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RAMBLES IN ROME
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RAMBLES IN ROME

BY

G. E. TROUTBECK

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ RAMBLES IN FLORENCE”
THE CHILDREN’S STORY OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY” ETC

WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY
ROSE M‘ANDREW

AND THIRTY-THREE FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

NEW YORK
JAMES POTT & CO.
Copyright in the British Emptre of Mills & Boon Ltd., London
Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh
TO
E. T. ann H. T.
«. . . jo da 'Il Gianicolo ammiro fimagin de I’urbe,
nave immensa lanciata ver’ fimpero del mondo.

O nave che attingi con la poppa I alto infinito,
varca a’ misteriosi lidi fanima mia.”

CARDUCCI,

vii
CONTENTS

—~——

CHAPTER I

First VIEWS oF RoME.

CHAPTER II

THE PALATINE AND CC@LIAN

CHAPTER III

From St. PETER’Ss TO THE PONTE MILVIO

CHAPTER IV

THE FORUM AND THE APPIAN Way .

CHAPTER V

In THE Footsteps oF S, PauL

CHAPTER VI

FROM THE CAPITOL TO TRASTEVERE .

CHAPTER VII

TIVOLI AND SUBIACO

CHAPTER VIII

THE VATICAN AND THE PINCIAN
ix

PAGE

21

43

64

87

102

124

146
x CONTENTS

CHAPTER IX

PAGE

THE LATERAN AND THE CATACOMBS . ‘ ‘ . I61
CHAPTER X

ON THE LATIN SHORE . ‘ ‘ - ; . 184
CHAPTER XI

VATICAN PICTURES AND THE VILLA DORIA-PAMPHILI » 200

CHAPTER XII

FROM THE ESQUILINE TO THE VIA NOMENTANA . 217

CHAPTER XIII

THE ‘‘ MUSEO NAZIONALE” AND S. LORENZO FUORI LE MuRA 238

CHAPTER XIV

THE ALBAN HILLS AND TUscULUM . ‘ 5 + 255

CHAPTER XV

From CasTeL §, ANGELO To S, CLEMENTE . : » 277

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE CENTRE OF ROME . . ‘ 7 . 298

CHAPTER XVII

A Day oF FAREWELLS . . : 7 7 « 317
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

—
IN COLOUR
THE AEDICULA OF VESTA . . . On Cover of Book
S. PETER’s FROM THE PINCIAN : - . Frontispiece
ON THE PALATINE . . . : . ae a
IN THE FORUM . : . . ‘ ‘ 6°93
VIEW ON THE APPIAN Way . F é : - 86
VIEW FROM THE GARDEN OF THE HOTEL DE RUSSIE - 160
Tue Lake oF NEMI . . é f . + 264
THE AVENTINE FROM THE JANICULUM : . + 329
IN HALF-TONE
Tasso’s Oak 7 ‘ 7 a é a i 9

CAMPANILE OF S. ALESSIO|FROM THE GARDEN OF S, SABINA I5

CuuRCH oF SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO . ‘ . » 20
STATUE OF S. GREGORY THE GREAT . . . + 36
THE VATICAN GARDENS Fi ‘i . : » 44
S. CATHERINE BEFORE THE EMPEROR. ; . . 57
Vitita pI Papa GIULIO (INNER COURTYARD). : » 60
ARCH OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS . ( 3 . ‘ » 68

PasCHAL CANDLESTICK, S. PAOLO FUORI LE Mura . . 96
xi
xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAGE

Marcus AURELIUS OFFERING SACRIFICE . : . III
THE TABULARIUM 7 y : . F . IIS
CuurcH oF S. MARIA IN TRASTEVERE ‘ i . 122
VIEW IN THE VILLA ADRIANA. ‘ ‘ “ . 126
Supiaco, MONASTERY OF THE ‘SACRO SPECO” ‘i . 138
Bust OF THE YOUNG AUGUSTUS , ; : . 148
GARDEN OF THE VILLA MEDICI . f : - 156
CLOISTER OF S. JOHN LATERAN i 5 : » 170
VIEW IN THE BATHS OF CARACALLA . ‘ 5 - 178
NETTUNO, FROM THE SEA

NETTUNO, LOOKING TOWARDS PoRTO D’ANZIO } oe

SISTINE CHAPEL, ‘‘' THE CREATION OF MAN” (Michelangelo) 202

CuyurcH OF S. MARIA MAGGIORE : . , . 218
Mosaic IN THE CHURCH OF S, PUDENZIANA i . 226
CHURCH OF S, COSTANZA . ‘i ‘ ‘ . 231
MusEO NAZIONALE (Michelangelo’s Cloister) . , . 238
THE SLEEPING Fury . : ‘ . : » 244
CLOISTER OF S. LORENZO FUORI LE Mura . ‘ + 252
CasTEL GANDOLFO AND THE ALBAN LAKE . : » 256
CASTLE AND BRIDGE OF SANT’ ANGELO z ‘ » 298
CHURCH OF S, CLEMENTE ‘| * i . 289

CuHuRCH OF S. MARIA DELLA Pace, ‘¢ THE SiByLs” (Raphael) 311
TEMPLE OF Mars ULTOR 2 ; + 319

MONUMENT OF VICTOR EMMANUEL II. . i 2 “332
RAMBLES IN ROME

——.

CHAPTER I

“Roma, ne l’aer tuo lancio l’anima altera volante :
seta o Roma, e ilies Yanima mia di luce.

Cingimi, 0 en ee di sole m’illomina, o Roma:
raggia divino il sole pe’ larghi azzurri tuoi.”
Carpvcct.

THE first day in Rome! What a thought was this
which dawned upon us on that morning in our pleasant
quarters in the Via Quattro Fontane! We felt quite
ready and keen for the plunge into a world which would
be new, and yet quite strangely familiar,—familiar as
the things of childhood. R., indeed, had first known
Rome long years ago, but even to him it was fresh
as the sunrise on this stainless spring day.

We had been greeted here by a dear friend, to whom
we had given the name of Porzia, and who had bravely
consented to undertake that doubtful réle, the third
person in a party. Porzia is Italian—keen, delightful
and energetic to the point of exhaustion. Strangely
enough, she did not yet know Rome, and only the

A I
THE FIRST DRIVE

inexorable laws of space and time forbade her to
explore the whole of it in twenty-four hours.

On this our first day we thought we would go in as
much as possible for general effects, and try to get a
sort of impressionist view of the place. Accordingly,
we had planned to go up to the Janiculum in the
morning, and to the Aventine in the afternoon. We
had instantly been told, of course, that the view from
the Janiculum should be seen at sunset, but we fully
intended to do that another day.

Porzia joined us at the appointed hour, rather
hurried and out of breath, we thought—a circumstance
of which she vouchsafed no explanation until later.
We took a carriage, so as to save both time and
fatigue, this being a matter of consideration in Rome.
Starting from our strangers’ quarter, we passed along
by the Fontana di Trevi, into the Corso, and round
the corner of the Doria palace into the Piazza Venezia,
which struck us as a curious blend of stately build-
ing and tramway terminus. The monument to Victor
Emmanuel towered above us—nearly fell on the top
of us; and, for all our love of United Italy, we thought
it too big. But it seems that Rome has always been
able to assimilate anything.

We drove on through the Via del Plebiscito to the
Piazza del Gesu, where we looked at the great church,
but did not goin. We went on through a maze of tall
palaces and narrow streets, and finally, through the
Via Arenula, we reached the Ponte Garibaldi. We

2
BRIDGES OVER THE TIBER

made our driver draw up for a few minutes, for it is
not every day that rambles lead you across the Tiber,
and we wanted to realise where we were and what we
were looking at,—so far as it was then possible.

The Tiber Island, shiplike in form, flanked by
the two ancient bridges, the Ponte Fabrizio and the
Ponte Cestio (the oldest bridge in Rome), was the first
object of attention. The church, which helps to form
@ picturesque group, probably stands on the site of
the Temple of Aésculapius, who was honoured on the
island, and we are told that one of his sacred snakes
took up its abode there. The church was built by Otto
11 in the year 1000 in honour of 8S. Adalbert, but
is dedicated to 8. Bartholomew. A hospital is now
very appropriately built on the island, reminding you
of the Lazzaretto of Alexander vul’s time, where the
plague-stricken folk were taken. We tried, not wholly
successfully, to make out the four-headed herme which
give the Ponte Fabrizio its medieval name of Ponte de’
Quattro Capi, but, having seen them vaguely, we
accepted the statement that they still existed,

We looked down-stream towards the Ponte Palatino
and the famous Ponte Rotto; then up-stream to the
bridge built by Sixtus Iv, and called by his name, this
having taken the place of the ancient Pons Valentin-
iani. It was a bewildering medley of ancient, medieval,
and Renaissance Rome; the Republic and the Popes
mixed up with modern embankments and an iron
bridge.
FIRST VIEW OF ROME

We crossed by the Ponte Garibaldi, and found
ourselves in the long, winding Via Garibaldi, up which
we crawled very deliberately and thus had time to
think, which was as well. We knew we were close
to many things delightful to eye and to heart, such
as S. Cecilia and Santa Maria in Trastevere, but we
turned our thoughts away from them and fixed our
attention on the fact that here we were in Trastevere,
that fourteenth region of Augustus, and at the foot of the
Janiculan hill, which had been fortified since the very
early days of Rome—the days of the Kings. Between
this fortress hill and Rome itself was once the famous
Pons Sublicius (so called from the piles on which it
was built), then the only bridge over the Tiber. “If
you remembered your Lays of Ancient Rome,” said R.,
“you would know that the now-vanished bridge was
the one Horatio kept against Lars Porsenna. It was
down there by the Marmorata, and, being entirely of
wood, it could be removed in times of danger.”

R. went on to remind us that in those early days the
Janiculum was the bulwark against Etruria; but if
Rome was fortunate enough to drive out her Etruscan
tyrants, she at any rate owes them much.

We drove up and up, and had the overwhelming
privilege of meeting the Syndic of Rome and his
municipal councillors driving round the city with
some foreign visitors, all looking very well dressed
and official, After these worthies had passed us we
followed the curves of the road until at last we reached

4
FIRST VIEW OF ROME

the Piazza di S. Pietro in Montorio, and Rome—yes,
“Roma Aeterna,” “ Roma immortalis,” the Mother City
of the Western world—was spread out before us. It
may seem a rather unromantic reflection to begin with,
but to eyes accustomed to northern cities the clearness
of everything, and the absence of the smoke which
hangs over our towns, is remarkable. We gasped as
our gaze swept round from S. Peter’s to Soracte, from
Soracte to Monte Velino, and so on and on till we saw
S. Paolo fuori le Mura, where the curling Tiber shows
slow and tawny as it goes out to sea. “There is too
much to think of, too much to remember,” said Porzia,
as one by one the landmarks were identified.

There to the south-west were the Alban Hills,—the
cradle of Rome,—and Frascati white on the hillside.
A little farther along, and you recognise the Palatine,
where Romulus marked out his “ Roma Quadrata” with
his plough-share. Farther on, the Tower of the
Capitol stands sentinel over the Forum, reminding you
of the great Republican days. The palaces on the
Palatine, the Colosseum, the great gaping arches of the
Basilica of Constantine, the bit of the flat dome of the
Pantheon, all bring back the days of Imperial Rome,
that magnificent prelude to the inevitable decay.

Then you have the witness to a change indeed, and
yet having a curious continuity interwoven through
it all. Close to the Palatine you see the great church
of S. John Lateran: “ Omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum
mater et caput”; on the Esquiline hill rise the domes

5
CHURCH OF S. PIETRO

and campanile of S. Maria Maggiore; the SS.
Trinita de’ Monti shines out bright above the roofs,
while the many domes and campanili of all sizes and
designs seem to find their culminating point there on
the Vatican hill, in the marvellous cupola of 8. Peter’s,
which is as graceful as it is majestic. You cannot
help seeing in it a tremendous witness to the power
which has absorbed, included, and transcended all that
was best in the soul of antiquity.

At our feet were 8S. Maria in Trastevere, 8. Cecilia,
and the Corsini palace ; looking far away, across Rome,
you see the blue Sabine Hills, and you may think you
can espy Tibur, and even Preneste if you will, with
the Abruzzi beyond.

After a few minutes of contemplation of the wonder-
ful scene, R. burst out: “And that man whom we met
this morning says Rome is small! I cannot account
for such an expression. I believe many people come
here with all their opinions cut and dried, in deliberate
opposition to anything anyone else says. It is pure
affectation.” We laughed, remembering our wrath at
the speaker and his verdict. Rome is certainly not
small, even geographically—as you soon find out if you
try to walk from one part to another. But what
would it matter if it were small? You might as well
complain that the Parthenon is small if you compare
it to a monster railway station.

After counting the landmarks once again, we turned
away, feeling it our duty to see the church, an early

6
THE MARTYRDOM OF S. PETER

Renaissance building, interesting from association, but
not otherwise very attractive. It was built at the
expense of the Catholic Kings to commemorate the
tradition that S. Peter was crucified here on the
Janiculum, and Bramante’s exquisite little circular
“Tempietto” beside it is said to mark the spot where
the cross had stood. The church contains a good many
pictures, of which the finest is the “Flagellation” by
Sebastiano del Piombo. It is generally believed that
Beatrice Cenci lies in a nameless grave near the high
altar—a memory of unspeakable horror and suffering.

We went into the Tempietto, and there a Franciscan
friar bestowed upon us some grains of the golden sand
which gives the hill its name (Mons Aureus—Montorio).
This sand crowns the strata of marine formation which
is the foundation of the Janiculan hill, and in this
sand the cross of S. Peter is said to have been planted.
We could not feel quite the proper thrill, as it seems
fairly certain that the martyrdom took place, not here,
but in the Gardens of Nero on the Vatican. We
treasured the sand nevertheless, and brought it home
in a bottle.

We had to take another good look at the view, and
then drove on past the splendid fountain of the Acqua
Paola, built by Paul v when the aqueduct of the Acqua
Trajana was restored by the famous architects Fontana
and Maderna. Thence we went on to the Porta S.
Pancrazio on the top of the hill, close to the ancient
Porta Aurelia in the Aurelian Wall, whence issued the

7
S. ONOFRIO

old Aurelian Way. Our driver described very elo-
quently how this gate was stormed by the French in
1849, and made the story live again.

We now turned back to the fine Passeggiata
Margherita, whence you again get glorious views. A
few minutes brought us to the equestrian statue of
Garibaldi, a monument which commands the whole
of Rome—some people might think a little too in-
sistently. Here we dismissed our carriage and made a
halt at the wide open space in which the statue stands.

There is always a comic element even in the serious
moments of sight-seeing. We stood spellbound for a
time, fascinated, not by the view or by the historical
memories, but by the vision of a recalcitrant horse
being driven furiously round and round the monument,
as a punishment, we supposed. We wasted some pre-
cious time in watching this silly performance, and
then walked on and on under the fresh green of
the trees, passing the Villa Lante, and winding down
the wooded slopes till we came to 8. Onofrio, the
monastery where Tasso died in 1595. We thought it
an enchanting and rather sad little place, picturesque,
and breathing an atmosphere of its own,—that in-
describable yet undeniable quality which some places
have and others have not,—we know not why.

The view from the little piazza or platform in front
of the church is really quite as beautiful as the more
famous one from 8. Pietro in Montorio, and is perhaps
less monotonously panoramic. We lingered there

8
 

(lotderson.

TASSO'S OAK.
ANGLO-SAXON MEMORIES

before going into the cloister and church, and tried to
think we were beginning to know Rome!

We felt we could not pass the church without just
looking in, so through the portico we passed into the
cloister, where are painted scenes from the life of the
strange Theban hermit to whom the monastery is
dedicated. The buildings date from about the middle
of the fifteenth century, and are now chiefly interesting
for the sake of Tasso, who spent the last sad days of
his life here. The poet was to have received the
laurel crown on the Capitol, but he died at 8. Onofrio
before the ceremony took place. When in the church
I fear we did not bestow very much time on the
paintings by Pinturicchio and Peruzzi, but sought out
Tasso’s tomb, and also the grave of Cardinal Mezzofanti
of the many languages. We did not visit the “ Museo
Tassiano,” but thought it more important to follow
Tasso’s footsteps up the slope of the hill to the now
shattered oak tree under which he used to sit. The
view from beneath the tree would justify anyone,
poet or otherwise, in lingering there again and again.
Unhappily the oak no longer stands in any such haunt
of ancient peace as a convent garden, but in the avenue
of the Passeggiata Margherita, and, beautiful as this is,
it cannot replace the silence and perfume of that
vanished world.

We then reluctantly turned our steps down the hill
to the Porta di S. Spirito, a gate specially interesting
to us English folk as standing almost on the same

9
THE VIA DELLA LUNGARA

ground as the old Gate of the Saxons. The Saxons, or
English, had their “ borgo ” or settlement here, to which
the name of the church of “S. Spirito in Sassia” still
testifies. What curious memories of devout Anglo-
Saxon pilgrims this recalls! You think of the Saxon
king Ceadwald, who died here in Rome, of Ina, King of
Wessex, who endowed the Schola Anglorum in the
eighth century, and of Offa, King of Mercia, who came
to do penance for the murder of Ethelbert. Verily,
everyone meets here in Rome.

We did not pass through the gate into the Borgo
S. Spirito, but turned back along the Via della Lungara,
a street made by Julius 1. We strolled slowly through
the long, picturesque way, marking spots for future
visits and study. Chief of these, of course, were the
Palazzo Corsini and its lovely opposite neighbour, the
Villa Farnesina. The Corsini collections were in our
programme for another day, but at present we con-
tented ourselves by trying to remember the history
of the palace and its occupants, beginning with the
Riario family, who have left a terrible record of
treachery and violence behind them. The splendid
Caterina Sforza, who married a Riario, lived here for a
time, and in after years another famous—or perhaps
rather, notorious—woman, Christina of Sweden, made
the palace her abode. Porzia read out of her guide-
book that the Corsini bought the palace in the eighteenth
century and repaired it, and that the Italian Govern-
ment bought it in 1884. We wandered a little round

10
END OF OUR FIRST DRIVE

the outside of the palace and then turned our attention
for a few minutes to the Villa Farnesina, that graceful
abode built in the early sixteenth century for Agostino
Chigi, the famous papal banker and the patron of
Raphael. We did not attempt to “do” the Farnesina
and its celebrated pictures, but left “The Myth of
Pysche” for another time. So, after looking at the
exterior, and at what is left of the garden on the Tiber,
we turned past the Museo Torlonia and out at the
Porta Settimiana, a gate in the old Trastevere Wall.
This brought us back to our old friend the Via
Garibaldi, and by the Via di S. Maria della Scala to
the Via Ponte Sisto. We made our way past the
Fontanone di Paolo v, and so to the Ponte Sisto itself,
having now a sense of bewilderment upon us.

We felt this was enough for a first morning, and
therefore drove past the great Palazzo Farnese, through
the Campo de’ Fiori, where a kind of glorified rag-fair
was going on ;—such a mixture of old lace, old brocade,
and battered “objets d’art,” together with strange
looking rubbish. This market is, of course, famous in
Rome. We looked at the fine statue of Giordano
Bruno, standing like a challenge to the bigotry which
sent so many brave andhapless men to death by fire
here in the Campo de’ Fiori.

We then wound about, passing 8. Andrea della
Valle, crossing the wide Corso Vittorio Emanuele, and
finding ourselves at last opposite the Pantheon and
close to Santa Maria sopra Minerva. We had been

II
OUR FIRST AFTERNOON

told of quite a good restaurant in the Via del Seminario,
and having “colazione” there would save us the long
drive back to the strangers’ quarter, besides being much
more amusing than the conventional hotel luncheon
in respect both of food and of company. We therefore
hailed the suggestion and acted upon it.

Our afternoon was a great success. We did not
make a rush of it, but started at a reasonable hour and
again we took a carriage.

“We shall never learn this place if we do nothing
but drive,” said R., as we started; “but it is the only
possible plan at first, unless you wear yourself out.”

We felt the truth of his remark, for between the
Minerva and 8. Maria in Cosmedin we realised very
little of what we were passing, excepting that we again
came close to the great, heavy Jesuit church. It was
with a feeling of relief that we emerged from the over-
whelming network of streets and again saw the river
from the delightful little piazza Bocca della Verita. We
did not attempt to do more than look at the exterior of
S. Maria in Cosmedin and its charming campanile,—one
of the loveliest in all Rome. We paused just to look at
the charming fountain, which makes such a strange, har-
monious contrast with the Romanesque church and with
the little, round, classic temple on the Tiber shore, now
called Santa Maria del Sole. But everything goes to-
gether in Rome and seems to be fused into a curious
unity of life.

“One thing at atime, I beg,” said R. firmly; “ we set

12
CHURCH OF S. SABINA

out for the Aventine, so let us not stop here and get our
heads into a worse muddle.”

We sighed, and bade the “cocchiere” turn into the
Via di S. Sabina, up which we climbed slowly, between
the high walls of the Savelli Castle.

Once on the top of the hill, you find yourself sur-
rounded at every turn not only by natural beauty, but
by history, for the Hill of the People has its ancient
story, like the Palatine. The Aventine hill, with its
dark woods, was long ages ago the sight of various
temples, and even now it seems peopled with churches
rather than with houses.

We had stopped at the church of 8. Sabina, built
on the ruins of an ancient and famous temple of
Diana, after the destruction wrought by Alaric and his
Goths in 410. The builder of the church was one Peter,
an Illyrian priest, and the spot was already hallowed
by Christian association through the memory of the
martyred widow Marcella, a victim of Gothic greed
and savagery. You enter through a vestibule, where
Dominican monks preside over a goodly array of
relics, rosaries, and what not,—and where a window
gives you a glimpse of a sweet garden and of the
orange tree planted by the hands of S.. Dominic
himself. Here too is a door with beautiful fluted
columns,—that twisted fluting which is so decorative.
You are faced at once by the most remarkable feature
of the church, the great carved doors of cypress-wood
through which you enter from the vestibule. These

13
‘VNIGVS ‘S JO NaadUuvo GHL woud ‘oOIssaTv ‘s JO ATINVdNVS

‘nen Bf)

 
PRIORATO OF KNIGHTS OF MALTA

Alexis is well known. He was the son of wealthy
people and married the daughter of a noble Roman
family, but, feeling called to renounce all worldly things,
Alexis went to the East and finally returned to Rome
to die unrecognised, as a beggar, in his own father’s
house. When the Benedictines succeeded the Greek
Basilians in the monastery, Alexis gradually grew to be
looked upon as the patron saint. The monastery, once
very famous, is now used as a blind asylum. We speci-
ally noticed the campanile, of which there is a charm-
ing view from the garden of S. Sabina.

We now went on to S. Maria Aventina, the Priorato
of the Knights of Malta, half hidden among the thick-
set trees of its charming old garden. We did as we
were bid, and looked through the keyhole at the wonder-
ful view of 8. Peter’s far away across the city and the
river, beholding this famous sight with an almost child-
ish pleasure. We lingered for a time on the terrace,
and would gladly have spent the whole afternoon in
company with that view. The Priorato has had a varied
story, a8 it had belonged both to the Benedictines
and to the Knights Templars before coming into the
possession of the Knights Hospitallers. We went into
the church, interesting in its present form because re-
modelled from a design by Piranesi, of whom there is
a statue there. Our attention was drawn especially to
a beautiful bit of sculpture representing the Agnus Dei,
and birds feeding on the fruits of Paradise, and before
leaving we saw the tomb of Bartolommeo Caraffa, made

15
CHURCH OF S. ANSELMO

by a certain Magister Paulus. We did not attempt to
look at more than this.

Coming out again on to the road, we found ourselves
facing the great Benedictine monastery of S. Anselmo,
with its fine church. Porzia and I recalled that some-
one had compared it to a lunatic asylum, and looking
at the buildings we decided that there was very little
point in this disobliging witticism. We all longed to
go in, but this was impossible at the moment. R. spoke
of a former visit to Rome, when at the instigation of a
friend at the Vatican he went to S. Anselmo in search
of Abbot Gasquet—feeling very intrusive the while.
Dom Gasquet had left Rome, but a most courteous
Benedictine Father did the honours of the church and
monastery, giving his valuable time ungrudgingly. R.
had been much struck with the dignity and austere
beauty of the church and the welcome absence of all
gewgaws in its sober and stately decoration. Of the
monastery he did not see much beyond the refectory
and chapter-house, where there is an impressive
statue of Pope Leo xm. “You two would have been
left in the church, as you were at Assisi, in 8. Damiano,
when you grumbled so shamefully,” he added, “for I
would trust the Benedictines to keep even suffragettes
in order.”

This shaft touched us not at all, and we pursued our
walk peacefully across the hill, past S. Prisca (the
traditional dwelling of Aquila and Priscilla), downhill
and uphill to the Lesser Aventine, where stands the

16
CHURCH OF S. SABA

church of S. Saba, which we particularly wished to see.
On our way we could not refrain from speculating as
to the site of the villa where Fogazzaro’s “ Santo” died,
having attained peace at last. We arrived at S. Saba
without having decided this point, and had to turn
our thoughts to the venerable little church with its
enchanting loggia, dedicated to the Cappadocian
abbot Sabbas, who died at Jerusalem in the sixth
century. The monastery, originally Greek, existed at
the time of 8. Gregory the Great, and was inhabited
in later years by Benedictines of Cluny, then by
Cistercians of Clairvaux, and afterwards by the
Germano-Hungarian College. To-day, though it is
being restored, it is silent and lonely, and you feel the
breath of departed things as you look out from the
loggia over the exquisite view or linger in the strange
deserted garden, where bits of Roman carving stand,
and the air is full of the scent of roses, orange blossom,
and syringa. You are transported into some dream-
like atmosphere in which you feel inclined to talk in
a whisper, and the ordinary sight-seeing mood hardly
revives amid the old varied columns and faded paint-
ings in the ancient basilica itself.

Excavation has revealed a yet earlier church beneath
the present one, and you are reminded that here were
once the house and oratory of S. Silvia, mother of
S. Gregory the Great.

We left 8. Saba most reluctantly, as if unwilling to
break some nameless spell which had been cast over us.

B 17
COMPARING NOTES

We soothed the ache of departure by promising our-
selves to come back ere long. We then retraced our
steps once more downhill and up to a charming little
restaurant in the Via S. Prisca, familiar to all visitors
to Rome as the Castello di Costantino or “dei Cesari.”
Here we found a wide outdoor terrace commanding an
entrancing view over the Ccelian, of the lovely apse
of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, and of the Palatine with its
tragic crown of dark trees and the tall red arches of
the Septizonium below. The said terrace is set with
tables most inviting to weary sight-seers, who have the
inveterate habit of afternoon tea. Our fellow-guests
were nearly all of them successors of the Teutonic
invaders of Rome, and spoke in the accents of Goth and
Vandal, but we espied our friends and compatriots,
Mr. and Mrs. M., in a pleasant corner, and made up a
party for talk and mutual instruction.

“Do you mean to say that is how you have spent
your first day in Rome?” was Mrs. Ms first horrified
exclamation, as we recounted our exploits, which in-
cluded neither the Forum nor 8S. Peter’s.

“Not a bad plan at all,” said Mr. M.; “ you get a very
fair idea of the place and how it stands. My first day
years ago, with that so-called drive of orientation, left
me absolutely distraught.”

“ That reminds me,” said R., turning round on Porzia;
“what had you been doing this morning before we
started? You looked as if you had run a mile race and
won it.”

18
END OF THE FIRST DAY

Porzia took on the air of one detected in a crime, as
she was continually scolded for overtiring herself. She
had to confess that a friend of hers having specially
arranged for an early visit, she had begun the day
by climbing the tower of the Capitol. She suffocated
our reproaches by her ecstasies,—“ No words can say
what it was like; the Forum at your feet, the Colosseum,
the Palatine, the Alban Hills, the Sabine Hills, and then
Soracte as you look north beyond the circle of Rome
itself!”

So she ran on until Mrs. M., unable any longer to
conceal her own prowess, was obliged to break in with
the information that she and Mr. M. had spent most of
the morning climbing the roof and dome of S. Peter’s.
We therefore had another view of Rome eloquently
described to us, and ended by feeling as if we had spent
the day in flying over the city in an aeroplane, so
thoroughly had the various aspects been rubbed in.

“T shall get hopelessly mixed up,” sighed Porzia,
trying to calm the fluttering tablecloth, which, like
most of those on the terrace, had become restive in
the afternoon breeze. R. lighted a cigar and gazed
placidly at the ravishing view of hill and building
which faces you there across the valley. He remarked
that it would be our own fault if we got mixed up, as
no one is obliged to overdo it, adding, “I am convinced
that most people would get to know Rome far better
if they saw fewer things and went on broad lines—
unless, indeed, they have a lifetime before them.”

19
END OF THE FIRST DAY

We nodded assent and sat rather silent for a while,
watching the gradual approach of sunset and the
wonderful apricot hue that was beginning to glow in
the west. Ah, if you could only catch and assimilate
all the thoughts that have been thought here on this Hill
of the Plebeians in the deep silent woods at the shrine
of Diana; in the dwellings of the early Christian
converts; in the churches and monasteries that have
grown up even down the centuries to S. Anselmo, built
there, as it were, under our own eyes! “L’histoire des
idées est ce qui rend l’esprit libre,” says Renan, and you
feel that if you could really understand Rome and all
that made it, your soul would escape as a bird out of
the snare of the fowler.

But an ominous chill swept across from the eastern
heights and Mr. M. rose nervously, saying that sunset
was dangerous and we must start on our homeward
walk. “Why areso many exquisite things dangerous,”
we asked irritably, as we gathered ourselves up for
departure. We were soothed, however, by the charm-
ing walk down the Via S. Sabina and by the golden
light on the river as we reached it once more opposite
S. Maria in Cosmedin. We had to accept the help of a
tram to our distant quarter, as we had walked much,
and even enjoyment, however keen, cannot wholly
cancel fatigue.

20
38
2
S
rs
7

 

PAOLO,

CHURCH OF ss, GIOVANNI
CHAPTER II

‘*Yea, even she as at first,
Yea, she alone and none other,
Shall cast down, shall build up, shall bring home,
Slake earth’s hunger and thirst,
Lighten, and lead as a mother;
First name of the world’s names—Rome.”
SWINBURNE.

“SHALL we begin with the Palatine or with S, Peter's?”
was the question this second morning.

“Begin at the beginning,” answered Porzia in
imperative tones,—“if there had been no Palatine
there would probably have been no S. Peter’s—and
besides, this is the 21st of April, the birthday of
Rome, the ancient feast of the Palilie, held in honour
of the goddess Pales, who came with the shepherds
from Alba Longa and gives her name to the Palatine.”

“ Adagio, Adagio!” gasped R., “or I shall have no
strength to start. We make up our minds to do your
bidding.”

Our friend Mr. M., to whom the Palatine was familiar,
volunteered to act as guide on this first visit, seeing
that we distrusted our capacity for finding our way
among the vast and perplexing ruins. We walked up
the steep Via Quattro Fontane, marking the said “four

21
FIRST SIGHT OF THE FORUM

fountains,” and crossed the Via Venti Settembre into
the new Via Nazionale, which last it is the fashion to
criticise. I fear we had to be branded as Philistines,
for although the street is glaringly modern, it is really
not objectionable, except at its very odd and abrupt
close near the SS. Apostoli. Finding the walk to the
Palatine seemed likely to be a tiring preparation, we
took a carriage and drove down the Via del Serpente,
and thence into the Via Bonella, which brought us
suddenly upon the Forum.

“Foro Romano!” ejaculated the driver in loud, in-
cisive tones, as he yielded to our exhortations to stop
for a moment. What a world in those two words!
There we stood, facing one of the spots whence the
very life-blood of civilisation has circulated through the
veins of the Western world. There, beneath the soft
blue of an April sky, lay those strange, pitiful heaps of
excavated brick and marble, the slender columns of
ruined temples rising here and there amid iris and
clinging rose,—and all in a dream of transparent grey,
white, and golden lights, streaked with misty ultra-
marine shadows. I confess to a tightening of the
throat at the first sight of it all.

But the Forum was not our aim that day, so we
drove on along that amazing road which is flanked
on one side by the Temples of Concord and Vespasian,
and the Portico of the Assembled Gods, and on the
other by the Arch of Septimius Severus and the
Temple of Saturn.

22
THE PALATINE

Oh, northern barbarians; well may Dante have
spoken of your astonishment at the first view of the
Mistress of the World, when even her ruins are still so
marvellous !

In the Via S. Teodoro we found the entrance we
sought. There was nothing particularly original in
our itinerary,—that could not be; but it was all fresh
to us, and, what is more important, we ourselves were
fresh, hungry, and expectant, and we proved once
more the truth of the saying that you usually find
what you really seek.

We were led up the Clivus Victorie, a road with a
glorious name commemorating the Temple of Victory,
but which claims an existence before even the time
of Romulus. The Porta Romana,—“ the gate of Rome,”
is said to have been at the bottom of this hill, so
our guide told us. We climbed, having above us the
towering substructures of the Palace of Tiberius and
Caligula, and on the other side, below us, the Library
of the Temple of Augustus. Turning round, we passed
into an amazingly different world in the Casino Farnese,
with its ravishing garden and view. This sudden
jump into the Renaissance was disconcerting for the
moment, but we should quickly get accustomed to
these things, we found. “The Orti Farnesiani” were
laid out by Paul 11 in the sixteenth century, and have
an extraordinary charm. The views of the Colosseum,
and, from an ilex-grown terrace above, of the Forum
and Capitol, are things you can never forget, seeing

23
THE CASINO FARNESE

that they are, as it were, the soul of the place. ‘We
should have liked to take root here for the rest of the
day, had not inexorable conscience intervened.

Our way now led down from these gardens (beneath
which is part of the Palace of Tiberius) to a strange
unexpected sort of space,—a shallow depression, partly
grass grown, partly strewn with dark fragments of ruin-
ous wall, and shaded with cypress and evergreen oak.

We found ourselves standing close to the foundations
of the Temple of Cybele, the Great Mother, begun in
204 B.c., when the sacred stone or fetish of the goddess
was brought to Rome from Galatia at the bidding of
the Sibyl. The comparison was irresistible; but are
we not told that in Rome there are nearly one hundred
churches dedicated to Madonna, all of which con-
tain Christian representations of the Mother and the
Child? We looked at the crumbled foundations, and
at the headless statue of the Great Mother which
stands near, and reflected that all Holy Scriptures,
whether in stone or in books, were written for our
learning.

Our guide now pointed out another sacred site,
that of the Hut of Romulus, or as some say—of his
foster-father Faustulus. Here too the sacred Fig-tree
grew. Close by, the road leads down to the Stairs of
Cacus, whose cave was below. Cacus, originally an
Italian fire-god, became the robber whom Hercules
slew and of whom Dante speaks, and thus his rock-
hewn steps interested us especially. We were then

24.
EARLY ROMAN MEMORIES

shown a cistern of great antiquity and of curious
conical form, thought to belong to the purely Latin
settlement on the hill before the days of the Etruscan
kings.

All this began to set heart and brain in a whirl,
and we demanded a pause, a space for thought, so that
we might try to realise what it all meant. Here we
were, standing on the site of a settlement older yet
than the “Roma Quadrata” of Romulus, and on this
hill, which, as Porzia had reminded us, is named from
the ancient pastoral divinity Pales. It is the fashion
to upset traditional beliefs, but we may be permitted
to cling to Romulus and his fortification of the old
hill village by the river—a village of the mysterious
trapezoidal form often found in old Italiote cities. The
Fig-tree and the grotto of the Lupercal must be realities
to you, or you cease to enjoy all the glories of the place.
Solid facts arrive quickly enough with the Republic,
when the Palatine became the fashionable quarter of
the town, and again later, when the Emperors brought
back here the seat of government and covered most of
the hill with their palaces. We should presently see
the ruins which speak of Augustus, of the Flavians, of
Hadrian, and of Septimius Severus. Those palaces have
witnessed strange transformations, passing through the
days of Constantine, Honorius, Valentinian, to their
occupation by the barbarian rulers, Odoacer and
Theodoric, these in their turn being succeeded by the
Byzantine exarchs, and later by the medizval barons,

25
EARLY ROMAN MEMORIES

who fortified themselves here and terrorised the
city.

It is heart-rending to think how much the destructive
stupidity of mankind has contributed to the ruin of
the Palatine, but Rome, it seems, has the quality of the
phoenix and can rise from her own ashes.

We now went down to see a building protected by
a most unpleasing modern zine roof. This building is
usually supposed to be the dower house of Livia, wife of
Augustus and mother of Tiberius. You descend into
a courtyard or atrium upon which three rooms open,
which rooms, we were told, correspond to the
‘“tablinum ” and “ale” of a Roman house. But I fear
these precise definitions interested us less than the
charming and dainty fresco decorations, many of which
are well preserved. The rooms to modern eyes seem
small and dark, and the paintings, delightful as they
are, add to the dark effect.

Between this house and the great Imperial Palace
we saw the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter Victor, vowed
by the Dictator Fabius Maximus, at the battle of
Sentinum in 295 B.c. Its glories are now a mere mass
of substructure, showing the ground plan and the once
stately steps which led up to the building.

We turned back and followed along the covered
corridor, or “ Crypto-porticus,” which runs along the once
magnificent Palace of Tiberius—a creepy, shadowy place
where Caligula was murdered as he was returning from
seeing some Asiatic sacred dances rehearsed at a theatre

26
MURDER OF CALIGULA

set up near the Porta Mugonia. Our guide told us the
story as if it had happened only yesterday, and as if
he had known all the people concerned. We looked
at the dark gallery and shivered, half expecting to see
the armed conspirators spring out—so intensely real
did it all seem.

The Crypto-porticus turns sharp to the east and
brings you out on to the “Area Palatina,” close to
the great rooms of State known as the Domus
Flavia. These were apparently part of the vast
Domus Augustana, or House of the Emperor. Below
the Palatine much, it seems, has lately been dis-
covered ; earlier buildings have come to light, some of
them being houses of the late Republican period? Mr.
M. evidently expected us to be enthusiastic over the
news that a great shaft, probably for a lift, has lately
been found beneath the palace, but the feats of Roman
engineering make mere lifts seem commonplace, and
I fear this information was received with comparative
indifference.

We did not attempt to see any of these later dis-
coveries, but remained among the ruins above. We saw
the Aula Regia, or throne-room, once splendid with
marbles and statues,—the Basilica, or hall of justice,
the Lararium, or private chapel, where once stood a
statue of Minerva, the patron deity of Domitian.

1Intending ‘‘ramblers’’ should take note of Commendatore Boni’s
latest excavations on the Palatine, and of his discovery there of the
“mundus,” or innermost shrine of Ancient Rome.

27
THE DOMUS FLAVIA

We stood for a while at the bar or “cancello” of the
Basilica, at which S. Lawrence was judged, and where
many others answered for their faith with their lives.

The beautiful arcaded “ Peristylium,” or central
court, is beyond the throne-room, and beyond this
again is the marble Triclinium, or banqueting hall, out
of which opened the Nymphea, each having its fountain
with adornment of statues, but all now fallen and
forlorn, pursued, as it were, by the Nemesis which
follows a too great exaltation. Thus it is that the
names of these gorgeous rooms do not perhaps mean
very much to you on a first visit; you are more
impressed with the sad beauty of the graceful columns
and delicate fragments of sculpture, lonely survivals
of a world that has passed from our ken and of a day
that set in fire and blood. This Domus Flavia too has
it tragedy, for here Domitian was murdered as he
walked in its wondrous marble corridors,—whereat you
feel but little surprise, because there is a kind of superb
madness about these dwellings on the Palatine. Even
in their shattered splendour they are as a delirium,
and you ask how anyone could have lived here, and his
reason not reel amid such an experience. Was it any
marvel that some among the Roman Emperors were
possessed by megalomaniac fantasies or haunted by
insane fears ?

But as we went on, R. was conscious of a gap.
Alas, for the roseate Villa Mills! R. had known it,
and had been bold enough to think it very picturesque ;

28
MELANCHOLY RUINS

he returned to find it no more. Were it not that the
terrace and the trees have been preserved, you might
perhaps dare to ask whether digging out more of the
House of Augustus would make up for the destruction
of this charming, if not highly classical, abode. These
doubts assail you all the more keenly as it is impossible
to restore the imperial buildings in anything approach-
ing to their original beauty and dignity. They can, at
best, only be interesting and melancholy ruins. But
for this thought the cypresses and lonely flowering
shrubs must console you. We were able to enjoy the
views from the grounds, and envied the people still
permitted to live in the monastery of S. Bonaventura,
even if that also must go in its turn. Beyond it, and
beneath the present church of 8. Sebastiano, is said to
have stood the great Temple of Apollo, built by Augustus
after the battle of Actium. Much doubt, however,
seems to have been aroused as to the site of this famous
temple by recent investigation in the garden of the
Villa Mills. One day, no doubt, all will be excavated,
and you hope the result may be worth the inevitable
upheaval and destruction.

We now passed into the great building usually known
as the Stadium, but thought to have been really a
garden in the form of a hippodrome, and not a race-
course at all. It was laid out by Domitian, and the
portico and exedra were added by later emperors. We
wandered round it, greatly interested at seeing the
name of Theodoric on the bricks used in the oval

29
AN INCOMPARABLE VIEW

basin near the south end, this bringing us into touch
with one of our favourite heroes.

At this point we were gently reminded that time
was not unlimited, and that a glorious outlook awaited
us on the Belvedere of the Palace of Septimius Severus,
that huge building we had already learnt to know by
sight from the Aventine, whence we had gazed upon
the so-called Septizonium. (We had been told that
this building ought to be called the Septizodium,—
“House of the Seven Zodia,” that is, the planets. It
seems doubtful whether the famous facade had indeed
seven stories or “zones,” as has been usually assumed.)
We went through the vast ruined passages of warm
red brick and came out upon this well-named Belve-
dere, whence the view is truly incomparable. You
glance across the whole History of Rome as you stand
here on the Palatine, looking down on the Circus
Maximus, where races had been held from the days of
the kings, and across to the wooded Aventine, to the
Pyramid of Cestius, to S. Paolo fuori le mura, then to
the churches on the Celian, and even away to the
dome of 8. Peter’s itself. You like to think that south-
wards you can see the hills above Alba Longa, whence
tradition says the earliest inhabitants came.

Our guide allowed time for our ecstasies, and then
suggested descent by way of the Stadium and down a
path which passed beneath a fine curved exedra or
balcony overlooking the Circus Maximus. This led us
to a set of rooms below the hill,—rooms belonging to

30
ANILWIVd

 

NO

 
FAMOUS ALTAR

the building usually called the Pedagogium, or school
for the imperial pages. What remains is a group of
small rooms with a portico in front, of which one
Corinthian column still remains. Uncertainty seems
to prevail as to the real nature of this building, but it
appears to be fairly agreed that it was not the Peda-
gogium, for that was on the Ccelian hill. Fortunately,
these learned disputes do not matter greatly to
ramblers, who are chiefly interested in the drawings
and signatures scratched on the walls. Among these
“ graffiti” was the supposed caricature of the Crucifixion,
now in the Museo Kircheriano, and familiar to most
people in reproductions.

We finished our walk round the hill by passing the
famous altar of the unknown God, with its curious
inscription: “To God or Goddess, whichever it be.”
The present altar is a restoration by one C. Sextius
Calvinus, and has often been supposed to be the altar
set up in the memory of the mysterious warning voice
which told the Romans that the Gauls were upon them.
We wished we could have been allowed to believe that
this was indeed the altar dedicated to “ Aius Locutius,”
—‘“the being who spake and uttered,’—but we were
told quite firmly that it did not stand here,

Near this are some remains of a very early tufa
wall, often called the wall of Romulus, but thought
to be of the same date as the so-called “Servian” walls
of the fourth century. In any case it belonged to the
ancient, though not primitive, defence of the Palatine,

31
LAIR OF THE FAMOUS SHE-WOLF

and thus is important, as showing that the sacred hill,
like the Capitol, had its own special fortification.

As you pass along, a grotto now called the Lupercal
is pointed out to you, but the true lair of the famous
she-wolf is thought to have been on a much lower
level and not on this side of the hill,—so here
again your happy credulity receives a check. On
the way out you pass the very ancient church of
S. Teodoro, on the site of a temple built over the
grave of the she-wolf, and probably used as a chapel
for the Byzantine garrison of the Palatine in the
seventh and eighth centuries. It is seldom open, so
we did not even attempt to see the sixth-century
mosaics in the apse, and indeed this memorable
morning’s ramble had been already long enough.

We passed out into the roadway and wandered down
towards 8. Giorgio in Velabro, trying to make our
plans. Here Mr. M. left us to our own devices, and
as we wanted to keep in this quarter of the city we
decided to return for lunch to the little restaurant on
the Aventine with which we had made acquaintance
only the day before. It was but a short drive, and
thus we could enjoy a restful “colazione” combined
with an enchanting view.

As our siesta-laziness wore off, R., who had been
dividing his time between his favourite Horace and a
long Italian cigar, looked up and remarked that we
must not count on finding a carriage, and that if we
wanted to go to S. Gregorio we had better walk down

32
CHURCH OF S. GREGORIO

by S. Prisca to the Via Aventina, and so on past the
site of the Porta Capena. We made no objection, for, as
R. had said, providing time and strength hold out, you
see and learn Rome far better on foot than by tram or
carriage. But distances are great, and museums, picture
galleries, and indeed churches, afford no small amount of
bodily exercise, to say nothing of the mental gymnastics
involved. We were even now prepared to spring over
more than a thousand years, namely, from the Roma
Quadrata of antiquity to the times of S. Gregory the
Great; and considering what that interval includes
in the way of political and religious changes, the jump
was no small one.

The afternoon was warm and the roads were dusty ;
we were therefore not displeased to find ourselves
under the welcome shade of the Viale di 8. Gregorio
and at the foot of the slope on which the church and
monastery stand. Stately, but without any definite
beauty, this now silent place is nevertheless one of the
most enchanting spots in Rome. Its charm is perhaps
the greater because indefinable, and probably due not
only to its surroundings, but also to the subtle inspira-
tion of a great personality. I began to enlarge on this
theme, but Porzia looked a little incredulous; she has
the clear-cut Latin mind, and is very rational. I do
not always envy her: the romantic barbarian has his
compensations.

Meanwhile we were standing in the atrium of 8.
Gregorio, trying to forget about seventeenth and eigh-

Cc 33
BENEDICTINE MISSIONARIES

teenth century restorations and rebuildings, and fixing
our minds on the original church and Benedictine
monastery built by Gregory himself on the site of his
own house. This church, which rose over the ancient
home of the great Roman family of the Anicii, to
which S. Benedict himself also belonged, is to us
English something akin to that “Jerusalem which is
the Mother of us all.” It was very fitly dedicated to the
Apostle who “sought first his own brother Simon,” for
it was from this very place that Gregory sent out his
friends to seek us his English brethren after he had
seen some of our fair children exposed for sale down
there in the Forum.

You look round the quiet grass-grown atrium, and
listen to the wind whispering in the grove of trees that
nearly hides the church from the road, and you read on
a tablet the names of those who went forth from their
Benedictine stronghold to brave the then considerable
dangers of travel and the very uncertain reception by a
heathen people. You see the name of Mellitus, first
Bishop of London, and you remember that in a sense
we owe our greatest national church, Westminster
Abbey, to this mission sent by Gregory, for the first
church founded on Thorney Isle was built by the nephew
of Augustine’s convert Ethelbert, and, as the beautiful
legend tells us, Mellitus was forestalled in his work of
consecration by one no less than 8. Peter himself.

Another reminiscence of England is suggested by
the tomb of Sir Edward Carne, Henry vitt’s Ambassador

34
REMINISCENCES OF ENGLAND

to the Holy See, afterwards recalled by Queen Elizabeth.
This tomb stands in the atrium, where are also the tombs
of the Guidiccioni and of Anthony and Michael Bonsius.

The interior of the church is not in itself of great
interest, save for the chapel of S. Gregory and the
little room close by, which, it is said, formed part of
his house. A colonnade on the left of the door con-
nects three chapels which are separate from the church,
and were built by Cardinal Baronius. The first you
enter commemorates the grave of S. Silvia, the mother
of Gregory; it contains a statue of Silvia by Cordieri,
and a fresco by Guido Reni. The central chapel is
dedicated to S. Andrew, thus recalling S. Gregory’s
original church, which was destroyed by that disastrous
champion of the Popes, Robert Guiscard. There is in
the chapel a fine fresco of the Flagellation of 8. Andrew
by Domenichino. The third chapel is dedicated in the
name of 8. Barbara and is the most interesting of the
_three, for it contains the antique marble table at which
8. Gregory daily fed twelve poor men, and also the
beautiful statue of the saint. This statue, said
have been begun by Michelangelo and finished by
Cordieri, represents the great Pope seated and in his
pontifical robes. A dove, symbol of the Holy Spirit,
whispers inspiration into his ear. We carried the
remembrance of this impressive figure away with us
as a farewell greeting from the place, together with a
spray of syringa offered by the sacristan to one en-
thusiastic visitor.

35
CHURCH OF SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO

We walked once more through the peaceful, half
deserted atrium, and down the wide steps which lead
again into the outer world. Our way then led across
the delightfully shaded Piazza di S. Gregorio, and
round by the Via di SS. Giovanni e Paolo to the
church dedicated to those martyred soldier-saints,
whose names are recalled day by day in the Mass.

We had already learned to know and love the
beautiful rounded apse and still more beautiful red
brown campanile of this church of 8S. Giovanni e
Paolo, for had we not gazed at them from the Aventine
till their form and colour had become familiar to our
minds? As we turned into the tiny piazza we had a
full view of the bell-tower, which forms the subject of
one of Markino’s most charming views of Rome. There
are interesting twelfth-century sculptures on either
side of the entrance, but alas, the church is spoilt by
Baroque decorations due to the eighteenth century.
The building is, however, of very ancient foundation.

8. John and 8. Paul were officers of the court, and
attached to the house of Constantine’s daughter
Costantia, for whom the mausoleum on the Via
Nomentana was built. After her death Julian the
Apostate desired that John and Paul should pass into
his service, but they refused, and tradition says that
the Emperor commanded their execution and burial in
their house here on the Ceelian hill, A church was
built on the site of their martyrdom by one Byzantius,
a senator, and his son Pammachius, and, like many

36
 

(Anderson.

STATUE OF S. GREGORY THE GREAT.
HOUSE OF SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO

other churches in this quarter, it suffered at the hands
of Robert Guiscard in 1084. Its restoration was due
to our English Pope Adrian Iv, and to his time we
owe the charming apse. The church and adjoining
monastery now belong to the Passionist Fathers, one
of whom, a delightfully enthusiastic person, acted as
our guide.

The upper church did not detain us very long. We
passed by the chapel of 8. Paul of the Cross, founder
of the Passionist Congregation, and were led down to
the ancient Roman house of S. John and S. Paul, a
wonderfully preserved example of a fourth-century
private house, and especially interesting as the palace
of a Christian family. This house has simply been
saved by having been buried in ruins, and has only
quite recently been excavated by the Passionist, Padre
Germano. It would require an archeologist fitly to
describe the house in all it details, and we felt almost
ashamed at the very insufficient study our time per-
mitted. We were shown the “triclinium,” with its
paintings of genii and birds amid festoons of flowers,
then the kitchen, and then a room where is a very
ancient fresco of the Crucifixion, representing our
Lord erect and living, robed in the colobium and
having a cruciform nimbus round His head. The
“tablinum,” or reception-room, is frescoed with Christian
subjects, such subjects having probably been added to
the original pagan decorations of the house. This room
we thought much the most interesting of all.

37
EARLY CHRISTIAN FRESCOES

The supposed place of the martyrdom is shown, and
the resting-place of the two saints is even yet strewn with
sprays of box in faithful and touching remembrance.

We were led down again to the rooms on a yet
lower storey, such as the baths and store chambers.
Our guide drew particular attention to the amphore
with the Christian monogram upon them, these
probably having held wine to be used at Mass, while
some of the jars had held oil. Coming back once more
to the Tablinum, you climb to a room where are
ancient frescoes of the martyrdom of 8. John and
S. Paul, and of SS. Crispus, Crispianus. These are said
to be the earliest known pictures of martyrdom, and
indeed the absence of all sensationalism in the earliest
Christian frescoes and inscriptions is very marked.
Possibly they thought more of life than of death, more
of triumph than of torture.

R., to our fierce envy, was admitted into the charm-
ing garden of the Passionists, a garden extending over
a site once occupied by the Temple of Claudius, which
was built by Agrippina and afterwards nearly destroyed
by Nero. From this Porzia and I were sternly ex-
cluded, and R. aroused our evil passions yet further by
expatiating on the beautiful view of the Colosseum
and the Lateran he had enjoyed.

Bidding farewell to our kind and courteous guide,
whose love for the church and its ancient substructures
was most infectious, we walked up the road and passed
under the Arch of Dolabella. This corner seemed to

38
A PICTURESQUE CORNER

us to be one of the most picturesque bits we had yet
seen. The street itself (the Via di SS. Giovanni e
Paolo) represents the Clivus Scauri of ancient Rome,
and the great arch, built by the Consuls Dolabella and
Silanus in 10 a.D., first carried the Acqua Marcia
across the roadway, and afterwards the Acqua Claudia.
Close by is a gateway of a former convent of the
Trinitarians, and we stayed to look at the Cosmati
mosaic above, a mosaic which represents our Lord
between two slaves, one white and one black, in allusion
to the chief mission of the Trinitarian order, which was
the ransoming of slaves.

We now yielded to temptation, for although we had
seen more than enough, ramblers have not unlimited
time, and we were too close to 8. Maria in Domnica to
resist looking at it. We were standing in the Piazza
della Navicella, a rather picturesquely deserted looking
space, set with trees, and named from the small marble
boat, the “ Navicella”—put here by Leo x in the place
of an antique boat which had been injured. Such
boats used of old to be presented as votive offerings to
Jupiter the Returner after a safe return from a sea
voyage, very much as such offerings are placed near
shrines and images now.

The church is of venerable antiquity, for tradition
says that it stands where once stood the house of
Ciriaca, that pious Christian widow, the friend of
S. Lawrence. It is said that this spot is one of
those where S. Lawrence was wont to distribute the

39
CHURCH OF S. MARIA IN DOMNICA

alms entrusted to him by the Pope. Rebuilt by
Pope Paschal 1 in the ninth century, the church
was restored by Leo x while he was yet Cardinal,
and we are told that both Bramante and Raphael
were employed in the work. After looking at the
portico and at the frieze of lions which adorns the
wall, we rang for admittance. When the custodian
finally appeared and let us in, we devoted our
attention chiefly to the mosaics of the arch and of
the semidome, works of much the same epoch as
those in S. Prassede and 8. Cecilia. The picture
on the arch represents our Lord attended by angels,
with a white-robed line of apostles on either hand,
standing on a flower-strewn meadow. Below these,
and on either side of the semidome, stand two figures,
pointing upwards to the fulfilment in Christ. In
the semidome itself Madonna is seated, holding her
Divine Child, who raises His hand in blessing. Pope
Paschal (wearing the square nimbus which shows that
he was living at the time) kneels at the feet of
the Madonna, and on either side of her float a
choir of adoring angels. Primitive in its drawing,
the mosaic yet possesses a marvellous charm of
colour, and the whole design taken together makes a
grand effect. Someone has compared the upper row
of figures advancing towards the central figure of
Christ to the row of martyrs in 8. Apollinare Nuovo
at Ravenna, and indeed the attitudes are very
similar. But these at §. Maria Domnica have not the

40
CHURCH OF S. STEFANO ROTONDO

nameless charm and floating grace of the Ravenna
mosaics.

Beyond noting the fine granite columns which carry
the nave, we did not try to see anything further in the
church, and went on our way only to find ourselves at
the very door of 8. Stefano Rotondo; and, this being so,
how could we forbid ourselves to go in ?

We unanimously agreed that this fifth-century
church of S. Stefano Rotondo must in old days have
been one of the grandest in Rome, for there was
originally a third circle of pillars beyond the two
circles which at present exist. This outer circle was
destroyed only in the fifteenth century, when the spaces
were filled up. Even ag it is now it has the peculiar
majesty and simplicity which seems to belong to cir-
cular buildings, and which in a measure characterizes
them all, whether it be the Temple Church in London,
the cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle, 8. Vitale at Ravenna,
or any other. Here at S. Stefano you have a great
spacious church ‘with beautiful columns, and a small
chapel adorned with gorgeous, if barbaric, mosaic of the
seventh century. This chapel was once the entrance,
but was transformed by Pope Theodore I, who buried in it
the bodies of the martyrs S. Primus and 8. Felicianus.

We walked round the building, looking at everything
except the pictures on the walls,—atrocious works,
deserving of the whitewash which has so often fallen
to the lot of their betters. One very curious feature
in the church is the transverse wall supported by mas-

41
END OF THE SECOND DAY

sive columns with Corinthian capitals. This is said to
belong to the eighth century, and to the time of Adrian 1.
It certainly interferes somewhat with the architectural
effect, although very picturesque in itself. We took a
final glance at the mosaic niche, where the stiff glowing
figures of Primus and Felicianus stand on either side
of a cross upon which is a bust of our Lord. Then we
came out once more, and found that the splendour of
evening had come upon us. The sky colours were of
an unimaginable purity and delicacy, and for the
moment it was impossible to think of the things of
common life, so wonderful had the world become during
the brief space we had been in 8. Stefano. The fact
that a stray carriage crossed our path recalled us to
the prose of life, and we were rewarded by a drive
home through an enchanted city, which gleamed with
a light beyond jewels, until the sudden veil of
evening fell.

42
CHAPTER III

fe , . il loco santo

U’ siede il successor del maggior Piero.”
Dante.
THIS day was to be marked by our first visit to S.
Peter’s, but our ramble had to be planned in a rather
unusual fashion, for we were going to devote ourselves
to the crypt and to the Borgia Apartments rather than
to the church itself,

R. had a friend at court, a kind Monsignor who was
Rector of one of the colleges, and through his good
offices we had obtained a “ permesso ” to see the Vatican
crypt, a privilege we had greatly desired. We de-
scended the glorious stairway of the SS. Trinita in
very triumphant mood, and, challenged by the army of
flower-sellers, I felt that nothing would do but that
I must buy a great bunch of white roses to put on
Prince Charlie’s grave, which is in the crypt. As we
met the rest of our party in the Piazza di Spagna, R.
pointed to this treasonable trophy, upon which one of
our friends, a man in whom the sense of humour was
not uppermost, asked quite seriously: “Do you think
that is quite loyal to the reigning family ?” The rebuke
had no effect, and I got into the tram, roses and all.

43
THE ATRIUM

Once in the Piazza di S. Pietro, we gazed at the whole
scene, feeling that the scale of it all was too vast to
realise. Beyond a certain point size is really wasted ;
you cannot grasp it, and mere measurements become
meaningless,—but this, perhaps, is a compliment to
the wonderful harmony and proportion of S. Peter’s.
We looked up at the huge and unpleasing fagade with
its rows of statues high up on the balustrade above,
then climbed the steps and entered the vast atrium.
This is in itself a large and splendidly decorated build-
ing, but even so, an inadequate consolation for the loss
of the earlier atrium, with its five great doors, its
tombs of the illustrious dead (among whom were some
of our own Saxon princes), and its wondrous pine-cone
fountain.

We were early for our appointment with our guide,
and had time to glance round at some of the chief
features, such as the great bronze doors illustrating
the history of the attempted union between the Eastern
and Western Churches in the time of Pope Eugenius Iv,
which doors were decorated by Eugenius himself and
designed by Filarete. We turned and looked up at
the lunette over the entrance, in which there is a
restoration of Giotto’s mosaic of the Navicella, or Ship
of the Church, and then at the statue of Charlemagne
at one end of the atrium. The corresponding statue,
that of Constantine, is now only seen on the stairs
ascending to the Vatican collections.

Once inside the church we were conscious of the

44
SSNHCUVO NVOILVA FHL

"nosAapr je)

 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF INTERIOR

usual mixed feeling of astonishment, admiration, and
an element of disappointment. This Renaissance
church seems in some unexplained way to be inspired
with the same spirit that built the Colosseum and the
palaces on the Palatine, and breathes earthly magni-
ficence and domination rather than spiritual aspiration.
Gorgeous it is, stately, exquisitely lighted, and of
superb proportion, but yet there is something missing ;
—and you feel a useless regret at the thought of never
having seen the old, the real S. Peter’s, of which you
can now only read in descriptions which are all the
more tantalising for their eloquence. What would
one not give to see that glorious Basilica, built by
Constantine over the burial-place of the Apostle, on the
site and partly on the structures of Caligula’s circus
and gardens? It must have exceeded Solomon’s
Temple in its splendour of mosaic, gold, and jewels, and
its historical associations were overwhelming, even for
Rome. It was the scene of Charlemagne’s coronation
as Emperor on Christmas Day, 800; it was the prize
of many a struggle between Pope and Emperor. Among
its treasures it possessed a ciborium presented by S.
Gregory the Great, and a magnificent candelabrum
(known as the Pharos) given by Adrian I.

The world owes the present splendid, if not wholly
satisfying, building to Pope Nicholas v, who did very
much what our Henry 1 did to the Confessor’s Church
of S. Peter at Westminster, namely, gradually replace
the venerable old church by one of new design. A

45
THE CONFESSION

majestic dome seems to have been an integral part of
the plan for this later S. Peter's, but Nicholas himself
saw but little of his vision realised. That was left for
the warlike Julius 1, for Leo x, for Paul 111, Sixtus v,
Alexander vil, and Clement vir.

And what a roll-call of illustrious names is the list
of architects employed on this vast work? We read
of Bramante, Guglielmo and Antonio di San Gallo,
Raphael, Michelangelo, Giacomo della Porta, Fontana,
Maderna, Bernini, to mention no others. Truly a
galaxy of genius! It is a marvel that the whole effect
is not more stupendous than it actually is——but we
were not here to cavil, and we walked slowly up the
nave towards the ring of lights which glimmered in
the far distance round the Confession and beneath the
towering Baldacchino, behind which again you catch
glimpses of Bernini’s terrible Chair of S. Peter.

We stood silently at this, the central spot of
Western Christendom, gazing down at the golden doors
which close upon the grave of the Apostle, and at the
statae of Pope Pius v1, kneeling there as if in age-long
adoration, Then we looked up at the Papal altar, and
at the vast Baldacchino, which is adorned with bronze
once used in the Pantheon. It is an impressive
moment when you first stand here, whatever outward
form of the faith you may profess.

At the entrance to the “Grotte Sacre,” close to the
statue of S. Veronica, we found our appointed guide,
and with him we descended the staircase which leads

46
THE CRYPTS

first into what are called the “Grotte Nuove” or new
crypts. These are under the dome, and consist of the
Confession or Tomb of the Apostle, a horseshoe corridor
surrounding the Confession, and various small chapels,
which I admit we found very confusing on a first visit.
The “Grotte Vecchie,” or older crypts, consist of three
long aisles, divided by pillars,—a ghostly place, full of
monuments which recall marvellous memories, making
you feel that a thousand years are in very deed only as
one day. The whole effect is most impressive, and we
thought this buried church infinitely more interesting
than the upper one, with all its undoubted splendours
and grandiose monuments. It is no wonder that
chapter after chapter has been written on the
Vatican crypts, but mere ramblers must tell their
story quickly and mention only what seizes most
powerfully on heart and mind.

As we left the chapel of S. Veronica our guide led
us to the right, pointing out the statue of S. James the
Less from the ciborium of Sixtus Iv, and an ancient
monogram of Christ, one of those which adorned the
ancient Basilica. In the tiny chapel of the Saviour on
our left he drew our attention to an inscription placed
over a number of bones formerly interred in the Basilica
of Constantine. There is another of these collective
tombs on the opposite side of the crypt, and we noted
the curious name, “Polyandrium,” by which they are
called.

We were then taken into the Chapel of the Confes-

47
THE TOMB OF S. PETER

sion to see the exact spot where S. Peter is buried.
The chapel itself dates from the time of the crypt, and
has succeeded a similar chapel built in the church of
Constantine. You pass through the bronze doors in
front of the statue of Pius vi, and find yourself in a
small, oblong, apsidal chapel, splendidly decorated, at
the end of which gleamed the figures of 8. Peter and
S. Paul. Far beneath the altar is the actual tomb of
the Apostle, which, we all trust, has remained inviolate,
even after the occupation and devastation by the
Saracens in the ninth century.

I was privately indulging in some rather sad reflec-
tions on the schisms of Christendom, which you seem
to feel more keenly in Rome than elsewhere, but these
thoughts were happily cut short by our energetic guide,
who wished to point out to us the place where the
pallia are laid before being sent to the Archbishops.
Behind this curious chamber he pointed out the little
chapel named “ Ad Caput Beati Petri.” After seeing
this we passed out again into the corridor, exactly
opposite one of the finest tombs in the whole crypt,
the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus, Prefect of Rome in
359, and a convert to Christianity. He is thought to
have been the son of an early Junius Bassus, who built
on the Esquiline hill a basilica which afterwards became
a Christian church. It was hard to tear ourselves away
from this grand sarcophagus, which is sculptured on the
front with scenes from the Old and New Testaments,
and on the ends with representations of the seasons.

48
THE “GROTTE NUOVE”

We then retraced our steps round the horseshoe
corridor, which, we understood, reproduces the ancient
apsidal form of the primitive basilica and is thus of
special interest. We began the regular round of the
“Grotte Nuove,” and carried away a remembrance of a
strange and fascinating medley of inscriptions, ancient
crosses and monograms, fragments of mosaics, statues
of Apostles from the tomb of Cardinal Bernardo Eroli,
standing sentinel at the entrance of the shadow-
haunted chapels, and lovely bits of sculpture by
Mino da Fiesole. In the chapel of “Santa Maria de
Febri,” we were especially interested in the fragments
of a Bull of Gregory 1 (eighth century), concerning
the veneration due to certain relics of martyrs and
confessors, placed by his orders in the choir of the
ancient church. Here too is the seated statue of S.
Peter, a work of the classical age, which stood in the
portico of Constantine’s basilica, and received the same
honours as are paid to the later statue now in the
church. The head and hands of the statue have been
restored at different times, but the whole figure has a
great resemblance to the great bronze statue above.

In the larger adjoining chapel of Santa Maria Prag-
nantium—also a dark rectangular place—we seemed
to carry away most clearly the remembrance of an
inscription referring to various repairs and embellish-
ments ordered by Innocent vi for the Chapel of the
Holy Lance. The Lance of the Passion having been
sent by Bajazet 11 to Innocent vill in 1492, the Pope

D 49
CHAPEL OF THE HOLY LANCE

desired that the chapel, at that time used as a choir for
the canons, should be restored, and the relic preserved
in a ciborium over the altar. Then we saw a bust of
Boniface vin, part of a medizval statue which once
stood in a chapel of S. Boniface, also a statue of 8.
George, and an inscription over the former tomb of four
Popes of the name of Leo,—1, IJ, Il, Iv, all of them
now transferred to an ancient sarcophagus beneath the
altar of 5. Leo the Great in the left transept of S.
Peter’s. The history of these Popes makes this corner
one of the most interesting in the whole crypt, for did
not Leo the Great turn back Attila, Leo UI crown
Charlemagne, and Leo Iv create the Leonine City ?

On our way round the corridor we passed a monu-
ment recalling the gift of the head of 8. Andrew to
Pius u by Thomas Palologos, Prince of the Morea,
This relic is now preserved in the pillar near which
the statue of S. Andrew stands, and gives an added
interest to his chapel.

We now passed into the “Grotte Vecchie,” and
found them less confusing and even more interesting
than the “Grotte Nuove.” Near us, in the floor, was
the grave of Charlotte of Lusignan, Queen of Cyprus,
dethroned by her brother James. Her name recalled
many thoughts of the stormy politics of Dante’s day,
and of struggles in our own country, to which the
Lusignan tombs at Westminster bear witness, Not
far away is the epitaph of Amaury, Count of Montfort,
who was the son of the famous persecutor, Simon de

50
LINKS WITH ENGLISH HISTORY

Montfort, and brother of our own great baron. This
is another link, therefore, both with Dante and with
Westminster Abbey, for the shield of de Montfort
with its double-tailed lion is carved on the Abbey
walls, and one of Dante’s most famous episodes is
connected with the nephews of this very Amaury.

Close by is a copy, engraved on marble, of the
Countess Matilda’s donation to the Holy See. The
monument of the great Tuscan countess is in the right
aisle of the church, her remains having been brought
from Mantua in 1635 by order of Urban vit. They
were placed in §S. Peter's, in acknowledgment of
Matilda’s generosity to the Papal See.

But by this time I was in a hurry to find the Stuart
tombs and to deposit my roses. We therefore made
our way to the strange, sordid-looking tombs of our
English princes, and there, reckless of any possible
lése-majesté, I laid the flowers. They are truly desolate
enough, those curious lean-to burial-places, and are
hardly atoned for by the monument in the church
above.

We then walked down to the end of the long, grey,
sepulchral aisle, and in a dim corner, which somehow re-
called the “ Prinzen-gruft” at Weimar, we saw the tomb
of the Emperor Otto 11, who died in Rome in 983 and
was buried in the ancient atrium. In the corridor
of the “Grotte Nuove” we had already seen a mosaic
representing our Lord between S. Peter and 8. Paul,
this being part of the original decoration of the tomb,

51
THE “GROTTE VECCHIE”

We had noticed the mosaic partly because S. Peter is
represented as holding three keys, probably an allusion
to the sovereign Pontiff’s authority over the Church tri-
umphant, militant, and suffering. The great Emperor’s
present resting-place equals that of Edward I at West-
minster in stern simplicity, and bears only the words:
“Otto Secundus Imperator Augustus.” The splendid
porphyry urn now used as the font in the baptistery
is usually supposed to have been part of Otto 11’s tomb,
but this, we were told, is questioned by some authorities.

We wandered along among the solemn rows of
tombs, and saw the precious fragments of the epitaph
of 8. Gregory the Great, from the tomb which originally
stood in the old atrium, near the Porta Giudizia—the
door used for the dead. Then we saw the grave of
Christina of Sweden, and the sarcophagus of one of
the Borgia Popes, probably Calixtus m1. He and his
nephew, Pope Alexander VI, were finally buried in the
Spanish national church of 8. Maria di Monserrato.
We stayed to contemplate the great sarcophagus of
red Egyptian granite which holds the remains of our
one English Pope, Adrian Iv (Nicholas Breakspeare).
We felt a throb of patriotic pride in recalling this
great Pope, who quelled the disorders roused by Arnold
of Brescia, and even bent the haughty Barbarossa
to courtesy and submission. Quite near are the original
tombs of Pius 1 and his nephew, afterwards Pius m1.
These two Piccolomini Popes were moved early in the
seventeenth century to their lofty tombs in 8, Andrea

52
TOMBS OF POPES

della Valle. It seemed to us that the real monument
to the famous humanist Pope will always be the
Cathedral Library at Siena, where in Pinturicchio’s
delightful frescoes you see him as Aeneas Sylvius
Piccolomini, and not only as Pope Pius 1.

But yet more interesting was the fine tomb of
Boniface vill, far away in a dark remote corner, which
seems appropriate to the tragic end of his reign. The
recumbent figure is fine, and the whole tomb stately
in its simplicity,—half recalling the imperious statue
in the cathedral of Florence, which so vividly expresses
one’s idea of Boniface both as man and as Pontiff.

We then passed a succession of papal sarcophagi,—
the tombs of Nicholas v, one of the great Popes of
the Renaissance; of Paul 11, the Venetian Pope who
built the Palazzo Venezia; of Julius 111; of Nicholas 11
(the Orsini whom Dante condemned so fiercely),—these
being only a few out of the famous company assembled
here. Of these tombs the most famous as a work of
art is that of Paul 1 by Mino da Fiesole, but the
graceful ornamental sculptures are now scattered in
various places throughout the “Grotte,” and can only
be seen bit by bit. We looked at the tomb of the
Cardinal Eroli, of which we had already seen more
than one beautiful fragment in different parts of the
erypt, and then we passed again into the Grotte Nuove
and out once more by the chapel of 8. Veronica. We
felt when we had finished that we had only in fact
begun, and that we could only hope for very scattered

53
SACRISTIES AND THE TREASURY

memories after one brief visit;—yet the impression
was an indelible one, as we afterwards found.

Once more in the upper church we looked at some
few of the specially interesting things—such as the
altar of S. Leo the Great, with the relief by Algardi
representing the Pope checking the advance of the
savage Attila; the grave of Palestrina; the splendid
tombs of Sixtus 1v and of Innocent viII; the poor yet
interesting monuments of the Stuarts and of Clementina
Sobieski. We also had time to look at those terrible
productions, Bernini’s monuments to Urban vil and
Alexander vir, besides others of a like sort. They con-
soled us for the many similar horrors in Westminster
Abbey, which one is apt to think unrivalled.

We then managed to see the Sacristies, whence we
brought away as our chief remembrance the panels by
Giotto in the Sacristia dei Canonici, and the lovely
angels of Melozzo da Forli. Trivial as it may seem,
those fluttering ribands round the angel figures were
always tous a symbol of grace and youthful joy. From
the Treasury, too, we had learned something of the
spell that can be woven by art, devotion, and historical
association, when we looked at the wonderful dalmatic,
used, so tradition tells you, at the coronation of
Charlemagne. A study of its marvellous embroideries
would teach you the chief mysteries of the Christian
faith—but for these things there was no more time
to-day. We returned to the church, and before leaving
we had a good look at Michelangelo’s Pieta, in the

54
THE SOVEREIGN PONTIFF

chapel near the door. As we turned for a final glance
at the whole church, R. reminded us of a former
occasion, when he had seen the Pope carried into
S. Peter’s in state on the day of a Beatification. The
gorgeous and stately ceremony was a thing never to be
forgotten; it is a most curious and interesting illus-
tration of the blend of hierarchical domination and
democratic ideas, culminating in a kind of apotheosis,—
for truly the honour paid to the Pope on these occasions
is hardly what we Westerns would decree to a fellow-
man. Perhaps, however, those who are bred up in the
reformed churches hardly realise how sincerely and
devoutly the Pope is regarded as the Vicar of Christ.
If you truly accept that view, what reverence can be
too much? We were discussing this point, and speak-
ing of the now discarded custom of kissing the Pope’s
slipper, when Porzia let in a flood of light by remarking
that we should not have objected to pay that homage
to Marcus Aurelius. I had to admit I never realised
that such was part of the “adoring” of an emperor,
and this knowledge added greatly to the interest of
the ceremony. We felt quite sorry that the Pope had
commanded it to be discontinued.

But R. here reminded us that we had to take our
way to a very different scene, namely, the wonderful
set of rooms below the Stanze of Raphael, known as
the Borgia Apartments. We had at first despaired of
seeing them, but found to our relief that they were
now open on certain days. These wonderfully named

a
THE BORGIA APARTMENTS

rooms were the private apartments of Alexander vI
and his family, and, after being long neglected, were
restored during the reign of Leo x1. The general
impression they made upon us was that of a certain
gloom, in spite of their gorgeous decorations from the
designs of Pinturicchio, and at the hands of various
artists. In days when we all believe so much in the
influence of environment, you cannot help asking what
effect all this beauty had on the ethics of the people
who inhabited these rooms,—but theories must not be
pushed too far.

We went first into the Hall of the Popes, a most
interesting illustration of the insistence on papal
supremacy, quite apart from its artistic merit. The
allegorical figures of the planets, painted on the ceiling
by Giovanni da Udine and Pierino del Vaga, are
most delicate and charming, suggesting the divine
working by means of stellar influences. The figures of
the Popes themselves, too, were all of special interest.

We, like most people, enjoyed the Hall of the
Mysteries more than all the others, as being really the
most beautiful. The great mysteries of the faith are
set forth upon the walls, and the roof is filled with
figures of the prophets who announce the coming
salvation. In the fresco of the Resurrection, Alexander
vi himself is represented, kneeling before the empty
Tomb. His figure in its splendid vestment, and the
face with its coarse yet handsome features, are familiar
in many reproductions.

56
‘AOMaINA AHL AXMOAAM ANIMAHLVO ‘Ss

ste MOS4aru pr)

 
THE BORGIA APARTMENTS

The Hall of the Saints contains the S. Catherine,
famous as a supposed portrait of Lucrezia Borgia. In
the same picture the fascinating figure of Prince Djem
appears, and all the personages are truly gorgeous in
apparel,—unusual raiment, one would think, for a
learned disputation—such being the scene represented.
The other scenes are the histories of S. Barbara, of
Susannah, and the martyrdom of S. Sebastian, and on
the roof is painted the legend of Isis and Osiris. The re-
currence of the Apis-bull in the decoration of the rooms
is thought to be an allusion to the Borgia coat-of-arms.

In the Hall of the Creed, apostles and prophets are
depicted, each apostle uttering that sentence of the
Creed with which tradition connects him, while an
appropriate prophecy is quoted. In the Hall of the
Sibyls the arrangement is very similar, as the figure of
each Sibyl is accompanied by a prophecy concerning
the Christ to come. We went round the room con-
scientiously, rather ashamed of our ignorance about the
Sibyls, and making good resolutions for future study.
After this we returned once more to the Hall of the
Saints and the Hall of the Mysteries, so that these
lovely scenes should be the last impression of the
Appartamento Borgia left on our minds.

As we came out once more into the piazza, where
the sun blazed on the vast pavement and great stair-
way, R. turned to us and asked whether we thought
ourselves capable of facing the Villa di Papa Giulio in
the afternoon.

57
A REMINISCENCE OF PIUS IX

“Tf we do not think about it now,” was the answer,
—“but at present we are dazed and also hungry.”

For “colazione” we decided upon a restaurant in the
Piazza S. Pietro, and as we were beginning to learn R.’s
admirable method of enjoying everything as it came,
grave and gay by turns, we now greatly appreciated
the amusing and motley crowd of fellow-guests, and
especially a French party, which included an un-
conscious actor, who might have rivalled Coquelin
“ainé” at his best. R.and Porzia were adepts at taking
things at their face value, a habit of mind excellently
extolled by a modern philosopher.

“The practice of that virtue should be studied by all
travellers; it saves much friction,” remarked R. as he
lit his cigar, and we gazed out into the huge piazza, at
the majestic colonnades, the obelisk of Sixtus v, the
fountains, the great flight of steps, and the facade of the
church, which unluckily hides so much of the dome.

R. looked up at the great facade, and told us how
he remembered seeing and hearing Pius Ix give the
blessing, “ Urbis et orbis,” on Easter Day long years
ago. He described the scene,—the white figure on
the central balcony, and the splendid voice which was
audible in all parts of the piazza as the benediction
was chanted over the kneeling crowd. It is sad that
so beautiful a ceremony should be withheld now, and
it is difficult to understand the reason.

We sat on for a while looking greedily at the whole
scene, and hoping to fix it indelibly in our memory.

58
THE VILLA DI PAPA GIULIO

We had agreed that the Villa di Papa Giulio would
be quite a good foil to the serious sight-seeing of the
morning, and we felt sure we should not mix it up
with the Vatican crypt,—so after due pause for rest
we made our way thither, beginning by taking the
tram to the Piazza del Popolo, passing through the
ugly new quarter in the Prati di Castello, where R.
said the houses looked like packing-cases,

At the Piazza del Popolo we got another tram, which
took us quite near to the entrance of the villa.

It ig a curious and depressing experience to visit a
place which ought to be joyful and amusing, which has
been so, but which has fallen into decay. For some
reason a ruined church or monastery is not nearly so
mournful as a deserted house or villa. We felt this
very strongly at the charming little Villa di Papa
Giulio, so beautiful in its design, and so suggestive of
a grace and gaiety that have now faded away. It was
built for Pope Julius m1 by Vignola, who had Vasari
and Michelangelo as collaborators. The court was
what pleased us best, with its fountain, said to be
designed by Vasari, and carried out by Vignola and
Ammanati. It was here that the old-world spell
seemed to work most strongly, and as you thought of
the companies of people who must have gathered here
—people now replaced by a collection of antiquities—
Browning’s line came back to you: “I feel chilly and
grown old.”

We saw the model of the Etruscan Temple in the

59
AN INTERESTING MUSEUM

court to the right, and felt chillier than ever at the
sight of this strange intruder, a veritable “memento
mori.” We then began our visit to the marvellous
collection, chiefly of Etruscan antiquities from Falerii,
one of the twelve confederate Etruscan cities, built
on the site now partly covered by Civité Castellana.
The museum contains many most interesting and
beautiful things, especially those in the first and second
rooms on the upper floor, which are peculiarly instruc-
tive, from the point of view both of art and of history.
In a moment of confidence I hazarded the opinion that
Etruscan tombs and museums must be haunted by evil
spirits, because there is such a repellent and uncanny
atmosphere in most of them. Porzia looked at me in
pitying astonishment, but she has the classical poise of
mind, and her ideas are as clear cut as the outline of
the Parthenon against the Attic sky. If you are a
child of the northern twilight, its blurred outlines may
have taught you something of the “great Perhaps,” and
this may account for our indomitable love of the
romantic and mysterious, and the foolish tendency to
see ghosts, even in museums, We spent some time
wandering about, and most especially enjoyed the
wonderful collection of vases—Etruscan, Italian, and
Greek—also the bronzes in the cabinet where the
treasure from Todi is placed.

On leaving the villa we walked down again to join
the Flaminian Way, and on our way to the Ponte
Molle we passed the small church of 8. Andrea, built

60
an

 

[Alinari.

VILLA DI PAPA GIULIO (INNER COURTYARD).
THE FLAMINIAN WAY

by Vignola for Julius m1, in memory of his escape
during the awful siege of 1527, he being then Cardinal
del Monte.

There are delightful views on almost every hand
as you go along the road towards what is now officially
called the Ponte Milvio. We wondered whether
Flaminius would have minded having trams along his
road, but as the Romans were evidently well acquainted
with the use of lifts, we agreed that trams would
probably have been no surprise to them. Indeed, we
are only now recovering from medieval barbarism,
uncleanliness, and ignorance.

We looked round on either side as we went on,
noting the curious, persistent, grey-greens in the land-
scape, even in this golden spring-time. Close to the
Ponte Molle, another chapel of S. Andrew com-
memorates the spot where Pius 1 received the head
of the saint when it was brought to Rome in 1462,
after the Turkish conquest of the Morea. The recep-
tion was a most stately ceremony, and, as we had just
learned, the precious relic is deposited in one of the
great piers of 8. Peter’s, just above the statue of S.
Andrew. We were glad we had been able to follow up
this interesting bit of history.

On reaching the bridge we walked across it and
back again,—over the ancient central arches, and below
the modern triumphal arch added in 1805. We
looked down at the tawny river from this bridge, the
successor of the Pons Milvius which was rebuilt in the

61
AN ANCIENT BRIDGE

second century B.c., and we thought of the scenes it
must have witnessed, notably the death of Maxentius,
who was drowned here after his defeat by Constantine
in 312 aD. We should have liked to have gone on to
Tor di Quinto, for the sake, not of the medieval watch-
tower, but for that of the famous and modern riding-
school. But time forbade, and we contented ourselves
with having coffee at a rather entertaining “ Osteria”
near the tramway terminus.

As the day did not happen to be a Saturday it was
of no use to attempt to see the Villa Madama, so we
appeased our longing by recalling our friend Mrs. H.’s
account of a visit there some years before. We remem-
bered her description of the charming, unfinished build-
ing designed for the Cardinal Giulio de Medici, of its
exquisite stucco decorations by Giovanni da Udine, and
its view across the Tiber. The genius of Raphael,
Giulio Romano, and Giovanni da Udine have joined
hands with that other strange element of beauty—
age-long desolation, to weave a spell round the Villa
Madama. We could only sigh at having to miss this
experience, and chose the other way home, namely,
by Acqua Acetosa. We found it really a charming
walk, all the more as the sky began to look somewhat
threatening, wonderful effects of gleam and shadow
being the result. We especially enjoyed the view of
Soracte and its sharp, jagged outline, which showed
black against the light. How we longed to go there
also, and climb to that monastery of S. Silvestro, with

62
END OF THE THIRD DAY

its memories of Carloman and his life-long penance
after the slaughter at Cannstadt. What a view there
must be—from mountain and forest to the sea—from
that monastery, which stands even as Monte Cassino
and Westminster do—on the site of a Temple of
Apollo.

We turned and looked at the Sabine Mountains, and
across, on the other side, to Monte Mario, where we
hoped to go some day before we left. We wanted to
test Dante’s famous line about “Montemalo” and the
Uccellatoio, and to see whether we felt like his

“ Barbari, venendo da tal plaga
Che liascun giorno d’Elice si copra——”

On reaching the Porta Salaria we decided that we
might congratulate ourselves on an energetic day of
rambling, and as a kind of reward we bought photo-
graphs at Anderson’s studio, which was not far off.
After this we made our way home through the streets
of the new Ludovisi quarter.

63
CHAPTER IV

“Se al Campidoglio non pit la vergine
tacita sale dietro il pontefice,
ne pit per Via Sacra il trionfo
piega i quattro candidi cavalli,

questa del Foro tuo solitudine

ogni rumore vince, ogni gloria ;

e tutto che al mondo é civile,

grande, augusto, egli é romano ancora.”

CaRpDvccl.

WE had given the Palatine and 8. Peter’s the precedence,
as was indeed their due, but we felt the Forum must
come next, and accordingly our fourth morning was
spent there.

We got there by another road, for this time we
chose the way over the Capitol,—beginning with a
drive through the Piazza Monte Cavallo, where we
had our first look at the Quirinal. Then by the Via
della Pilotta and the Via Nazionale we got to the
Piazza Venezia, and thence by the Via di 8. Marco to
the Piazza Ara Coeli, which name made us feel as if
we were in the very heart of Rome.

As we wished to gave ourselves for the Forum, we
drove round by the Via delle Tre Pile into the Piazza
del Campidoglio, where we dismissed our carriage and
paid our first respects to the great equestrian statue

64
THE HEART OF ROME

of Marcus Aurelius, which is a revelation as to what
sculpture really means,—or can be made to mean.
We were firm, however, and did no more than just
walk round this piazza of stupendous memories, and
then passed down by the huge structure of the Tabu-
larium, to the top of the steps which lead to the Forum.

From this platform a heart-stirring spectacle
stretches in front of you, and the feeling was over-
whelming, even as it had been yesterday when we first
saw it. There at your feet is the very heart of the
Roman world, and we still feel the throb of that great
pulse far away in our dark northern lands,—for had
not one even of our little party realised the mighty
link away at far Corstopitum, even as peopie have felt
it in Spain, in Africa, in Sclavonia? From this little
platform you see practically the whole of the Forum.
You are directly over the Portico of the Assembled
Gods, and close on your left are the Temples of
Vespasian and of Concord. Across the modern road,
but quite near you still, is the Temple of Saturn, where
the purple iris are thick round the crumbling, ivory-
tinted marbles. You see the ruins of the Basilica
Julia, and beyond it the exquisite columns of the
Temple of Castor and Pollux. You espy the Arch of
Titus, the graceful medizval campanile of S. Francesca
Romana, the shattered glories of the Colosseum, the
deep, dark arches of the Basilica of Constantine, the
Temples of Romulus and of Faustina, and the sad
remains of the Basilica Aimilia. In the midst lies

E 65
THE FORUM

what, to the stranger, is an undecipherable heap of
stone, a hieroglyphic only to be read by the initiated.
This, save for the grace of flowers and shrubs here and
there, is very unsightly, and into this maze we were
now to descend.

To R. the transformation was indeed startling, for
he had known the Forum in its unexcavated days, and
could well have pictured Charles v driving through it
in triumph, over a road made to pass under the arches
of Titus and Septimius Severus. But though his years
might have warranted it, R. never allowed himself to
become a mere “ praiser of past times.” He was not
one of those tiresome and depressing people who con-
tinually din into your ears that the Forum was so
much more beautiful as the Campo Vaccino,—that
they simply cannot look at the Colosseum now the
lovely fern has all been picked off—that the Ghetto
wag so interesting,—and that the Tiber banks used to
be so picturesque, but now are entirely spoilt. All
these things may be true, and yet later generations
may perhaps be forgiven for rejoicing over the excep-
tional healthiness of modern Rome, not to speak of
the wonderful historical revelations in the Forum and
elsewhere.

We finally left our coign of vantage, and walked
down to the Forum, descending into it close by the
Basilica Julia. We passed between the basilica and
the Temple of Saturn, along the Via Jugaria, and went
first into the central space,—the “stone-quarry,” as

66
TEMPLE OF SATURN

Porzia called it,—and tried to find our bearings. Look-
ing at our maps like dutiful visitors, we found that we
were standing by the Rostra, not far from the Column
set up to the tyrant Phocas.,

“Let us try and find the oldest things first,” said
Porzia, who was whirling round to each point of the
compass, and already seemed to have an idea where
she was. We demurred a little, and said we thought
the conspicuous landmarks were the best things for
ramblers to look out for to begin with. We then
started by looking at the great columns of the Temple
of Saturn, standing behind us to the right, just below
the Capitol. This combined both architectural im-
portance and antiquity, as the temple was originally
built in early Republican days, but was restored about
42 Bc. The present columns belong to a late and
careless restoration. We looked at the great sub-
structure, and thought of those vaults which were for
so long the Treasury of Rome.

At the other end of the neatly arranged ruin of the
Basilica Julia are the lovely columns that remain of
the venerable Temple of Castor and Pollux, originally
built in the fifth century B.c. in honour of the Heavenly
Twins, who had brought to Rome the news of the
victory at Lake Regillus. We turned to the left, and
behind us was the great Arch of Septimius Severus
built some six centuries later in honour of the Emperor
and of his sons, Caracalla and Geta. The sculptured
scenes represent episodes from the oriental campaigns

67
ARCH OF SEVERUS

of Severus, and the whole style struck us as rather
heavy in character. Just through the arch is the
Volcanal, that most ancient precinct, sacred to the god
of the destroying fire. The rock-hewn altar can still
be discerned, and legend bids you believe that Romulus
here convoked the Senate of the Fathers.

On the northern slope were the Comitium, and also
the Senate House, the site of this latter now marked
by the church of S. Adriano, into which the Senate
House built by Diocletian was converted in the seventh
century. You would like to have time to remember
and picture the stormy meetings of the Roman people
in the Comitium before it was given over to the lictors,
but it now requires some stretch of the imagination.
We would also fain have seen the sacred Fig-tree,
beneath whose shade Romulus and Remus were washed
ashore by the Tiber, This tree was miraculously
transplanted hither from the south-west corner of the
Palatine hill, but it has long since vanished, save from
the sculptures in which the tradition survives.

Led by Porzia, we found the far-famed Black Stone
(Lapis Niger), said by tradition to mark the grave
of Romulus, or as some say of his foster-father,
Faustulus. We crouched down under the low zinc
roof, made out the tufa bases upon which the lions are
supposed to have stood on either side of the tomb,
while a flickering candle showed us the wonderful
pillar with its “Boustrophedon” inscription in a very
ancient Latin, the character said to be Chalcidic Greek.

68
“SQUAAAS SAINILdaS ao HOU

804g]

 
THE LACUS CURTIUS

All these things require days of separate study to
themselves, and as they have been abundantly ex-
plained by experts, ramblers need not add their bungling
remarks. No guide-book, however, can either prescribe
or describe the strange sensation these venerable anti-
quities produce when you first try to realise them.

From this strange trapezoidal bit of black marble
pavement we turned to find the round pedestal of the
monument called of old “ Umbilicus Urbis Romez,’—
the ideal centre of the city. This is quite near the
Rostra, which last I confess it would be rather difficult
to picture, save for the reproductions given you in the
many admirable books. We then went to look at the
Lacus Curtius, another monument of the same curious,
and no doubt symbolical, trapezoidal form. R. had been
in the Forum just the day after Commendatore Boni had
actually uncovered this spot sacred to romantic tradi-
tion, and dear to childhood as the scene of patriotic
devotion. Did we not see Mettus Curtius on his horse
—a sort of 8. George of paganism—offering himself for
his country and disappearing into this very hole? No
matter about questions of probability; we felt that
such things do not count in the golden age of childhood,
whether for the race or for the individual, as we looked
at the stone framework which marks the legendary
chasm.

We could not attend much to the Basilica Julia, or
to the bases of honorary columns which still remain in
a row just in front; but we were greatly interested in

69
ANCIENT BASILICAS

the network of underground passages that have been ex-
cavated just about the spot, passages which are thought
to have been made in Cesar’s time, when he practically
remodelled and reconstructed the Forum. In these
passages are traces of lifts, used, it is thought, for the
gladiators and wild beasts that appeared in the games
held in the Forum by Julius Cesar. We identified
the base of Domitian’s colossal statue, and turned to
face the ruined temple of Julius Cesar, built by
Augustus, at the eastern end of the Forum proper.
The remains of this temple are of peculiar interest,
when you remember that Cesar was the first mortal
to be “deified.” Certain foundations in front of the
temple mark the site of the tribune whence Mark
Antony delivered his great funeral oration. Away on
our left lay the wonderful ruins of the Basilica Amilia,
built in 179 B.c. by the censors, one of whom bore the
name of Acmilius, whence the name of the Basilica.

It was just at this time that the fashion of building
these great Public Halls began to obtain,—a fashion
apparently borrowed from Greece, and then new in
Rome. Porzia pointed out with great satisfaction that
a basilica bearing her name had once stood at the foot
of the Arx. This basilica was named after Cato the
Elder (Marcus Porcius Cato), who had built it in
184 B.c, when he was elected Censor. Dante speaks
somewhat of this elder Cato in the Convivio, and this
quickened yet further our interest in the now-vanished
Basilica Porcia.

70
A VERY ANCIENT CEMETERY

We then wandered amid the ruins of the Basilica
Aimilia, among which the poppies blaze gloriously, and
tried to picture the shops that once flourished near,
and the street known as the Argiletum, which led from
the Forum to the heights on the east. It was hard
work, however, and R. proposed that we should move
on along the Sacred Way, where we should come upon
all the most important shrines of ancient Rome. We
were now treading the very pavement Horace trod, and
R. glowed with almost childlike delight as he pulled his
favourite little copy of Horace out of his pocket, and
turned up a passage where the Sacra Via is mentioned.

On our right was the Temple of Antoninus and
Faustina, where eight fine columns and the frieze still
stand to witness to its former stateliness. At the foot
of the temple is the strange and very ancient cemetery
—the “Sepolcretum ”—lately excavated to a depth of
nearly twenty feet below the present, or perhaps we ought
to say the Imperial, level. We gazed into the ghastly,
humid holes which are the graves, some possibly dating
back for the best part of three thousand years, and all
belonging to a time when the dwellers on the seven
hills had not yet been welded into one community. It
is doubtless most interesting, as are the mummy cases
of Egypt, but you have a feeling of intruding rudely
upon what was as sacred to those people as our dead
are to us, and the study of these cremation and in-
humation tombs has a gruesome element init. During
the excavations some hut urns were found, reproduc-

71
DEITIES OF FIRE AND WATER

tions of the dwellings inhabited by these primitive
Italian people, their own little houses suggesting a
form of abode for the ashes of the departed.

Close by, on our right, were the foundations of the
Regia, the official house of the Pontifex Maximus, and
especially interesting as showing the earlier orientation
of the buildings in the Forum. We were beginning to
understand the two layers of ancient foundations, the
older Republican buildings having their orientation
almost north and south, the later, Imperial ones,
running with the natural line of the Forum valley,
without regard to the noonday sun.

Close to this spot were a number of intelligent in-
quirers, grouped under white umbrellas round a learned
professor. We tried to catch some information, and
gathered that the Regia had been rebuilt in Imperial
times, that it had been turned into a private house in
the Middle Ages, and that the circular tufa foundation
round which the party was gathered had probably been
the Shrine of Mars, where the sacred shields and spears
were kept.

We now wandered on, to the two great primitive
shrines, those of Vesta and Juturna, deities of the
primeval things, Fire and Water. These stand really
side by side, a sacred stronghold of truly sacramental
significance, for are not these two things, the fire
and the water, of the very elements of human life?
Have they not been consecrated as symbols through-
out the ages, even as the corn and the vine?

72
WAMOA ALL NI

 
THE SACRED FIRE

Very striking also is the close union in Rome of
what, in more modern phrase, you might call “ Church
and State.” Here in the Forum and along the Sacred
Way you find religion, government, and indeed law
and commerce, indissolubly blended as parts of one
organism, and quite naturally united in outward ex-
pression. You feel inclined to ask whether this unity
is not the sign, nay, the secret, of the growing power of
a virile race ?

From the Regia we came first to the foundations of
the Temple, or House of Vesta, the central Hearth of
Rome, where the sacred fire burned continually. This
House of the Hearth was always circular, like the pre-
historic wattle huts, and in every successive rebuilding
the original form was kept, even in detail,—though the
exquisite marble structure which we see represented on
coins must have been very different in material and in
workmanship from the first primitive edifice. Here,
then, the sacred hearth fire was kept alight, and extin-
guished only once annually, on the Roman New Year's
Day, when it was rekindled by the Pontifex Maximus,
even as the sacred fires are rekindled on Holy Saturday
to this day. This house is only part of the precinct of
Vesta, and close by are the lovely ruins of the Vestal
cloister, the Atrium Vestalium, where the Vestal
Virgins spent their consecrated life of service,—that
service connected equally with the two great essential
elements, Fire and Water. Here again parts of a lower
stratum of foundations have been excavated, showing

73
THE SACRED RELICS OF ROME

the old orientation, while the upper lines of wall follow
the Imperial orientation.

It is quite easy to fashion again in your mind the
former beauty of the central court, as it must once have
been, with its two-storied colonnade of marble and great
water-tanks, the living-rooms opening out to north and
south. The glories are all crumbling now, and the
statues of the Great Vestals, many of them mutilated,
rise against a background of roses and jessamine, which
half veil the shattered brick walls, now stripped of
their marbles.

We looked at the set of rooms at the south-west
corner, where the “ Penetralia,’ or sacred Treasure
chamber, is thought to have been. In this room the
Vestals guarded the “Sacra Fatalia,” or sacred relics of
Rome, the chief of which was the statuette of Pallas
Athene, known as the Palladium, said to have been
brought from Troy by Aineas. Upon the safety of
these relics the prosperity of the State depended, and
their custody was a most important charge. This bit
of the precinct interested us very much, as did also
remains of the store-rooms and ovens, which are less
romantic, but practical. We were quite conscious that
days would be needed to study even this one precinct
as it deserved, but if you have to ramble over a history
like that of Rome in about three weeks you cannot
hope to be thorough in your investigations, The most
youcan do is to open the doors which lead intoa region
where the wisdom of the ages is laid up.

74
THE “FONS JUTURNA”

Resigning ourselves to inevitable superficiality, we
went on to the Shrine and Fountain of Juturna, nymph
of the healing and purifying waters, whose sacred
spring is close by. The first fons was but a pool, and
in this pool the great Twin Brethren washed their
white steeds after the Tarquins had been vanquished
at Lake Regillus. Have we not known this from our
childhood up, and should we not therefore be at home
here ?

‘When they drew nigh to Vesta
They vaulted down amain,

And washed their horses in the well
That springs by Vesta’s fane.”

In Republican and Imperial times tanks were built
for the water, and the present concrete tank was con-
structed with the new lines or orientation, whereas the
old one was set according to the sun.

The great oblong pier in the middle of the pool
probably supported a group of Castor and Pollux, with
their horses. Fragments of the statues have been
found near, and have been collected in one of the little
rooms or cells near the sanctuary. In another of these
cells is a statue of Aisculapius, in allusion to the healing
qualities of the water, in which the people believed for
long centuries even after the Christian era. Close to
the pool stands an altar, which was found at the
bottom of the water. This altar is sculptured with
most interesting reliefs, Castor and Pollux, Jove and
Leda, and a goddess bearing a torch. This last figure

75
THE ARCH OF TITUS

seems on the whole to be identified with Lucifera, the
ancient goddess of fertility, but some say she is Helen,
in the character of moon-goddess.

The little Shrine of Juturna is not far frora the pool,
and has in front of it a most interesting “puteal” or
well-head, whence the Vestals carried the living water
of the spring for their great ritual observances. You
can see the deep grooves worn by the ropes by which
the buckets were pulled up. Close to the “ puteal” is
a third-century altar on which two figures, usually
supposed to be those of Juturna and her brother
Turnus, are carved. The name of Turnus was dear to
us Dante maniacs, as recalling more than one passage
in the poet’s works.

We were now close to the church of 8. Maria
Antica, but we turned away, feeling that we must not
confuse our minds with any monuments of the Christian
epoch. We therefore retraced our steps, passing once
more by the House of the Vestals, and tried to identify
the remains of the Domus Publica, the real residence
of the Pontifex Maximus, for we had been told that
the Regia only belonged to him in his kingly function.
After this we came out once more on to the Sacred
Way, beneath the huge arches of the Basilica of
Constantine, having in front of us the great double
Temple of Venus and Rome (“Roma Amor, the mystic
letters ran”), now partly covered by the church of
5. Francesca Romana. We turned to our right,
towards the Arch of Titus, so familiar in many a

76
THE COLOSSEUM

picture that we felt we must be in a dream when we
found ourselves actually beneath it. Here, at last,
we saw those actual sculptured scenes in which the
treasure of the Temple at Jerusalem and the triumphal
procession of Titus are shown. Behind this famous
arch many fresh excavations have been and are being
made, but the results are for experts to explain. Asa
sight-seer you feel a little sad at the ugliness of the
work, but it will doubtless come right in time, when
nature heals the scars. We looked at some early
foundations of tufa just east of the arch, which are
thought to be those of the original Temple of Jupiter
Stator, and we tried to picture the Porta Mugonia
there, where the ancient road leads up to the Palatine,
—wishing it still stood for us to pass through, in
memory of Romulus and his lifted plough-share.

We now walked down—feeling somewhat dazed—to
the great dusty space in front of the Colosseum, where
stands the Meta Sudans, a rough cone of brickwork,
really the core or base of a fountain set up by Domitian
at the meeting-place of five of the “Regions” of
Augustus. We looked round us and then up at the
Colosseum, which frowned above us like some mountain,
rather than a building of men’s hands. We tried to
picture where Nero’s Golden House had stood, with
its lakes and woods and buildings, spreading from the
Esquiline, over most of that spur of hill known as
the Oppius, to the Velia. Such a place is almost un-
thinkable to us, who live in cramped and crowded

77
THE COLOSSEUM

northern towns, where space is apt to be grudged, even
to a sovereign.

We knew that the colossal statue of Nero, which
gave its popular name to the Flavian Amphitheatre,
has long ago disappeared. The statue—the “Colossus”
—had an interesting history, for after Nero’s death
the head was changed into that of the radiant Sun, the
features resembling Titus. In 121 a.D. it was moved
by order of Hadrian to the square base of masonry near
us, round which we were being pursued by persons
who wished us to buy oranges and postcards.

R. said he was tired of being serious, and after the
dust he had swallowed he must have an orange before
seeing the Colosseum. We then went into the
Colosseum, passing through that magnificent and
appalling arcade, which seems haunted by fearful
memories, and where you feel any imaginable thing
might come to pass. To picture the Colosseum as a
place of amusement is almost impossible now, owing
partly, no doubt, to its ruinous state, and partly to what
you are told of the brutal games once held there. “Is
this possibly too much insisted upon?” asked Porzia.

To a modern spectator the huge and splendid build-
ing seems a house of shadows, save for the exquisite
view of these southern quarters of the city that you
get from the top, if you are energetic enough to climb
thither. We sat on some stone blocks and rested for
a while, then spent a very interesting half-hour in the
company of an excellent guide, who led us up—tier by

78
THE COLOSSEUM

tier, pointing out the seats in the Podium where the
Emperor, the Senate, and the Vestal Virgins sat, as if
he had been at the games only last week and had seen
all these personages there before him. We walked
round to where we could see the entrance by which
the wild beasts came in from their dens, and the doors
by which the gladiators issued to the combat. We
looked down into the remains of the Frangipani fortress,
which has ploughed up the north-western part of the
arena, leaving the floor a mass of ruined wall. We
liked to think it was Dante’s Emperor, Henry of
Luxemburg, who ousted the barons from their fortress,
and gave the Colosseum back to the Roman Senate and
people.

When you realise how much has been built out of
materials taken from the Colosseum, you wonder more
and more at the stupendous amount there is left,
especially after the medieval theft of the iron cramps
which held the great blocks of travertine together.
Our guide explained the system of seats, which has an
entirely modern flavour about it, and seemed to bring
us very near those days, which after all are not so very
distant. It is not 1600 years since the games ceased,
and what is that in the history of the race? Nay, bull-
fights and so on were held there at a much later date.

When we climbed down again our guide showed us
where the altar had been after Benedict xiv had con-
secrated the building to the Passion of Christ, in
memory of the blood of the martyrs. By instituting

79
THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE

this commemoration the Pope not only paid homage
to those who had borne heroic witness to the faith, but
also saved the building from further ravages.

Our guide then went back to ancient times, and ex-
plained how the great Velarium was arranged, and how
the water was admitted when the arena was flooded for
the spectacle of a naval fight. It was all marvellous,
but for me the Colosseum is always chill with an
unspoken horror,—a quite unreasonable feeling,—for
perhaps those Romans of old were not more cruel
than we to-day in our less overt fashion.

When we came out once more into the sandy space
round the building, we looked up at the best-preserved
bit of it, and noticed the construction in the three
orders, as one storey rises above another,—Doric, Ionic,
and Corinthian, with Corinthian pilasters round the wall
of the fourth tier. In its first glory the Flavian
Amphitheatre must have been as astounding as it is
overwhelming even in its decay.

We now turned towards the great Arch of Constan-
tine, which stood at the joining of the Via Triumphalis
and the Via Sacra, and is now at the end of the shady
tree-lined avenue called the Via diS. Gregorio. This
heavy, massive arch was created to mark the triumph
of Constantine over his rival, Maxentius, at the Milvian
Bridge, and owes most of its beauty to the sculptured
reliefs transplanted from other buildings, some of them
from the frieze in Trajan’s Forum.

Porzia was eagerly beginning to try and distinguish

80
NERO’S TOWER

between the different dates of the inserted sculptures,
and to find out which of the emperors were portraits of
Constantine, and which not. She was keenly pursuing
her hunt for the sculptures of Trajan’s time, and fanning
my somewhat worn-out interest into fresh flame, when
she received a check.

“ Porzia,” said R. in a stern voice, “it is now long
past noon; we have been going on like this for more
than three hours and a half already. Both my head
and my feet refuse further service, so this carriage shall
be chartered forthwith, to drag us home to lunch.” The
driver of the said carriage had been following us about
for some time, with his persistent “ Vuole, vuole?” and
was now rewarded for his perseverance by getting a
fare.

“We can take that bit of the Forum of Nerva on our
way back,” exclaimed Porzia, whose brain can appar-
ently assimilate any amount. We did not interfere;
we could not well be more stifled with information than
we were already, and we bid the man go by way of the
Via della Croce Bianca, so that we might see the
“ Colonnacce,” the two great half-buried columns in the
Forum planned and begun by Domitian and finished by
Nerva. Our “cocchiere,” who was evidently anxious
about our education, took the opportunity of showing
us the walls of the Forum of Augustus in the Via Tor
di Conti, which name recall the family of Innocent
I, thus blending Imperial Rome and the medieval
Papacy. We also passed the so-called Torre di Nerone,

F 81
AT THE SCOTCH COLLEGE

really a medieval tower, but nevertheless popularly
supposed to be the place whence Nero watched the burn-
ing of the city.

“T thought that happened at the tower near the Villa
Colonna,” said Porzia, still very much on the alert.

“So it did,” replied R. philosophically ; “but when
that tower was pulled down they transplanted the
legend. It is all so simple, when you come to think
of it.”

We were now in the Via della Pilotta, not far from
the demolished “Torris Mecenatis,’ which stood in
the Colonna garden. Thence to Trevi was but a few
minutes, and as the Via della Stamperia does not compel
you to improve your mind, unless you are on foot
and can look at the engravings, we got back to the
Piazza Barberini without adding to our overcrowded
experiences.

We took an unusually long siesta after the exertions
of our long morning’s studies, and we had a delightful
easy plan for the afternoon. Those who wished were
to go to Benediction at the neighbouring Scotch College
at four o’clock, and we were to join afterwards in a drive
along the Appian Way. The paraphernalia of a picnic
tea was to accompany us, as the friends who were per-
sonally conducting us had a favourite spot in a ruined
tomb, where they evidently were in the habit of hold-
ing cheerful entertainments of this kind.

A little before four o’clock some of us crossed the
street to the peaceful little service at the Scotch College,

82
THE APPIAN WAY

where a good many people—many of them English—
were gathered. The “Tantum Ergo” sung by the
students was most beautiful; simple, direct, and reverent.
I longed to know what the music was, but had no
opportunity of asking,

The service over, the whole party collected and drove
off in the pleasant little Roman “botte” towards the
Via Appia. We had spurned the idea of taxi-cabs as
unworthy of the occasion, although they were useful
enough in the city itself.

Does there exist a person so comfortably impervious
to sensations as to be able to drive along the Appian
Way without a thrill? We felt that same throb of
interest and delight every time we drove towards the
Porta Sebastiano, which was once the Porta Appia. To-
day we were not in especially studious mood, but the
very vineyard walls were a joy, with the glow of roses
above them every here and there, the branches swayed
by an air like balm. We did not miss any of the be-
loved landmarks, the Therme of Caracalla, the church
of SS. Nereo and Achilleo, the little church of 8. Cesareo,
the Columbaria, and the tomb of the Scipios, with its
rather commonplace little entrance.

At last we reached the curious group made by the
Porta §. Sebastiano and the so-called Arch of Drusus,
beyond which is the Appian Way, made in 312 B.c.
by the censor, Appius Claudius Cecus. This first of
the great consular roads—the “ Regina Viarum ”— ran
from Rome to Capua, and was later continued as far as

83
A PICNIC ON THE APPIAN WAY

Brindisi. Some of the ancient polygonal pavings still
remain, but it can hardly be called quite pleasant to
drive upon. R. remarked that he could quite believe it
had lacked repair since the days of Justinian, but we
were much too blissful to mind being shaken up a little,
for there was so much to interest and to charm. Here
was the pathetic little church of “Domine quo Vadis?”;
a little farther on was the entrance to the great cata-
comb of 8. Calixtus; then we came to the church of 8.
Sebastiano, which marks the place where the glorious
view of the ruins, the Campagna, and the mountains
is no longer broken by vineyard walls. We stopped
for a few minutes to see the ruined Circus of Max-
entius—one of those shattered places of amusement
which are so tragic in their decay. Then on past the
still beautiful tomb of S. Cecilia Metella,—the Taj’-
Mahal of the Appian Way,—once oddly enough con-
verted into the tower of the great Caetani fortress,
And yet we drove on, stopping short of the ruins
popularly called Roma Vecchia, but within sight of the
lonely, lofty Tor di Selce. Our particular tomb was on
the right. We climbed up into it and there, amid a
scene which illustrated the triumph of nature and the
evanescence of man, we began our cheerful trivialities,
—boiling the kettle and such-like incongruous business.
It was a very simple and harmless afternoon’s amuse-
ment,—a picnic on the Appian Way,—tea and “ mari-
tozzi da quaresima,” and yet the surroundings turned
it into a drama. The landscape incomparable in its

S34
END OF THE FOURTH DAY

pathos, magical in its colour; the tombs that line that
ancient way like dumb sentinels; the flowers that grow
amid the ruins, and the air that blows from those im-
memorial bills——what a setting for a barbarian picnic
party! It is, however, the barbarians who are romantic.
I looked at Porzia, and saw that she and Mrs. M. were
urging their kettle to boil as if the Empire of Rome
might have depended upon it. Fortunately, too, any
tragical reverie was broken in upon by the arrival of
a new and somewhat boisterous contingent, who had
been driving on the Latin Way, to see the famous
tombs of the Valerii and Pancratii, and had now crossed
to the Appian Way to join our party, They had not
found the drive from one road to another very easy to
manage, but it had been done, and they announced that
they were now cold and hungry, the tombs on the Latin
Way being the most shivery places they had ever been
in. R. endorsed that opinion, for he had recollections
of the deadly chill of those same beautiful, gracefully
decorated subterranean chambers. One of our frivolous
new companions seemed to have been much less in-
terested in the charming stucco and colour adornments
of these two celebrated tombs, than in the fact that a
man who was going round with them talked about a
horse’s “paw.” This grave lapse was much more im-
portant than Roman tombs of the second century.

Our tea party among the flowers and shrubs and
ruins seemed in a fair way to last on indefinitely, but
we were recalled to a sense of time by the very un-

85
A ROMAN SUNSET

deniable sunset hues which began to glow in earth and
sky. We descended from our tomb, wandered for a few
minutes round an interesting bit of medieval work on
the other side of the road, and then summoned our
drivers, who seemed in no sort of feverish hurry to get
home.

We crossed to the Via Appia Nuova, getting a good
view of the Bosco Sacro, that picturesque hill with its
grove of oaks, where Numa met his Egeria. The sun-
set now added further enchantment to the scene: Rome
showed in transparent rosy shadow against the sky;
the Aqueducts and the Sabine and Alban Hills were
touched with pink lights and purple shadow. The
Campagna surpassed even itself in the wondrous variety
of shade and colour, while far away in the distance
there was still snow on the hills. Amid this fairy
scene we drove back, passing through the Porta 8.
Giovanni, then by the Lateran and 8. Maria Maggiore,
to our own quarter once more—where we congratulated
ourselves on having spent nearly all the day in ancient
Rome.

86
AVM NVIiddV @HL NO MATA

 

 
CHAPTER V

‘*Venne Cephas, e venne il gran Vasello
Dello Spirito Santo, magri e scalzi,
Prendendo ’1 cibo di qualunque ostello.”
Dante, Par, xxi. 127-129.

A SHORT series of rambles has to be carefully planned,
and must needs lack something of the charm of wander-
ing absolutely at will, without regard to tyrannical
time. Yet, an ordered design has its own compensa-
tions. We hoped we were not too conceited, but we
could not help occasionally noticing that we seemed
to see and to learn more than many people who have
months of leisure before them. Unlimited time is not,
perhaps, an unmixed advantage.

To-day had been carefully thought out. We would
go quite early to the great Palazzo Doria, have a noon-
day “colazione” somewhere near, and then devote the
afternoon chiefly to S. Paul.

We were out betimes, hardly feeling what Dante
calls “lo mortal pondo,” so vivid and brilliant were the
air and the light. Porzia, with one of her sudden
flashes of genius, discovered that we were far too early
to get into the Palazzo Doria, and stated that we had
plenty of time to see both 8S. Lorenzo in Lucina and,

87
TOMB OF NICHOLAS POUSSIN

better still, 8. Maria in Via Lata, by which means we
could begin the day with S. Paul.

We accordingly came down our neighbouring Via
del Tritone, which was, as usual, very busy and bustling,
and got into the Piazza Colonna. Thence we turned
up the Corso, past the Palazzo Chigi and the Palazzo
Fiano, into the little Piazza in Lucina, where is the
entrance to the church of 8. Lorenzo in Lucina, called
after its pious foundress, one Lucina, who lived in the
fourth century. The great treasure of the church is the
splendid “Crucifixion,” by Guido Reni, over the high
altar,—a picture familiar enough in reproduction, but
peculiarly impressive in the shadowy church where it
hangs. The fact that Browning’s “Pompilia” was
married in this church seems to attract universal
interest, but we agreed that the tomb of Nicholas
Poussin, erected by Chateaubriand, called up much
pleasanter thoughts and memories than are suggested
by Browning’s discomfortable, though wonderful, story.
As we looked at Poussin’s tomb we realised that Rome
igs so much the mother city that you never feel sur-
prised at finding anyone there, no matter whence they
come. Only a day or two before we had managed to
find where Nicholas Poussin and Claude Lorraine had
lived, up by the SS. Trinité de Monti, in which church
Claude is buried. His monument is in the church of
S. Luigi de Francesi, with those of many other famous
compatriots.

We wandered out of S. Lorenzo and looked at the

88
THE PALAZZO DORIA

Palazzo Fiano, built over the site of the Ara Pacis,
just at the corner of the Piazza in Lucina. From the
quiet little square we turned again into the busy stream
of the Corso, which represents the Via Lata (Broad
Street) of antiquity, made our way back again to the
Piazza Colonna, and so along towards the Piazza
Venezia. We stopped at the church of S. Maria in
Via Lata, which is close to the splendid Palazzo Doria,
and just opposite the Palazza Odescalchi and the
Palazzo Salviati. They are in curious juxtaposition —
these gorgeous Renaissance palaces and the house where
S. Paul is said to have lodged while he was in Rome,
this dwelling being below the present church of §.
Maria in Via Lata. And again, below both church
and palace are great tufa blocks belonging to a build-
ing which was begun by Cesar and finished by Agrippa.
We did not find much to interest us beyond the grace-
ful facade of the church, and the subterranean oratory
which is believed to mark the very site of S. Paul’s
“own hired house,” where he and S. Luke are said to
have taught their converts.

On coming out we found ourselves practically next
door to the Palazzo Doria, into which visitors were
now crowding. The palace, with its three facades,
each by a different artist, is a truly magnificent build-
ing and of enormous size. It seems to have passed
from hand to hand in a strange and interesting series
of vicissitudes. From the Dukes of Urbino it was
bought by the Florentine Aldobrandini, and, through

89
THE PALAZZO VENEZIA

the marriage of Olympia Aldobrandini with Camillo
Pamfili, nephew of Innocent x1, it came into the
possession of the Doria Pamfili family. The picture
gallery occupies the first floor of the vast building,
and contains some very fine pictures, among a number
of somewhat indifferent ones. Apart, however, from
the famous portrait of Innocent x by Velasquez,
and the landscapes by Claude Lorraine and Nicholas
Poussin, we all agreed in being most attracted by
the archaic statue of Dionysos and by the ancient
altars in the same hall,—the great Salone Aldobrandini.
We spent most of our time in the cabinet where the
great Velasquez is hung, and wrangled over the char-
acter of Innocent as shown in his portrait. For my
part I was quite unable to see the genial element
which the others professed to find, and we disagreed
radically until we finally left the gallery.

We strayed about in search of luncheon, and found
it hard by at Faraglia’s, whence we could gaze at the
Palazzo Bonaparte and think of Napoleon’s mother,
“Madame Mére,” who died there. We could also see
the massive block of the Palazzo Venezia, built by the
Venetian Cardinal Barbo (Pope Paul 11), and after-
wards presented to the Republic of Venice by Pope
Pius Iv. When the great Republic fell in 1797 the
palace became the property of Austria, and the Austrian
Ambassador to the Vatican still lives there. It is
certainly one of the most impressive palaces in Rome,
though not, of course, characteristic of the Roman

go
THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS

style of building. It has a stern and tragic look,—
possibly because the stones of it come from the ruined
Colosseum and must have witnessed an unspeakable
mixture of laughter and woe.

“What a gloomy reflection during luncheon,” re-
marked a frivolous member of the party, who was
absorbed in watching the various human antics that
usually enliven a restaurant meal. “I greatly doubt,”
he continued, “whether life in ancient Rome was so
intolerable as it is the fashion to make out. Remember
that we see it very much through hostile eyes. Let us
be cheerful, and plan the afternoon.”

We did so, and decided to do it comfortably, that is
to say, to drive, and thus escape the desperate efforts
to board trams already more than full, a very frequent
experience in Rome.

We got a promising-looking carriage, and drove by
many windings down to the Piazza Bocca della Verita,
and then along to the Via Porta S. Paolo, where is the
famous Pyramid of Cestius and the entrance to the
Protestant Cemetery. As we passed through the gate
we paused before entering the cemetery, and looked at
the grimly picturesque tomb of Caius Cestius Epulo,
which monument, known as the Pyramid of Cestius, is
one of the most conspicuous landmarks in all Rome.
Caius Cestius lived in the time of Augustus, and his
pyramidal tomb is therefore not very ancient. It was
saved from destruction by being built into the Aurelian
Wall, and was known in the credulous Middle Ages as

gI
THE PROTESTANT CEMETERY

the Tomb of Remus. Itseems that another similar tomb,
said to have been erected to Scipio Africanus, and known
as the Tomb of Romulus, stood on the site of 8. Maria
in Transpontina, in the Borgo Nuovo—not far from the
castle of 8. Angelo. This detail interested us, as we
had been adjured to visit this very church, in order to
see the columns of 8. Maria in Transpontina, to which
S. Peter and 8. Paul had been bound when they were
scourged before their martyrdom. Christian and pagan
blend here again, at the Pyramid of Cestius, for as
you look at this great monument your thoughts go
back to S. Paul, who passed this way as he went to his
martyrdom.

From the contemplation of this pagan tomb we
turned to the Protestant Cemetery, where we wandered
at will. It is a strangely beautiful place. Shelley’s
familiar words never grow old to any who walk here,
in this wonderful wilderness of deep, shadowy foliage
and brilliant blossom. Truly, “it might make one
in love with death,” not only “to be buried in so
sweet a place,” but to look at the names written here,
and to realise the great fellowship to which we belong.
You feel with Shelley once again, that those who lie
in this loveliest of all the imaginable cemeteries are
“made one with Nature.”

Shelley and Trelawney rest here, under a tower of the
Aurelian Wall; Keats lies in the old cemetery, where
you may see a bit of the ancient Via Ostiensis,—along
which S. Paul actually passed. We noted tablets to the

92
S. PAOLO FUORI LE MURA

memory of John Addington Symonds and of Frederick
Myers, this last reminding us of our Pauline pilgrimage,
as we thought of the words in his “S. Paul” -—

“‘Lo, there is no more mortal or immortal,—
Nought is on earth or in the heaven but love.”

We were very silent for the time; this is one of the
spots where words are out of place, and manifestly
inadequate.

We turned down to the gate at last, and continued
our drive down the long acacia-bordered road that leads
out, beyond the poor humble suburb of Testaccio, to
the great church of S. Paolo fuori le Mura. As we
went along we mentally compared the tram-lines with
the arcade which of old connected 8. Paolo with the
city gate, the Porta Ostiensis, now the Porta San Paolo.
We arrived finally at the insignificant little piazza in
front of the church, which has one of those strange,
unpromising exteriors, giving no clue to any glory of
interior, to which you gradually get accustomed in and
near Rome.

We went into the splendid basilica, which, we had
observed, it is rather the fashion to decry. Neverthe-
less we permitted ourselves to be greatly impressed by
its beauty, its magnificent rows of columns, and its
gorgeous marble floor. In any case, if the present
church is comparatively new, it has a very ancient
story behind it, beginning with a memorial chapel
built by Lucina, on whose property 8. Paul was buried
Upon this site Constantine built a smaller basilica,

93
SYMBOLICAL SCULPTURES

which included the present Confession. The great
basilica, however, was begun by Valentinian 1 in 386;
Theodosius continued the building, and Honorius
finished it. Galla Placidia, daughter of Theodosius
and sister of Honorius, is usually supposed to have
presented the mosaics of the triumphal arch, which
arch was spared in the disastrous fire of 1823. Popes
Leo 1and Leo Iv both restored the decorations of the
church in a very splendid manner, and after the fire of
1823 it was restored on the same plan as the former
basilica of Valentinian and Honorius.

During our recital of the history R. had been gazing
up at Galla Placidia’s mosaics, and we now walked
slowly up towards the Confession, treading the shiny
marble floor with a certain hesitation, for it seemed
profane to set foot upon it. The modern baldacchino is
gorgeous, if not wholly pleasing, but the tabernacle
below, made in 1285 by Arnolfo di Cambio, is a lovely
example of delicate Gothic work and its symbolism is
even more interesting than the statuettes of apostles
and saints. Among the emblematic creatures you
find the peacock,—symbol of the soul’s undying life.
The stags drinking, signifying the refreshment of the
believer’s soul, recall the Psalmist’s “like as the hart
desireth the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after
Thee, O God.” Other symbolical animals, such as the
unicorn, the eagle, and the cock, are represented.

We then looked at the mosaics on the triumphal
arch in the semidome. Those on the triumphal arch

94
MOSAICS

date from the fifth century, the centre of the design
being a large bust of Christ, blessing with His right
hand and bearing a rod in His left. On either side
angels bow in adoration, and twelve elders with their
crowns stand behind the figures of the angels. Above
are the symbols of the Evangelists. These mosaics are
on the western face of the arch, but the eastern face is
also covered with mosaic, and in this design our Lord
is again represented in the act of blessing, with the
symbols of S. Luke on the one side and of 8, Mark on
the other.

The mosaic in the semidome is of much later date,
being of early thirteenth-century design, and restored
after the fire of 1823. In the centre our Lord is
enthroned, having on one side 8. Paul and S. Luke, and
on the other 8. Peter and 8. Andrew. At His feet
Pope Honorius m1 is kneeling. The other apostles are
represented below, amid palm-trees, which symbolise
the victories of martyrdom. On the arch above is
Madonna and her Child, and S. John the Baptist
laying his hands on the kneeling figure of a Pope.

We had to admit that there is a certain sameness
about these mosaics, and that we found it a little
difficult to keep them clear in our minds. Some, of
course, stand out with great distinctness, but the
similarity of subject makes you inclined to confuse
them one with another, unless, indeed, you can see and
judge with the eye of an expert.

The huge statues of S. Peter and S. Paul did not

95
CLOISTER OF S. PAOLO

detain us, and after lingering for a time at the Con-
fession we made our way to the great Paschal candle-
stick, a marvel of sculpture and gold mosaic, with a
wonderfully suggestive inscription. This famous candle-
stick is the work of members of two great families of
“artigiani,” the Paulus and Vassalectus families, whose
lovely work is to be seen at S. Lorenzo fuori le Mura,
and in the cloisters of S. John Lateran. The sculptures
tell the story of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascen-
sion, besides being adorned with various circles of
animals, birds, and foliage. Indeed, this candlestick
should properly have a special visit to itself.

After an all-too-short inspection of this splendid
work we turned to look at the statues of 8. Gregory
and 8. Romualdo on either side of the altar of S. Paul,
and then at those of §. Benedict and his sister
Scholastica on either side of the opposite altar of the
Virgin. Close by the statue of S. Scholastica we found
the entrance to the cloisters, another of those unex-
pected dreams of beauty which Italy holds in store
for you.

Some people will tell you that the cloister of 5.
Paolo, though perhaps more splendid and better pre-
served, misses something of the strange enchantment of
that of 8. John Lateran, which it very closely resembles.
We quoted some such opinion, and, being reproved by
R. for being fanciful and over-sentimental, had to admit
that there was nothing very tangible to find fault with
in this exquisite place.

96
 

[Alinart.

PASCHAL CANDLESTICkK. S. PAOLO FUORL LE MURA.
TRE FONTANE

The monastery of S. Paolo fuori, founded in the
sixth century by Benedictines from Monte Cassino,
was touched by the great Cluniac reform in the tenth
century, and Porzia reminded us that in the eleventh
century it was the abode of no less a person than the
great Hildebrand (afterwards Gregory vil). In the
thirteenth century, Dante’s friend, Nicholas 111 (Gaetano
Orsini) was abbot, and his name recalled Dante’s
vivid picture of this Pope’s present most uncomfort-
able position,—a position by no means deserved, if we
may trust to other authorities. Nicholas 1, we are
told, was named “Il Composto,” from his habit of
perpetual recollection. If he did err on the side of
advancing the “ orsatti,’—well, it has been occasionally
done by every sort and kind of potentate and politician
before and since. Even republics and democracies are
not irreproachable in this matter. But whatever the
verdict passed on them by posterity, it was interest-
ing to think that those men once paced these now
secularised cloister walks, probably rejoicing, as we
do, in the beautiful achievement of masonry and
mosaic.

We had not time to penetrate to the sacristy and to
the room beyond, where the great Byzantine bronze
doors are kept. We took another long look at the
exquisite cloister and the shining church, and then
found our carriage, tucked away into a narrow bit of
shade in the piazza,

A drive of less than two miles brought us to “Tre

G 97
MARTYRDOM OF S. PAUL

Fontane,” that place wrapped in some veil of inexplic-
able peace. R. had been here once before, and he
remembered the road, which seems so long, and the
somewhat desolate landscape, with its tawny-yellow
earth and the grey-green eucalyptus trees planted
by the French Trappists for the healing of this once
fever-stricken spot.

We arrived at the monastery, above which rise some
low hills covered with graceful, if rather melancholy
eucalyptus, and, entering by the picturesque gateway,
we walked through the garden, which was bright
with flowers and blossoming trees, while the buildings
were wreathed with purple wistaria. The calm beauty
of the whole scene made an indelible impression on
our minds. The place seemed to be a kind of oasis
in the general welter of life, a spot to which you would
always turn in thought if you needed rest and some
space for recollection.

We began our visit by going to the church of
8. Paolo alle Tre Fontane, which stands on the spot
where the apostle suffered martyrdom. We were met
by the same delightful old Trappist monk who had
greeted R. on a former occasion. We told him we
had come to see the charming place once more, to
which he added, with his gentle smile—“ Et peut-étre
pour rendre quelques graces & Saint Paul,’—a re-
joinder which set us a-thinking. You begin to ask
whether in our reforming zeal we have not trampled
on some of the fairest charities of life. Why should

98
CHURCH OF S. MARIA SCALA COELI

we not kneel there, under the shadow of that group
of churches, amid the eucalyptus groves, and thank
S. Paul for what he has given to his fellow-Christians ?
What is this awkward self-consciousness that holds
us back ?

We turned to look at the slightly uninteresting
sixteenth-century church, and at the three fountains
which gave the place its name. The apostle’s head is
said to have bounded three times when severed from
his body, and on each spot where it touched the earth
a fountain sprang up. Our guide pointed to a corner
of the church where is the pillar on which the de-
capitation actually took place. This church covers
not only the place of execution, but also the three
fountains, which are now marked by altars. We
watched people carrying away vessels filled with the
water, in simple faith in their healing powers. There
is so much that puzzles and astonishes you in Rome,
such a curious and attractive mixture of Christianity
with what we call Paganism. After all, are we not
bidden to believe that the material is the medium by
which we may receive the spiritual and the divine ?

After the Tre Fontane church we looked into the
octagonal, domed church of S. Maria Scala Coeli, built
about the same time, and named from S. Bernard’s
vision of a celestial ladder, upon which souls freed
from purgatory through his prayers were ascending to
heaven, a vision vouchsafed to him while he was
saying Mass here in this place. Memories of 8. Paul

99
SS. VINCENZO AND ANASTASIO

dwell here also, for below the church is a crypt where
he is said to have spent the night before his martyrdom.
S. Zeno, a soldier-martyr of the time of Diocletian, is
buried here, and is commemorated in the mosaics of
the tribune.

We had, however, left much the most architecturally
attractive church to the last. This is the fine twelfth-
century Romanesque church dedicated to SS. Vincenzo
and Anastasio, and built about the time that S. Bernard’s
Cistercian monks were settled in the monastery by
Pope Innocent 11 in the twelfth century. Thus it is
that the architectural form of the church is infl1enced
by the old Romanesque style which still held its own
in France. The original foundation dates from the
time of Honorius 1, early in the seventh century, and
the two saints have a special interest, as 8. Vincenzo
was a cousin of S. Lawrence, and suffered a similar
martyrdom at Saragossa, while 8. Anastasio was a
Persian convert, and likewise a martyr. This church
is far the most impressive of the three, and delighted
us by its stately austerity and by the absence of that
over-decoration which is all too common.

After wandering a little longer among the gardens
and the avenues through the woods, we brought our
visit to an end by taking the customary glass of
eucalyptus liqueur,—a rather nasty concoction,—and
by laying in a small store of relics, more or less useless
except from the sentimental point of view,—but after
all, that point of view is of great importance.

100
FAMOUS ROADS

We very reluctantly turned our backs upon Tre
Fontane, and re-entered the dusty and prosaic world.
The afternoon was wearing away, and the glow of
approaching sunset began to touch the houses and
trees, as we drove once more along those roads of
ancient name and fame, the Via Laurentina and the
Via Ostiense, and thus back into the bustling city,
where the great apostle had lived, preached, and died,
only so short a time ago.

As we passed by the lofty line of the Aurelian Wall,
we noted how the brickwork was here and there flushed
to a deep, burning rose-red in the evening light, while
above it the tall cypresses of the Protestant Cemetery
lifted their cold, sharp shadow against the opal-tinted
sky.

As you gazed, how could you resist the sudden wish,
that if you might choose the scene of final departure,
—and if, indeed, it can matter where this mortal coil
be shuffled off—then, oh City of the Soul, let it be
here!

Iol
CHAPTER VI

“Hail to the great Asylum !
Hail to the hill-tops seven !
Hail to the fire that burns for aye,
And the shield that fell from heaven!”
MAcavLay.

THE morning, which was to be devoted to the Capitoline
Collections, was a serious one, and as we faced this
hitherto neglected duty—perhaps I ought to say
privilege—we felt in no trifling mood. I fear that in
the dim recesses of our minds there lurked something
we were ashamed to confess, namely, that we really
did not like museums, as such. Notwithstanding this
unavowed heresy, we kept to our early hours and
started out in time to be on the Capitoline hill about
nine o’clock,—having planned to begin our day with
the church of 8. Maria in Ara Coeli.

This soft, blue morning accordingly found us at the
foot of the wonderful, if formidable, flight of stairs
which ascends to the church from the Via Ara Coeli,
and which was built for the pilgrims who crowded
to make supplication to Madonna for protection from
the plague. The date of this great stairway (1348,
the year of the Black Death) recalled the huge grave-

102
S. MARIA IN ARA COELI

stone in the cloisters at Westminster, which marks the
resting-place of the abbot and monks who there fell
victims to that awful visitation.

We felt that once, at least, in our lives we must
climb those stairs, enshrined for many of us in Mr.
Markino’s enchanting little picture. We mounted
therefore, and arrived at the top—triumphant, if a
little breathless. The rough unfinished facade of the
church has a curious charm of its own, for the colour of
the brick and the uneven surface are effective without
meaning to be so. Once inside, 8S. Maria in Ara
Coeli took its place in my affections for all time.
Apart from its picturesqueness, the church has a kind
of intimate charm, and an individual atmosphere, which
envelop you at once. The irregularity of the columns
gives an added interest, and the beautiful pavement, so
rich in colour, has delightful undulations which suggest
memories of 5. Mark’s in Venice. Westood and looked
for a few minutes at the whole effect, and tried to
recall the history of the church, one of the most vener-
able in Rome, built as it is on one summit of the
Capitoline hill, on the very site of the Arx or Citadel
of the ancient city.

Far down the ages there has floated the message of
the King to come—as in the vision vouchsafed to
Augustus on this spot,—a vision commemorated by
him, so the tradition tells us, by an altar now enclosed
within that of the circular Capella Santa. This altar
gave the name “ Church of the Altar of Heaven” to the

103
PINTURICCHIO FRESCOES

building which rose on the site of the “Camera
Octaviani.” The church is said to have been founded
during the papacy of 8. Gregory the Great, and a mon-
astery was attached to it, which in the thirteenth
century passed from the Benedictines to the Franciscans.
To this transference we no doubt owe the charming, if
fading, frescoes of the life of S. Bernardino of Siena,
which Pinturicchio has painted in the chapel dedicated
to the saint, 8. Bernardino having lived here for a while.

We looked first at Donatello’s figure of the Archbishop
of Aquileia, carved in relief on the monumental slab.
We also saw the tomb of Cardinal Lebretto, and noted
especially the graceful and beautiful figure of 8. Michael
in this work of Andrea Bregno. We then went into
the chapel of S. Bernardino, where the frescoed scenes
from his life commemorate the healing of a deadly feud
between the Buffalini and Baglioni of Perugia, which
peace was made by 8. Bernardino himself. One of the
Buffalini, who lies buried here, commissioned Pinturicchio
to paint these pictures, which tell their story so sweetly.

Very lovely is the picture of the saint’s burial, but
far the most beautiful of the frescoes—to our mind—
is that which sets forth the glory of 8. Bernardino, who
is seen in company with S. Louis of Toulouse and
S. Antony of Padua. The scene is an exquisite vision
of light and joy. It gains an added interest from the
fact that S. Louis of Toulouse was professed here at
Ara Coeli.

We did but glance at the huge statue of Gregory XIII,

104
THE BAMBINO OF ARA COELI

and at the figure of Paul 111 opposite to it, and then
passed on to the right transept, where are the beautiful
tombs of the Savelli family. One of these tombs is a
fine pagan sarcophagus, with the usual design of fruit
and flowers in relief. In this sarcophagus are buried
Luca and Pandolfo Savelli, the father and brother of
Pope Honoriusiv. The tomb of Honorius Iv is opposite
—of quite different character, and adorned with marble
mosaic. In the choir is a beautiful fifteenth-century
monument to Cardinal Giambattista Savelli, said to be
by Andrea Bregno.

We thought the most beautiful thing in the church
were the Ambones,—fine mosaic work by some of the
Cosmati family. By another of that same great family
of artists is the tomb of Cardinal Acquasparta,—the
man to whom Dante alludes as approving a relaxation
of the Franciscan rule. His name brought back an
echo of Florentine faction, as we remembered his
unsuccessful attempt to make peace between the
irreconcilable “ Neri” and “ Bianchi.”

At the entrance of the north transept is the little
round chapel where S. Helena is buried, bringing
together the invention of the Cross and the altar
“ Primogeniti Dei.”

Near the Acquasparta tomb is the entrance to the
chapel of the Bambino of Ara Coeli, which we needs
must see—for the image is famous. A devout Francis-
can showed us this figure, carved, according to tradition,
by a friar at Jerusalem, and finished by angelic hands.

105
STATUE OF MARCUS AURELIUS

It is just one of those things which puzzles and confuses
you, however much you want to understand and respect
other points of view. We stood and looked at this
rather pretty baby image, which is richly clothed, and
smothered in jewels, but we felt we really could not
kneel, as two ladies were doing just in front of us. As
for R., he literally groaned in protest, and we were
altogether rather glad to escape from the chapel. Here
again I envied Porzia her Latin blood, which seemed
to enable her to see the true significance of things so
startling to our northern minds. She always spoke
deprecatingly when anyone remarked on the “idolatry”
of the uneducated Italians, and indeed quite repudiated
the charge. After all, most nations worship images, so
long as they are on coins.

But we felt that our delightful little time at Ara
Coeli must draw to an end, and we left the church by
the other door, from which a shorter flight of steps
leads down to the Piazza del Campidoglio. From this
point you get an unexpected and perfectly entrancing
view of the Forum, and the Alban Hills far away
beyond.

Once down in the piazza we found the usual thing
going on, a wedding with a crowd of carriages crawling
up and round the hill. However, we were able to have
a good look at the splendid statue of Marcus Aurelius,
that hero of the inner life, who looks the very incarna-
tion of patient, dignified, and selfless sovereignty. R.
recounted an experience of his own, as he stood here

106
THE PIAZZA DEL CAMPIDOGLIO

years ago on a brilliant moonlight night, looking at
this statue, when a voice emerged from the shadow:
“Can you tell me, sir, who’s the artist?” This inquir-
ing person might ask and ask again, it seems, for this
wonderful work has no ascription.

The Piazza del Campidoglio as we now see it was
designed by Michelangelo, and the buildings which
form the three sides of the square are of the Renais-
sance period. But the history of the place goes back
to far antiquity, for the “intermontium” or depression
between the two peaks of the hill which is now the
piazza was famous as the traditional “ asylum ” founded
by Romulus,—a refuge for outlaws. As you look
round, you would fain see up there on your right the
great Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus (Jupiter the Best
and Greatest), built by the Etruscan Tarquin after the
Palatine and Quirinal settlements had joined forces,
and when the Capitoline hill had become both the
political and religious centre of Rome. This temple,
we are told, was the only Roman temple built in the
simplified Doric style used by the Etruscans, and hence
named “Tuscan.”

Then again, on your left there should be the Arx and
the Temple of Juno Moneta,—but these things are no
longer. The temple built by Tarquin and plundered by
Gaiseric is gone, and the other height is crowned by the
Ara Coeli church and the vast monument to Victor
Emmanuel 1, You come out of your dream, and find
yourself facing Michelangelo’s Palazzo del Senatore,

107
THE CAPITOL

having the Palazzo dei Conservatori on your right and
the Museo Capitolino on your left. We walked about
the piazza a little before going into either of the palaces.
We felt that the two milestones on the balustrade of
the great outer stairway of the Palazzo del Senatore
attracted us as much as any of the monuments there dis-
played. One of these milestones certainly comes from
the Via Appia, and the other is usually believed to do so.

As we were perhaps more especially interested in
the Middle Ages, we liked to recall how the Capitol
arose from the decadence and ruin caused partly by
the removal of the Imperial capital to Byzantium, and
by the ravages of the Vandals,—to become once more
the centre of civic life, the scene of struggles between
the people and the Papacy, and the seat of judgment.
We thought of the Milanese Carroccio, given to the
Romans by Barbarossa, and kept here at the Capitol;
of Charles of Anjou as Senator of Rome, dating his
letters “Roma in arce capitolii.” We thought of
Dante’s Emperor Henry vi and his forcible seizure of
this hill; of Cola di Rienzo, and the brief triumph
of his government; then of the gradual transformation
in succeeding centuries, till the hill assumed its present
aspect, dominated by the monument which celebrates a
united Italy.

As to the great collections themselves, you naturally
choose the Capitoline Museum for your first visit, al-
though the Palace of the Conservators is actually the
older building.

108
A CELEBRATED COLLECTION

“What a good thing the Popes were not iconoclasts!”
exclaimed Porzia, as we entered the courtyard. “Think
what education we owe to Innocent x, who began this,
and to the others, Clement xm and his successors, who
went on with it.”

We were now standing in front of the great statue of
a river-god known as Marforio, placed here in dignified
seclusion on account of his all-too-lively conversations
with the irrepressible Pasquino, who still lives down
near the Piazza Navona. Marforio seems to have done
for himself by some remark on Clement xI, and was
moved to his present position from the “ Martis Forum,”
which gave the statue its medizval name.

We then began in earnest, and, not having endless
time, we naturally gave our chief attention to the
famous treasures of the collection—that is to say, the
pathetic figure of the Dying Gaul; the marble Faun or
Resting Satyr, copied from Praxiteles; the Boy strang-
ling a Goose, and the Capitoline Venus, which is a
Greek copy of the Cnidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles.
This last celebrated statue, beautiful as it is, left us
untouched by any keen sense of pleasure. The wonder-
ful sarcophagus of Alexander Severus, with its scenes
from a story of Achilles, was very interesting, and yet
more so were the slabs inserted in the pedestal on
which the famous Red Satyr stands. Any sculptures
which had to do with sun-worship or the Mithraic rites
always attracted us especially, and thus we spent some
time trying to decipher these particular slabs. The

109
THE PALAZZO DE’ CONSERVATORI

altar dedicated to the Sol Sanctissimus, with the beau-
tiful head of the child Sun-god in relief, was another
delight to us. The Hall of the Emperors, filled with
portrait busts, chiefly from the collection of Cardinal
Albani, is most interesting historically, and very in-
structive as illustrating Roman portraiture—that char-
acteristic feature of Roman art.

We looked at the Centaurs, at the unpleasing black
basalt figure of the child Heracles, and also at the
famous Amazons. We walked along the thickly
peopled Gallery, where the terribly realistic figure of
the drunken old woman quite repelled Porzia and me,
in spite of its undoubted ability. We were grieved
to see how deeply it interested R., who had strong
temperance proclivities. We thought it might illustrate
a teetotal tract, as he insisted on having a photograph
of it.

I fear we did not do much more than peep into some
of the smaller rooms, but we saw the famous mosaic
which gives its name to the Room of the Doves, and
thought it wonderful in execution, if not very enthralling
in subject. It probably looked much more beautiful and
appropriate in its own home in Hadrian’s villa than here
in a museum, where it seems to lack life and meaning.

After a sadly sketchy visit we crossed the piazza
and went into the Palazzo de’ Conservatori,—now
the chief municipal offices, rebuilt in the sixteenth
century after designs by Michelangelo, on the site
of an earlier palace erected by Nicholas v.

110
 

seat ie
(Anderson.

MARCUS AURELIUS OFFERING SACRIFICE.
THE WORSHIP OF THE LARES

The collection of bronzes and sculptures is a later
one, and consists chiefly of works found in recent
years, when the new streets in the eastern quarter
of the city were being made. Here again there
are several treasures of world-wide fame, which
seemed to us like old friends, such as the beautiful
figure of the Boy extracting a thorn from his foot,
the celebrated Wolf of the Capitol (a work of the
sixth century B.c.), the statue of Marsyas in red-
streaked pavonazzetto, and the wonderful bust of
the Shoemaker, carved in relief on his tombstone.
We thought the statue known as the “ Priest’s Boy,”
or acolyte, very charming. We also enjoyed the
archaic sculptures, the relief of the Dancing Menad,
the relief of Mettus Curtius and the statue of
Charles of Anjou. The reliefs from the Arch of
Marcus Aurelius arrested ovr attention, especially
the scene of the Sacrifice before the Temple of
Jupiter Capitolinus, where the figure of the Emperor
is very fine, with its air of gentle self-restraint.

The “Fasti Moderni” and “Fasti Consulares”—
lists of Roman magistrates ancient and modern, and
of Roman triumphs—were very interesting to see;
they brought you near the life of the city, and
seemed to weld it into one continuous whole.

In one of the rooms is an altar of special significance,
as illustrating the re-organisation of the city of Rome
by Augustus. When the city was divided into its
fourteen regions, Augustus revived the worship of

III
AN UNFORGETTABLE GLIMPSE

the Lares, the gods of the land and of the house;
but to this cult he added the Genius of the
Emperor, and named these deities Lares Augusti.
On this particular altar is represented the sacrifice
of a pig to the Lares, but we were chiefly interested
in the apotheosis of the Emperor involved in the
new cult,—this being the worship so strenuously
resisted by the Christians.

It must be frankly admitted that we did not
attempt the Picture Gallery; there is a limit to
one’s power of absorption, and we felt that we
must leave the pictures aside, and devote our time
to things more essentially Roman.

We therefore passed on to what we found the
most interesting and attractive part of all, namely,
the Tabularium, or Public Record office—that massive
building of Republican times which, when looked at
from the Forum, appears as the lowest storey of
the Palazzo del Senatore. The only part of this
great building you now see is the long arcade or
gallery, which faces the Forum, and from which
there must have been a splendid view. Only one
arch is now left free, and from that you get an
unforgettable glimpse——away past the Basilica
Emilia and the Basilica of Constantine on one
side, past the Palatine and the Arch of Titus on
the other, and beyond S. Francesca Romana and the
Colosseum to the Alban Hills, far in the distance.

The gallery itself is now used as a kind of museum,

112
PRISON OF S. PETER AND S. PAUL

and fragments of the ruined temples just below
(the Temples of Concord and of Vespasian) are
placed there. It is a little shadowy and ghostly,
but we wandered about with great delight, taking
much more pleasure in this rather informal collec-
tion than in the set conventional museums, which
you cannot help regarding as a necessary evil.

It seems that there used to be a passage yet below
the gallery, as well as an upper storey with Corinthian
columns. It is thought that the ancient court
opened on to what is now the Piazza del Campidoglio,
and was approached from the Forum by a long flight
of steps, many of which still remain. It must have
been a glorious building, built in “sperone” or
“peperino,” with Travertine capitals and arches, and
tufa for the inner walls, Even in its decay it has
all that air of power and austerity which you associate
with Republican Rome.

After another look out from the archway we came
down the steps, crossed in front of the Tabularium,
and turned into the Via di Marforio, where is the
Mamertine Prison, or Tullianum, the prison of 8. Peter
and 8. Paul. On the level of the street is the church
of 8. Pietro in Carcere (or San Giovanni de Falegnami).
Below this is the prison, one of the most ancient of
all the buildings in Rome, and ascribed to the days
of Ancus Martius. It consists of two chambers, one
below the other, the lower one being the Tullianum,
so called, no doubt, from the spring of water in the

H 113
THE TARPEIAN ROCK

floor. It is a most gruesome place,—small, for
imprisonment was not a common form of punishment
in Rome,—but full of horror. The Tullianum was
really a place of execution, and must have witnessed
the death of many a valiant captive, such as Jugurtha
and Vercingetorix. The Stairway from the Capitol
replaces the “Scale Gemoniz,” or Stairway of Sighs,
—a most suggestive name. Here the bodies of
criminals were exposed before being thrown into
the Tiber. Tradition tells us that the Apostles used
the water of the spring for the baptism of their
jailers and fellow-prisoners, and in the lower prison
is a sculptured relief representing S. Paul preaching
and 8. Peter baptizing,—a welcome ray of light in the
ghastly gloom of this underground prison cell.

From the Mamertine Prison we climbed once more
to the Piazza del Campidoglio, and finished our
morning by finding our way through a portico on
the right of the Palazzo de’ Conservatori to the Via
di Monte Tarpea, and thus to the Casa Tarpea.
From the garden of this harmless-looking house
you are shown the Tarpeian Rock itself,—the rock
of the traitress Tarpeia,—down which criminals were
hurled in the jold Roman days. Perhaps it was
that we were becoming frivolous with fatigue, but
we could not get up a very dramatic frame of mind.
It is a little difficult to realise the cruel perpendicular
rock, now that houses of all heights and varying hues
have grown up about it. And again, it was all so

114
 

(Anderson,

THE TABULARIUM.
A MAY MORNING

beautiful beneath the warm midday sun, with roses,
orange trees, and cypresses to help in the general
charm. R., too, dispelled the last hint of tragedy
by throwing “soldi” from our giddy height to a
small criminal who was cheerfully turning wheels
in the abyss below. This we felt to be distinctly
incongruous, and our memories of the Rupe Tarpea
always remained inappropriately light-hearted. But
who can be sad on a May morning in Rome when
everything is a dream of pale glories, white—gold,
rose, and misty blue? Even memories of ancient
griefs must give way when the “Sol Invictus”
shines, and, after all, do not the flowers grow over
the scarred places and hide them? Perhaps one
of our greatest lessons is the learning to forget,
and here in Rome you may learn something of it,
for here, as in many of earth’s famous places, there
are times when memory is an intolerable yoke.

And now our long morning of sight-seeing ended.
We honestly felt that we had grasped something of
the history and the main outlines, even if our study
of detail left a good deal to be desired.

This afternoon was not to begin too soon,—so the
ukase went forth, as R. disappeared into the smoking-
room after lunch. We began accordingly with a fairly
early tea at Latour’s, the tea-shop in the Piazza SS.
Apostoli, We felt we could not go home without
having had tea in this most “select establishment.”
We were joined by a dear old French lady, with whom

115
CHURCH OF S. CECILIA

we had made acquaintance at our hotel. She was
Parisienne, and also Protestant, and very much astray
in Rome,—although her Protestantism struck us ag
being rather of the frivolous order, and not at all
according to Calvin. She went out every afternoon
in very smart clothes, and drifted as a rule either to
Spillmann’s or Latour’s, where, being, as she said, “ érés
maniaque,” she always had exactly the same number
of cakes. She was a most delightful set-off to the
serious side of Rome, not having the smallest intention
of improving her mind. We spent a very amusing
time in her company, until we proposed to go and see
the two chief Trastevere churches, in which expedition
she politely but firmly declined to join.

We took a carriage, and drove down to the Tiber
by way of Trajan’s Forum, getting somehow into the
Theatre of Marcellus, and finally to the Piazza Bocca
della Verit’ and the Ponte Palatino,—places that were
beginning to grow delightfully familiar. We went first
to 8. Cecilia, built, as is believed, on the site of the
house where S. Cecilia lived. The foundation is very
ancient, but rebuildings and restorations have con-
verted the upper church into a rather uninteresting
place, so far as architecture is concerned. The great
features are the splendid tabernacle over the high
altar, said to be the work of Arnolfo di Cambio, and
Maderna’s lovely and pathetic figure of the saint, laid
beneath the altar, recalling irresistibly the words:
“T saw beneath the altar the souls of them that had

116
STATUE OF S. CECILIA

been slain for the word of God, and for the testimony
which they held.” The body of 8S. Cecilia was found
by Pope Paschal 1 in the cemetery of S. Calixtus, the
place of her burial having been revealed to the Pope
by the saint herself,—so tradition says. The remains
were removed from their first dim resting-place to this
church. The whole scene is most impressive, as you
gaze at the lovely group of tabernacle, altar, Paschal
candlestick, and the recumbent figure in its graceful,
yet tortured pose.

We looked next at the beautiful fifteenth-century
tomb of Cardinal Fortiguerra, the work of Mino da
Fiesole, and at the fine, though obviously mutilated,
tomb of our own countryman, Cardinal Hertford, who
died in 1398. The ninth-century mosaics in the semi-
dome are more interesting than beautiful, although
mosaic can never fail to have a certain charm of light
aad colour, and often gives pleasure where an exact
reproduction in painting would be repellent. The
mosaic represents our Lord, holding the scroll of the
Gospel and giving the blessing after the Greek fashion.
On either side of Him are saints, among whom are
S. Cecilia and Pope Paschal 1, who has the square
nimbus of the living round his head. Palm trees and
flowers surround the scene; the familiar sheep, coming
from Jerusalem and Bethlehem, draw near to the
Lamb, who stands on the Mount whence flow the rivers
of Paradise. The phcenix, symbol of everlasting life,
stands over the head of Pope Paschal.

117
BURIAL-PLACE OF §. CECILIA

We were then shown the chapel of S. Cecilia, on
the site of the ancient Caldarium, or hot bath, which
was part of the ancient Roman house. It was here
that Cecilia is said to have been tortured by suffocation
in boiling steam, and traces of the bath itself are still
visible. The stone which forms the altar is that on
which 8. Cecilia was finally beheaded.

We were then led down to the restored and excavated
house of 8. Cecilia. The lower church or crypt is in
many ways more interesting than the upper, and the
decoration ordered by Cardinal Rampolla is very
beautiful and splendid in spite of its inevitable fresh-
ness. Perhaps we are too apt to forget that all these
soft-toned mosaics were once new, and could not always
have had the priceless mellowing of age. Beneath the
altar in the crypt are buried S. Cecilia, her husband
Valerian, her brother-in-law Tibertius, Pope Urban 1,
and Pope Lucius1. The mosaic above represents the
glory of the martyr, 8. Cecilia; the walls are covered
with fine mosaics which tell her history; and various
Christian symbols—such as the Lamb, the Cross, the
fountain, the peacock—fill the lunettes.

After this we saw the large room now fitted up as
a Christian museum, where the front of 8. Cecilia’s
origina] sarcophagus oceupies the central place. Upon
it is the figure of the Good Shepherd,—suggesting
curious threads of connection with Orpheus, the
heavenly power of music, and 8S. Cecilia herself.
Round the room are other sarcophagi, and various

118
S. MARIA IN TRASTEVERE

fragments of sculpture. The whole underground dwell-
ing was then shown us, including the wine cellar, the
granary, and a room now called the Baptistery, which
has mosaics of the Imperial epoch.

We heard much of the frescoes by Pietro Cavallini,
discovered comparatively lately in the chapel of the
Benedictine convent, but as a “ permesso” is required
for seeing these we were not able to do so.

We left, and took our way along past S. Crisogono
to the Lungara, and thence to the Piazza 8. Maria,
where we found ourselves in front of the most vener-
able and picturesque-looking church of 8. Maria in
Trastevere. The general surroundings are rather grey
and worn-looking, suggestive of an “other side of the
river” quarter, but in spite of this they harmonise with
the exterior of the church, which has an air of mingled
homeliness and grandeur. A mosaic of Madonna with
her Son, attended by ten virgins, adorns the fagade and
gives a most admirable effect of colour, contrasting
with the sombre tones of the building itself.

The great porch contains many inscriptions and
sculptures brought from the Catacombs, besides other
interesting “odds and ends,” as R. called them. Among
such is the tomb of the Cardinal Campeggio, the astute
Bolognese who was sent to England to negotiate in the
divorce proceedings of Catherine of Aragon. On the
walls of the porch are many carven panels, with fine
crosses and scriptural scenes. Standing among these
beautiful relics of bygone ages, you felt it easy to

11g
A MIRACULOUS SPRING

realise the great antiquity of the church itself, which
owes its earliest foundation to Pope Calixtus 1 It
was he who built a chapel on this spot, where in early
days a kind of hospice for the sick and destitute had
stood. This ancient building, known of old as the
Taberna Meritoria, is represented in one of the later
mosaics. Tradition says that the chapel of Calixtus
was built over an oil spring, which burst forth on the
night of the birth of Christ. This chapel was succeeded
in the fourth century by a church built by Pope
Julius 1. It was restored by Gregory Iv in the ninth
century, at which time the crypt where S. Calixtus
and §. Calepodius are buried was built. In the twelfth
century the church was rebuilt by Innocent 11, and, in
spite of some regrettable restoration due to Pope Pius 1x,
it remains very much as Pope Innocent left it, a stately
and impressive building, with its fine Ionic columns,
which form a massive support to the weighty entabla-
ture. Innocent 11 sprang from a Trasteverine stock,
whence probably his especial interest in this church.
After the burning of the Lateran, where Innocent 1
was buried in the porphyry sarcophagus of the
Emperor Hadrian, his remains were brought here and
interred in the left aisle, which aisle contains some
beautiful Gothic tombs, namely, those of the Cardinal
Philippe d’Alengon and of Cardinal Stefaneschi. The
columns, which came from the Baths of Caracalla, are
adorned with heads of Egyptian deities. Anywhere
else you might think them out of place, but Rome has
120
THE MOSAICS

a mysterious way of adopting and adapting everything,
however incongruous at first sight. The pavement
and ceiling are both very fine in their several ways, and
indeed a Cosmati pavement is a source of endless satis-
faction, and would make the ugliest place beautiful.

The mosaics are the most important things in
the church from perhaps every point of view. The
mosaic in the semidome was begun by Innocent II
and continued by Eugenius Il, and it must have
been finished long before the consecration of the
church by the great Pope Innocent I in 1198.
The twelfth-century mosaic in the semidome repre-
sents the Enthronement of the Virgin. It is re-
splendent in colour, but most of the figures are stiff
and stumpy. The best are those in the central group,
where our Lord sits enthroned, with the Madonna
beside him, and &. Peter on the other hand. The
Madonna’s robe and crown are gorgeous with gold and
jewels, and in attitude hers is perhaps the best of all
the figures, It may be noted that the saints on either
hand—S. Calixtus, S. Lawrence, Innocent 1, Popes
Cornelius and Julius, all wear the liturgical dress of the
Latin Church, while 8. Peter, a figure obviously copied
from an ancient source, is draped in a white robe of
classical form.

The scene surrounding the figures and the mosaics
on the triumphal arch reproduce the subjects usual in
most of the mosaics from the fourth and fifth century
onwards—such as the procession of sheep moving

121
AN EVENING CONCERT

steps, and as we entered the piazza the sun was blazing
on the column of Marcus Aurelius, and setting forth
his victories as if writ in fire. On the top of the
column Sixtus v has set another and greater conqueror,
S. Paul.

But now the ascent of the Via del Tritone claimed
us once again, and we felt most meritoriously tired
and satisfied as we talked the day over with people
who had been doing nothing but chat on the Pincio,
and were now preparing to go to the theatre. R. said
a little frivolous amusement would be good for us
morally, as he observed we were on the brink of
turning into “superior persons.” He therefore took
tickets on the spot for an orchestral concert, at which
a well-known English pianist was to play,—on that
very evening. The performance took place at the
Teatro Costanzi, and was really excellent. The little
differences in fashions and ways were amusing to
watch; they added to our Roman experiences, and
completed a day which had thus stretched from
Romulus to Mendelssohn and Schumann.

123
CHAPTER VII

“Tu Pas vu, ce ciel enchanté
Qui montre avec tant de clarté
Le grand mystére :
Si pur qu’un soupir monte a Dieu
Plus librement qu’en aucun lieu
Qui soit sur terre,”
A. DE Musser.
To-pay was to be devoted to our first expedition out
of Rome. It was one of the obvious regulation tours
to Villa Adriana and Tivoli, but it was to be pleas-
antly varied by being extended to Subiaco, which we
proposed to include, thus making a two days’ business
of it. Some kind friends had placed their car at our
disposal as far as Tivoli, and in this way we were
delightfully independent of train and tram, and
gloriously masters of the situation.

The morning had dawned a little doubtfully, but by
the time we had got out on to the Via Tiburtina,
beyond our beloved §. Lorenzo, the sun finally tri-
umphed and our spirits rose accordingly. The road,
along which the tramway runs, is said to be less
attractive than some of the ways across the Campagna,
but it has its interest. We soon met that historic
stream, the Anio, now known as the Teverone, which

124
THE ROAD TO TIVOLI

rises near Trevi, and falls into the Tiber at the Ponte
Salario. We learned that the little Ponte Mammolo,
over this river, is probably so called after Mammea,
mother of Alexander Severus. Between this bridge
and the disagreeably sulphurous Bagni we saw the
distant Monti Corniculani crowned by their villages,
and were conscious of passing near many sights of
ancient importance. We tried to realise that we were
crossing the place where Hannibal encamped, but had
hardly time to do so before our attention was entirely
claimed by the violent smell of the Acque Albulz,
which rush towards the Anio from the lakes of the
Solfatara by means of a canal. The beautiful Zenobia,
Queen of Palmyra, captive of the Emperor Aurelian,
is said to have patronised these sulphur waters, and to
have had her special bathing-place near one of the
lakes. What interested us most was the thought of
the great quarries near Bagni, whence the travertine
has been brought to Rome for centuries past. This
“lapis Tiburtina” was used for the Colosseum and
also for S. Peter's.

“There is too much to think of,” said R., as we
stopped at the Villa Adriana,—‘“no single life is long
enough for all this. We have swept past Hannibal,
the Flavian Emperors, and the Renaissance Popes; now
we have got to retrace our steps as far as Hadrian.”

Personally, I never had a more confusing ex-
perience than this first visit to Hadrian’s villa. As
for Porzia, she grasped it all in the twinkling of an

125
HADRIAN’S VILLA

eye, and seemed quite at home as we took our way
through the once lovely miniature city, now nearly
obliterated by the triumph of time. After Gregorovius,
it is idle for a mere rambler to try and describe the
wonders of this stupendous villa, with its marvellous
gardens, its buildings named after the famous edifices
in Athens, its vale of Tempé, its Elysium, its Tartarus.
The identification of most of these is a matter for the
antiquarian, and implies years of study. We did not
feel ourselves called upon to labour over these points,
but contented ourselves with looking at the Teatro
Greco, the Nympheum, the Poecile, the Library, and
meekly accepting what was told us, Indeed, the history
of the villa, so ravishing amid the unauthorised mass
of foliage and flower, is much more absorbing than the
remnants of the once glorious buildings. There is the
sense of an overweening splendour and luxury, fallen,
as it were, by their own weight. The villa was used
as a camp by Belisarius and Totila, and its treasures
have been looted by emperors and popes down to
comparatively modern days; but now the Italian
Government has taken possession of what remains, and
excavations have been carried on for some time past.
What lingers chiefly in your mind is the melancholy
beauty of the villa, and the utter destruction of these
scenes of festival and of ingenious and studied delight.
“Sic transit gloria mundi” might well be written over
these crumbling marvels of sculpture, architecture, and
landscape gardening.
126
“YWNVINGV VITIA AHL NI MGIA

“Mos4apu pr)

 
TIVOLI

“T hope Hadrian hadn’t to walk all round his villa
every morning,” said R. with a gentle sigh, as he gazed
longingly towards the car; “it is most interesting
and profoundly instructive, no doubt, but it is tiring.”
We felt half ashamed, but had to admit that the car
was undeniably comfortable.

We spun along the road, which soon begins to climb
in good earnest, and becomes most charming and
romantic, as it ascends amid fine and very old olive
groves to the Porta 8. Croce, the south-western gate of
Tivoli, close to which is the castle or citadel, built by
Pius 11 on the former site of the amphitheatre. We
decided to leave the Villa d’Este for later in the day,
so, although we were quite near, we drove on through
the narrow streets to the piazza, which also is narrow
between its tall houses. We had at once decided to
have our “colazione” at the restaurant Sibilla, so as to
miss nothing of all the beauty of Tivoli; we therefore
went on to the Ponte Gregoriano, which is high above
the river, and thence we quickly reached the temples.
We had made our plan with great precision, and
thought we should be able to lunch and to see the
falls very successfully by three o'clock, when the car
was to meet us near the Porta 8. Angelo for further -
rambling.

Tivoli was new to Porzia, who went into ecstasies as
we reached the terrace of the Sibilla, which encircles
part of the beautiful little Temple of Vesta, and hangs
over the lovely wooded ravine. It is to be doubted

127
THE OLD AND THE NEW

whether any place in the world could produce a more
picturesque scene. It is almost excessive,—almost a
“décor de théatre,’—though Porzia called such an
opinion monstrous. It was now nearly noon, and the
landscape lacked the special beauty of the slanting
sun rays; yet there was little to complain of, for the
masses of pink and yellow rose glowed in the brilliant
light, the young spring foliage showed golden green
in the sun, while the shadows in the deep gorge of the
Aniene were a soft, misty, cobalt blue. We looked
round at the terrace of the little Sirena inn, and almost
wished we had gone there, it looked so delightful,—but
our view, and the strange mixture of temple and
restaurant, gave the palm to the Sibilla.

You grow accustomed to these mixtures of old and
new, and you get to take it for granted that your
luncheon should be served under the shadow of a dis-
used temple, or that you should picnic in a ruined
tomb. We wandered round the two little temples, left
here on this rocky point, where the citadel of the
ancient Tibur issaid to have stood. The Temple of the
Sibyl, or properly of Vesta, is of course round, of grace-
ful form and fine colour, having some of its circle of
columns still standing. The little oblong temple close
to it is variously given to the Sibyl, or to Tiburtus, the
traditional founder of Tibur. Both temples have been
used as churches, and the latter, under the name of
S. Giorgio, until quite lately.

When we finally sat down to our “colazione,” which

128
THE STORY OF TIBUR

was spread on a table on the edge of the abyss, we
remarked on the comparative peace we enjoyed, for the
ubiquitous and persistent beggars for which Tivoli is
famed do not seem quite so mosquito-like here.

“Yes, after lunch we go to the grottos and waterfalls,
and see them thoroughly; then we drive round the Via
delle Cascatelle, and end somehow at Villa d’Este; we
dine at the Regina at about six, and then catch the
train to Subiaco,’—this from Porzia, who was always
ready and alert.

“We shall be rather late at Subiaco,” said R., “and
you have got to hear some more about Tivoli before we
start. Itis a pity you don’t smoke, it would keep you
quiet.” He lit a cigarette, while Porzia seized the guide-
book, out of which she extracted at lightning speed
that Tivoli, the ancient Tibur, laid claim to far greater
antiquity than Rome itself,—its foundation being at-
tributed to the Siculii Another tradition links it to
the Divine Comedy, as the three grandsons of Amphi-
araus, the prophet king of Thebes, are said to have
driven forth the original inhabitants. The town was
then named after Tibertus, the eldest of these three
brothers. In later days Tibur seems to have quarrelled
a good deal with Rome, and to have helped the Gauls
in their invasions of Latin territory. The town was
finally quelled by Camillus, in 352 Bc, and became
one of the Latin allies of Rome. Later on again, Tibur
became a place of peaceful retreat and of beautiful
villas; yet, in spite of its natural loveliness and its

I 129
THE WATERFALLS

nearness to Rome, it was often enough the scene of
bitter exile and the refuge of broken men. Brutus
and Cassius fled to Tibur after the murder of Cesar,
and long afterwards Zenobia endured a kind of glorified
imprisonment here.

After listening for a time, we began to laugh at this
energetic form of siesta, and rose to make a start for
the waterfalls. We plunged into the bewildering scene
of rock, sparkling water, stalactite cave, and luxuriant
growth of tree and flower, now descending, now climbing
by somewhat slippery paths to the grottos of Neptune
and the Siren, and finally landing at the platform close
to the New Fall, where the river dashes past you into
the deep, with thunderous noise and clouds of iridescent
spray. It is almost terrifying, but less so than the race
of the river before it falls, a sight which fills you with
an insane impulse to jump in, and haunts you after-
wards. This new fall was made artificially about
1825-34, after a fearful flood which carried away a
church and many houses. The river now rushes
through the alarming “traforo Gregoriano ” (so called
after Pope Gregory XVI, in whose reign it was made)
and forms the huge cascade we now see. We wandered
up and down, saw the Cascatelle Grandi, the terrace
with its view of the temple of the Sibyl, and we finally
emerged, rather tired, at the “Ingresso,” having done
the walk the other way round, so to speak.

At the entrance we found the car awaiting us, and
now containing our friends, who had resumed possession

130
A BEAUTIFUL ROAD

of it. R. and I had decided to take things more
quietly, and to go and look at the Duomo instead of
driving. All were to meet at the entrance to the
Villa d’Este. The motorist party now set out on
a most enchanting little drive—along the Via delle
Cascatelle, which begins at the Porta 8S. Angelo, This
road, they said, was much more delightful than the
grounds of the waterfalls, as both the road and the
views from it are exceptionally beautiful and interest-
ing. The great charm is given by the wealth of spring
flowers and the splendid olive groves which clothe
the steep hitls, and in places make a kind of silver
veil through which earth and sky are seen. They
paused for the views at the Belvedere terrace, and
from the terrace beyond the chapel of S. Antonio,
whence you see the Cascatelle, playing and sparkling
far below, under the buildings once called the villa of
Mecenas. Beyond this, you get glimpses of long
stretches of the Campagna, and away through the
translucent air to Rome itself.

They went on to the little church of La Madonna di
Quintiliolo, which is close to the ruined villa said to
have belonged to Quintilius Varus, who lost the legions
near Paderborn in 9 A.D. This spot has borne that
name for centuries, and, as Horace speaks of a villa
belonging to Varus near Tibur, they had felt fully
justified in believing that this was the villa of the un-
lucky general of the Augustan legions.

The way now led down a road which still seemed to

131
AN HISTORIC VILLA

follow the old line of the Marcian aqueduct, and landed
them very shortly at the Ponte dell’ Acquoria. The old
Via Tiburtina runs across this very ancient bridge, and
as they looked at the scene they felt that modern speed in
travelling had something to commend it, otherwise they
could not have had time to pass by this way, so full of
memories. They turned and drove up the Clivus Tibur-
tinus, past the little Tempio della Tosse, and the huge
ruin of the so-called villa of Maecenas, to the Porta
del Colle, with its “Ghibelline” battlements, landing
finally at the Villa d’Este, where we all gathered once
more.

Who had the imagination? you ask, as you enter
this magnificent garden and look at the stately and
desolate palace. Was it the Cardinal Ippolito himself,
or his wonder-working Pirro Ligorio? The pen of
many an author, and the brush of many an artist, has
uttered pretty well all that can be said about the Villa
d’Este, and some pictures contrive to catch, not only
the superb beauty of the place, but also its profound
melancholy. There are turns and corners, shadows of
gigantic cypress, sunlight gleams on the roses, un-
utterable lights on the Campagna beyond, which give
you a feeling only to be expressed by the Italian
“stretto di cuore.” We walked about, threading the
mazes of that garden, looking at its fountains, its
marvellous water-tanks, and its yet more wonderful
trees, and walked to the view-point whence, across the
vast stretch of the Campagna, Rome is visible. We

132
MELANCHOLY SPLENDOURS

thought of the famous company of choice spirits that
must have haunted these walks and watched these
fountains play beneath the dark cypresses and amid
the brilliant masses of flower and fern. To-day,
autumn seems to linger perpetually in these gardens,
and there is something tragic in the very sunlight.
We awoke from our dream, turned back through the
enchanted terraces, up the many steps, and wandered
slowly along through the somewhat unattractive streets,
escorted by pertinacious would-be guides and by quite
unmistakable beggars. Dinner had been ordered at
the Hotel Regina, and we enjoyed our thoroughly
Italian meal as light-heartedly as if the sun of past
glories had never set over any of those lovely scenes
in the Villa d’Este.

Soon after seven o'clock our motorist friends started
on a most choice experience, the drive to Subiaco
in the oncoming twilight. They told us they could
almost have found it in their hearts to regret the
railway journey, which leads past Vicovaro, a place
so important in the story of 8. Benedict, but this
was compensated for by the beautiful drive—all
too rapid—along the valley of the Aniene, up and
up, through Gerano and Canterano, till you join the
road from Cineto Romano. You follow on for some
three miles through the valley, at last espying the
gate-tower and the bridge over the Aniene, you pass
under the gate built in honour of Pius vi, and find
yourself in the main street of the lovely and pictur-

133
RAILWAY JOURNEY TO SUBIACO

esque town of Subiaco. For our own part, we in no-
wise regretted having to take that evening train, and
so to mount up and-up, through those valleys,so strangely
wild, in spite of their nearness to Rome, and all so full
of the Benedictine story and tradition, We were
further enlivened by the company of a charming old
nun, who was in charge of a little girl, and who
presently proceeded to cheer her and us by the offer
of some particularly delicious sugar-almonds. We
heard the nun speak of Tagliacozzo, towards which
place the train was going, and we felt as if the whole
panorama of Gueph and Ghibelline history rose before
our eyes, with Dante as its exponent,—naturally.

We changed at Mandela, and enjoyed the few
minutes in the clear, night air, which had the breath
of the mountains in it. Another train bore us on and
on, through strange, silent little stations, until we
reached Subiaco, where such modernities as steam and
petrol seem oddly out of place. Night had fallen long
ere we arrived, and all the way had been veiled in dusky
shadow, save for the moon, which had sailed into view,
and which, though young as yet, was bright enough to
weave an additional spell into this web of enchant-
ments. We felt inclined to doubt our own identity, or
at any rate our corporeal existence, so unusual was
the scene, with the interplay of silvery moonlight and
warm lamplight, the sharp shadows, the unwonted
sounds you seem to hear in mountain places,—and all
beneath a sky that shaded from the pale green of the

134
THESTART FOR THE MONASTERIES

dying sunset into the unfathomable sapphire of the
night.

It was getting late, and mundane things have to be
thought of, even at Subiaco, and we therefore sought
the Albergo dell’Aniene, which, by advice from friends
in Rome, we had chosen in preference to La Pernice.

It was all rather strange and very amusing, and
when, after a torrent of conversation between Porzia
and the landlady, we had finally settled on rooms, we
admitted we were a little tired, and disinclined for a
moonlight walk,—especially in view of the morrow.

I tremble to think at what hour Porzia got up that
next morning; weneverasked. Weonly knew that when
we, like reasonable folk, took coffee at about eight
o’clock, she had already seen the convent of the
Cappucini, with its fresco of S. Francis and Brother
Wolf,—had walked half round the little town,—had
seen not only the outside, but also the inside of the
“Rocca” where Cardinal Borgia (afterwards Alexander
v1) had lived. And people say Italians are indolent!

At what we English think an early hour we set off
for the monasteries, which are the heart and soul of
Subiaco. The walk is rather long and steep, so we
drove up through the town and along that lovely wind-
ing road which climbs along the bank of the Aniene,
and gives you a charming look at the town amid the
rocks and forests. At the Ponte 8. Mauro, high above
the rocky gorge of the river, we must needs dismount
and begin our climb in earnest, turning up the sharp

135
ROUGH BUT BEAUTIFUL ASCENT

hill by a steep and narrow path. We toiled on past
the little chapels, stopping at times to take breath and
to look at the exquisite views of rock, of deep wooded
ravine and folded hill which showed continually as
we went.

We came first upon the square massive buildings of
S. Scholastica, but did not stop, as we had planned to
take this group of monasteries on our way back. So,
after a very brief pause for general inspection of the
stern, grey exterior, we went on our way, the path
becoming steeper and rougher the higher we got, till
at times it was not altogether easy to keep our
footing. But there is an end to everything, and at
last we arrived at a gateway, which was thoughtfully
furnished with a stone bench; we sat for a while,
looking down through the thick ilex grove towards the
entrance to the Sacro Speco, grateful for the shade
and rest. We had not sat many minutes before, to
our surprise and pleasure, the M.’s suddenly appeared.
We wondered we had not seen them at our inn, and
they explained that they had come from Rome by train
the day before, and had secured rooms at the French
convent. “Convent,” we exclaimed in chorus,—* what
is Mr. M. doing at a convent?” We learned that per-
mission for guests of the other sex may be obtained for
the asking, and this made us regret we had not done
the like.

Porzia was now called upon to furnish one of her
lightning cinematograph histories, while we sat and

136
S. BENEDICT

rested yet a few minutes. She took her book and
expounded to us in English—with an Italian word shot
in like an arrow every now and then—how that here,
among these Simbrivian hills and lakes, Nero had
made the villa he called Sublaqueum, where he had
feasted, and fished for trout with a golden net. Here,
amid his orgies, he had received a portentous warning
of his fate, in that the food spread out before him for
a banquet was destroyed by lightning. After the
Western Empire had fallen, and amid the dire con-
fusion and disaster that followed, Benedict, a boy of
the noble Roman family of the Anicii, fled to the wild
solitudes of Subiaco to escape from the evil of the
world around him. All the country about seems to
be full of him, for there at Affile, in the mountains,
his first miracle was wrought, that quaint mending of
the sieve. It was at Vicovaro, where the monks had
implored him to be their abbot, that they would fain
have poisoned him in a cup of wine. No less than
twelve monasteries quickly sprang up in this beautiful
wild country, and when earthquake or Lombard in-
vasion destroyed them, the scattered interests gathered
to the shelter of the great mother-house of S. Scholas-
tica, named after the saintly sister of 5S. Benedict.
Here at Subiaco the desolate caves and crags and
the wild lonely forests witnessed Benedict’s prayer
and fasting, his struggle to obtain that self-mastery
which is the inseparable condition both of service and
of empire. This once remote spot was the cradle of

137
THE CRADLE OF A GREAT ORDER

that great Order to which our civilisation owes so
much, whether we acknowledge our debt or not.

We listened to the rapid summary, and then walked
along the road, through the great ilex thicket, to the
beautiful entry of grey stone, over which is written:
“Here is the Cradle of the Order of S. Benedict,
Patriarch of the monks of the West.”

The groined corridor by which you go in is adorned
with frescoes, now a good deal faded and damaged; it
leads to an anteroom, also decorated with frescoes.
At the door of the upper church we were met by a
very cheery Benedictine monk, whose speech revealed
him as a native of the British Isles, but not of England.
He was apparently at the Sacro Speco only as a guest,
and immediately summoned one of his brethren to act
as guide. A charming old Italian monk made his
appearance, and the two led us through the wonders
of this strange and fascinating place, which has been
delightfully compared to 8. Francis’s mountain retreat
at the Carceri.

In the upper church we were most struck with the
great picture of the Crucifixion, which is the first thing
that attracts your attention as you goin. Among the
other frescoes, those which interested us most were the
Triumphal Entry, the Betrayal, the Noli me tangere,
the Ascension, and the Descent of the Holy Spirit.
These are in the first bay of this curiously built church.
In the second bay we were most interested by the fresco
representing the story of the Poisoned Cup at Vicovaro.

138
. OOFdS ONOVS,, AHL AO ANALSVNON ‘OOVIEGAS

“M0s.LapuePp |

 
THE UPPER CHURCH

Our guide explained to us something of the history
of the actual building, telling us that the monasteries
had been destroyed both by Lombard and by Saracen,
and again restored between the seventh and ninth
centuries. The present buildings belonged to the
eleventh and twelfth centuries, as their style clearly
shows, while the frescoes date from the eleventh to
the fifteenth century. After a few more minutes in
the upper church, where the live rock which forms the
end of the choir makes great appeal to the imagination,
we were taken into the right transept, where are many
most interesting frescoes. Chief among these is the
last meal of 8, Benedict and S. Scholastica, illustrating
the beautiful story of their last meeting, when the
storm, sent in answer to 8. Scholastica’s prayer, com-
pelled Benedict to stay the night with his sister, a
night of prayer and heavenly converse. Three days
after this, Scholastica died, and Benedict beheld in a
vision how her soul entered the celestial abodes in the
form of a dove. These scenes are pictured on the
walls. There are other striking frescoes,—one repre-
senting the Hand of the Almighty, and others the
figures of S. Catherine of Alexandria, 8. Agnes, and
S. Paul. In the chapel there is a fine fresco of S. Peter
and 8. Paul healing the cripple at the Beautiful Gate
of the Temple. (It must be understood that the above-
named pictures are those which made most appeal
to us personally ; but there are many others.)

In the tiny left transept, which is built into the

139
THE SACRO SPECO

rock, there is a fresco of the Crucifixion, and on the
roof four prophets holding scrolls with texts foretelling
the Passion. On the stairway leading down from the
upper church there is a picture of Pope Innocent m1
presenting to 8. Benedict a bull granted to the abbey
in 1213. Opposite to this is a Madonna and Child,
the work of an early Umbrian painter,—Conxolus.

The middle church is composed of two bays, also
covered with fresco. The pictures in the farther bay
represent Christ surrounded by four apostles; those in
the nearer bay depict the story of 8. Benedict. We
then went into the chapel of S. Gregory, through a
passage of whicn one side is rock, and where you are
faced by a large fresco of the Last Judgment. The
chief interest in the chapel is the famous picture of
5. Francis, supposed to have been painted during his
visit to the Sacro Speco. We thought it much the
most charming representation of that beloved saint we
had ever seen.

There is no use trying to grasp the plan of this place
for yourself—on a first visit at any rate—so we meekly
followed our kindly old guide, who now took us through
the middle church again and down to the Sacro Speco
itself. This is the very cave where Benedict “lived
alone with himself,” and which is now made into a
chapel. In the chapel isa marble statue of the saint,
but it is a disappointing work, and we could not feel
that it added in any way to the impressiveness of the
grotto itself, where Benedict had striven for the

140
“THE GROTTO OF THE PASTORS”

mastery, in lonely watchings, not unvisited by sore
temptations.

The Scala Santa is frescoed with a menacing
Triumph of Death, while above is a picture of the
Baptism of Christ. Just beyond is the chapel of the
Madonna—this again covered with frescoes, all of great
interest. One of the most attractive is the figure of
Madonna, gathering all the children of men beneath
the folds of her mantle.

Here, too, are some fine single figures, such as those
of S. Stephen, 8. Lawrence, and 8. Scholastica, besides
groups representing the Death of the Virgin, the
Coronation of the Virgin, and Christ and the Madonna
enthroned,

We had really become dazed with seeing so many
pictures in so short a time, and were glad to descend
yet further, into the “Grotto of the Pastors,” where
S. Benedict is said to have taught his shepherd
converts, and to have communed with those set over
other houses of the Order. From this grotto you
enter the enchanting garden, unrivalled in its peculiar
charm and picturesqueness. Here you can see and
understand how the monastery buildings and the live
rock are interwoven, how the masonry clings to the
mountain-side, and has, as it were, grown into it.
The garden itself is profoundly touching in its beauty
and simplicity. Here is a mass of rose trees, sprung
from those planted by S. Francis himself, these joyous
flowers having supplanted the bitter thorns in which

I4I
A CHARMING GUIDE

S. Benedict rolled for the mortification of the flesh.
Our guide had a little garden border of his own, and
his love for his flowers was delightful to behold. As
you breathed the sweet clear air, laden with the subtle
aromatic scent of tree and herb, and looked out upon
the scene beneath the soft, transparent sky, there
was so much beauty, so many thoughts and memories
that for one ineffable moment you seemed to catch a
glimpse of the Land of Heart’s Desire,

We stayed for some time in the “Roseto,” resting
on the stone bench, and gazing at the view all around
us. Deep below was the Aniene, flowing through its
narrow gorge, and opposite were lofty thickly wooded
heights. As we looked down at the river we found it
difficult to realise how it could ever have been dammed
up, so as to form lakes for Nero’s wonderful pleasure
house. The thought of Nero’s lakes recalled the story
of Placidus, and his miraculous rescue from drowning
at the prayer of S. Benedict. We looked up the
valley to Jenne, set on its strange, bare hill, and again
we thought of Fogazzaro’s wonderful Santo. We saw,
however, that our guide shook his head at the mention
of the book, as though it were tainted with heresy.

But reminiscences might have lasted for ever, and we
felt we must not make too large a demand on the time
so generously given us by the monks; we therefore
turned to go. Before leaving we were taken into the
Sacristy, where the monks offered us some of their wine,
and most excellent it was—truly “amabile,” as the

142
S. SCHOLASTICA

Italians delightfully say. Asa remembrance of the Sacro
Speco I chose some little relics—crosses, a picture of
S. Scholastica, and so on—and before giving them to
me, our dear old guide blessed them, this making a
very sweet farewell. Never did we feel more sorry to
turn our backs upon any place.

“We shall have to see 8. Scholastica very quickly,
I am afraid,” said R., as we all emerged once more
into the ilex grove, “but fortunately it is not another
climb to get there.” We descended the bare rugged
path, and got in unexpectedly short time to S.
Scholastica, where we rang for admittance.

There is a gloom and austerity about this splendidly
situated monastery, which is curiously absent from the
Sacro Speco, where you would expect to find it. We
went first into the cloisters, which give you an in-
teresting illustration of different styles of architecture
and architectural ornament, and—sitting for a few
minutes in the first you enter, which is the latest in
date—we looked up something of the history of this
warlike looking sanctuary. We found that it is
generally believed to have been founded in the sixth
century, by 8. Honorat, who succeeded 8. Benedict as
abbot. After many devastations at the hands of the
“unspeakable Lombard” and the Saracen, it was
rebuilt in 981 by Pope Benedict v1, who dedicated it.
The monastery gradually became very wealthy, and its
prince-abbots held many fortresses and castles, to-
gether with powers of life and death over their vassals.

143
THE CLOISTERS

Two of the later abbots are well known to history,
One of them was the Spaniard, Torquemada, the first
abbot to receive the title of Cardinal Commendatory,
to which dignity he was raised by the first Borgia Pope,
Calixtus 111, who was his fellow-countryman. It was
during Torquemada’s rule that Sweynheim and Pannartz
set up in this very monastery the first printing-press
in Italy. The familiar comparison with Caxton’s work
at the Benedictine Abbey of Westminster naturally
occurred at once toour minds. The learned Torquemada
was succeeded by Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, whom the
world knows best as Pope Alexander v1.

The cloister where we were thus meditating is com-
paratively modern, and from this we passed into the
second court, built first in 1052, but rebuilt when the
fashion of the pointed arch came in. What interested
us most in this cloister was an ancient bas-relief,
dating from 981, and representing a stag and a unicorn
drinking from the chalice.

The third and smallest cloister is much the most
delightful. It dates from the thirteenth century, and
its beautiful Cosmatesque work recalls its more splendid
brethren at 8. Paolo fuori and 8. John Lateran. The
campanile is of the eleventh century, and was built
by Abbot Humbert. It must be confessed that we
rather hurried over the church, which we did not find
interesting, save for its fine Gothic doorway and the
fact that S. Honorat rests beneath the high altar.
We were taken into the grotto chapel (dedicated to

144
THE LIBRARY

our English 5. Bede), but we did not linger over the
frescoes, as we were anxious to spend the remnants of
our time in the library, where some of the treasures
are still preserved. The most interesting of these are
the earliest examples of printing by the two German
monks, Sweynheim and Pannartz,— one being a
Lactantius, De Divines Institutionibus, printed in 1465,
and another, 8. Augustine’s De Civitate Dei, printed in
1467. There are various other interesting manuscripts,
papal bulls, and choir books, besides autographs of
Charles Vv and of Cardinal Baronius, who wrote his
church history at the Villa Lancelotti at Frascati.

This peep at the library ended our visit, and with
our usual regret at the shortness of time we set out
on the steep descent towards the road, taking a fare-
well look at the solemn mass of S. Scholastica, frown-
ing and grim above the rocky gorge and the roaring
river. We reached the main road once more, and walked
back into Subiaco, enjoying the views as well as the
meeting with various country-folk. Once back at our
“albergo,” we had lunch and a rest and a talk over it
all before starting on our journey back.

We took a late afternoon train back to Rome, while
My, and Mrs. M.—lucky folk—were to stay one more
night. Their car was to bring them back the next day
by Olevano and Palestrina, for which we felt we had not
time. As we drew near Rome again we felt that it
took on new colour and deeper meaning after an
excursion made outside its walls.

K 145
CHAPTER VIII

‘All the dreams of my youth I see living before me. Everywhere
I go I find an old familiar face ; everything is just what I thought it,
and yet everything is new. Itis the same withideas. I have gained
no new idea, but the old ones have become so definite, living, and
connected one with another, that they may pass as new.”
GoETHE, Letters from Rome.

NowueEre in Rome did we realise the time of limita-
tions and strength so painfully as in the Vatican, and
nowhere did we so humbly acknowledge that our
rambles must on this first occasion be “impressionist.”
We started one morning for a visit to the antiquities
collected in that vast treasure-house of art, and found
that the very first things which strike you are the vast-
ness and enormous area of S. Peter’s, which magnitude
you realise when you find out how long it takes to
walk or drive round it. Indeed, the approach to the
sculpture galleries is by no means the least interesting
part of it all; itis quite a lesson in Vatican geography.

Knowing that the visit would be a fatiguing one, we
wisely drove, passing through the Piazza di 8. Pietro,
and under the arch which carries the entrance to
the Sacristy. We passed the venerable Cimitero Dei
Tedeschi (where the departed rest in earth brought

146
GRATITUDE TO THE POPES

from Mount Calvary), and so got round by the little
piazza and church of S. Marta into the Via della
Fondamenta. Here, on the right, 8. Peter’s towers
above you, and on the left you have a wall with
delicious glimpses of tree and blossom above it. In
the Cortile del Forno you are usually gladdened by the
resplendent vision of a Swiss Guard, in the delightful
uniform which is said to be of Michelangelo’s design.
Then you labour up between the Vatican garden and
the palace, and arrive at the not very imposing
entrance to the public galleries. You may think it is
going to be quite simple, but the feeling of whir] comes
surely and swiftly upon you as the endless procession
of statues of very varying merit passes before your
eyes. It is disquieting also to learn that nearly all
these works are merely copies from Greek originals,
very few being original works themselves. And yet is
it not best to enjoy without being too hypercritical ?
In any case, we cannot get the Greek originals back,
and must make shift with what we have. We should
be thankful, very thankful, to those Popes of the
Renaissance time who collected these works, and to the
later Popes who saved them from complete dispersion.
It may be said briefly that the collection of antiquities
in the Vatican represents the public-spirited endeavours
of various Popes, from Julius 11 to Gregory xvI. There
were interludes, naturally, during some of the pontifi-
cates, and that arch-brigand, Napoleon, removed the
greater part of the treasures to the Louvre, from

147
THE GALLERIES

whence, happily, they returned after his fall. The
rooms now used as galleries were built chiefly by
Innocent vu, Julius 1, Sixtus v (who built the
library), Pius v1, and Pius vi.

Before we went in we took a glimpse into the
Vatican garden, which was radiant in its fresh green,
and enchantingly sweet with orange blossom. Then
we turned and took the usual path through the great
Museo Pio-Clementino (so called after Popes Clement
xIv and Pius vi), and entered the Sala a Croce
Greca. Here we noted above all else the splendid
sarcophagi of the mother and daughter of Constantine
the Great. The mosaics on the floor, brought from
various villas and palaces, somehow displeased our
barbarian taste, though we were conscious of being
wrong in this matter,

From this hall we climbed the staircase which leads
to the circular Sala della Biga, so called after the
famous marble biga or two-horse chariot—a votive
offering to Demeter—which is placed in the middle of
the room. We were especially interested in the pole
of the car, which is adorned with branches of bay,
pearls, and fillets, as symbolising the Greek tree-
worship. In this room there is also a copy of the
Discobolus of Myron, and a very fine statue of the
bearded Dionysus.

We went back to the Sala a Croce Greca, and
passed on into the Sala Rotunda, which has a great
mosaic floor, brought chiefly from Otricoli, and in the

148
 

(Anderson.

BUST OF THE YOUNG AUGUSTUS,
FAMOUS SCULPTURES

centre a splendid porphyry basin, said to have been
found in the baths of Titus. The Imperial portrait
busts are interesting, but what remain in the memory
are, firstly, the magnificent bust of Zeus,—brought, like
the mosaic, from Otricoli; and secondly, the head of
Sarapis.

We wandered on through the Hall of the Muses, so
called from the famous group of Apollo and the
Muses found at an ancient villa near Tivoli. Noue of
these statues struck us very much, except perhaps the
one now restored as Urania, which, we learned, did not
belong to the group. In the anteroom we had noticed
a copy of the well-known portrait bust of Pericles.

I fear we bestowed a very summary glance on the
Hall of the Animals, although it really contains some
wonderful things. In the Galleria delle Statue and
the Sala de’ Busti we deliberately tried not to look at
too many things, wishing to keep the impression of the
sleeping Ariadne, the Apollo Sauroctonos, and the bust
of the young Augustus. From the Gabinetto delle
Maschere, with its mosaic floor and statues of Aphro-
dite, we returned to the entrance of the Cortile del
Belvedere, noticing especially the two Molossian
hounds, which seem to stand guard over the chief
treasures of the collection. The four corner-cabinets,
a later addition to the court, contain the most famous
of the sculptures in the Vatican, namely—the Laocoon,
the Apollo Belvedere, the Hermes, and Canova’s
Perseus and Boxers.

149
THE LAOCOON

Our euthusiasm had been rendered a little nervous
and hesitating by the withering criticism hurled at the
Laocodn and the Apollo by someone whose opinion we
were inclined to respect, but we ventured to take our
own line and to admire these two works, pending the
production of something better by our autocratic
friend. We more especially admired the Hermes (or
so-called Antinous), but we had instruction enough to
know that both the Apollo and the Hermes are copies,
and in spite of the wonderful poise and spring of the
Apollo, there is a certain lack of life in the statue
when you compare it with an original work by a
really great artist. The Laocodn must always be more
wonderful than pleasing, and you remember—possibly
with a sigh,—Lessing’s long disquisition on the limits of
expression in plastic art. We thought the Laocoén
quite reached the limit, but recognised the great
achievement.

Canova does not make a very good fourth in this
company. His Perseus and Boxers were placed in the
Belvedere Court during the sojourn of the Apollo and
the Laocodu in Paris, whither they were taken, together
with other movable objects—such as Pope Pius vil
himself, for example—by Napoleon. Nowadays it is
not the sword, but the dollar, which has become the
“gnapper-up of unconsidered trifles” in the way of
works of art, and it is interesting to watch the anxiety
for the possession of these things. The Old World
must be the loser by the inevitable changes; you can

150
COLLECTION OF PIUS VII

only hope that the New World will be the gainer,—in
the best sense of the word, and that the possession of
works of art will not serve merely for personal ag-
grandisement.

Leaving the delightful Cortile, we paid our respects
to the copy of the famous Meleager and to the great
“Torso of the Belvedere.” Neither of these, however,
interested us so much as the relief representing a
Roman warship carved on one side of the block that
bears the head of Trajan. The bust of Trajan himself
was a source of constant interest to us, not only on
account of Dante’s allusion to that emperor, but also
because of its strange likeness to a near relation of one
of the party.

The way then led down to the long gallery contain-
ing the collection made by Pius vu, and called after
him. We walked through—I cannot truthfully say
studied—this Museo Chiaramonti, which is full of
interest, but yet a terrible example of rows of statues
immured in barracks. This condition of things is un-
avoidable, if these works are to escape the ravages of
time, yet how you long to see them in their original
position, and one by one. For the real student the
exploration of vast museums is well enough; but the
ordinary traveller feels inclined to give it up in despair.

Notwithstanding, we found much that delighted us,
and among such things were the Mithraic sculptures,
the seated statue of Tiberius, and some of the portrait
busts. There are, of course, numbers of beautiful

151
THE “GIARDINO DELLA PIGNA”

sculptures here, but it would take weeks of careful
study to learn anything about them. I confess that
for us the great charm of the Museo Chiaramonti lay
in the fact that we contrived to get admitted into the
Giardino della Pigna, and therefore had a real good
look at the famous “Pigna” or pine-cone, whereby
Dante gives us the measure of the giants who guard
the lowest depths of hell.

‘‘La faccia sua mi parea lunga e grossa

Come la pina di San Pietro a Roma;

Ed a sua proporzione eran |’altre ossa.”
The awful gloom of Dante’s scene appears to have
little enough to do with this sunlit garden, where the
bronze peacocks—symbols to the Pagan of apotheosis,
and to the Christian of immortality—stand on either
side of the ancient pine-cone fountain. There are
some interesting sculptures round the garden, which is
really the inner court of the Vatican, and was designed
by Bramante. It was a joy to get out into the light
of the Roman day, a beauty unmatched by any picture
or sculpture gallery in the world,—but we had to go
back and “do” some more.

The Braccio Nuovo, built during the pontificate of
Pius vu, is not so confusing; we carried away a fairly
vivid impression of the great Augustus of Prima Porta,
of the Doryphoros, the Apoxyomenos, of the colossal
figure of the Nile, of the portrait of Demosthenes, and
of the statue of an athlete with the repulsive head of
Lucius Verus.

192
THE LIBRARY

“We have not seen the Egyptian or Etruscan
Museums,—and what about the Galleria degli Arazzi
and the Galleria dei Candelabri?” began Porzia, in
anxious and troubled tones.

“This is not the day for those galleries,” replied R.,
adding placidly, that if we absolutely wished to explore
the whole of the Vatican, we should see little else
during a first visit to Rome. This was unanswerable,
and we said no more.

From the Braccio Nuovo we had to make our way
to the private entrance of the Vatican Library, for we
had a keenly anticipated pleasure in view, namely, a
visit under special auspices. We had always heard
grievous accounts of the way in which you are whisked
through the marvels of the Library by ordinary guides,
and, R.’s kindly friend at court having come to our aid,
we owed to him the courtesy of a special visit.

R. had indeed seen the Library on a former occasion,
and, having some acquaintance with its main features,
he was less unworthy than we of the valuable time
bestowed upon us.

We met the rest of our party, and were led into the
Library, where various cases were opened for our bene-
fit, making us feel quite alarmed at such close contact
with these irreplaceable treasures. It was a fearful joy
to be actually allowed to turn over the pages of the
Divine Comedy which had belonged to the Duke of
Urbino, and to look at other priceless illuminated
manuscripts. One of the locked presses was opened

153
PRICELESS MANUSCRIPTS

with much ceremony, and among the precious things
produced was a Book of Hours in an exquisite Floren-
tine binding, which I was allowed not only to look at
but to hold. I confessed to our guide that I could for
a moment understand the temptations of a book-thief,
and he thereupon told us of a capture he had lately
made in one of the reading-rooms, where a reader was
prepared to depart with a book hidden under his arm.
The incident was an ordinary one enough, but it inter-
ested us from the fact that the offender had to be
handed over to the “civil arm,” as the Vatican cannot
now deal with these cases. What a change from its
former despotic power! The culprit, however, was
saved from disaster by his kindly captor, who charit-
ably put his offence down to absence of mind, “Er
war so furchtbar zerstreut,” was the plea put forward
for him, and possibly it was true. After this I gave
my treasure back into the Monsignore’s hands!

After a few minutes more our guide had to leave us
more or less to our own devices, and we wandered
about for a time in the great hall, built by Fontana for
Sixtus v, who continued and amplified the work begun
by Nicholas v and Sixtus Iv. We inspected the
presents—some of them terrible things—bestowed on
the Popes by various royal personages, and we looked
at others of the priceless MSS. in the glass cases, such
as the famous Byzantine Calendar known as the Meno-
logion, the great Palimpsest in which St. Augustine's
Commentary on the Psalms is written over Cicero's

154
OTHER TREASURES

Republic, and Henry vit’s book on the Sacraments,
which earned for that monarch the title of Defender of
the Faith. Not far off are some letters from Henry
vii to Anne Boleyn, and other autographs of famous
people, such as Petrarch, Michelangelo, and Tasso.
We also saw a fine copy of the Divine Comedy, which
had belonged to Boccaccio,—a reminiscence full of
delight to the Dante student.

We then passed into the Museo Profano, where the
only thing that specially interested us was the Mithras
statue. We enjoyed the medieval pictures, and above
all, the ancient Roman wall painting known as the Nozze
Aldobrandini, which is in a small room just off the
Library. But what pleased us beyond everything else
was the exquisite collection of ivories in the Museo
Cristiano, and we rejoiced in being able to give a little
more time to these exquisite things than the usual
relentless march allows. The most famous of the ivories
are the so-called “ Cross of Rambona,” and the beautiful
Byzantine triptych of the tenth or eleventh century.

We then studied the scenes from the life of Sixtus
v painted in the seventeenth century. These scenes,
which are in the great hall, give you an excellent idea
of the buildings erected during the Papacy of the for-
midable “ Papa Sisto.” The picture representing the
erection of Caligula’s great obelisk in the PiazzaS. Pietro,
under the direction of Fontana, recalled the well-known
Roman story of the sailor who dared to transgress the
Papal mandate of silence, and so saved the obelisk.

155
A HILL OF GARDENS

We very reluctantly took our departure, feeling as
usual that we had to go just as we were beginning to
understand a little. Well, the open door is something ;
even a glance through a chink is better than none at
all. We took one more look at the grand general
effect of the hall, and then made our way back to
the exit.

After such a forenoon we resolved that we would do
no more actual sight-seeing, but decided to divide our
afternoon between the Villa Medici and the Pincio, and
so devote ourselves to gardens.

We strolled down the Via Sistina, through the ever-
beautiful Piazza SS. Trinita, and up that road towards
the Pincian hill, where every footstep seems winged
with expectation of delight. Like many places in Rome,
the Pincian hill has memories both gorgeous and grue-
some. It was ever the hill of gardens, even as it is now,
and was so called by the Romans of old. Here, where
the society of modern Rome drives round and meets its
friends, were once the famous gardens and villa of
Lucullus, which indeed covered most of the hill, and
testified to the curious blend of talents in their owner.
Distinguished soldiers seemed usually to have been
simple in their tastes, but Lucullus has been remembered
for the art of luxury rather than for that of war.

Over all that ancient beauty and magnificence the
brutal excesses of the Roman Imperial court have cast
a hideous shadow, and the memories of Messalina and
such people had best be blotted out. It is to be hoped

156
‘IOIGAW VITIA AHL AO NACUVO

 
THE VILLA MEDICI

that such ghosts are laid, and that our vaunted latter-
day civilisation will not provide us with any more.

So far as our personal plans for the afternoon were
concerned, we found that the day and the hour were
well chosen ; we were admitted by the tall “ cancello”
leading into the Villa Medici, and walked up the thickly
wooded road, finding ourselves at last in the garden,
with its tall box-wood hedges, its terraces, and its thick
groves of ilex.

In a wonderful book by a modern French writer the
author chooses the following sentence as a motto for
one of his chapters: “Il est des lieux ot souffle l’esprit.”
In glowing words he goes on to describe the mysterious
inspiration which seems to breathe in the very air of
some places, an influence from which you cannot escape
even if you would. Here in the gardens of the Villa
Medici this nameless yet potent spell holds sway. There
was no question of reading your own feelings into the
scene, for we had in no way looked out for mystical
sensations ; but of these enchanting terraces and wooded
gardens it may be truly said, “ Il est des lieux ott souffle
Vesprit.” We felt under no necessity to try and inquire
whence this “ afflatus”” came,— whether it dated from
the days when the villa was really a Medici possession,
or whether the French Academy of Arts has been re-
sponsible for creating this atmosphere around it. We
hardly thought such charm could have been bequeathed
by the fashionable society which frequented these
gardens in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, a

157
VIEW FROM THE GARDEN

time when they were the public resort of the great
world of Rome, who walked and chattered there in
gayer fashion than that of the quiet visitors of
to-day.

We thought of the scenes, tragic and frivolous by
turn, that the villa had witnessed since it first passed
from the Cardinal da Montepulciano to Alessandro de’

Medici, who reigned for a short time in 1605 as Leo x1’

Its chief claim to historical fame is that Galileo lived in
a gorgeous imprisonment here, while the villa was the
official residence of the Ambassador from the Tuscan
court. All these things came before us as we took our
ways through the “ Boschetto,” and gazed out over the
matchless view from “ I] Parnasso,” over Rome, away to
Soracte, away to the Alban Hills,—while just below us
the roses wreathed the marbles on the terraces and

shone among the dark shadows of the trees. The-

modern world was wafted to us on the distant strains
of a justly famous waltz, played by the band on the
Pincio—a touch of modernity we in nowise disdained,
as the strange touch of pathos which haunts most waltz
tunes harmonised excellently with the surroundings.
We were a little ashamed of ourselves for neglecting
to see the fine collection of casts in the villa, but we
had already seen so much that day that we only
looked at the charming facade, into which various
reliefs—some of them from the Ara Pacis—are built.
Especially beautiful is the well-known group represent-
ing the slaying of the bull, and another very interesting
158

ed
THE PINCIAN HILL

relief is the group in which the portrait of Augustus
appears.

Having spent nearly two hours in this delicious
place, we finally sauntered down into the lovely, if
less romantic, scenes of the Pincian garden itself.
People complain that it is commonplace and cosmo-
politan, and what not. We ourselves, indeed, had
registered a vow to eschew the Pincian; but we were
forced to admit that no crowd, of whatever nations
composed, can dethrone that view from its sovereignty,
or cloud the unspeakable glory of a fine sunset as seen
from the terrace. Moreover, the band plays very well,
and the tea at Spillmann’s amusing and charmingly
placed restaurant is very welcome, if you will only be
honest and leave off trying to be “precious” and
superior.

We did all ouf tourist duties that evening: we
secured a corner table at Spillmann’s and enjoyed our
“five o'clock”; we stared with great interest at the
beautifully attired people who were driving round and
round; we listened to the band, who performed the
Prelude to Lohengrin in a most creditable manner, and
were rapturously encored by the crowd of listeners,
But first and last, and above all, we went on to the
terrace and studied the view, which takes your breath
away the first time you see it. We lingered on and
on, and watched the city burn in the flaming gold of
the sunset; we saw the soft violet shadows lengthen
and deepen, gradually drawing a veil of mist over the

159
A WONDERFUL SUNSET

shining outlines. The whole beauty of the scene,—
the dark sharply expressive trees on the Pincio itself,
the colour and scent of the roses, the great dome of
S. Peter’s rising in translucent shadow against the
fading fire of the sky, the cypresses on Monte Mario,
the pines on the Janiculum,—it all impressed itself
upon the mind with a rapture that was almost pain.

The great stars had actually begun to show before
we could tear ourselves away, so loth were we to end an
experience which, as we instinctively felt, could never
quite come over again.

We left the gardens by another way, passing the
obelisk of Hadrian, and, finally reaching the Porta
Pinciana, where we picked up a carriage and drove
home. We firmly determined to come on some moon-
light night to look once more at this scene, and mean-
while we went home thoroughly satisfied with our day.

160
NAGYVD AHL WOU

 

 
CHAPTER IX

... “Valtre parti elette
Di Roma, che son state cimiterio
Alla milizia, che Pietro segnette.”’
Dante, Par. ix. 189-141.

Ir was a sweet grey morning after a night of rain, with
promise of sun later, so we decided on what we called
a church ramble. It is of no use to say you will not
do too much in Rome; you begin with airs of superior
virtue, but if your time is limited you succumb sooner
or later.

We started the day by driving to the Porta Maggiore,
taking the line of the Piazza d’Esquilino, the Piazza
Vittorio Emmanuele, and thence into the Via di Porta
Maggiore, which seems to follow the line of the ancient
Via Labicana. At the Porta Maggiore we halted, to
remember the ancient Porta Prenestina, which the
present gate replaces. Two arches of the Claudian
aqueduct now form the gate, which was once the
veritable water-gate of Rome, for here met no less
than ten of the streams which gladdened the ancient
city, and seven of these waters seem to have run along
the line of the arches which now form the gate.

Goods stations do not as a rule suggest interesting

L 161
THE CHURCH OF HOLY CROSS

antiquities, but the making of the road to the new goods
station has resulted in a bit of the channel of the Anio
Vetus being found and preserved. Other remains of
the great aqueducts have also come to light during this
work near the Porta Maggiore. Being within such
easy reach, we went just outside the gate to see the
famous tomb of the baker, Eurysaces, built in the
first century B.c. Its extremely practical, not to say
prosaic, form and decoration interested us very much,
and we were glad we had not missed it.

As a perlude to seeing the church of Holy Cross,
we should have liked to drive out along the Via
Casilina, or ancient Via Labicana, as far as the tomb
of the Empress Helena—‘ Torre Pignattara,” as it is
called; but time forbade, and we had to be satisfied with
having seen Helena’s splendid sarcophagus, now at the
Vatican, in the Sala a Croce Greca.

Passing under one of the arches of the Acqua
Claudia, we drove the short distance to the church
of S. Croce in Gerusalemme, where we dismissed our
carriage and wandered about a little before going in.
On one side of the church are the ruined remains of
a fine apsidal hall, part of the palace anciently called
the Sessorium, a favourite residence of the Empress
Helena, mother of Constantine the Great. The
Emperor formed one of the halls into a church, as a
sanctuary for the True Cross, which his mother had
discovered at Jerusalem. You wish that we had the
great hall as Constantine left it, when he transformed

162
ITS HISTORICAL INTEREST

it and gave it the name of Hierusalem. It seems that
it then had arched windows and fine wall decorations
in various beautiful “pietre dure,’ but restorations
have made a sad mess of it. R. suggested that it
would be as well to go into the church and judge for
ourselves of its merits and demerits.

This, one of the seven pilgrimage churches of Rome
is certainly very disappointing and confusing archi-
tecturally, in its eighteenth-century mask, but nothing
can obliterate its historical interest or loosen the hold
of a story which has gripped the imagination of a great
part of Christendom for centuries past.

A Cistercian “sagrestano” came forward to act as
guide. He first pointed out the basalt urn or sarco-
phagus, which contains the bodies of 8. Anastasius
and 8. Cesarius, This place is peculiarly appropriate
as the resting-place of the Persian martyr Anastasius,
for, as we had learnt at Tre Fontane, his legend tells
how he was converted by witnessing the miracles
wrought by means of the True Cross, which was carried
into Persia by Chosroes in 614. We were then taken
into the chapel behind the altar, to which you climb
by a little staircase, and there we were shown the
famous relics, among which are a piece of the True
Cross, a nail of the Cross, and some of the thorns from
the Crown of Thorns. The inscription from the Cross
is also shown here, having been found during some
repairs ordered by Cardinal Mendoza, during the
fifteenth century. This “Titulis Crucis” is now en-

163
THE CHAPEL OF S. HELENA

closed in a silver reliquary, in which it is shown to
the faithful at certain times.

The chapel of S. Helena is part of the subterranean
church, and is adorned with interesting, but not ancient
mosaics, representing our Lord and the four Evangelists,
together with small scenes from the story of the
Invention of the Cross. The regulations for the
admission to the chapel of S. Helena’s own sex are
very rigid, and not in accordance with the views of the
modern woman. R. therefore went in alone with the
guide, while we spent our time reminding ourselves
that S. Helena was born in Britain, and therefore a
compatriot. :

Returning to the right aisle of the upper church,
we looked with special interest at the epitaph to
Benedict vu (975-83), a Pope nominated by the
Emperor Otto m at a time of great degradation of
the Holy See. Benedict was important in that he
stood for a certain measure of reform. The inscription
records his foundation of the monastery and his many
charities, but the chief interest centres in the memory
of the struggle between the Teutonic Emperor and
the Roman nobles, who had asserted themselves by
choosing a national Pope of their own.

After this, we looked again at the much-restored
frescoes in the Tribune, and listened to our guide’s
descriptions of the ceremonies connected with the
consecration of the Golden Rose, which used to take
place here——and of the still stately rites observed

164
THE MAGIC OF ROME

when the relics are shown on the fourth Sunday in
Lent and on Good Friday.

As we left the church we tried to see what we
could of the ruins of the Amphitheatrum Castrense, a
State or Court theatre variously ascribed to the reigns
of Tiberius, Severus, and Caracalla, and used for the
training of the “venatores,” and of the animals which
were to perform in the arena. The building was after-
wards included in the Aurelian fortifications, and part
of the fine brickwork of the lower storey still remains.

We now turned along the white, glaring, dusty
road that leads from 8. Croce to the Lateran, that
stately group of Basilica, Baptistery, and palace—
the Basilica crowned with those great statues of our
Lord and the Apostles, which seem to watch over
Rome from the south-east, even as the dome of S. Peter’s
does from the north-west. We were glad to come
upon this, the true seat of the Roman bishopric, from
the Piazza di Porta 8. Giovanni, because we thus began
by seeing the heart-stirring view from the steps of
the main facade. Nowhere is the magic of Rome more
potent, nowhere are its memories more overwhelming
than here, beneath the shadow of the “Mother and
Head of all the churches of Rome and of the world,”
as you look out from the portico, over 8. Croce, over
the Aurelian walls, across the stretches of the Campagna
and the lines of the aqueducts, to the Sabine Hills on
one side, to the Alban Hills on the other, and to a dream
of the Mediterranean far away. Quite near is the

165
THE LATERAN

modern Porta San Giovanni, with the Via Appia
Nuova, pointing to the south; close by is the famous
Porta Asinaria, closed long ago, but which had opened
in the distant and stormy past to admit Belisarius,
Totila, and the rebellious Emperor Henry tv. The
fine Latin Gate is not far away, and near it rise two
churches dedicated to 8. John,—San Giovanni a Porta
Latina, with its campanile, and the chapel of S. Giovanni
in Oleo, commemorating the legend of the saint's
immersion in boiling oil outside the Latin Gate. From
here the way goes down to the Latin shore. You gaze,
and wonder which it is that triumphs,—desolation or
beauty! Perhaps the truth is that they blend into
one incomparable harmony, appealing not only to the
senses, but to the spirit.

Some people seem to admire the facade, but we did
not care for it. The chief interest was the fact that
the Pope used to give the Ascension Day benediction
from the central balcony, and that the great central
bronze doors once belonged to the Curia, or Senate-
house in the Forum,—now the church of 8. Adriano.

“We really must go in,” said R. at last, with a
determined, if resigned air, and we turned from
nature’s enchantments into the rather heavy and
frigid nave of the church. It must be confessed that
the interior is disappointing, and does not respond to
the thrill and the glow aroused by the very name of
the Lateran. The Basilica stands on part of the site
of the ancient palace of the Laterani family, afterwards

166
INTERIOR OF THE BASILICA

the dower-house of the Empress Fausta, wife of Con-
stantine. The property thus passed into the possession
of Constantine, who founded the Basilica and the
Baptistery, and gave the palace to the Bishop of Rome.
It is strange to turn the mind back to those days of
which Dante wrote—

‘quando Laterano

Alle cose mortali andd di sopra,”

and to try and picture this patriarchal church and
palace where, it is rumoured, the treasure from the
Temple of Jerusalem was kept until it was robbed by
sacrilegious Vandal hands, and where five great Church
Councils were held. Porzia began to make our brains
whirl by saying she had read that the existing
Basilica is divided by a former Roman street, which
ran parallel to the transept,—but we could not listen,
for had we not enough to learn without excavating ?

We moved slowly up the nave, looking at the
Torlonia and Massimi chapels, but more especially
at the monument of the great Pope Alexander II
and at Giotto’s famous fresco of Pope Boniface VII pro-
claiming the Jubilee of 1300, this last being the most
interesting thing in the whole nave. We also went
into the gorgeous Corsini chapel, where the porphyry
is plundered from the Pantheon, and where Clement XII
is buried. This chapel interested us chiefly because in
its foundations were discovered the remains of the
“eastra vetera,” one of the splendid barracks of the
Emperor’s Guard, the “ Life Guards ” of Imperial Rome.

167
ITS EARLY HISTORY

The great double-aisled nave is wonderfully dull
when you consider its vastness, its beautiful fifteenth-
century pavement, and its magnificent wooden ceiling,
happily left unspoilt by Borromini. The huge statues
of the Apostles on the pillars, with Algardi’s sculptured
scenes, and the figures of the prophets above them,
are interesting if not very pleasing.

A glance round the church serves to remind you
that earthquake, fire, and human destructiveness have
combined to deprive us of most of the fairest things in
Rome, and to leave us either with tragic ruins or with
the grandiose dulness of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries. In the ninth century, earthquake brought
the first complete disaster to the Lateran church, and
it was rebuilt in the first years of the tenth century by
Sergius 1. Robert Guiscard and his Normans are
responsible for the fire of 1084, after which the build-
ings were again restored by Calixtus mu. Again in
1308, during the Babylonian captivity, a destructive
fire broke out, and the church rebuilt by Clement v
and John xxi was actually burnt in 1360. In
1362-70 Urban v restored the church once again, but
of that fair building most has perished at the hands
of ruthless restorers. To the eighteenth-century Pope,
Clement xu, and his architect Galilei, we owe the
portico and the chapel of S. Andrea Corsini; they in no
whit console for the loss of the church of Urban v, for
which Giovanni di Stefano made the exquisite taber-
nacle that rises over the high altar.

168
THE INTERIOR

R. reminded us that the original dedication of the
Lateran church was “Christo Salvatori,” but though
always dedicated to the Saviour, the additional title,
“in honorem S. Joannis Baptiste et S. Joannis
Evangelist,” was added after the Vandal spoliation and
the restoration of the Basilica by S. Leo the Great.

We greatly preferred the transept and the apse to
the nave. The transept, which is some four steps
above the level of the nave, was restored by Clement
vill, the Aldobrandini Pope, the architect being Giacomo
della Porta. The apse has been gorgeously restored
by Pius 1x and Leo xt, and is much reproached for.
looking too new. We, however, thought it a fine and
stately piece of work, and greatly admired the splen-
did marbles and mosaics with which it is adorned.
The chief mosaic cannot be condemned for being
modern, for although restored, it is a beautiful thir-
teenth-century work of the Franciscan Jacopo da
Turriti, and some of it is of yet more ancient design.
The splendid head of Christ in the semidome is
thought to be part of the earliest fourth-century deco-
ration, and is placed where our Lord is said to have
appeared when the church was being consecrated
The rest of the mosaic can only be shortly described
but it is beautiful in its symbolism. Round about the
Saviour are the angels who represent the celestial
hierarchies; beneath is the Fountain of the Water
of Life, and over this sacred fountain stands a very
splendid cross, bearing representations of the Baptism.

169
THE INTERIOR

At the foot of a mountain stands the New Jerusalem,
and in the midst of the Holy City is the Tree of Life,
upon which rests the Phenix, symbol of immortality.
Madonna, with the Apostles and other saints stand on
either side, and the Franciscan artist, working for the
Franciscan Pope, Nicholas Iv, has not forgotten 8. Francis
and §. Anthony of Padua. Below, again, are those
Apostles who do not appear in the semidome, and they
stand amid the trees of Paradise.

We spent most of our time in looking at the apse,
as we felt it would interest us more than anything
else in the church. In the transept we looked chiefly
at the papal altar, with its splendid Gothic canopy, the
restored work of Giovanni di Stefano; at the tombs of
the great Innocent 111 and of Leo x11; and at the chapel
of the Blessed Sacrament, with its gilt columns, said to
have been taken from the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus,
and to have belonged to the ancient Basilica, Over the
altar of this chapel there is kept, as a precious relic,
the table said to have been used at the Last Supper.

We did not go into the Sacristies, but contented
ourselves by looking at the beautiful doorways, and
at the inventory of the possessions of the Basilica,
inscribed in marble, on either side of the entrance.
Close by is the door into the entrance of the lovely
thirteenth-century cloister, built by the famous marble
workers, who bore the name of the Vassalectus, to
whom several cloisters owe their existence. The
Lateran cloister is one of those places which tell you

170
 

[ddinari.

ATERAN.

S. JOHN L

CLOISTER OF
THE CLOISTER

that the most beautiful things of this world are those
which convey an inexpressible longing. You look
round this lovely place for the few short minutes allotted
to most of the strangers who see it, when perhaps, as
on this day, the shadows are deep, and the pure light
of that soft sky falls on the creamy tints of the stone,
and on the delicate gold mosaic of cornice and twisted
column. The cloister garden is full of warm scents;
syringa, pinks, and roses of every hue breathe in the
glowing sunshine which fills this enchanting court, set
as it is with palms and various shrubs, and enclosed
by a cloister square of an almost incomparable
picturesqueness,

“E un incanto,—proprio un incanto,’ murmured
Porzia, betrayed into her native tongue by the emotion
of the moment. We wandered round and all about;
we saw the curious slab, supported on columns which
are said to give the measure of the stature of Christ;
we looked at the inscription which speaks of the burial
of the Empress Helena, and at the porphyry table upon
which the soldiers cast lots for the seamless robe. We
then stood in the garden, looking at the well, which, as
tradition says, is that whence the woman of Samaria
drew to quench the Saviour’s thirst. The well head is
of Lombardic character, with sculpture such as is often
seen in the style, and reminded us of some we had
come across elsewhere.

We gazed with an unappeasable hunger and an
almost breathless admiration at the scene, and felt that

171
THE BAPTISTERY

those who had lived, worked, and prayed here, those
who had left us such a legacy, had surely a claim to
remembrance—perhaps, in the words dear to the heart
of all Christendom, “ Requiem eternam dona eis Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.”

Slowly and reluctantly we turned our steps to the
door, feeling that we could understand something of
what it must have been to be driven out of the
primeval garden.

We walked through the transept, and looked at the
small chapel of the Crucifix, where on the left you
may see the tomb of the great humanist, Lorenzo Valla,
and on the right a kneeling figure of Pope Nicholas tv.

We passed out into the piazza by the portico built
by Sixtus v, our next goal being the famous Baptistery.
This, with its adjoining oratories and the chapel of the
Sancta Sanctorum, is all that now remains of the
ancient surroundings of the Lateran Basilica. Tradi-
tion says that Constantine caused the Baptistery to
be made out of the nympheum of the Lateran Palace
—a very beautiful adaptation of a nympheum. The
present building, with its splendid porphyry columns,
is attributed to Pope Sixtus 111, who reigned in the fifth
century. Constantine himself presented the great font
of green basalt, in which he is said to have been
baptized by Pope Sylvester. Here, a thousand years
afterwards, Cola di Rienzo received the ceremonial
bath of purification before being admitted into the
Order of the Holy Ghost.

172
ORATORY OF S. JOHN BAPTIST

The custodian disturbed our efforts at historical
meditation by opening and shutting the great bronze
doors, so as to astonish us by their extraordinary organ
notes, which resound through the building. But al-
though the doors themselves are interesting as having
been brought from the baths of Caracalla, the noise
was not, and we longed to be left in peace to look at
the wondrous mosaics in the oratories of S. John the
Evangelist and of S. Venanzio, and especially at those
in the oratory of S. John Baptist, where there is a
glorious mosaic of the Tree of Life, probably a work of
the fifth century. The mosaic in the oratory of S. John
the Evangelist is also of the fifth century, and it is
pointed out that the symbolism is most interesting. The
birds signify the four elements: the fruits signify the
seasons and the cycle of human life, death, and resurrec-
tion; all are summed up in the Lamb, who is Creator,
and who is the Resurrection and the Life.

We finished our strenuous morning by crossing the
piazza to see the Scala Santa, or stair brought from
Pilate’s house by the Empress Helena. This wonderful
relic of early days is all the more interesting for being,
with the chapel of the Sancta Sanctorum above, the
only part now left of the old Lateran palace, the
ancient home of the Popes, begun at the same time as
the church. This vast palace, with its halls, chapels,
and galleries, once filled the site of the present piazza
and museums. The shameful sack of 1527 is respons-
ible for the ruin of that splendidly adorned building,

173
THE SCALA SANTA

and what was left was swept away by Sixtus v, for
whom Fontana built the existing palace.

We stood at the foot of the stair, by the fine modern
group of the Betrayal, and watched the penitents as-
cending the venerable stairway on their knees. Some
of them stopped to kiss various places on the steps as
they laboured upwards. It was a strange and rather
pitiful spectacle, in that shadowy place with the dark
frescoed vault overhead. A little depressed, we climbed
by another stair to the exquisite little chapel of the
Sancta Sanctorum. The inscription on the cornice
over the altar tells you that there is no place more
holy in all the world. Through the grating you descry
the altar, with its porphyry columns and Innocent t1’s
splendid silver tabernacle, made for the “ Acheiropoeton,”
or picture of our Lord, “made without hands.” This
relic, which gives the chapel its peculiar sanctity, is
said to have been begun by 8. Luke, and to have been
finished by an angel,—whence its name.

From this much restored but still beautiful chapel,
venerable and picturesque in its thirteenth-century
adornment of Gothic arcade, twisted column, and
glorious mosaic, we made our way to have a glance
at the Tribune built by Clement xr to contain
some of the mosaics from the splendid Triclinium
of Leo mt. The descriptions of this ancient banquet-
ing hall of the Lateran palace, with its tribune and
apses glowing in mosaic, give the impression of the
true magnificence compatible with, and even implying,

174
THE “TRICLINIUM”

a certain measure of asceticism, and quite distinct from
mere personal luxury. The mosaic which adorns the
present tribune is but a copy—made for Benedict xIv
—of the original work of Leo 1’s time. In the centre
is Christ with the Apostles; in the right group our
Lord gives the keys to Pope Sylvester and the banner
to Constantine; the left group represents the corona-
tion of Charlemagne. It is a wonderful exposition of
the view of well-ordered life, the ideas recalling not
only Dante’s “De Monarchia,” but also the frescoes at
Siena, and those in the Spanish Chapel at Florence.

This, we felt, must finish our morning, and, returning
to the piazza, we stood beneath the scanty shade afforded
by the obelisk of Thothmes 11 to plan the rest of the
day’s campaign. We were just setting out for lunch
at a restaurant not far off, when a vociferous party
issued from the Lateran museums and prepared to
climb into a car which was snorting in the piazza.
We recognised them as familiar friends, and on hearing
where we were going they insisted on joining forces.
“Colazione” was a restful interlude, and we had much
talk about the Lateran museums, in one of which, the
Museo Profano, our friends had spent some of their
morning. They were annoyed at finding that they
could not combine the Christian museum with this
visit, and railed at the authorities for not opening
them on the same day, as then, they remarked, those
museums would be “ done.”

R. had already seen the collections, which are a kind

175
THE LATERAN MUSEUMS

of overflow from the Vatican placed in the Lateran
palace by Gregory xvi. Owing, I suppose, to our
being English, we discussed with great interest the
mosaic on the floor of the first room, where the figures
of athletes and trainers seem to express a perennial
type, and were a touching reminder of faces and figures
familiar in current illustrated literature at home.
Porzia sighed ravenously, and proposed to return to
the museum after lunch, but that we firmly declined to
do, so she had to endure the rhapsodies about the
Sophocles statue, the Marsyas, and, above all, about the
famous group representing Mithras slaying the Bull.
She, however, had a chance of retaliating, because she
had seen the Christian museum, while the others had
not. We thus learnt how greatly superior were the
attractions of the wonderful sarcophagi, with their
sculptured scenes, some of them reminding you of
Dante’s marvellous blend of Christian and classical
illustrations in the first terrace of Purgatory. The
inscriptions, too, had charmed her with the exquisite
gladness of their brief, expressive wording.

Over our coffee we debated with great volubility as
to what we should do in the afternoon. Our friends
seemed inclined for an orgy of sight-seeing, so we de-
cided upon the Baths of Caracalla and the catacombs
of S. Calixtus. We started forthwith, finding it all a
little dry and glaring in the early afternoon light,
though there were suspicious clouds hanging over the
Sabine Hills. ‘“Mazeppa,” such being the name be-

176
THE BATHS OF CARACALLA

stowed upon the car, stopped its flight at the entrance
to the huge majestic ruins of the Baths of Caracalla,
and we walked across a bit of field which separates
these amazing buildings from the road. As you
wander through the wreck of these splendid halls,
Caldarium, Tepidarium, Frigidarium, swimming bath,
palestra, and other rooms, it is hard to realise that
these baths were only half the size of Diocletian’s, or
at least that only half the number of bathers could be
accommodated there.

Our guide, a fine-looking and eloquent person, took
us round most conscientiously. He showed us various
beautiful fragments of sculpture from frieze and
column; he pointed out the heating arrangements in
the Caldarium, and explained the ingenious system of
passages by which the slaves got from one part of the
baths to another without intruding themselves upon
the bathers. Some of these passages, which were used
for storage as well as for service, have lately been ex-
cavated. Near the entrance to the western one is a
hall which had been converted into a sanctuary of
Mithras, and near this again was found a statue of
Venus, now in the Museo Nazionale. We also saw the
original site of the prize-fighter mosaic, now in the
Lateran Museum, once placed here, in the northern
peristyle. These details were interesting, naturally,
but they were blotted out in the sense of majestic
desolation and by the thought of the utter decay of so
wonderful a material civilisation. Another point, not

M 177
SS. NEREO AND ACHILLEO

connected with Caracalla, attracted our attention, and
that was the decisive manner in which our guide drew
the distinction between Italians and Romans—a dis-
tinction you do not usually realise. His sentence:
“quando sono venuti gl’Italiani,’ made us consider
what these descendants of ancient Rome felt about the
changes wrought in 1870.

After wandering about among the massive walls, and
admiring the glorious colour of the old brick, which
seems to glow deep red whether in sunlight or in
shadow, some of the party made their way to the
charming little church of SS. Nereo and Achilleo,
which is close to the entrance to the baths.

This, they immediately decreed, was one of the “ real’
churches of Rome, dating as it does from very early
times,—beautiful with its mosaic, its fair marble screen,
fine columns, and Paschal candlestick. The Episcopal
throne, a splendid work in marble mosaic, is alone
worth coming to see, for did not S. Gregory the Great
read one of his homilies from that very throne ?

On the arch over the semidome is a mosaic of the
Transfiguration, a work of the time of Leo 1m, and
therefore possibly seen by Charlemagne. Gazing up
at the stately beauty of the mosaic, they remembered
how at Perugia, in much later times, the Transfiguration
is used as illustrating faith,—“ the substance of things
hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” and they felt
the appropriateness of it here. Their thoughts turned
back to those two martyred servants of Flavia Domitilla,

178
“VYITVOVUVO AO SHLVH AHL NI MIA

 
THE CATACOMBS

in whose name the church was dedicated, but who were
first buried in the catacomb on the Via Ardeatina.
Their relics were afterwards translated to this church,
then known as the Fasciola, from the tradition that on
this spot a bandage fell from the foot of 8. Peter. The
church has been restored more than once, but happily
its peaceful charm remains unbroken.

Our final goal was the catacomb of S. Calixtus, now
guarded by Trappist monks, who guide youround. We
drove by the Porta S. Sebastiano, along the Via Appia,
to the entrance of the vineyard where this, the most
important and interesting of the catacombs, was dis-
covered by Di Rossi in 1854. To most of the party it
was a new experience, but R. had seen the catacomb of
S. Domitilla a few years before, and was in a sense pre-
pared for the strange scene.

Close to a little ruined brick building usually called
the “ Oratorium Sancti Callisti in Arenarius,” we found
the Custodian’s hut, and were duly supplied with
tickets, tapers, and a brown-robed cicerone. A curious
sense of awe, not unmingled with a shiver of horror,
comes upon you as you descend into the maze of
sepulchral corridors and subterranean chapels. Yet
the catacombs seemed to us to be in a sense the poetry
of Rome,—her chief expression of vision and spiritual
aspiration,—different, indeed, from the splendour of
earthly domination, which speaks in the Palatine, in
the Colosseum, and even in S. Peter’s. You cannot
help comparing the triumphs of the Capitol and the

179
THE ORPHEUS CUBICULUM

triumphs of the catacombs, whence the scourged and
mangled triumphators have emerged to rule the civilised
world. If anything could re-inforce the great Christian
paradox of the “ mors janua vite,” surely it would be this.

We climbed down the staircase built in the fourth
century by Pope Damasus, and followed the usual plan
of visit, going first into the so-called Orpheus Cubic-
ulum, from the subject of the fresco on the roof. The
beautiful tradition of Orpheus drawing the creatures to
him by the magic of his music is here interpreted in
the light of the Christian message, and the conception
of the magical musician is used as a symbol of Him
who draws all men to Himself. We were reminded of
the many mosaics in which, as has been well said,
Orpheus is “transformed gradually into the Good
Shepherd. The bad wild beasts, the lions and the
lynxes are weeded out one by one, and we are left, as in
the wonderful Ravenna mosaic, with only a congrega-
tion of mild patient sheep.”

The Camera Papale, where Pope 8. Zephyrinus and
eleven other third-century bishops were buried, was
really rebuilt when the catacomb was re-discovered.
It is a fairly light but very bare room, surrounded by
the usual strange yawning gaps, where the bodies once
lay, but always to be remembered for the sake of the
beautiful inscription of 8. Damasus with its untrans-
latable “Corpora sanctorum retinent veneranda sepul-
chra, Sublimes animas rapuit sibi regia cceli.”

From this Crypt you pass to the Crypt of S. Cecilia, a

180
CHAPELS OF THE SACRAMENTS

room once adorned with fresco and marble, which have
now crumbled away. In the niche where S. Cecilia’s
body was found, in the ninth century, is a copy of
Maderna’s famous statue, and immemorial piety still
places flowers round the saint’s resting-place.

The paintings that remain are very curious. There
is a great Byzantine picture of our Lord, and beside it
a small full-length figure of S. Urban, in pontifical
robes. These are supposed to belong to the tenth or
eleventh centuries, but the picture of S. Cecilia above
them is said to be much earlier.

One of the tall dark corridors leads you along to
the curious little rooms known as the Chapels of the
Sacraments. They -are decorated with third-century
paintings, among which the figure of the Good Shep-
herd holds a repeated and conspicuous place, and sug-
gests interesting comparisons with the catacomb of
8. Domitilla. R. told us that, to his mind, nothing
in the catacomb of 8. Calixtus quite equalled the
excavated Basilica of SS. Nereo and Achilleo and
8. Petronilla, which is such a wonderful feature in the
catacomb of S. Domitilla. Nor, he said, was there
here anything quite so charming as the Pompeian
chambers in that same cemetery, rooms which strike
a note of delightful and unconscious gaiety amid their
dim, pathetic surroundings.

But our present visit was showing us things we
could have studied nowhere else. In these strange
little “ Cubiculi dei Sacramenti” the various paintings

181
PICTURES AND INSCRIPTIONS

represent the mysteries of the faith, for which those
heroic people of long ago sacrificed so much, and which
perhaps come to us all too easily. On the roof in the
first room you see the Good Shepherd, the figure
surrounded by a border in which peacocks, a symbol of
immortality, appear. This subject occurs in the second
and third room also.

The story of Jonah is repeated in each room, and
the whale, a strange compound of dragon and serpent,
is unlike any creature known to zodlogy. In one
picture Jonah reclines under a quite undoubted
pergola, which interested us. Everywhere throughout
these walls, bread and the mystic fish set forth the
life-giving eucharistic meal, while the regenerating
water flows from the rock which Moses strikes, and is
poured upon the baptized believer.

In the oldest crypt of all, named after Lucina, wife
of the conqueror of Britain, the Good Shepherd again
appears, surrounded by heads which symbolise the
seasons, and thus speak of the whole of nature. In
the Crypt of the martyred Pope Cornelius we saw
the figures of four saints, paintings which probably
belong to the time of the restoration by Leo II
Among them is the figure of Cornelius himself.

The picture which perhaps pleased us best of any
was that in the “Camera dei Cinque Santi,” where the
five saints robed in purple and gold stand in the
Garden of Paradise. They stretch out their hands in
prayer, and beside each name are the sweet familiar

182
BACK TO THE WORLD

words—“in pace,” words which become so dear to
those who visit these resting-places.

We had now seen most of what is shown in this
venerable place, and were led back, following our guide
in a kind of nervous, helpless obedience through the
maze of dark passages. We emerged at last into the
wide space of air and sky, to find the clouds descending
upon the Campagna, and the feeling of soft spring rain.
What a view, as you disentangle yourself from that
strange abode of human mortality, with its profound
shadow and intense spiritual light! Around you
stretches the Campagna, beneath its “everlasting wash
of air”; away to the east and south are the lines of
the hills, usually of a tender melting blue, but standing
out this evening in dark threatening purple. On the
other side is the profile of Rome, rising like a phoenix
from repeated devastation by fire and sack,—and
triumphing, chiefly through that for which these cata-
combs stand witness.

We stood and gazed for a while; we were senti-
mental enough to buy relics; then some ominous drops
warned us that return was advisable. We were soon
speeding along through the gate once more, and were
able to make almost instantaneous comparison of
ancient and modern, as we rushed from the catacombs
to the world of shops, cafés, and tourists.

183
CHAPTER X

‘‘O friend, shall time take ever this away,
This blessing given of beauty that endures,
This glory shown us, not to pass but stay?”
SwINBURNE,

WE had planned a considerable amount of instruction
and amusement for this day, weather permitting. The
morning looked promising, having that pale clear light
and soft freshness which is one of the charms of spring
in Rome. We therefore set out in high spirits, and
took our way down the Via della Stamperia (restrain-
ing our longing to gaze into the Regia Calcogratfia),
past our beloved Fontana di Trevi, to the Piazza SS.
Apostoli.

Every corner of Rome has its own peculiar charm,
and we had already taken a great fancy to the curious
oblong Piazza SS. Apostoli, which is interesting histor-
ically rather than impressive architecturally. We
walked up and down the piazza, identifying the palace
where the Chevalier de S. George lived his devout
and melancholy life, and the palace that was the home
of About’s charming “Tolla.” We then turned our
attention to the church, one of those which we had
been advised to leave out during a first visit. We

184
CHURCH OF THE SS. APOSTOLI

hardly ever took these ultra-utilitarian counsels, as we
invariably found the so-called unimportant places
especially attractive. The present church is certainly
not very interesting as a building. It stands on the
site of a fourth-century church, built, it is said, in the
time of Pope Julius 1, a date which seems to take
you back very nearly to Constantine himself. Pope
Martin v, himself a Colonna, spent much time in the
Colonna Palace close by, and restored the church; but
as it has been repeatedly and extensively restored
since, the existing building is chiefly eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century work.

The portico was built early in the sixteenth century
by the Cardinal della Rovere, afterwards Pope Julius 1.
Here we looked chiefly at the curious fragments of
ancient work, such as a fine sculptured eagle set in an
oak garland, from the Forum of Trajan, a lion with the
name of Bassalectus (of Lateran fame) upon it, and
bits of antique braided crosses.

The interior was better than we expected, for there
is a certain grandeur and spaciousness about it. The
main interest centres in the tombs of the two cardinals
of the Riario family. The tomb of Cardinal Pietro
Riario, nephew of Sixtus Iv, is by Mino de Fiesole and
Andrea Bregno, and is a charming piece of work,—too
good for the spendthrift nephew of a terrible pontiff.
On the other side of the presbytery is a tomb which
recalls tragic memories,—namely, that of Raffaele
Sansoni, grand-nephew of Sixtus Iv, and created a

185
MICHELANGELO'S RESTING-PLACE

cardinal while yet only a boy. This youth, then only
eighteen, was presiding in 8. Maria del Fiore when the
Pazzi slew Giuliano de’ Medici in front of the altar, and
had all but made an end of Lorenzo the Magnificent.

“He seems to have been fated to be woven into
conspiracies,” remarked Porzia, “for he also helped to
conspire against Leo Xin 1517. What an age of plots
and counter-plots!” “Yes, truly,” answered R., point-
ing to Canova’s monument of Clement xIv,—“for
example, that man suppressed the Jesuit Order, and
his end is usually supposed to have been suspiciously
sudden.”

“What uncomfortable stories! Let us go into the
cloister and see Michelangelo’s original tomb, here in
his parish church.” So saying, Porzia led the way into
the cloister, which was Michelangelo’s first resting-place,
until his own fervent wish was fulfilled and his body
taken to his “noble country,” even Florence, where
Santa Croce received all that was mortal of him.

There is another Florentine reminiscence in the tomb
of Cardinal Bessarion, the famous scholar and humanist,
who attended the Council of Florence in 1438-39 as an
Eastern ecclesiastic, when the Venetian Pope, Eugenius
1v (Condulmer), presided. This again recalled 8. Maria
del Fiore, as it was there that Eugenius Iv reconciled
the opposing Churches of East and West, a feat very
appropriate for one who was Venetian born, and thus
in touch with both. Would that the reconciliation
had lasted !

186
THE PALAZZO COLONNA

A functionary now came up and offered to show us
into the crypt to see the tomb of Raffaelle della Rovere,
father of Pope Julius 11. We followed meekly, being
rewarded by the sight of a fine bit of Renaissance
work, and acquaintance with yet another member of
that remarkable, if not wholly satisfactory, family.
The della Rovere seem to be a good illustration of
Renaissance taste, vigour, and morals.

We strayed out again into the piazza, and arrived
at the door of the great Palazzo Colonna on the stroke
of eleven, for a very cursory visit, we feared. This
palace and its “villa” or garden across the street had
always aroused our curiosity. The bridges over the
Via della Pilotta are an unusual feature, and suggest
all kinds of gorgeous possibilities—taken together with
the name of Colonna.

The picture gallery is the only part of this great
palace open to the general public, but even the glimpse
you get of these vast houses impresses you with the
extraordinary difference between the northern and
southern ways and ideals of life. What the private
rooms may be, now in our day, cannot be known by
the mere tourist, but certainly the general plan of an
Italian palace does not suggest what we English call
comfort! It seems to speak of a set and splendid
hospitality at stated times, and not of any familiar
“running in and out.” It also speaks of a family feeling,
stronger in many ways than our own, and a stately
reserve we should do well to imitate.

187
MEMORIES OF THE FAMILY

But pictures, and not social reflections, were our
object, so we climbed the stairs to the great rooms on
the first floor, and began our rather hasty inspection
of the collection. There is no such pre-eminent work
as the Velasquez portrait of Innocent x in the Doria-
Pamphili Gallery, and we felt chiefly interested in the
rooms themselves and in the relies and portraits of the
Colonna family, apart from any artistic merit or demerit.
In the first room we marked the red marble column,—
the emblem used in the “stemma” of the Colonna,—
this column being adorned with reliefs representing a
campaign.

A splendid cabinet in ebony and ivory (the ivory
carvings being by two German artists) pleased us
greatly, as did also the landscapes by Gaspard Poussin
in the same (third) room. The throne-room interested
us most of all, recalling memories of the Colonna Pope,
Martin v, who built the palace. The throne, on which
no Pope now sits, is turned to the wall—as if in silent
protest. You feel inclined to ask whether, in their
triumph in Martin v's day, the Colonna ever remem-
bered Sciarra Colonna and Pope Boniface viul.

On a table in the throne-room is the chart used by
Marcantonio Colonna at the battle of Lepanto, which
battle is represented on the ceiling of the Gran Sala.
Above the table hangs the diploma of honour sent to
Mercantonio by the Roman Senate.

The painted mirrors in the Gran Sala held our
attention for some time. They are more curious than

188
AN ORIGINAL CRITICISM

beautiful, but are finely executed specimens of what
is merely a topsy-turvy idea at best. Among the
pictures we singled out Bonifazio’s “Madonna with
Saints,” “The Portrait of the Man in Green,” by
Veronese, and various portraits by Tintoretto.

After little more than half an hour we betook our-
selves once more to the Piazza 8S. Apostoli, and thence
to the not far distant Faraglia’s, where we were to
have a hasty “colazione” in company with some
friends who were staying at Porto d’Anzio, and who
were the possessors of a car in which they scoured
the Campagna and the Latin shore. We had planned
to go down for an afternoon at Anzio and Nettuno, and
to return by a late evening train to Rome, and were
looking forward greatly to the trip.

Faraglia’s proved as amusing as usual, and during
our brief luncheon we had many interesting specimens
of visitors to Rome, including one from the New
World, who stated that he had not cared much for
his stay in the Eternal City, as “there were too many
ruins there.” We agreed that among the many
criticisms of Rome we had heard, this was about the
most original.

By one o'clock the car was throbbing impatiently
before the door in the Piazza Venezia, and our motorist
friends (who belonged more especially to Porzia) pro-
posed to take her with them to Ardea, and thence, by
some devious way or other, past Carroceto, and on to
Anzio.

189
MODERN PICTURES

R. and I, meanwhile, did not at all object to crawling
quietly down to the coast by the midday train, and, as
a matter of fact, we arrived at much the same time as
the motorists. We had actually managed to see some
of the more notable pictures at the Gallery of the
“ Arte Moderna,” which we had passed in the Via
Nazionale, on our way to the station. R.’s horror of
the extreme modern school was vastly entertaining ; it
took him the whole journey from Rome to Anzio to
recover from what he regarded as an exhibition of
insanity.

We reached Anzio a little before three o’clock, and
strolled through this, the shrunken successor of the
ancient, imperial Antium. It is still—in spite of its
departed splendour and stateliness—a Roman health-
and pleasure-resort, even like the Antium of old.

Our friends had established themselves in a sunny,
comfortable little villa, which suggested no disquieting
memories of Nero or Caligula, or of the great sea-fight
in the Republican days, when the rebellious Volscian
city and seaport was finally vanquished and annexed
by Rome. Coffee was served in the loggia overlooking
the sea, which was quite indescribably blue away from
shore, while nearer inland it shone with exquisite rose,
green, and golden lights. Here and there we could
see glowing patches of the brilliant, cactus-like mesem-
bryanthemum, which had gladdened our way as we
drew near the coast. The gorgeous red of these
clustering flowers contrasted gloriously with the water,

190
RECALLING VIRGIL AND DANTE

and above was a soft pellucid sky, clear as the primeval
dawn.

As we sat for a while and talked, Porzia gave us a
graphic account of their flight along the highways of
Latium. They tore along the Via Ostiense and the
Via Ardeatina at breakneck speed, past places of
enchanting name and memory,—lése-mayesté, she called
it,—adding that if there was justice anywhere, they
ought to have been arrested.

At Ardea itself they drew breath for a few minutes,
just to have a look at that once prosperous town, the
traditional capital of the Rutuli,—founded, as the story
has it, by Danaé, the mother of Perseus. It was enough
for us that it had been the stronghold and capital of
Dante’s “ Turnus Rutulorum rex.”

Porzia described Ardea as now tragic in the decay of
two thousand years. What remains of the ancient
fortress is now the property of the Sforza-Cesarini,
having been sold to them by the Colonna family. The
party had gazed at the rock-girt village and castle for
a short space, and then, like others who for many
centuries past have been scared away from the spot
by malaria, they hurried off to Anzio.

A little later, another feature in the day’s programme
claimed us, for we were to be taken out in a sailing-
boat, to which our friends appeared much attached,
this being the proper way of seeing Porto d’Anzio,
they informed us. We went on board in the little
harbour, originally made by Innocent x1, just to the

191
PORTO D’ANZIO

east of Nero’s splendid port. This later harbour has
lost much of its importance, owing to the silting up
of the sand, and is now available only for quite small
vessels. This mattered little to us pleasure-seekers,
for it was picturesque enough to satisfy the most
hungry seekers after effect. The boat glided silently
out from the port to the glittering sea, and we began
by going some distance out from shore, so that we
could command a wide view of the coast. The modern
Anzio, an insignificant group of houses, has succeeded
the seaport city of temples and palaces dear to the
emperors, and largely built by them. You may look
in vain now for Nero’s temples, his magnificent
harbour, and the palace, to which Septimius Severus
greatly added. The yet earlier Antium was built on
rising ground, away from the sea, and of that you can
see nought unless you walk inland, across the railway.

Away to the east rose the picturesque town of
Nettuno, much more interesting than its more fre-
quented neighbour. Its name is derived from a Temple
of Neptune, most appropriate on such a spot, and is
said to stand on the site of a dependent port of Antium.
It no longer bears much trace of classical antiquity in
its general aspect, for a square, heavy fortress, of more
or less medieval aspect, rises straight out of the sea,
and recalls the names of two notable pontiffs—Alex-
ander vi, the Spanish Borgia, who began it, and
Alexander vu, the Sienese Chigi, who finished it nearly
two hundred years later.

192
ASTURA

Far beyond again, showing faint purple in the
distance, is the Torre Astura, lonely and menacing
across the rippling waters, and tragic from the earliest
days of its history. Away on its little promontory,
and having now the wild tangle of the Pontine wilder-
ness behind it, Astura was evidently once a seaside
resort of the Romans, as Cicero had a villa there, a
villa to which he fled from Tusculum when he heard
of his proscription. Cicero put to sea from Astura
with the intention of joining Brutus in Macedonia, but
had to put back and land at Gaeta, near which place
he was murdered.

Astura has been fatal also to emperors, for it was
there that both Augustus and Tiberius were stricken
for death, and it was there that Caligula received the
omen of his fate. But the present desolate tower, which
rises over that lovely sea, has nothing to do with
ancient Rome. It is the tower of the medieval for-
tress of the Frangipani, who built it upon Roman
foundations. It witnessed one of the most lamentable
scenes in that fierce struggle between pope and
emperor which rent Italy asunder for most of the
Middle Age.

Manfred—“biondo e bello”—had been slain at
Benevento in 1266, and hither, after the terrible defeat
of the Imperial forces at Tagliacozzo in 1268, came his
nephew, the brave young Corradino, the last hope of the
Hohenstaufen house. The kindly folk of Astura had
given Corradino and his few faithful followers a vessel

N 193
EXECUTION OF CORRADINO

in which to escape to Pisa, but Giovanni Frangipani,
Lord of Astura—hoping for large reward from Charles
of Anjou—pursued the prince, overtook him, and
brought him back to Astura, where he kept him for
a time. Corradino pleaded with his treacherous host,
reminding him of the favours conferred upon the
Frangipani by the Emperor Frederick u, but all in
vain. Corradino and his friends were delivered up to
Charles in exchange for lands in the Duchy of
Benevento, and with scarce a pretence of trial or
justice were cruelly executed at Naples. Truly, more
ferocious than the barbarian Theodoric—

“Carlo venne in Italia; e per ammenda
Vittima fe di Corradino.”

These thoughts were strange companions for a. first
sail on the Mediterranean, and the memory of human
woe seemed to turn nature’s glad beauty into a kind
of callous heartlessness. Porzia and I at last turned
our eyes away from Astura, and found our companions
quite otherwise occupied. We were not far from a
fishing-boat, and, seeing a chance, our men got along-
side and begged for some “frutta di mare.” A huge
handful of small, strange shellfish came aboard, much
to the delight of R., who liked such-like experiments in
food. Personally, however romantic and unusual the
surroundings, I did not feel that this uncanny refresh-
ment took the place of well-behaved afternoon tea.

When the two boats parted company we made for
the “ Faro,” to see the so-called “ Grotte di Nerone,’—or

194
THE GROTTOS

passages in the rock which once led to a great Imperial
villa. These grottos, interesting as they may be, were
as nothing compared to the matchless colours of
the sea close inshore, which was of wondrous trans-
parent green, with a golden or roseate lustre in certain
lights. We thought it must be a blend of colour from
the priceless marbles which are doubtless under the
water all along this shore, and the slanting rays of the
brilliant sun overhead. Anyway, the glory has been
transferred from the transitory arts of man to the
overmastering beauty of nature.

After hanging about outside the grottos and the
ancient mole of Nero, we turned, went out again, and
began to make for Nettuno, where we intended to
land. We swept round into afresh view of the charm-
ing coast, with its delicate line overshadowed by the
olive and ilex in the forest park of the Borghese
villa, and the dark mass of the Nettuno fort nearly
facing us. Far away, in faint transparent purple,
rose the Monte Circeo, the enchanted Cape of Circe,
taking us back into a yet earlier world—to the
Greek stories which form a kind of dream-background
to our conscious life. You thought of Dante, and that
most epic of his passages, when the voice of Ulysses
speaks from within the flame, and begins :-—

**, . . Quando
Mi departi da Circe, che sottrasse
Me piu d’un anno la presso Gaeta,”

and you hardly wonder that, dwelling is so fair a
195
LANDING AT NETTUNO

place, the enchantress had a spell to hold even so
inveterate a wanderer. Only his innate greatness
could have torn him away.—Is it all perhaps a lofty
allegory ?

We were going but slowly, but it was all too quick
for us, who were wrapped in a kind of beatitude,
breathing the soft air, and suffering no excess of light,
no sharp wind, no disagreeable thing at all, Every-
thing seemed perfect, perfect to the breaking-point.
However, everything must end, and we shortly found
ourselves close under Nettuno, where landing from a
boat of any size is not an absolutely easy performance.
As a matter of fact, we were carried one by one by our
stalwart boatmen, and planted in safety on the little
stone pier, Laughter, mingled with some apprehension,
filled our minds as we beheld R.’s tall and substantial
person hoisted on to the boatman’s shoulders, a position
from which he all but slid into the rocky pools of sea
water, over which we were triumphantly borne. This
dramatic experience over, we made our way up to the
charming little town, which has kept a much more
pronounced personal physiognomy than Anzio,

We made our way to the main street, which was
profusely decorated with wreaths and flags for the
Festa of the Madonna delle Grazie. We found our-
ourselves in the middle of a delightful bit of real
national life—no tourists or sightseers except our-
selves, A fair was going on: guns were being fired,
bells were being rung. Marines paraded the streets

196
 

Lanuderson,
NETTUNO, FROM THE SEA.

 

[-fotderson.

NETTUNO, LOOKING TOWARDS PORTO D'ANZIO.
A “FESTA”

in the most brilliant of costumes; a number of children
in white were trotting off to join some important
“ processione,” and many contadini and contadine were
evidently enjoying every feature of the “Festa.” It is
curious how Puritanism seems to have banished any-
thing like fun and merriment, however innocent, from
the religious festivals of our countries,—so much so, that
many of us northerners have almost come to feel that
devotion and enjoyment can hardly keep house together,
except perhaps at Christmas. It takes some time to
get accustomed to a cheerfulness which seems in-
congruous, and all but irreverent. That is one of the
things you have to learn in Italy, where Paganism
and Christianity are so deftly and beautifully inter-
woven, and are seen to belong to one great and truly
Catholic whole. R., who is staunch in his opinions,
rather demurred to some of these observations, and
remarked that the English Easter and Whitsuntide, for
example, were by no means devoid of festivity.

We spent some time straying about the quaint ways
and corners of this little town, where, alas! the women
have practically abandoned their picturesque costume
of Moorish fashion, and wear the more commonplace
dress of European civilisation. We regretted that not
one of these national costumes—no doubt a relic of
the Saracenic settlement—was to be seen, even at the
“Festa.” While we were watching the general fun
and merriment, a party of strolling singers came along,
and two of them began to sing a pretty, half-pathetic,

197
ALONG THE LATIN SHORE

if slightly silly duet, with a refrain about “la bella
innamorata.” Why is it that so often, amid a scene of
gaiety and beauty, you hear the voice of the slave in
the chariot, the inexorable “Respice post te”? That
little ditty, sung thus at a village festa, did, for no
apparent reason whatever, call forth some strange
foreboding of an inevitable end, and the impression
never quite faded from my mind.

But after wandering about for some little time we
began to be conscious of a distinctly evening air, and
we felt we must start on our walk back to Porto
d’Anzio, for such was our plan. Our friends, who
were familiar with the ways, took us along as far as
the Villa Borghese, and then led us by a fairly steep
path down the cliff, on to the shore, and so to Anzio
once again. It was a charming experience, this peace-
ful two miles walk along the Mediterranean shore,
while the sky turned a pale translucent green, and a
path of molten gold burned across the shining blue of
the waves. The shore seemed all made of gold and
precious stones, streaked with amethyst shadows and
rosy lights. It was profanation to set our prosaic
boots upon it! We did so, however, and got back to
the villa in time for dinner, which to our regret had to
be served in*the “sala da pranzo,” and not on the
loggia,—sunset chills being much dreaded by our
experienced hosts.

Our train back to Rome was of necessity a late one,
and a marvellous moon was rising far away over

198
GLIMPSE ACROSS THE CENTURIES

Astura as we set off for the station. The sudden fall
of darkness in these southern countries is always a
surprise to the northerner, accustomed as he is to the
long-drawn-out twilights at home.

We journeyed along, slowly enough, past the clumps
of oak and cork forest, up to Cecchina, then to Ciampino,
which name always recalled to my mind a maze of
pink blossom among the olives on the hill slopes.
Then at last, across the moonlit Campagna, with the
shadowy tombs of the Appian Way rising like ghosts
in the distance, we got back to Rome.

“We have made our one day into two, it seems to
me,” said R., as we reached our quarters. Porzia and I
thought we had made it into centuries, for had we not
touched Homer in the view of Monte Circeo, Virgil at
Ardea, Coriolanus, Cicero, and the Roman Emperors
at Anzio, the Medieval Papacy and the houses of
Hohenstaufen and Anjou at Astura, the Renaissance
with Martin v and the Colonna, to say nothing of
S. Philip and 8. James, with whose church we began,
and the modern Porto d’Anzio with which we ended.

199
CHAPTER XI

> ¢ + Oh;
How beautiful is sunset, when the glow
Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee,
Thou Paradise of exiles—Italy !”
SHELLEY.

Dream not that you have exhausted the Vatican when
you have seen 8. Petér’s and “done” the antiquities!
Nay, you have some of the best part to come; for the
rest of it lives and glows with the red blood of real life,
in a way that a collection of busts and statues, found
here, there, and everywhere, never can—be they as
they may. This you feel, not perhaps in the picture
gallery, but in the Stanze, the Loggie, the Sistine
Chapel, and the Borgia Apartments, where the
decorations are in their native place and have their
definite meaning.

How I envied Porzia her power of rapid grasp,
during that all-too-comprehensive ramble of ours,
through what I will call the Renaissance part of the
Vatican.

We set to work very early, and as the palace is only
accessible at ten o'clock, we went a roundabout way,
got into the Corso, and took the opportunity of looking

200
THE LOMBARD CHURCH

into the churches of 8. Silvestro in Capite and 8. Carlo
al Corso, neither of which needs exhaustive study.
8. Silvestro, which is in one corner of the piazza, to
which it gives its name, interested us because it is the
English Catholic church, and is called “In Capite”
from the fact that a piece of S. John the Baptist’s head
is preserved there ag a relic. Part of the venerable
monastery is now used as the chief post and telegraph
office, a much-visited place, so that there is no excuse
for neglecting this ancient church, which dates from
the eighth century, and is said to stand partly on the
site of Aurelian’s Temple of the Sun.

8. Carlo al Corso is quite near, in the Corso itself.
It is a big heavy building in the handsome but un-
pleasing seventeenth-century style. The dedication of
the church is to 8S. Carlo Borromeo, whose heart is
placed under the altar, so that the Lombard church thus
has its Lombard saint. We were told that it is a very
fashionable church, and it has just this air about it.

We then pursued our way, crossed the Tiber by the
Ponte Cavour, and thence we reached the Borgo Pio,
arriving finally at the Portone di Bronzo, the great
entrance to the Vatican Palace, just under Bernini’s
colonnade. You wonder whether it is again only fancy
that makes you recall the Colosseum and the Palatine, as
you climb the Scala Regia, that splendid and imposing
stairway, designed by Bernini, which leads through the
Sala Regia to the Sistine Chapel, built in 1473 for
Sixtus Iv.

201
THE SISTINE CHAPEL

I imagine we only echo a very general feeling by
confessing that our first sensation in the Sistine Chapel
was one of slight disappointment. The triumph is in
the detail of the decoration, not in the general effect,
which seemed to us rather gloomy and confused. We
agreed that few people would fall in love with the
chapel at first sight; it must be a matter of long and
careful study. We also agreed that the chief attraction
does not lie in Michelangelo’s stupendous but repellent
“Last Judgment,” but rather in his glorious Prophets
and Sibyls, in the beautiful Adolescents, and in the
marvellous frescoes illustrating the drama of human
life. “Wherefore will ye die?” seems to be the burden
of these extraordinary works, terrible in their insight
and fearless in their execution.

It has been well pointed out that Michelangelo
unfolds the mighty drama of human history by means
of the human form, leaving aside all lesser things.
But weaker mortals feel that in another than the
original sense “it is not good for man to be alone.”
Universal nature is a comfort and a shelter to him;
art and civilisation are a refuge for his frailty.
Michelangelo’s pitiless grandeur recalls the wonder-
ful reflection Browning puts into the mouth of his
“Bishop Blougram ” concerning the merciful veil which
creation interposes between man and the Creator.

People not very highly trained in the appreciation of
art will probably prefer (if they have the courage to
say so) the pictures on the sides of the chapel, painted

202
‘(OTAONVTAHOIN) NVW JO NOJLVAYD AHL ‘“IddVHO ANILSIS
“uostapup

 
FAMOUS PICTURES

for Sixtus 1v by many of the famous artists of the
Quattrocento—Perugino, Botticelli, Ghirlandajo, and
Rosselli, aided by Pinturicchio, Piero di Cosimo, and
others.

Porzia seemed able to soar to Michelangelo's point
of view, but R. and I humbly clung to the less
exacting beauty of such pictures as Botticelli’s
“Daughters of Jethro,” Perugino’s “Giving of the
Keys to Peter,” and Ghirlandajo’s “Calling of Peter
and Andrew.” It may here be noted that, besides
the lesson of the relation between the old and new
Dispensations these pictures are meant to illustrate,
they contain various allusions to literary contemporary
history, as is expounded for us by those who have really
studied the subject.

On leaving the chapel our way led to the great
Sala dell’ Immacolata, whence Raphael’s Stanze are
reached, The Sala itself interested us a good deal, as
being the scene of the promulgation of the Dogma of
the Immaculate Conception, and as somehow typical
in decoration and style of a certain religious excitement
and exaltation. The great cabinet presented by the
French clergy, which holds the multi-lingual translation
of the text of the Dogma, seems to sum up the whole
position.

Through this hall you pass into the clearer air of
Raphael’s “Stanze,” those wonderful rooms planned by
Julius m1, and decorated by Raphael and his pupils, by
order of Julius 1 and Leo x. You begin at the end,

203
THE “STANZE”

so to speak, for the Camera dell’ Incendio, the first
room you enter, was the last to be painted under
Raphael’s own supervision. “Then Leo x was reign-
ing,” remarked Porzia, “and that no doubt accounts for
the glorification of these two great Popes of the name
of Leo.” It had not struck us before, but as Leo x is
represented in the character of Leo Iv in the fresco of
the battle of Ostia, the conclusion seemed fairly obvious.

The burning of the “ Borgo” was the picture that
remained in our memory as being much the greatest,
if not the most interesting as an historical subject.
It is said that this is the only picture on which
Raphael actually worked himself. The coronation of
Charlemagne, with its double allusion to contemporary
politics, was interesting, as was also the oath of Leo mm,
who stands before the altar, for as Vicar of Christ he
could not be called upon to answer at any earthly
judgment-seat. This exaltation of the papal power and
authority is emphasised yet further in the Camera
dell’ Eliodoro, where the great frescoes of the Expulsion
of Heliodorus from the Temple, of the Mass of Bolsena,
and of the Turning Back of Attila, accentuate the
commanding position of the Church, in matters both
spiritual and temporal.

Between these two rooms is the enchanting Camera
della Segnatura, which must ever be dear to the heart
for the sake of the Disputa, the Parnassus, and the
School of Athens. These great works are happily
familiar even to those who have never visited Rome.

204
CAMERA DELLA SEGNATURA

A detailed exposition of the beautiful inner signific-
ance of these wondrous compositions would be out of
place during a ramble. It is enough to say that we
felt those frescoes to be a kind of amplification and
culmination of such pictures as the Triumph of S.
Thomas Aquinas in 8. Maria sopra Minerva, the great
fresco in the Spanish chapel at Florence, and the
frescoes of Simone Martini at Siena,—all founded
on Dante’s vision of a “just and sane” human
life.

The frescoes in the last room, the Sala di Costantino,
are not by Raphael, but were painted by his pupils
and followers after his death. We studied the room
with the help of our guide-books, and found the whole
historical plan most interesting, especially the pictures
illustrating Constantine’s successful struggle with
Maxentius, and his victory at the Milvian bridge.
Lovers of Dante are naturally drawn to the fresco
representing the famous, if unproven, “Donation of
Constantine.”

From this feast of grand design, colour, and history
we passed into the most charming place of all, namely,
the chapel of Pope Nicholas v, where the beloved Fra
Angelico has pictured the stories of the martyrs, 8.
Stephen and 8. Lawrence. We felt as if we had been
plunged into some crystal stream, so refreshing were
the pictures. It is strange how directness and sim-
plicity hold their own in the presence of even the
greatest human genius. Fra Angelico does indeed lack

205
FRA ANGELICO

the knowledge and the power of the masters of the
Renaissance, but he has the supreme secret, which is
known only to the pure in heart.

We then went into the great Loggie, the upper row
of those which Bramante designed round the court of
S. Damasus. The general decoration of these charming
loggie is by Giovanni da Udine, but the frescoes in the
little domes were executed after Raphael’s own designs,
and are usually known as the “ Bible of Raphael.” The
subjects are all taken from the Old Testament, save those
in the last dome. Merely to walk through these loggie,
noting a picture here and there, and trying to appreciate
the charming stucco decorations, all in a few minutes,
is not satisfactory; but it is, alas! about as much as
the ordinary rambler in Rome can do. He has learnt
something if he finds out how much more he has to
learn. One thing struck us above all, and that was
the extraordinary galaxy of Italian but not Roman-
born genius which has ever helped to make Rome
glorious and illustrious.

The Vatican picture gallery (soon to be re-arranged)
was our last visit that morning, and we confined
ourselves to the chief works, such as Raphael’s lovely
Madonna di Foligno, Domenichino’s “Communion of
S. Jerome,” and Raphael’s Transfiguration, a picture
I was obliged to own I never could like. R. was a
little pained; he admired the flowering-time better
than the early promise, which certainly sometimes
verges on the whimsical in its rather unsophisticated

206
THE PICTURE GALLERY

anatomy and perspective. The only pictures Porzia
and I felt to be really attractive were Perugino’s
Madonna and Child, with the patron saints of Perugia,
and the Nativity by Lo Spagna. We were also keenly
interested in the fresco by Melozzo da Forli, brought
here from its original position in the former Vatican
Library. The fresco represents Sixtus Iv conferring
the post of pontifical librarian upon Platina, who
kneels before him. The people represented are con-
temporaries; you see the strong, violent faces of the
Pope himself, and of his nephews, the Cardinal Giuliano
della Rovere and Girolamo and Pietro della Rovere.
Physical and mental power, together with fierce, con-
centrated passion, are writ plain on these counten-
ances, and you behold the darker side of the Italian
Renaissance. We lingered so long over this one picture
that R, declared our interest to be quite morbid, and
said it was a symptom that we had seen too much, and
must come away, which we obediently did.

Once more, during this brief visit to Rome, Porzia
and I were to enter by the Portone di Bronzo. This
was on one Sunday afternoon, on the occasion of a
papal reception. We could not have aspired to the
privilege of a private audience, but this simple reception
was to us an entirely novel, and somewhat moving,
experience.

Once inside the great portal, we crossed the Court
of S. Damasus, and climbed the wide stairway with
the black-veiled company, feeling quite picturesque

207
A PAPAL RECEPTION

ourselves! The wait in the stately, sombre room,
where a kind of awed hush seemed to prevail; then
the sudden bending of every knee as the white-robed
figure appeared, and the unfeigned filial affection
displayed by some of those present, made a deep
impression upon us,—an impression enhanced by the
kindly, paternal tones of the Pope’s voice as he gave
his blessing.

That Sunday seemed to crown our Vatican days
very happily, and gave me, at any rate, a glimpse into
a world widely different from my own.

This being one of the days of admission to the Villa
Doria-Pamphili, we planned a comparatively restful
ramble in the shape of a drive to that delightful spot.
For some reason ordinary cabs are proscribed, and we
secured what our “portier” called “a stable carriage,”
and, looking up our way on the map, found that we
could very conveniently begin our afternoon with S.
Giorgio in Velabro and 8. Maria in Cosmedin.

We took the road that was beginning to be quite
pleasantly familiar, by the Foro Traiano, the Foro
Romano, and beneath the edge of the Palatine to the
Velabro.

It is difficult even now to think of Rome as a busy
centre of life and commerce, for there is still a sense of
effort in the activity of the city, as though she had but
just shaken off the fetters of a too glorious past. Here
in the ancient “street of the Etruscans,” and in the
once marshy Velabrum, there is but little to remind

208
S. GIORGIO IN VELABRO

the passer-by of the animated thoroughfare which led
from the Forum to the Forum Boarium (or cattle
market), and on again to the Tiber. The Velabrum was
a crowded quarter in early days, after its marshy soil
had, like the Forum, been drained by the Cloaca Maxima,
into which the little brook that once flowed through
the Velabrum was turned. Here, if we may believe the
playwright, dwelt the bakers, butchers, and “ Haruspices.”
In the absence of these interesting persons, we turned
our attention to the picturesque portico and beautifully
sculptured doorway of the little church of 8. Giorgio in
Velabro, which church is said to have been founded as
early as the fourth century, and rebuilt in the seventh.
The first building was known.as the Basilica Sempronia,
but in the seventh century, when Byzantine influence
was strong, the church was dedicated to 8. George, and
the head of the saint is buried beneath the altar. For
those who have a more liberal allowance of time, the
interior must be interesting, but we did not attempt to
see it, as the church is nearly always closed and you
have to get the sacristan to come specially. So, after
looking at the charming campanile, the doorway, and
the door, to which Rienzi affixed one of his proclama-
tions—(“In breve tempo gli romani torneranno al loro
antiquo buono stato”)—we turned to the little Arcus
Argentariorum, a beautiful archway, set up in 204 ap.
by the silversmiths and the cattle merchants in honour
of Septimius Severus and his family.

We then looked more closely than before at the

oO 209
THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE

Janus Quadrifrons, a massive archway with four
facades and entrances, built in late Imperial times,
and once called the Arch of Constantine. It is a
very familiar object in many a Roman picture, and
though the workmanship marks a falling off from
earlier times, the arch is very effective. It marked
the limit of the great cattle market, which extended
on beyond down to the Tiber, and it stands right
over the Cloaca Maxima. The great vaulted channel
of the Cloaca is visible from a mill quite near, and
its final exit into the Tiber is close to S. Maria in
Cosmedin, our next halting-place.

We drove on, and found ourselves almost immedi-
ately in the Piazza Bocca della Verita, a part of
the ancient Forum Boarium. We always enjoyed
passing through this piazza, for it is one of the most
attractive and unspoilt parts of Rome. During the
time of the Byzantine domination, after the victories
of Narses and Belisarius, this was the Greek quarter,
and the beautiful little round temple of the Mater
Matuta, or Goddess of the Dawn, stands on what
was once the Ripa Greca,—the Greek shore, This
round temple, another famous feature in pictures
of Rome, is now the church of 8S. Maria del Sole.
The other little temple close by, a building of the
Tonic order, now the church of 8. Maria Egiziana,
ig usually supposed to have been the Temple of For-
tuna,—but there is apparently no absolute certainty
as to the ancient dedication of either temple. We

210
CHURCH OF S. MARIA IN COSMEDIN

looked at the exterior of both, at the pretty fountain
with its Tritons, and at the House of Crescentius, or
Casa di Rienzi, as it is rather vaguely called, an
ancient and picturesque house quite near.

We then turned to S. Maria in Cosmedin, a church
dating originally from the fourth century, and built
partly on the site of a temple dedicated, as some
say, to Ceres, or, according to another tradition, to
Hercules Pompeianus. A portion of the site was
occupied in ancient times by a hall belonging to
the Imperial office for distribution of corn. Being
here in the special Greek quarter, the church was
known of old as 8. Maria in Schola Greca, and even
now its name is derived from a Greek word for
decoration or adornment. If you happen to be
devoted to S. Augustine, as we all were, it is nice
to remember that he once taught in this very
Schola Greca.

As to the beautiful church itself, it is no longer
the fourth-century fabric that we see, but a re-
building by Adrian I in the eighth century, freely
restored by Calixtus 1 in the twelfth century. But
in spite of this rebuilding, the columns from the
old pagan building fortunately still form an important
part of the church,

In the portico is the antique colossal masque
known as the Bocca della Verita, giving the piazza
its medisval name. This curious marble head seems
to have presided over the taking of oaths, even in

211
THE BOCCA DELLA VERITA

old Roman times, and in the Middle Ages it was said
that if a perjurer put his hand into the open mouth
he was held prisoner. R. challenged the formidable
test, and without disaster, we were thankful to observe.

We greatly admired the church itself, in its delicate
simplicity of form and beauty of ornament and detail.
There is in these venerable churches a strange mixture
of elements, by which age-long experience seems to
culminate in immortal youth. We walked round,
looking at the rich marble pavement, the varied
capitals of the ancient columns which support the
flat-roofed nave, the beautiful ambones, the Paschal
candlestick, and the tabernacle with marble mosaic,
said to be the work of Adeodatus Cosmas. The
exquisite fragment of ancient Byzantine mosaic in
the Sacristy delighted us as much as anything in
the church. The mosaic came hither from the chapel
of the Blessed Virgin in old S. Peter’s, and dates from
the reign of John vi in the eighth century—John,
it may be noted, being of Greek descent. The
subject is the Adoration of the Magi, and the figures
which have escaped the ravages of time are those
of the Madonna and her Son, with an Angel, all
gracious and lovely in colour.

We threaded our way out among the number of
women who were kneeling in the church, picturesque
and touching figures in their humble dress, and
completely at home in the stately simplicity of this
church, so rich in artistic beauty.

212
THE THEATRE OF MARCELLUS

We emerged into the sunlit piazza, and drove away
regretfully from the charming group of buildings,
which, it must be feared, look a good deal less
romantic than in the days before the Tiber was
embanked. As we were so near, we made our
driver take us to see the remains of the Theatre
of Marcellus, a heavy massive building, of which two
stories of the exterior arcades still exist, one Doric,
the other Ionic, as in the Colosseum. The lower
one is half buried in the earth, and the topmost
storey has disappeared altogether. This ruin is
another of the strange medleys of Rome, for here
is a Savings Bank, once the Palazzo Orsini, built
on the ruined interior of this theatre, which was
planned by Cesar, and dedicated by Augustus to
the memory of his nephew Marcellus. What a
history !

A few minutes more served to show us the portico
of Octavia and the palace of the Cenci, and we then
returned past the glittering new Jewish synagogue
to the Piazza Bocca della Verita.

Our way led across the Ponte Palatino, whence we
got a good view of the Ponte Rotto, the Pons Amilius
of antiquity, now, after the flood of 1598, a mere frag-
ment. We drove along the Via della Lungaretta, past
8S. Maria in Trastevere and 8S. Maria della Scala,
and got into the Via Garibaldi. At the mention
of some of these places, Porzia gave a groan,
saying that the more we saw the more there was

213
THE VILLA DORIA-PAMPHILI

to see,—but at any rate we “did” no more churches
that day, but gave ourselves up to a repetition of
our first drive, along the Via Garibaldi, past the
Acqua Paola and 58. Pietro in Montorio, to the
Porta S. Pancrazio, on the top of the Janiculan
hill.

Ejaculations from our “cocchiere” informed us that
such-and-such was the way to the Villa Lante, and
that the not far distant church and convent are
those of 8. Pancrazio, built, it is said, by Symmachus,
in the sixth century; but no hints could induce us
to undertake one single building more, and we drove
on to the entrance of the charming Villa Doria-
Pamphili, where we hoped for mental and physical
recreation.

We were later than we expected to be, but we
gained immeasurably thereby, as a hint of sunset
had suddenly shot into the sky, and an enchanting
freshness had sprung into the air, most appropriate
to the name of “ Bel respiro,” given to this beautiful
park by the Italians. We let the driver do what
he would, and he took us the usual tourist round,—
first to the ilex-shaded terrace, whence you get the
entrancing view of 8S. Peter’s, Monte Mario, and
Soracte’s sharp outline, far on the horizon, with a
stretch of ethereal, glowing Campagna to make it
quite unmistakably Rome. Near us was the iron
gate opening into the private garden, and we could
gee the casino, built by Algardi in this park he so

214
EMPEROR GALBA’S GARDENS

cleverly planned for Prince Camillo Pamphili. Some
ancient “columbaria” on the Via Aurelia are visible —
strange towers of death, to which we could never
reconcile ourselves.

We agreed that it does not do to inquire too curiously
into origins. We might be tempted to dwell on the
darker side of many things if we did so,—and thus we
did not insist too much on Donna Olimpia Maidalchini’s
outrageous rule over her brother-in-law, Innocent x, or
the exactions by which she amassed the wealth to which
the Villa Doria-Pamphili owes its existence. Neither
did we gloat over the fact that this was the site of the
Emperor Galba’s gardens, and the scene of his murder.
Rather did we incline to echo the words of Rabindranath
Tagore: “Vain is this seeking! Unbroken perfection
is over all!”

As all unwelcome and ugly thoughts glided away,
we rested for a few blissful moments, gazing on the
beauty of nature, before which the grandest efforts of
art must ever grow pale. The soft wind, balmy with
the scents of spring, vivid with the breath of returning
life and youth, seemed to sweep away all the cobwebs
spun by our vain and wearisome learning, and all those
“insane et vane cure” by which so many fetters are
forged. The peace was fugitive, like all mundane
things, and we found ourselves asking, as by common
consent, why these moments are so few, so elusive, so
evanescent.

After a space we had to go on, and drove past the

21g
A TRANQUIL SUNSET

pine-shadewed meadow where an altar stands, round to
other lovely views over the Campagna to the Alban
Hills. Here we waited again for a time, almost over-
whelmed by the insistent beauty of it all, and by the
memories which seem to make of you a spectator of all
time, and threaten to merge your separate personality
in that of the race.

The sunset drew on,—a tranquil one,—all in delicate
tints of apricot, rose, and aquamarine, with soft misty
shadows almost as transparent as an amethyst. The
only sharp lines were made by the pine trees, some of
which looked almost black against the light, while others
seemed to be on fire.

Our long-suffering driver at last intimated with
gentle courtesy that the villa was supposed to close at
sunset, and we had to yield. We drove round, passing
the pheasantry and the little monumental chapel
erected by the Prince Doria of that day to the French
who fell at the Porta 8. Pancrazio, in 1849. We tried
to think out a different way home, but could imagine
nothing better than a return to 8. Pietro in Montorio,
for another sunset view, and thence down to the Ponte
Sisto. A drive of bewildering twists and turns brought
us past the Pantheon and the Trevi fountain to our
own quarter once more,—tired but happy.

216
CHAPTER XII

‘*Go thou to Rome,—at once the Paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness.”
SHELLEY.

To-pay we had to arrange for not too long a morning,
ag our afternoon projects were formidable. Our in-
defatigable motor car friends had an elaborate sight-
seeing expedition in view for us, and as a prelude to
the performance they had bidden us to a very early
“colazione” at the Grand Hotel. We, for our part, were
frivolous enough to look forward to a lunch at the
hotel which figures in all Italian “society ” novels!

We therefore went out betimes, and took the tram
for the Piazza dell’ Esquilino, our first goal being the
glorious church of §8. Maria Maggiore. Externally,
this church is less disappointing than most of the
churches in Rome. The twin domes and the beautiful
campanile do not, perhaps, keep house very well to-
gether, but the whole effect is majestic, and we thought
it not conspicuously unworthy of the great nave, one
of the treasures of Rome.

Tradition has been exceptionally busy with the story
of S. Maria Maggiore. Its foundation has been
ascribed to a certain patrician of the fourth century,

217
CHURCH OF S. MARIA MAGGIORE

and to the contemporary Pope, Liberius, who, we are
told, were guided to the choice of the site by a mirac-
ulous fall of snow in August, whence the basilica got
one of its early names, S. Maria ad Nives. In memory
of Pope Liberius it was often called the Liberian
Basilica, and sometimes, again, the name “ad Praesepe”
was given to it, from the chief relic preserved here,
namely, the boards of the sacred Cradle. The latest
authorities, however, incline to attribute yet greater
antiquity to the church, and maintain that the basilica
formed part of the house of the family of the Sicinii,
in which case it would date from about the end of the
second century. So far ag unlearned ramblers can
judge, the evidence for this view seems good, and it is
always pleasant to join on to classical times, and to
heal the violent disruptions between the latter days of
the Western Empire and those that come after, when
the world was all but submerged in barbarism.

We were at first occupied with a glance at the
exterior, with its two facades, one built in the seven-
teenth century, and facing north-west; the other built
in the eighteenth century, and facing toward the
Lateran. This latter facade is adorned with early
fourteenth-century mosaics by Rusutti and Gaddo
Gaddi. The upper row of these mosaic pictures has
a figure of our Lord enthroned, with figures of angels,
the symbols of the Evangelists, and Madonna, with
S. James and S. Paul. These uncomfortably short and
massive figures interested us less than the lower row

218
“YMOIDOVIN VIN¥IN ‘S AO HOMNHS
“uoscapu Pp |

 
THE INTERIOR

of pictures, which tell the traditional story of the
foundation, and which are ascribed to Gaddo Gaddi.

The interior delighted us greatly, with its splendid
proportions and stately rows of columns, above which
glow a stretch of some of the most ancient mosaics in
Rome, and which are considered to be some of the
finest known in early Christian art. In this wonderful
series of pictures Israelitish history is made to fore-
shadow and lead up to the Christian revelation figured
in the triumphal arch. There is something here for
everyone,—something truly Catholic, you might say,
There is the mystical teaching of the gleaming mosaics
for those who love the symbolism of the faith; there is
the majesty of architectural form for those to whom a
noble building makes special appeal; there is the glow
of colour, and the fire of golden sunshine breaking in
upon it here and there for those who find their chief
delight in “simple beauty and nought else,”—thinking
with the poet, that it is “about the best thing God
invents.”

You will see that the mosaics of the nave group
themselves round four famous Old Testament figures,—
Abraham, Jacob, Moses, and Joshua, and that they use
the Scripture stories as “ombriferi prefazii,” with a
method of mystical interpretation which, we are told,
is more of the Greek school than of the Roman.

In the early mosaics on the triumphal arch the
mystery is shown us, but yet “as in a mirror darkly,”
and in a figure, as if recognising the inadequacy of

219
THE MOSAICS

human speech. The beautiful thirteenth - century
mosaic in the semidome is more explicit, as we might
expect. The Coronation of the Madonna is the central
picture; on either side the nine angelic choirs are
represented, and beyond them are saints. The trees
of Paradise are figured at the sides of the semidome,
and below are five scenes from the earthly life of the
Virgin. The whole effect of the colour, and of a
symbolism so strangely foreign to modern habits of
thought, is very impressive and very lovely.

The side chapels need not upset you; they do not
intrude on the main line of the glorious church, and
they are very fine in their own way.

The Capella Sistina, built by Fontana for the Cardinal
di Montalto (afterwards Sixtus v), contains the tombs
of two formidable pontiffs, Sixtus v himself, and Pius
v, who continued the work begun by the redoubtable
Caraffa (Paul Iv). The marble reliefs beneath each of
these figures represent the chief events during each
Papacy, such, for example, as the battle of Lepanto,
which took place during the reign of Pius v, and the
Peace between the Emperor and the King of Poland
negotiated by Cardinal Aldobrandini during the reign
of Sixtus v. Gregorius waxes furious over the savage
representation of the suppression of brigands in the
Campagna, one of the feats of Sixtus v. We thought
our sympathies were with the Romans, who had gone
in fear of their lives by reason of the said brigands.
Humanitarianism is apt to become distorted, as we all

220
THE SACRED CRADLE

know too well. The upper walls of the chapel are
frescoed with scenes illustrating the history of the
Incarnation, and the pieces of the Sacred Cradle were
once kept in this chapel, where is also the first altar
consecrated in the Basilica of Liberius. The great relic
is now placed under the high altar.

In the left aisle is the Capella Paolina, built by
Paul v in the seventeenth century. In it are buried
Paul v (Borghese), and Clement vi (Aldobrandini).
The tombs are much in the same style as those in the
opposite chapel. The figures of the Popes—powerful
and masterful-looking men—are in the niches, while
below them are reliefs representing their achievements.
Beneath Clement VIII you see the occupation of the
Duchy of Ferrara, and the Peace made between France
and Spain. The chief scenes on Paul v’s monument
are the canonisation of S. Francesca Romana and
S. Carlo Borromeo, the building of the fortress at
Ferrara, and the reception of envoys from Japan and
from the Congo. This chapel is decorated with frescoed
figures of saints, and possesses a most precious picture
of the Madonna,—said to be by 8. Luke,—a picture
carried in procession by 8. Gregory the Great during
the plague of 590 a.p. Neither of the chapels attracted
us much; for all their splendour, they leave you with a
sense of coldness and incongruity.

I own that we paid little or no attention on this
occasion to the Cesi Chapel, but we went into Michel-
angelo’s Sforza Chapel, and we looked with great

221
THE SFORZA CHAPEL

interest at the fine Cosmati tomb of the Cardinal
Consalvo Rodrigo, Bishop of Albano, which is in the
right aisle. We greatly preferred this beautiful work
of Giovanni Cosmas, with its delicate design and re-
verent spirit, to the vast tombs of the Popes.

Very beautiful are the four reliefs by Mino da Fiesole,
below the windows of the apse. They represent the
Nativity, the tracing of the foundations of the Church,
the Assumption, and the Adoration of the Magi. The
reliefs belonged to the decoration of a tabernacle pre-
sented by the Cardinal dEstouteville, whose figure
appears on one side of the scene of the Assumption.
The two we liked best were the Adoration of the
Magi, and the very curious illustration of the legend of
the snow which fell on the Esquiline in August 352,
and thus indicated the site of the basilica.

We returned once again, however, to a long look at
the nave, so satisfying in its fine balance of form and
colour, so venerable in its history. The great baldac-
chino is a little disturbing, but the Confession, with its
kneeling statue of Pius 1x, gathers the interest of the
whole building round the central fact of Christendom,
“Unto us a child is born.”

We now turned our thoughts to 8. Peter, to the
house of Pudens where he is said to have dwelt, and
to the children of Pudens, Novatus, Pudenziana, and
Prassede, who are so remarkably commemorated here
in Rome. We began by making our way to the church
of S. Prassede, which is close by, just across the

222
CHURCH OF SANTA PRASSEDE

Piazza S. Maria Maggiore. This church, a veritable
treasure-house of ninth-century mosaic, was re-erected
by Pope Paschal 1 on the site of a much more ancient
building. It suffered restoration at the hands of S. Carlo
Borromeo, which accounts, no doubt, for the horrible
veiling of the columns and other monstrous additions.
The mosaics, however, which are the chief interest, and
great decoration, belong to the days of Paschal I, and,
in spite of all their gorgeousness, they are already
completely in the spirit of half-barbarous medizvalism.
We gazed at the semidome, and Porzia was emphatic
in saying that but for the glow of colour she positively
disliked these heavy conventional figures, stiff and
gloomy in expression and attitude. We assented
rather half-heartedly, for to us, I fear, the beauty of
the colour atoned for the defects of form. The figure
of Pope Paschal interested us, as showing the square
nimbus placed round the head of a living personage, in
contrast to the circular nimbus of those departed.

The central figure is that of our Lord; the two
sisters, S. Prassede and 8. Pudenziana, are shown as
being presented to Christ by 8. Paul and S. Peter,
while the martyred soldier, 8. Zeno, stands by.
Over the head of S. Paul, and amid the branches of
a palm-tree, we saw our favourite phcenix, symbol of
the immortal soul, having rays of light springing from
the aureole round its head. Lower down you find the
cities of Bethlehem and Jerusalem, and the central
Mount where stands the Lamb, and whence flow the

223
THE CHAPEL OF S. ZENO

four rivers of Paradise. The faithful, figured by sheep,
meet in the Divine Presence. On the face of the arch
of the semidome is a curious representation of the
apocalyptic vision, with the seven candlesticks, the
four-and-twenty elders, and the Lamb in the midst of
the throne. On the triumphal arch itself the City of
God is depicted, surrounded by a fair meadow and by
groups of people who gaze up at the city, and who
would fain enter.

We were admitted—unjustifiably as far as Porzia
and I were concerned—into the chapel of 8. Zeno,
where no woman is supposed to set foot save on one
day in the year. This little chapel is one blaze of
gorgeous mosaic, all the more resplendent from the
fact of its rough surface. The great white angels
who hold up the central picture of Christ are very
fine, and reminded me a little of some similar but
more beautiful figures in 8. Vitale at Ravenna. On
the walls appear the Apostles §. Peter, S. Paul, 8.
John, 8. James, and S. Andrew, together with other
saints, among whom are SS. Prassede and Pudenziana,
and Pope Paschal 1.

We were then taken to see the Confession, where are
sarcophagi containing the relics of the two sister-saints,
and two others containing bones of martyrs, presumably
those preserved by S. Prassede in the well shown at
the western end of the nave.

We looked at the chapel of 8. Carlo Borromeo, once
titular cardinal of this church, and we saw the table

224
CHAPEL OF S. CARLO BORROMEO

whence he was wont to feed the poor. Our enthusiasm
was modified by the remembrance of his persecuting
spirit. It seems as though, even in the best of men,
generosity to the poor is an easier virtue than justice
to those who disagree with you—even if, as Porzia
contended—the burning of heretics may be a form of
charity. We were discussing this as we came upon the
beautiful tombs of Cardinal Anchera, ascribed to one of
the Cosmati family. With this fine bit of work, con-
trasting so curiously with the mosaics, our visit ended,
and we made our way across to the sister-church of
S. Pudenziana, which stands in the present Via Urbana,
on part of the traditional site of the palace of Pudens
on the Viminal hill.

As this church was already old enough to be restored
in the fourth century, it cannot but be venerable histor-
ically, whatever be the demerits (and they are great)
of successive restorations, and especially of the com-
paratively recent renewal by Cardinal Caetani. Happily,
the ninth-century campanile and the fine columns at
the entrance are left to us, while the interior possesses
a glorious mosaic of the fourth century, not wholly
marred by the ravages of restoration. This mosaic is in
the semidome, and the picture is divided into two parts
by a curious, semicircular loggia. In the upper part
you see the mountain—perhaps Golgotha, with a great
jewelled cross set upon it, like that set there by Con-
stantine after the Invention of the Cross, while round
about are the palaces and domes of Jerusalem—Jeru-

P 225
CHURCH OF S. PUDENZIANA

salem which is above, if we will to think it so. In the
lower part of the picture is a figure of our Lord, splen-
didly enthroned, and represented as a man of Syrian
type. Round him are the Apostles and behind them
are two female figures variously held to signify either
the churches of the Circumcision and of the Gentiles,
or SS. Pudenziana and Prassede. They hold crowns
over the heads of S. Peter and 8. Paul.

The whole design is very noble, and there isa certain
grand naturalness which you miss in the stiff, ascetic
figures of the medieval times. You look at this mag-
nificent work of art, and try to retrace the history of
the church to the days when S. Peter dwelt with the
Senator Pudens, and the primitive Church met here;
then to the days when Pudentiana devoutly buried the
bones of three thousand martyrs in the well which still
remains in the aisle, and on to the time when Pope
Pius 1 established a church in the baths of Novatus, the
son of Pudens. These are all venerable stories, and
there is doubtless much of truth in all of them. Like
the Catacombs, they bring home to us easy-going
Christians the fact of an heroic struggle for the faith,
and make you realise, too, the intimate link with the
social life of the splendid, but decaying, Rome of an-
tiquity.

We spent a short time in the ancient rooms below
the church, and were interested in the brickwork and
in the two different types of mosaic pavement,—one said
to be of pagan time, the other of Christian. The cus-

226
‘YNVIZNAGAd ‘S dO HOUNHO AHL NI OIVSON

Mos.4opu py

 
A GREAT CONTRAST

todian also showed us a baptismal font attributed to the
days of 8. Peter himself.

When we left 8. Pudenziana we turned to a very
different experience, and, walking along by the Via
Torino to the Piazza delle Terme, we found ourselves
at the appointed hour amid the very modern splendours
of the Grand Hotel. These gorgeous caravanserais
pall upon you after early youth has passed, and a sense
of weariness seems to haunt them, so monotonous are
they in their decoration, in their sumptuous fare, and
even in their extremely up-to-date guests. In this latter
respect we were disappointed, for no one very exciting
seemed to be present, and we were forced to concentrate
our chief attention on the menu, which work of art
was undoubtedly worth most solemn consideration.

Talk turned finally on the afternoon’s plans, which
sounded more overwhelming than they really proved
to be.

“Colazione” over, we made an early start, and fled
along the Via Venti Settembre towards the Porta
Salaria. We dashed through this ancient gate, restored
after the bombardment in September 1870, and we
tried to get time to realise the monument which had
been actually found enclosed in the massive wall.

We drove along the broad Viale d’Italia, and gasped
at the ruthless, but probably useful, breaches made here
and there in Aurelian’s wall. We turned into the Villa
Borghese—or, to give it its new and still unwonted name,
the Villa Umberto Primo,—close to the lofty Porta

227
VILLA UMBERTO PRIMO

Pinciana, once a postern gate, remodelled by the Em-
peror Honorius, and gallantly defended by Belisarius
against the Goths in 537.

Our friends, I fear, were more keen on their driving
than on their educational opportunities, and grudged us
even a hasty moment of historical meditation. We
therefore whirled along, passed the monument to Goethe,
which, though rather modern and sentimental, is pleas-
ing,—then by the great statue of Victor Hugo to the
Portico Egizio. We turned and drove through the
splendid ilex avenue which borders the Piazza di Siena
—that most romantic of playing fields. At the so-called
Temple of Faustina we turned sharply to the right, to
the fine Fontana dei Cavalli Marini, and thence to the
Casino itself, which was rebuilt in the eighteenth
century by Cardinal Scipio Borghese.

We felt that any study of the pictures and sculptures
collected here was out of the question, a glimpse was
all we could hope for on this occasion ;—and, indeed, the
works that take you captive are really few. On the
ground floor there is an interesting collection of ancient
sculpture, of which the “ Borghese Satyr,” reproduced
from a bronze of the school of Lysippus, is the most
celebrated work.

Among the modern sculptures we noted Bernini's
David, and his well-known and theatrical group of
Apolloand Daphne. Canova’s famous statue of Pauline
Borghese is conspicuous and important, and arouses
an admiration not unmingled with surprise.

228
THE CASINO BORGHESE

The picture gallery needs no further description, as
the chief works are very well known. We felt, as
possibly many do, that Raphael’s “ Entombment ” left us
without any desire to see it again, and almost with a
wish to forget it, so painful is the impression it makes,
It is otherwise with Titian’s “Sacred and Profane Love,”
so beautiful in its golden light and transparent atmos-
phere ; so mysterious, in spite of its apparent simplicity.
We also lingered over Paolo Veronese’s picture of S.
Anthony of Padua preaching to the fishes at Rimini,
Titian’s “Education of Cupid,” his 8. Dominic, and the
portrait of Perugino by Raphael. That is mainly what
you take away with you from the Casino Borghese,
unless, indeed, your ramble is not limited by inexorable
time, as ours was.

Having absorbed some small amount of what the
collection has to teach, we set out once more, and again
drove out by the way near Porta Pinciana and past the
Porta Salaria. Skirting the Villa Albani, we turned
into the Via Nomentana, and so to S. Agnese fuori le
Mura, a church which seems rather distant if you have
no motor-car wherewith to devour space and defy time.
Here we stayed, and happily found the church was open
after its midday rest.

We stood and gazed with delight at the beautiful
interior, with its simple, stately columns and open gal-
leries over the aisles. Facing you is a dim, solemn
mosaic, with straight, majestic figures of the martyred
saint, Agnes, of Pope Symmachus, and of Pope Honorius 1,

229
S. AGNESE FUORI LE MURA

who re-built and re-decorated the church in the seventh
century. The high altar stands on the spot where §.
Agnes was buried on the Via Nomentana. The church
of S. Agnese in the Piazza Navona is built over the
scene of her martyrdom, which probably took place
under Valerian in the third century. Here, in this
solemn, impressive church you have the memory of her
repose and of her triumph.

After looking round the church, we were told with
great eloquence of the lambs of 8S. Agnese, from whose
fleece are woven the pallia worn by archbishops, The
“blessing of the lambs” takes place on 21st January.

We were also shown the court where is a terrible
fresco representing the extraordinary escape of Pope
Pius 1x, when the floor of the room where he was
resting after Mass suddenly gave way, precipitating
the Pope and his attendant clergy into the cellars
below. No one was hurt, and the fresco remains as a
testimony to the event.

We did not go into the catacomb of 8. Agnese, as
a friend who knew his Rome very well had told us
that it was not of very special interest, if you happen
to have seen the greater catacombs on the Appian
Way.

From §. Agnese we went across to the charming
little circular church of 8. Costanza, possibly intended
originally for a baptistery, but remembered chiefly as
the mausoleum of Constantia, daughter of Constantine.
We had seen her splendid sarcophagus in the Vatican,

230
 

CHURCH OF S. COSTANZA.
CHURCH OF S. COSTANZA

but the body was taken out and still rests here, under
the high altar. The dome, carried on picturesque
double columns, was once covered with mosaic, now
unhappily destroyed, and we must therefore be all the
more thankful for the exquisite mosaics which are left
to us on the waggon-vault of the ambulatory. These
are of the fourth century—enchantingly delicate
designs on a white ground, giving a wonderfully clear
and restful effect. We lingered over these, delighting
especially in the vine pattern and in the various
figures of birds, which pleased us better than the
stiffer geometrical designs, though the variety of type
is part of the charm.

The mosaics in the two outer niches looked very
grim after these graceful patterns, though, possibly,
their rude and unbending lines contain the promise of
a greater power in the future, when the barbarian
strength should have been disciplined by the Faith.

Further discussion was now quenched by someone
pulling out a watch and saying that we had to go to
tea with some people who lived in the Piazza del
Popolo, and that we should “just do it nicely” if we
went now.

We therefore took our way back again,—this time
by the Via Salaria (literally the Salt Street, as this
was the ancient road along which they carried the
salt from Rome to the Sabine country),—and then
along the wide Viale dei Parioli, which crosses the
new park on the Monti Parioli, and takes you to the

231
THE PIAZZA DEL POPOLO

Acqua Acetosa. Once on the Flaminian Way, we fled
through the Porta del Popolo, and drew up in front
of the big palazzo where our friends had an “ apparta-
mento.”

We felt a very prosaic thankfulness for tea and talk
in these big rooms overlooking the Piazza del Popolo,
whence we had a full view of the great obelisk once
set up in the Circus Maximus by Augustus to com-
memorate his victory in Egypt. What a queer mixture
of old and new!

After a time, when we felt we had paid the visit
demanded by courtesy, Porzia’s Etruscan energy burst
forth again, and she announced that it was our duty,
now we were here, to see 8. Maria del Popolo. In
vain did we point out that we had already seen five
churches,—that morning light was best, and so forth —
we had to go, and, what is more, we never regretted it.
We had a most interesting visit, and the brilliant light
of a late afternoon was as lovely a thing as you might
desire.

We wandered across the wide piazza, now intersected
by hideous tramways, with cars hurtling round the
Obelisk of the Sun,—and looked for a few moments
at the Porta del Popolo. This comparatively modern
gate was built by Vignola on the site of the Flaminian
Gate of Aurelian’s time,—the gate which led to and
from our northern realms. The gate is not particularly
impressive, in spite of Bernini’s addition made in
honour of that strange sojourner, Christina of Sweden,

232
THE PORTA DEL POPOLO

and the two side entrances built in 1878. Close to
the gate is the great church of S. Maria del Popolo,
first founded, so tradition says, by Pope Paschal 1 on
the site of Nero’s burial-place, which was haunted by
evil spirits, as one might well expect.

The church was rebuilt by Gregory Ix, and again, in
1472, by Sixtus Iv, whose church is the one we now
see. Sixtus Iv also built the adjoining Augustinian
convent, famous as having given hospitality to Luther.
This convent was rebuilt by Pius vu, and is still a
picturesque feature in the group. The church itself
evidently became the fashion, and more than one great
papal family, notably the della Rovere, have left very
splendid witness to their interest in it.

Outside there is little to attract you, and the actual
architecture of the interior has no especial grace or
charm; it is just a correct building of the particular
style. The great interest lies in the splendid examples
of Renaissance art which are assembled here.

Contrary to all the rules of sight-seeing, we looked
at the choir first, with its two important tombs, and
Pinturicchio’s frescoed vault, where he sets forth the
Coronation of Madonna, this central picture being sur-
rounded by figures of the Evangelists, the Sibyls, and
the Doctors of the Church. This design in the cupola
is perhaps rather formal in general effect, but beautiful
in detail, and exquisitely decorative.

We were really more interested by the tombs of
Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, and of Cardinal Girolamo

233
CHURCH OF S. MARIA DEL POPOLO

Basso della Rovere, Bishop of Loreto, and nephew of
Sixtus Iv. The architectural part of these tombs is
the work of Bramante; the sculptures are by Andrea
da Sansovino. The Sforza tomb is exceedingly interest-
ing, because it was erected by Julius 1 to the memory
of this vanquished foe, Ascanio Maria Sforza, brother
of Ludovico il Moro. “Virtutem memor honestissim-
arum, contentionum oblitus.”

We did not agree about these monuments. Porzia
liked them better than R. and I could manage to do:
They seemed to us to lack simplicity and repose, while
the chief figures, leaning up on their elbows, reminded
us of the Elizabethan worthies in Westminster Abbey,
who are so often represented in this unnatural and
uncomfortable posture. The detail, decoration, and
general design are, needless to say, very beautiful, if
not wholly satisfying.

Very different, and to our minds much more appro-
priate, was the tomb of Cardinal Cristoforo della
Rovere, the joint work of Andrea Bregno and Mino
da Fiesole, in the former della Rovere Chapel. The
tomb itself is beautiful and dignified, and the figure
of the cardinal, which is by Andrea Bregno, is very
delicate, and stately in its repose. We thought it more
beautiful than the tomb of Cardinal Pietro Riario, by
the same artist, in the church of the SS. Apostoli.
In this same chapel Pinturicchio has painted an
Adoration of the Infant Christ, and scenes from the
history of S. Jerome, these frescoes having been

234
TOMBS OF CARDINALS

executed for Domenico della Rovere, Cardinal of
5. Clemente.

The Cappella Costa contains the charming monument
to Marcantonio Albertoni, a beautiful marble altar pre-
sented by Cardinal Costa, founder of the chapel, and
frescoes by Pinturicchio,—or at least attributed to him.

Before going into the Chigi Chapel we made our
way to the Sacristy, as we felt anxious to see the altar
made by Andrea Bregno for Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia
(Alexander vi), before we plunged into the full
splendours of the Renaissance in Raphael’s famous
chapel.

The Chigi Chapel is yet another link with Loreto, as
it was built by Raphael for the papal banker, Agostino
Chigi, in honour of Our Lady of Loreto. The chapel
itself is wonderfully graceful in its design, in which it
follows a plan very characteristic of the period, namely,
a Greek cross supporting a soaring cupola. It was
owing doubtless to some defect in our own esthetic
education, but we had to admit that for all its perfection
the building did not make instant appeal to our imagina-
tion. In the cupola is the famous mosaic, executed after
Raphael’s own design by Luigi di Pace, and illustrating
the medizval doctrine concerning the universe—and
“la gloria di Colui chi tutto muove.” In the central
circle is the figure of the Father Eternal, the Primal
Mover of the universe, and around Him are the
Seraphim. In the divided spaces of the dome are
the celestial hierarchies, who move the lesser heavens

235
THE CHIGI CHAPEL

according to the Divine will. Students of Dante will
find much to study and to interest them in the details
of this wonderful vault, and it is doubly interesting to
find the Comedy and the Convivio living over again in
the golden age of the Renaissance, and inspiring one
of its great masters.

When Porzia and I could tear ourselves away from
the contemplation of the mosaic, we found R. studying
the tombs of the two Chigi, Agostino and Sigismondo,
and the statues of the prophets,—Jonah, Elijah, Daniel,
and Habbakuk. The figure of Jonah (which we had
seen criticised as representing the prophet as an
Antinous) is said to have been designed by Raphael and
executed by his pupil, Lorenzetto, the sculptor of the
Elias. Both figures are probably intended to symbolise
the resurrection ; the story of Jonah being often so used
on Christian sarcophagi. As we looked round, and up
again at the great mosaic, we seemed to grasp something
of that truly Catholic blend of Christian and pagan
conceptions, that transcendent, all-embracing under-
standing of which Dante, for example, held the key,
and towards which we, with all our triumphs of applied
science, are feebly fumbling.

We turned once more to the former della Rovere
Chapel to look at our favourite Cardinal Cristoforo in
his calm and glorious rest, and we were obliged by
our conscientious guide to look at the monuments in
the right transept, and at that of Cardinal Lonati in
the left.

236
OTHER MONUMENTS

But here R. protested, and said that he, for one, had
seen more than enough, that it was nearly sunset, and
that, in fine, he was going home,

We came out again into the wide piazza, and actually
found vacant places in a tram going to the Piazza di
Spagna and along the Via due Macelli. Once there,
our way up the Via Tritone was clear, if rather steep
after a long day.

“How much do you remember?” asked R. that night
at dinner.

“Never mind,” said Porzia, “we have been there.
Yes, I think the best Frascati to-night, after all our
labours !”

237
CHAPTER XIII

“O Sculpteur! plus puissant que la Nature méme,
Tu coules en airain son modéle supréme
Dans le moule idéal qu’elle n’a pas rempli ;

Ton regard dans la forme humble encore devine

Le pur contour élu par son type accompli:

On te la livre humaine, et tu la rends divine!”
SULLY PRUDHOMME.

To-paY there was serious business on hand, as our
ramble was to be directed mainly to the great Museo
Nazionale, so delightfully housed in the Carthusian
Cleister built by Michelangelo on part of the site
of Diocletian’s Baths.

We walked along the Via Venti Settembre, partly
for the sake of recalling the course of the Alta
Semita, or “ High Street” of ancient Rome, and partly
for the sake of passing Bresciano’s extraordinary,
flamboyant “Moses” at the Fontanone dell’ Acqua
Felice, in the Piazza §. Bernardo. The unhappy
sculptor is said to have died of mortification at the
failure of this statue.

A short street led us into the Piazza delle Terme,
passing close to the present church of S. Ber-
nardo, formerly a circular, domed building, which
was once a part of Diocletian’s Baths. Its companion

238
 

(Ahinari,

MUSEO NAZIONALE (MICHELANGELO'S CLOISTER).
DIOCLETIAN’S BATHS

is built into a house in the Via Viminale,—a girls’
school (Instituto Vittorio Colonna). The semicircle of
houses at the top of the Via Nazionale represents the
“exedra ” of Diocletian’s “ peribolos,” whence its modern
name, Piazza dell’ Esedra. You therefore begin to
realise that the buildings of Diocletian’s Baths sur-
round you here on all sides.

We stood for a short time, trying to picture the
position and vast area of the Terme Diocleziane, the
largest baths in Rome. We tried to imagine, also,
the disgust and despair of the Romans when the Goths
cut the aqueducts, thus ushering in an age of personal
uncleanliness, and making possible the medieval cult
of dirt,—which was perhaps in part a revolt from the
luxury of these magnificent Roman Baths. It was
Pius Iv (brother of that most astounding person gener-
ally known as the Marquis de Marignan) who commis-
sioned Michelangelo to adapt the remaining build-
ings of the Thermz for use as a Carthusian convent;
and it is the cloister of this convent which has now
been turned into the great National Museum. Other
parts of the Carthusian house are used for charitable
and educational institutions.

But before entering the Museum, we made our way
to the wonderful church of 8. Maria degli Angeli,
originally the great central hall, or Tepidarium, of
Diocletian’s Baths. Michelangelo converted this splen-
did vaulted hall to its present use, but his design
made it the nave of the church, whereas an eighteenth-

239
S. MARIA DEGLI ANGELI

century architect, Vanvitelli, who presumably thought
he could improve on Michelangelo and Diocletian
combined, turned the nave into the transept, built on
the present choir, placing the entrance where it now is,
and using the rotunda asa vestibule. Even asit is, the
church is splendid and impressive, and the columns,
eight of which are antique, give a fine effect. The
monument which interested us most was the statue
of §. Bruno, which you see just as you enter the
transept. It is appropriately placed here, in a once
Carthusian monastery,—and S. Bruno must always
be dear to English folk for the sake of his disciple,
S. Hugh of Lincoln. We really spent but little time
in the church, as we felt that our best energies must
be given to the Museum.

Of all the museums we found time to see in Rome,
this, the Museo Nazionale, was the one we delighted in
most,—possibly because it is entirely unlike a conven-
tional museum in its arrangements and surroundings.
It is as much as you can do to tear yourself away from
the cloister court itself,—so beautiful in its simple,
dignified spaciousness,—so fair in its wreathing of red,
white, and yellow roses among the marbles, and in the
brilliant flowers that climb about its central group of
stately cypress. It is truly a feast both of form and of
colour, with the peculiar charm that haunts all Italian
cloisters. We took our way first round the cloister
itself, and looked with interest at the curious little
“casette” of the monks, now used as part of the

240
THE MUSEO NAZIONALE

Museum. Many interesting things have been placed in
these lonely monastic dwellings. In one are sculptures
from Ostia, notably a very fine altar, and in others
are inscriptions from the Sacred Grove of the Arval
Brotherhood, a college which had originally to do with
the cult of an ancient divinity of Mother Earth, and
which was revived by Augustus. In one of these rooms
there is a very beautiful altar of the Augustan period.

In the corner of the east and south corridor we
lingered for some time among the fragments of the Ara
Pacis Auguste, bits of which, as R. remarked, seemed
to be everywhere. What a pity it could not be recon-
structed into something of its first beauty and splendour,
as it stood down there near the Via Lata. We had
seen the reliefs now in the Uffizi at Florence, and the
bit in the Cortile del Belvedere, and now did our best
to study the slabs preserved here, of which the most
important is a relief representing the Sacrifice of a
Sow. We then turned into the rooms where the great
Buonconpagni and Ludovisi collections are placed.
These sculptures need no fresh comments, for most
of them are familiar enough. The rigid and stately
beauty of the so-called Ludovisi Hera (Juno), the
grace of the Resting Ares, the pathetic group of the
Gaul and his Wife, and above all the Sleeping Fury,
—these remain ineffaceably in the mind, overcharged as
the memory must be in such a city as Rome,

The famous Throne in the first room, with the ex-
quisite Aphrodite rising from the Waves, and the great

Q 241
THE MUSEO NAZIONALE

third-century sarcophagus at the end of the last room,
were perhaps the two things which interested us most,
—possibly as forming so marked a contrast. To these
might be added the colossal archaic head of a goddess,
usually assumed to be Aphrodite, but apparently with-
out sufficient reason. The head is, however, very im-
pressive, as archaic work usually is,

The rooms on the upper floor are full of the most
varying interest and beauty, though I own to feeling
much inclined to play truant, and to spend most of my
time looking out of the windows on to the ravishing
cloister square.

As before said, it is not the rambler’s duty to make
catalogues, so only our chief favourites shall be enumer-
ated. First, though least pleasing, was the powerful
bronze statue of the boxer, a repulsive figure, and yet
uncomfortably fascinating. The other statues which
stood out more especially for us were the copy of the
Discobolus of Myron, the head of the dying Persian,
and the figures of the Vestals. But we had to own
that our chief delight was the graceful and delicate
stucco work from a Roman house near the Villa
Farnesina. There was such exquisite fancy in the
subjects, such fairy-like grace in the figures, that we
returned again and again tolook at them. The various
frescoes found in the same house have an important
place in this upper series of rooms. These paintings
have suffered more from the ravages of time than the
stucco decorations, but are still very charming in their

242
THE LOMBARD TREASURE

different styles, with the varying backgrounds, black,
red, or white. Some of the rooms are themselves
rather dark, which makes these mural decorations
harder to see, but the house so adorned must have
been very pleasing to live in. We thought we should
have especially enjoyed the company of the frescoes on
the white ground.

Our northern barbarian sympathies showed in our
keen interest in the Lombard treasure from Ascoli
Piceno. It was curious to feel that the designs of the
rude, but really beautiful, ornaments appealed in some
mysterious way, while the ideas and sentiments em-
bodied in many of these so-called “classical” works
seem so very hard to understand, and are in some cases
almost repellent. Personally, I felt that the more you
look at Greek and Roman works of art—especially,
perhaps, the minor arts—the more sharply do you
perceive the chasm between our thought and theirs. I
could not help seeing that Porzia was at home in it all,
and grasped something that eluded me. It must be
supposed that there is some deep-rooted difference in
the fundamental conception of life which forms this
impalpable barrier. “Du gleichst dem Geist, den du
begreifst, nicht mir,” might be addressed to some of us
without undue straining of the sense.

We turned from these reflections to inspect another
barbarian hoard, namely, the English coins sent to
Rome as Peter's pence by several of our Saxon
sovereigns, Alfred the Great among them. From these

243
A REST IN THE CLOISTER SQUARE

very interesting relics of our own past we went on to
look at the remains of Caligula’s great galleys, found
sunk in the Lake of Nemi—wondrous undertakings
indeed ;—though we to-day, who cross the Atlantic in
floating palaces, need not upbraid Rome for its luxury.

The mosaics and portrait-herms of the charioteers
were very instructive, and made us feel quite in our own
“sporting” element. The men are of a distinctly more
refined type than the gladiators of the great mosaic in
the Lateran Museum, and one, especially, had a really
beautiful face. We finished our visit by looking once
again at the Buoncompagni and Ludovisi collections,
and by a rest in the cloister square, amid the curious
fragments,—colossal animal heads from a fountain
near the Foro Traiano,-boundary stones from the
various works of the Imperial times,—and lovely bits
of carving,—all mellowed to the soft tints of age, and
encircled by the brilliant hues of the roses, nasturtiums,
pansies, and other flowers which make the scene a
veritable paradise.

On leaving the museum we found we had time to
wander a little, just to see the bit of the Servian
“agger,” or fortification, near where were once the
gardens of Maecenas, and then to pursue the Via
Venti Settembre as far as the site of the Colline Gate,
the gate called after the “Colles,” or Viminal and
Quirinal hills, these not having been dignified by the
term “mons.” We should have liked to go on to the
Porta Pia, begun for Pius 1v from Michelangelo’s design,

244
 

(Inder son.

SLEEPING FURY.
THE BARBERINI GALLERY

and famous in our own day as the point of the Italian
attack on September 20, 1870, but time forbade.

Having identified what we were told was the former
position of the gate near the north-west corner of the
“ Ministero delle Finanze” (the Treasury, as I suppose
we should say), we retraced our steps along the Via
Venti Settembre as far as the Vicolo Niccolo da
Tolentino, down which we walked for the sake of
passing the Collegium Germanicum, and in the hope
of seeing the red-robed students passing in and out.
We then went down the Via Niccolo da Tolentino,
as the best way back to Piazza Barberini, and to the
building which was at present “home” to us.

We began our afternoon by a short visit to the
Barberini Gallery, in a wing of that great palace built
for Urban vill by Maderna, upon which building we
looked out daily. We confessed that the pleasure of
treading that charming oasis of a garden, and seeing
even such parts of the palace as are accessible to the
public, held a more important place in our thoughts
than the works of art collected in the gallery. As
a matter of fact, we confined our attention chiefly to
three of these treasures, namely, the beautiful Greek
statue known as the Barberini Suppliant, the supposed
portrait of Beatrice Cenci, and the Fornarina. The
two last named belong to that irritating category cf
pictures which, apparently, are not painted by the
persons to whom they are ascribed, or are not the
portraits of the persons whose names they bear.

245
A BEAUTIFUL STATUE

Perhaps it is unreasonable to demand certainty in
these cases, and assuredly neither of these pictures
made special appeal to us, so we did not agitate our-
selves further about ascriptions or identifications.

Tt was otherwise with the admirable figure known as
the “Suppliant,” although here, again, the hand holding
a branch—the mark of a suppliant—is a restoration,
and therefore does not authenticate the subject. But
the statue itself (of which we had seen a copy in
the Vatican Gallery) is very beautiful,—natural and
spontaneous,—as though the girl had just cast herself
down on to the altar of the divinity she was invoking.
We looked long at it, until R. warned us that this was
only the prelude to our afternoon plan, and we must
not linger.

A friend who was staying at one of the Piazza di
Spagna hotels had offered to drive us out to 8. Lorenzo
fuori le Mura, a help we were in no way loth to accept,
for Roman trams are not very enjoyable as a rule.
Our friend thought we might see one or two things on
the way, so we drove first to the Piazza dell’ Esquilino,
past S. Maria Maggiore, to the Arco di Gallieno,
erected in honour of Gallienus in 262, on the site of
the Asquiline Gate. Thence we went on to the Piazza
Vittorio Emmanuele, and looked at the “Trofei di
Mario,” a tall, ruined, brick building, once a fountain,
which stands at one end of the pleasant gardens. The
picturesque bit of arch and tower make a charming
feature in the modern surroundings, and the ruins owe

246
TEMPLE OF MINERVA MEDICA

their popular name to the fact that the Trophies of
Marius, now on the balustrade of the Palazzo del
Senatore, were found here.

From this modern piazza we drove to the great ruin
known as the Temple of Minerva Medica—one of the
landmarks which greet you as you pass in and out of
Rome by train. The name by which this building is
now called was bestowed upon it in the seventeenth
century, from a mistaken belief that the Athena
Giustiniani, now in the Vatican collection, was found
here. It seems that this so-called temple is in reality
part of a set of baths, erected in some park or garden
here on the eastern heights of the city. We then turned
along the Via Porta Margherita as far as the church
of S. Bibiana, a re-building of Bernini, but a very
ancient foundation, for which reason we wanted just
to see it, although we felt we must not go in.

Our way now led by a street called the “ Archi di
S. Bibiana,” which passes under the railway, and leads
straight to the Porta S. Lorenzo, which gate is really
an opening in the wall, close to the ancient, and now
closed, Porta Tiburtina. You soon get on to the old
Via Tiburtina, which is not very attractive until you
are quite close to 8. Lorenzo itself.

When you get to the little piazza, the scene seems
to change entirely, and you find an atmosphere of
delicate, half-sad simplicity, a picture made by the
portico of the church and the cypresses of the Campo
Verano, the great cemetery of Rome—with the blue

247
CHURCH OF S. LORENZO

Sabine Hills as the lovely background. We had been
told by an enthusiast that S. Lorenzo was the most
beautiful church in Rome, and we began to feel that
this was probably true. The mosaic on the upper part
of the facade, though modern, makes a fine effect as it
glows in the sun, the vivid colour contrasting with the
dark, sharp-pointed cypresses above. After trying to
take in the whole group with its grace of light and
shade, so that we might add another charming memory
to our store, we went into the portico. Before looking
at the frescoes, we endeavoured to recall some of the
history of the church, in order to understand them.
This place is holy ground, hallowed by long centuries
of love and devotion, for tradition tells us that here,
in the first days of Christian faith, an oratory was
built in the cemetery belonging to 8. Cyriaca, the
widow before whose house on the Ccelian 8. Lawrence
daily gave alms to the poor. In the catacomb of
S. Cyriaca, 8. Lawrence was buried, after his martydom
on the site of S. Lorenzo in Panisperna, in 258 a.p.
Then, according to tradition, comes Constantine’s
fourth-century church, built with its apse to the west,
and standing east of the present nave. This was
followed by the fifth-century church of Sixtus 10,
built with its apse to the east, and represented
by the present nave. In the thirteenth century,
Honorius mI made these two churches into one, and
built the portico, with its beautiful columns and mosaic
cornice. For some strange reason a patchwork build-
248
THE CLASSICAL AND MEDIAVAL

ing has a charm rarely attained by one which is
entirely complete and homogeneous. S. Lorenzo
possesses this charm to the fullest extent, for in the
stately simplicity of the nave, and in the more ornate
style of the present choir, the classical and the medieval
seem to be all quite at home together, and to unite in
expressing the same thoughts and aspirations.

We left the frescoes in the portico for the last, and
began by the church, where, alas! some very fearful
decorations in honour of the Month of Mary were
being put up,—such blues and reds, and such tawdri-
ness! You wonder how people descended from the
builders of the church can tolerate such things,—and
yet, you feel it is meant as an expression of love—

‘Come fantolin, che invér la mamma
Tende le braccia . ‘

. . si che J’alto affetto,

Ch’egli aveano a Maria, mi fu palese.”

We looked, and walked round this most attractive
of Roman sanctuaries, and for all it is so diverse in
style and date we could find no flaw. After all, why
should you not have a variety of columns? Why
should you not have a sixth-century Byzantine mosaic
over the triumphal arch, and a wondrous thirteenth-
century episcopal throne below it ?

The beautiful pavement in “Opus Alexandrinum,”
the equally beautiful ambones in fine marbles, in no
way clash with the classical columns, while the fine
twelfth-century tabernacle in marble masonry harmon-
ises in some mysterious way with it all. We climbed

249
S. STEPHEN AND S. LAWRENCE

the steps which lead up to the choir, and were
especially interested in its unusual and rather puzzling
construction. ‘She raised choir recalls many other
churches, such as S. Miniato at Florence, and 8. Zeno
at Verona, except that here the great columns rising
from the lower part of the Constantinian church give
a peculiar effect of upper and lower storey.

After walking round the choir, we came down again
to the nave, and then descended to the lower church,
on the level of which is the Confession. Here lie the
relics of S. Stephen and 8, Lawrence, the Martyr-
Deacons of Jerusalem and of Rome. The story of their
enshrining here is a curious one, and is the key to
most of the decoration of the church.

Tt is not hard to understand how and why S.
Lawrence came to be buried here, for he was, so to
speak, at home, and suffered martyrdom comparatively
near the spot. It was natural, too, that he should be
buried in the catacomb of the devout widow, S. Ciriaca.
But the translation of 8. Stephen is almost as strange
as the translation of 8. Mark. According to tradition,
it seems that S. Stephen was first buried near the
sepulchre of Gamaliel, but that in consequence of a
vision vouchsafed to one Lucian, a priest, in the fifth
century, the body was moved to a more honourable
place of burial in the church of Sion, at Jerusalem.

Some time after this, a certain senator and his wife
built an oratory to 8S. Stephen, and the senator, dying,
was buried beside the saint. The widow of the

250
A CURIOUS LEGEND

senator, however, desired to return to Constantinople,
and to take with her the body of her husband, but by
a strange error she took with her the body of S.
Stephen instead. By the help of an angel she arrived
safely at Constantinople, in spite of diabolical attacks
on the ship during the voyage.

The continuation of the curious legend is at Rome,
whither the relics of 8. Stephen mnst needs be brought
in order to free the daughter of the Emperor Theodosius
from a devil which tormented her. It was proposed
that Rome and Byzantium should effect an exchange,
and that the body of 8. Lawrence should be taken to
Byzantium, that of S. Stephen having thus been brought
to Rome. A miraculous interference prevented this,
for the Greek emissaries were smitten to the earth, and
died within ten days. So it happened that these two
saints, so alike in many ways, rest together here, at
S. Lorenzo fuori le Mura, and for this reason we see
their history frescoed on the wall of the portico and
church.

But for the moment we turned from the thought
of these wonderful relics, to the very modern, but not
unpleasing, tomb of Pope Pius 1x, who is buried at the
eastern end of the lower church, and by his own
desire very simply commemorated, so far as the tomb
itself is concerned. The chapel, if we may so call
this vestibule, gives an impression of great decorative
beauty, on account of the mosaics on the walls, which
are most interesting in their subjects. You find, as

251
TOMB OF PIUS IX

you would expect, 8S. Stephen and S. Lawrence, S. Peter
and S. Paul, also 8. Francis of Assisi, S. Catherine of
Siena, and 8. Ciriaca, to whom this now so historic bit
of land once belonged. The tomb itself is a plain
sarcophagus in a niche, railed about with a fine “grille,”
and bearing a simple inscription. It is a most remark-
able contrast to the overwhelming papal monuments
in §. Peter’s, in S. Maria Maggiore, and elsewhere,
which have truly but little of apostolic simplicity
to recommend them.

We returned to the nave, which was glowing in the
rays of the sinking sun, an effect of light which al-
ways lends a marvellous beauty to a fine church. We
wandered round, looking once again at the ambones,
at the Paschal candlestick, and at the entrance to the
chapel of Ciriaca. On the right of the nave is the door
which leads into the beautiful Romanesque cloister,
where R. alone was allowed to enter. Porzia and I
had to content ourselves with studying the sarcophagus
of Cardinal Fieschi and the fresco over the tomb, both
of which are interesting,—but less so than the cloister.

When R. returned from his walk round the cloister,
we passed out into the portico, noting the two symboli-
cal lions on which the door-posts rest, and the beautiful
columns which carry the vestibule itself, When the
time came for the frescoes, R. and I showed signs
of turning restive, but Porzia, with her accustomed
Etruscan energy, was firm, and insisted on our looking
at them, telling us we should be rewarded! It is true

252
CLOISTER OF S. LORENZO FUORI LE MURA.

 

[Aunart..
THE FRESCOES

that these very interesting thirteenth-century frescoes
need and deserve some real study, and we could not do
them justice, but we followed the series, first of the
martyrdom, burial, and translation of S. Stephen, and
then the life and death of S. Lawrence.

I confess that the picture we were most anxious to
see was that of the coronation of Peter of Courtenay
as Emperor of the East, by Honorius m1. What an
array of memories do the mere names conjure up!
Honorious 11, who confirmed the two great Medieval
Orders, the Dominican and Franciscan, is seen crown-
ing here, in S. Lorenzo, one of the Latin Emperors of
Constantinople, the French Count of Auxerre, who was
destined to tragic failure and a prisoner's death !

Venice, gorgeous and grasping, rises before you, as
you remember Enrico Dandolo, and all that superb
achievement of valour and ambition which is summed
up in the fifth Crusade. Peter de Courtenay was
one of the pawns in that wonderful game, and here he
is, on the walls of the church where he was crowned,
a careful choice having been made—so Gibbon says—
of a church without the walls, lest the Emperor should
assume any authority within those said walls.

We turned for a moment to look at the frescoes
which tell the legendary story of the death of the
Emperor Henry 1 (the Saint), and thought they
seemed a curious prelude to his canonisation, if he was
only saved by S. Lawrence throwing into the scales the
chalice he had presented to the church. But the

253
END OF A MOST ENJOYABLE DAY

naiveté of these legends is very refreshing, and often
suggests matter for more than superficial reflection.

Meanwhile, our kind friend—and her horses—had
waited with an exemplary patience, and we felt it was
time to return, especially as sunset had very definitely
announced its approach. We looked round once more
at the charming scene, the portico, the campanile, the
cypresses, and the hills beyond, and for one moment
you felt that unspeakable rush of longing—‘“la
nostalgie des collines éternelles,’-—as it has been
called. But—and possibly it is just as well,—life
does not allow much time for these things, and we
drove off rapidly, back again to the Porta S. Lorenzo,
and past the Baths of Diocletian once more to our
encampment on the slope of a quite mundane hill.

When we met at dinner, we flattered ourselves that
we had done really well that day, and actually re-
membered what we had seen, which was a cause for
serious congratulation.

254
CHAPTER XIV

‘*O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:
And knowing this is love, and love is duty:
What further may be sought for or declared ?”
BROWNING,

“Waat, another two days out of Rome! I really
think”———_ “ No,” I answered, “ remember what Mrs.
H. said about the importance of seeing the places near
Rome, and the amount they teach you about Rome
itself.” “Oh well,’—was R.’s rejoinder, “in that case
I protest no longer. When do we start?”

The start was made early the next day, and nine
o'clock saw us well outside the Porta S. Giovanni, on
such a morning as May in Italy alone knows how to
produce. We felt a certain longing for the old Appian
Way and the Latin Way, but as we had so long a
programme we felt we must take the direct route,
and so followed the Via Appia Nuova, with its
wondrous views of the Claudian aqueduct on the one
hand, and the tombs of the old Appian Way on the
other. The car sped only too quickly through the
balmy air, and across the wide spaces of the Campagna,
but when we joined the old Appian Way at Le
Fratocchie we insisted on a pause for the view.

255
MONASTERY OF GROTTA-FERRATA

Gazing back along that ancient street of tombs, which
has the beauty of association and sentiment, even
beyond that of nature, we were irresistibly reminded
of that wonderful, if slightly melodramatic, scene in
Rostand’s ZL’ Aiglon, where the poor young king of
Rome has a vision of his father’s battlefields, and
actually sees and hears the anguish of the slain. That
vision is symbolic; there are many such battlefields;
and the Campagna is one of them. Its flowers wave
over many “antichi guai,’ and let us hope, over some
unbroken peace. We were not allowed too much time
for meditation, but were soon rushing along to our
first destination—the monastery of Grotta-Ferrata,
where some years before R. had seen an exceedingly
beautiful and interesting exhibition of Byzantine art,
held in honour of the ninth centenary of its foundation.
The way led among clives and amid the tender green
of tree and grass, the snow of pear blossom, and the
rosy haze of budding almond trees. We drove through
the little town, and landed in front of the monastery,
which indeed has all the air of a fortress, owing to the
towers and moat bestowed upon it by that militant
pontiff, Julius 11, who was once abbot here.

We got out, crossed what ought to have been a
draw-bridge, and went first into the cloister-court,
where several monks were standing about, some of
them having dark southern faces, brilliant eyes, and
crisp curly hair and beard, making you feel at once that
here was another element, and the influence of a different

256
‘AMWT NV@IV AHL GNY OF TIOAGNYS TALSVO

‘wossapu rR |

 
A STORMY HISTORY

race, The monks, like the founder, 8S. Nilus, belonged
to the Basilian order, and although they adhere to the
Roman obedience, they celebrate Mass in Greek, and
according to the Greek rite.

It is said that 8. Nilus took refuge in monasticism
after the death of his wife and daughter, and sojourned
in some of the many Basilian monasteries which had
risen in South Italy. In the year 1004, when in his
extreme old age, S. Nilus was on his way to Rome,
and being overtaken by nightfall he had to rest near
the spot where Grotta Ferrata now stands. Tradition
tells us that during that night he had a marvellous
vision, and that he afterwards obtained permission
from the Count of Tusculum to build a hermitage on
the spot where the vision had been vouchsafed to him.

The church was consecrated by John xix, in 1024,
and the abbey was confirmed in its possessions by
Benedict 1x in 1037. In 1084 Robert Guiscard’s
troops crowded round the abbey on their way to attack
Rome; in the twelth century it was plundered by
William of Sicily, and in the thirteenth by Frederick 11,
so that storms have indeed raged round this venerable
place, which is well described as “standing at the
gates of Rome,—a perennial monition of re-union of
the Eastern and Western Churches.”

In later days it became a favourite resort of Pius 1,
but its warlike character was accentuated by the
fortifications added to it by the Cardinal della Rovere,
who succeeded Cardinal Bessarion as “ Commendatorio ”

R 257
SS. NILUS AND BARTHOLOMEW

of the abbey. It was at this time that Sangallo built
the charming portico in the court.

The abbey seemed peaceful enough now, as we
followed our guide,—a tall, dark monk of grave and
stately demeanour,—who led us into the church, and
pointed out the chief objects of interest. We paused
before the splendid door of carved cedar wood, which
leads from the narthex into the church itself. Within,
the church is no longer very pleasing, owing to the
terrible baroque ornament, which veils even the
precious columns brought from the Villa Tusculana,
The Iconostasis, with its three ritual doors, faces you,
this splendid screen being a gift of Cardinal Francesco
Barberini. We seldom caught ourselves admiring
anything by Bernini, but the two adoring angels on
either side of the image of the Virgin are really lovely.
Behind the Iconostasis is the square altar of the Greek
rite, and over it hangs a dove in silver, in which is en-
closed the Blessed Sacrament, reserved in both species.

The chief attraction of the church is, of course, the
chapel of 8S. Nilus and Bartholomew, generally known
as the Cappella Farnesina, after the donor of the
famous frescoes, Cardinal Eduardo Farnese, who was
abbot of Grotta Ferrata early in the seventeenth
century. The pictures, most of which are by Domeni-
chino, represent scenes from the lives of SS. Nilus
and Bartholomew. The picture which pleased us best
was that of S. Nilus in prayer before the crucifix,
although we knew the healing of the demoniac boy

258
LIBRARY AT GROTTA FERRATA

was the most famous, while the meeting of S. Nilus
with the Emperor Otto m1 was the most gorgeous. A
minor matter, but one that attracted our attention
as English folk, was that one of the saints beside the
altar was 8. Edward, the name-saint of the Cardinal
who built the chapel.

We wandered round with our dignified custodian,
and were shown the Library, once rich in priceless
Greek manuscripts which are now either at the Vatican
or in the Barberini collection. There is still a collec-
tion of Greek manuscripts dating from the ninth
century onward, and three still remain on which the
autograph of §. Nilus may be seen; but the chief
interest of the Library consists in the school of
Paleography, which continues the beautiful tradition of
writing and miniature.

On leaving Grotta Ferrata, we drove past the
picturesque and charmingly placed little town of
Marino, once a Roman town, and in the Middle Ages
a stronghold, first of the Orsini, and then of the rival
Colonna. Porzia informed us that Vittoria Colonna
was born here, which added to our interest.

After some discussion, we decided to make a stop
at Castel Gandolfo for lunch instead of going on to
Albano, which, Mrs. M. said, was less romantic; and
besides, we wanted to see where Pius 1x spent his
summers, and rode his white mule, followed by his
cardinals. Why were they not at hand this moment ?
Our “colazione’” was an amusing experience. We

259
AN HISTORICAL SITE

found a restaurant with a terrace ready to our purpose,
and during an excellent and thoroughly Italian meal,
we had a sort of variety entertainment, provided by a
cat, hens, and a group of carriage-drivers who had not
noticed our car, and who were touting for custom.
These ardent men of business were entrenched in the
road below our terrace, and kept up a running chorus,
of, “Madama, vuole? Numerosei! Numero quattro!”
and so on, accompanied by vigorous waving and cracking
of whips. We let them go on for a bit, and then allowed
Porzia to explain in “lingua toscana,” that we had an
“automobile” awaiting us up in the piazza.

We knew we should have but a short time to look
round, as we had a long plan before us, and we trusted
this would not be our first and only visit to Castel
Gandolfo. R. recalled a former occasion, when he had
come to see the famous Villa Barberini, that wilder-
ness of deserted beauty, with its splendid ilex trees
and camellias, and its ineffable view over the Latin
shore to the blue of the sea. There was no time for a
second visit now, but we walked along to the piazza,
and wandered into the Cortile of the Papal Palace,
which we thought bare and ugly, although Maderna
did design it, We spoke much of the popes, and their
doings were placed in their proper perspective by the
thought that here, on this site, was Alba Longa, the
mother city of Rome. This, in the dim past, was the
religious centre and political capital of the Latin
League, and founded, as tradition will have it, by

260
THE GALLERIA DI SOTTO

Ascanius. What a retrospect—from the pastoral life
on this hill above the Alban Lake, to the sovereignty
of the Western world! And how curiously and
significantly that sovereignty is maintained by the
Papacy, even if it be but a shadow and a memory.
R. demurred about the site of the Alba Longa,
saying he had always understood it was across the
lake, near the Portuguese Franciscan Monastery of
Palazzuola—in fact, it had often been pointed out to
him. However, Mr. M. said the old fortress of the
Gandolfi was the last favourite in theories. We
wandered about for a little time, and looked over a
kind of gap in the wall, just above the Emissarium.
We were ceaselessly followed by small boys, one of
whom pointed to the water, repeating the word, “ lago,
lago,” with much emphasis, and to our great amuse-
ment. After having caused a wild scramble for “soldi,”
we went on our way again, and chose the beautiful
“Galleria di Sotto” for our route to Albano, as most
of the party already knew the Galleria di Sopra—that
lovely, shadowy road overhanging the Alban Lake.
We decided that the view of the plain and the sea
from the Galleria di Sotto quite balanced the romantic
charm of the other road, and were more than satisfied,
although in a car the way is all too short. There was
no time for exploring Albano; we could only slow
down, as we drove through the town, and think of
Domitian, his villa, and of the name of the town,
suggestive of its being close to the Alba Longa. Some-
261
LAKE NEMI

one also brought back Florentine memories and a
momentary vision of 8. Giovanni Gualberto by men-
tioning the name of Pietro Igneo, who underwent the
trial by fire in 1068, and who was Bishop of Albano.

But we were swept on like all things mortal, and so
out to the road. We crossed Pius Ix’s grand viaduct,
glanced at what we could see of the Palazzo Chigi
and its fine wooded park, which has the incommunicable
charm of antiquity, and where we should have longed
to wander. The imposing palace was built for Pope
Alexander vir by Bernini, and must have a glorious
view over the Campagna to the sea. The church
opposite, with its really impressive dome, was also
built by Bernini, much about the same time, while the
Chigi pope still reigned at the Vatican.

On reaching the spot near Genzano where the roads
divide, we chose the middle course, which leads to the
famous Villa Sorza Cesarini. We could not see that
as well as the town, and we decided that the famous
gardens overhanging the Lake of Nemi were more
important than Genzano, in spite of its good wine, and
its once celebrated festival of the “ Infiorata.”

We found no special difficulty in getting into the
Cesarini gardens, which, for all their luxuriant
loneliness, have a certain dank and gloomy air, at
least so R. and I were Philistine enough to think. The
view of the lake, which seems almost perpendicularly
below you, is very wonderful, as you get a glimpse
from between the dark masses of foliage. The very

262
DIANA NEMORENSIS

form of the lake, its colour, its strangely unruffled
surface were somehow disquieting; they reminded me
of something uncanny, and I could not join in the
chorus of orthodox rhapsody. I felt in the odd
position of looking at something undeniably beautiful,
and yet not liking it. The scents of the earth and
trees, and the perfume of the flowers, all combined to
produce a curious atmosphere, rather like Wagner’s
music, exquisite and uncomfortable.

Some people scout the notion of this curious, “ creepy ”
quality in the scenery of Lake Nemi, but to us it was
very evident. It was in nowise caused by the remem-
brance of those floating villas built for Caligula, of
which we had seen fragments in the Museo Nazionale
—fragments drawn up from the bottom of this very
lake. Such reminiscences are but superficial after all,
and hardly touch the innermost core, either of fear
or of admiration.

We felt we were nearer the explanation, when,
through the mysterious tangle of trees, and across the
silent, green water, we tried to espy the “Giardini”
below the little town of Nemi, where remains of the
famous temple of Diana Nemorensis have been found.
Mrs. M., who had been looking very serious for some
minutes, made one of her sudden dives into the deep
inwardness of things, and probably voiced the vague and
unexpressed thoughts of all of us as she exclaimed: “I
believe that in the rites of Diana, in those savage customs
connected with the Priest of Nemi—the ‘Rex Nemor-

263
NEMI

ensis, who ‘slays the slayer and himself is slain’—there
is the secret of all religion—the sacrifice. It was cruel
and barbaric, but it all symbolises the ‘Mors janua
vite, crudely, if you will, but yet——”

She paused, startled at having thus thought aloud,
but I think a vision of that figure, half-tragic, half-
triumphant, had risen vaguely before our mind’s eye
ere she spoke, with its dim foreshadowing of a figure
yet more august both in defeat and in glory.

A few moments of silence fell on the party, and then
Mr. M. glanced round at us, and roused us from our
reverie. “Well, well, before someone made that very
solemn observation, we had been debating whether or
no we should go on to Nemi itself. What do you
say ?”

There was no hesitation in Porzia’s answer. She
would go to Nemi, Monte Cavo, Rocca di Papa, and
anywhere else.

‘0 primavera, gioventu dell’ anno:
O gioventi, primavera della vita!”

we thought, as we watched her enthusiasm. Mr. M.,
although hardly able to claim any longer the “ prima-
vera della vita,” valiantly chose the extended excursion,
but Mrs. M., R., and I thought prudence was the
better part of valour, and so decided to drive quietly
back to Frascati and await them there. When we met
once more, at about nine o’clock that evening, we had
to endure, and greatly enjoy, a recital of their doings,
as poured out by Porzia.
264
 

MI

OF NI

LAINE.

THE
MONTE CAVO

They had driven to Nemi, as we knew, and, once
there, had sought out a certain “trattoria ” with a
terrace, the said terrace commanding a most wonderful
view near and far, They sat there, looking over the
lake and its forests to Genzano and its castle, and away
beyond them to the Latin shore—“ quell’ umile Italia,”
bathed by the deep, misty blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
Amid these esthetic ecstasies they had not forgotten
creature-comforts, for they had obviously greatly
appreciated a “merenda” of coffee and the far-famed
Nemi strawberries. The strawberries and the view
having played their part, the walk up Monte Cavo
came upon the scene. Mr. M. knew his way very
well, so no guide was needed, though the inexperienced
are advised not to venture alone. Our friends pitied
us loudly and eloquently for having missed that ravish-
ing experience of a climb among the sweet, tangled, forest
paths, through the “ macchia,” which is now no longer
haunted by brigands, as of yore. They evidently had
been in no sort of hurry, but had lingered to enjoy the
views which burst upon them every now and again,
more especially as they finally reached the path near
the Campo di Annibale. Judging from their account,
the last bit of ascent is sharp, and Porzia spoke
rapturously of the delight of standing at last on the
summit of the Alban Mount, that sacred place of the
Latin League, where of old stood the Temple of Jupiter
Latiaris, built by Tarquin. Here, on this hill, the
Latins celebrated their triumphs, and here the

265
VIEW FROM MONTE CAVO

Triumphator did sacrifice, even as the Romans did on
the Capitoline hill at Rome. A Passionist convent,
built about 1788 by our English prince, the Cardinal
Henry, Duke of York, now bears suggestive witness
to another and more world-wide triumph. The ruins
of the temple were practically destroyed when the
convent was built, and only a part of the founda-
tion is now left—a venerable relic of that old-
world civilisation. It was then told us how Porzia
and her equally indefatigable companion had wandered
about on the grassy top of the hill, looking first at
what immediately surrounded them—the trees, the
wall which encloses the monastery garden, and the
remains of the ancient temple.

After this they turned to the view, which, as they
said, was superb in the first approach of the sunset
light. It was clear, as a spring evening often is,
and the line of the Mediterranean stretched, as if
illimitable, from Terracina, Monte Circeo, Anzio, to
Civitavecchia, making them dream that they could even
see Corsica. In the nearer distance were the Sabine
and Volscian Mountains, and at their feet the Alban
Hills themselves. Beyond, to the north, was the plain:
of the Campagna, “ wrought about with divers colours”
beneath the haze of the western glow; and far away,
as in a vision, was Rome. Porzia added, in a murmur,
that do what men will with her, Rome will always be
one of the “holy places,” and as such, will always
wield her magnetic force of attraction.

266
SUNSET AT ROCCA DI PAPA

Looking upon such a spectacle as this, you feel that
a longer or a shorter time is equally inadequate, and
so, realising the onset of evening, they tore themselves
away, and began the short descent to Rocca di Papa.
There are glorious views, it seems, as you come down
along the ancient Via Triumphalis,—the road by which
the triumphal processions used to pass on their way
to the Alban Mount. Our friends said they found
their thoughts much divided between these ovations of
old time and the beauty of the spring woods and
flowers. The Triumphator has come and gone, but the
budding trees, the violets, the cyclamen, the whisper
of the wind that bloweth where it listeth, the light
and the perfume of the spring,—these return again and
again, bringing with them the memory that is hope.

A few minutes’ walk brings you to a steep, stony
path, which leads down to the curious little town of
Rocca di Papa. Here our friends had stayed for dinner,
having chosen a restaurant which stands rather above
the town, and commands a fine view. Here they had
revelled in the last glories of the sunset, and in the
swift on-coming of dusk. They watched the stars
come out, large and luminous; and then beheld the
familiar but never out-worn miracle, the rising of a
great golden moon above the eastern hills. Here we
felt we must have a turn, and we remarked gently
but firmly, that stars and moon can also be seen even
by the less vigorous persons who dine peacefully at
Frascati. This mild attempt at self-assertion was no

267
A MORNING AT FRASCATI

use, however, for it was sadly true that we had not
fled through the balmy, scented evening air, feeling as
though the car was being transformed into a glorified
aeroplane, and that you were almost among the stars in
their courses. Porzia’s ravings about this drive made
us almost regret we had sent the car to Rocca di Papa
to meet them!

We ourselves had nothing to set off against all this,
save that, in the hurry of departure from Rome, R.
had forgotten to tell us that he had received a letter
from his kind friend Monsignor F., who had “ prostrated
himself at the feet of His Holiness,” and had obtained
a“ permesso ” for the Vatican Gardens,—for our benefit,
—needless to say.

With the insatiability of greedy sightseers, we at
once began to plan possible days for this visit, and
were much annoyed that we might not go on a
Sunday, as we thought it would make such a delight-
ful Sunday afternoon walk. Mr. M. suggested that it
might be as well to confine our present attention to
Frascati and Tusculum, and leave the agitating debate
on the Vatican Gardens until later. To this we agreed,
and the evening closed in a blissful uneventfulness,
recreative to both mind and body.

We all met on the veranda next morning for break-
fast, not sulky, as orthodox breakfasters are supposed
to be, but very lively, and feeling the exhilaration of
the clear air. The soft hues of the distant view were
visible over the trees and rose-pergolas of the garden;

268
TUSCULUM

no clatter of tourist-jargon was there either to amuse
or irritate us, for people do not seem to appreciate
the charms of these places in spring. So we felt our
morning was really good.

Then the burning question of the day emerged.
Which were we to “do” first—Tusculum, or Frascati
itself? “Neither,” said R., who looked the picture
of unruffled, lazy enjoyment. “Why do anything?
This is so very nice.”

At last the sentiment of duty prevailed, and we
decided to climb up to Tusculum in the morning, and
to take our “colazione,” so as not to feel hurried. As
a matter of fact, Porzia and I were the only two who
walked, guided by an indefatigable boy, who seemed
greatly disappointed when he found the luncheon
basket put into the car, which was to go as far ag it
was possible to drive. We were guided past the
cathedral, between the walls of the Villa Aldobrandini
and Villa Falconieri, up a very steep path which leads
by the Capuchin church and the Villa Rufinella, We
liked the tradition that Cicero’s famous villa stood
more or less on the site of the Villa Rufinella, and
declined to accept the theory which places it higher up
the hill. We were sorry we had not taken the paths
through the delightful grounds, but, not having done
so, had to imagine them. Having reached the ancient
paved road which leads right up to Tusculum, through
the woods and among the tender spring flowers, we
joined the rest of our company and made our way

269
HISTORY OF TUSCULUM

up, first to the amphitheatre, of which the form
is quite recognisable, then past the ruins of the old
Roman villa, to the theatre. It is interesting to note
that the love of amusement, for which we are so often
chidden, was fully as strong in these ancient nations,
The theatre was plainly a prime necessity of any sort
of life in common. The theatre at Tusculum is the
best-preserved bit of the ruined city, as the lower part
of the building is almost intact. The site of the
ancient Forum was also duly pointed out to us. One
more short and sharp ascent, and we were on the
hill where once stood the Arx or citadel of Tusculum,
which is now, of course, a heap of ruins. Here we
insisted on resting and collecting our thoughts, which
might well be described as wandering, considering the
centuries they had to traverse.

Without going back as far as some chroniclers will
take you, you are yet required to accept a delightful
tradition of the foundation of Tusculum by Telegonus,
son of Circe and Ulysses, and you may firmly and
legitimately believe in its very great antiquity and its
high dignity in the days of the Latin League, even
before the great Twin Brethren fought for Rome at
Lake Regillus. As the ages rolled by, the city recovered
a considerable measure of importance under the powerful
Counts of Tusculum, who ruled from the ninth to the
twelfth century, and dominated the Papacy during
most of that time. It is interesting to think that
something of their magnificence lives on in the great

270
VIEW FROM TUSCULUM

family of Colonna, who are said to descend from them.
Not, perhaps, that the Colonna would altogether wish
to recall the proceedings of the said Tusculan Counts.
There were several popes of the house of Tusculum,
and the records of their elections and their lives are
probably the darkest pages of papal history. “Non
ragionan di lor.” The Counts of Tusculum usually
took the side of the emperor against the City of Rome,
but in 1191, the Emperor Henry vi—‘il secondo
vento di Soave,” as Dante calls him,—withdrew the
German garrison from Tusculum, and gave the town
up to the Romans, who sacked and destroyed it. We
pictured the few terrified inhabitants who escaped,
making their way down the steep hill to the slopes
once overgrown with “frasche” or brushwood, and
there, near the church of S. Sebastian, taking refuge in
the little unimportant town, now called Frascati,

We sat for a while beneath the radiant sunlight,
breathing the cool, soft air scented with that in-
describable perfume of buds, of springing grass, of
vernal flowers and blossoms which seems to clutch at
the heart-strings in its mystery and gladness. How
little nature seems to wreck of all our human sorrows
and struggles, and yet how greatly she can console.
We stayed, looking round us at the various landmarks
in the view. Far before us stretched the Campagna,
with its changing colours of misty blue, brilliant green,
and amethyst, all like a rolling sea leading to Rome,
where the cupola of S. Peter’s rose dominant in the

271
THE VILLA MONDRAGONE

transparent light. Close to us, on the right, we saw
Camaldoli and Monte Porzio, while further away were
the Sabine Mountains, with the cone of Soracte show-
ing to the north. On our left were the scenes of our
yesterday’s ramble—Monte Cavo, Rocca di Papa,
Castel Gandolfo, and Marino. We tried to learn it by
heart, and to treasure it up for future thought and
delight. We then decided to move off for our picnic
lunch to the shade of some tall trees on the hillside
to the west. Here a most entrancing consciousness of
remoteness and peace came over us, and the world of
trains and trams, of dust and fuss, seemed to slip
away, leaving us in some far, serene sphere of peace
and beauty. Our “colazione” was quiet; possibly we
were a little tired, and perhaps also the calm of the
tall pine trees on those silent sunlit slopes made us
feel as if half in a dream.

After a time we felt that the dream must have an
end; we returned once more to the Arx, and made our
way down to the theatre. We had specified that we
wished to be guided home another way, and the car
had therefore been sent back to Frascati. The whole
party were thus obliged to walk, whether they would
or no, and we began our descent in earnest. We were
led down by the lovely woodland path that passes by
the Eremo and Camaldoli, founded by Pope Paul v
(Borghese). As no women are allowed within the
walls, we made for the great Villa Mondragone, which
we thought we should have time to see. This splendid

272
FRASCATI

place has a varied history, for it stands on the site of
an ancient villa, and once belonged to the Borghese
(the family of Paul v), whence possibly the four dragons
that guard its fountain and give their name to the
present villa itself, unless indeed they are an allusion
of the arms of the Buoncompagni, as the casino was
built in the reign of Gregory XIII.

A Jesuit college is now established at Villa Mondra-
gone, but visitors are allowed to see its splendours, now,
perhaps, a little melancholy. The “casino” was built
by Cardinal Altemps and added to by Paul v, and it is
a magnificent specimen of the architecture of the time,
its especial glory being the grand and stately terrace,
adorned with columns and with Fontana’s great
fountain. The view from this terrace is superb, and
seems to belong to the place as of right. We walked
through the garden, and along a cypress avenue to a
lower gate, whence a charming bit of road led us back
to Frascati.

Once back at our hotel we felt that rest and tea
were due to us, and I fear that we did not leave a very
liberal allowance of time for “doing” Frascati itself.
This, however, was pardonable, as there is not really a
great deal to see, apart from the villas, which are the
chief glory of the place. We strolled up to the
Piazza, and went into the Duomo, a comparatively
modern church, but interesting to us, having been
the cathedral church of Cardinal Henry, Duke of
York, who was Bishop of Frascati, and as containing a

s 273
A SPLENDID PANORAMA

monument to “Prince Charlie.” Charles Edward was
first buried here, and his remains were afterwards
removed to 8. Peter’s.

We wandered about for a little in the somewhat
unattractive and grubby streets of the town, and went
up to the older cathedral, now called S. Sebastiano e
Rocco, and known in the early Middle Ages as Sanctus
Sebastianus in Frascata, The town seems to boast a
fairly venerable origin, as Benedictine monks were in
possession here in the sixth century, having been
given lands by the family of the Anicii, to which
family S. Benedict himself belonged. The two old
churches, 8. Maria and 8. Sebastian, are thought to be
built on the site of the villa of the Anicii, and this
seemed to us to be far the most interesting thing about
Frascati, save, perhaps, the view.

As we returned to the piazza, we thought we would
ask whether it were too late to be admitted to the
Villa Aldobrandini, and go inquired at the stationer’s
shop, as directed. We found there was no difficulty,
and we had a most enjoyable sunset hour, climbing up
by the terraces that are so conspicuous in all the
distant views of the town. The splendid panorama
from the house itself was enhanced by the effect of a
heavy storm over the Sabine Hills, while we were in
bright sunshine. It was a wonderful spectacle to
watch—the black clouds in the east and the sudden
brightness and hot evening glow in the west, with long
cloud shadows shooting across the Campagna.

274
A MOONLIGHT DRIVE

We strolled round the garden, wondering at the
rather curious taste of the Italians in Cardinal
Aldobrandini’s time, these grottoes and waterfalls
being so unlike what we care for at home. The
splendid ilex trees and the indescribable secret of time
have made a beautiful thing of these elaborately
planned grounds, and have given real dignity to what
might easily be merely showy.

But Mr. M. looked at his watch, announcing that
unless we wanted to be very late we must dine now,
so as to start on our moonlight drive to Rome at a
reasonable hour. We turned our backs very sadly on
all this old-time romance, and went back to our hotel
where we entertained ourselves during dinner by various
reminiscences, not unmixed with hopes of further
experiences.

We went out once more on to the veranda, and
enjoyed the mingled satisfactions of black coffee and
the growing moonlight, for the storm had cleared away
as suddenly as it came, and the moon was rising, clear
and radiant.

About nine o’clock the car came round, and we
finally started on our homeward, or Romeward, way.
This drive was truly one of our finest bits of drama.
We declined to go very fast, so as to be able to grasp
the situation—the Campagna by moonlight, the ghostly
lines of aqueduct, the tombs, now dark, now gleam-
ing, along the Appian Way, and the silence of it
all, save for the throb of our motor, a note which

275
END OF A DELIGHTFUL TRIP

marked the elapse of time. There was a nimble air
that swept across the long grasses and wild flowers,
making them undulate softly, like a sea at full tide,
while the faint, aromatic scent of evening added to the
unwonted charm of it all.

Presently the city rose in front of us, and the pricks
of warm light from lamp and window pierced the mass
of moonlit building.

“Are we really there?” sighed Porzia, as we drew
swiftly towards the Porta 8. Giovanni, and the statues
of the Lateran towered over us, among the stars.
“ How short it all has been!” I had almost indulged
in a sentimental rejoinder, but fortunately espied
Myr. M. smothering a prodigious yawn, and this saved
me from an equally prodigious platitude. We whirled
through the streets, which were full of lively people
(for these southern folk seem to awaken to an extra
vivacity and energy at midnight or thereabouts), and
in a few moments we were safely bestowed at our
hotel. The delightful trip to the Monti Albani was
over.

276
CHAPTER XV

**Quoi! hauteur de nos tours, splendeur de nos palais,
Napoléon, César, Mahomet, Périclés,
Rien qui ne tombe et ne s’efface !
Mystérieux abime ot l’esprit se confond !
A quelques pieds sous terre un silence profond,
Et tout de bruit & la surface!”
Vicror Hugo.

WE had a varied programme in view this brilliant
morning, and, starting betimes, we found ourselves at
the Ponte S. Angelo not long after nine o’clock, having
achieved a glimpse at 8. Agostino and its wondrous
Madonna on the way. But it was not for the sake of
seeing any wonder-working statue that we had gone to
that church, nor even for the memory of Cardinal
D’Estouteville and his Augustinians; nay, it was for
love of S. Monica, whose tomb is here, and whose
blessed memory is recalled every 4th of May. The
Ministry of Marine has installed itself in the former
Augustinian convent, but neither this, nor the strange
votive offerings round Sansovino’s beautiful statue of
Madonna, need disturb your remembrance of 8. Monica
and her son, or of that last colloquy at Ostia, when
they “reached out, and with one flash of thought
touched the Eternal Wisdom that abides above all.”

277
PONTE SANT’ ANGELO

Coming out of S. Agostino, we turned into the Via
de’ Portoghesi, in order to see the Torre della Scimmia,
one of the many truncated medieval towers you may
find in various quarters of Rome. This tower, with its
statue of Madonna, recalls the “ Hilda” of Hawthorne’s
famous story of the “Marble Faun,” and for her sake
we went to look at it. We walked down the Lungo
Tevere, and stood on the 8. Angelo bridge, watching
the sunlight flash on the Tiber, and marking the sharp
lights and shadows, all so clear, so relentless in outline,
against a stainless sky. The absolute perfection of
light and colour was almost a pain, sharpened by the
thought of the countless generations of men who must
have stood on this spot, watching the scene on just
such a day in May as this.

We thought of the ancient bridge, the Pons Alius,
built by Hadrian as a means of access to the colossal
mausoleum he had imagined for himself in the
Gardens of Domitia, and replacing a bridge built
by Nero a little farther down-stream. Three of the
original eight arches of the Pons Alius survive in
the present bridge, which was restored late in the
eighteenth century. Bernini’s flamboyant but very
effective angels appropriately guard the bridge, for
the “Moles Hadriani” is now the “Castel Sant’
Angelo,” since that day when 8. Gregory saw the great
Archangel sheathe his sword, and the pestilence ceased,
The castle or mausoleum was looking radiant in the
early light, but more often it looks menacing as a

278
‘O1ADNV LNVS Jo a9dqalud dNV aTisvo

‘nosaapu Fr)

 
CASTLE OF S. ANGELO

thunder-cloud, dark with some of the most awful
memories of Roman history. The gardens in which
the gorgeous sepulchre was built had belonged to
Domitia, the aunt of Nero. Nero took possession of
the gardens, and caused Domitia to be murdered, a
proceeding which might almost seem prophetic of
much that was to take place in the future Castel
Sant’ Angelo.

When Hadrian and his wife were borne to their last
resting-place here, the vast monument stretched far
beyond the limits of the castle we know, and the
splendour of its Parian marble, its crown of statues,
its great ring of cypresses, and the famous pine-cone
which crowned it, must have been astounding. The
Romans seem always to think in these enormous
dimensions, and to regard size as a symbol of
sovereignty. Of that stupendous edifice, what re-
mains? The pine-cone, Dante’s “pina di San Pietro,”
is in the Vatican, as we know. But what of the
statues, priceless works of art, hurled down upon the
besieging Goths by the soldiers of Belisarius in 537 ?

After our attempts at an imaginary reconstruction
of this marvel of the Empire, we walked across the
bridge, and obtained our prosaic tickets of admission.
In spite of the little museum of sculpture which greets
you, the entrance is certainly suggestive of the prison
fortress the castle eventually became. We walked up
the great spiral passage, grim and ghostlike even in its
modern electric lighting. The Tomb Chamber, where

279
INTERIOR OF THE CASTLE

Hadrian and his family were buried, gives you a feeling
of horror and depression, so bare is it now, so empty of
all hope. You are led on past the cell where Cagliostro
wag imprisoned, into a small court where is Montelupo’s
statue of S. Michael, once on the top of the castle.
We were shown the “Camera di Giustizia,” a place of
gruesome suggestion, also the prison cells of Beatrice
Cenci, Benvenuto Cellini, and others. We were getting
rather confused and depressed by the time we climbed
to the papal apartments, but there the atmosphere is
somewhat more cheerful, not to say frivolous. The
decorations by Pierino del Vaga in the rooms called
after Paul 11 struck us as distinctly secular—but a
sense of incongruity does not appear to have belonged
to the Renaissance mind; at least, their view was very
different from our possibly more cramped modern
ideas. We were amused by the lift, arranged to convey
that Pontifex Maximus from one floor to the other, his
size having made stairs a difficulty.

Once out on the platform, a wonderful view of
S. Peter’s and indeed most of the city greeted us. In
spite of the almost painfully dazzling light, we paused
to think of all the history of this strangely dramatic
building. It is hard to picture it as a palace, and
yet so it was, for here, in the awful degradation of the
tenth century, Theodora and Marozia, women of that
disastrous house of Tusculum, held their court, and
ruled the Papacy, to their undying infamy. The
centuries passed, and the notable victim of Sixtus Iv,

280
A TRAGIC HISTORY

Oddo Colonna, died a horrible death within these
walls. Not long after, the castle was restored by
Sangallo at the bidding of Alexander vi, who himself
fled here for safety, when Charles vi of France saw
fit to arrive in Rome and demanded the surrender of
S. Angelo, Strangely enough, the castle had been a
stronghold of the French party during the great
schism; it had then been partly destroyed by the
Romans themselves, and rebuilt by Boniface 1x. Thus
did history try to repeat itself.

The crowning tragedy came in 1527, when the luck-
less Clement vir had to fly to 8. Angelo for refuge
from the brutal soldiery of the Catholic King, the
Emperor Charles v. The story of that siege is too
well known to need more than a passing mention ;
but here, on the very walls, you can call up the
memories of the perjured Constable de Bourbon, of
that ruffian of genius, Benvenuto Cellini, of the
treacherous Duke of Urbino, and of the unhappy
Clement himself, who had to watch the brutal bar-
barities of the Germans, and the truly infernal cruelties
of the Italians and Spanish. Is it any wonder that
not even the Roman sunshine can chase the ghosts
out of S. Angelo ?

We lingered as long as our guide would permit—
for you may not dream here at your leisure—and then
were led to the charming loggia of Julius 1, and so
came once more to the river and the bridge, with a
sigh of relief that the “good old days” are safely

281
THE FARNESINA VILLA

relegated to a past which was no doubt highly pictur-
esque, but most supremely uncomfortable.

“ What shall we do now?” asked Porzia, who had got
rather impatient with us for staring at the Tiber so
long, and watching that beneficent and healing operation
of the water flowing under the bridges. “Do!” said
R.; “haven't we done?” Porzia looked reproach-
fully at him, pointing out that it was not eleven
o'clock; that we were really very near the Corsini
Gallery and the Farnesina; that it was the day
for the Farnesina; that they made such a good
contrast with S. Angelo, and “We will hail that
carriage,” said R.; and so we did, and another minute
saw us trotting off past the great Hospital of 8. Spirito,
along the Lungo Tevere, and into the Via della
Lungara. As Porzia had truly said, a very few
minutes brought us to the Corsini Palace, with the
Farnesina Villa just on the other side of the road.

We chose the Farnesina to begin upon, that charm-
ing villa built for Agostino Chigi early in the sixteenth
century, a work which has been attributed even to
Raphael, though usually ascribed to Baldassare Peruzzi,
a compatriot of Chigi. When first built, this villa,
now named after its second possessors, the Farnesi,
must have been an enchanting place, set there in its
large garden by the Tiber, in all the spontaneous grace
of its Renaissance design, which caused Vasari to say
of it, that it was “non murato, ma veramente nato.”
Much of its external glory has departed, and but little

282

 
CUPID AND PSYCHE

of Peruzzi’s “grisaille” is now to be seen on the outer
walls. Of these “graffiti,” only one or two figures are
discernible. Inside, the famous decorations have sur-
vived practically unhurt.

The Hall of Psyche, into which you enter, was once
an open loggia, and must have been most beautiful in
effect, with its celebrated frescoes of the Myth of
Cupid and Psyche, designed by Raphael, and executed
by Guilio Romano, Francesco Penni, and Giovanni da
Udine. Partly through Maratta’s restoration some of
the original charm has no doubt been lost, but the
room still remains a triumph of Renaissance art.

The twelve illustrations of the famous fable as told
by Apuleius need no description from the unlearned
rambler. What we enjoyed most in it all was the
thought — perhaps not easy to realise amid these
pagan splendours — that the Myth of Cupid and
Psyche expresses the eternal relation between the
Divine Love and the human soul. This possibly ex-
plains its prominence where you might expect to find
a graver subject, as, for example, in the apartments
of Paul mr which we had just seen at Castel Sant’
Angelo. We may have invented telephones and aero-
planes, but we yet have much to learn from the wisdom
of the ancients, as these pictures surely tell you.

We made the round of the pictures very attentively,
not neglecting to look at the garlands, which are no
unimportant feature. The next hall is the Hall of
the Triumph of Galatea, a picture painted by Raphael

283
THE TRIUMPH OF GALATEA

himself, and to our minds more beautiful than any
of the Psyche pictures. As a French critic remarks:
“A propos de la Galathée, Raphaél a pu écrire au
plus raffiné des Italiens de la Renaissance, Baldassare
Castiglione, les mots fameux qui sont comme la formule
de Vart idéal, de V’art, qui, aprés avoir cru épuiser les
ressources de la nature, cherche & la dépasser: ‘Quand
les beaux modéles me manquent, je me sers d’une cer-
taine idée que j’ai dans l’esprit.’”

The other pictures in the room are by Baldassare
Peruzzi and Sebastiano del Piombo, and in one lunette
is a head ascribed to Michelangelo.

We resolved that should we ever again have the joy
of finding ourselves in Rome, we should try to obtain
admission to the upper floor of the house, where are
Bazzi’s famous picture of the marriage of Alexander
and Roxana, and Baldassare Peruzzi’s wonderful view
of Rome, painted as though seen through a loggia. But
we had no time to provide ourselves with the needful
“permesso,” and had to leave the rest of the Farnesina
to a hope of the future.

We gave a parting glance at the rather deserted-
looking exterior and garden, and then crossed over to the
Corsini Palace, formerly a palace of the Riario family,
but rebuilt for Cardinal Corsini in the eighteenth
century. The old palace had been the Roman home
of Christina of Sweden. The present large, stately
palace, with its colonnaded courts, has a charming
garden, which climbs the slopes of the Janiculan hill,

284
THE CORSINI PALACE

In the upper floor the “ Galleria Nazionale” is installed, a
blend from several collections—Torlonia, Corsini, Chigi,
Barberini, and others. I have to confess that the two
things which interested us most were the famous Cor-
sini vase, a work in embossed silver of the time of
Augustus, and the Ascoli cope. This latter was speci-
ally interesting to us, as being a fine specimen of the
so-called “Opus Anglicanum.” It has had a dramatic
history of late years, for after having disappeared from
its home at Ascoli Piceno, it has been restored to Italy
by Mr. Pierpont Morgan, as the inscription carefully
informs you.

I fear we made only a bowing acquaintance with the
pictures on this occasion, as we had exhausted our
powers in the Farnesina. So after a shamefully brief
visit—little more than a walk through the large and
slightly gloomy rooms—we took our way back through
the Porta Settimiana to the Ponte Sisto, looking at the
Casa della Fornarina, with its Gothic window, in a
street quite near the gate. That house is still a bakery
as in Raphael’s day. At the bridge we again took a
carriage, as we wished to get a glance at the Palazzo
Farnese and the Palazzo Spada alla Regola, which are
not far away, just across the river. We came first to
the Palazzo Spada, built, like the Palazzo Farnese, about
the middle of the sixteenth century, Paul 11 then being
Pope. You carry away with you a recollection of
splendid stucco decorations on the facade and in the
courtyard, besides a vision of Pompey’s statue, “ which

285
THE PALAZZO SPADA

all the while ran with blood” when “great Czsar
fell” at the foot of it. This tradition is strenuously
denied, but we clung to it.

As to the Palazzo Farnese, the Theatre of Marcellus
and the Colosseum itself were laid under contribu-
tion to furnish the stone for this gorgeous building,
in which Giuliano di Sangallo, Michelangelo, and
Giacomo della Porta all had a hand. As you
stand in the “cortile,” you seem to recognise the
kinship between these Renaissance buildings and those
of Ancient Rome. There is the same massive, defiant
solidity, the same air of haughty splendour and
security, not unmingled with gloom. We thought the
Farnese Pope was no mean successor of the Flavian
Emperors. Had time allowed, we should have liked to
go on to the English College, and look at the famous
monument to Archbishop Bainbridge in the church of
S. Tommaso di Canterbury,—these things being quite
near, but there must be limits, and we desisted.

A characteristic Roman drive took us past the
Pantheon, and through the Piazza Colonna to our
own quarter once more. Not the least pleasant of
our morning’s reminiscences was seeing the magic
words “Est Est” over more than one wine-shop, re-
calling the story of the valet at Montefiascone, and the
results of his testimonial to the excellence of its wine.

Having achieved “colazione” and a quite un-
mistakable siesta, we felt ready to face an instructive
afternoon, for the sands were running out, and for all

286
CHURCH OF S. PIETRO IN VINCOLI

our eagerness, we knew we should leave Rome with a
world of wonders unseen.

Three o’clock saw us taking our way to S. Pietro in
Vineoli, passing by the Quirinal Palace, and pausing in
the piazza to look at the horse-tamers, and at the
wonderful view of 8. Peter’s. A sharp descent brought
us to the Via Nazionale, and to the Via del Serpente,
which soon landed us at the church.

We found a building of the stately proportions you
grow to take as a matter of course in Rome, but which
would amaze you elsewhere. The church, as its name
suggests, is connected with ancient traditions con-
cerning the chains of 8. Peter. One of these stories
tells us of a miracle of healing wrought by these chains,
in honour of which Pope Alexander caused a church to
be built to S, Peter. A further tradition speaks of the
restoration of this primitive church in the fifth century
by Pope Sixtus 11 and the Empress Eudoxia, to whom
the two chains wherewith 8. Peter had been bound were
given when she was in Jerusalem. Later restoration
has not greatly altered the general design, which is
very fine and impressive, the effect being enhanced by
the rows of Doric columns. The two della Rovere
Popes, Sixtus Iv and Julius 1, were both titular
Cardinals of this church, which fact accounts for the
tomb of Julius 11 being erected here instead of in S.
Maria del Popolo, which was so closely connected with
the della Rovere family. This tomb is, of course, the
main interest for the ordinary visitor, and it is familiar

287
TOMB OF JULIUS II

enough even to those who have never set foot in Italy.
The great figure of Moses simply compels you to admire
it, even against your will. Pleasing it is not, but it
has an awe-inspiring force and majesty such as admir-
ably express the inspired lawgiver. The rest of the
monument is disappointing, and it is but a part of
Michelangelo’s original design. The half-recumbent
figure of the Pope is by Maso del Bosco, and has been
described as a poor imitation of Sansovino’s figures of
the Cardinals Sforza and della Rovere in 8. Maria del
Popolo. The figures of Rachel and Leah, symbols of
the contemplative and active life, are by Michelangelo,
and the grouping of the whole is according to his plan.
In spite of all, however, the monument gives the
impression of being out of proportion, and, in short,
suggests the idea of a magnificent failure.

As to the rest of the church, we were shown the
chains of 8. Peter, which are placed under the high
altar, and an old Christian sarcophagus, which contains
the relics of the seven Maccabees who suffered martyr-
dom under Antiochus for refusing to eat swine’s flesh.
In the left aisle ig the grave of the philosopher and
mystic, Cardinal Cusanus (Nicolo di Cusa), a very
famous man in his time, and a staunch supporter of
the policy of Pius 1. Close to the grave is a fine
relief in gilded marble, ascribed to Andrea Bregno,
and presented by Cardinal Cusanus. The subject is
appropriate to the church, being the deliverance of S.
Peter. Close to the door is the tomb of the fiwo great

288
 

[dllinare,

CHURCH OF S. CLEMENTE.
CHURCH OF SAN CLEMENTE

Florentine artists, Pietro and Antonio Pollajuolo, and
remembering the splendid monument of Sixtus rv in
S. Peter’s, it seems fitting that these wonderful and
versatile men should rest here, in the church of which
that Pope had been titular Cardinal. The fresco above
the tomb was presented by Sixtus Iv as a votive
offering against the plague.

We went back once more to look at the “ Moses,” and
then turned our thoughts to San Clemente, our next
goal, We drove down near the Baths of Titus, through
rather desolatingly new quarters, and found ourselves
very speedily in the Via di 8. Giovanni Laterano, and
at the entrance to San Clemente.

Outside there is nothing of note, but once inside
this, perhaps the most venerable and interesting of all
Roman basilicas, we felt indeed on holy ground, for
here successive generations have built up church on
church, above the house of 8. Clement, Pope and
Martyr, the convert of 8. Paul himself.

“No, let us think of one church at a time,” gasped
Porzia, as someone began to enumerate the layer and
layer of edifice which lay below us. “Begin with this
one, and think of the others when we come to them.”
We listened to these words of wisdom, and endeavoured,
not too successfully, to act accordingly.

The beautiful church, built by Pope Paschal 11 either
late in the eleventh or quite early in the twelfth
century, faced us, simple and dignified in plan, delicate
and exquisite in detail and colour. Although the

T 289
A GREAT MOSAIC

lovely white marble screen, the Paschal candlesticks,
and the ambones belong to the earlier church, there is
no sense of discrepancy. The columns of the nave are
antique, and the canopy, with its columns of “ pavon-
azzetto,” dates from Pope Paschal’s time, but they
all blend into a wonderful harmony of colour and
general design.

In the semidome of the apse is a great mosaic,
possibly in part a restoration of one in the older church,
and remarkable for this, that alone of all the mosaics
in Rome, it represents our Lord as reigning from the
Cross, the veritable Tree of Life. Around the cross
and all over the semidome are the trailing branches
of the vine, the True Vine, which springs from the
fountain of life at the foot of the cross. The souls of
the faithful are figured by the birds, which find their
resting-place in the vine, here a symbol of the church.
The medieval date of the mosaic is marked by the
presence of a pelican, which symbol was not used in
the early days. From the triumphal arch Christ looks
down in blessing, and on either hand are the living
creatures which symbolise the Evangelists, with figures
of §. Paul, 8. Lawrence, S. Peter, and S. Clement. As
always, there is a whole world of Christian history,
thought, and symbolism contained in these mosaics.
The understanding of them implies considerable instruc-
tion in the faith, and you are occasionally constrained
to confess some ignorance of ancient tradition.

We went next into the Capella della Passione, a

290
THE CHAPEL OF THE PASSION

chapel to the right of the door, where is a series of
frescoes ascribed to the great Florentine artist Masolino,
who painted them for Cardinal Branda Castiglione,
titular Cardinal of 8. Clemente. Over the entrance is
a picture of the Annunciation, and 8. Christopher stands
close by. Over the altar is the Crucifixion, whence,
probably, the name of the chapel. On the left ig a
series of scenes from the history of 8. Catherine of
Alexandria; on the right, the story of S. Clement and
his martyrdom in the Crimea. The Crucifixion and the
picture of “8S. Catherine disputing with the Doctors”
are both especially beautiful.

On making inquiry about admission to the lower
church, we fell into the hands of a most delightful
guide, one of the Irish Dominicans to whom the church
belongs. His Dominican habit had by no means
quenched his ready Irish wit and the sparkle of cheer-
fulness which is the privilege of his race. He was
enthusiastic too, a rare and invaluable quality in a guide.

We were led down the wide stairway and arrived in
the narthex of this, the Constantinian building, which
survived until the time of Robert Guiscard and his
Normans, who came in the violent fashion of those
days to deliver Pope Gregory vu from the besieging
Emperor, Henry 1v. The flight of Gregory vm into
S. Angelo in 1083 is a curious sequel to Canossa, but
Henry himself had to fly before the victorious Norman
in the following year, and thus enjoyed but a short-
lived triumph after all.

291
THE LOWER CHURCH

The lower church, which is larger than the upper,
is covered with frescoes, and these, though faded and
damaged, are for the most part quite intelligible,
They seem to be of different dates, but the greater
number are of the time of Leo mt and Leo rv. The
scenes represented are taken mainly from the lives of
S. Clement, S. Cyril and S. Methodius (the apostles
of the Slavs), and 8, Alexis,

Among those we thought most interesting were the
enthronement of S. Clement by S. Peter, S. Linus, and
S. Cletus, which reads like a line out of the Paradiso;
then the much-injured picture, thought to represent
the Council held in the Basilica of Clement by Pope
Zosimus in 417, We also enjoyed the half-humorous
story of the deception of Sisinnius by his servants,
who bind and drag a column to prison in the place of
S. Clement. It seems to be a question as to whether
this deception was intentional, or whether the servants
of Sisinnius had been struck with blindness like their
master.

Among the frescoes representing the acts of S.
Clement, one is very interesting as illustrating the
legends which grew up round his martyrdom. We
are told that 8. Clement was exiled from Rome, and
finally martyred on the shore of the Crimea, where
the Imperial officials had him bound to an anchor and
thrown into the sea. Angelic hands built a shrine
for him beneath the waters, and every year, in answer
to the prayers of his disciples, the waves were driven

292
THE FRESCOES

back, and believers could visit the marble temple
which held the revered body of the saint. On one
occasion a mother, hurrying back for fear of the return-
ing flood, left her child behind, and one of the frescoes
shows the miraculous preservation of the child, who
was found safe the next year. The same subject has
been treated by the Tuscan painter in the Capella
della Passione.

Near this fresco is one which represents the trans-
lation of the body of either 8S. Clement or of S. Cyril,
who, with his brother, brought the relics of S. Clement
from Slavonia to Rome. The relics of S. Clement are
buried in the church, as is also S. Cyril.

Our guide, who was tireless, pointed out to us a
very early picture of the Crucifixion, probably of the
eighth or ninth century, and also one of the earliest
representations of the Assumption known in Italian art.
Another picture represents the pathetic story of S, Alexis,
which we had learnt at his church on the Aventine.
There is truly a wonderful gallery of Christian art here
in this buried church of the fourth century.

We had just finished this curious journey when
Porzia demanded an explanation of the yet older and
deeper subterranean buildings. These, said our guide,
it was hoped to make once more accessible by draining
them of the water which had submerged them, and
which we could discern, ink-black in the shadowy hole

below us.
Deep below the fourth-century basilica are two

293
AN EARLY CHRISTIAN ORATORY

strata of building, one of the first century A.D., thought
to be the house of Clement himself, and beneath that
again, remains of a building of the second century B.c.
One of the rooms discovered in the excavations of
Prior Mullooly is still adorned with stucco decorations,
and was probably once a Christian oratory, used by
those who assembled in Clement’s house. This room
appears to have led into a cave sacred to the worship
of Mithras, a curious mixture, and difficult to account
for now that any actual history is out of reach. When
the drain now being made up from the Colosseum and
through the foundations of Nero’s Golden House is
in working order, it may once again be possible to see
this important Mithreeum, which, it seems, used to be
accessible. But it is curiously attractive and sug-
gestive, this juxtaposition of a noble pagan creed and
the Christian faith which was destined to absorb and
transcend it.

We left 5. Clemente feeling that we had been in
some new and undiscovered country, a different atmos-
phere from any we had yet breathed, even in Rome.
We bade farewell to our delightful guide, and took
our way up the hill towards the church of the SS.
Quattro Coronati, which is quite near, and most strik-
ingly effective from this side, with its fine apse and
tall campanile. It has a lonely and deserted air, and
we felt as if we had left the world behind when we
entered the silent atrium and passed into the second
court, once part of the nave of the older church.

294
SS. QUATTRO CORONATI

The actual church is not perhaps of special interest,
except for an air of venerable antiquity, and the upper
gallery or “ Matroneum,” which is now a comparatively
rare architectural feature, though familiar enough to
those accustomed to the triforia of the north. The
church is a very ancient foundation, and, like 8. Clem-
ente, was rebuilt by Pope Paschal 11 after the sack of the
Lateran quarter by Robert Guiscard. It has since been
restored more than once, as its appearance testifies.
We got hold of a rather draggled female sacristan
who guided us round, and showed us where the relics
of the saints are preserved. The saints are many, for
in addition to the four martyred soldiers in whose
name the church is dedicated, we are bidden to
remember five others, sculptors, who were martyred for
refusing to make the figure of Aisculapius. These men,
eminent in workmanship as well as steadfast in faith,
have become the patron saints of workers in stone.
The chapel of 8S. Sylvester, which opens out of the
second entrance court, is the chief point of interest,
on account of the thirteenth-century frescoes. These
paintings cannot be said to possess much charm,
although from historical association they are of con-
siderable importance. The fresco at the end of the
chapel represents the Last Judgment, and the other
pictures set forth the traditional history of Constantine,
laying great stress on the power and authority of the
Pope, and on the profound reverence shown him by
the Emperor. It is significant that they should have

295
POPE AND EMPEROR

been produced at the time when Innocent Iv was
carrying on his fierce, and ultimately successful struggle
with the great Hohenstaufen Emperor, Frederick 1.
Among other subjects, you see Constantine’s vision of
S. Peter and S. Paul, his conversion, his baptism by Pope
S. Sylvester in the celebrated porphyry vase, and the
healing of his leprosy. Another picture represents the
Finding of the True Cross by the Empress Helena.

In the curiously stiff and primitive frescoes repre-
senting the Donation of Constantine, you cannot help
but see the papal view of the relation between Pope
and Emperor set forth with considerable emphasis.
These pictures are most interesting, and deserve careful
study from both the political and religious point of
view, and also in the light of Dante’s “De Monarchia.”

Coming out of this strange silent place—which has
some inexplicable charm about it,—we found ourselves
in the Via di 8. Giovanni Laterano, and within a com-
paratively short walk of the Lateran. We felt some
invincible impulse drive us thither, so that we might end
one day’s experiences in the atmosphere of the Lateran
cloister, and watch the sunset-fire glow and fade over
that wonderful view from the steps of the church.

We got admission to the cloister,where the sinking rays
touched the roofs, leaving the court in soft, pearly shadow,
broken here and there by a bright-hued rose. We wan-
dered round, and then stood near the well-head, musing
on the romantic perfection of the place, and asking our-
selves what it was that inspired that calm beauty.

296
THE LATERAN CLOISTER

From the cloister we passed out of the great church
to the platform in front of the chief facade. Here,
in face of the Campagna, which was flushed rose
and purple, and seemed as if it breathed in its sleep,
we enjoyed the view and the magic play of light and
shade to the full.

R. interposed between us and any excess of senti-
ment by recalling a gay and amusing scene he had
once witnessed on this very spot,—a scene enhanced
by its vivid contrast with a preceding visit to one of
the catacombs. He had stood here, amid a crowd of
flower-decked carriages, to watch the King and Queen
return from the “Derby Reale,” and he described the
wild scrimmage which ensued, when, in spite of the
“ Adagio, adagio!” of the “Guardia,” some of the
carriages turned, and dashed in hot pursuit up the Via
Ariosto, in the hope that their occupants might get a
fleeting, sideways glimpse of the royal party and the
escort of dragoons as they passed along the Via Meru-
lana on their way to the Quirinal.

Did people rush about in like fashion after Augustus
and Marcus Aurelius, we wondered? Did a motley
crowd of Roman and foreigner stand to gape at
Domitian, Trajan, and the others? But even such
heart-stirring speculations as these must have an
end, so we turned, and the long line of street, with
its varying names, and straight as a Roman road, took
us back to our temporary dwelling in the Eternal
City.

297
CHAPTER XVI

‘*T only knew of Rome, that I was there :--
A great, strange city, lovelier in its lights
Than all the golden greenness of the hills ;
And in its shadows, glorious far beyond
The purple dropping skirts of thunder-cloud.”
Mrs, Hamitron Kine, ‘The Disciples,”

THis day’s plan had been carefully laid, and woe to
that person, friend or foe, who should cause disturbance
or delay ! :

We set off, as usual, at an early hour, and drove
down, through the Piazza Colonna, past the not very
interesting palace of Montecitorio, the abode of that
fallen idol of civilisation, the Parliament. The Camera
dei Deputati is originally a seventeenth-century palace,
begun by Bernini for the Ludovisi family, and com-
pleted by Fontana to serve as the papal tribunal.
By a grim irony it stands over or near the mound of
ruins formed by the ancient crematorium of the
Emperors. The solemn cremation preceded the
apotheosis of the Emperor,—which is now succeeded
by an informal apotheosis of so-called representative
government. A cynic might say that there was as
much reason in the one as in the other.

We then drove through the narrow streets, which

298
THE PANTHEON

lead into the Piazza della Rotunda and face the
Pantheon. This was our first serious object of study,
for often as we had passed it, we had never yet been
inside this, the most perfect thing that remains to us
of the buildings of Imperial Rome. Without actual
architectural beauty, it stands there, dominating you
by sheer force and majesty,—planted on the earth as
though nothing could move it, witnessing to the con-
tinuity, not only of the buildings of Rome, but of its
life and thought. It is not for mere ramblers to decide
vexed questions of history and archeology, but it
seems to be fairly settled that, at any rate, the Rotunda
and its glorious dome are due to the re-building by
Hadrian, and the portico may represent the original
building by Agrippa, whose temple, erected in 27-25
B.C, commemorated the battle of Actium. This was
the “all-holy” temple, and was dedicated, as it seems,
to Mars, Venus, and all other protecting divinities of
the Julian house. Whether the original temple was
also a rotunda is doubtful, but the splendid circular
building we have now is in any case the work of
Hadrian’s time, not substantially altered either by
Domitian, or by restoration after it was struck by
lightning in Trajan’s time, or again by later restoration
under Septimius Severus and Caracalla. This Chris-
tianised temple has borne many names, and it is by a
misunderstanding that we now call it the “ Pantheon,”
or temple of All the Gods, for its early name meant the
“ gll-divine,” or “all-sacred.” It seemed destined to

299
THE PANTHEON

gather together many holy memories, for early in the
seventh century the Emperor Phocas gave the temple
to Pope Boniface 1v, who consecrated it in the name of
S. Maria ad Martyres. The bones of the martyrs
were brought hither from the Catacombs, thus giving
an added sanctity to the church. Its more usual
name in the Middle Ages was S. Maria Rotonda, and by
that name Villani speaks of it in his chronicle.

The great portico remains,—splendid, dark, and
frowning, in its massive depth. The exterior of the
Rotunda is now very bare and rugged, being stripped
of its fair embellishments of marble, even as the mighty
dome was stripped of its tiles of gilded bronze for the
sake of the palace of Constans 1 at Constantinople.
Papal depredations followed on imperial, for did not
Urban viii earn Pasquino’s epigram “ Quod non fecerunt
Barbari, fecerunt Barberini,” by taking the brazen
tubes on which the roof of the vestibule was supported,
and converting them into the twisted columns which
now hold up the baldacchino at 8. Peter’s ?

Inside, the Pantheon is unique in its entirely un-
sensational impressiveness. It would be a misuse of
words to describe the vast cupola as “soaring.” No,
it sits enthroned,—in a kind of regal security, its great
central opening admitting a glorious light into the build-
ing. The interior of the dome is coffered in five circles
of panels; the walls were once covered with precious
marbles; and in the niches there doubtless stood the
images of the seven gods of the planets, Apollo, Diana,

300
THE PANTHEON

Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Even in
its comparative decadence, the Pantheon is still
magnificent, and the building eclipses the interest of
the tombs, having in it something of the might of
Nature herself.

We walked round and looked at the tombs of Victor
Emmanuel 1, and of Humbert; then at that of Raphael,
with Bembo’s epitaph thereon. Other well-known
names greet you, such as Pierino della Vaga, Zuccaro,
Annibale Carracci, Giovanni da Udine, and others.

We came out again into the rather cramped and
always crowded piazza, which has a fountain adorned
by part of an obelisk from the temple of Isis. We
went back a little and had another look at the exterior
before making our way to the church of S. Maria
sopra Minerva, which is close by.

Here indeed is another of those wide jumps across
the centuries to which Rome accustoms you. The
church hag a definite link with antiquity, as its name
denotes, for it is the lineal successor of a church and
convent built long ago, within the precincts of a temple
dedicated to Minerva by Pompey, after his victories in
Asia. Now, however, you think not at all of Minerva
and her temple, or of Pompey and his wars, but of the
Gothic church built by those Dominicans who had
designed the much lovelier S. Maria Novella in Florence,
and of that great Dominican Order which has ruled
here since 1370.

It is possible that the Gothic has really no business

301
S. MARIA SOPRA MINERVA

here in Rome, and certainly S. Maria sopra Minerva
does not seem to hold its own, or to speak to the
heart. You go in, and find it dark, suggesting
sombre thoughts,—memories of the Inquisition,—of
the condemnation of Giordano Bruno and of Galileo,
both of which took place here. A visit to Italy
shakes your allegiance to the Gothic, and we found
that we grew to love the simplicity, the space, and
light of the southern style, less gloomy and tortured
than the pointed arch, with all its beauty.

But there is endless interest, historical and artistic,
in the great Dominican church of 8. Maria sopra
Minerva. Beneath the high altar rests the body
of S. Catherine of Siena, one of the glories of the
Order, proclaimed patron saint of Rome by Pius 1x
in 1866. Close to the altar is Michelangelo’s statue
of the “Risen Christ,” a work due only in part to
the great master himself, but famous nevertheless.
In the choir you find the two great monuments of
the Medici Popes, designed by Baccio Bandinelli. On
the left is the tomb of Leo x, with a statue of the
Pope by Raffaelle da Montelupo; on the right is
the tomb of Clement vu, with a statue by Nanni
di Baccio Bigio. These tombs are grandiose, but
neither of them is really impressive. Bembo’s name,
“scratched on the stones” at the feet of Leo x,
makes much greater appeal.

We were anxious to see the famous frescoes in
the chapel of S, Thomas Aquinas (or Caraffa Chapel)

302
THE INTERIOR

while the light was still young, so we turned to the
right transept, passing a chapel where is a crucifix
ascribed to Giotto. The end of the transept is formed
by the Caraffa Chapel, containing the famous frescoes
painted for Cardinal Caraffa by Filippino Lippi in
1489-93.

The altarpiece is the Annunciation, and on the
right of the picture S. Thomas Aquinas is seen,
presenting the donor (Cardinal Caraffa). This picture
is very charming, and there is a delightful naiveté
in the mixture of the two subjects, which are made
to blend admirably. The faces of the Virgin and
of S. Thomas Aquinas are both very beautiful.

Behind the altar is a fresco of the Assumption,
but the two most interesting pictures are those
which refer to S. Thomas himself. There is, first,
the lunette in which the story of the miraculous voice
from the Cross is represented. 8. Thomas is kneeling
before a crucifix, and hears the words of gracious
approval: “Bene scripsisti de me Thoma.” Beneath
this lunette is the celebrated picture of the “ Disputa,”
or, a8 some call it, the Triumph of S. Thomas Aquinas,
representing the saint enthroned, with the vanquished
heretic Averroes at his feet, while Arius and Sabellius
stand by, confounded. The composition and archi-
tectural details are very fine, and the view of Rome
in the background most interesting.

In this same chapel is the monument to Pope
Paul rv (Caraffa), the formidable pontiff before whom

303
THE CARAFFA CHAPEL

even the Duke of Alva trembled. Looking at this
face, stern, ascetic, and imperious, you feel a real
shiver of fear, remembering the Catholic reaction
and all it meant. It is very hard, when you approach
from so different a point of view, to do justice to
the zeal and splendid energy of such a man as
Paul Iv, and even to acknowledge his undoubted
sincerity and piety. In modern days we shrink
very palpably from any severity, and doubt its
wholesomeness. Who shall say which view is
right ?

We spent a good deal of time in this chapel, half
forgetting the claims of the rest of the church, but
Porzia dragged us out, and we found ourselves in
front of the lovely tomb of Durandus, Bishop of
Mende, dear to lovers of architectural symbolism,
even if they know little else concerning his works.
The tomb is ascribed to Giovanni Cosmas, and is
adorned with a fine mosaic of the Virgin and Child,
S. Dominic is on one side, while Durandus, presented
by a bishop, kneels in front,—and over the mosaic
is a beautiful Gothic canopy. We then wandered
about in rather desultory fashion, looking at the
sepulchral stone of Fra Angelico, set up against the
wall of the passage near the choir, and representing
the beloved friar as very gaunt and ascetic of aspect.
We also found the monument of the Lombard sculptor,
Andrea Bregno, of whom one gets to learn something
in these Roman churches. The monument is very

304
TOMBS AND MONUMENTS

interesting, with its simple, powerful head of the
artist, set in a medallion, framed in by pilasters.
Upon this framework appear all the sculptor’s tools,
arranged in ingeniously decorative pattern.

We then found the other two papal tombs, that
of Benedict xm, in the rather gloomy chapel of
S. Dominic in the left transept, and the tomb of
Urban vir, in one of the chapels of the right aisle.
In another chapel close by are the tombs of the
Venetian Bishop of Nicosia, Benedictus Sopranzi, and
at the entrance a small tablet to a son of William
Wilberforce, which seemed to bring England suddenly
near. In the left aisle we noted specially the tomb
of Francesco Tornabuoni, the work of his compatriot,
Mino da Fiesole, and near the western door is the
monument of another Florentine, Nero Diotisalvi.
Above the tomb of Tornabuoni is the monument
of Cardinal Tebaldi, a fine work, ascribed to Andrea
Bregno and Giovanni Dalmata.

At the door we turned once more to look at the
general effect of the church, and felt our heart
soften towards it. Perhaps, like one or two of the
Florentine churches, it tends to grow upon you
gradually, and we felt we had judged too hastily.

Once out again in the Piazza della Minerva, we
found we should have time for a little more
wandering before the hour appointed for lunch with
our friends at the Hotel Minerva. So we turned
to look at the Collegio Romano and S. Ignazio, and

U 305
THE GREAT JESUIT CHURCH

then wound about the streets which lead you past
the Palazzo Grazioli and Palazzo Altieri to the
Piazza del Gesu.

We went for a few minutes into the great, gorgeous
baroque church of the Gest, the chief Jesuit church
in Rome, built by Vignola and Giacomo della Porta
for Cardinal Alessandro Farnese. For a church of
that type, it is undoubtedly fine, and seems to fit
in with a certain pomp and splendour of ritual,
Still, when all is said and done, the costly marbles of
the church and high altar, and even the lapis-lazuli
magnificence of the altar of S. Ignatius Loyola, leave
you cold, and indeed produce a feeling of surfeit,

As far as the monuments were concerned, we felt
most interest in the altar of S. Francis Xavier, with
the picture of his death when on his longed-for mission
to China. But what we chiefly cared to remember
was that on this site there once stood the oratory
granted by Pope Martin v to S. Bernardino of Siena,
who (as his latest biographer tells us) founded here a
Confraternity of the Holy Name. In after days, this
oratory was given to 8. Ignatius Loyola, and thus it
came about that the great church of the Gest succeeded
S. Bernardino’s oratory. The connection with the Holy
Name makes this a singularly happy coincidence, and,
indeed, the fact that 8. Ignatius Loyola had so great
an admiration for S. Bernardino seems to lend fresh
significance to the dedication of this church, which is
called by the Holy Name.

306
COLOSSEUM BY MOONLIGHT

After a short ramble round this too heavily
imposing building, we returned by the Via del
Gest. to the Hotel Minerva. Our hosts were already
awaiting us in the big hall of that most ecclesiastical
stronghold, where the “va et vient” of bishops,
monsignori, and devout pilgrims make a kind of
solemn diversion and excitement for the guests you
entertain. This hostelry has quite a different air
from others in Rome, and we enjoyed the contrast.

Our hosts were full of their experiences at the
moonlit Colosseum the night before, when it had
outdone itself in marvellous effect. We were able
to sympathise, as we had ourselves rambled there
in the moonlight, quite lately, and were yet held
by the memory of its awful, cruel beauty; a beauty
which suggests “shadows and chains and dreams and
iron things”—a mixture of rapture and nightmare.
The great dark arches seem haunted by the re-
membrance of a gorgeous ferocity and unspeakable
suffering,—and yet in the shimmering mist which
enfolds the vast building on these wondrous nights,—
sapphire in the shadows, and almost golden in the
lights,—what magic, what loveliness!

Much discussion followed, touching the love of sport
and amusement, so marked both in ancient Roman and
modern Briton, and some one remarked that in their
hearts aristocracies had always slightly despised learn-
ing and even art,—and that literature and art in Rome
were nearly all exotic. Porzia was dramatically amazed

307
THE MUSEO BARRACCO

when I said I was coming to the conclusion that the
aristocratic instinct was probably a sound one, that
intellectualism is a disintegrating force, and that the
most important things in life are physical fitness and
administrative capacity. “And yet,” put in our host,
“Greece conquered Rome.” “ Yes,” added R., “and de-
stroyed her.” “But Greece still mainly rules the civil-
ised world,” rejoined Porzia, adding rather sharply,
“ otherwise we should have to conclude that an imperial
race must consist of gladiators and pro-consuls.” The
others turned an amused glance on the ardent champion
of letters, and we went on to less contentious topics.
The “ colazione ” had been arranged for an early hour,
in order that we might all have the chance of a glimpse
of the Museo Barracco, a most interesting little collec-
tion, which closes in an unconscionablehurry. We there-
fore started off in carriages, and took the shortest way
down to the museum, which is not far from the Ponte
S. Angelo, near where the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele
runs down to the Tiber bank. The building is charm-
ing in itself, being in the form of an Ionic temple, and
it contains a collection of ancient sculptures, presented
to the city by Senator Barracco, whence its name.
There are two rooms; the first is arranged with Assyrian,
Egyptian, Greek, and other sculptures ; the second con-
tains Greek sculptures of various dates. What we
carried away from our rather brief visit was, chiefly,
the memory of a most lovely Etruscan head—a demon,
sad to say—in the first room, and the archaic Apollo in
308
S. MARIA DELL’ ANIMA

the secondroom. The figure of the wounded dog, said to
be a work of the school of Lysippus, appealed greatly
to R. Several other sculptures of the archaic period
interested us very much, Porzia and I always seemed
to prefer them to the riper productions, but R. usually
liked the later works best, saying they were to the
archaic as noonday is to dawn. We used to reply that
the archaic has the promise of spring, while the later
schools, however glorious, carry the threat of decay.
We were ejected from the museum at the statutory
hour, and came out into the blazing sun of early after-
noon, but undaunted in pursuit of our plans. By dint
of asking our way many times, we arrived very shortly
at the church of 8. Maria dell’ Anima, once the special
church of the Netherlanders, and now that of the Ger-
man Catholics. Our friends told us they had often come
to hear the celebrated music at this church, but strangely
enough had never seen the famous tomb of Pope Adrian
vi, himself a Netherlander, and therefore very appro-
priately buried here. The church looked rather closed
in by buildings, but the fagade is good. Over the portal
is a small sculptured group, representing the Madonna
invoked by souls in Purgatory, this no doubt having
suggested the curious name of the church. We entered
the rather dark nave, and noted that the various monu-
ments in the chapels commemorated men of German
and Netherland origin, beginning with Cardinal Encke-
vort, who was the one cardinal created by Adrian VI, and
who erected that Pope’s monument. On the right wall

399
A REFORMING POPE

of the choir is the tomb of Adrian VI, the last foreigner
to wear the tiara, and who might almost have echoed the
bitter words of his great reforming predecessor, Gregory
vu: “I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity,
and therefore I die in exile.”

Adrian, a man of humble birth, and of great learning
and conscientiousness, had been tutor to Charles v, and
was elected to the papacy through the counter-intrigues
of the Imperial and French parties in the conclave.
He succeeded Leo x, and vainly tried to check the un-
bridled luxury and the many abuses which were driving
men into a complete separation from Rome, As was
only natural, he was bitterly disliked by the men who
had belonged to Leo’s gorgeous court, and his death
about a year after his elevation to the papacy was no
grief to his subjects, who “hated to be reformed.”

His tomb is one of the most beautiful of all the papal
tombs. The design, which is balanced and harmonious,
is by Baldassare Peruzzi, and was executed by Tribolo
and Michel Angelo Sanese. The figure of the Pope is
simple, and indeed pathetic. Herests beneath a group
representing the Madonna with her Child, having S.
Peter and S. Paul on either hand. In contrast to the
weary, reclining figure, there is below the sarcophagus a
fine relief, depicting Adrian’s entry into Rome. In the
niches stand most appropriately the figures of the four
cardinal virtues, stately and beautiful, as they should be.

We turned to look for a few moments at the monu-
ment to the Duke of Cleves on the opposite wall, and

310
‘(TaAWHaVa) STATIS HHL “aOWVd VITA VINVIN “S TO HOWARD

‘wosazpu jr)

 
CHURCH OF S.MARIA DELLA PACE

then went on our way across the street to the church
of 8. Maria della Pace, to see Raphael’s great fresco of
the Sibyls. This curiously planned church was built
by Sixtus Iv on the site of a yet older foundation, and
was named from a peace made among the Italian powers
during the pontificate of Sixtus, a short-lived agreement
which recalls many famous names, such as Lorenzo the
Magnificent, Ludovico il Moro, and others. This, too,
marks the date of the Turkish attack on Otranto, and
some say that the church was built in gratitude for the
successful repulse of the Turkish arms.

The Chigi family have left their mark here, for in
1514 Raphael painted his famous Sibyls for Agostino
Chigi, and in later years the fine facade and “portico
were added by Pietro da Cortona, during the ponti-
ficate of the Chigi Pope, Alexander vu. There are
several interesting things in the church, such as the
monument to Francesca Carduli-Cesi, in the Cesi
chapel, and the altarpiece by Baldassare Peruzzi in
the Ponzetti Chapel; but our attention was devoted
mainly to Raphael and his wonderful Sibyls, which are
doubly interesting by contrast with Michelangelo's.

Here we found abundant field for disagreement. R.
and I could not feel that these graceful figures im-
pressed the beholder as beings endued with the spirit
of prophecy, but Porzia declared that the beauty of the
whole conception and composition carried its own
message of inspiration, even if the individual faces did
not compare in strength with the Sibyls of the Sistine

311
RAPHAEL’S SIBYLS

Chapel. She added, perhaps with some truth, that
Raphael’s Sibyls seemed to stand for a coming joy,
while Michelangelo’s herald an impending judgment.
In any case, the picture is in itself a very wonderful
one, in its masterly grace and harmonious beauty.
The figures of the Sibyls, and of the youthful angels
who float above them, and who reveal the divine pur-
pose to them, make a group which is in a true sense
symbolical and sacramental, as all great beauty is,

We passed from the church into the cloisters, built
by Bramante for Cardinal Caraffa, just about the time
that Henry vi began his chapel at Westminster. It
was interesting to make a mental comparison of the
two styles. We looked at the late fifteenth-century
tomb of Bishop Bocciacio of Modena, walked round
about the cloister, then came out by the Vicolo della
Pace, and got finally into the Piazza Navona, which we
wanted to explore a little better than is possible when
rushing through in a carriage. (The proper way of
describing this very charming old piazza is “Circo
Agonale,” for it was of old the circus or stadium of
Domitian ; Navona is its medieval name.)

We walked round the great oblong piazza, looking at
the three well-known fountains, two of which are by
Bernini. In the middle of the western side, and just
opposite Bernini’s great central fountain with its figure
of the Nile, is the large church of 8. Agnese, built in
the time of Pope Innocent x, over the site of the
martyrdom of the saint. The florid facade was de-

312
THE PALAZZO MADAMA

signed by Borromini, and is not attractive. We went
in for a moment just to look at the monument to
Innocent x, who is buried here, close to the great palace
of his family, the Pamphili—which palace, built by Carlo
Rainaldi, is now the property of Prince Doria. You
look at the bust of the Pope, and think of his miserable
end, after suffering for so many years the tyranny of his
odious sister-in-law, Donna Olympia. Truly, weakness
seems sometimes to earn a worse fate than wickedness.

From 58. Agnese, we crossed the piazza in order to
have a look at the Palazzo Madama, now the Palace
of the Senate, interesting chiefly from its history as a
stronghold of the Medici family, and as the residence
of Charles v’s daughter, Margaret of Parma, whence its
name of “Madama.” It stands a little back from the
Piazza Navona, in a piazza of its own, and behind it
you can see the tower of the fortified medieval house
which once stood on the site of the palace. Having
looked at the building itself, duly remembering the
Medici banking-house, Leo x and Catherine de’ Medici,
we went on with our walk, in order to pay our respects
to that great Roman personage Pasquino, who holds a
ghostly and diminished court close to the south end of
the piazza. Pasquino’s pointed conversations with his
friend Marforio are a matter of common knowledge,
aud their witticisms are very ill-replaced by the sar-
casms of the modern press, which could never rival the
quick, brilliant interchange of repartee as between two
such conversationalists.

313
S. ANDREA DELLA VALLE

Our friend of S. Maria dell’ Anima, Pope Adrian v1,
did not like Pasquino, and, indeed, went so far as to
order him to be thrown into the Tiber. He has
partially survived the papal edict, but as we already
knew, the less fortunate Marforio is shut up in a
museum, a fate that would quench the liveliest wit.

From Pasquino, we found our way past the splendid
Palazzo Capranica, down to the Corso Vittorio
Emmanuele, and at last managed to effect an entrance
into the church of 8. Andrea della Valle, which we had
before attempted in vain. We learned that this
wonderfully effective “baroque” church stands on the
srte of more than one older church. Maderna com-
pleted the building begun by Olivieri, and Carlo
Rainaldi added the very characteristic facade.

Our main object in going to 8. Andrea was to see
the tombs of the two Piccolomini Popes, especially
that of Pius 1 (Afneas Sylvius), one of the most
remarkable figures of the Renaissance.

“What horrors!” exclaimed Porzia, in a tragic
whisper, as we looked up at the mountainous tombs
of Pius 11 and his nephew, Pius 111, which tower aloft
on either side of the last bay of the nave. “I don’t
wonder they turned them out of 8. Peter’s,” she added
meditatively. We remarked that we had seen their
equals no farther from home than Westminster Abbey
—not that these insensate heaps of marble are any
better for that reflection.

We turned away sadly, and consoled ourselves with

314
THE PALAZZO MASSIMI

Domenichino’s really splendid frescoes, which suit the
building so admirably, whatever be your own taste in
the matter of either. In its own style the S. John
is really very fine, in spite of what a critic calls the
“ graces profanes” of the whole arrangement.

As we left, Porzia turned to me with a naughty
gleam in her eye, and said that S. Andrea della Valle
was eminently adapted for the first act of Za Tosca,
which takes place there,

With this verdict in our ears, we emerged into the busy
crowded street once more, looked at the Palazzo Vidoni,
which is close to the church, and had enough energy left
to take us as far as the Palazzo Massimi alle Colonne, a
fine sixteenth-century building by Baldassare Peruzzi.
Its effect is enhanced by the convex facade, and through
the columus which give the palace its name you can catch
aglimpse of the doublecourt. It was in some earlier build-
ings connected with the palace of the Massimi that the
German monks, Pannartz and Sweynheim (who printed
at Subiaco), set up the first printing-press in Rome,

We passed on to the Palazzo della Cancelleria, on
the other side of the road, a splendid Renaissance
building, erected for the Cardinal Raffaele Riario,
nephew of Sixtus iv, the terrified and unwilling wit-
ness of the attempt to assassinate Lorenzo and Giuliano
de’ Medici in S. Maria del Fiore at Florence. This
glorious palace, with its charming balcony and its
colonnaded court, still belongs to the Holy See, as does
the Palace of the Dataria, not far from the Quirinal.

315
AT THE TEATRO COSTANZI

We lingered a little, looking at the palace, when R.
announced that he now went on strike, and late as
it was, he must have some tea. We therefore turned
our backs on sight-seeing, jumped into a tram car, and
found ourselves whirled along to the Piazza Venezia,

As we sat at Faraglia’s, we felt a little confused by
all we had seen, but much more so by the thought of
what we must needs leave unseen, at our departure a
day or two hence. R., rendered philosophical by a cigar,
remarked that you could not expect to live through
several civilisations in a little over three weeks; and
this is really what a visit to Rome means. This was con-
soling, especially when you reflect that one civilisation
at a time is usually more than most of us can grasp.

Our day ended in very cheerful fashion, for we went
in the evening to the Teatro Costanzi, where an interest-
ing dramatised version of Berlioz’s Faust was being
given. It was Porzia’s first experience of a Roman
opera-house, and the performance was unique, even if
the general level of singing fell below what you might
hope for in Italy. One artist there was, whose singing
of the great Incantation song we never forgot, and whose
impersonation of Mephistopheles was really great.

R. laughed at this queerly incongruous “ wind-up”
to our day of rather solemn study, and as we looked
at the crowds who were gaily strolling along the streets
we asked ourselves whether, possibly, modern Romans
know as little about Rome as the ordinary Londoner
does about London.

316
CHAPTER XVII

‘Take to thy bosom thy banner, a fair bird fit for the nest,
Feathered for flight into sunrise or sunset, for eastward or west,
Fledged for the flight everlasting, but held yet warm to thy

breast.

Gather it close to thee, song-bird or storm-bearer, eagle or dove,

Lift it to sunward, a beacon beneath to the beacon above,

Green as our hope in it, white as our faith in it, red as our

love!”
SwINBURNE
(from ‘‘ The Song of the Standard”).

It was our last day in Rome, and we began by wonder-
ing at the folly or the fate which makes you leave such
a place when once you have got there. We wisely
decided not to waste time in regretful speculations, but
to make the most of what we had left to us. R. sug-
gested that we should repair a few of our most glaring
omissions, and make a general review.

We therefore began by walking along the Via del
Quirinale to the piazza—the “Monte Cavallo”—
whence we could have that remarkable view of S.
Peter’s, facing the once Papal Palace of the Quirinal.
It all looked very clear and peaceful on this radiant
May morning; the lights very white and the shadows
very soft and transparent, as though Nature would fain
heal the quarrels of her troublesome children.

317
THE PALLAVICINI COLLECTION

The colossal Dioscuri, or so-called “ horse-tamers,”
towered up behind us, witnessing to yet another
vanished order of things, and to the days when they
stood in front of the Therme of Constantine, now
buried beneath later buildings. These figures of the
“Heavenly Twins” were probably brought from some
earlier building to adorn the gateway of Constantine’s
Baths, and they stand here, very fitly, as though to
guard the stronghold of united Italy, even as they
fought for Rome at Lake Regillus. The inscriptions
which ascribe these splendid groups to Phidias and
Praxiteles are supposed to have been added in the
fifth century, after the sack of Rome by the Goths,
when the Therme of Constantine were. restored. The
sculptures are really works of the Imperial age, and
were arranged in their actual form only in the time of
Sixtus Vv.

From the contemplation of the view, the Dioscuri,
and the somewhat unpleasing fagade of the Quirinal
Palace, we turned to the Palazzo Rospigliosi, which
was built early in the seventeenth century by Cardinal
Scipio Borghese on the ruins of Constantine’s Baths.

We, like most ordinary visitors, only saw the Casino,
where the Pallavicini collection is arranged. And
again, like ordinary visitors with limited time, we
looked at little else but Guido Reni’s great ceiling-
painting of the Aurora, a truly lovely work, albeit
hackneyed, and reproduced “ad nauseam.” We thought
the head of the Apollo one of the most beautiful things

318
 

[ Aorderson-

TEMPLE OF MARS ULTOR.
TRAJAN’S FORUM

of the kind we had ever seen, both in outline and in
its pale, glowing colour.

After a very cursory glance at some of the other
pictures, we left the Casino, and made our way down
the steep hill, past S. Silvestro, and round somehow
into the Foro Traiano. Here we wandered about
among the broken columns of the Basilica Ulpia, and
tried to decipher some of the scenes represented on
the splendid spiral band of sculptures which twines
round the great Column of Trajan—scenes which
represent the Emperor’s Dacian wars, and his victories
on the Danube. These wars seem to have a special
interest and significance in the light of recent events,
and we tried to identify the scenes representing towns
in Servia or Bulgaria, noting also a group of Dacian
women torturing Roman captives. The chamber at
the base of this splendid column once held the
ashes of the Emperor, placed there in a golden urn
by Hadrian. When Commendatore Boni re-opened
the door in the pedestal some years ago, it was
found that all treasure, including the urn, had been
stolen—centuries ago, no doubt. R. remembered his
visit there shortly after the chamber had been opened,
and the interest aroused by the investigations.

We turned away from this piazza, which is all that
now remains of Trajan’s magnificent Forum, and took
our way along the Via Alessandrina, passing the
wonderful fragment of the Temple of Mars Ultor in
the Via Bonella, a splendid building which stood in

319
SS. COSMA AND DAMIANO

the Forum of Augustus, and was erected by him in
fulfilment of a vow made on the battlefield of Philippi.
This Forum became a swamp during the Middle Ages,
whence the name “Arco dei Pantani” given to the
arch which stands near. It is difficult to realise that
the ground has been raised some sixteen or twenty
feet, and that the ancient pavement is buried beneath.

We then turned into the Via in Miranda, for although
R. protested that we had seen too many churches, we
could not consent to leave Rome without going into
SS. Cosma and Damiano, and 8. Maria Antica. SS.
Cosma and Damiano, moreover, would help to balance
our too-exclusive attention to Christian Rome, as so
much of it belonged to ancient times, and it always
seems to be part of the Forum.

On going in you find a tall, shadowy, rather austere-
looking place, formed out of two pagan buildings of
different epochs, one rectangular, the other round.
The former belongs to the Temple of Peace, built by
Vespasian, and restored by Septimius Severus and
Caracalla as the “Templum Sacre Urbis.” The
round church is the “heroon,” or chapel, as we might
say, built early in the fourth century by the Emperor
Maxentius in memory of his infant son, Romulus, who
was deified on his death.

These two buildings were united and formed into a
church by Pope Felix Iv, who had obtained permission
for this transformation from the great Theodoric, then
master of Italy. The church was consecrated just at

320
THE MOSAICS

the end of Theodoric’s reign, and to this same epoch
we owe the splendid mosaics of the choir arch and
tribune. On the face of the arch is represented S.
John’s vision of “the Lamb in the midst of the throne,
as it had been slain.” The book with seven seals lies
at the foot of the jewelled throne, and on either side
are the seven candlesticks, with angels, and the symbols
of S. Matthew and 8. John. The design included the
symbols of the other Evangelists and groups of the
twenty-four elders presenting their crowns, but these
have nearly all been destroyed.

The mosaic in the tribune is a triumph of magnificent
intensity of colour, and the figures still preserve some
of the antique beauty of drapery and sculptural dignity
of attitude. In the centre stands a massive figure of
our Lord, robed and nimbed with gold, against a deep
sky streaked with the red clouds of sunset. On either
hand stand 8S, Peter and 8. Paul; they present the
martyr saints in whose name the church is dedicated,
S. Cosma and S. Damiano. These learned Arabian
physicians suffered for the faith in the persecution
under Diocletian, and this church is supposed to mark
the spot of one of their most famous miracles. A
faithful servant of the two saints suffered from an
incurable disease in the leg. One night as he slept,
SS. Cosma and Damiano cut away the limb and
replaced it by the leg of an Ethiopian who had just
been buried at S. Pietro in Vincoli. When you read of
the feats of modern surgery, this strange story seems

x 321
PATRONS OF THE HEALING ART

no longer what we call “ miraculous,’ whatever that
may mean; for were we not told, ‘and greater works
than these shall ye do”? Anyway, SS. Cosma and
Damiano will always be of blessed memory as some of
the patron saints of the healing art, and you feel it is
well that their names are every day rehearsed in
the Canon of the Mass,

Beside these figures appear on one side 8. Theodore,
and on the other Pope Felixiv. Over the head of S. Paul
is a monogram of the cross, and the phcenix, symbol of
eternal life, to which the hand of Christ seems to point,
We thought it a most happy coincidence that this
resplendent work should be almost our last remem-
brance of the mosaics of Rome.

We were duly shown the old church, which is on the
level of the Forum, the pavement having been raised
to its present level by Urban vitt, to preserve it from
the damp of the marshy soil. The splendid bronze
doors of the Heroon are visible from the Forum and are
familiar to all who pass along the Sacred Way.

On leaving, we wandered once more round the
incomparable bit of road which leads to the entrance
of the Forum, then along the pathway between the
trees, down to the Basilica Julia, for the last time—a
heart-rending thought. We were determined not to
allow ourselves to be much distracted in the Forum,
so we walked resolutely past the Lacus Curtius, only
glancing across at the Lapis Niger, and the Arch of
Septimius Severus. We passed along the Sacra Via

322
CHURCH OF S. MARIA ANTICA

towards the Basilica Aimilia, where the poppies flamed
in the sunlight; then round to the House of the
Vestals, radiant with red and white roses and wreathed
with jessamine; then by the fountain of Juturna,
finally reaching our goal, the church of 8. Maria
Antica. It is suggestive that this place of Christian
worship, dedicated to Madonna, should be close to the
former Temple of Vesta and the fountain of Juturna.
It is said to have been formed out of the library be-
longing to the Temple of Augustus, and to date back to
the sixth century. The ruin of the buildings on the
Palatine in the ninth century crushed in part of the
ancient church, and the destruction was completed by
Robert Guiscard and his Normans in 1084, when a fire
destroyed a great part of that quarter of the city.
Though attempts have been made at various times, the
church has only been excavated quite lately, after the
demolition of the modern S. Maria Liberatrice.

We went into the atrium, where there are still some
fragments of painting on what remains of the walls.
We identified some of the figures, such as S. Lawrence,
§. Christopher, and 8. Basil. In the middle of the
court is a deep “impluvium,” which is thought to have
belonged to a building yet older than the library of
Augustus. We then went on into the strange, inner
part of the church where the nave, aisles, and sanctuary
with its chapels still remain, though in more than
half-ruinous condition.

When §. Maria Antica was founded and decorated,

323
TRACES OF GREEK INFLUENCE

Greek or Byzantine influence was paramount in Rome
in every department of life; the Palatine was the
seat of the Byzantine government, and 8. Maria Antica
may be described as the Palatine Chapel. It is pointed
out that what remains of the building shows that it
was planned mainly for the Byzantine rite, though the
Latin custom was struggling for its own place in itg
own home. The greater part of the decoration was
executed during the pontificate of John vi (705-7).
This Pope was himself a Greek, son of Plato, Governor
of the Palatine, and was naturally under Greek and
Byzantine influence, which accounts for the great
company of Greek saints represented on the walls, as
well as for the use of Greek costume and of alternate
Greek and Latin inscriptions.

We turned to our left, passing the entrance of the
stairway up to the Palatine, then noting the wonderful
series of figures on the nave wall—Christ in the centre,
and a great assembly of saints of East and West on
either hand. We made out 8. John Chrysostom,
S. Gregory Nazianzen, and others, on the right, while
on the left, the West is represented by various Popes
and ecclesiastics such as 8S. Clement, Leo, and Gregory
the Great. On our right hand we saw the foundation
of an ancient ambone with Latin and Greek inscrip-
tions, declaring the ambone to be the gift of “John,
the servant of the Mother of God,” the name referring
to Pope John VII.

We walked on, amid these strange crumbling walls

324
PICTURE OF THE CRUCIFIXION

and pictures, to the little chapel on the left of the
apse. Here, on either hand, we found pictures of the
martyrdoms of §. Julietta and 8. Quiricus, about whom
I fear we knew little or nothing. On the end wall is
what we thought the most interesting fresco in the
whole church—a representation of the Crucifixion, after
the eighth-century Byzantine manner. The Saviour
is seen to be living, and His eyes are open. He is
crowned with a cruciform nimbus and robed in the
“ colobium,” a blue robe which reaches to His feet. The
figure is simply suspended on the cross by the four
nails, the feet having no support, as in later pictures.
Madonna and 8. John are there; Longinus thrusts
the lance into the side, while the sponge-bearer,
curiously habited, offers the wine mingled with gall.
On either side a palm-tree is represented. Below this
is a row of figures, with the Virgin and Child in the
centre. The chief interest of this group is the figure
of Pope Zacharias on one side, and that of Theodotus,
who is described as “defensor” and administrator of
the diaconate of S. Maria Antica. This Theodotus
offers a model of the chapel to the Madonna, which no
doubt means that it was he who gave the decoration.
In the semidome over the sanctuary is a large figure
of our Lord, and on the wall below part of a picture
of the Crucifixion is still visible, together with figures
of four Popes, also S. Augustine, 8. Basil, and others.
On the side walls there appear to have been scenes
from the Gospel history. Another picture which

325
FRESCO OF THE HOLY MOTHERS

interested us very much was that of the Three Holy
Mothers, which is on the right-hand wall of the nave.
Madonna and the Divine Child are in the middle; on
the right is S. Anne with the infant Virgin; on the
left, S. Elisabeth with 8. John the Baptist. The idea
seemed a very gracious one, and Porzia told us she had
read that the figure of S. Anne is probably the earliest,
known to Western art. Among other groups we had
found our friends SS. Cosma and Damiano, and 8. Sabbas,
besides scenes from Scripture history. Altogether there
is a wealth of shattered and faded art treasures in this
bewildering place, where in some parts you find more
than one layer of fresco below the work of John vir's
time.

On coming out we found ourselves close to an ancient
room converted by the Christians into the Oratory of
the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, and we felt we must
needs look at it. Here, on one of the walls, the
martyrs appear, and in the apse is a fresco represent-
ing their martyrdom. The frescoes are attributed to
the eighth or ninth century.

R. teased us mildly for having left such a stiff bit
of study till the very last, but we retorted that we had
not done yet.

We crossed the lovely Atrium Veste, and passing
the Aides Vest and the Regia, we came into the Sacra
Via once more. We looked up at the temple of “ Divi
Romuli,” and went on to the Basilica of Constantine,
near which we were somehow allowed to effect an

326
S. FRANCESCA ROMANA

entrance to the church of 8. Francesca Romana, known
of old as 8. Maria Nova, to distinguish it from 8. Maria
Antica, The church owes the present delightful name
to one Francesca di Ponziani, who founded the order of
oblate nuns still existing in the Tor di Specchi. Fran-
cesca died in 1440; she was canonised by Paul v, and
her remains are buried in the crypt of the church.
We had a good deal of difficulty in getting in, but
we were not to be baulked of so interesting a visit.
S. Maria Nova was originally founded by Leo Iv after
the partial ruin of S. Maria Antica, and like so many
other churches, it stands on part of the site of an
ancient temple—the double temple of Venus and
Rome, begun by Hadrian in 121 av. The church
has been restored and transformed by various Popes,
and it is to Alexander 111 that we owe the beautiful
bell-tower. The later restorations were made by
Honorius m1 and Paul v, who built the fagade.

“These discrepancies don’t seem to matter in the
least in Rome,” remarked R., as we gazed up at the
charming medieval campanile, one of the landmarks
of the Forum, and indeed of Rome, which stands in
odd juxtaposition with the very obviously seventeenth-
century fagade.

“That is one of its great charms,” said Porzia. “ This
church goes quite well with the Arch of Titus and the
Basilica of Constantine. Rome can reconcile every-
thing, as we have so often remarked.”

Once inside, our attention was mainly devoted to

327
ANCIENT PICTURE OF THE VIRGIN

two things: the monument of Gregory xI and the
mosaic in the semidome. The tomb of Gregory x1
brings back memories of the “ Babylonian Captivity ”
at Avignon, and of S. Catherine’s ardent letters of
exhortation and entreaty. As you might expect,
8. Catherine of Siena duly appears in the relief repre-
senting Gregory’s return to Rome in 1377.

Not far from this sculpture a curious relic is fixed
into the wall, namely, a stone from the Via Sacra, said
to be that on which 8. Peter knelt as he watched the
fall of Simon Magus, who, having thrown himself
from a tower on the Capitol, was supported by the
angels of the devil. At the prayer of S. Peter the
angels ceased their help, whereupon Simon Magus
fell and was killed. The marks of 8. Peter’s knees
are believed to be visible on the stone.

The mosaic in the semidome, a decorative but not
very powerful work, is usually assigned to the twelfth
century, though a much earlier date is also claimed for
it. It represents the Madonna enthroned, holding her
Child, while SS. Peter and Andrew stand on the right,
SS. James and Jobn on the left. The division of the
space by a kind of arcade rather takes away from the
sense of vitality, but the colouring is beautiful. The
Confession is said to date back to the days of Leo Iv,
who probably placed there relics from the Catacombs.
It was altered by Bernini, when the tomb of 5.
Francesca Romana was added. We were especially
desired to note a picture of the Virgin, attributed to

328
WOINOINVE an. KONA

 

 
ON THE AVENTINE

S. Luke, and brought, it is said, from the Holy Land
in the eleventh century. As we left we looked at the
two tombs in the vestibule, noting more especially that
of Antonio Riddo, leader of the pontifical army under
Nicholas v. But these tombs, I fear, did not interest
us nearly so much as the fact that Cesar Borgia had
been titular cardinal of this church before he wisely
renounced the purple.

We came out once more under the walls of the huge
Basilica, then walked slowly along, in the blazing
noonday sun, which beats upon the Forum in over-
whelming fashion. We looked our last at the famous
things of which we had learned just something, but
trusting that, however little, it might be ineffaceable.
We glanced at the Sepolcretum, so curiously desolate ;
we walked up to the Rostrum, to the Arch of Septimius
Severus, then back to the Vicus Tuscus and the Temple
of Castor and Pollux, finally returning to the path
which leads you out again into the Via della
Grazie.

Here we picked up a carriage, and drove down by
the Velabro, past S, Giorgio and the Arch of Janus,
to the Piazza Bocca della Verita, and up to our perch
on the Aventine, facing the view which we felt we
must see once more.

We sat at our little table, not knowing whether
to be more sad or glad as we gazed out across the
trees and arches of the Palatine and Ccelian, and over
the dark wooded mass of the Villa Mattei to where

329
VICTOR EMMANUEL II

the Sabine and Alban Hills rise beyond the long
line of the Campagna. We were fortunate in having
but few neighbours along the terrace, as our little
restaurant seemed more popular for tea than for lunch.
Thus, at intervals, there was a comparative peace and
silence, and, looking out across the lonelier southern
quarters of the city, it became easier to realise the
ancient desolations that had befallen Rome, and the
decay of her old-time splendour, which things get a
little obscured amid the modern improvements.

After due interval for restful meditation, we once
more took our way past the entrances to the Palatine
and Forum, and up the steps which climb to the
Campidoglio between the Tabularium and the Monte
Tarpeo. We turned to take a long look at the Forum,
there spread out in front of us, its columns, cornices,
and arches, with the brown campanile of 5. Francesca
Romana, and the mass of the Colosseum far away at
the end. We walked through the Piazza del Campi-
doglio, past Marcus Aurelius, and down past the great
stairway to 8. Maria in Ara Coeli to the Via Giulio
Romano, whence you can climb again to the monument
of Victor Emmanuel 1. This monument challenges
your attention from most points of view in Rome, and
is a cause of some perplexity and division of opinion
within your own mind, After all, it must be supposed
that the Italians of to-day are not more iconoclastic
than Augustus, or many another emperor whose work
we applaud, and they surely have a right to com-

330
THE FIGURES AND GROUPS

memorate the most remarkable national and political
achievement of modern times in their own capital.

We had never seemed able to find time to see the
monument properly, and were determined to do some
exploration before we left. We therefore tried to
study it fairly conscientiously, and began by taking a
general view of this really imposing erection, familiar
already in innumerable photographs and pictures. We
felt like flies crawling on a mountain, so vast are the
proportions of the building as it rises, tier on tier, to
the great semicircular portico, a really beautiful
feature in its radiant whiteness. The two fountains
make a delightful and truly Roman effect, with their
symbolical statues of the Tyrrhenian and Adriatic.
Behind and above the “Adriatic” are the groups
entitled “Justice” and “Sacrifice’—the latter very
dramatic, and rather recalling the style of Rodin.
In the corresponding position over the “ Tyrrhenian,”
are “Concord” and “Strength,” which we thought as
satisfactory as symbolical groups can be. In judging
such works, there is always the difficulty of the appeal
to the individual, whose view probably differs widely
from that of the sculptor. It was interesting to com-
pare the various statues of Victory; some of them, we
thought, hardly powerful enough in conception. Of the
equestrian statue and of the magnificent pedestal and
base on which it stands, it is difficult for ramblers to
speak with much authority. The sculptures are really
very fine. We were lost in admiration of the wonderful

331
SITE OF THE ANCIENT GHETTO

figure of the “Dea Roma” on the stylobate of the great
equestrian statue. It is a marvellous, archaic figure,
hieratic and mysterious. The figures of the greater
Italian cities on the actual pedestal are interesting, and
so are the beautiful figures of the Italian “ Regioni,”
aloft on the attic of the great portico, so far as you can
make them out. Among these we picked out more
especially Lombardy, Liguria, Umbria, and Latium.
The eagle frieze in the great portico is also very
effective. As we went down again we looked at some
of the other symbolical groups, such as “II Pensiero ”
and “L’Azione,” but we could not truthfully say we
cared much for them; the subjects are really too in-
trospective for sculptural effect. We did very much
admire the lions on the great stairway—splendid
beasts, and most expressive. The two great quadrigas
of Liberty and Unity are very high placed, but make
a grand crowning effect, as you look up at it all from
below. We came away feeling right glad that our
last ramble in Rome should have ended on the note
of United Italy.

On leaving the monument, we found a promising-
looking carriage waiting about in the neighbourhood,
and chartered it for the rest of the afternoon, We
made our “cocchiere” drive us down the Via Tor de
Specchi, past the theatre of Marcellus and the site of
the ancient Ghetto. R. well remembered a walk
through the Ghetto, which has happily disappeared,
having been much too picturesque and interesting

332
TL TAONVYNNA MOLOIA AO LNANANOW

 
THE CORSO

to be wholesome. You are now reminded of its
existence by the very conspicuous synagogue built a
few years ago near the Ponte Fabricio.

From this spot it was but a short drive to the little
Piazza Mattei, where we saw one of our so-called “ odds:
and ends,” namely, that most charming of Roman foun-
tains, the Fontana delle Tartarughe. The beautiful
bronze group of youths, dolphins, and tortoises (which
last give the fountain its name), was executed in 1585
by the Florentine sculptor, Taddeo Laudini. The design
used to be attributed to either Raphael or Giacomo
della Porta.

« Another Tuscan work, you observe,” said Porzia,—
“no Roman could have done that.”

We were obliged to agree, but she had to be chidden
for this exhibition of Etruscan pride. We turned to
look at, alas! only the exterior of the Palazzo Costaguti
and the Palazzo Mattei. The ceiling paintings in the
Palazzo Costaguti would have to be seen “another
time,” if that time should ever come.

Our further way led to the Corso Vittorio
Emmanuele, and thence straight on to the Pantheon,
where we waited for a few minutes. Then we
passed S. Ignazio, and turned into what we always
called the “real” Corso. A last drive along this
was imperative, and we went all the length of it,
to the Piazza del Popolo. Here, of course, the Pincio
was unavoidable, and the correct five o’clock saw us at
Spillmann’s once more. We pounced upon and captured

333
A LAST LOOK AT ST. PETER’S

a table with a view, and our carriage crawled round
into the shade, while distant strains of music came
from the garden, where the band was playing. To-day
it was Tannhduser, which music for some reason has
a spell that “custom cannot stale.” It may be that
it is allied to a story woven deep into the very texture
of us, even as Parsifal is, in its greater way. Anyhow,
we sat and listened, remarking the Italian love for
Wagner, until someone suggested that it would be
as well to finish the sunset drive we had planned.
The carriage was extricated from its restful corner,
and we drove first towards the terrace for a look at
S. Peter’s, then down to the Piazza del Popolo once
more, across the Ponte Margherita and through the
Prati di Castello. We landed in the Piazza di 8.
Pietro, where we got out and went for a few minutes
into the stupendous church, which was looking particu-
larly gorgeous in the late afternoon light. We stood for
a time in front of the circle of gleaming lights which
wreaths the Confession, and looked round at the great
building, symbol of a world-wide domination—a king-
dom possibly, rather of this world than any other—and
yet, if it fails of the very loftiest expression, always
glorious and majestic. I, personally, always came out
of 8. Peter’s feeling more cheerful for having been there,
though I was conscious that the others thought me
lacking in penetration and true artistic sense, It
must be acknowledged that the facade is not a
feature to which you look back with longing, as

334
OUR LAST DRIVE

you do to such facades as Reims, Lincoln, or 8. Mark’s,
Venice,

We turned away without any keen pang and drove
to the Porta S. Spirito, where begins the ascent to
the Janiculum. We climbed slowly enough—and we
were in no hurry—along the wide, curving road
which passes 8, Onofrio and Tasso’s melancholy oak-
tree. We stopped, and stayed for some time to look
at the unrivalled view just above 8. Onofrio. It was
all spread out as in a golden mist, beneath a sky of
indescribable clarity and brilliance, a sight to inspire
an exquisite remembrance and to add a pang to fare-
well. We were as if rooted to the spot, but at last
must needs move on to S. Pietro in Montorio, where
again we halted for the more extensive, if less picture-
esque, view. The sun was sinking more and more, and
long shafts of light pierced the lines of the city, touch-
ing first one building and then another with fire, while
the “cupolone” rose, in glowing transparent shadow
against the sky, dominating the north-western horizon.
Around and beyond the “city of the soul” the Cam-
pagna stretched away to the hills. What can you say?
“ Ave atque vale.”

At last it grew really dusk, and we drove away,
making a last, long round, and descending by the
southern slopes of the Janiculum towards the Porta
Portese.

As we passed near the Villa Sciarra, we remembered
that all along this charming bit of upland were once

335
FAREWELL TO ROME

the gardens of Cesar, laid out with all the grace of
colonnade, waterfall, and shady glen, adorned with
beautiful works of art, and commanding a celebrated
view over the city, the Campagna, and the mountains,
These famous gardens, with their treasures, were
bequeathed—as we know—to the Roman people. As
Shakespeare has it—
“|, . He hath left them you

And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures,

To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.”
Of those once splendid gardens no trace now remains
above ground, but various works of art have been
excavated within their boundary, notably the group
of Menelaos and Patroklos, now known as “ Pasquino.”

What a heritage of beauty and interest must have
been conveyed by that codicil to Casar’s will!

We finally made our way along the darkening streets
to the Ponte Palatino, thus bidding farewell to the Tiber
at the very place where we had first greeted it.

Late that evening, beneath a brilliant moon, three
ramblers, half shy of their popular superstition, threw
their “soldi” into the Fountain of Trevi, and drank of
the water, fondly clinging to the old tradition which tells
you that if you duly accomplish this rite you will one
day return to Rome.—That being so, does there breathe
any “rambler in Rome” who would leave it undone ?

Printed by Moxaison & Giss Linitgp, Edinburgh
+ Po RS

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