Chapter XII: Part 12

The second Sunday we were in Rome was Palm Sunday, and after an early breakfast we drove to St. Peter’s. A tedious service kept us waiting about an hour, when the priests formed in procession and marched to the portal with palms in their hands. These were blanched palms, twisted into fantastic shapes, and not, as one would suppose, of the long natural green branches, which would certainly have been more suitable. The great door was opened and half the procession passed through and stood outside, the remainder standing within. Some form of blessing or other ceremony took place, and then they all marched back again. Altogether it was a very poor affair, although, when it used to be performed by the pope himself, I believe it was more imposing; but the absence of the pope (Pius IX.), who since 1871 had never appeared in public at this or other ceremonials, stripped the pageant of its wonted attractions.

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The Vatican adjoins St. Peter’s, and consists of immense ranges of buildings, said to contain 11,000 chambers. It is no ornament, architecturally, to the cathedral, upon which it impinges, the portion seen from the Piazza of St. Peter’s having too much the appearance of a huge factory. Attached to it, and seen from some of the windows of the Vatican, the pope’s garden occupies a large piece of ground, very stiffly laid out, in which His Holiness can, unincommoded by the public, who are not admitted to it, take his walks or drives. Admission to the Vatican is by means of _permessoes_, which are procurable through booksellers and others. To obtain these documents, people are put to trouble and expense, while it must cost a little to issue them, and really they seem required without adequate reason. As the _permesso_ is given up at the door, a fresh one is necessary at every visit, unless the visitor express a desire to retain it for use again; when he intimates this at entering, gets it back at going out, and pays the doorkeeper 1 franc for the privilege. Whatever may be the object of employing them, it does not save fees, which are payable at every door which is opened. The doors are very numerous, but fortunately the fee expected is small—half a franc, or even, in some cases, quarter of a franc from each party suffices for each janitor. These ‘proud porters’ have no objection to copper. It would be really much better if all fees and _permessoes_ were abolished and strictly _prohibited_, and a fee not exceeding a franc for a party of, say, four were exacted at each visit. The galleries of the Vatican are places which most people desire, when they go to Rome, to see over and over again.

The great gate of the galleries, in which the sculptures are deposited, is reached by driving or walking all round St. Peter’s; and by making the circuit, although it is rather long, one obtains another idea of the vast extent and huge proportions of the cathedral.

The galleries containing the paintings are situated in other rooms, and require separate days as well as separate orders for their examination. The entrance is reached by the Scala Regia in the Colonnade, on the right side approaching St. Peter’s.

We devoted two separate afternoons to each.

The sculptures are far more numerous than the paintings, and even after two inspections, we could only consider we had seen them in a very general way. To do them justice, one would almost require to bestow upon each different group of halls a distinct visit. The number of statues, busts, urns, and other sculptured objects exhibited, is very great. Most, if not all of them, have been recovered from the ruins of ancient Rome while under the government of the popes. The visitor is brought face to face with the original of the Apollo Belvedere, the Laocoon, and many other statues and groups familiar to all by copies or by engravings. But it is necessary to watch carefully, lest omission be made of some of the rooms; for we discovered, on going a second time, rooms we had previously overlooked, and which contained some of the finest statuary. Of many of the halls and of the individual statues, photographs can be purchased in the shops, which, to those who have not seen them, convey some idea of the galleries and their contents, and are exceedingly useful to those who have, in recalling them. Without this help, the multiplicity of objects tends to obscure and confuse the recollection. There is one annoying feature about the statue galleries of the Vatican, that in place of the names of the objects, there is painted upon them the name of the pope by whom they were placed where they stand. One gets quite irritated by the vanity of Pius VI. and Pius VII., leading them in so objectionable a manner to obtrude their names upon the public.

The examination of the picture galleries is much more easily accomplished. The good paintings are in reality confined to two or three rooms, and one or two more, in which are fine frescoes by Raphael and others. The great attractions of this gallery are—’The Transfiguration,’ by Raphael; ‘The Madonna di Foligno,’ a fine work of the same great master; and ‘The Communion of St. Jerome,’ by Domenichino. The upper portion of ‘The Transfiguration’ is so exquisitely beautiful as to suggest whether it would not have been better severed from the lower half, representing the writhing boy in the midst of the perplexed disciples, which, though it may have been designed by Raphael, was painted by his pupils. Indeed, the insertion of the scene may be said to be an anachronism, because the cure was effected on ‘the next day,’ while its introduction detracts from the feeling of sublime elevation above the world and the things of the world which the upper portion of the picture breathes.

There are many other fine pictures in the rooms by the old masters. One in particular, which struck me for its softness and beauty of colouring, was a ‘Madonna and Child,’ by Sasso Ferrato, although it must be confessed both the mother and child are rather plumply fat. I asked the price of a photograph of it for sale in the rooms, taken from an engraving, and was asked 4 francs. It is so often the way in such places to demand long prices.

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

The Sistine Chapel is what nobody omits to see. The entrance to it is from the Scala Regia, just before coming to the picture galleries. We saw it once, and I must own it fell short of expectation. The chamber is dark, the frescoes are fading, and to see some of them it is necessary to lie on one’s back and look up. The view, therefore, is indistinct and uncomfortable; but though they are from the hand of a great master, the eye experiences a want of repose, the effect of over–decoration.

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It is usually recommended to people visiting Rome for the first time, to take a preliminary drive of some hours, to form a general idea of the city. This, after our first visit to St. Peter’s, we did, and found it attended with considerable advantage. Except where it is bounded by the Tiber, Rome is surrounded by walls of defence, in which are several gates. Outside of some of these gates, the town has slightly extended; but, for the most part, the walls stretch a good way beyond the inhabited portion of the town, which is very compactly built, there being no large public gardens or parks within the city, and scarcely an open square, while the streets are narrow and the houses high. The seven hills upon which Rome has always been regarded as standing, are rather hillocks than hills, and do not, seen from the Campagna, bulk much upon the eye. They vary in height from 156 feet to 218 feet above the level of the sea; so that, deducting at least 40 feet for the general level of the city, the highest is but low. From the Porto del Popolo, outside of which the Protestant churches are, with one exception, placed, and inside of which is one of the largest piazzas, or open places, in Rome, three straight–leading streets branch out, diverging at acute angles—viz., the Via Babuino, conducting into the Piazza di Spagna; a centre street, the famous Via del Corso; and a third, the Via di Ripetta, which passes by or near to the banks of the Tiber. All these streets proceed (a wonderful circumstance in Rome) in straight lines to a considerable distance, the Corso fully a mile in length, the vista of all being terminated at the one end in the Piazza del Popolo by the Flaminian Egyptian obelisk, the third in altitude in Rome. The Corso, the longest and central one, terminates at a point not far from the forum of Trajan and the Capitoline Hill, in the vicinity of which the principal ruins of Rome lie. Out of the Corso, however, except where it is crossed for a short way after leaving the Porto del Popolo by a few regular streets, the streets of Rome are so tortuous that I do not recollect any other city, at least similar in size, where it is so puzzling to find one’s way about. I did once or twice adventure on a walk, just to try and familiarize myself with the streets, but in doing so found it necessary to take the bearings very exactly, and to keep the map in hand, to prevent my getting bewildered. These tortuous streets are irregular and narrow, sometimes with scarcely room for two little cabs to pass. They are causewayed, but have no footpath. Even the three leading streets I have named are extremely narrow. The Corso is only 40 to 50 feet wide, and the footpaths which have been placed there are proportionately contracted, leaving, I may say, no room in some places for two foot–passengers to pass each other. The streets are now, however, like other Italian towns, lighted with gas, the want of proper lighting previously having been much felt. The principal shops are in the Corso, the Piazza di Spagna, and the Via Condotti, which crosses from the Corso to the Piazza. Some of the chief booksellers are in the Piazza, but the jewellers’ and photographers’ shops are the kind which are most largely patronized by strangers. None of the shops, however, are capacious, and the wares they contain are in general marvellously limited in quantity.

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Beyond the inhabited part of Rome, there are many good roads, principally conducting to or from the gates, and leading to the country beyond. As one passes along the streets, the eye is continually met by churches, palaces, and other public buildings; but the great attractive interest lies in what remains of the grand buildings of ancient Rome, which for the most part are found in proximity to each other.

Of these, the one which predominates, and by its imposing mass generally claims the first examination, is the Colosseum. It stands nearly free from other buildings, in all the sublimity of age and magnitude. But not far from it are the Arches of Titus and Constantine, the ruins of the Temple of Venus, of the Basilica of Constantine, of the palace of the Cæsars on the Palatine Hill, of the Forum Romanum, and of many other ancient buildings and places, familiar to all who have read about Rome, and which one could not see for the first time without being profoundly stirred. There are gentlemen—I suppose they may be called clinical lecturers—who give descriptions on the spot of these interesting old places, and the information so afforded is useful, because the results of study are imparted by the living voice in a familiar way, and special attention is called to the historical associations, which otherwise to most people might remain unknown. One of these gentlemen, Mr. Forbes (charge, 3 fr. each), makes up two parties per day, one before and one after lunch—regularity in taking which, in Rome, is always recommended as essential to health. I had an opportunity on one occasion of accompanying him, and there was certainly an advantage in hearing his explanations. There is so much, however, to see in Rome, and that of a diversified character, that this was the only time I managed to do so. Mr. Shakespeare Wood is another who occasionally goes out in this way, but I was apprised that he would not form a party during the time we were in Rome. He is said to be remarkably well informed, and is usually engaged by Mr. Cook for his special excursions. To those who would study old Rome, great assistance might be found in a series of instructive papers, evincing great literary research, and evidently of minute exactness of statement, printed in the _Transactions of the Architectural Institute of Scotland_, written by the late Mr. Alexander Thomson of Banchory. It would be well if these scholarly papers could be collected and published by themselves, for, as they stand, they are not within the reach of the general public. Some of the statements I shall hereafter make on Old Rome will be on his authority.

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It would not be possible, according to the plan I have adopted of a rapid survey of what is to be seen in Rome, to give any detailed description of the various ancient buildings, which, besides, are by means of photographs and engravings so familiar even to those who never have visited Italy.

The Colosseum[30] is an immense mass of building, notwithstanding not only that it was long occupied as a fortress, and subjected to the injury resulting from attack and defence, but that it was, like so many others, used for centuries as a quarry for its stones, its marble, and even its iron. Happily this species of destruction was stopped by the French, and steps have also been taken for its preservation by building strong and lofty supports. The Colosseum is at least twice as large as the arena at Nismes, and even as it now remains it is twice as high,[31] but that at Nismes is in much better preservation. The outer walls, galleries, and arches of the Colosseum are built of massive blocks of stone, bound together with iron; but brick composed what was below. Brick, evidently of a hardy quality, cemented by a very strong, durable mortar, appears, indeed, to have been very largely used by the Romans for the carcases or substantial and concealed portions of their buildings. These brick carcases, however, were either built over with substantial stone–work, or faced with slabs of marble, sometimes both; and in a building of this magnitude, even the outer deceptive covering of stone or marble would be of immense mass. By the removal of vast quantities of the large stones forming the casing, a great deal of this brick carcase or underwork has been laid bare, so that the interior of the building has a very ruinous look. Externally, also, the removal of courses of stone, in some parts combined with the ravages of time, impart to it the aspect of a huge ruin. There is free entrance to the public to the arena or central area. We seldom passed the Colosseum without going in to take a glance at it. One could hardly, however, forget what deadly scenes had been enacted there, what agonies had been endured, what cries of pain had been uttered, what savage shouts had once filled its walls, or help feeling thankful that the barbarous and brutalizing spectacles which were then found necessary ‘to make a Roman holiday,’ were now happily things of a long–past age.

I was so fortunate as to be in the city on Saturday, 21st April 1877, which was held as the birthday of Rome (the 2630th, I believe), and beheld a spectacle in the Colosseum which never had greeted the eyes of the old Romans. Nearly the whole population was, in the evening of that day, drawn to the great amphitheatre and its neighbourhood. Joining a party of ladies from our house, with considerable difficulty we drove through the crowded streets, and, dismissing the carriage, we succeeded in getting inside the Colosseum along with a large but orderly mass of people. After waiting long, we were at last rewarded. All of a sudden, the various galleries, which I suppose had been lined with soldiers, were illumined with coloured lights. On one half of the huge building red lights were burned; on the other half, green. When the powders were burned down, others were substituted, the colours being reversed. The effect was magnificent. Every figure in the place was bathed in coloured light, while the walls were one mass of a glowing hue, disclosing the colossal proportions in all their ruinous irregularity, and, where red was burned, looking as if it were a huge lump of burning lava or molten iron. This over, with some trouble we managed to edge away from the crowd to the outside, to see the further operations elsewhere. The Colosseum itself was first lighted on the exterior, which, fine as the effect was, I think could hardly be compared with the interior view. Lights were then successively burned to illuminate the Arches of Constantine and Titus and the Basilica of Constantine—the figures of the persons running about in charge appearing at a little distance, wrapped in the carmine colour, like so many incarnate demons. Last of all, the Forum, the Capitoline Hill, and the surrounding buildings and ruins, were several times similarly illuminated, while a display of fireworks from the Capitol terminated this very imposing spectacle.

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The grand dimensions of the Colosseum drew us often there. It seemed at every visit more and more imposing. Leaving it, and proceeding by the Via Sacra to the Capitoline Hill, which lies about half a mile distant, one passes upon the left the Arch of Constantine, standing at the entrance to a broad wooded roadway, called the Via di Gregorio, running between the Palatine Hill (on which are the ruined palaces of the Cæsars) on the right side, and the Church of San Gregorio Magno and other buildings on the left side, and leading out towards the Appian Way. The fine sculptures upon the arch are well preserved, and give a richer appearance to it than to any other arches now standing; but have been taken from buildings of an earlier age than that of Constantine, and thought to be of the time of Trajan, whose life they illustrate.

About 200 yards farther on we pass under the Arch of Titus. The bas–relief, exhibiting the triumphal procession and captive Jews, is of itself sufficient to confer a lasting interest upon this arch. It forms a grand contemporaneous record of the siege of Jerusalem, and of the forms of some of the sacred furnishings of the temple.

Here we find and drive over a portion of the veritable paving–stones of an old Roman road, the Via Sacra. Considering how frequently our roads and streets require to be re–paved, re–laid, or re–macadamized, it seems little short of a miracle that any portion of the old Roman paving should have remained for so many centuries. But the Roman roads were constructed in a special manner, with the great object in view of ensuring their being solid, dry, level, and direct. The under foundation was of three courses of broken stones of different given sizes for each course, and altogether 3 feet deep, with a top course of closely–jointed stone, generally basalt, a foot thick. The roads were narrow, sometimes only 12 feet wide, and had a rise of 3 inches in the centre to allow the rain to run off. The making of roads was considered a matter of prime importance and a most laudable undertaking, so that enormous sums were spent on them. In Britain alone there were 2500 miles of Roman roads. The roads of Rome were the more durable, inasmuch as they were not subjected to the heavy traffic of our streets, the carriages being small and light; while, as no gas and water pipes underlay them, there was no everlasting turning of them up to get at things below, and as little were there tramway lines to shake the foundations or injure the surface.

The space of ground on which the Forum Romanum stands lies on the Colosseum side of the Capitol. It is sunk many feet below the level of the roads which now surround it, and which, no doubt, have been so raised above it by the accumulation of rubbish during centuries. Little is left entire in this open or excavated space but the Arch of Severus; the remainder, inclusive _inter alia_ of the once splendid Basilica Julia, and the temples of Saturn and Vespasian, are in ruins, only a few pillars remaining to testify to what they were, and in some cases not even so much. But enough remains to show how very elegant these buildings must have been, although one would think, judging from their present appearance, they were rather too much crowded together for effect. The whole of the space, however, between the Capitoline Hill and the Colosseum was at one time a scene of great magnificence, and all glistening in white marble. Classic temples and other buildings apart from the Forum were ranged upon one side, with the Quirinal and Esquiline Hills, and Trajan’s Forum and Column in the background; while the other side was bordered by the Palatine Hill (118 feet above the valley), crowned by the grand palace of the Cæsars. This is now almost a mass of ruins, but much excavation has of late years been made, rendering a visit to it exceedingly interesting. We spent some hours one day exploring the ground, admission to which is by payment of one franc each.

The Capitoline Hill, attained from the Forum by two roads, and covering an area of 16 English acres, is crowned, as seen from the direction of the Colosseum, with a building which has little but some age to recommend it, and from which a square tower rises. It turns its back on the Forum below. The hill, however, in the time of the old Romans, was undoubtedly decorated with imposing buildings worthy of its situation. The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus is now ascertained to have stood upon the highest part of the hill, on the site of the present Church of St. Maria in Ara Cœli, reached by a very ladder of steps (124 in number) from the level plateau on the main crown of the hill, formerly the valley of the Intermontium, now called the Piazza del Campidoglio. This church dates from the tenth century, and is the oldest extant in Rome. It is large, but, though curious, cannot be said to equal many others, and, I suppose, derives its chief importance from its association with the miracle–working Bambino, which marvellous doll finds its abode there. The Capitoline Museum stands on one side of the Piazza, and the Palace of the Conservatori on the other. These are modern buildings, but they contain a large collection of sculptures found in or about Rome, and a large picture gallery comprehending many fine paintings by the old masters. One of the sculpture rooms is devoted to busts of the Roman emperors, and is considered to be the best collection of them. It is strange and deeply interesting to look at these marble representations, executed from the living person, of men who existed so long ago, and whose actions are so noted in history. Where there are more than one of the same man, they invite comparison to notice their accordances or their dissimilarities. The galleries also comprise many other objects of great attraction; for example, what is commonly called ‘The Dying Gladiator,’ which, thus seen in the original, far excels any copy. Indeed, it is seldom that copies approach originals. They want the delicate shades and lines, and other evidences of masterly power denoting that marked superiority which raises the great creations of genius above the works of the common herd. In another room we saw the famous Capitoline Venus.

In a side street we were shown the place which is held to have been the site of the Tarpeian Rock, from which malefactors were hurled; but if this be the true site, the ground below has been much filled up, as the height seems little enough for producing so violent a death. Near to it the spot is also pointed out where Tarpeia opened the gate of the citadel to the Sabines, and received the reward of her treachery.

In the centre of the Piazza the noble equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius arrests the eye. There is a vigorous power about horse and rider to which no other similar statue rises. I have felt it impossible to compare with it the equestrian statue of Charles I. at Charing Cross, in London, or even that of Charles II. in the Parliament Square, Edinburgh, although this last is considered a fine work of art. A broad, handsome flight of steps conducts to the town below. Descending a little way, there may be seen two wolves, kept within an iron–barred cage in memory of the traditional story regarding Romulus and Remus.

We found not far from the Capitoline Hill the beautiful little circular Temple of Vesta, which has been made familiar to everybody by photographs and engravings, and in its neighbourhood a small part of the Cloaca Maxima. This is a portion of the great system of drains (either for sewage or for removing stagnant marsh water) with which Rome was supplied. There it stands to this day, for everything with the Romans was not only made adequate to subserve its purpose, but built to endure, if only the destructive hand of man would let it alone.

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It would, however, be perfectly endless to attempt to enumerate, much less describe, all the ancient buildings of interest in Rome. There are now upwards of twenty temples, about a dozen triumphal and other arches, and many other buildings, more or less in a state of ruin. To describe all these would be beyond the scope of the present work. But I can hardly, in narrating our visit, omit to advert to one or two more of the features of Old Rome still remaining.

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There are scattered over the old city various prominent pillars and obelisks, which naturally attract attention. The most important of the monumental columns are those of Trajan and of Marcus Aurelius, and there is also in the Forum Romanum a small pillar of a different character, that of Phocas.

The pillar of Trajan is familiar to all by engravings. The _bassi–relievi_ which encircle it contain no less than 2500 figures of men, besides those of animals and other objects. It was erected not merely as a monument to the man, but as a record in its height of the depth of the huge work of excavation on the Quirinal Hill, undertaken and accomplished at its site. The sculpture which adorns it is a beautiful and interesting record of events in Trajan’s history. The pillar was planted in the middle of a forum, and surrounded by buildings of such wonderful beauty, and composed of materials so rich and varied, that those who beheld them found themselves utterly at a loss for words to express their admiration; but now, so far as any remains are extant, altogether in ruins, while the rest has been built over.

The column of Marcus Aurelius in the Piazza Colonna, is a similar though less perfect structure.

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But the obelisks in Rome are more remarkable than the columns. When we think of the difficulty we have recently had in removing to London a single obelisk, and that not of the largest size, it seems incredible to hear, notwithstanding Rome is so much nearer Egypt, that at one time there were no less than forty–eight Egyptian obelisks standing in that city. Of these, only twelve now remain visible and erect, and most of them have been removed from other positions they formerly occupied in Rome. The remainder, excepting two (one taken to France, and the other to Florence), are, it is supposed, buried in the ruins of ancient Rome. The twelve now standing vary in height from a very short one, 8 feet 6 inches high, to the largest, 102 feet high, not reckoning the pedestals, which—in some cases inappropriate—add much to the height, nor the additions, equally inappropriate, made to some of them upon the apex. All have been hewn out of the syenite red granite quarries of Egypt, but three of them, including that in the Piazza of St. Peter, were extracted by the Romans themselves from these quarries, and have no hieroglyphics, the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the remainder attesting their true Egyptian origin. The obelisk now in London is 68 feet 5½ inches high, being scarcely the height of the fourth in size in Rome, which is 69 feet. But the weight of the London obelisk is only 186 tons, while the weight of the largest (also the oldest, dating back to 1740 B.C.) obelisk in Rome, that placed before the Church of St. John Lateran, is 437 tons, or considerably more than double. The removal to Rome of this last–mentioned huge and weighty block of stone, and its erection on its pedestal, was an undertaking of immense labour and cost, taxing the resources and appealing to the honour of emperors for its accomplishment. The mere erection upon its present position of that now standing in the Piazza of St. Peter’s (the second in size, and weighing 331 tons), in the time of Sextus V., cost £9000. It was on this memorable occasion, when under pain of death, certain to be inflicted, all were commanded to be silent, and the ropes were about to give way, the Italian sailor from Bordighera, at the peril of his life, called out, ‘Wet the ropes!’ and saved the obelisk from destruction. He was himself pardoned, and obtained for Bordighera as reward the privilege of supplying Rome with palm leaves at Easter.

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Outside the walls of Rome, particularly on entering or leaving by railway, long lines of lofty arches are seen, more or less ruinous (having suffered dilapidation at the hand of enemies), which supported aqueducts by which ancient Rome was supplied with water. At one time there were no less than twenty–four of these aqueducts, entering Rome from various distances. The water was brought along on the gravitation principle, the inclination being believed to have been 1 foot in 400; for although it seems the Romans were acquainted with the scientific fact of which we now avail ourselves, that water in a closed pipe will find its own level, they did not to any extent act upon their knowledge of it. The water so brought in was distributed to an immense number of small reservoirs, or wells or fountains, for the use of the inhabitants, the surplus water being scrupulously employed to flush and scour the sewers. But it was also used to supply the baths of Rome. The bath was regarded by the old Romans as a necessary of life; and many luxurious men, who had not the newspaper or the last new book to wile away the time, bathed as often as seven or eight times a day—great and small, men and women, all mingling promiscuously in the water. To provide for this voluptuous habit, the baths were numerous, and constructed on an enormous scale. There were no less than sixteen establishments throughout Rome, intended not merely for the purposes of ablution, but to supply other means of recreation, and public places where the citizens might meet each other. The Thermæ of Agrippa, of Caracalla, of Constantine, of Diocletian, and of Titus, still exist in ruins, some of them exemplifying their magnitude. Those of Diocletian, close by the railway station, were the most extensive, measuring more than a mile in circumference. Our time permitted of a visit to only one of these Thermæ, the Thermæ of Caracalla, which, enormous in extent as they were, were only half as large as those of Diocletian. They lie about three–quarters of a mile from the Arch of Constantine, and usually, in a drive to the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, are taken going or returning. The extent of the rooms is something marvellous. The building itself was an oblong enclosed by walls, and is stated to be above 700 feet in length, by nearly 400 feet wide, or nearly half a mile in circuit.[32] Little remains of the structure excepting huge walls or carcases of brick, at one time covered with plates or blocks of marble, which have been removed, and either used in churches or other buildings, or, in accordance with a very vexatious custom, burnt for lime. The rooms, as indicated by the ruins left, must have been of great magnificence, not merely from their size and their marble pillars, coating, and flooring, but from the mosaics with which they were inlaid, and the splendid statues with which they were adorned. Some of the statues have been dug out of the ruins, and among them the famous large group called the Farnese Bull, which we saw in the museum of Naples, with many others now deposited in the museums of that city and of Rome. To accommodate the bathers, there were placed around the baths polished marble chairs (cool seats for the undressed), in those of Caracalla to the number of 1600, in those of Diocletian to the number of 3200. The scene during the bathing hours was no doubt very animated, for the baths were crowded.

I may here state that the supply of water to modern Rome is both abundant and of good quality, a circumstance of great importance, and not always to be reckoned upon in other Italian cities, where the water is looked upon, perhaps justly, with great suspicion.

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The Catacombs of Rome are very numerous and of great extent, and it has been calculated that if all the passages were placed in continuous line, they would extend to 545 miles. Those of Calixtus are what are most commonly visited.

The drive to the Catacombs of Calixtus is very interesting; the ground lies by the Appian Way some distance out of the city, and beyond the Porta St. Sebastian. On the way the tombs of the Cæsars and Scipios are passed, and in a neighbouring private garden (on entering which it is highly proper to settle the fee to be paid) there are two buildings sunk in the ground, termed Columbaria—pigeon–holes—apartments probably about 20 feet square, judging from recollection. Descending by a narrow stair, the walls are found covered over with small plates of marble, and under each plate a little niche is formed, containing a vase. The marble plates bear the names of persons deceased, and in the vases below their ashes were deposited. They are curious, carrying one back to ancient times, and becoming, too, a sort of preparative for the visit to the Catacombs, to see which a _permesso_ is requisite, a fee being, however, paid at exit to the conductor for each person, varying a little in amount according to the number. As soon as a sufficient party is collected, and waiting until the party which may be below has reappeared, for only one set is taken at a time, the man in charge of the Catacombs makes up the company for the visit. Each person then lights the taper with which he or she ought to be provided (which, as tapers are not supplied at the place, must be brought from the city, a circumstance sometimes overlooked), and descent is made by a stair. The visitors are rapidly marched or whisked along the narrow intricate passages, on each side of which they see the catacombs in which the bodies of persons deceased were formerly laid—the great burial–place of the first Christians. There are many old Latin inscriptions, which the guide stops a minute to point out; but with a very large number it is difficult for all to get near him. It does not appear as if the passages lay far below ground, I should imagine not exceeding 50 feet; but though the air is warm, it is a dismal place, which the generality of people, seeing once, will not care to see again. One requires to be careful to follow the guide to avoid being lost. The examination does not occupy so much as half an hour.

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On returning to the light of day we were glad to take a drive farther along the Appian Way. This famous old Roman road was constructed at enormous cost, and was 26 feet wide. At one part a mountain was cut down 120 feet, to obtain that levelness which the Romans always desired for their roads. In its original state it must have offered a very remarkable scene. For, though not unusual for the Romans to bury, or at least to erect monuments to the dead, along the side of public roads, the Appian Way was the favourite part for entombment. For many miles on each side it was lined by sculptured monuments or tombs in marble, of more or less size or magnificence. But all that is now left is, in general, nothing but portions of the brick carcases which underlay the stone or marble surface. Vast numbers of these monuments have been destroyed for the sake of the material. The only notable monument remaining to some extent in preservation is the large and massive tomb of Cecilia Metella—a circular tower 70 feet in diameter, the walls of which are 25 feet thick. Its strength caused it at one time to be used as a fortress. The Appian Way itself fell into ruin and became impassable, but has now been cleared; and one can look along it and see it proceeding as far as the eye can reach in a straight line. It terminates at Puteoli, which when we were at Naples we visited, and so had the good fortune, if it may be so called, to pass over both ends of the road, immortalized by the Scripture record as that by which the Apostle Paul went on his way to Rome.

Mr. Thomson, in an interesting paper on the _Recent Excavations in Rome_, in which he gives, by illustrative restorations as proposed by Canina of monuments in portions of the Way, some idea of its grandeur, says (p. 28):

‘Altogether the Via Appia, when in its pristine glory, must have been a wondrous scene, with its innumerable monuments extending on both sides of fifteen miles of roadway, varied by occasional villas of great extent and beauty, by temples, by exedræ or covered seats, and by fountains. These are of every age and style, from the simplest republican to the richest adornments of imperial times.

‘The Via Appia was the road by which travellers from Spain, or Africa, or the East, arrived at the city.

‘How striking this approach to the Mistress of the World! How heart–stirring the memories of the illustrious departed which it must have called up in every heart!

‘We are not aware of any similar arrangement of equal extent and grandeur among all the remains of ancient times.’

So numerous are the churches in Rome, that I believe it may be said there is one for every day in the year. They abound everywhere, and during a short visit one can only, of course, see a few of those which may be regarded as among the chief. All of them, however, possess some distinguishing mark to attract attention. We entered a good many, the very names of which we did not know. And it is useful to notice that in general it is necessary to visit the churches before twelve o’clock; after the hour of noon they are closed, except in the case of some of the more important.

The Pantheon (built B.C. 27) is the only ancient building in Rome which is now standing entire, although bereft of its ornamentation; but such has been the accumulation of rubbish around it, that the steps leading up to it are now considerably below the level of the street. The edifice itself, also, is much hid by surrounding houses, and is not seen till one is close upon it. Passing through a grand columnar portico, we enter a vast circular expanse 140 feet wide, surmounted by a dome 140 feet high. There are large recesses or deep niches around, which were formerly used as receptacles for statues of the gods, when it became a Roman temple. The place now looks very vacant. The building has been stripped also externally of its marble covering or skin and other adornments, so that it no longer exhibits the magnificence it once possessed. But here Raphael and other great painters have been buried, and here the body of Victor Emmanuel, the gallant first King of Italy, has found its resting–place. Mr. Thomson observes:

‘The noblest of all the remains of ancient Rome, the Pantheon was, without doubt, originally built as a portion of these (Agrippa’s) baths; it is proved by the contiguity of the other fragments, and by the identity of the style of the brickwork. It was turned into a temple by Agrippa himself, on which occasion he added the portico of sixteen Corinthian columns of granite, each of one stone, 50 feet 9 inches in length and 5 feet 9 inches in diameter. Thirteen of these remain as originally placed; the three on the east side are modern restorations.’[33]

San Pietro in Vinculi is visited because it possesses Michael Angelo’s grand colossal statue of Moses. Notwithstanding its masterly power, it is far from pleasing in the confined space in which it is placed.

The Jesuit Church (under which one of the lost obelisks has been unfortunately buried) is very gorgeously adorned, and the altar of St. Ignatius (the body of Ignatius Loyola lies below it) exhibits a globe of lapis lazuli, said to be the largest known. This, like every other church at Rome, is besieged by beggars at the door, who whiningly importune for coppers, and one of them always officiously pushes open the thick, heavy, greasy mat placed swinging at the doorway, to keep out the cold air and to offer a convenient asylum to the insect world, and thus, as it is never cleaned, affording a valid excuse for a demand (were reason required). But in all the churches where anything is to be seen inside, a spider is on the watch in the shape of a guardian, who, keys in hand, proffers his services to open locked doors and exhibit the treasures of the church, or to draw curtains which conceal principal paintings. However, the fee is small; one franc or half a franc for the party generally suffices.

One of these churches, containing a veiled picture, the celebrated St. Michael of Guido Reni, is that of the Capuccini. The picture is certainly well worth seeing, and, in some respects, it may claim a preference over that of the same subject by Raphael in the Louvre. But why should such pictures—except for fees—be veiled? The veiling is very detrimental to the colour, as the exclusion of sunlight will in time make a picture black. Italian churches are dark enough as built, without shutting out the light of day from the paintings by an impervious curtain.

That for which, however, people chiefly go to the Capuccini is the extraordinary vaulting below the church. Here are arranged in all manner of devices the bones of the monks attached to the Capuccini monastery, of which this is the church. The skeletons of the more noted are exposed entire in their garments, some of them 300 years old. It is a ghastly spectacle, and was shown to us by a monk, who told us he expected his own bones, when he died, would be placed in the vaults, although we had understood the practice had been stopped.

Of a very different kind of interest was what is underground of two other churches,—San Clementi and San Cosmo in Damian. In the vaults below them we were shown the remains of the original churches, built not later than the fourth century, though the precise date cannot be ascertained. Those of San Clementi, discovered in excavating since 1858, are extensive and extremely interesting, including frescoes of the eighth and ninth centuries—one of them being the Crucifixion. It carries one back to Christianity in Rome of a very early period.

No visitor to Rome fails to visit San Giovanni in Laterano. This is a spacious edifice with altars all round, and is one of the grand churches in Rome, dating back a long way, and historically celebrated. It is, of course, splendidly adorned. The baptistery, like that at Pisa, is an entirely separate building in the Piazza. The Lateran Museum adjoins the church, and on the ground floor contains a collection of ancient statues, the entrance to which we had some difficulty in finding. The upper floor is chiefly remarkable for its collection of inscriptions inserted in the walls, taken from the Catacombs, and of which there is an immense number; but there was nobody to give any information. The famous Santa Scala, said to be the steps of the staircase of Pontius Pilate’s house, up which, it is given out, our Lord walked, is on the opposite side of the Piazza. The steps are covered with wood to prevent them being further worn. We saw a good many of the faithful painfully and laboriously ascending it upon their knees,—a very tedious operation, and sometimes, it is said, from its difficulty and unwonted novelty, a ludicrous one, the people (who are of all classes, and fine ladies as well as common men) in their contortions nearly tumbling over or knocking each other about. At every few steps there is a fixed cross to kiss, and at each step fresh paternosters are said; and when at last they attain the top (the stair consists, according to my reckoning, of twenty–eight steps), they kneel upon a small bench and look through an opening into a sacred chapel beyond, and perform further devotions. We heretics ascended more rapidly by one of the two side stairs by which the devotees descend.

A more splendid church than that of the Lateran is the Santa Maria Maggiore, so named from being the largest of eighty churches in Rome dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It is also one of the oldest churches in existence, and has a handsome façade, in front of which a lofty Corinthian column stands, surmounted by a statue of Philip IV. of Spain. The interior is profusely decorated, and is remarkably beautiful.

But perhaps the church which of all others, after St. Peter’s, attracts most attention, is that of ‘San Paolo fuori le mura.’ This is situated about a mile and a half outside the Porta San Paolo, in a road where foot passengers had been lately robbed, and was not, therefore, considered to be very safe for them. But no apprehension was felt in proceeding by carriage, and it forms a pleasant drive from the city. In going, the English cemetery, and the Pyramid of Cestus adjoining, both outside the walls, are passed. These we had intended visiting, but by a mistake of our driver we were taken some way beyond the entrance gate, and then unluckily postponed our visit for another opportunity, which never came, and our return to the city on the occasion was by a different route. The Church of St. Paul, erected on the road to Tre Fontane, where it is said the apostle was beheaded, is a new one, the former one having been destroyed by fire in 1823. The original church was founded so far back as the fourth century, and became in time one of great magnificence. Externally there is nothing remarkable about the present building, but internally it is one mass of marble ornament on a grand scale. It was expected, when commenced, the cost would amount to £1,500,000; but it is alleged that as much as £10,000,000 sterling have already been spent upon it. This may be quite the case. £10,000,000 according to some, and £20,000,000 according to others, have in three centuries been expended on St. Peter’s, and that during times when money was more valuable. But whatever has been the cost, it must necessarily have been enormous. The church consists of immense, square–shaped rooms,—huge boxes,—which are not over–pleasing architecturally. Floors and walls are covered with large plates of marble of every description, and long rows of costly granite pillars (80 in number) and of oriental alabaster pillars imposingly line the aisles. Four of the oriental yellow alabaster columns are supported on malachite pedestals presented by the Emperor of Russia. The ceilings (flat) are decorated; and along the walls under them a very long series of portraits of all the popes has been executed in mosaic. The windows are filled with stained glass containing representations of sacred events. The decorations of the church, which comprise some saved from the fire, are not yet completed, and at present (that is, when we saw it) a feeling of emptiness was conveyed; but when, in course of time, it is filled up with fine statues, paintings, and other ornaments, like other Roman Catholic churches, as no doubt it will be, this feeling of vacancy will disappear, and although in design it may not brook comparison with other churches, it will probably be the most sumptuous building in the world. Outside the church there is a beautiful court of cloisters of the Benedictine monastery; but the site is unhealthy, and the monastery cannot be inhabited during the summer. If nobody remains in charge of this costly church during summer, I do not know how it is guarded from depredation. It seems a great risk to build it in such a situation. Perhaps the laws against sacrilege may be so severe as to deter.[34]

There are many other churches in Rome which should be visited, but cannot be described in a sketch like the present. Indeed, the fullest description of such places can only enable a stranger to realize them very imperfectly.

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The palaces in Rome, or what are termed such, are as great an attraction as the churches, and to many much more so. There are about seventy of one kind or another, generally huge old buildings, some of which are open to the public on certain days of the week, or on other stated days,—a fee of 1 franc per party being given to the doorkeeper at leaving, which is always the time in Italy when fees are paid, except when admission is by ticket, paid for at entrance. Most of these palaces are visited for the collections of paintings and sculptures which they contain, some of which are very valuable. Generally the second storey is devoted to these collections, the first being sometimes occupied as shops or as servants’ apartments, and the upper floors by the family. Leaving umbrellas and sticks at the door, visitors pass from one room to another unattended, although there are men usually going quietly about to keep watch. There are lists in each room, printed on cardboard, of the pictures in it,—one side being generally in Italian, and the other in French. It would be perfectly endless to describe these various collections. Those most worthy of notice are specified in Hare’s _Walks in Rome_, which is a useful guide to them. But it would really be conferring a great boon upon visitors to Rome if some one were to publish a catalogue of all the collections in the manner of the _Academy Notes_, illustrating the noteworthy. Only by such means is it possible to retain in memory, or recall distinctly and without confusion, some recollection of their varied contents, and where given pictures are to be found.[35] Photographs of many can no doubt be procured, and are useful, and, so far as they go, better than the little rough sketches of the _Academy Notes_; but the collection of such photographs is limited (they are for the most part taken from engravings), and they can only be picked up by degrees. There is, however, a very valuable collection of engravings, published under direction of the Italian Government, of the choicest of the pictures and sculptures; and a few pounds may be well spent in purchases, which can be safely carried home rolled in tin cases which are supplied for the purpose. The shop in which they are sold is close to the Fountain of Treves, No. 6 Via Stamperia. The catalogue, extending to 33 pages, is divided into three parts,—_Pittura_, _Scultura_, and _Architettura_,—and in the first part comprises the works of 43 painters. The engravings are fairly moderate in price.

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