CHAPTER XI.ToC

"Like an infant's smile, over the deadA light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread."

Here lie the remains of our two young poets, taken from us in the flower of their manhood, ere genius had fairly ripened, and ere, alas! we had learned to appreciate them at their true value.

At length we arrived at the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, the most extensive in Rome. We first passed through the church of St. Sebastian, and then, following a monk with lighted tapers, were soon underground among dismal tunnels, with here and there an open tomb, or rather great shelves cut in the soft brownish rocks (tufa). In many places the sides of these tunnel passages were almost honeycombed with open graves. There were still in some of these little heaps of decaying bones: occasionally a name was roughly cut below, executed probably by one of the little flock of the faithful, and an inscription in Greek, for the early church was more Greek than Latin. These long corridors extend in every direction, and, in fact, surround the city on this side. It was a frequent custom amongst the Christians in Rome to pay visits on Sunday to the sepulchres of the martyrs, and especially to the Catacombs. When the sacred roll of martyrs had scarcely been closed, Jerome went the round with his schoolfellows, and speaks awesomely of the darkness and dread gloom of these crypts, deep in the earth, dimly lighted by broken gleams through shafts and holes. They were reached by a narrow entrance, down a long flight of steps, and through innumerable winding passages, all carefully concealed from the persecutors. How great a contrast to the glowing sunshine, and the light breezes, which whispered through the vine leaves on the hills outside! God's love and man's hatred! Our thoughts wandered away irresistibly tothose times when the Christians lived here like moles underground, until they died, and were laid by the loving and devoted hands of their comrades in these dark shelves of the rock. It is said that there are some seven million bodies buried in these Catacombs. True enough that all around the Eternal City is one vast tomb, especially in the direction of the Via Appia, recalling the prophecy, "He shall fill the places with dead bodies."

I have sometimes thought it a pity that Rome rather than Milan was selected as the seat of the Italian Government. I say Milan, because I think neither Florence nor Turin are suitable from a military point of view, as, if once the heights around were seized by a hostile army, the city would be lost. Now, Milan, as far as the eye can reach, stands in the midst of fine open plains, and an enemy could find but little shelter or commanding position. Rome seems almost polluted by these vast tombs surrounding her, and will require an immense amount of labour to render it healthy as a continual residence. Yet no doubt Nature, the never-resting, ever-working, irresistible evolutionary power, will assist in the coming changes. For "Nature," says Emerson, "is nascent, infant. When we are dizzied with the arithmetic of the savant toiling to compute the length of her line, the return of her curve, we are steadied by the perception that a great deal is doing; that all seems just begun: remote aims are in active accomplishment. We can point nowhere to anythingfinal; but tendency appears on all hands: planet, system, constellation, total Nature, is growing like a field of maize in July; is becoming somewhat else; is in rapid metamorphosis.... Says Nature 'I have not arrived at any end; I grow, I grow.'"

It was a great relief to gain the open air after the long and saddening exploration of the Catacombs. Some three or four miles on the road towards Ostia we passed some very old monuments and tombs, and also the ruins of ancient residences. All around is an uncultivated wilderness, a few fine but rusty iron gates alone remaining to show their past pomp and grandeur as suburban residences.

After passing these, we came suddenly on a splendid, newly built Cathedral. It was indeed surprising to find so large and handsome a structure far away from any town or village—completely isolated among the dead! It was the Basilica S. Paolo Fuori le Mura, which was built in 1847 in this uninhabited spot, on the site of a venerable and interesting church burnt in 1823, which had been founded by Constantine to mark the grave of St. Paul. The present edifice was rebuilt under the eye of Pius IX., who was to have been buried here. It is some four hundred feet long, and is divided into fine aisles and noble pillars of Baveno marble and granite in single blocks, two of which support an arch over the altar, dedicated to the sister of Honorius, who completed the former church, andwhose design has been copied in the present one, which also contains copies of the old mosaics by Giotto's pupils. The front is likewise a copy, and when completed is to be adorned by a great mosaic costing 30,000 scudi. The timber roof is richly carved and gilt; and the frescoes in the nave are ornamented with mosaic heads of all the popes, chiefly modern, from the government studios, but there are a few ancient ones among them. It seems as though the whole civilized world had united to do honour to this noble edifice and the great Apostle in memory of whom it was erected. The alabaster pillars of the high altar were presented by the infidel Pacha of Egypt; a detached altar in the transept was a gift from the heretic Emperor of Russia; the granite pillars in the nave came from the Emperor of Austria. Among them is the one celebrated by Wordsworth when it stood on the Simplon, and which Napoleon intended for the triumphal arch of Milan. Some noble-minded and generous Jew has bequeathed a large sum for the support of the church; and the King of Holland gave 50,000 francs for the same purpose—truly a world's acknowledgment of St. Paul's large-hearted, self-sacrificing, and noble life. Among other treasures it possesses a painting of the Conversion of St. Paul by Camuccini, the choir by Carlo Maderno, and a fine St. Benedict by Ramaldi.

An adjoining cloister, belonging to the Benedictine Convent, dates from the thirteenth century. It rests on fluted and twisted columns, and contains in itslibrary a small collection of Christian gravestones fromA.D.355. One bears the figure of an organ, with the words, "Rustreus te vit, and Feci." The atrium of the old church, which is the distinguishing mark of a Basilica, existed down to the seventeenth century, and is now replaced by a modern court. The plan of the former church was a duplicate of that of old St. Peter's. About twenty-four of its columns were taken from the tomb of Hadrian; and yet one other remarkable feature consists in its having been under the patronage of the English kings till the time of Henry VIII., when that fickle monarch broke allegiance with Rome altogether, for reasons of his own. Though this church always seems to have struck travellers with admiration, as combining in itself the last reminiscence of pagan Rome, and the earliest mementoes of the Christian world, it had nevertheless been so far altered by the processes of decay and whitewash, that many of its most striking peculiarities and beauties had been effaced, even before its total destruction by fire.

I admired the now existing church extremely, both for its noble proportions and the beautiful simplicity of its design and ornamentation. The stained glass windows are one of its distinguishing marks of beauty. "It is a woful thing, a sad necessity, that any Christian soul should pass from earth without once seeing an antique painted window, with the bright Italian sunshine glowing through it. There isno other such true symbol of the glories of the better world, where a celestial radiance will be inherent in all things and persons, and render each continually transparent to the sight of all." The atrium, with its marble floor of almost spotless beauty, its lofty columns and noble simplicity of architecture, represented my beau-ideal of a Christian temple. There was not a single seat or chair—which I believe is the case with all Basilicas, the congregation standing and kneeling only—and this fact greatly adds to the apparent vastness of this noble structure, which forms a beautiful and suitable monument to the great and good St. Paul.

While on the subject of churches, I may mention two other fine edifices we visited, both full of interest, though of a diverse nature.

The Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, on the Esquiline Hill, near the railway station, is one of the four chief Basilicas of Rome, and well repays a visit. It gives one more the idea of what a Basilica was really meant to be than any similar edifice in Rome. The richly painted panels, the interior colonnade with its long harmonious rows of pillars, the clerestory decorateden suitewith small pilasters and panels, and the beautiful panelled roof, all combine to give the building an air of lofty and noble magnificence. The high altar is very beautiful, with its decorations of marble, gilding, and precious stones: it is also interesting as possessing the crypt in which Pius IX. was interred. The tombs of Sixtus V. and Pius V. arealso here; and in contrast to the S. Paolo Basilica, which has no side chapels at all, this church possesses two very fine ones, the Borghese, and the Presigio, which are as rich in ornamental work as the rest of the building. The latter contains the supposititious cradle of our Lord; and the former hasin veritasthe beautiful tomb of a Borghese princess and high-born Englishwoman (Lady Geraldine Talbot). The altar of the Virgin is supported by four pillars of oriental jasper, agate, and gilded bronze; the image, which is said to have been the work of St. Luke(!), is richly adorned with precious stones. The church itself abounds in beautiful pictures, statuary, and tombs. The chapel of Santa Lucia is also very interesting, possessing many beautiful tombs, bas-reliefs, etc.

The other church we visited, S. Pietro in Vincoli (St. Peter in Chains), is considered the most ancient in Rome. It is a noble hall, supported by twenty columns of Parian marble, and has many fine and interesting monuments. It is always a debatable point this—St. Peter's presence in Rome. We have no actual proof that he was ever there, and yet the great number of places associated with his name and made sacred to his memory seem to point strongly to such a supposition. Yet it may be only the religious deceit of the priesthood, who thus couple persons and things with places, and insert monstrous legends and traditions for their own mercenary ends, and, considering the immense number of extraordinary relics, it is very evident that Mr. Shapirahas had many predecessors in the art of manufacturing antiquities.

One of the most pleasing features of Rome is its numerous beautiful fountains, generally to be found in the piazzas, sometimes surrounded by fine architectural and sculptural groupings. It seems as if the great men of every age in this city "have found no better way of immortalizing their memories than by the shifting, indestructible, ever-new, ever-changing upgush and downfall of water. They have written their names in that unstable element, and proved it a more durable record than brass or marble."

The Fontana dell' Aqua Felice, near the baths of Diocletian, has a fine statue of Moses striking the rock, by Prospero da Brescia, who is said to have died of mortification at the ridicule excited by the figure of the great lawgiver, in which a slight uncouthness is certainly perceptible. The figures of Aaron and Gideon have been added to the group by other artists. This fountain was celebrated by Tasso under the name of the Fontana di Termini. The Fontana Paulina on the summit of the Janiculum, near Porto S. Pancrazio, is like a triple triumphal arch. The Fontana di Trevi, situated near the Palazzo Poli, is the most famous in Rome. Its clear, sparkling water comes through the subterranean aqueducts from far beyond the city walls. The design of the fountain is by some sculptor of the Bernini school, and represents Neptune with his attendant tritons, Health and Abundance. "It is as magnificent a piece of work as ever humanskill contrived. At the foot of the palatial façade is strewn, with careful art and ordered irregularity, a broad and broken heap of massive rock, looking as if it might have lain there since the deluge. Over a central precipice falls the water in a semicircular cascade, and from a hundred crevices on all sides silvery jets gush up, and streams spout out of the mouths and nostrils of stone monsters, and fall in glistening drops; while other rivulets, that have run wild, come leaping from one rude step to another, over stones that are mossy, slimy, and green with sedge, because in a century of their wild play, Nature has adopted the Fountain of Trevi, with all its elaborate devices, for her own. Finally the water, tumbling, sparkling, and dashing, with joyous haste and never-ceasing murmur, pours itself into a great marble-brimmed reservoir, and fills it with a quivering tide, on which is seen continually a snowy semicircle of momentary foam from the principal cascade, as well as a multitude of snow points from smaller jets. The basin occupies the whole breadth of the piazza, whence flights of steps ascend to its border. A boat might float and make voyages from one shore to another, in this mimic lake."

The great aqueducts, by which these fountains are supplied, are marvels of ingenuity and engineering skill, sometimes bringing the pure crystal stream from lakes and hills thirty and forty miles away. Dyer, the old eighteenth-century poet, has a graceful mention of them in his "Ruins of Rome":

"From yon blue hills[117]Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueductsTurn their innumerable arches o'erThe spacious desert, brightening in the sun,Proud and more proud in their august approach;High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns,Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind,And more united pour their silver streamsAmong the figur'd rocks in murmuring falls,Musical ever."

These noble aqueducts were the chief source of Rome's health and luxury, and were in charge of Curators or Prefects, who formed a kind of "water board." It is a system which might with great advantage be adopted by our own large cities, which are lamentably wanting in a good and liberal supply of fresh water—greedy monopolists charging what they choose, and giving us the precious fluid clean or unclean, when or how they like. The Government might do much to improve this state of things by constructing aqueducts after the ancient Roman style.

Another marked feature in Roman life we arenotso anxious to see imitated in our own country, is the abnormal quantity of beggars one meets everywhere. They are of every sort and description, and swarm round you wherever you go. Some of them a most pitiful and distressing sight, only half clothed and seemingly starving. Their number is only equalled by the legion of priests, who come upon you at every turn, in all grades, from cardinals to novices. Of course, this is by no means to be wondered at, Rome beingthe one great focus and clerical seminary of the Roman Catholic world. But the contrast between the starving squalid poor and the legions of well-fed priests is very painful.

Papal Rome—Narrow streets—St. Angelo—Benvenuto Cellini—St. Peter's—Pietà Chapel—The Dead Christ—Tomb of the Stuarts—Anniversary of St. Peter's—Grand ceremonial—Cardinal Howard—The Vatican—Pictures—Pauline and Sistine Chapels—"The Last Judgment"—Pinacoteca—Raphael's "Transfiguration"—The Madonna—Christian Martyrs—Sculptures—Tapestries—Leo XIII.—Italian Priesthood—St. John Lateran—Marvellous legends and relics—Native irreverence to sacred edifices.

"The Papal City," says Howels, "contrives at the beginning to hide the Imperial City from your thoughts, as it hides it in such a great degree from your eye." I had often asked our guide what had become of this or that column or statue of ancient Rome, and he replied that the popes, jealous of the greatness ofPaganRome, and the interest excited in the minds of the present generations, Catholic and Protestant, removed them as quietly as possible after their disinterment, lest the world should say that the glory and grandeur of the Pagans of old exceeded that of the Papacy.

We drove through a labyrinth of narrow, dirty, crowded streets, crossing the Tiber by the fine bridge of St. Angelo. The picturesque castle of this name was a very important fortress in the Middle Ages. Itwas commenced by Hadrian, and afterwards finished as a family mausoleum by Antoninus Pius, and must always possess a romantic interest from the part it played in the life of that most whimsical and audacious of autobiographers, Benvenuto Cellini. The account he gives of his escape from its dungeons is quite Dumasesque in its thrilling details; and this is not the only famous escape in the records of the fortress, Pope Paul III., who was confined there in his youth, having succeeded in making a secret exit.

Turning to the left through one of the narrow streets, we find ourselves suddenly in a very fine piazza, before the largest Christian temple in the world—colossal St Peter's. It stands proudly and grandly on the Vatican Hill, on the site of the earliest Christian church, built by Constantine the Great in the fourth century.

In the centre of the great piazza, which slopes upwards, is an ancient Egyptian obelisk brought from the circus of Nero, and surrounded by points of the compass let into the pavement. This is flanked by two immense fountains, from which the water rises in a sparkling column to the height of seventy feet. They are supplied by an aqueduct from Lake Bramano, some seventeen miles distant.

St. Peter's is approached from the piazza, by a long-graduated series of great steps. It is from the top of these that the Pope gives his blessing at Easter to the multitude in the immense court below. The piazza is environed by more than a thousandshops, which impede the view, considerably foreshorten and hide the great dome of St. Peter's, and detract from its imposing grandeur; causing the façade to appear of an immense and disproportionate height. The whole stupendous structure—the cross of which, lifting itself literally to the blue skies, can be seen over the hills from the sea—occupied 116 years in building, and was continued during the reigns of eighteen popes. Leo X. was one of these, and his scheme of raising money for the work by the sale of indulgences, went far to produce the Reformation. Truly God's ways are wonderful, the almost trifling acts of a single person often bringing about the most mighty results and changes in the world!

"St. Peter's is less like a church than a collection of large churches enclosed under one gigantic roof.... One is lost in it. It is a city of columns, sculptures, and mosaics." So says the clever, versatile Willis, in his "Pencillings by the Way," and it would certainly take months to examine minutely all that is worthy of attention in this vast pile. Our time, unfortunately, was limited, and we were only able to notice some of the more celebrated and striking features. Of the plan of the building, and its architecture, external and internal, I will say nothing, for what can now be said that has not been said before, and far better than I could say it? Almost every one nowadays has formed his own idea of what this great church is like—of itsexceeding vastness and extent, the immensity of its over-arching dome, and its gorgeous and profuse decorations. Yet when they at length come to visit this preconceived and idealized vision, perhaps their feeling is almost one of vague disappointment. Like Hilda in the "Marble Faun," we at first prefer our own dream-edifice to the solid reality. It is, in fact, so immense that you utterly fail to take it in all at once; your gaze is arrested by ponderous columns and you must be content to see it in fragments. You yourself seem so lost in its immensity, that you find it impossible to take in its immeasurable vastness from any single standpoint, the mind utterly refusing to grasp it; but on a second and third visit, you gradually obtain a more comprehensive idea of its proportions.

"Thy mind,Expanded by the genius of the spot,Has grown colossal...."Thou movest, but increasing with the advance,Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise,Deceived by its gigantic elegance;Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonize,All musical in its immensities:Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flameThe lamps of gold, and haughty dome which viesIn air with earth's chief structures, though the frameSits on the firm-set ground—and this the clouds must claim."Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break,To separate contemplation, the great whole:And as the ocean many bays will make,That ask the eye—so here condense the soulTo more immediate objects, and controlThy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart[123]Its eloquent proportions, and unrollIn mighty graduations, part by part,The glory, which at once upon thee did not dart."Not by its fault, but thine: our outward senseIs but of gradual grasp—and as it isThat what we have of feeling most intenseOutstrips our faint expression; even so thisOutshining and o'erwhelming edificeFools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great,Defies at first our nature's littleness,Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilateOur spirits to the size of that they contemplate."

"Thy mind,Expanded by the genius of the spot,Has grown colossal....

"Thou movest, but increasing with the advance,Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise,Deceived by its gigantic elegance;Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonize,All musical in its immensities:Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flameThe lamps of gold, and haughty dome which viesIn air with earth's chief structures, though the frameSits on the firm-set ground—and this the clouds must claim.

"Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break,To separate contemplation, the great whole:And as the ocean many bays will make,That ask the eye—so here condense the soulTo more immediate objects, and controlThy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart[123]Its eloquent proportions, and unrollIn mighty graduations, part by part,The glory, which at once upon thee did not dart.

"Not by its fault, but thine: our outward senseIs but of gradual grasp—and as it isThat what we have of feeling most intenseOutstrips our faint expression; even so thisOutshining and o'erwhelming edificeFools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great,Defies at first our nature's littleness,Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilateOur spirits to the size of that they contemplate."

Mendelssohn says, "You strive to distinguish the ceiling as little as the canopy of heaven: you lose your way in St. Peter's; you take a walk in it, and ramble till you are quite tired. When Divine Service is performed and chanted there, you are not aware of it till you are quite close.... When the music commences, the sounds do not reach you for a long time, but echo and float in the vast space so that the most singular and vague harmonies are borne toward you."

The interior space is the more increased by the fact of there being no seats of any kind, and seems so immense that things of colossal size appear of only ordinary proportions. Thus, two apparently small cherubs, holding a vessel of holy water, are in reality six feet high; and other figures, almost insignificant in the distance, are really wonderfully large. The pen in the hand of St. Mark on the dome is five feet long.

There are about 134 popes buried here, and when looking at their grand and beautifulmonuments, extending up the left aisle, one cannot but remember that these were the men whose power was at times almost unlimited, who controlled the destinies of the world, and made emperors tremble; and the mind travels back into the dark ages of the past. But in these enlightened times, when the souls of men have shaken off the fetters of mediæval bondage, it is difficult to understand how our ancestors could have been so enslaved—worshipping the reigning pope, though even a Borgia, as a very God upon earth. Near the last column of the aisle is a colossal bronze statue of St. Peter, seated on a huge chair or throne. We noticed that every one (Roman Catholic) bowed before the image, and afterwards advanced and kissed one of the feet, the big toe of which is quite worn away with the friction of countless myriads of devout lips, and the general wiping of the sacred digit by each individual before venturing to kiss it. It would seem, alas! that the present generation is not so very far removed from the superstitions and absurdities of the past, after all!

In the Pietà Chapel is one of the most beautiful pieces of sculpture I have ever seen; it is Michael Angelo'sDead Christ. The Saviour's head rests on the knee of the Virgin Mother, whose face is full of the deepest pathos of holy love and intense sorrow. Truly a God-inspired work.

"Art is the gift of God, and must be usedUnto His glory. That in art is highestWhich aims at this."

How appropriate these words are, placed in the mouth of the great Buonaroti, we could hardly imagine till we had seen this sublime work of art.

We felt greatly interested, in common with all our countrymen, in the tomb which contains the ashes of the last of the Stuarts. Canova's winged genii stand with reversed torches on either side of the door, which is now closed for ever.

I must confess that I was neither pleased nor edified by the services conducted in the gorgeous side chapels; they certainly seemed but a mechanical form of prayer, little less than sacrilegious; the bishops, priests, and choir hastening to get through the formula—those who were not yawning taking snuff. Indeed, there was a dreadful absence of real Christian humility and reverence. One day we arrived in time to witness a High Church ceremonial—it was the anniversary of St. Peter. Cardinal Howard officiated instead of the Pope, who had one of his frequent fits of the sulks towards Italy. He was supported by all the great dignitaries and potentates of the Romish Church, "a grotesque company of old womanish old men in gaudy gowns." The cardinal is a robust Englishman of the Friar Tuck style—the very antithesis to the spiritual, thoughtful, Newman type. He is, however, zealous in his duties, and much liked by the people. The principal part of the ceremony seemed to consist in the constant changing of the cardinal's gorgeous robes, accompanied by procession and prayer; andfinally, when he left, the people, more especially the women, rushed to kiss his hand. In spite of its incongruity in our eyes, it was rather a touching sight, and the cardinal seemed to realize almost painfully, as we did, the adoration of the poorer of his flock.

The music was instrumental and vocal, the former composed entirely of stringed instruments, and we were not at all inspired by it. It was not to be compared to the fine choirs of St Paul's, the Temple, or, Westminster Abbey; and for sacred music I think there is nothing like the grand, melodious swell of the organ. We found none of the grand Masses or other ceremonies of the Roman Church at St. Peter's, which could compare for a moment in reverential feeling with the solemn impressiveness of our own large churches during our beautiful and eloquent service, which is so full of deep and earnest feeling, and yet withal so simple that all can understand; and what more sublime than to hear a vast congregation singing, as with a single voice, one of our fine old hymns, such as the imperishable and soul-inspiring "Rock of Ages"? Yet even here I think there is sometimes too much of a secular character now introduced into church music.

The more one sees of St. Peter's the less easy it is to realize that so magnificent and wonderful an edifice has been constructed by man. Compare the stupendous structure with the puny attempts of the present day. Architecture seems almost a lost art.I think this is owing to want of patience; the lack of doing all things thoroughly and well; the preference for mere show rather than durability and beauty; and the selfish gratification of our own generation rather than a patriotic pride and thought for future ages. If the nineteenth century has made great advances in the industries, science, and thought, it has also introduced a taste for meretricious imitation in every department of manufacture and art. This is essentially the century for contracts. Everything is done by contract, and not only is the matter of cost, but also that of time, made a strong point in the bargain. When St. Peter's was built, estimates of cost were not thought of, and no one ever dreamed of fixing a date for completion of so vast a work.

To gain admission to the galleries of paintings and sculpture in the Vatican, it is necessary to procure tickets. These may always be obtained of your hotel proprietor, while a pass to the Pantheon and to all exceptional ceremonies can generally be got by an early application to your Banker.

Next to the Vatican, the Villa Borghese, near the Piazza del Popolo, and the gardens of the Pincian Hill, has the most important picture-galleries in Rome. The Palazzo Doria, in the Corso, is also one of the finest in the city. There are three large fronts enclosing a spacious court, and this is surrounded by a piazza. There is a very handsome staircase, leading to the splendid series of galleries full of priceless works by the great masters—Correggio, Raphael,Titian, and others. Unfortunately, we were obliged to hurry through, without seeing half of them properly.

It is necessary to provide yourself with a quantity of small copper coins, for every Usher who shows you anything, expects some payment in return, and they are quite satisfied with a few centissima.

The Vatican contains the richest, rarest, and most varied collection of art treasures in the world. This is not to be wondered at when we remember that it has been the work of more than a hundred popes, many of them princely patrons of art and genius, some very unscrupulous, and each in his day exercising almost uncontrolled power over nations, emperors, and kings, and commanding the moral, physical, and material resources of the civilized world. Here there is gathered, as in an immense casket, the chiefest of the art treasures of all ages, the works of antiquity, and the principal productions of the greatest men who have lived. The dimensions of the Vatican exceed those of Tuileries and Louvre put together. The very list of museums, galleries, and cabinets is bewildering, and I should think a thorough study of the whole would well-nigh occupy a lifetime; it is really daring presumption to rush through in a day or two, and then be content to say you have "done" these things, as so many tourists do.

Through these interesting rooms we wandered and wondered, longing for a fuller comprehension of their contents, yet unable to linger, and almost sated with the numerous beautiful objects demanding ourattention on every side. Sight-seeing of this kind is the most fatiguing pastime both to body and brain that any one can indulge in; it is only possible to note the more important objects. We were much struck by the Scala Regia, a fine staircase by Bernini, in the centre of which is a gigantic equestrian statue of Constantine, so placed that a fine ray of light falls on it from above. This probably is typical of his conversion to Christianity.

We visited the Pauline and Sistine Chapels, the latter of which contains Michael Angelo's awful and in some sense revolting picture of theLast Judgment; and many marvellous frescoes from scripture history by the same great master. Wonderful and magnificent as these pictures are in an artistic sense, I never see depicted these imaginary "heavens and hells" without thinking—

"What is the heaven our God bestows?No prophet yet, nor angel knows;Was never yet created eyeCould see across eternity."

While doing this great work, Michael Angelo was only too evidently under the bondage of the Papacy; for in this picture the Virgin Saint usurps the place of our all-sufficing, merciful, and loving Saviour. All must be saved (or lost?) only through Popes and Saints; no peace, even for the dead, without money payment! It is in the Sistine Chapel that the cardinals meet in conclave on the decease of a pope, to elect his successor.

Still we wandered on through miles of picturesand sculpture, wondering in amazement how these great men could have performed so much in a single lifetime, remembering how little—how very little, we ourselves accomplish, one day like another repeating, alas! the same sad story of "Nothing done."

Perhaps the culminating centre of these galleries is the Pinacoteca, which contains the choicest works of all. Chiefest among them is Raphael's sublime and wonderful painting ofThe Transfiguration. "A calm, benignant beauty shines over all this picture, and goes directly to the heart. It seems almost to call you by name. The sweet and sublime face of Jesus is beyond praise, yet how it disappoints all florid expectations! This familiar, simple, home-speaking countenance is as if one should meet a friend. The knowledge of picture-dealers has its value, but listen not to their criticisms when your heart is touched by genius. It was not painted for them; it was painted for you—for such as had eyes capable of being touched by simplicity and lofty emotions." Transcendentalists do not often indulge in remarks on material objects, but when Emerson speaks about a picture it is worth quoting.

Only second to theTransfigurationis Raphael's lovelyMadonna, so full of true womanly loveliness and purity of soul—a beauty that expands the heart, and makes one feel purer and happier for having gazed thereon. The inspired aim of these great painters seems to have been to show us the marvellous love of God, and the exceeding beauty of hiscreation. Many of the pictures represent painful scenes of the sufferings of the early Christian martyrs. While looking at these dreadful conceptions, so truthfully portrayed, and also when visiting the Mamertine Prison, the Tarpeian Rock, and the Catacombs, I could not but feel ashamed at the miserable little sacrifices we present-day Christians are content to make for our religion. We can never be sufficiently thankful that we are no longer required to prove our faith in such a terrible and utterly self-denying way.

The sculpture-gallery came next. "Painting," says Hawthorne, "is sunlight; sculpture is moonlight." Here group after group of beautifully chiselled marble claimed our attention. TheMinerva Medica,Niobe,Apollo, theFaun, theTorso Belvedere, theApollo Belvedere, and a thousand others; above all, that miracle of ancient art—the Laocoon:

"A father's love and mortal's agony,With an immortal's patience blending:—vainThe struggle; vain, against the coiling strainAnd gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp,The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chainRivets the living links,—the enormous aspEnforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp."

By the way, both here and at St. Peter's much of the natural beauty of the nude figures is artificially covered, which certainly greatly detracts from the effect. This was done by the command of some prudish Pope, who was as surely wanting in right and pure feeling as in a proper comprehension and appreciation of art.

"The heathen[132]Veiled their Diana with some drapery;And when they represented Venus nakedThey made her, by her modest attitude,Appear half clothed."

The silk tapestries in the Vatican excited our wonder and admiration. They are most beautifully worked pictures, and cover the walls over an immense area. Unfortunately, we had a nonchalant guide on this day, who was only enthusiastic over his cigarettes, and whose purely mechanical utterances exasperated one in the same degree as do the solemn old Beefeaters in our own Tower, or the garrulous, conceited guide at Notre Dame, Paris. A good cicerone can invest the most trifling objects with interest, while a bad one simply irritates one's temper and wastes precious time.

The Vatican palace is a large, ugly, barrack-like building, painted yellow, and surrounded by high walls. Here "His Holiness" lives, a self-immured prisoner, on unlimited patrol. It is an immense place. There are two courts, eight grand, and a hundred smaller staircases, and upward of a thousand rooms. Indeed, the Vatican taken as a whole, with its extensive stables, etc., resembles a small town rather than the palace of a sovereign. So that, though a "prisoner," Leo XIII. is by no means shut up in a cloister. He is, I believe, a man of the highest culture, and leads a most unselfish and simple life: frugal in his own personal expenses—the cost of his table not exceeding that of an ordinary labouringman—he is filled with an earnest desire to exercise the responsibilities of his position. One can well imagine, therefore, that the almost total deprivation from temporal power, and the neutralized allegiance of so many of his Italian subjects, must be most galling and heart-breaking to him. The Pope, indeed, is almost a nonentity at home; yet we cannot but feel that this alienation between Italy and her spiritual father is for the real good of the State. It has ever been the policy of the Papacy to keep the people in poverty and superstitious ignorance. The priesthood has shamefully failed to identify themselves with the aspirations and wants of the people, and consequently have lost all hold on their hearts. Other nations have freed themselves gradually from the yoke of Rome, so baleful in its influences to all vigorous strength and constitutional greatness. And now Italy has certainly a future before her, downtrodden in the dust as she has been for many years. Garibaldi's was the arm to raise her; his the voice to hail Victor Emmanuel with the proud title of "Re d'Italia." It is, therefore, significant of the times and of the future, that a people so susceptible of adoration and superstition as the Italians, should have lost faith in the efficacy of their priesthood, and have fairly had their eyes opened to the fact that the dignitaries of the Church have been well fed and prosperous, dwelling in gorgeous palaces, and wearing fine apparel, at the expense of the starving population, who have paid them for their prayers for the repose of their dead,for their confessions of sin, and maybe for fresh indulgence in the same. Happily, their minds are now awakening from long darkness and ignorance, to view in its true light the degrading bondage in which they have so long been content to remain passive.

Yet this supremacy of the Roman Church, before it was so grossly abused, like all other remnants of the system of the dark ages, has been of use in its day. The priesthood combined with their religious duties those faculties now known as Law, Physic, and Literature, and also supplied the place of all charitable and scholastic institutions. The Church was the nursery of Christendom, and it is only since the world has progressed in education, and arrived at manhood, that it has renounced the leading-strings of its infancy. England, Germany, and all the other Teutonic races of the north, the elder children of Europe, did this long ago; they dated their coming of age at the Reformation, and united in revolt against the grossly abused power of their nurse and foster-mother, who still sought to control their actions and destinies. They laughed at the rod of excommunication, threateningly upheld; and this once defied, the Pope and his Cardinals were fain to turn their attention exclusively to those who were still content to be under their protecting wing. But now the time has arrived once more when these also desire to emancipate themselves from thraldom. Let us hope, then, that the manhood of Italy will be a noble one, and full of earnest faith and high endeavour.

The Church of St. John Lateran, in the Piazza di St. Giovanni (on the site of the house of Plautius Lateranus, one of the conspirators against Nero), is one of the chief Basilicas. (This title of "Basilica" is only given to those churches whose foundation dates from the time of Constantine.) The five general councils known as the "Lateran Councils" were held here. It is called "The Mother and Head of all the Churches of the City and the World," and takes precedence even of St. Peter's in point of sanctity. The portico and doors are very fine, and the interior possesses much of interest; it is divided into five aisles, resting on lateral arches and pilasters. Here, in 1300, Pope Boniface VIII. proclaimed the Jubilee from the balcony, Dante being present on the occasion. The Corsini Chapel is said to be the richest in Rome, some half a million sterling having been squandered on it. There are some very fine mosaics and paintings by Guido, Sacchi, and others. Like most of the churches, it has a great many legends attaching to it to enhance its interest. Among other pretended relics shown here are two pillars from the temple of Jerusalem, the well of Samaria, and the table used at the Last Supper. The Scala Santa, or holy stairs, on the palace side of the church, and detached from it, are composed of twenty-eight black marble steps, said to have belonged to the palace of Pontius Pilate at Jerusalem. Penitents ascend these steps on their knees (no foot being allowed to touch them), praying as they go, in order tovisit a sanctorum at the top, which contains a portrait of the Saviour, painted, so the priests tell us,by St. Luke at twelve years of age. They descend by other steps, and thus they acquire so many days' or years' indulgence. An Englishman, a fellow-traveller, told me that he had ascended the steps as described, not being allowed to do otherwise, and he found it very sore work for his poor knees—and "Serve him right," thought I. In one of the adjoining chapels of this church an attendant sells pictures and relics. There is no real reverence here for sanctity of the House of God, as is shown by thus turning it into a house of merchandize, and also by the vile and unpleasant habit indulged in of spitting all over the beautiful mosaic and marble floors.

The Borgo Novice is the finest street in this part of the city.

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