Cicero. And from the

parapets of the bridge the body of Maxentius, the rival pagan emperor,

was hurled into the Tiber, after his defeat by Constantine in the

great battle of Saxa Rubra, which took place a little distance off.

Visitors to the Vatican will remember the spirited representation of

this battle on the walls of Raphael's Stanze, designed by the

immortal master, and executed by Giulio Romano, the largest historical

subject ever painted. By the tragic details of this battle, men and

horses being entangled in the eddies of the river, the Christians were

reminded of the destruction of Pharaoh and his host in the Red Sea,

and the consequent deliverance of Israel. The victory on the side of

Constantine led to the total overthrow of paganism, and put an end to

the age of religious persecution. On this memorable day the

seven-branched golden candlestick which Titus had taken from the

temple of Jerusalem, according to tradition, was thrown into the

Tiber, where it lies under a vast accumulation of mud in the bed of

the river. It would thus seem as if the Jewish religion, too, of which

the golden candlestick was the most expressive symbol, had come

finally to an end in this triumph of Christianity. Of the monuments by

which the great battle was commemorated one still survives near the

Colosseum, the well-known triumphal arch of Constantine, which is at

once a satire upon the decay of art at the time, and the halting of

the new emperor between the two religions, containing, as it does,

pagan figures and inscriptions mixed up incongruously with Christian

ones.

We gaze with deep interest upon the serene violet sky which broods

over the Milvian Bridge, and which still seems to the fancy to glow

with the consciousness of the ancient legend, when we remember that it

was in that sky, while on his march to the battle, Constantine saw,

surmounting and outshining the noonday sun, the wondrous vision of the

flaming cross, with the words "In this conquer," which assured him not

only of victory in the approaching engagement, but of the subsequent

universal ascendancy of Christianity throughout the world. This

vision, which in all probability was only a parhelion, exaggerated by

a superstitious and excited imagination, produced a crisis in the life

of Constantine. He adopted the Christian faith immediately

afterwards, and introduced the cross as the standard of his army; and

in the faith of the visionary cross he marched from victory to

victory, until at last he reigned alone as head of the Church and

Emperor of the world, and brought about relations between Church and

State which seemed to the historian Eusebius to be no less than the

fulfilment of the apocalyptic vision of the New Jerusalem. Beyond this

scene stretches to the faint far-off horizon the desert Campagna; a

dim, misty, homeless land, where the moan of the wind sounds ever like

the voice of the past, and the pathos of a vanished people breathes

over all the scene; with here and there a gray nameless ruin, a

desolate bluff, or a grassy mound, marking the site of some mysterious

Etruscan or Sabine city that had perished ages before Romulus had laid

the foundations of Rome. From the contemplation of these wide

cheerless wastes beyond the confines of history, peopled with shadowy

forms, with whose long-buried hopes and sorrows no mortal heart can

now sympathise, I turn back to the fresh, warm, human interests that

await me in the Rome of to-day; feeling to the full that from home to

church I have passed through scenes and associations sufficient to

make a Sabbath in Rome a day standing out from all other days, never

to be forgotten!