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rFALTAN Pictures,

gralirn; bUfj |)cn atrb |)ciTnl

REV. SAMUEL MANNING, LL.D.

ALTHOR OF

" THOSE HOLY FIELDS," " THE LAND OF THE PHARA OHS," " SPAX/Sf/ PICTURES,'

"SWISS PICTURES," ETC. •

^•^ALU^^

^''-■<'^ struck by orM^"^

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY,

56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard;
AND 164, Piccadilly.

' . ^

"A LAND

Which was the mightiest in its old command.
And is the loveliest, and must ever be
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand;
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free,
The beai'tiful, the brave, the lords of earth and sea.

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome !
And even since, and now, fair Italy !
Thou art the garden of the world, the home
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ;
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes* fertility ;
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced."

Childe Harold.

•»<>-<•-

" Sed neque Mf.dokum sii.v^, ditissima terra,
Nec hulcher Ganges, atquk auro turbidus Hermcs.
Laudibi's Italic certent ; non Bactra, neque Indi .
HiC VER adsiduum atque alienis mensibus ^.stas,
Bis gravidas pecudks, bis pomis utii.is arbor."

Georgics, ii. 135.

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l^OME AND THE 1^0JViy\N3.

ITie Colosseum by Moonlight . . . frontispiece
Italia, from the Medal of Napoieon I. . . . title

On the Pincian, with St. Peter's in the distance pa^e 6

The Lighthouse at Leghorn .8

I'he Noon-day Repast to

On the Pincian ii

The Mont Cenis Tunnel, from the Italian side . . 12

Over the Combe Oscura, on the Mont Cenis Route . 13

Shaving alfresco 14

Gossiping at the Well 15

Roman Peasants : the Ideal and the Real . . . 17

The Campagna near Ostia 19

Shepherd of the Campagna 20

Ruined Fountain on the Campagna . . . .21
The Island in the Tiber, and Bridge of Quatiro Capi 24

On the Campagna 26

Peasant Children of the Campngna . . . . -27

A Bird's-eye View of Rome 28

Portion of the Claudian Aqueduct . . . • -29

The Capitol 29

The Bibliotheca in the Palace of the Caesars . . .30
Ruins of the Palace of the Csesars . . . . 31

Arch of Constantine 32

The Temple of Minerva 33

In the Temple of Augustus 35

Column of Trajan 36

The English Cemetery, and Pyramid of Caius Cestius . 36

The Mamertine Prison 38

On the Appian Way 39

Approach to the Forum from the Coelian . . . 41
In the Forum, looking towards the Capitol . . -43
The Colosseum before the Recent Excavations . . 45
Interior of the Colosseum since the Recent Excava-
tions ^6

The Dying Gladiator 47

Frieze from the Arch of Titus . . . . . .49

Arch of Septimius Severus 5o

Arcus Argentarius, or Money-Changers' Arch . . 51
Gardens of Convent, on the Palatine .... 52

The Palatine from the Aventine S3

Porta Romana, on the Palat;:.e 55

Clivus Victoriae, on the Palatine . pcs^ 56

Graffito in the Collegio Romano 57

Temple of Vesta 58

Baths of Caracalla 59

Interior of the Pantheon 62

Section of Calixtus Catacombs, showing the disposi-
tion of passages and cubicula .... 64

Entrance to Catacombs 64

A Cubiculum with Tombs 63

Fragment of Slab, and Lachrymatory . . . -65

Arcosolium 66

An Early Christian Burial in the Catacombs . . -67
An Oranle, or woman engaged in prayer ... 71

The Good Shepherd 71

Terra-cotta Lamps found in the Catacombs . . 72

Child's Doll 72

Instruments of Torture found in the Catacombs . 73

Church of St. Clemente 75

Church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo 76

Illumination of St. Peter's and Fireworks at the Castle

of St. Angelo 78

St. Peter's, with the Bridge and Casile of St. .-Vngelo 79
General View of St. Peter's and the Vatican . . 80

Interior of St. Peter's &J

The Statue of St. Peter 83

The Scala Regia of the Vatican . . . . 85

Procession in -St. Peter's 8?

The Sistine Chapel 89

The Pope giving the Benediction on Palm Sunday . 92
Stairs of the .\ra Cceli . . .... 93

The liber and Convent of Santa Sabina upon ' the

Aventine 97

The Bambino 99

Cloisters of the Suppressed Convent of Santa Maria

Degli Angeli 100

In the Borghese Gardens, Rome loi

Under the Portico of the Academy of France . . los
In the Gardens of the Villa Pamfili Doria . . . 107
Ruins of the Portico of Octavia, in the Ghetto . . 108
Entrance to the Ghetto by the Pescheria Vecchia . .110
Ruins on the Roman Campagna I'a

iw3t 0107

]^(aPI.E3 and pOMP^II.

Naples MS' "4

Island of Ischia ii6

Pozzuoli, the ancient Puteoli 117

Sorrento "9

Castellamare 120

Quay of Santa Lucia, Naples 122

Neapolitan Pulichinello 124

Costumes of Naples and the Neighbourhood . . 125

At a Window in Naples 128

Mendicant P'riars near Naples 129

Neapolitan Funeral 13'

Cooking Utensils from Pompeii .... 132

Castle of San Elmo 134

Necklace, Ring, Br.icelet, and Earring from Pompeii 135
Bronze and Terra-cotta Lamps from Pompeii . . 135
Frescoes from the House of Siricus, at Pompeii . . 13°

General View of Pompeii 138

Eruption of Mount Vesuvius, in 1872 .... 140

The Gate of Nola, Pompeii P^S' '4*

The Gate of Herculaneum and Street of Tombs . . 141

The Amphitheatre 143

The Small Theatre 143

Street in Pompeii 144

Peristyle of the House of the Questor .... 144

Clearing a Street 145

Searching for Remains . 146

Carting away the Rubbish 146

Baker's Oven, Bread, &nd Flour-Mills .... 147

Tepidarium of Public Bath 148

Garden and Fountains of the House of Lucretius . 149

Atrium of House of Panza, restored .... 151
Casts of Dead Bodies of Two Women . . . .152

Temple of Vesta at Paestum 153

Amalfi, from the Terrace of the Suppressed Convent . 154
Virgil's Tomb and the Grotto of Posilippo, near Naples 156
Fountain at Mola di Gaeta, with the Bay and Castle 158

]^J.0F(£:NCE, pl^A, AND <^ENOA.

Florence, from the Terrace of San Miniato . page 160

Avenue in Boboli Gardens 162

Florence, from the Boboli Gardens .... 164

Grotto in the Boboli Gardens ... ... 165

Florence, from the Porta San Nicolo .... >66

Pitti Palace, Garden Front 167

Savonarola, after the Portrait in San Marco . . 168
The Palazzo Vecchio . . . . — . . . 1 70

Portrait of Dante 171

Tomb of Dante at Ravenna 172

The Duomo and Campanile .174

Door of the Baptistery of Florence . . . .176

Court of the Palazzo Vecchio .... page 17
The Uffizi, the Palazzo Vecchio, and Statuary in the

Piazza ... 179

Convent of Vallombrosa 180

The Cathedral and Campanile, Pisa . . . .182

The Leaning Tower, Pisa 183

The Baptistery, Pisa 185

Public Gardens and Roadstead of Leghorn . . . 186

Genoa, from the Heights 187

The Arsenal, Genoa 1 88

Island of Palmaria, opposite La Spezia • . . 189
Monaco • • 190

JvloRTHERJM |tAJ.Y.

Statue of Bartolomeo CoUeoni, Venice . . page 192

Street in Venice 193

On the Grand Canal 194

The Piazzetta 195

Cathedral of St. Maik 196

The Gondola 198

The Bronze Horses of St. Mark 199

Courtyard of Doge's Palace 230

The Amphitheatre at Verona 20J

Tomb of the Scaligers page 205

Milan Cathedral 207

Pinnacles of Milan Cathedral 209

Street in Turin 216

Turin 211

Monte Viso, from the Head of the Val Pellice
The Waldensian Church, and College of La Tour
The Orphan Asylum in the Waldensian
Valleys

213
ai4

316

THE LIGHTHOUSE A.T LEGHORN.

ROME AND THE ROMANS.

THE NOON-D\Y REPAST.

T{>()^% ^JJ5 Jji^ ^<)jA^}\p.

EvisiTiNG Italy after an absence of
some years, one is constantly struck
by the fact that if modern travel has
gained immensely in speed, comfort,
and punctuality, it has lost a good
deal in picturesqueness and variety.
Turin may be easily reached from
London inthirty-six hours. It is not
long since the distance from London
to York occupied the same time, and
the traveller reached his destination
far more weary and travel-stained
from his journey of a couple of hun-
dred miles than he does now after
traversing half a continent. If steam
has not annihilated the horrors of
" the middle passage," it has at least
abridged them ; and it is possible to
anticipate an attack of sea-sickness
with equanimity, when its duration
is restricted to ninety minutes.

But the change is not all gain.
Travelling now-a-days is apt to be-
come tedious in its monotony. Its mechanical regularity leaves little room for
adventure. Railways are alike all over Europe, and the Italidin Jerrome differ from
those of other countries only in their intolerable slowness. The stazione at Capua
or at Pompeii might be a station at Wapping, but for its greater dirt and dis-
comfort. The carriage which takes us to Florence or Rome is the exact counterpart

ON THE I'lNCIAN.

TRAVELLING IN ITALY.

of that which brought us to Dover or Folkestone. There is httle to remind
the traveller that he is in Italy, not in England ; and he has to stimulate his
imagination into activity by saying to himself, " It is not Margate or Brighton that
I am approaching, but Naples or Rome." And when he has reached his destina-
tion, the station, the railway porters, and the omnibuses are fatal to his rising
enthusiasm. How different was it in the old ante-railway days ! Gliding into
Venice by gondola was felt to be a fitting introduction to the dream-like life of that
silent city of the sea. It was a day of intense and ceaseless excitement when we
crossed the Campagna from Bolsena or Civita-Vecchia, drove along the Appian
Way, or dashed through the Porta del Popolo, and rattled along the Corso.

However imposing the scenery through which a railway runs, there is no
time or opportunity for its enjoyment. One is whisked away before the eye has
been able to drink in its beauty. In former days we could halt on the top of the
Splugen and gaze at the great Lombard plain, stretching far away into the blue
haze on the horizon; could loiter amidst the wondrous combination of snowy
peaks, and tro-
pical valleys,
and jutting
headlands, and
blue sea on the
Riviera ; could
pause and look
back, mile after
mile, as the glo-
ries of the Val
d'Aosta, or the
beauties of the
Italian lakes, re-
ceded into the
distance. But,
even in Italy,
railway travel-
ling is too rapid
to admit of this.
There are, how-
ever, exceptions
to this rule. The

grand outlines of the mountains, amid which the Mont Cenis route winds, are
seen to great advantage from the train. And as one climbs a steep ascent,
shoots across some perilous gorge, or plunges into the tunnel, the sense ot man's
power and his victory over nature adds to the impressiveness of the scenery.

Then, too, the old roads led through many a picturesque town and village,
affording bits of characteristic colour or incident which are missed altogether on

THE MONT CENIS TUNNEL, FROM THE ITALIAN SIDE.

THE MOMT CENTS ROUTE.

ii#.A'

OVER THE COMBE OSCUKA, ON THE MONT CENIS ROUTE,

a railway journey. And, except Spain, no country in Europe is so rich in scenes
of this kind. The barber, with his gossips around him, is seen plying his trade
in the open air. The cobbler has pitched his stall under the portico of some
old Etruscan temple or Roman basilica — old before our history began — and

TRAVELLING IN ITALY.

hammers away ignorant and careless of the antique grandeur around him. A
group of girls chatter at the well, where the legions may have halted, and listen,
half afraid, to the Capuchin friar who lingers in the shade on his way home to
his convent on the hill-side. To the traveller by the vetturino the whole domestic
life of the people is exposed ; for the Italian peasant lives in the open air. The
dirty hovel he calls his home offers no inducement to stay in it one moment
longer than is necessary. The bright sunshine, and balmy air, and pleasant
shade, offer an attractive contrast to the gloom and squalor within. Domestic
privacy is unknown and undesired. An insight into the life of the people
was thus afforded even to the passing traveller, which added immensely to the
interest of a tour. Rushing through the country by train, time is economized,
comfort is secured, the destination is reached speedily and without fatigue ; but
the journey itself is wanting in interest.

SHAVING AL FRESCO.

The lover of the picturesque, however, will not fail to observe with regret that
what was peculiar and characteristic in the habits of the people is passing away.
Dress is rapidly becoming the same all over Europe. Except on festas, a group
of Italian peasants would attract no attention in Connemara. Indeed, one
is constantly struck by the resemblance between a crowd of Irish and Italian
labourers. Watch the country people pouring into Florence in the early morning ;
not more than half-a-dozen will wear the national hat of Tuscan straw. In Naples,
the Phrygian cap is now rarely worn even by fishermen and lazzaroni. One may
walk for hours in Rome without seeing a single specimen of the picturesque
costume which figures so largely on the walls of our Royal Academy. In the
Piazza di Spagna, indeed, and on the steps of Trinita de' Monti it is common

ITALIAN COSTUME.

<^«.

enough. Here are venerable patriarchs,
clad in their sheep-skin cloaks, with long
white beards resting upon their aged
breasts, and looking like Belisarius beg-
ging for an obolus. Bloodthirsty brigands
scowl at passers-by with a ferocity which
might strike terror into the boldest heart.
Young girls, in faultless Roman costume,
dance to the music of bagpipe and tam-
bourine, or seat themselves in attitudes
of careless grace around the fountain in
the piazza. But their faces seem familiar
to you. Where can you have seen them
before ? The truth flashes upon you.
They are models who have been painted
again and again by English, French, and

ROMAN PEASANTS : THE IDEAL.

ROMAN PEASANTS PtAYING AT MORA : THE REAL.

TRAVELLING IN ITALY.

American artists, and who come here to be hired. There can scarcely be a
stronger contrast than that .between the Roman peasant of poetry and art, and
the actual prosaic fact. At Carnival time, indeed, or at the great festivals, such as
Easter and Christmas, large numbers of contadini ?indipifferai'i, in their picturesque
costumes, may be seen in Rome and the other Italian cities. But the increase
of travelling, the breaking down of old barriers, the spread of a cosmopolitan
spirit, are rapidly sweeping away local customs and national costumes.

But if it be true, as I think it is, that a tour through Italy is less interesting
and exciting now than it was years ago, yet it is no less true that of all countries
in the world Italy is that which best repays the traveller. Deeper feelings may
be awakened in Palestine —

" Those holy fields.
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet,
Which, eighteen hundred years ago, were nailed,
For our advantage, on the bitter cross."

But scarcely a trace or vestige remains to connect the Palestine of to-day
with that of our Lord and His apostles. Of the city of David and the temple of
Solomon, the sentence has been fulfilled : " Verily I say unto you there shall
not be left one stone upon another." There is nothing to mark the site of
Calvary. Only a doubtful tradition bids us " Come, see the place where the
Lord lay." The traveller is perplexed and his enthusiasm chilled by endless
controversies and contradictory assertions as to the holy places. But in Rome
the history of two thousand five hundred years — nearly half the whole duration
of man upon the earth — is recorded in contemporary monuments. Stand upon the
Capitol. Before you is the Palatine, where Romulus stood : beneath you are
Cyclopean walls and the rock-hewn dungeon of one of the villages out of which
the empire sprang. On yonder hills Hannibal encamped. Through those gates
marched the legions which conquered the world. There runs the Via Sacra, along
which the victorious generals passed in triumph. The Forum, in which crowds
hung upon the eloquence of Cicero, and the spot where Caesar fell pierced with
wounds, are before us. There stretches the Appian Way, trodden by the feet of
a prisoner from Jerusalem who was to win for his Master a nobler victory, and
for himself a more imperishable crown, than Romans ever knew. That vast
pile is the Colosseum, where Christians were flung to the lions, and gave their
blood to be the seed of the Church. The Campagna around us is hollowed into
catacombs, in which they laid down their dead to rest in peace. There stands
the arch where Titus passed bearing the spoils of the temple. Baths, temples,
palaces, basilicas attest the splendour of the empire, and mark its decline and
ruin. The records of mediaeval anarchy may be read in battlemented ruins.
And each step in the history of the papacy has left its mark in the ecclesiastical
edifices around us through its culminating splendours in the Basilica of St.
Peter down to the column which celebrates the dogma of the immaculate
conception, and the tablet which announces the infallibility of the pope.

THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

Anything more lonely and desolate
than the Campagna round Rome it
would be difficult to imagine. A waste of
moorland stretches far and wide, covered
with greyish brown moss and coarse grass.
Its surface is broken up by a succession
of hillocks, many, perhaps most, of which
cover the remains of ancient grandeur and
prosperity. Out of not a few of them rise
crumbling wallsand towers of various dates
— the strongholds of turbulent barons, the
villas and palaces of Roman senators and
knights, or old Etrurian towns which had
passed their prime before Rome rose to
empire. Buffaloes and dove-coloured oxen
wander over the waste or plunge into the
morasses which lie between the mounds, to
escape the stings of innumerable swarms of
flies. Goats and goat-like sheep straggle
here and there, guarded by wolf-like dogs,
and tended by herdsmen clad in sheep-
skin jackets, their feet and legs swathed
in filthy rags. The few human beings one
encounters are livid in complexion, with
sunken eyes and fever-stricken faces — for
the malaria exhaled from the soil is laden
with the seeds of disease and death. Here
and there a string of country carts may be
seen — a few boards rudely nailed together
and drawn by oxen or miserable horses —
each one has a canopy of basket-work
covered with hide, beneath which the
driver crouches to escape the wind, or
rain, or sun. Across this dreary waste
travellers hasten to reach the city before
sunset, for to breathe the air of the Cam-
pagna after nightfall might be fatal. The
graphic description written by Beckford,
on his journey from Radicofani, a century
ago, is still true :

" On the left, afar off, rises the rugged
chain of the Apennines, and on the other
side a shining expanse of ocean terminates

THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

the view. It was upon this surface so many illustrious actions were performed :
and I know not where a mighty people could have chosen a grander theatre.
Here was space for the march of mighty armies, and verge enough for

SllEl'UJiKD OF THE CAMPAGNA.

encampments ; levels for martial games, and room for that variety of roads and
causeways that led from the capital to Ostia. How many triumphant legions

have trodden these pavements ! how many captive kings ! What throngs of
cars and chariots once glittered on their surfaces ! savage animals dragged from
Africa; and the ambassadors of Indian princes, followed by their exotic trains,
hastening to implore the favour of the Senate.

" During many ages, this eminence commanded almost every day such illus-
trious scenes ; but all are vanished ; the splendid tumult is passed away : silence
and desolation remain. Dreary flats thinly scattered over with ilex, and barren
hillocks crowned by solitary towers, were the only objects we perceived for several
miles. Now and then we passed a few black ill-favoured sheep straggling by
the way-side, near a ruined sepulchre, just such animals as an ancient would
have sacrificed to the Manes.
Sometimes we crossed a
brook, whose ripplings were
the only sound which broke
the general stillness, and ob-
served the shepherds' huts on
its banks, propped up with
broken pedestals and marble
friezes, . . . Heath and a
greyish kind of moss are the
sole vegetation which covers
this endless wilderness. Every
slope is strewed with the re-
lics of a happier period; trunks
of trees, shattered columns,
cedar beams, helmets of
bronze, skulls, and coins are
frequently dug up together." *

There is, however, a cer-
tain fitness in this region of loneliness and desolation around the fallen city. It is
thus cut off from the busy world outside. Shrunken within its ancient walls, ** a
world too wide " for its diminished size, it is isolated in the midst of the waste.
It stands alone in solitary state, its ruined fortunes sympathized with, as it were,
by surrounding nature. The mighty aqueducts which stretch for leagues across
the plain, and the masses of ruin which encumber it, speak most affectingly of
ancient magnificence and present decay.

The question is often asked as to the causes of the malaria which now
depopulates the Campagna, and w^hich in summer turns parts even of the city
into a pest-house. The answer is difficult. It is certain that it did not prevail
in former times. Forsyth points out that under the empire the public ways
were lined with houses to Aricia, to Ocriculum, to Tibur, to the sea. Nero
projected a third circuit of walls which should enclose half the Campagna —

* I/a/y, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal. By the Author of Vathek.

RUINED FOUNTAIN ON THE CAMPAGNA.

THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

a district now reeking with poison. Malaria prevailed, indeed, in a small
district between Antium and Lanuvium, but that it was not serious even here
seems proved by the fact that Antium grew magnificent under the emperors,
and Lanuvium was surrounded by splendid villas. Pliny says, that even the
Pomptine Marshes were at one time populous and contained twenty-three (some
manuscripts read thirty-three) cities. Though this statement is discredited by
Niebuhr and other authorities, and is doubtless exaggerated, yet there must
have been some ground for it. The origin of the evil is probably to be found
in a variety of causes. The swampy character of the soil, and the want of any
natural drainage, would make it unhealthy. The dense population of this part of
Italy under the Romans producing a high state of cultivation, and a complete
system of irrigation, prevented serious mischief. But the open country became
depopulated during the barbarian inroads. Under a thousand years of papal
misgovernment the depopulation continued. All attempts at drainage had ceased.
The soil, saturated with animal and vegetable refuse, accumulating age after age,
became a hot-bed reeking with corruption, and pouring forth pestilence into the air.
Macaulay, in a well-known passage, traces a striking contrast between the
Lothians of Scotland and the Roman Campagna. The former, with all the dis-
advantages of a barren soil, ungenial climate, and sullen skies, have been raised
to a condition of the highest fertility and prosperity. The latter, which once
bloomed like a garden, has sunk into a pestilential morass, or a dreary, barren,
unpeopled waste. In the one, evangelical piety has trained up a population at
once manly and godly, developing in them those qualities which are " profitable
unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to
come." The other, beneath the withering blight of papal tyranny and superstition,
has become and remained a plague-spot In one of the fairest regions In the world.
We may extend into universal application the threatening and the promise
pronounced by Old Testament prophets upon the land of Israel. In Its apostasy
" the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it ; the owl also and the raven shall
dwell in it : and He shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion and the stones
of emptiness. They shall call the nobles thereof to the kingdom, but none shall
be there, and all her princes shall be nothing. And thorns shall come up In
her palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof; and it shall be an
habitation of dragons, and a court for owls." But where true religion prevails
" the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them ; and the desert
shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice
even with joy and singing ; the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the
excellency of Carmel and Sharon ; they shall see the glory of the Lord, and the
excellency of our God." ^''

Everything in and around Rome deepens the impression of loneliness pro-
duced by the Campagna. Within the walls are vast spaces, void and desolate,

* Isaiah xxxiv. 11-13; xxxv. 1,2.

A BIRD'S-EYl: VIEW OF ROME.

grass-grown mounds and mouldering ruins. Even amongst the more modern
edifices many are falling into dilapidation and decay. The number of convents
now empty of their former inmates, and of churches closed, except, perhaps, for
a single day in the year, add to the general sense of gloom. The Tiber, too,
is without a boat upon it. Seldom or never is the splash of oar or paddle
heard in its silent waters. At the Ripetta, indeed, a few barges may be seen
laden with marble for the use of sculptors. A small steamer used to ply once
a week to Civita Vecchia and back, chiefly for the service of the French
army of occupation ; but it sank at its moorings, and, no attempt having
been made to raise it, it lay for some years with the tops of its funnel and
paddle-boxes showing above the water. With these insignificant exceptions,
the river, which was once the pride of the Roman's heart, runs down to the
sea as destitute of commerce as though it flowed through an unpeopled desert.
The rapid development of commercial activity resulting from the formation of
the Italian kingdom, however, promises speedily to restore something of its
ancient prosperity to the Tiber.

Mr. Howard Hopley gives the following vivid description of the impression
made on the visitor by a first view of the city : —

" Eccola, signor, eccola ! Roma ! " It was long ago, before railways bestrode
the Campagna. I had travelled all night, getting into a sound sleep, as people
usually do just before dawn, and now, when the early sun of a glorious summer
morning shot and glinted through the blooming vineyards and silver olives of the
hill-side, down which by zigzag ways our dusty vehicle was lumbering, our driver
roused me to take my first view of the city. The whole scene lay spread out,
.reaching to Tivoli and to the far snow-crested Apennines. A semi-transparent
sea of mist lay in the hollows and brooded over the broad Campagna. The
cupolas and domes of the city uprose through it like a cluster of shining islands in
a summer sea. Presently the mist rolled off. The landscape cleared. Was that
Rome in very deed — that city solitary amid broad miles of undulating moor-like
waste ? For a moment there swam before me a vision of Rome the Great, with
its million-voiced life, diademed with temples and towers, all quivering in the sun.

" With alabaster domes and silver spires,
And blazing terrace upon terrace high
Uplifted : here serene pavilions bright
In avenues disposed ; there towers bedight
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars."

And I contrasted that visionary Babylon of the brain with the city I now saw for
the first time. How shrunken and dishonoured, was my first impression, yet how
splendid in dishonour and decay ! The circuit of the ancient walls was there.
I could trace it. But then I remembered that old Rome overshot its walls far
into the Campagna. Whereas it was now the Campagna that came inside the

A BIRD'S-EYE VIE IV OF ROME.

walls. The roundness of youth and beauty had shrunken In, and the girdling
line hung loosely about the.city.

The point on the hill-side to which our vehicle had come was a capital one
for a general survey, but too far off to particularise. We stopped at a rustic
osteria to get breakfast. Lush creepers ran flowering and festooning over the

ON TlIK CAMl'AGXA.

door trellis. In the gloom within was a tumult of coffee-cups and clamour for
hot smoking supplies. Across the dusty road stood an old sarcophagus turned
into a horse-trough, where two little dark-eyed peasant girls in scarlet petticoats
stood dabbling. Water trickled into it from a green mossy runnel down the
hill-side amid tufts of starry cyclamen. Nature was prodigal with fresh young
life in decking this stony relic of the dead. I climbed up and looked abroad.

PEASANT CHILDREN OF THE CAMPAC.NA.

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A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF ROME.

I'OliTION or THK Cl.Al DIAN AQUEDUCT.

There was Rome, as I said, islanded in an expanse of waste. The Campagna

seemed Hke some immense arena circled by hills, peopled with funereal hollows,

a vision that fell dead on the heart. It was an amphitheatre, but an amphitheatre

on the morrow of a festival — mute and sepulchral. Marbles gone, palaces in ruins,

aqueducts gapped in their long stride across the plain, like teeth in the jaw of a

skull. The multitudes who had striven were now silent! The gladiators were

gone. The dead had been dragged off

The seats were empty. The innumer- _

able crowd lay mingling with the clods,

forgotten, confounded. You felt that a

whole world had perished off that spot

— that those scant vesticjes were mere

suggestions of what had been.

Let us fancy ourselves sitting to-
gether on the brow of the Janiculum,
whence our sketch is drawn. We are in
the gardens above the Corsini Palace"
on the transpontine side of the Tiber.
Behind us are traces of the Aurelian
wall, also of the gate whence, along the
Via Aurelia, old Rome poured out of
the city seawards.

First and foremost in point of interest we touch upon the Palatine Hill.'''
This was the nucleus of all Rome. From this she extended her circumference till
she took in the whole world. On the summit of the Palatine, Romulus, a simple

sliepherd boy, stood and watched his flight
of birds of good augury, while Remus, from
the adjacent Aventine," surveyed his own
unsuccessful flight. The Caesars' imperial
seat was on the Palatine. Augustus thought
to build for all time. But now the halls
of the Caesars are a mass of stupendous
ruins, cropping up amid the fresh bloom of
terraced gardens and vineyards.

The seven-hilled city. Where are the
seven hills ? We have enumerated two, the
Palatine and the Aventine. The Capitoline^^
was the high place where Rome embraced
her heroes. It led up by a steep ascent
from the P'orum. On the highest spot was
the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, where
you now see the towers of Ara Coeli flaming in the sun, approached by a long
flight of marble steps. Titus, in the splendours of a long-drawn processional

THE CAPITOL.

A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF ROME.

triumph, brought
up the spoils of Je-
rusalem to the Capi-
tol, and received
there, all Rome
mdking holiday, the
solemn thanks of
the S.P.Q.R. The
hill is about one
hundred feet high.
1 1 towered above
some of the temples
in the Forum. The
Tarpeian Rock is
hard at hand, from
whose steep traitors
were hurled, l^hat
was the famous leap
that " cured all am-
bition." There is a
garden there now,
and on the fatal
edge wild flowers
blossom, and speed-
well and forget-me-
nots peep out in
tufts from crannies
halfway down the
cliff. It looks as
smiling and inno-
cent as if blood had
never been spilt
there. The church
ofSt.JohnLateran '^
marks the slope of
the Coelian Hill.
and the swell of
the Esquiline may
be roughly guessed
from the spot mark-
ed,3^vhefe St. Maria
Maggiore stands.
The Quirinal is in-

A lilRD'S-EYE VIEW OF ROME.

dicated by the pa-
lace lately of the
Pope, now of the
King.56 And, lastly,
the Viminal, a dif-
ficult position to
make out, lies be-
tween the Quirinal
and Esquiline.

These, then, are
the famous seven
hills included in the
walls of Servius
Tullius, from which
Rome took the
name of the seven-
hilled city. In later
times, of course,
other hills were
included, Montes
Mario, Vatican,
Pincio, etc. The
summits of the
seven hills belonged
to patricians, and
were in those days
covered with gar-
dens and temples.
Among the stifling
lanes, choked-up
alleys, and lofty
houses of old Rome
— for there were no
streets then, in our
sense of the word —
these hill-tops must
have been as plea-
sant oases, where
the citizen might
inhale the fresh
sunset air, and
look down on the
fevered city.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF HOME.

About the Forum the chiefest of Rome's recollections gather. From the
Rostrum, a kind of open-air Westminster Hall, near the Temple of lupiter
Tonans,33 ^he great causes were pleaded ; a crowd spell-bound beneath, and
groups on the marble steps of porticoes within hearing.

" Yes, and in yon field below
A thousand years of silenced factions sleep.

The Forum, where the immortal accents flow,
And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero."

Perhaps a more starding remembrance is, that the holy things from the
Temple at Jerusalem passed captive over those very flags. Titus's Arch^' on

the Summa Sacra Via, the highest spot
of the road, records that fact on its frieze.
The sculptures on this, one of the most
interesting of Roman monuments, are
nearly perfect.

Near the Arch of Titus stands that
of Constantine.^' The imposing size and
fine proportions of this triumphal arch
make it one of the finest in the world.
But the work of destruction and recon-
struction out of former edifices had begun
so far back as the reign of the first Chris-
tian emperor ; and it is thought by many
archaeologists that this ought rather to be
called the Arch of Trajan. It is certain
that a large part of the decorations belong
to the earlier period ; and it is doubtful whether the conqueror of Maxentius
simply plundered the arch of his predecessor, or appropriated it en masse.

From Titus's Arch the Sacra Via runs in a gentle descent on to the
Colosseum. 3° We are still on ground teeming with recollections. Let us go back
a few years. St. Paul was in Rome. Christianity was already recognised as a
thing to be persecuted. Nero, from his housetop, had fiddled to the burning of
Rome, in some drunken dream that he beheld Troy in flames. From out of
the chaos he cleared a space, and built himself a lordly pleasure-house within a
sling's cast from this spot. The Golden House of Nero, it was called. His
colossal statue of bronze, 120 feet high, stood in the vestibule. Gardens ran
down to the hollow where now is the Colosseum. In that dip he made him an
artificial lake, on whose banks clusters of houses were set to represent small cities.
The slopes of the Coelian and Esquiline adjacent were converted into vineyards,
that the illusion of a country view might be complete. In this abode of mag-
nificent wickedness was all that art could devise to produce pleasure ; and on the
terrace walks, on some nights of revel, Christians wrapped in pitch were burnt as
beacons to light up the scene.

ARCH or CONSTANTINi:.

THE TEMPLE OI" MINERVA.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIE IV OF ROME.

He died. By-and-by the artificial lake was drained. Titus began building
the Colosseum in its bed. Many thousand captive Jews are said to have been
employed on it. It seated eighty thousand people. One hundred days did the
dedication festival last. There were combats of storks, of elephants, of bulls,
and of men. Five thousand wild beasts fought with gladiators, and with one
another. Finally a volume of water was let into the arena by sluices, and a
combat of ships of war took place.

The Colosseum, however, must have been a baby to the Circus Maximus,
vestiges of which still are manifest in the valley between the Palatine'^ and
Aventine hills,*^ the scene of the rape of the Sabines. The Circus Maximus
existed in the time of the Re-
public. Julius Cresar rebuilt it,
and the emperors till Constantine
kept it in splendour. So vast
was it that one can hardly picture
it in the mind. An oval, nearly
half a mile long by 900 feet broad,
with seats for half a million of
people, who, looking up, saw
Caesar's Halls towering above
them on one side, on the other
those on the Aventine. It was
chiefly for chariot races and foot
races — the kind of circus St. Paul
had in mind (Heb. xii. i), whose
cloud of witnesses spurred on
contending racers to the goal.
Down the centre ran what was
called a spina^ or back-bone, of
narrow gardens, of fountains, and
statuary, and the racers circled
round it. Two Egyptian obelisks
were planted at the ends of the
spina. One of them is now in
the Piazza del Popolo,''^ the other
stands in front of the Lateran.*^
This last Constantine brought
from Egypt, in a vessel of three
hundred oars. It is a monolith of granite, 105 feet high, weighing 450 tons. The
Broken Bridge,'^ built by Scipio Africanus b.c. 200, from which Heliogabalus was
cast into the Tiber, is now used — that is, the broken arches of it — to support
a modern suspension bridge near the old temple of Fortuna Vlrllls.'^

The piers of the famous bridge Subllclus, familiar to us in Macaulay's lay,

IN THK TKMPLE OF AUGUSTUS.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF HOME.

COUMN OF TRAJAN.

which was kept by Horatius Coccles and his two brethren single-handed against

the anny of Porsenna, may still be seen when the Tiber is at low ebb near the

spot marked.^3 Next turn to'^ the mouth of
the old sewer which drained Rome 600 years
before Christ. It is built of such splendid
masonry that even now it stands firm as when
its foundations were laid. Near it stands the
temple of Vesta/^ one of the most interesting
ruins in Rome.

The island in the Tiber '^ was sacred
to Esculapius. The story is that about B.C.
300, in obedience to a Sibylline oracle, the
Romans sent for Esculapius to Rome. The
ambassadors returned in a vessel with the
statue of the god. A serpent was found
hidden among the cordage. They took it for
the serpent of Esculapius, and thought that
the god had himself accompanied them in the
ship they had travelled in. When they got
up the Tiber the serpent escaped and hid

himself among the rushes of this island. There they built a temple, and

cut the island itself into

the form of a ship, coating

its sides with strong ma-
sonry, adding prow, stern,

and all, so that it looked

like a giant vessel in mid-
stream.

Trajan's Column,'^

erected a.d. i i 7, a noble

work of art, on whose

spiral bas-reliefs of marble

are carved no less than

two thousand five hun-
dred human figures, is

now surmounted by the

bronze figure of St. Peter.
The Pantheon of

Agrippa,'*^ built uc. 27, is

a circular temple elegantly

proportioned, surmounted by perhaps the most magnificent dome in the world.

Time seems to be at peace with the Pantheon. Spite of its age, it is as perfect

as Westminster Abbey.

THE ENGLISH CKMETERV, AND VYKAMIl) OF CAIUS CESTIUS.

ROME, REGAL AND REPUBLICAN.

By the gate of St. Paul, near the pyramid of Caius Cestius/^ who about
the time of Christ mimicked the Pharaohs in this his sepulchre, is the English
burying- place. It is a kind of grassy upland beneath the old Aurelian wall,
where flowers and English cemetery creepers luxuriate in southern wantonness
over the memorials of English dead/"

We now proceed to give more detailed descriptions of the principal edifices
glanced at in this brief sketch.

The remains of the Regal and Republican period are few and unimportant.
The destruction of the city by the Gauls (b.c. 388) may partly account for this.
But it is probable that there was little of architectural magnificence before the
time of Augustus, who " found Rome of brick and left It of marble." The early
Romans had neither the means, the genius, nor the inclination to erect stately
edifices. Engaged in wars either of conquest or of self-defence, they had no
leisure for architectural display. For many generations after the date of its
mythical founder, Rome was but a cluster of villages on the summits of the
neighbouring hills which rose, side by side, from the level plains of the Campagna.
Sanitary and military considerations combined to dictate the selection of an
elevated site easily to be defended against attack, and raised above the malaria
of the lowlands. Many such villages and small towns may still be seen in the
old Etrurian territory, each —

" Like an eagle's nest,
Perched on a crest
Of purple Apennine."

The language of Montesquieu was probably not exaggerated. " Rome, at
first, was not a city, but it rather resembled one of those villages which we still
find in the Crimea : a collection of huts and enclosures for storing grain and
folding cattle. Streets there were none, unless we give that name to the
roadways which ran between dwellings placed without order and regularity.
The inhabitants, always occupied in their daily task.s, or in the public places,
were scarcely ever at home." t

Some of the structures of Regal Rome, however, yet remain. One of
these is the Cloaca Maxima, just mentioned, a sewer so solidly constructed
that it is used for its original purpose at the present day, and it may continue
to be so for ages. The massive stones employed in the old Etruscan walls may
be seen at the foot of the Palatine and the Capitoline hills. One of the most
interesting relics of this period is the old Mamertine Prison, constructed by
Ancus Martins, and described by Livy and Sallust. Walls built of enormous
blocks of stone form a cell, cold, and dark, and damp. But in the floor is a
small opening leading down into a yet more horrible dungeon. Sallust speaks
of it as " a place about ten feet deep, surrounded by vaults, with a vaulted roof

* Revised and abridged from A Bird's-Eye View of Rome, in the Leisure Hour.
f Considerations sur les cattses de la grandeur et de la decadence des Romains. Cap. i.

THE CLOACA MAXIMA AND THE MAMERTINE PRISON.

of Stone above it. The filth, and darkness, and stench make It Indeed terrible."
Here Jugurtha was starved io death, the accomplices of Catiline were strangled,
and Sejanus was executed."' Tradition affirms that yet more illustrious sufferers
were confined here. In this State prison it is said that the apostles Peter and
Paul were immured. Of this, however, there is no evidence. And the papal
legends, which so often invest even a probable tradition with incredible marvels,
are not wanting here. An indentation In the wall is pointed out as having
been made by the head of St. Peter when forcibly struck against it by the
inhuman gaoler ; and a spring of water which rises from the floor Is declared

THE MAMKRTINE I'RISON.

to have burst miraculously from the rock for the baptism of his two guards,
Processus and Martinian.

Whilst Scripture is silent upon the subject of St. Peter's residence in Rome,
and there Is no historical evidence In Its favour, we know that St. Paul was twice
a prisoner here. During his first imprisonment he was kept in his own hired
house ; but the second may have been, and probably was, more severe. It is
therefore possible that the tradition which connects him with this horrible
dungeon may have some foundation In truth. If so, it was amidst the chilly
damp of this subterranean vault that *' Paul, the aged," wrote to Timothy : ** The

* Recent excavations by Mr. Parker show that this dungeon was far more extensive than had
previously been supposed.
38

THE A P PI AN WAY.

cloak which I left at Troas, with Carpus, bring with thee." Here, too, the joyful
words were written : " I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure
is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept
the faith : henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the
Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day."

If we cannot with certainty connect the great apostle of the Gentiles with
the Mamertine prison, we need not hesitate to associate his memory with
one of the noblest remains of Republican Rome — the Appian Way. This

ON THE AI'PIAN WAY.

magnificent road, constructed by Appius Claudius (a.u.c. 442), led southwards,
first to Capua, and was afterwards continued to Brundusium, the modern Brindisi.
But it was joined at Capua by another road from Puteoli, the modern Pozzuoli,
near Naples."^ It was formed of immense blocks of stone, so admirably fitted
together, that after the lapse of eight hundred years the roadway seemed as
perfect as when first formed. The classical scholar, as he traverses the time-

* One of the most interesting chapters in Conybeare and Howson's Life and Epistles of St. Paul
is that which illustrates the journey of the apostle along this road from Puteoli to Rome.

THE APPJAN WA Y.

worn pavement, will recall the journey of Horace to Brundusium. But a far
deeper interest attaches to that described by the inspired historian : " And so
we went toward Rome. And when the brethren heard of us, they came to
meet us as far as Appii Forum and the Three Taverns ; whom when Paul saw,
he thanked God, and took courage. And when we came to Rome, the centurion
delivered the prisoners to the captain of the guard : but Paul was suffered to
dwell by himself, with a soldier that kept him."* Many a victorious general
had marched in triumph at the head of his troops along the Appian Way. But
that prisoner, with his little band of friends, was advancing to a nobler victory,
and could confidently exclaim, " Now thanks be unto God, who always causeth
us to triumph in Christ." + It was an interesting illustration of the permanence
of the apostle's influence that when recently entering Rome by the Appian Way,
I found the Italian soldier on guard intently reading Paul's Epistle to the
Romans.

It is the remains of Imperial Rome which, by their grandeur and extent, fill
the visitor with wonder ; and the most important of these gather round the Forum
as their centre. The extensive excavations carried on here for some years past,
whilst they almost daily lay bare some new object of interest, have so changed its
aspect that visitors, returning after a long absence, scarcely recognise old familiar
spots. The Colosseum, the Arches of Titus, of Septimius Severus, and of
Constantine, and the modern edifice on the summit of the Capitol, of course
remain the same. But the immense mass of debris beneath which the Forum
itself lay buried is being removed, and we can now tread the very pavement
trodden by the feet of Cicero, or walk on the Via Sacra along which the Triumph
passed to the Capitol.

Standing near the foot of the Ccelian, at the end of the Sacra Via farthest
from the modern city, we have on our right the Colosseum, on our left
the Arch of Constantine ; in front of us is the Arch of Titus : the Temple of
Venus, and the Basilica of Constantine, with the church of St. Francesca
Romana built out of their ruins, are seen between the Capitol and the
Colosseum.

Beyond the Arch of Titus, between it and the Capitol, is the Forum
Romanum. It is crowded with the relics of temples, basilicas, arches, and
columns. For three centuries it has been the battle-field of antiquarians, who
have contended hotly for their various theories as to the original design of the
ruins which cover the narrow space. Recent excavations have gone far to settle
many of these questions, but much yet remains doubtful. Looking toward the
Capitol, we have the Arch of Septimius Severus on our right. The three fluted
columns are believed to have formed part of the Temple of Saturn. The eight
granite columns on the left belonged to that of Vespasian. The pillar in the
centre is that of Phocas. The tower in the background rises over the palace of
the Senator on the summit of the Capitol.

• Acts xxviii. 14-16. f 2 Cor. ii. 14.

THE FORUM.

Surrounded by this bewildering maze of ruins, which overwhelm the visitor
by their grandeur and extent, and remembering that this scene of desolation was
once the very centre of all the glories of Imperial Rome, the words of Chikle
Harold come to the memory with irresistible force :

" The Niobe of nations ! there she stands,

Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her withered hands.

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago ;

The Scipios* tomb contains no ashes now;

The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow,

Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

IX THE FORUM LOOKING TOWARDS THE CAPIIOL.

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,
Have dealt upon the seven- hilled city's pride;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride.
Where the car climbed the Capitol ; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void.
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light.
And say, ' Here was, or is,' where all is doubly night ?

7^11 E FORUM AND COLOSSEUM.

Alas! the lofty city! and alr.s !
I'he trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away !
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be
Her resurrection ; all beside — decay.
Alas, for Earth ! for never shall we see
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! "

Amongst the edifices in and around the Forum the Colosseum is the most

impressive, both by its imposing mass and its historic interest. Though for

centuries it served as a quarry out of v;hich materials were dug for palaces and

churches, it yet stands vast and imperishable, apparently justifying the proud

boast,

" While stands the Colosseum, Rome shall stand ;
When falls the Colosseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls — the W^orld."

The building marks a period in the history of the city. After a time of
civil war and confusion in the Empire, Vespasian came to the throne, and began
the Flavian dynasty. He, with his son Titus, used the vacant spaces which were
made partly by the fire and partly by Nero's demolitions for raising structures — a
considerable part of which still remain, the most conspicuous being that whicli
is called the Colosseum. Whether this name was given to the " Flavian Amphi-
theatre" from its colossal size, or from the Colossus of Nero, which stood near
it, is a point on which scholars have disputed. However this question may be
settled, it is to be regretted that the word has been so written for centuries as
to disguise its derivation. The place chosen was a hollow between two of
the hills on which Rome stood, and where Nero had caused a lake to be made
near his Golden House. Augustus had intended to build an amphitheatre in
the middle of the city ; and Vespasian accomplished the work on a .scale which
was probably far beyond what was contemplated by Augustus. The building
covered nearly six acres of ground. In form it is an oval, 620 feet in length
externally by 513 in breadth ; and the vertical height is 157 feet. The splendour
of the interior of this vast edifice may be gathered from a description quoted
by Mr. Hemans from the Seventh Eclogue of Calpurnius. The podium was
encrusted with costly marbles ; network of gilt bronze supported by stakes and
wheels of ivory guarded the spectators from the wild beasts ; the spaces between
the seats glittered with gold and gems ; a portico carried round the entire building
was resplendent with gilded columns ; marble statues thronged the arcades ; the
awnings were of silk ; marble tripods for burning perfumes were placed throughout
the edifice ; and fountains of fragrant waters sprinkled the spectators, difi"using
delicious odours through the air.

Primitive Christianity is associated, in a peculiar and impressive manner,

MARTYRDOMS IN THE COLOSSEUM.

THE COLOSSEUM BEFORE THE RECENT EXCAVATIjNS.

with Vespasian's^ great building ; for the Flavian Amphitheatre was often the
scene of early martyrdoms, and is now become their great standing memorial.
A large amount of untrustworthy legendary matter is no doubt mixed up with

IN THE COLOSSEUM.

INTERIOR OF THE COLOSSEUM SINCE THE RECENT EXCAVATIONS.

narratives of these sufferings ; but there is no difficulty in picturing to our-
selves what really took place, and thus receiving into our minds most salutary
impressions both of rebuke and of thankfulness. In the words of Dr. Arnold,

" No doubt many of the particular stories will bear no critical examination : it is

THE GLADIATOR.

likely enough, too, that Gibbon has truly accused the general statements of
exaggeration. But this is a thankless labour, such as Lingard and others have
undertaken with respect to the St. Bartholomew massacre. Divide the sum-total
of reported martyrs by twenty — by fifty if you will, — but after all you have a
number of persons, of all ages and sexes, suffering cruel torments and death for
conscience' sake, and for Christ's, and by their sufferings manifestly, with God's
blessing, ensuring the triumph of Christ's gospel. Neither do I think that we
consider the excellence of this martyr spirit half enough. I do not think that
pleasure is a sin ; yet surely the contemplation of suffering for Christ's sake is a
thing most needful for us in our days, from whom in our daily life suffering
seems so far removed. And as God's grace enabled rich and delicate persons,
women, and even children, to endure all extremities of pain and reproach in
times past, so there is the same grace no less mighty now ; and if we do not
close ourselves against it, it might in us be no less glorified in a time of
trial. Pictures of martyrdoms are not to be sneered at, nor yet to be
looked on as a mere excitement, — but a sober reminder to us of what Satan
can do to hurt, and what Christ's grace can enable the weakest of His people
to bear." At no former period in the history of the Church has it been more
needful than now to lay these lessons to heart.

THE DYING GLADIATOR.

Lord Byron's lines, often quoted though they have been, may yet again
find a place here :

" And here the buzz of eager nations ran

In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause,

As man was slaughtered by his fellow -man.

And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but because

Such were the Woody circus' genial laws,

And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not?

What matters where we fall to fill the maws

Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot?
Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot.

IN . THE C OL OSSE UM.

I see before me the Gladiator lie :
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his drooped head sinks gradually lo\y.
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one.
Like the first of a thunder shower; and now
The arena swims around him — he is gone.
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday —
All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire,
And unavenged ? Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! "

Until the recent excavations this arena, so often drenched with the blood
of Christian martyrs, was consecrated as a church. In the centre stood
a plain cross, and round the walls were fourteen shrines, before which kneeling
worshippers might often be seen. In the worship thus offered there was
much of superstition — for when, in the year 1 750, Pope Benedict Xiv. dedicated
the ruins to the memory of the Christian martyrs, he proclaimed an indulgence
of two hundred days for every act of devotion performed there. But whilst
lamenting the apostasy of Rome from the faith of the primitive Churcii, we
might, nevertheless, rejoice to see a visible sign of the victory of the cross
over that paganism which had here erected its most imposing and characteristic
monument.

But one more glance may be taken at the Colosseum before we finally
leave it. The calm repose and solitude of this ruin are very impressive when
we call to mind the excited multitudes which once filled it, and the hideous
spectacles which they witnessed. Nature has now patiently decked these
gigantic arches with an infinite variety of shrubs and fiowers, so that the
naturalist as well as the antiquarian finds an ample field for research. Books
have even been published on the Flora of the Colosseum. One by Dr. Deakin
records the names of four hundred and twenty species of plants found within
the walls.'"'

♦ This passage has been allowed to remain from the former editions, as describing the aspect of the
Colosseum most familiar to visitors. It is, however, no longer accurate. The walls, dismantled of their
wealth of flowers and foliage, now stand gaunt and bare. The shrines round the walls and the flooring of
the arena have been removed. A subterranean labyrinth of chambers and narrow passages is thus disclosed
to view, the purpose, and even the date, of which are hotly debated by archaeologists. The picturesque
beauty of the colossal ruin is sadly marred by the change, though we may find a compensation for the loss
in the results of antiquarian research.
48

THE ARCH OF TITUS.

Little inferior in interest to the Colosseum, though far less impressive
architecturally, is the Arch of Titus, commemorating his triumph over the Jews.
It was erected, or at least completed, after the death of Titus, as is shown by the
epithet Divo ascribed to him. It consists of a single arch of Grecian marble

FRIEZE FROM THE ARCH OF TITUS.

of exquisite proportions, with fluted columns on each side. The frieze, which
gives it its special interest and vahie, is on the right-hand side passing under the
arch, going towards the Colosseum. It represents the triumphal procession with
captive Jews, the silver trumpets, the tables of shewbread, and the golden candle-
stick with its seven branches. Amongst the indignities inflicted upon the Jews

ARCHES OF SEPTIMIUS SEVER US.

in Rome was the fact that on the accession of each new Pope they were
compelled to await him at the Arch of Titus, on his way to be installed at
the Lateran, present to him a copy of the Pentateuch, and swear allegiance to
his government. This ceremony was dispensed with at the installation of Pio
Nono. It is the common belief in Rome that no Jew will ever pass under the
arch which celebrates the destruction of his nation.

ARCH OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS.

There are two arches in honour of Septimius Severus. The one in the
Forum at the foot of the Capitol has been already referred to. It was erected
to the emperor and his sons Caracalla and Geta, in commemoration of the
victory over the Parthians, Persians, and Adiabeni. Originally it was surmounted
by a chariot of bronze, drawn by six horses, in which stood a figure of Septimius

ARCHES OF SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS.

AKCUS ARGENTARIUS, OR MONEY-CHANGERS* ARCH.
Near the Church of San Giorgio in Vclabro.

Severus, crowned by victory. The bas-reliefs with which it is richly decorated
represent various incidents in the campaign.

THE PALATINE.

The Other arch in honour of the Emperor Severus was in the Forum
Boarium, or Cattle Market, hear the Tiber. An inscription upon it shows that
it was erected by the silversmiths and traders of the Forum to the Emperor, his
wife, Julia Pia, and their two sons. Though elaborately ornamented, the sculptures
are of little value, and show the rapid decline of art from the Augustan Age.

Returning to the Forum Romanum from the Forum Boarium, we cross
the Palatine — a spot unsurpassed even in Rome for its marvellous combination

GARDKNS OF CONVENT, ON THE PALATINE.
/

of historic interest and picturesque beauty. Tradition connects it with the fabled
colony of Trojans who settled in Italy under Pius yEneas. It is said that
Evander and the Arcadians established themselves here. Even the destructive
criticism of modern historians, which has swept away so many poetic legends,
admits the probability of a Pelasgic village on the summit of the hill which
served as the birthplace and cradle of the city of Romulus. Here the half-
mythical founder of Rome saw the flight of vultures which determined the
augury in his favour; and round the base of this hill he marked out the

THE PALATINE.

pomoerium of his city. It was on the Palatine that he died, probably at the
hands of the jealous nobles who resented his ambition ; and for generations
his straw-built hut was preserved with superstitious reverence down to the
reign of Nero.^ Here in after ages stood the stately mansions of patricians and
senators — Crassus, Cicero,

Hortensius, Clodius, iMilo,
and Catiline,
emperors built

Here the

for them-

such

Pala-

name

of
the
its

selves edifices
splendour, that
tine has given
to palaces in every lan-
guage of Europe. Three
of the seven hills were
absorbed by the imperial
house and gardens, which
embraced an area of three
and a half miles. The
quarries of the world were
ransacked for costly mar-
bles — purely white, or
veined with purple and
gold.

Now all is ruin. The
marbles have been strip-
ped off, leaving enormous
masses of brickwork, which
in their vastness and ex-
tent look like a city of the
giants. The whole hill is
scarped with arches, which
formed the substructures
upon which the palace was
reared. Yet even the ruins
have formed the theatre for
a new beauty. A luxuriant
vegetation flourishes amid
the remains of bygone
splendour. " No site of
Roman ruin," says Mr. Hemans, " equals the Palatine in blending the wildness

* Amongst the most interesting discoveries made by the recent excavations on the Palatine is that of
the walls of the city of Romulus, in the exact position indicated by Livy, though even in his time they
were buried beneath the debris.

PORTA ROMANA, ON THE PALATINE.

THE PALATINE.

of nature with the beauty of decay, the picturesqueness of landscape with
the solemnity of the ornamental remains. Long avenues of trees extend
between vaulted chambers more or less fallen ; huge masses of crumbling
masonry rise out of garden plantations ; tall cypresses shoot up from terrace
walks ; the myrtle and ilex hang over shattered walls that seem on the
point of sinking to the ground ; here and there may be seen the fleshy foliage

of the cactus, or the broad,
tapering leaves of the aloe,
spreading from some chink
where the soil has accu-
mulated ; even the vulgar
appropriation to vegetable
gardens has not destroyed
the solemn sadness or af-
fecting beauty of the Im-
perial Mount in its deso-
lation."

There is one historical
association connected with
the Palace of the Caesars
as yet unnoticed, which is
the most interesting of all.
When the great apostle of
the Gentiles, claiming his
right as a Roman citi-
zen, appealed unto Caesar,
Festus replied, " Hast
thou appealed unto Caesar ?
unto Caesar shalt thou go."
And the book of Acts en-
ables us to trace his course
hither by way of Puteoli,
Appii Forum, and the
Three Taverns, and when
the historian breaks off his
narrative he had lived two
whole years in charge of a
soldier that kept him. That
during this or a subsequent
imprisonment he pleaded
his cause before the em-
peror, we know from his own words, in which the loftiest heroism and the most
touching pathos are blended. " At my first answer no man stood with me^
56

CLIVUS VICTORIA ON THE PALATINE.

THE PALATINE.

but all men forsook me : I pray God that it may not be laid to their charge.
Notwithstanding the Lord stood with me, and strengthened me ; that by me the
preaching might be fully known, and that all the Gentiles might hear : and I
was delivered out of the mouth of the lion. And the Lord shall deliver me from
every evil work, and will preserve me unto His heavenly kingdom."'"'

It was somewhere in these ruined halls that the apostle stood, strong in the
faith of an invisible presence, confronting the power of Imperial Rome. That
his words were not without effect upon his hearers we learn from his Epistle to
the Philippians, where he says : " I would ye should understand, brethren, that the
things which have happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance
of the gospel ; so that my bonds in Christ are manifest in all Caesar's court."f
And again he says, in the same epistle,
" All the saints salute you, chiefly they
that are of Caesar's household."

A very remarkable illustration of
these words has recently been discovered.
In the chambers which were occupied
as guard-rooms by the Praetorian troops
on duty in the palace, a number of rude
caricatures are found roughly scratched
upon the walls, just such as may be
seen upon barrack-walls in every part
of the world. Amongst these is one
of a human figure nailed upon a cross.
To add to the " offence of the cross,"
the crucified one is represented with the
head of an animal, probably that of an
ass. Before it stands the figure of a
Roman legionary with one hand upraised
in the customary attitude of worship.
Underneath is the rude, misspelt, un-
grammatical inscription, A/exa?neiios zvor-
ships his god. It can scarcely be doubted
that we have here a contemporary caricature executed by one of the Praetorian
guard ridiculing the faith of a Christian comrade.

Not far from the Palatine stand the remains of another monument of
imperial splendour — the baths of Caracalla. They were commenced by the
emperor whose name they bear, were continued by Heliogabulus, and completed
by Alexander Severus. Almost equally with the Colosseum they attest the
magnificence and extent of the public edifices reared by the emperors. A mile
in circumference, they could accommodate 1600 bathers at once. The floors
and ceilings were of mosaic, the walls were of costly marbles or were decorated

* 2 Timothy iv. 16-18. f Marginal rendering.

^fe

GRAFFITO IN THE COLLEGIO ROMANO.

THE TEMPLE OF VESTA.

with frescoes. Innumerable statues, amongst them some of the finest now in
the Roman galleries, have teen dug up from the mounds of ruin which cover the
ground far and wide. The baths were supplied with water by an aqueduct
constructed for that purpose, the arches of which may still be seen crossing the
Campagna for a distance of fourteen miles from the city.

The grandeur and beauty of these ruins have excited the enthusiastic
admiration of innumerable visitors. Shelley, in the preface of his Prometheus
Unbotmd, says, " This poem was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of
the baths of Carcicalla, among the flowery glades and thickets of odoriferous

TKMFLE OF VESTA.

blossoming trees, which are extended in ever- widening labyrinths upon its immense
platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air. The bright blue sky of Rome,
and the effect of the vigorous awakening spring in that delicious climate, and
the new life with which it drenches the spirits, even to intoxication, were the
inspiration of the drama." As in the Colosseum and on the Palatine, so here,
the extensive excavations carried on amongst the ruins have marred the general
effect ; yet it would be difficult to exaggerate their exquisite beauty.

Whilst many of the churches of modern Rome have been constructed out
of the ruins of its ancient basilicas and temples, two are specially noteworthy as
58

BATHS OF CARArAI.l A.

THE PANTHEON.

remainino^ unchanged in form, the dedication being simply transferred from a pagan
deity to a Christian saint. One of these, the Temple of Vesta, stands at the foot
of the Palatine, between it and the Tiber. Doubts have been entertained as to
its original dedication, and it certainly was not the Temple of Vesta described
by Horace as exposed to the inundations of the Tiber."' It is now known as the
church of S. Maria del Sole. It is only opened for public service on certain
days in the year. Its exquisite proportions are injured by the modern roof
of coarse tiles, which have replaced the original entablature and covering ; but
it well deserves to be, as it is, one of the most favourite objects in Rome for
reproduction in models and mosaics.

Better known by engravings even than the Temple of Vesta is the Pantheon,
which retains its ancient name, though it was dedicated so early as a.d. 608 to
S. Maria ad Martyres. It is the one edifice of old Rome that remains entire,
*' spared, and bless'd by time," —

" Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime,
Shrine of all saints, and temple of all gods."

Twenty-seven years before the birth of Christ, x^grippa dedicated this temple
" to all the gods." But it is probable that the body of the building was of far
older date, and that only the portico was added by Agrippa. The marble of
the interior is Pentelican from Attica, while that of the portico, of the pavement,
and of other additions to the ancient rotunda, is from Carrara or some Grecian
island, which was not quarried till a later period. The modern tourist walks on
the same pavement which was trod by Augustus and Agrippa, and the eye looks
up through the open circle at the top to the same Italian sky at which the Roman
sediles and consuls gazed. The clouds of incense from popish altars creep
through this aperture, through which ascended the smoke and incense of old
heathen sacrifices. No other existing edifice thus links together the paganism
and the popery of Rome.

The symmetry and beauty of the dome have been universally admired, and
to it are owing the dome of Santa Sophia at Constantinople, and that of St Peter's.
It is an exact hemisphere, and was originally covered with plates of silver, for
which bronze was afterwards substituted. These bronze plates were removed by
Urban viii., to form the pillars of the apostle's tomb in the Vatican, and to be cast
into cannon. From the rough appearance of the brick exterior of the lower part,
it seems to have been covered with marble, or hidden by contiguous buildings.

The opening at the top of the dome is about twenty-eight feet in diameter,
for the purpose of lighting the interior, which has been effected with extraordinary
skill. It not only lights the whole of the interior perfectly, but in the most
charming and magical manner. There is an ascent by about two hundred steps
in the interior to this opening. The tasteless belfries, called in derision " the
asses' ears of Bernini," were added at the command of Urban viii.

* Carm. i. 2.

THE PANTHEON.

Hawthorne, in his Note Book, has recorded his impressions of the interior of
the Pantheon as seen on a- spring day, when clouds and sunshine chased one
another across the sky. All who have stood beneath the swelling dome, and
watched the play of light and shade through its central aperture, w^ill sympathize
with his feelino-s :

"In the Pantheon to-day it was pleasant, looking up to the circular opening,
to see the clouds flitting across it, sometimes covering it quite over, then permitting
a glimpse of sky, then showing all the circle of sunny blue. Then would come

INTERIOR UI" THE rANTIItoN.

the ragged edge of a cloud, brightened throughout with sunshine, passing and
changing quickly — not that the Divine smile was not always the same, but
continually variable through the medium of earthly influences. The great
slanting beam of sunshine was visible all the way down to the pavement, falling
upon motes of dust, or a thin smoke of incense imperceptible in the shadow.
Insects were playing to and fro in the beam, high up toward the opening. There
is a wonderful charm in the naturalness of all this, and one might fancy a swarm

THE CA TA C O MBS.

of cherubs coming down through the opening and sporting in the broad ray to
gladden the faith of worshippers on the pavement beneath ; or angels bearing
prayers upwards, or bringing down responses to them, visible with dim brightness
as they pass through the pathway of heaven's radiance, even the many hues of
their wings discernible by a trusting eye ; though, as they pass into the shadow,
they vanish like the motes. So the sunbeam would represent those rays of
Divine intelligence which enable us to see wonders, and to know that they are
natural things."

In seeking for traces of the primitive church in Rome, we turn at once to
those in the catacombs as being not only of the highest interest and importance,
but also of unquestioned authenticity. Elsewhere we are perplexed by super-
stitious legends and conflicting traditions, in which it is difficult to extract the
few grains of truth from the mass of error in which they are embedded. But in
the catacombs we cannot doubt that here the martyred dead were laid down
to rest " in peace," and that the living sought refuge from persecution in these
" dens and caves of the earth." *

Concerning the construction and early history of these crypts nothing
is known with certainty. Some of the classical writers allude to subterranean
caverns which appear to have existed and been inhabited from remote antiquity.
Many writers on the subject consider this underground city to be the result of
quarryings carried on for the sake of stone to be used in building. Others
regard them as pits dug out for the sake of pozzolana, a sandy volcanic material
used for mortar or cement.t Lastly, there are those who believe them to have
been excavated for purposes of interment, and either in part or altogether to
have been the work of the early Christians.

It is only with the condition of the catacombs from the commencement
of our era, and principally with the story of them during the few first centuries,
that we have now to do. That they were occasionally taken advantage of prior
to those days for the purposes of burial, is evident from the pagan inscriptions
found here and there in them ; but probably the Roman world knew little of
their existence, and less as to their extent. The oudaws of society, vagabonds
and thieves, hid in them, and kept the secret of their labyrinthine windings.
The entrances were principally in gardens, where the thin crust of earth
having fallen through, trees and ' rank underwood growing up had so far
concealed the opening with a wild luxuriance, that few knew of its existence,
and fewer still cared to descend and penetrate into the gloom.

The catacombs spread in almost every direction outside the walls of

* In the following pages, much use has been made of a series of papers, in the Sunday at Home,
on " Early Christian Haunts in the Catacombs.''

t Until recently the theory that the excavations were originally made for building material
was that commonly adopted. More accurate observation, however, seems to show that the galleries
are carried through soil which could not be used for that purpose.

THE CATACO MB S.

SECTION OF CALIXTUS CATACOMBS SHOWING THE
DISPOSITION OK PASSAGES AND CUBICULA.

Rome. The passages or galleries in them crowd together in some places

like the alleys and streets of a city, intersecting one another in a network of

endless entanglement and confusion, so that attempting to explore without a clue

you are soon effectually lost. At times so
densely are they crowded together, that you
wonder the impending crust does not break
through and bury acres of them. Again,
from this congested labyrinth passages out-
strip the rest, and run off singly for a mile
or more, to join some distant branch. Here
and there ranks of galleries are found exist-
ing one beneath another, and care must be
taken, in walking through the topmost, lest,
on account of the sundry holes met with
where the intervening tufa has given way,

the visitor do not inadvertently fall through into the regions below. The sides

of all the galleries are thickly perforated

with tombs, oblong horizontal niches —

two, three, or even six ranks of them,

one above another, from the floor to the

roof, where the dead have been placed

and sealed in ; and they present to the

eye an appearance something similar to

the sleeping-berths in a ship ; or, to use

the words of Abbe Gerbet, you ma)

look upon them as the " shelves of a

vast library, where Death has arranged

his works." "Vast" indeed the abbe

may well term it ; for the most ex-
perienced of archaeologists calculate the

combined length of these passages at

upwards of nine hundred miles, and

assert that above six millions of dead

were buried in them !

Perhaps the most interesting are

those known as the catacombs of St.

Calixtus. The entrance is in some gar-
dens adjoining the Appian Road, about

two miles from Rome. Having lit the

torches handed to us we follow our

guide, bending low through an arch in

the tufa, into an oblong chamber, where a gleam of daylight struggles in through

a distant opening in the top. The impressionable visitor will not enter without

'<^^.

ENTRANCE TO CATACOMBS.

THE CA TA C O MfiS.

a feeling that he treads on hallowed ground ; for there, cut in the dark grey
stone, four graves confront him, severally inscribed :

ANTEROS. EPI.

FABIANVS. MAR.
EVTICHIANVS EPIS ET MAR.

LVCIVS. EPIS.

A CUBICULIIM WITH TOMBS.

Four bishops and martyrs of Rome — of the dates a.d. 235, a.d. 236, a.d. 256,
A.D. 275 — are entombed in this small chapel. The other graves around lack

superscriptions. On in the black darkness,
in single file, through close and devious
passages where the torches of the foremost
of the party are soon lost to sight, we arrive
at a cubiculum ; in fact, we are come to a
region where they abound, for we pass
many of them to the right and the left.
But a visit to this one must suffice ; it is
about as capacious as the apse of a small
church, only the vaulted roof is very low.
We crowd in and bring our lights to bear
on two glass cases, which the guide points
out to us, wherein are laid bodies that
have been taken from their graves.

And these were martyrs ! so at least
says our guide. Looking upwards away
from this sad spectacle, we recognise, over-
head, the gentle figure of the Good Shepherd (see p. 71) painted in colours
that have stood bravely under the corrosive touch of Time, and, what is more
destructive in these cases, the smoke of visitors' lamps.

In the great majority of instances the graves consist of deep, oblong, shelf-
like incisions in the tufa, wherein, after the lower
surface had been hollowed out a little for its recep-
tion, the body was placed ; and then, when the
offices had terminated, and friends had looked their
last, the aperture was sealed up. In the case of a
martyr a palm branch, symbol of conquest, was
painted or carved outside. A little vase, probabl}'
a lachrymatory, for holding tears of grief, was
often stuck on by means of plaster to the edge.

There is, however, another kind of tomb, ^^^agment of slab, and lachrymatory.

called arcosolmm^ in the construction of which a deeper incision was made
into the wall ; and in this, instead of the mere niche or shelf, you have a
capacious sarcophagus hollowed into the lower surface of the cutting, while
over it is an arch fashioned in the stone. The remains of Christians held in
high repute were usually deposited here ; though sometimes an arcosolium was

THE CATACOMBS.

ARCOSOLIUM.
Fig. a.

appropriated for the burial of a family, in which case two or three shelves
were excavated in the tufa beyond the sarcophagus, under the arch.

Figs, a and b will give some idea of one ordinary manner of sealing a grave.

Three Roman tiles are fixed into the tufa
roughly by means of plaster, or strong
cement, and in this way the opening is
hermetically closed ; the little bottle of
treasured tears or blood is seen on the
right. The impression on the left-hand
tile is the mark of the Roman brick-
maker. In fig. b is shown a cell partly
unclosed, wherein the remains of the
sleeper are brought to light, two of the
tiles being torn away. A painted palm-
branch, roughly sketched, is all that tells
the tale of her death ; while the inscription
(see fig. a), prefixed with a cross, refers the
passer-by to the "well-deserving Axyonia,
in peace, in the eternal house of God."

Often a strip of marble or fragment
of stone was substituted for the ordinary
Roman tile in sealing the tombs ; for the
latter fabric, though cheap and easily
X'AXVoNlAlNPXcCBENCMCRtTJlMD0MOttERN^ procurable, was not so well adapted to

take inscriptions ; and it soon became
the custom to write the name of the
dead, his age, and other particulars, on
the outer coverincr to his ijrave.

The following is one of the earliest
inscriptions whose date is indicated ; a
translation alone is given for brevity's
sake :

" IN THE TIME OF HADRIAN, EMPEROR,
MARIUS, YOUTHFUL MILITARY COMMANDER,
WHO LIVED ENOUGH, SINCE HE SPENT HIS
LIFE AND BLOOD FOR CHRIST, IN PEACE."

Hadrian became emperor a. d. 117,
about twenty years after the death of the Apostle John.

Very little later is the following, in the reign of Antoninus Pius (a.d. 138) —
the commencement of the inscription only is given :

'* Alexander mortuus non est sed vivit (Alexander is not dead, but lives

Super astra et beyond the stars, and

Corpus in hoc tumulo quiescit." his body rests in this tomb.)

Fif. /'.

rilE CATACOMliS.

AN EARLY CHRISTIAN BIRIAL IN THE CATACOMBS.

This following has an affecting significance, and suggests much meaning in
a few words : —

HERE GORDIANUS, AMBASSADOR,
FROM GAUL,

^'// CONSUMED WITH ALL HIS FAMILY FOR THE FAITH,

t REPOSES IN PEACE.

THEOPHILA, SERVANT, MADE (tHIS TABLET)."

What an unaffected yet powerful showing forth of faith and charity is here!

THE CATACO MB S.

A Christian family far from home, strangers in a strange land ; the father, am-
bassador perhaps to plead the cause of fellow Christians in trouble, meets not with
mercy in Rome, but persecution and death for himself and his dear ones, and
then the church in the catacombs obtains their dust. Who will not love the
good servant, Theophila, that, being no longer able to wait on her master and
his family, raises up this stone to their memory, and so remits to posterity
their good name ? " The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance." The
original is curious, the Latin being written in part in bad Greek characters :

GHC rwP3 HANYC TAAAHE NYNCHYC HYnf
ATYC nPo* *H5E CYM 4'AMHAHA TwTA

qyheccynt hn cake

Ye*HAA ANCHAAA 4>ECeT."

The following are a few facsimiles of these simple epitaphs culled very
nearly at random from the collection in the Vatican :

(^\^Vif>< ARerv$/\ ^

" Aurelia Arethusa, mayest thou live in God."

The leaf, the sun, and a dove, often used in these inscriptions, seem to be
symbolical :

Kl^'i' i:Vtav^A?rEUOSSiMA

INTi>t5 ^ 1^ IND60V»YES p

" Eucarpia, thou sleepest in peace." " Most happy widow of Ap (Appius ?),

in God thou shalt live."

The martyr's palm it will be seen is appended to these. Others are without j
sculptured symbols :

" SABINUS CONJUGI MERENTI, " LAVINIA MELLE DULCIOR

QUiE VIXIT IN PACE." QUIESC. IN PACE."

(Sabinus to his deserving spouse, (Lavinia, sweeter than honey,

who lived in peace.) reposes in peace.)

It was a very old custom to affix to tombs some indication of the earthly
ig of the sleeper. Here is an
illustration from the catacombs — locus

calling of the sleeper. Here is an ___ ^^ ^r^r^/fi

of Adeodatus." The good man's

trade being indicated by the appended pick — a mason or fossor he must have

ADEO [d]ati. "The (burying) place ^^\tf^^/^ V\*T*I

THE CATACO MB S.

been : while the dove and olive-branch beneath tell of his rest in peace. He
sleeps the sleep of the just.

The appended figures of St. Peter and St. Paul belong, it is said, to the fourth
century, but probably are of much

later date. They were painted in this /('llaiTM^^ ^& ^^^^^^^^y^ P^

rough outline over the grave of a child, ' "~~

immediately above a simple epitaph ¥^^J|^§ilDPTPV<^^
which told merely of his name and age. ^^^r^^tM ■ ' "^ ^

These few inscriptions may serve
as an example of the rest. If space
allowed, longrer ones miorht be intro-
duced and multiplied to any extent. Although dissimilar in the wording, all
agree in their simplicity and lack of ostentation, and at the same time each one
i;cems to breathe of a spirit of charity and love.

'* Here sleeps Gorgonius, friend to all, and enemy to no man."

"Abrinus to the memory of Palladius, his dearest cousin and fellow-disciple."

In startling contrast to the wild despair of heathen lamentations is the
sentiment breathed in the following, a mother's epitaph on her lost boy :

" Magus, innocent child, thou hast begun
Already to live among the innocent.
How barren is this life to thee !
How will the mother church receive the joyous,

Returning from this world.
Let the sighs of our breasts be hushed,
The weeping of our eyes be stopt."

Again, we meet with several which record how long the separated (hus-
band or wife) lived happily with the mourner in wedlock, without so much
as one quarrel ! In many instances the age of the dead is specified even to
days :

" Thou hast fallen too soon, Constantia ! admirable (pattern) of beauty and grace ! who lived
xviii. years, vi. months, xvi. days. In peace."

It is rather amusing to detect here and there, in the wording of inscriptions,
traces of a defective aspirate in use among the early Christians of Rome ; a
prototype, in fact, of the cockney difficulty with the letter H : on the one hand,
to observe 'ic written for Hie, 'ora for Hora, 'onorius for Honorius ; on the other,
iYossa for ossa, //octobris, //eterna, and so on.

The early tenants of the catacombs were principally converted pagans, the
lesser number being Jews ; the one but lately come from taking part in the
solemnities and festivals of idol-worship, the other retaining remembrances of

6<J

THE C ATA CO MBS.

pride of race, exclusive in character, and familiar with the lore of sacred story :
and traces of their previous tendencies are to be found portrayed on the walls :
Christian paintings, tinctured with pagan ideas on the one hand and Jewish
customs on the other. In a cubiculum near the Appian Way is imaged forth
a funeral supper, after the manner of the Greeks ; and not far off appears a
graphic representation of an agape, or love-feast.

Illustrations of Jewish history are very frequent. The centre place in the
vault of one cubiculum is given up to a painting of the seven-branched candle-
stick, which, being among the spoils of Jerusalem brought in triumph to Rome,
it is possible the painter may himself have seen ; while the offering of Isaac,
the three children in the furnace, Daniel in the den of lions, Jonah with the
fish, Jonah reclining under his gourd, Moses striking the rock, and one or two
others, are repeated in different places.

A very favourite symbol or figure with the early Christians was the fish ;
and this, it would seem, was of use in more ways than one ; for the sign was
a kind of freemasonry, by means of which one Christian could distinguish
another, in a manner unintelligible to the enemies of the faith. It seems
certain that little bone or wooden fishes were made and set aside for that
purpose by the early church. The signification of this emblem is not at first
apparent, save, indeed, that Jonah's fish shadowed forth the resurrection ; but
it is found that the letters composing the Greek ix^vs, a fish, are the initials
to the words Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour. Thus the sign of the fish
was sacred to Christ, and was even used at times in place of the universal
monogram at the beginning and ending of inscriptions.

Here is an instance from the catacombs. The painter seems to have written

on it the Greek word '^coaais (mayest thou save).
The monogram of Christ is made up of
the first two letters in the name of Christ, X
and P ; and sometimes alpha and omega are
conjoined with it. It was in familiar use among
the early Christians of all lands, and appears in the catacombs (as some think)
as soon as the days of Hadrian (a.d. 117), or perhaps before.
Inscriptions were frequently begun or ended with this sign.

The palm-branch, emblem of victory, always a favourite
symbol among the early disciples of Christ, was a sign allotted
exclusively — so it appears — to those who had suffered as martyrs
^SjK^kM for the faith ; a custom taking its rise probably from the vision
of St. John in the Apocalypse: "I beheld, and lo ! a great
multitude stood before the throne and- before the Lamb, clothed
with white robes, and palms in their hands." "These," said the elder, "are
they who came out of great tribulation."

The dove on the cross is a very expressive token, and bears with it a
touching significance to weary, wayworn man, that where the cross (or suffering)

Til E C ATA CO MB S.

AX ORANTE, OR WOMAN ENGAGED IN I'RAYER.

is set up, and holds a place, there will the dove, indicative of the great Com-
forter, come with its healing wings. Or, on the contrary, it may be held to show
forth that where the Holy Spirit deigns to fix His seat and make known His
influence, there surely will be found the cross, tribulation, and suffering. Wander-
ing, wayward man might wish it otherwise; but so it is, and ever must be, until

this transitory season of trial gives way to the
clear shining of God's face.

Our next illustration — one of many in the
Calixtine catacombs — represents a woman en-
gaged in prayer, in an attitude which, from its
constant repetition on the walls, may be taken
to indicate the posture usually assumed in that
act of devotion, the eyes looking to heaven and
the hands outstretched.

But most graceful, among the many pictures
which decorate the walls, are the various repre-
sentations of the Good Shepherd. The early
Christians evidently loved the subject ; they
seem never to have tired of dwelling on or
illustrating it in their own simple way ; it held a central place in their hearts,
as does the painting of it on the vaulted roofs of their cubicula.

The illustration below is copied from a vault in the Calixtine cemetery.
The shepherd is bearing one of the
flock on his shoulders, which he has
either brought back from wandering
. or taken up to rest in the fatigue of a
long journey. On the compartment
adjoining it the reaper is at work
with the yellow corn, and by his side
stands one gathering roses from the
tree. Sometimes the shepherd and
the sheep are seen peacefully reposing,
suggesting the text, "He maketh me
to lie down in green pastures, He
leadeth me beside the still waters."
Here Is the shepherd again, but his Z
loins are girt for travel, and his staff
is in his hand. A few sheep linger
near, v/atching while he plucks back a refractory member of the flock, or lays
hold on one who has strayed. In one place the shepherd is represented as
carrying his charge across a stream, bearing it carefully on his shoulders as
he wades through, lest it should take harm.

There was a custom common enough with the ancients of placing in the

THE GOOD SHEl'lIERD.

THE CA TA COMBS.

TERRA-COTTA LAMPS FOUND IN THE CATACOMBS.

tomb with the departed such objects as had been in familiar use with him during
life. The early Christians ifi the catacombs adopted this usage to some extent,
burying with their dead divers articles, which may now be seen in the Vatican

and other collections. A mono- them
are brooches, pins for the hair, coins,
rings ; articles of domestic use, such
as lamps, candlesticks, and so on ;
most of these bear in their fabric
some indication of their Christian
origin — space only admits of one or
two examples. Here are two small
lamps in terra- cotta. On the one,
it will be seen, is a raised figure of
the Good Shepherd bearing a lamb
on his shoulder, while a circlet of
grapes is moulded on the outer rim.
The other lamp carries on it a
representation of the seven-branched candlestick.

Seals are likewise found in the catacombs. Of the following, one bears the
legend In eo spes — " In him is hope," encircling the
monogram of Christ : on the second, Spcs del is
intermingled with the same sign.

A little child in its last long sleep had been put
to rest with its doll placed by its side ; the little
grave was sealed up, some ages of repose supervened, and all was forgotten ; but
in these latter times the workmen employed in the crypts broke into the tomb,
and taking away the outer stone, revealed the plaything lying in
company with the dust of the little maiden.

In some of the graves implements have been found which are
conjectured, though without sufficient authority, to have been the
instruments of torture buried with the martyrs who had suffered from
them, Roman archaeologists have classified them as follows \ pincers
{a) to crush a limb, or simply to hold it, cutting into the flesh ; scourges
of knotted cords {b), or bronze chains terminating in balls of iron,
under the agonies inflicted by which a great number of martyrs died ;
{c) claws or ungulce for tearing the sides or members of martyrs while
stretched on the bed of torture ; {d) a kind of comb, a terrible instru-
ment for producing pain, yet not deadly. That such tortures were
inflicted upon the early Christians we know from the writings of con-
temporary martyrologists. But there is no evidence to show that the
instruments by which they were inflicted ever passed from the hands
of the executioners into those of the sufferers, or were buried in the graves of the
martyrs. A more probable conjecture is that which identifies the relics with the

CHILD S DOLL.

LESSONS FROM THE CATACOMBS.

/iSM:

tools used by the dead man during his life, and they are, with the exception of
the knotted cords, just what would be required for carding and dressing wool.

A visit to the museums in the
Lateran and Vatican, where the most
important inscriptions from the cata-
combs are collected and arranged, for-
cibly suggests a double contrast — with
the mortuary remains of pagan Rome
on one hand, and with the creed and
ritual of papal Rome on the other.

The inscriptions on pagan sarco-
phagi and cinerary urns express only
hopeless grief and dismay. The dead
have been snatched away from light
and life into darkness and annihilation.
The survivors " sorrow as those that
have no hope." A proud, hard stoicism
under bereavement is the highest at-
tainment of Roman virtue. Not unfre-
quently we find the language of bitter
complaint against the unjust gods who
have snatched away the innocent child from loving parents with no prospect of
reunion.* But with the introduction of Christianity we have the dawn of a new
hope. The very name cemetejy, a sleeping-place, suggests the thought of a happy
awakening when the morning shall come. The word depositus implies the same
idea : the body is laid in the grave as a temporary deposit, to be reclaimed at the
appointed time. One inscription, already quoted, is typical of the sentiment of
all : " Marius had lived long enough when, with his blood, he gave up his life
for Christ." " Petronia, a deacon's wife," says, " Weep not, dear husband and
daughters ; believe that it is wrong to weep for one who lives in God, buried
in peace." Placus, having inscribed upon the tomb of his wife the figure of a
dove bearing an olive branch, and the word Peace, goes on to say, " This grief
will always weigh upon me ; but may it be granted me in sleep to behold thy
revered countenance. My wife, Albana, always chaste and modest, I grieve
over the loss of thy support, for the Divine Author gave thee to me as a
sacred gift. You, well-deserving one, having left us, lie in peace, in sleep ;
but thou wilt arise ; it is a temporary rest which is granted thee." It is only
since our Lord " abolished death, and brought life and immortality to light," that
such words as these have been possible.

No less striking is the contrast which the remains of the primitive church in
the catacombs offer to the teachings of modern Rome. The name of the Virgin

* Maitland quotes from Mabillon an inscription which begins — /, Procope, lift up my hands
against God, who snatched me atuay, innocent.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE PAPACY.

Mary never occurs. The assertion of Roman controversialists that a female figure
in the attitude of prayer is a representation of the mother of our Lord is so
utterly groundless, that it is tantamount to a confession of failure. The worship
of saints and martyrs has no place amongst these authentic records. The dead
are not gone to purgatorial fires ; they rest " in peace " and " in Christ." The
celibacy of the clergy is discountenanced by the fact that the bishops of Rome
are buried with their wives. Everything speaks of a faith, a love, and a hope
far removed from the arrogant pretensions of the later Roman Church.

The descent from the pure apostolical Christianity of the catacombs into
the abyss of papal error was at first very slow. The " mystery of iniquity " began
to work, indeed, at an early age. But for some centuries it only began. Its
full development was reserved for after ages. In the oldest churches of Rome
there is little which can offend the most earnest Protestant. The mosaics of
SS. Cosmo e Damiano, or those of the older parts of St. Clemente, for instance,
are objectionable chiefly because we may trace there the first step downward.
In the former we have the twelve apostles represented as sheep, with the crowned
Lamb in the centre standing upon a mound, intended probably for Mount Zion,
from which flow the four rivers of paradise. Above is the River Jordan,
apparently symbolical of death, and over this a magnificent figure of Christ in
glory, holding a scroll in one hand, the other raised in benediction. The apostles
Peter and Paul are on either side introducing the two martyrs, Cosmo and
Damian, together with Felix iv., the founder of the church, and St. Teodoro.

In the church of St. Clemente we have a mosaic of the ascension of our
Lord. The apostles stand gazing up into heaven ; watching with them, and but
raised slightly above them, is Mary. Were it not for the later developments
of the Papacy, which painfully illustrate the danger of such representations,
these compositions might pass without severe censure.

The ecclesiastical organization of the city of Rome embraces seven basilicas
and upwards of three hundred churches. Many of the latter, however, are either
entirely closed, or are only open for worship on certain days in the year. The
number of ecclesiastics is of course very fluctuating, and has been so especially
during the political and religious movements of the last few years. The census
of 1863 gave the statistics as follows: cardinals, 34 ; bishops, 36 ; priests, 1457 ;
seminarists, 367; monks, 2569; nuns, 2031; making a total of 6494. This,
for a city about the size of Edinburgh, was an ecclesiastical staff out of all pro-
portion to its ecclesiastical requirements.*

The basilicas of Rome are those of St. Peter, St. John Lateran, Santa Maria
Maggiore, and Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, within the walls, and St. Paul,
St. Lorenzo, and St. Sebastian outside. Of these, St. John Lateran is first in
dignity, being the metropolitan church of Rome. The Popes resided in its palace

* The census referred to gave the total population as 201,161. It has greatly increased since
the removal of the capital from Florence, and is now about 250,000.

ROMAN CHURCHES AND BASILICAS.

for one thousand years, and five general councils have been held within its walls.
In size, splendour, and present importance it yields, however, to St. Peter's. Of
this, as the most famous church of Christendom, we give a more detailed account.

CHURCH OF ST. CLEMEMK.

It stands upon the traditional site of the tomb of St. Peter, over which, it is
said, an oratory existed?^ from the end of the first century. Of this, however,
there is no historical evidence, and the presence of St. Peter in Rome at all is in
a very high degree improbable. In 306 Constantine commenced the construction

CHURCHES IN ROME.

of a great basilica on the spot, working with his own hands at the task, and
carrying twelve baskets of earth in honour of the twelve apostles.

CHURCH OF SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO.

The Basilica of Constantine suffered greatly in the stormy times which
followed. Still it stood for a thousand years, when it was determined to erect

an edifice which should eclipse all others in size and splendour.

ILLUMINATION OK ST. PKTER's AND FIREWORKS AT THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO.
From a Sketch by E. F. Payne, in " Ronu and its SceHsry."

ST. FETE/i'S.

It was on the i8th of April, 1506, that Pope Julius 11. laid the foundation of
the new church. The stone was deposited at the base of one of the four pillars
which now support the cupola ; but only these pillars, and their superincumbent
arches, were completed when Bramante, the first architect, died : Julius had
expired in the preceding year. His successor, Leo x., however, carried forward
the work with great energy ; these two Popes surpassing all their predecessors
in the sale of indulgences, in order to obtain the vast sums required for the

ST. Peter's, with the bridge and castle of st, angeio.

erection of the edifice. It is a memorable circumstance that the indignation
caused by the shameless manner in which these indulgences were sold gave
the first impulse to the Reformation under Luther.

The building was now committed to the charge of Raphael, with two other
architects ; but little was done in his time beyond the strengthening of the four
pillars already reared. After the deaths of several architects and Popes, Paul in.

committed the superintendence of the edifice to Michael Angeio ; but he did not

ST. PETER'S.

live to complete it, though he carried the dome, according to his own design,
to its present height. The building was undertaken after his decease by Giacomo
della Porta, during the pontificate of Gregory xiii., who was so anxious to see

it finished, that six hundred workmen were employed at it night and day, and
one hundred thousand golden crowns were annually voted for its completion.
Carlo Maderno, another architect, returned to the form of the Latin cross, which

INTERIOR OF ST. PETER S.

ST. PETER'S.

THE STATUE OF ST. PETER.

had been repeatedly changed and re-changed for the Greek, and completed the
body of the edijfiice. A hundred and seventy years elapsed before this was done,
and three centuries were required to bring the edifice to its present form, its
progress extending over the reigns of no fewer than forty-three Popes.

ST. PETER'S.

In the middle of the sixteenth century, Carlo Fontana drew up a statement
of the sums of money that ha'd been expended on it ; the total, exclusive of 405,453
pounds of bronze used in constructing the chair of St. Peter and the confessional,

amounted to 47,151,450,000,000 of
scudi, or about ^i 1,625,000 of our
money.

The main front of St. Peter's
is one hundred and sixty feet high,
and three hundred and ninety-six
feet wide ; and the remark is com-
mon, that it is more like the front
of a palace than a church. It con-
sists of two stories and an attic,
with nine windows to each, and
nine heavy balconies, awkwardly
intersecting the Corinthian columns
and pilasters.

On the floor, which is composed
of large blocks of marble of sin-
gular beauty, disposed in various
figureS; are marked the lengths of
some of the principal churches of
Europe, as well as the dimensions
of St. Peter's. They are thus given :

Feet.

St. Peter's 609

St. Paul's, London . . . 521

Milan Cathedral . . . 439

St. Paul's, Rome . . . 415

St. Sophia, Constantinople . 356

A. Oratory of St. Peter.

B. Bronze Statue of St.

Peter.

C. Door of Jubilee.

D. Scala Regia.

E. High Altar.

F. Confessional of St. Peter.

G. Sacristy.

The lateral aisles and the
numerous chapels have been sub-
jected to much hostile criticism,
as being inconsistent with the general design, but the central nave is
universally regarded as surpassingly grand. Eighty-nine feet in breadth, and
one hundred and fifty-two feet high, it is flanked on either side by a noble
arcade, the piers of which are decorated with niches and fluted Corinthian
pilasters. A semicircular vault, highly enriched with sunken panels, sculptures,
and various gilded ornaments, is thrown across from one side to the other,
producing the most splendid eflect.

The illumination of St. Peter's in Easter week is one of the most imposing
spectacles in the world. The sudden burst of radiance from the ball, the
instantaneous meteor-like flash over the whole cupola, the long lines of lamps
84

ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER'S.

bringing out into vivid relief its gigantic mass and exquisite proportions, the
reflections in the spray of the great fountains, and the strange effects of Hght and
shadow, have been often described in terms of enthusiastic admiration which sound

PROCESSION IN ST. PETER's.

exaggerated to those who have never seen it, but which really fail to give an
adequate impression of the reality. The lighting of the lamps was effected —
during the Pope's self-incarceration in the Vatican it has been discontinued — by
a gang of three hundred workmen, who, having previously received the sacrament,

ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER'S.

entered upon the perilous enterprise. They ascended by ladders, by a temporary
scaffolding, or were drawn up by ropes and pulleys. They performed their work
with such marvellous quickness, that the illumination of the whole fa9ade and
dome was often completed in from fifteen to twenty seconds.

" What impression did St. Peter's make upon you ? " is a question asked,
perhaps, more often than any other from visitors to Rome ; and few questions
are more difficult to answer. Seen from a distance — say from the Pincian, when
lit up by the morning sun, or from the Campagna in the golden light of evening —
the dome rises in matchless beauty. Its height above surrounding buildings and
the exquisite harmony of its proportions are then clearly perceived. It seems
to detach itself from the city at its feet, and to stand out against the sky in solitary
grandeur. But the view close at hand is undoubtedly disappointing. The dome
is dwarfed, almost hidden, by the monstrous fa9ade in front of it ; and the fa9ade
is ineffective, partly from faults of construction, partly from the immense extent
of the piazza and the colossal proportions of the colonnade enclosing it. This
defect is accounted for by the fact that a succession of Popes and architects were
engaged upon it, each of whom endeavoured to make that part upon which he
was engaged the most imposing feature of the whole. The tout ensemble has
thus been sacrificed to the vanity and ambition of its builders.

A very curious collection might be made of conflicting judgments upon the
interior of St. Peter's. Here are a few :

" The first view of the interior of St. Peter's makes the eye fill with tears,
and oppresses the heart with a sense of suffocation. It is not simply admiration,
or awe, or wonder — it is full satisfaction, of what nature you neither understand
nor inquire. If you may only walk aside and be silent you ask nothing more.
It was the work of an age when religion was a subject for the intellect
rather than the heart. It is the expression of the ambitious rather than the
devotional element in man's nature. A saint could scarcely have imagined it,
and probably nothing less than the fiery energy of Julius the Second and the
determined selfishness of Leo the Tenth's artistic tastes could have collected the
treasures of richness and beauty which have been lavished upon it."*

" Perhaps the picturesque has been too much studied in the interior. The
bronze canopy and wreathed columns of the high altar, though admirably pro-
portioned and rich beyond description, form but a stately toy, which embarrasses
the cross. The proud chair of St. Peter, supported by the figures of four
scribbling doctors, is in every sense a trick. The statues recumbent on the great
arches are beauties which break into the architrave of the nave. The very
pillars are too fine. Their gaudy and contrasted marbles resemble the pretty
assortments of a cabinet, and are beneath the dignity of a fabric like this, where
the stupendous dimensions accord only with simplicity, and seem to prohibit the
beautiful. Vaults and cupolas so ponderous as these could be trusted only to
massive pillars. Hence flat surfaces which demand decoration. Hence idle

* Impressiotis of Rome. By the Author of Atny Herbert.

THE SISTINE CUAPEU

GENERAL EFFECT OF ST. PETER'S.

pilasters and columns, which never give beauty unless they give also support :
yet remove every column, every pilaster that you find within this church, and
nothing essential to its design will fall."*

" The building of St. Peter's surpasses all powers of description. It appears
to me like some great work of nature, a forest, a mass of rocks, or something
similar ; for I never can realise the idea that it is the work of man. 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
come quite close. The angels in the baptistery are enormous giants ; the doves,
colossal birds of prey. You lose all sense of measurement with the eye, or
proportion ; and yet who does not feel his heart expand when standing under
the dome and gazing up at it ? "f

" The interior burst upon our astonished gaze, resplendent in light, mag-
nificence, and beauty, beyond all that imagination can conceive. Its apparent
smallness of size, however, mingled some degree of surprise and even disappoint-
ment with my admiration ; but as I walked slowly up its long nave, empanelled
with the richest marbles, and adorned with every art of sculpture and taste, and
caught through the lofty arches opening views of chapels and tombs, and altars
of surpassing splendour, I felt that it was indeed unparalleled in beauty, in
magnitude and magnificence, and one of the noblest and most wonderful of the
works of man,"i

** St. Peter's, that glorious temple, the largest and most beautiful, it Is said,
in the world, produced upon me the impression rather of a Christian Pantheon
than of a Christian church. The aesthetic intellect is edified more than the God-
loving or God-seeking soul. The exterior and interior of the building appear to
me more like an apotheosis of the popedom than a glorification of Christianity
and its doctrine. Monuments to the popes occupy too much space. One sees
all round the walls angels flying upwards with papal portraits, sometimes merely
with papal tiaras."§

The great ecclesiastical ceremonials in St. Peter's during the church festivals
have elicited even more contradictory opinions than those expressed upon the
interior itself. For instance, on Palm Sunday the Pope is borne in procession
round the church, his attendants carrying immense fans of peacocks' feathers.
One writer speaks of it as " the enthronisation of Christianity," and sees in it an
outward symbol of the victory of the faith. Another is impressed by the
illustration it affords of the essentially pagan character of the papacy, and traces
numerous parallelisms between it and the ritual of heathen Rome. One writer
is struck by the calm serenity of the pope, who seemed wrapt in devotion and
abstracted from all earthly things. Another is amused at his evident nervousness,
lest he should fall, or the bearers stumble beneath his weight. The ceremony

* The Antiquities, Arts, and Letters of Italy. By J. Forsyth. \ Mendelssohn* s Letters.

X Re ine in the Niiuteenth Century. By C.Eaton. § Two Years in Italy. By Frederika Bremer,

PROCESSIONS IN ST. PETER'S.

is spoken of as being "grand and sublime in the highest degree," and as being
" puerile, tawdry, and wearisome." My own report of the grand "functions" of
the church in Rome would be that, whilst imposing as spectacles, they are
painfully deficient in religiousness.

THE POPE GIVING THE BENEDICTION ON PALM SUNDAY.

The chanting of the Miserere In the Sistlne Chapel on Wednesday, Thursday,
and Friday in Passion Week, is commonly selected by those who insist upon the
devotional character of the Romish ritual as the best illustration of it. The chapel

THE SIS TINE CHAPEL.

in which this service is held forms part of the Vatican. Entering from the right
of the Piazza of St. Peter's, we pass up the magnificent Scala Regia, perhaps
the grandest staircase in the world, and certainly the master-piece of its architect
Bernini. At its great bronze doors are stationed the Swiss guard, in the quaint,
picturesque uniform designed for them by Michael Angelo. Crossing the Scala
Regia, and turning to the left, we find ourselves in the world-famous Capella
Sistina. The chapel takes its name from Sixtus iv., under whose pontificate it
was erected. Being only one hundred and thirty-five feet in length by forty-three
in breadth, and divided into two parts by a massive screen, the visitor is commonly
disappointed at its smallness, especially if, as frequently happens, he has just left
the enormous area of St. Peter's. The architecture, too, is justly open to criticism.
Its height is excessive, the cornices are mean and ill-placed ; its ugly windows
mar the general effect, and the high screen thrown across makes it look smaller
than it really is. The fame of this chapel is due to the magnificent series of
frescoes which cover its walls and ceiling. Here are found the finest works of
Michael Angelo, which, though they have suffered much from time, neglect, the
smoke of innumerable lamps, and the retouching of inferior artists, yet retain
enough of their original grandeur to excite the wonder and admiration of every
student of art. The ceiling, painted by the great Florentine in twenty-two
months, represents The Creation, The Fall of Man, and The Deluge. Below
this are the prophets, Joel, Ezekiel, Jonah, Daniel, and Isaiah, selected for
representation as having specially foretold the coming of our Lord. Alternating
with the prophets are the Sibyls, who. in the hagiology of the Romish church,
are regarded as having announced to the heathen world the future advent of
the Messiah, as the Hebrew prophets did to their own nation.

The end wall is occupied by a representation of the Last Judgment. Upon
this work Michael Angelo spent seven years of almost incessant labour and
study. To animate him in the task, Pope Paul iii., attended by ten cardinals,
waited upon the artist at his house. ** An honour," says Lanzi, who records
the fact, " unparalleled in the history of art."

The side walls give the history of Moses on one side, the history of Christ
on the other. Considerable ingenuity has been displayed in indicating a parallelism
between incidents in the lives of the lawgiver and the Saviour. Thus Moses and
the Israelites on the shores of the Red Sea, and our Lord and His apostles by
the Sea of Galilee ; the giving of the law on Sinai, and the Sermon on the Mount ;
the punishment of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram for aspiring to the priesthood,
and the call of the apostles into it, confront one another from opposite walls.

In this chapel, with its amazing wealth of art, the Miserere is chanted on
three afternoons in the Holy Week. A series of lighted candles, arranged on a
triangular stand, having been placed upon the altar, the service commences by
the chanting of psalms of a mournful and penitential character. With the
conclusion of each psalm one of the candles is extinguished. At length only
one remains lighted. Across this a curtain is drawn, so that the chapel is in

THE MISERERE IN THE SIS TINE CHAPEL.

almost total darkness. This part of the service is said to symbolise the gathering
gloom and anguish which fell upon our Lord during that night of His agony.
Others explain it of the apostles who, one after another, apostatized and lost
the light of faith. The darkness which follows is held to typify the condition
of the world from which the Saviour had passed away, and the single light behind
the screen represents the entombed Light of the world.

The Miserere, the fifty-first psalm, now commences. Mr. Hobart Seymour,
who cannot be suspected of any prejudice in favour of Romish ritual, says of this
part of the service :

" As it is breathed by the choir — the most perfect and practised choir in the
world — as it is heard in all the stillness and solemnity of the scene, wrapped in
darkness, and leaving nothing to distract the eye where all looks dim and
shadowy, it has a strange and wonderful effect. It is designed to express, as
far as music can express, the deep and mental agonies of the dying Saviour ; and
certainly there never yet was heard, except among the shepherds of Bethlehem
on the night of the nativity, such sounds so unearthly, and unlike the music of
the world. It is plaintive, intensely melancholy, and has a powerful effect under
the peculiar circumstances of the scene. The several musical compositions for
the Miserere are the productions of the greatest composers, are stamped by the
highest popularity, and all bear a similar character, being unquestionably among
the most strikingly suitable and effective pieces of music in the world ; and they
undoubtedly express the depths of inward and intense grief. If angels could
be supposed to sigh and moan in sorrow, they might attune their harps of heaven
to such music as is then sung in the Sistine Chapel."

And yet there are many who, though they feel no repugnance to ornate
ritual or religious symbolism, nevertheless find this service unimpressive and
tedious. This may in part be accounted for by its excessive length, and by the
dense crowding of the narrow space allotted to spectators. But in addition to
these causes of dissatisfaction, the theatrical element, which intrudes into all
Romish ceremonial, is especially offensive here.

One of the most curious and popular church festivals in Rome is that of
" The Most Holy Bambino." The word bambino is simply the Italian for " child,"
and is specially applied to this image of "the holy child Jesus." It is a small
wooden doll, about two feet in length. On its head is a crown of gold, gemmed
with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. From its neck to its feet it is wrapped in
swaddling-clothes. The dress is covered with jewels worth several thousand pounds
— so that the Bambino is a blaze of splendour. It is said to be distinguished
above all other images of the same kind by its supernatural origin, history, and
the miraculous cures it effects. Ara Cceli, the name of the church and convent
where it is kept, signifies the altar of heaven.

The legend is, that it was carved in Jerusalem by a monk, from olive-wood,
near the Mount of Olives, Whilst he wrought at the image, various marvellous
things came to pass. Being in want of colours for painting the figure, he betook

''THE MOST HOLY BAMBINO."

himself to prayers, fastings, and other mortifications. He then fell asleep, and
when he awoke, lo ! the image was, by a prodigy, become the colour of flesh.
He bowed down before it in adoration, and then set off with his treasure to
Rome. The vessel in which he sailed was wrecked, but the image did not sink
with the ship. By a miracle it was transported to Leghorn. The news of
this being soon spread abroad, devout
people sought it out, and brought it to
Rome. On its being exhibited, the people
wept, prayed, and sought favour from
it.

It is stated, that on one occasion a
noble lady took away this little image, and
brought it to her house ; but, after some
days, it miraculously returned to the Ara
Cceli, ringing all the bells of the church
and convent without any person touching
them. The monks ran together at this
prodigy ; and, to their astonishment, they
beheld the image of the holy Bambino
upon the altar.

But the most wonderful property of
the Bambino is its pretended power to heal
the sick. It is a common saying among
the people of Rome, that "the little
doctor," as they term it, receives more and
better fees from the sick than all the
medical men put together. It is brought
to visit its patients in grander style ; for a
state-carriage is kept for it which seems a
meagre imitation of some worn-out state
coach of a Lord Mayor of London. In
this coach the Bambino is placed, accom-
panied by priests in full dress. As it
passes, every head is uncovered, every
knee is bent, and all the lower classes, let
the streets be never so wet and dirty, are
prostrated in worship before it

Before the suppression of the monastic orders by the Italian government, the
monks and nuns in Rome numbered nearly five thousand persons. This will
account for what might otherwise seem incredible — that there were no fewer than
one hundred and eighty-six conventual establishments in the city and suburbs.
It would be difficult to imagine more objectionable specimens of humanity than
the monks. With few exceptions, they appear to be drawn from the lowest

THE BAMBINO.

CONVENTS I A ROME,

CLOISTERS OF THE SUPPRESSED CONVENT OF SANTA MARIA DEGLI ANGELI.

class of Italian peasants, and the life of indolence they lead has served only to
increase their demoralization.

But the monasteries themselves are, many o^ them, of the deepest interest.
Amongst these may be mentioned that of Santa Sabina on the Aventine. The
gardens which surround it command magnificent views of the city, the Campagna,

and the distant hills. It was granted by Honorlus iii. to Dominic in the year
1 216 for the monks who enrolled themselves in the order which he founded,
and it has been ever since regarded as the most hallowed home of the Dominicans.
An edifice going back to the date of our Magna Charta. would, in any other
part of Europe, be regarded as possessing a very respectable antiquity. But
in Rome this is only a first step into the past. Prior to its concession to the
Dominicans it had been for generations a stronghold of the great Savelli family, to
which the Pope himself belonged ; and many parts of the building remain exactly
as they left it. But it was not built by the Savelli. It had previously been a palace
of the imperial period, the splendour of which is attested by the frescoes, mosaics,
delicate carvings, and choice marbles in which it abounds. But we have not even
yet reached the period of its first erection. The palace had been a mansion
when Rome was yet a republic. The subterranean chambers had been used as
prisons. In a rudely scratched inscription yet remaining upon the wall a prisoner
invokes curses upon his enemies ; another vows a sacrifice to Bacchus if he recovers
his liberty. A skeleton found in one of the chambers darkly shadows forth the
fate of one victim of Roman cruelty ; and skulls and bones seem to show that
this was no uncommon termination of incarceration in these dungeons. Farther
back still, we find massive walls of peperino which formed part of the fortifications
commenced by Tarquinius Priscus, and completed by Servius Tullius.

The Carthusian monastery attached to the church of Santa Maria degli
Angeli, though not of equal historic and antiquarian interest, has far greater
architectural beauty. It was built by Michael Angelo out of the ruins of the
Baths of Diocletian, in the midst of which it stands. The cloisters, adorned with
a hundred columns, enclose a vast square ; in the centre is a fountain, round
which the great architect planted with his own hand four cypresses. These have
grown up into solemn monumental trees, harmonising well with the silence of
the now deserted convent.

It is very often with a sense of unexpectedness that the visitor to Rome finds
omnibuses at the railway station, cabs in the streets, gas in the houses, telegraphs,
newspapers, and other appliances of modern civilisation. He has been so
accustomed to think of the Eternal City only in its historical associations that
these things seem out of keeping in such a spot. They are indeed innovations
of a very recent date, and were resisted almost to the last by the papal
government.* But the tendencies of the age were too strong even for the

* At the death of Gregory xvi., Pasquin gave a humorous description of the Pope complaining of
the length and tedium of the journey, and expressing his extreme surprise at the great distance of
Paradise from the Vatican. He is told by his guide that, if he had permitted the construction of
railroads, the journey might have been easier. On his arrival, he is indignant that no preparations
have been made to admit him, and that even his predecessors are not there to welcome him. The
reply is that there are very few popes in Paradise, and that from want of a telegraph to Rome no
communication had been possible. Arriving thus unexpectedly, he is invited to use his own
key to open the gate, but finds that by mistake he had brought the key of his wine-cellar instead
of the key of Paradise, which had been lost some time before, but not been missed till now.

103

ON THE PI NCI AN.

intense conservatism of the pontificate, and the annexation of Rome to Italy has
only accelerated changes which had become inevitable. The rapid increase of
population under the new regune is calling into existence a new city on the vacant
spaces once occupied by the Baths of Diocletian, which, leaving old Rome intact,
will be not inferior to the finest boulevards of Paris.

The place of fashionable resort, alike for residents and visitors, is the Pincian.
Here, every afternoon before the pope and cardinals had doomed themselves to
a voluntary imprisonment within the walls of the Vatican, might be seen dignitaries
of the churchy with their old-fashioned carriages and shabby-genteel attendants,
jostled by Roman nobles, Russian princes, American millionaires, and innumerable
visitors from our own island home. From the small extent of the drive, the
number of equipages looks much greater than it really is. At first they seem to
be nearly as numerous as in Hyde Park or the Bois de Boulogne ; but gradually
one perceives how short a period elapses before the return of a carriage to any
given point, and a more correct estimate is formed of the numbers present.

A more lovely spot for a drive or lounge scarcely exists in Europe than
that on the Pincian. On the one side St. Peter's rises in solemn, stately beauty
from the city lying at its feet, the Tiber winds along its sinuous course far
out into the Campagna, and the Campagna stretches away to the hills, blue in
the distance. On the other side are lovely gardens bright with flowers, verdant
lawns, fountains falling into marble basins, and avenues of ilex and acacia
lined by innumerable statues.

Sloping from the Pincian are the Borghese gardens at one end, and those of
the Villa Medici at the other. The readers of Hawthorne's Transformation will
remember the enthusiastic admiration which he lavishes upon these and the other
gardens attached to the villas round Rome. It is difficult to say which of them
is the most beautiful. Each has its special and characteristic charm. Ampere,
no mean judge, gives the palm to those of the Pamfili Doria on the Janiculum,
styling it la plus charmante promenade de Rome. Those of the Villa Medici
(now the academy for French art-students) have much of the stiffness and formality
of the renaissance, with clipped hedges and straight walks ; it has, however, a
beauty of its own, partly caused by the profusion of works of art which adorn
it. Most visitors will agree in the preference which Hawthorne accords to the
Borghese gardens, whose " scenery is such as arrays itself to the imagination when
we read the beautiful old myths, and fancy a brighter sky, a softer turf, a more
picturesque arrangement of venerable trees than we find in the rude and untrained
landscape of the western world. In the opening of the woods there are fountains
plashing into marble basins, the depths of which are shaggy with water-weeds,
or they tumble like natural cascades from rock to rock, sending their murmur
afar, to make the quiet and silence more appreciable. In other portions of the
grounds the stone-pines lift their dense clumps of branches upon a slender length
of stem, so high, that they look like green islands in the air, flinging a shadow
down upon the turf, so far off that you scarcely discern which tree has made

THE GIIE TTO.

it. The result of all is a scene such as is to be found nowhere save in these
princely villa residences in the neighbourhood of Rome."

If the Pincian is the Hyde Park of Rome, the Ghetto is its Seven Dials.
Its narrow streets, reeking with all evil odours, are filthy beyond description.
Even the foulest back-slums of St. Giles's seem decent in comparison. Within
this narrow space, which only affords sufficient room for less than a thousand
persons, upwards of four thousand Jews are huddled together.'" For many

IN THE GARDENS OF THE VILLA PAMFILI DORIA.

centuries they were treated with frightful cruelty, and every possible indignity
was heaped upon them. They were forbidden to reside out of this loathsome
quarter, and might not pass beyond its limits except with the distinctive badge
of their nation— a yellow hat for the men, a yellow veil for the women. They
were compelled to run races in the Ccrso at the Carnival, stripped to the skin,
with only a narrow bandage round the loins, amidst the jeerings and execrations
of the mob. Every Sunday they were driven into the church of St. Angelo, to

* A recent census gives the number of Jews resident in Rome as 4,490.

THE GHE TTO.

hear a sermon on the crimes of their forefathers and their own depravity and
hardness of heart. All trade was forbidden to them except in old clothes,
rags, and what we know as marine stores. They were ground into the dust

RUINS OF THE I'OKTICO OF OCTAVIA, IN THE GHETTO.

by taxes and confiscations of every kind, and to procure the slightest alleviation
of their sufferings were compelled to pay large sums to their oppressors. It
was only under the reign of Pius ix. that they were relieved from some of the

most degrading of these indignities.

108

THE GHE TTO.

Notwithstanding the filth and overcrowding of the Ghetto, and though it
is inundated ahnost every year by the overflowing of the Tiber, yet it is the
least unhealthy quarter of Rome. It suffers far less from the malaria than the
neighbourhood of the Pincian, and, in the outbreak of cholera in 1837, fewer
persons died in the Ghetto than in any other part of the city. It does not,
however, follow from this that the Ghetto is a healthy residence. The general
death-rate of Rome is, as nearly as possible, double that of London.*

It is a curious coincidence, or something more, that the Ghetto occupies
the site of the magnificent portico of Octavia where Vespasian and Titus
celebrated their triumph after the downfall of Jerusalem. *' Over this very
ground," says Mr. Story, " where the sons and daughters of Zion drive their
miserable trade in old clothes, and where the Pescheria breathes its unsavoury
smells, were carried in pomp the silver trumpets of the Jubilee, the massive
golden table of shewbread, the seven-branched candlestick of gold, the tables of
the law, the veil itself, from behind which sacrilegious hands had stolen the
sacred utensils of the altar; and in their rear, sad, dejected, and doomed,
followed Simon, son of Gorias, loaded with clanking chains, and marching in
the triumphal train of his victors to an ignominious death." Here, too, among
the spectators, stood Josephus, the Jewish historian, parasite, and flatterer, to
whose pen we owe an account of the triumph.

Rome has been too recently opened to the gospel to allow of any detailed
statement of its progress in the city of the Popes. It is enough to say here
that progress is made, the Word of God is read, evangelical books and tracts are
widely circulated, and numerous congregations are gathered. To those who
deride, or distrust, the efforts now making in Rome to preach Christ crucified as
the only Saviour, the following remarks from the annual report of the Religious
Tract Society may be commended :

"If there be one fact calculated to stir the heart and hope of the evangelical
churches of Europe, it is that Rome — the carefully and successfully preserved
centre of the hierarchical system, which for so many centuries has been using
science, art, literature, religion, for the subjugation of mankind to a false Chris-
tianity involving the supreme authority of a priestly caste — is now open to all
the influences of modern civilization, and to the dissemination of Scriptural truth.
Contrasting that caste, in their polished manners, high training, magnificent
temples, firmly compacted ranks, and in their still almost unbroken influence
over the old nobility and the unlettered poor, with the humble preachers of
the gospel, and their humbler auditors in unadorned and not unfrequently in-
commodious meeting-rooms, even philosophers — who are supposed to appreciate

* In the first week in February, 1872, the deaths in Rome were 224, which, making allowance for
the difference in the population, is equivalent to 2,688 in London. The deaths returned by the
Registrar-General for that week were only 1,320— just one-half.

THE EVANGELICAL MOVEMENT IN ROME.

the power of ideas — might smile contemptuously at the hope that the evangelicals
can seriously affect the position and power of the priesthood.

" But encouragement is furnished by the past ; for still more contemptuously
might the philosophers of heathen Rome have smiled if, while the palace of the
Caesars, and the temples of the gods, and the triumphal arches of the conquerors,
and the columns of the Forum existed in a glory that seemed immortal, they had
been told that the Christ preached by the chained Paul would be recognised
in after ages as the only God incarnate, while every deity which then attracted
its crowds of ardent worshippers was in the dust — every altar overthrown,

RIINS ON THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

and the temples themselves but melancholy ruins to tell of what once had been.
Yet so it was. Christian ideas, however slowly, however enfeebled by pagan
admixture, however degraded by the false charities of their teachers to the familiar
idolatries of their ancestors, did yet silently, gradually, irresistibly supplant the
religion of old Rome. What has been may be ; and evangelical religion, however
apparently weak for the present, may — nay, rather will — yet subdue even full-
blown Popery, though sustained by the blind policy of governments, by the
attractions of sculpture, of painting, and of music, by the tongue of the subtle,
or the poet's song."

NAPLES AND POMPEII.

l^^Pi-i;^ j\j^5 f<)f^f^U.

EDI Napoli e roi MORI. See Naples and
die. So says a familiar Italian proverb.
If we understand its meaning to be that
having seen the Bay of Naples we may
not expect, in this life, to look upon
a lovelier scene, the proverb hardly
goes beyond the limits of exact and
literal truth. Such richness of colour,
such play of light and shade, such mar-
vellous combinations of sea and coast-
line, of fertile plains and barren moun-
tains, and vine-clad slopes and white-
walled cities, can surely not be found
elsewhere. From the days of Cicero
and Horace its beauties have been the
theme of innumerable writers, who, in
prose and poetry, have vied with each
other in enthusiastic admiration.

• This region, surely, is not of the earth !
Was it not dropt from heaven? not a grove.
Citron, or pine, or cedar; not a grot,
Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine.
But breathes enchantment ! Not a cliff but flings
On the clear wave some image of delight,
Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers,

THE BAY OF NAPLES.

Some ruined temple or fallen monument,

To muse -on as the bark is gliding by.

And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide,

From daybreak, when the mountain pales his fire

Yet more and more, and from the mountain-top,

Till then invisible, a smoke ascends,

Solemn and slow, as erst trom Ararat,

When he, the Patriarch, who escaped the flood,

Was with his household sacrificing there —

From daybreak to that hour, the last and best,

When, one by one, the fishing-boats come forth,

Each with its glimmering lantern at the prow ;

And, when the nets are thrown, the evening hymn

Steals o'er the trembling waters." *

ISLAND OF ISCHIA.

Properly to appreciate the scene, we should approach the city from the sea.
Better still, we should linger on one of the islands which guard the entrance of
the bay long enough to familiarize the mind with the beauty which lies around us.

116

* Rogers' Italy.

rOZZUOLI, THE ANCIENT PUTEOLI.
Acts xxviii.

THE ISLAND OF CAPRI.

Let US take our stand on the terrace of the Hotel Tibere, in the centre
of the island of Capri. At our feet is a picturesque village whose flat and domed
roofs have a distinctly Oriental character, and would be seen without surprise in
Syria or Egypt. Steep conical hills rise on every side. Each is crowned with
a mass of ruins, many of which go back to the time' when Tiberius held his
infamous orgies here ; others are remains of the" strongholds erected by Saracen
and Norman pirates, who, for successive generations, contended for supremacy

SORRENTO.

along these shores. An almost precipitous descent, terraced into orange gardens
and vineyards, leads down to the shore. Before us is the bay, about fifty-three
miles in circumference. Its waters are intensely blue, and so clear that sailing
across it we can see the dolphins gambolling far down below our boat's keel, and
as they shoot up above the surface they dash the water into spray, which sparkles
in the sun like a shower of diamonds.

On our left is a group of islands — Ischia, Procida, Nisida, and others— green

THE BAY OF NAPLES.

to the water's edge, or starting precipitously from it. Most of these are volcanic,
and present the peculiar configuration which characterizes this formation. The
horizon bounding the whole is formed by mountains which rise in grand and
imposing forms, among which Vesuvius at once arrests the eye, not from its
superior height or mass, but by the mysterious crest of smoke or flame which
rests upon it. «

The historical associations of the district are deeply interesting. The cave
of the Cumaean Sibyl, the Phlegraean fields, and Lake Avernus, lead back our
thoughts to the mythology of Greece and Rome. Miseno was the station of

CASTKLI.AMARK.

the imperial fleet under Augustus. At Baire the wealthiest Romans had their
villas. Posilipo boasts of having been the residence and the grave of Virgil.
But most interesting to us is Fozzuoli, the ancient Puteoli. Here, eighteen
centuries ago, a corn ship from Alexandria, the Castor and Polhix, having nar-
rowly escaped wreck off Malta, cast anchor in the bay. The massive blocks of
masonry, now washed over by the sea, are the foundations of the pier at which
it discharged its cargo, and where stepped ashore a prisoner entrusted with a
more important mission than ever ambassador had borne. It was Paul coming
to appear before Caesar, and to " preach the gospel to them that were at
Rome also."

:;is!Si if;llliiJi|'iii''ii-iiiif?iii''ii!iii^A;^ ^mmi

NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS.

Following the deeply-indented coast-line, past many a spot memorable in
history or famous for its beauty, we reach Naples, with its belt of gardens and
palaces — a city of half a million inhabitants, over which rises the precipitous rock
on which the castle of San Elmo stands. Curving round the head of the bay, we
pass Portici, Torre del Greco, Torre dell' Annunziata, and a score of other towns
and villages nestling at the foot or clinging to the slopes of Vesuvius. They mark
the district where Pompeii and Herculaneum once stood. Castellamare is soon
reached, lying in the bend of the bay as its shores turn westward again ; and
then comes Sorrento, opposite to and about nineteen miles south from Naples.
About nine miles more, in a south-westerly course, and we come back to Capri,
whence we started, and from whose lofty peaks or terraced roofs this scene of
beauty is distinctly visible.

Apart from the beauty of its site, and the magnificent collection of works
of ancient art in the Museo, there is not very much in Naples itself to attract or
detain the visitor. The remains of classical and mediaeval antiquity are few and
unimportant. Its churches are devoid of architectural merit, and their decorations
are in the worst possible taste. Except the theatre of San Carlo, which has the
reputation of being one of the finest in the world, its public buildings are those
of a third or fourth-rate capital. Its streets, crowded, narrow, and dirty though
they are, have much picturesqueness ; but one needs to be insensible to evil
smells to linger in them. A writer who knows Naples well says of it :

" The paving is about the worst in Europe, and the drainage extremely
incomplete. Evil odours are more abundant in Naples than any other Italian
city, and the warmth of the climate at once adds to their number and intensifies
their quality. . . . The sun shines his brightest, and the zephyrs blow their
softest ; the sea is of the deepest blue, and the mountains of the most glorious
purple. Nowhere is there lovelier scenery for the poet and the artist ; nowhere
finer fish, sweeter fruit, or better game for tho. gotci^mand. The oysters of Frisaro
are equal to those of Milton or Faversham, or the Rocher de Cancale ; and
macaroni — there is no need to discuss the macaroni of Naples. Now all these
are, undoubtedly, advantages, and, to counterbalance them, I am obliged to
confess that Naples is an ill-built, ill-paved, ill-lighted, ill-drained, ill-watched,
ill-governed, and ill-ventilated city. If you look at it from the sea, it is most
beautiful ; if you enter from the south, over the bridge Santa Maddalena, you
will have a favourable impression ; if you keep to the Chiaja — which is quite the
west end, and ought not to be called the city at all, for the whole mass of
buildings lies to the north-east — if you keep to the Chiaja and the Strada de
Toledo, and one or two more of the principal streets and places, you may
preserve your first impressions ; but if you wander extensively on foot, you will
say of Naples what is frequently said of Constantinople."*

* Naples atid Sicily under the Bourbons. By Mrs. Ferrybridge.

THE NEA POL I TA NS.

To one seeking only amusement from intercourse with his fellow-men, a
more amusing, vivacious, indolent set of vagabonds than the Neapolitan lazzaroni
can scarcely be found. They seem to spend their lives in laughing, talking, and
gesticulating. Wearing the smallest possible modicum of clothing, subsisting day
by day on a piece of bread or a handful of macaroni, with a slice of melon, an
onion, or a morsel of cheese as an occasional luxury, caring for no other amuse-
ment than that of laughing at the humours of Polichinello, paying no house-rent

or taxes, their wants are few indeed ; and until the
suppression of the monasteries by the Italian govern-
ment, these were supplied by the misplaced doles
of the monks. The author just quoted sums up
the practical morality of the Neapolitans in three
maxims : — i. Never do to-day what you can possibly
put off till to-morrow, ii. Never do for yourself
what you can possibly get anybody else to do for
you. III. Never pay for what you can possibly

NEAPOLITAN POLICHINELLO. g^t UpOU Credit.

But this amusing picture has darker shades.
Treacherous and false at all times, the lazzaroni of Naples have frequently
broken out into acts of tiger-like ferocity, and, for the time, have seemed to
become wild beasts rather than men. It would be impossible to defile these
pages by speaking of the horrors which have accompanied the revolutions and
the counter-revolutions, so frequent under the Bourbon rule. It must suffice
to say that the most hideous cruelties of the Reign of Terror in France were
far surpassed by those perpetrated in Naples on the restoration of Ferdinand
in the year 1799. Atheism in the one case, and the most degraded superstition
in the other, have written two of the bloodiest pages in the history of modern
Europe. And in both countries evangelical religion had been persecuted to
the death.

At the dawn of the Reformation, Naples took the lead among the Italian
cities in the adoption of its principles. Juan Valdez, Ochino, and Peter Martyr
had united in teaching that the Bible was the only rule of faith, that salvation
was to be found in Christ alone, and that the dogmas of Rome were corruptions
and perversions of the true faith. Valdez was a Spanish gentleman of high
position at court. Being a layman, he did not attempt to preach in public, but
diffused his principles by conversation and private intercourse. Ochino and Peter
Martyr were monks, the former a Franciscan, the latter an Augustinian. They
were amongst the eloquent preachers of their day, and addressed crowded
congregations in the churches of S. Peter ad Aram and San Lorenzo. But
persecution broke up the little company of converts. They were either cast into
the dungeons of the Inquisition, or sought safety in flight. A Waldensian
settlement in Calabria was at the same time utterly exterminated. Evangelical
religion was thus uprooted from Neapolitan soil. As the result, Naples for

THE STREETS OF NAPLES.

centuries has been given up to abject superstition, and its people have become
perhaps the most ignorant and demoralized in Europe. Now civil liberty has
brought religious liberty in its train. After an interval of more than three
hundred years, the gospel is again preached in the district where Paul first landed
on Italian soil. Already the firstfruits are being gathered in. God grant that
they may be only the precursors of an abundant harvest ! What the future of
this lovely land may be, He only knows ; but that the present is a time of trial,
or turning-point in its condition, must be evident to all.

It is almost impossible to convey an adequate idea of the stir and noise which
prevail in the streets of Naples, and which make it unlike any other Italian city
I have ever visited. Such talking, shouting, and rushing to and fro, indeed, can
scarcely be found anywhere else. It has been said with an appearance of truth
that the Neapolitans talk all day long and for half the night. " The rumble of
carts and carriages of every description which, with the greatest velocity and
frightful shouts, cut through the crowds of people every moment, the running,
struggling, pushing, and fighting, form the most extraordinary picture that can be
seen in Europe. It has been computed that, at every moment of the day, more
than fifty thousand persons may be found in the Toledo, with above fifteen
hundred vehicles of various kinds ; coachmen, cartmen, muleteers, and pedestrians,
all contributing to the incessant din ; some swearing, some screaming, some
singing, some holding forth on the new opera, others on the last lottery, and
all talking even more with their hands than with their tongues. Amidst this
throng of passengers, everything which can be done under the open canopy of
heaven is going forward in this busy street. The shoemaker, the tailor, and the
joiner are all there at work ; the writer sits at his desk, and his employers stand
beside him, dictating with the utmost gravity the secrets of their hearts, which they
are unable themselves to indite ; on one side, a begging monk is preaching from
a stone-post, with the voice of a Stentor, threatening perdition to all who neglect
to give him alms ; farther on, a decrepit old woman is screaming out a hymn, as
a penance, whilst her voice is drowned in that of a quack doctor, recommending
his wares. Jugglers play their tricks, gamblers shout out the number of the
game they are playing, females are stuffing mattresses, cleaning vegetables,
plucking poultry, and scouring pans, all in the open way.""''

The recent suppression of monastic institutions by the Italian government
has modified this graphic description in one respect. Monks no longer are
allowed to ply their trade of begging in this public and ostentatious fashion.
In other respects it is as true as when written a few years ago.

The number of carriages in the streets is incredible. No one walks who can
possibly ride, and no one Is silent who can possibly make a noise. I have counted
sixteen persons in, or hanging on to, a single corricolo, all of them singing or
shouting at the top of their stentorian voices. The little wiry horses seem to

• Naples, Political and Social. By Lord B * * *

127

THE STREETS OF NAPLES.

make light of their task, and canter along gaily at the top of their speed. But
no better field for the labou'rs of the Society for tJie Prevention of Cruelty to

From tlie P,iiiitiiig hv Passini.

AT A WINDOW IN NAPLKS.

Animals could be found than Naples. Wretched, worn-out hacks are made to
draw the heaviest loads, and are goaded to a gallop by blows which would draw
down execrations upon the driver in our London streets.

NEAPOLITAN FUNERALS.

The interment of the common people in Naples is conducted with a revolting
disregard of decency, such as is to be seen in no other city in the civilized world.

NEAPOLITAN FUNERAL.

The better classes are buried by confraternities, as in Rome and other Italian
towns. The members of the confraternity take charge of the funeral, and in

THE MUSEUM AT NAPLES.

their strange and hideous garb accompany the corpse to its last resting-place.
For the poor no such ceremonial is provided. Pits are dug in the two
Camposanti, into which the dead bodies are flung pell-mell, uncoffined, and often
quite naked. In one — the Camposanto Vecchio — there are three hundred and
sixty-six of these pits. One of them is opened every day in the year, at evening,
and into it are thrown the bodies of those who have died during the day. It is
then closed up until, at the expiration of twelve months, it is reopened again to
receive its ghastly freight. We in England complain of the useless and lavish
expenditure incurred upon funeral rites. The very poor will often involve
themselves in debt to do honour to the memory of the departed. But anything
is better than this frightful indignity offered to the dead.

COOKING UTENSILS FROM POMPEII, IN THE MUSEUM AT NAPl.FS.

Reference has already been made to the great interest and value of the
contents of the Museum at Naples. Its collection of works of Greek and Roman
art is unsurpassed. Even the great galleries in Rome do not contain finer bronzes
and marbles. With the exception of a small museum which has recently been
formed at Pompeii itself, all the moveable objects found in that city and at
Herculaneum have been deposited here. As might be expected, they form a
collection which is absolutely unique. The domestic life of people who lived
eighteen hundred years ago is laid bare before us. We see the implements of
trade, the tools of the artisan, the weights and measures of the shopkeeper, the
cooking utensils, the surgical instruments, exactly as they fell from the hands of
those who were using them when they fled in wild fright from their homes. The
frescoes which adorned the walls of the houses have been removed without injury,
and may be studied with advantage by the house decorators of our own day.

CASTLE OF SAN ELMO.

POMPEIAN REMAINS IN THE MUSEUM AT NAPLES.

NECKLACE, RING, BRACELET, AND EAR-RING, FROM POMPEII.

Statues, lamps, coins, jewellery, amulets, armour, weapons, are found in endless
variety. It will, however, be convenient to postpone any lengthened mention of
these interesting relics till we come to speak of Pompeii itself.

There is the more reason for this, because the beauty of the scenery around

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BRONZE AND TERRA-COTTA LAMPS FROM POMPEII.

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FRESCOES FROM POMPEII.

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SCENERY OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF NAPLES.

Naples is such as to make the visitor comparatively indifferent to all else. The
idler in Naples may enjoy much of this beauty simply by strolling along the
Villa Realc — a lovely promenade, said to be the most beautiful in the world,
which runs along the shores of the bay. It has long avenues of trees, gardens,
groves of orange and oleander, fountains, and statues. The purity of the air, the
brilliant blue of sea and sky, the distant mountains, Capri Ischia, and their
sister-islands out to seaward, and Vesuvius, with its column of smoke rising like
a palm-tree into the heavens, form a combination of beauty which justifies the
enthusiasm of all who have attempted to describe it. *

Even more striking is the view from the bay when Naples itself comes in to
form part of the picture. The city is in the form of an amphitheatre, curving
round the shore and rising up the slopes which culminate in the precipitous rock
on which the Castle of San Elmo stands. A complete panorama is thus formed,
on every point of which the eye may rest with delight. One evening I well
remember, in which the scenery appeared too beautiful to belong to earth. We
were returning from Sorrento late in the afternoon. The landscape was bathed
in a flood of golden light as the sun went down into the sea behind Ischia. The
stars began to peep out one by one till " the floor of heaven w^as thick inlaid with
patines of bright gold," all lustrous with a brilliancy of which we in these northern
latitudes can form little conception. As it grew darker the column of smoke on
Vesuvius became lurid, and little tongues of flame could be seen leaping up as
though from the throat

of a furnace. The
whole line of coast from
Baiae round to Sorrento
could be traced by the
licj^hts of innumerable
towns and villages and
hamlets, glittering like
glow-worms, or like the
lamps of some vast illu-
mination. And every
dip of the oars, and
every stroke of the
paddles of the vessels
amongst which we were moving, threw up a shower of diamonds from the
phosphorescent sea. As we approached Naples, strains of music — for it vv^as
di/esta — and the roar of the great city, softened by distance, fell soothingly upon
the ear. It was impossible not to remember old Izaak Walton's sentiment, and
ask oneself — If God gives such beauty for us sinful creatures here on earth,
what must He not have prepared for His saints in heaven !

* For the present (1878), the beauty of this world-famous promenade is sadly impaired by the municipal
improvements (?) in progress. It is said, however, that when they are completed it will be restored to more
than its original loveliness.

POMPEII,

But we must leave Naples and proceed to Pompeii. It is with a strange
feeling that one goes to the railway-station and asks for a return ticket to a city
which was in its glory when our Lord was upon earth, which passed out of
existence when the Apostle John was yet living, and which is now being
disentombed after an interment of eighteen hundred years. Stranger still is it

M- .1-

From a Photograph.

GENERAL VIEW OF POMPEII.

to step out of the train into Pompeii itself, and in a few seconds find oneself in
the silent streets of the long-buried city.

The railway from Naples to Pompeii curves round the head of the bay, and
following the line of coast, runs through the towns of Portici, Resina, Torre del
Greco, and Torre dell' Annunziata. Vesuvius rises on the left, and all around are
traces of its destructive agency. Resina stands upon the bed of lava which covers

13S

POMPEII.

THE GATE OF NOLA, POMPEII.

the site of Herculaneum. Torre del Greco and Torre dell' Annunziata have been
repeatedly rent and riven by earthquakes, and well-nigh destroyed by the fiery
flood pouring down from the crater. The railway runs for considerable distances
through deep cuttings in the old lava streams, and the side of the mountain is
seamed by lines of black rock, which mark the course of former eruptions. But

THE GATE OF HERCULANEUM, AND STREET OF TOMBS, POMPEII.

HISTORY OF POMPEII.

such is the fertility of the soil, that along the shores of the bay and even far
up the mountain side there is a dense population who, heedless of the perils
which environ them, raise large quantities of fruit, vegetables, sugar-cane, and
cotton.

Pompeii was in its glory at the commencement of the Christian era. Its
history goes back to a much earlier date ; its traditions, indeed, reach to the
mythical period, its name being derived from the splendid ceremonials [pompcs)
with which Hercules is said to have celebrated his victories here. Under Titus it
was a city of about thirty thousand inhabitants. " The situation of Pompeii," says
Dr. Dyer, " appears to have possessed all local advantages that the most refined
taste could desire. Upon the verge of the sea, at the entrance of a fertile plain.

THE AMPHITHEATRE.

on the banks of a navigable river, it united the conveniences of a commercial town
with the security of a military station, and the romantic beauty of a spot celebrated
in all ages for its pre-eminent loveliness. Its environs, even to the heights of
Vesuvius, were covered with villas, and the coast all the way to Naples was so
ornamented with gardens and villages that the shores of the gulf appeared as one
city ; whilst the prodigious concourse of strangers who came here in search of
health and recreation added new charms and life to the scene."'"'

But indications were not wanting of the peril with which the city was

* Pompeii: its History, Buildings, and Antiquities. By T. H. Dyer, LL.D. A very admirable
summary of the history and antiquities of Pompeii is given in the Quarterly Review, for April, 1864^
to which, and to Dr. Dyer's elaborate work, the reader is referred for fuller details than can be given
in this brief sketch.

DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.

threatened. The whole district is volcanic, and a few years before the final
catastrophe an earthquake had shaken Pompeii to its foundations. The Forum
many of the temples and other edifices, public and private, were overthrown. On
August 24, A.u. 79, the inhabitants were busily engaged in repairing the damage
thus wrought, w^hen "suddenly, and without any previous warning, a vast column
of black smoke burst from the overhanging mountain. Rising to a prodigious
height in the cloudless summer sky, it then gradually spread itself out like the
head of some mighty Italian pine, hiding the sun, and overshadowing the earth
for many a league. The darkness grew into profound night, only broken by the
blue and sulphurous flashes which darted from the pitchy cloud. Soon the thick
rain of thin, light ashes, almost imperceptible to the touch, fell upon the land

THE SMALL THEATRE.

Then quickly succeeded showers of small, hot stones, mingled with heavier masses,
and emitting stifling mephitic fumes. After a time the sound as of approaching
torrents was heard, and soon steaming rivers of dense black mud poured slowly
but irresistibly down the mountain sides, and curled through the streets, insidiously
creeping into such recesses as even the subtle ashes had failed to penetrate. There
was now no place of shelter left. No man could defend himself against this double
enemy. It was too late for flight for such as had remained behind. Those who
had taken refuge in the innermost parts of the houses, or in the subterranean
passages, were closed up for ever. Those who sought to flee through the streets
were clogged by the small, loose pumice-stones which lay many feet deep, or were
entangled and overwhelmed in the mud streams, or were struck down by the rocks
which fell from the heavens. If they escaped these dangers, blinded by the drifting

STREET AND HOUSE IN TOMPEII.

STREET IN rOMPEir.

ashes, and groping in the dark, not knowing which way to go, they were overcome
by the sulphurous vapours, and, sinking on the highways, were soon buried beneath
the volcanic matter. Even many who had gained the open country at the
beginning of the eruption were overtaken by the darkness and falling cinders, and
perished miserably in the fields or on the seashore, where they had vainly sought

PERISTYLE OF THE HOUSE OF THE QUESTOR.

EXPLORATIONS IN POMPEII.

\m0i: k n't'

the means of flight. In three days the doomed town had disappeared. It lay
buried beneath a vast mass of ashes, pumice-stones, and hardened mud."

Years, generations, centuries went by. The rich volcanic soil became covered
with a profusion of vegetation. Vineyards flourished, and houses were built on
the site of the buried town, the very existence of which was forgotten, though it
still bore the name of Civith, or the City. Occasionally remains were disinterred
by labourers, especially in the year 1592, when a canal was cut to bring the waters
of the Sarno to the village of Annunziata. At length in 1748, excavations upon
an extended scale were com-
menced. But still no suspicion
seems to have been entertained
that the once famous city of
Pompeii had been discovered,
till, in 1763, an inscription was
found which established the fact
beyond doubt.

It is often, though erroneously,
supposed that Pompeii, like Her-
culaneum, was overwhelmed by
a flood of lava. Had this been
the case, the work of excavation
would have been immensely more
difficult, and the results would
have been far less important.
The marbles must have been
calcined, the bronzes melted, the
frescoes effaced, and smaller arti-
cles destroyed by the fiery flood.
The ruin was effected by showers
of dust and scoriae, and by tor-
rents of liquid mud, which formed
a mould, encasing the objects,
thus preserving them from injury
or decay.

The explorations are now
carried on, under the able super-
intendence of Signor Fiorelli, in
the following manner. Gangs of
men and women are employed to excavate the huge mounds of scoria and
hardened mud. The debris is carted away to a distance from the town, so as
not to impede future operations. So soon as the quick eye of the superintendent
detects the indication of any objects of interest being reached, the task proceeds
more slowly. Experienced workmen remove vv'ith their hands the stones, ashes,

CLEARING A STREET.

EXPLORATIONS IN POMPEII.

SEARCHING FOR REMAINS.

and earth, crumbling each portion carefully, so as to discover any articles of
value it may contain. These are catalogued and laid aside to be deposited
in the museum. The frescoes and graffiti are either detached from the walls
or guarded against injury. The walls, where necessary, are propped up, and the
wood-work is, in certain cases, restored. We thus gain a perfect picture of what
a Roman city was eighteen hundred years ago. More than half of it has been

CARTING AWAY THE RUBBISH.

146

DOMESTIC LIFE IN POMPEII.

already exposed to view, and Signor FIorelH expresses the hope that, in about
twenty years more, he may have succeeded in laying bare the whole.

It gives a very impressive sense of the splendour of Italian cities under the
Empire to find a provincial town, of thirty thousand inhabitants, so abundantly
furnished with works of art and all the appliances for luxurious enjoyment. The
houses were for the most part small, and the streets narrow, but theatres, public
baths, triumphal arches, fountains, and statues were very numerous. The walls of
the houses were decorated with frescoes, the floors were commonly laid with
mosaics, in the atrium was a fountain, and in the rear a garden which, though
small, appears to have been laid out with exquisite taste.

The shops and taverns are very interesting, as illustrating distinctly and vividly

baker's oven, bread, and flour-mills.

the domestic life of the people. Here is a baker's shop. Eighteen centuries
ago the baker, having placed his loaves in the oven, had closed the iron door, when
he had to fly for his life. A few years ago the batch was drawn by Signor Fiorelli.
The loaves are in shape just like those sold at the present day in the neighbouring
villages and in the streets of Naples. In an eating-house were found raisins, olives,
onions, fish cooked in oil, and figs split in two and then skewered together : turning
into a roadside osteria at the entrance of Annunziata, I lunched on bread and fruits
prepared in precisely the same fashion. In this eating-house is a dresser of brick-
work, in which are large metal and earthenware vessels for soup, with furnaces to
keep it warm and ladles to distribute it : in a London cook-shop a precisely
similar arrangement may be seen. Amphorae of wine are marked with the year of

the vintage, the characteristic quality, and the name of the wine-merchant from

147

DOMESTIC LIFE IN POMPEII.

whom they were purchased, just as an EngHsh vintner advertises his Duff Gordons
dry sherry, or his '47 fruity 'port. Taverns were indicated by chequers on th^
door-post, or by a sign painted on the wall. At the sign of the Elephant, Sittius
informs his customers that he has " fitted it up afresh " [restituit), and that he has
"a triclinium, three beds, and every convenience." It has been said that "our
first thought in visiting a gallery of antiquities is. How ancient! — our second.
How modern!" Nowhere is this more true than in Pompeii.

Amongst the most interesting remains discovered in the buried city are the
graffiti or inscriptions. At the time of the eruption, the Pompeians were busily
engaged in their municipal elections, and the partisans of the various candidates
scratched or painted their electioneering appeals upon the walls in a curiously

TEPIDARIUM OF TfliLIC BATH.

modern fashion. We read, Philippus beseeches yoti to create M. Holconius Priscus
Duumvir of justice. Another inscription requests votes for Capella, as one of the
duumvirs, A third declares Cneius Helvius to be worthy of the honour. Pansa
seems to have been the popular candidate, and his enthusiastic supporters go. into
superlatives in his praise, affirming him to be most worthy. Popidius had likewise
many friends, who commend him to the voters on the ground that he is a modest
and illustrious youth. Alas, for municipal ambition ! the eruption came, and
voters and candidates either fled or perished before the election was made.

In addition to these electioneering inscriptions there are many of a more
personal and domestic character. A schoolboy has scratched his Greek alphabet
on the walls of a house. Another has inscribed a reminiscence of the first line of

the yEneid, which had been published not very long before. The spelling is

143

P MPE I A N- GR A FFI T I.

curious as illustrating the local pronunciation of Latin, Alma vihtmque cano
Tlo. . . . On the walls of shops and kitchens, we may read how many pounds of
lard, bunches of garlic, or flasks of wine had been bought ; how many tunics had
been sent to the wash ; how much wool had been given out to be spun by the
slaves of the household ; with many another domestic and personal detail. We
discover without surprise that a large proportion of the £Tiiffi It are of an indecent
character. Indeed a general tone of impurity pervades the whole of the Pompeian
remains. Some of the paintings are perfectly horrible in their licentiousness,
justifying the strong language of an eloquent American divine :

" Scholars and artists have mourned for ages over the almost universal
destruction of the works of ancient genius. I suppose that many a second-rate

GARDEN AND FOUNTAINS OF THE HOUSE OF LUCRETIUS.

city, at the time of Christ, possessed a collection of works of surpassing beauty,
which could not be equalled by all the specimens now existing that have yet been
discovered. The Alexandrian library is believed to have contained a greater
treasure of intellectual riches than has ever since been hoarded in a single city.
These, we know, have all vanished from the earth. The Apollo Belvedere and the
Venus de' Medici stand in almost solitary grandeur, to remind us of the perfection
to which the plastic art of the ancients had attained. The Alexandrian library
furnished fuel for years for the baths of illiterate. Moslems. I used myself
frequently to wonder why it had pleased God to blot out of existence these
magnificent productions of ancient genius. It seemed to me strange that the
pall of oblivion should thus be thrown overall to which man, in the flower of his
age, had given birth. But the solution of this mystery is found, I think, in the
remains of Herculaneum and Pompeii. We there discover that every work of

149

DISCOVERIES OF SKELETONS.

man was so penetrated by corruption, every production of genius was so defiled
with uncleanness, that God,' In Introducing a better dispensation, determined
to cleanse the world from the pollution of preceding ages. As when all flesh
had corrupted His way, He purified the world by the waters of a flood, so, when
genius had covered the earth with images of sin. He overwhelmed the works of
ancient civilisation with a deluge of barbarism, and consigned the most splendid
monuments of literature and art to almost universal oblivion. It was too bad
to exist ; and He swept It all away with the besom of destruction."

Of the Inhabitants of Pompeii thousands perished. Many hand in hand
groped their way through the streets, and so escaped to the open country. At the
chief gate there stood a sentinel, who sternly kept his post through the thunders
of that dreadful day. He died in harness. Planted in his sentry-box, he covered
his mouth with his tunic, and held on against the choking and sulphurous shower.
But the ashes fell and fell, and finally filled the box, and buried the soldier alive,
still grasping his weapon in one hand and veiling his mouth with the other. There,
after ages of rest, he was found — a grisly skeleton clutching a rusty sword.

Sad discoveries were made In the street leading to that gate. There were two
skeletons locked in close embrace, the teeth perfect. Indicating youth In Its prime :
skeletons of a young man and maid. They had fallen together in their flight, and
death had wedded them. There was a mother with her three children hand In
hand, who tried vainly to outrun death. Perhaps the mother singly might have
done It, but she could not leave her children. Food for sad thought is furnished
in remembering that six hundred skeletons have been already exhumed ! — many
In such positions and circumstances as to suggest very touching episodes
accompanying the final catastrophe. Of the family of Diomed, seventeen persons
were stifled in a wine cellar well stocked with amphora; of wine, some of which bore
the date of the vintage. The fugitives. In their agony J3f fear, stood all huddled In
a corner. One swooning girl fell forwards on to the bed of ashes that had drifted
In. She left the Impress of her bosom in the drift like a seal in softened wax.

An interesting little circumstance Is connected with one of these houses.
The skeleton of a dove was found in a niche overlooking the garden. Like the
sentinel, she had kept to her post, sat on her nest through all the storm, and
from beneath her was taken the ^gg she would not leave.

Jewels were found in the atrium of Proculus's house, but no money was
discovered. Those bearing it had escaped. Perhaps not far ; for a woman was
unearthed in the street hard by, who had fallen clutching a bag of gold. It was
in connection with this woman that one of the most interesting of M. Florelli's
discoveries came about. He had often noticed in crumbling off the hardened
ashes from the outworks of a skeleton, that the mass still bore a cast of the body and
limbs of the victim while In the flesh. It will be remembered, that at the eruption
ashes fell like a snowdrift upon everything, succeeded by sulphurous showers and
torrents of mud. Those persons, therefore, who succumbed In the street or other
open places were completely enveloped. The drift shrouded them with a clinging

DISCOVERIES OF SKELETONS.

garment of scoriae and sulphurous rain intermingled, which took the exact mould
and impress of their forms in the attitude and terrors of the last supreme moment.
Evaporation hardened and petrified this mass and kept it in shape. The fleshly
body within the mould crumbled away with lapse of time, but the tell-tale cavity
remained intact. And it is perfect to this day. Now M.. Fiorelli's object was to
get access to one of these hollows without injuring the crust. This he did in
the case of the woman just mentioned. Having cut away the scoriae as near
as could safely be done, a small aperture was made, into which liquid plaster-of-
Paris was poured till the whole cavity was filled up. When it had thoroughly
hardened, he and his assistants carefully removed the last crust of ashes, and lo !
the perfect cast and model of a woman came out. After eighteen centuries the

ATRIUM OF HOUSE OF PANZA, RESTORED.

dead form lay manifest — the exact counterpart of the poor victim, moulded by
herself, as she fell struggling with the grim destroyer. She gripped a bag of money
and other valuables in her hand. Hurrying along the street, she had tripped and
fallen on her left side. Her arm is raised and twisted. The hand, beautifully
formed, is clutched as if in despair : you would say the nails were entering the skin.
As for the body, it is drawn together ; but the legs, which are perfectly moulded,
seem to be thrust out as if battling with the encroaching death. Her head-dress
is clearly distinguishable. The very tissue of her garments is seen, and indeed
in parts the linen threads have stuck to the mould. She had two silver rings on
her finger, and to judge from appearances must have been a lady of some rank.
Succeeding in this, M. Fiorelli made casts of others of the slain. There was
one of a mother and daughter who had apparently fallen together in the street.
The bodies lay close, the legs crossing. The plaster has united them in one cast.

LESSONS FROM POMPEII.

The signs of suffering are not so manifest here as in the other case. They were
apparently poor people. Tiie mother (if it were the mother) has on her finger an
iron ring. Her left leg is drawn up as if with a spasm of pain. As for the young
girl, her form perfectly modelled without any rigidness, in the flush and bloom of
hearty youth — fifteen, perhaps little more than a child — impresses the beholder
with mournful interest. She seems, poor thing, not to have struggled much for
hfe. One of her hands is half open, as if holding something, perhaps the veil that
she had torn off. The texture of her dress is exactly reproduced, the stiches even,
and the sleeves that reach to her wrist. Several rents and holes here and there
show the flesh beneath. The needlework on her sandals is there, and in fact you
have in plaster the very counterpart of the girl just as she lay in the last swoon

CASTS OF DEAD BODIES OF TWO WOMEN.

seventy years after Christ. You have taken Death in the very act. She had
covered her face with her tunic to keep out the choking ashes, and she fell in
running, face to the ground. No strength was left to get up again. But in the
effort to save her young life she put out her arm, and her head drooped upon it,
and then she died. The engraving is from a photograph of these two women.
It has been calculated that two thousand persons perished in Pompeii in
the terrible eruption which overwhelmed the city. We know that the great
Apostle of the Gentiles had landed only a few miles away about twelve years
before. Whether from his lips or by other means, any among them had heard
the words of eternal life we cannot tell. Into the dark and mysterious future
which awaited them beyond the grave we cannot look. But we may apply to
ourselves the warning which our Lord deduced from a yet more terrible catas-
trophe. He teaches us that responsibility is proportioned to privilege, that to

RUINS OF P^ESTUM.

whomsoever much has been given, from them much shall be required. Reminding
those who saw His mighty works and heard His gracious words of the terrible
judgment of fire which had overwhelmed the cities of the plain, He warned them
that a doom even more fearful awaited those who continued impenitent under
the ministry of the gospel.

About forty miles beyond Pompeii are the ruins of Psestum, of which a
writer so little given to enthusiasm as Forsyth says : " Taking into view their

TKMPLE OF VESTA AT P^STUM.

immemorial antiquity, their astonishing preservation, their grandeur, their bold
columnar elevation, at once massive and open, their severe simplicity of design,
that simplicity in which art generally begins, and to which after a thousand
revolutions of ornament it again returns ; taking, I say, all into one view, I do not
hesitate to call these the most impressive monuments that I ever beheld on earth."
The route thither is one of rare interest and beauty. The railroad as far as
Vietri winds along a valley from which the mountains rise in grand and massive
forms. Picturesque towns and villages — La Cava, Nocera, and others— are
passed. A rapid stream, turning innumerable waterwheels, gives diversity to

AMALFL

the scene. A rich semi-tropical vegetation extends far up the mountain sides
The inhabitants, as yet little affected by the tide of tourists which the railway

AMALKt, FROM THE TKRRACE OK THK SUl'l'RESSEI) CONVENT.

brings, retain their old usages and old costumes almost unchanged. Here, as
throughout the Maremma, labourers from the Abruzzi may be seen celebrating

VIRGIL'S tomb and the grotto of POSILIPPO, near NAPLES.

AMALFI AND PAiSTUM.

the ingathering of the harvest with songs and dances which have come down
from a remote antiquity, and bear unmistakable traces of the pagan festivities
in honour of Bacchus and Ceres.

At Vietri the Gulf of Salerno is reached, and the broad blue Mediterranean
opens before us. From this point a charming road winds along the coast to the
right leading to Amalfi. It resembles in its general features the finest parts of the
Riviera, between Nice and Genoa ; but even the famous Corniche Road falls far
short of it in grandeur. Even in this district of Elysian beauty I know of nothing
so beautiful. He who has seen the sun rise or set from the terrace of the old
Capuchin convent on the heights above Amalfi will never forget the glory of the
scene. Mountains on one side, the Mediterranean on the other, between them
a zone of rocky headlands and silver sands, groves of orange and citron, with

" A i^'ff white villages
Scattered above, below, some in the clouds,
Some on the margin of the dark blue sea,
And glittering in the lemon-groves, announce
The region of Amalfi,"

Psestum stands, or rather stood, across the bay, and may be reached either
by boat or by returning to Vietri, and proceeding thence through Salerno.
The approach by sea is most impressive. The temples stand in solitary, solemn
grandeur. The city above which they rose has disappeared. A few poor houses
inhabited by peasants are all the dwellings that occupy the site of Poseidonia,
the once powerful and wealthy city of Neptune. Massive walls built of huge
blocks of travertine, with their towers and gateways almost entire, enclose a vast
empty space, which at the dawn of modern history was thronged with busy life.
The marshy soil now reeks with malaria. The port is choked up with mud and
sand. Herds of buffaloes wander to and fro across the waste, and add to the
desolation of the scene. Three stately temples — the most perfect relics of
Greek architecture except those of Athens — are all that remain to attest the
magnificence which existed here when Rome was but an unwalled village.

The origin of Poseidonia is lost in a remote antiquity. In the wars with
Pyrrhus it fell under the power of the Romans. But so fondly did its inhabitants
cherish the memory of their departed greatness that an annual fast was kept
to bewail their fallen state. Sacked by the Saracens in the ninth century, and
its ruins plundered by the Normans, two centuries later, to build the cathedral
of Salerno, it has gradually crumbled into dust and disappeared.

Returning from Naples to Rome, the traveller passes through a district of
the deepest interest. Almost every town and village has been the scene of some
memorable event, or is associated with some illustrious name. The railway
runs through or near Capua, Monte Cassino, with its famous monastery, Alatri,
Aquino, Arpino, Velletri, and other towns, familiar as " household words " to
classical students. The post-road crosses the Pontine Marshes, following the

NA PLES TO RO ME.

line of the old Appian Way, and passes through Foro Appio, which has
retained its name almost unchanged from apostolic times.

The coast-line is studded with the remains of Roman villas. Those about
Gaeta are especially interesting. Virgil, Horace, and Cicero have described the
scenery and celebrated the pleasures of residence here. Local antiquaries, with

FOUNTAIN AT MOLA Dl GAETA, WITH THE BAY AND CASTLE.

great plausibility, have identified it with one of the most familiar incidents in
the Odyssey — that in which Ulysses meets the daughter of the king of the
Laestrygonians ; and Virgil makes it the scene of the death and burial of the
nurse of ^neas. In modern times the Castle of Gaeta has been the strongest
fortress of the Bourbon kings of Naples; and here, in 1850, Pius ix. found
refuge on his flight from Rome.

FLORENCE, PISA, AND GENOA.

yj.'pH^j^i^i;, fip^, ^jjp <\m<)^-

FEW cities in the world combine more numerous
and more varied sources of interest than
Florence. Seated on the banks of the Arno, and
surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains, it
possesses natural beauties of no common order :

" Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps
Her corn and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps
To laughing life, with her redundant horn.
Along the banks, where smiling Arno sleeps,
Was modem Luxury of Commerce born,
And buried Learning rose redeemed to a new morn."

Its public edifices — churches, palaces, campaniles, bridges — were designed or
adorned by the greatest artists of the renaissance, and are worthy of the genius
of their builders. The treasures of art in the Pitti and Uffizi galleries may
vie with those of Rome, and in some respects surpass them. The historical
associations of Florence are of the deepest interest, abounding in stirring
incidents and fruitful in political lessons. Amongst her citizens are enrolled
some of the greatest names of Europe — Savonarola, Dante, Boccaccio, Giotto,
Fra Angelico, Michael Angelo, Galileo, the Medici, Macchiavelli, with a host
of others eminent in art, science, literature, philosophy, and religion. And
if Rome be the ecclesiastical and political, Florence may justly claim to be
the intellectual capital of Italy.

Amongst the many magnificent views of the city, the Val d'Arno, and the
surrounding Apennines, afforded by the hills which rise above Florence, it is

i6i

FLORENCE, FROM SAN MINI A TO.

difficult to say which is the finest. Two or three hnger in the memory as of
unsurpassed beauty. Stand on the terrace of San Miniato before sunrise on
a winter's morning. Through the clear, keen frosty air the snow-crowned
mountains stretch away to the horizon on every side. Along the valley " the
river glideth at his own sweet will." The city, with its domes, and towers, and
belfries, seems sleeping in stately beauty. Then a flush of light and colour
gleams upon the cold white summits of the mountains as the sun rises above
the horizon. The grey tones of the landscape disappear in the bright morning
light, except where the olive groves retain them ; and even here innumerable
white-walled villas relieve the sombre hue. The marbles of Giotto's wonderful
campanile flash and sparkle in the morning light. The faint veil of mist
which lay over the Arno disappears, and the river flows on rejoicingly. Songs

■:::^^:'"^^k^<m.

W^ ■

W^"-'

AVENUE IN BOBOLI GARDKNS.

and laughter resound from the peasantry flocking into the city with their
country produce. Enchanted with the view, we pronounce with emphasis the
name by which every Florentine calls his beloved city, Firenze la bella.

Different, but very beautiful, is the view from the Boboli Gardens. They
lie behind the Palazzo Pitti, formerly the palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany,
and the residence of the king during the few years that Florence was the capital
of Italy. Long avenues of trees, walks between thick, high walls of box and
other evergreens, terraces, grottoes, waterfalls, lakes, statues, and parterres gay
with flowers cover the hill-side. They have something of the formal and
artificial style of gardening which prevailed at the time when they were designed
(1550); but the rich, luxuriant vegetation and the undulations of the ground
prevent the appearance of stifl'ness, and secure a charming variety. To lie on

FLORENCE, FROM THE BOBOLI GARDENS AND FIESOLE.

a sultry afternoon under the cool green shade of some mighty forest tree, whilst
the air is filled with the sound of falling waters, and the song of birds, and the
fragrance of the flowers from which Florence takes its name, affords a most
agreeable experience of the dolce far niente in which the Italian delights. The
city is seen through a line of solemn cypresses which stand out against the
dazzling walls and towers beyond. The Apennines, dotted over with monas-
teries and churches, towns and villas, form a noble background to the whole.

But perhaps the view from the Villa Nicolini, or that from Fiesole, would
enlist the greatest number of admirers. And certainly nothing can be finer than
the city and the Val d' Arno as seen from either of these points, especially in the
evening when the long shadows stretch across the landscape and all nature is

GROTTO IN BOBOLI GARDL.\o.

sinking into repose. Even Hallam, usually so cold and precise, glows into
eloquent enthusiasm as he describes the view from the gardens of a villa built
by the elder Cosmo (now known as the Villa Spence, after its English occupant).
He is speaking of Lorenzo the Magnificent, whose favourite residence it was :

" In a villa overhanging the towers of Florence, on the steep slope of that
lofty hill crowned by the mother city, the ancient Fiesole, in gardens which
Tully might have envied, with Ficino, Landino, and Politian at his side, he
delighted his hours of leisure with the beautiful visions of Platonic philosophy,
for which the summer stillness of an Italian sky appears the most congenial
accompaniment.

" Never could the sympathies of the soul with outward nature be more
finely touched ; never could more striking suggestions be presented to the
philosopher and the statesman. Florence lay beneath them, not with all the

i6s

FLORENCE IN THE DA VS OF THE MEDICI.

magnificence that the later Medici have given her, but, thanks to the piety of
former times, presenting alm'ost as varied an outHne to the sky. One man, the
wonder of Cosmo's age, Brunelleschi, had crowned the beautiful city with the
vast dome of its cathedral, a structure unthought of in Italy before, and rarely
since surpassed. It seemed, amidst clustering towers of inferior churches, an
emblem of the Catholic hierarchy under its supreme head. Round this were

FLORENCK, FRONf THE I'ORl A SAN MCOT-0.

numbered, at unequal heights, the Baptistery, with its gates worthy of Paradise ;
the tall and richly decorated belfry of Giotto ; the church of the Carmine, with
the frescoes of Masaccio, those of Santa Maria Novella, beautiful as a bride,
of Santa Croce, second only in magnificence to the cathedral, and of St. Mark ;
the San Spirito, another great monument of the genius of Brunelleschi ; the
numerous convents that rose within the walls of Florence, or were scattered
immediately about them. From these the eye might turn to the trophies of
a republican government that was rapidly giving way before the citizen prince

FLORENCE IN THE DAYS OF THE MEDICI.

who now surveyed them ; the Palazzo Vecchio, in which the signiory of Florence
held their councils raised by the Guelph aristocracy, the exclusive but not
tyrannous faction that long swayed the city ; or the new and unfinished palace
which Brunelleschi had designed for one of the Pitti family, before they fell,
as others had already done in the fruitless struggle against the house of Medici,
itself destined to become the abode of the victorious race, and to perpetuate,
by retaining its name, the revolutions that had raised them to power.

" The prospect from an elevation of a great city in its silence is one of
the most impressive as well as beautiful we ever behold. But far more must
it have brought home seriousness to the mind of one who, by the force of
events, and the generous ambition of his family, and his own, was involved in
the dangerous necessity of governing without the right, and as far as might be
without the semblance of power ; one who knew the vindictive and unscrupulous
hostility which, at home and abroad, he had to encounter. If thoughts like
these could bring a cloud over the brow of Lorenzo, unfit for the object he
sought in that retreat, he might restore its serenity by other scenes which his
garden commanded. Mountains bright with various hues, and clothed with

wood, bounded the horizon, and, on most sides, at no great distance ; but

.67

ILLUSTRIOUS FLO REN TINE S.

embosomed in these were other villas and domains of his own ; while the level
country bore witness to his agricultural improvements, the classic diversion of
a statesman's cares. The same curious spirit which led him to fill his garden
at Careggi with exotic flowers of the East— the first instance of a botanical
collection in Europe — had introduced a new animal from the same regions.
Herds of buffaloes, since naturalized in Italy, whose dingy hide, bent neck,
curved horns, and lowering aspect contrasted with the greyish hue and full mild
eye of the Tuscan oxen, pastured in the valley down which the yellow Arno
steals silently through its long reaches to the sea."'-'

Local tradition points to this villa just below Fiesole as that to which

Lorenzo retired in his last illness, and was
visited at his own request by Savonarola, t
The accounts of what passed in the death-
chamber are somewhat contradictory and
vague. This much, however, is certain,
that Savonarola insisted upon the ne-
cessity of faith and repentance, adding
that they must bring forth fruits in those
who truly feel them, and that justice is
the firstfruit of all true faith. He there-
fore insisted upon the dying man making
such restitution as he could to those
whom he had wronged during his life.
One account says that Lorenzo gave all
the evidence of sincerity which was re-
quired, and that Savonarola prayed with

SAVONAROLA, AFTER THE PORTRAIT IN SAN MARCO.

him, and gave him his blessing. The
other narrative afiirms that he turned his
face to the wall in sullen silence, and after waiting for a while, Savonarola
left the room to return no more.

The convent of San Marco, in which Savonarola lived during his protracted
conflict with Rome, stands almost unchanged from his day. The walls are
covered with exquisite frescoes by Era Angelico, an artist of so devout a spirit
that he is said always to have painted on his knees. In the cell occupied by
Savonarola are shown his Bible, the margin filled with annotations in his own
hand, and a volume of his sermons. The writing is remarkably small and
delicate, contrasting strangely with the vehement and passionate style of his
eloquence. The following extracts from his sermons will serve to illustrate
the severity of his invectives against the corruptions of the papal church, and
his clear perception of the main truths of the gospel :

* Hallam's History of Literature.

f In this case local tradition appears to be at fault. It was in his neighbouring villa at Careggi,
just outside the Porta San Gallo, that the interview took place.

i68

SAVONAROLA.

" The primitive church was constructed of living stones, Jesus Christ
Himself being the chief corner-stone. It was then a very heaven upon earth.
Now, alas ! how changed the scene ! The devil, through the instrumentality
of wicked prelates, has destroyed this temple of God. The church is shaken
to its foundations. No more are the prophets remembered ; the apostles are
no longer reverenced ; the columns of the church strew the ground because the
foundations are destroyed— in other words, because the evangelists are rejected.
The teachers who should preach the gospel to the people are no longer to be
found. The church, once so justly honoured, has been remoulded by wicked
prelates and rulers into a church according to their own fashion. This is the
modern church. It is not built with living stones. Within it are not found
Christians rooted in that living faith which works by love. In outward cere-
monies it is not deficient. Its sacred rites are celebrated with splendid
vestments, rich hangings, golden candelabra, and chalices encrusted with gems.
You may see its prelates at the altar arrayed in jewelled vestments stiff with
gold, chanting beautiful masses, accompanied vnth such voices, such music, that
you are astonished. You cannot doubt that they are men of the utmost holiness
and gravity. You cannot suppose that such men can be in error ; and are ready
to believe that whatever they say or do must be right as the gospel itself But
on such husks as these its members are fed. Yet they say that the church of
Christ was never so flourishing as now. The primitive bishops are declared
to have hardly deserved the name in comparison with the men who now bear it.
It is true. They were poor and humble men, who could not boast of great
revenues and rich abbeys, like their successors. They had neither mitres nor
chalices of gold. If they had them, they were ready to sacrifice them for the
necessities of the poor ; whereas the bishops now-a-days extort from the poor
the meagre pittance which their necessities require, in order to purchase these
splendours. In the primitive church the chalices were of wood, the bishops of
gold. Now the church has prelates of wood and chalices of gold. St. Thomas
Aquinas was one day addressed by a great prelate like those I have been
describing, who held in his hands two golden basins full of ducats. 'See,'
said he, * Master Thomas, the church can no longer say. Silver and gold have
I none.' 'True,' replied he, * neither can it use the words which follow : In
the name of Jesus of Nazareth, rise up and walk.' Rise, Lord, and liberate
Thy church from the power of demons and tyrants, from the hands of wicked
prelates. Hast Thou forgotten Thy church ? Dost Thou no longer hear ? She
is still Thy bride. She is still the same for which Thou didst humble Thyself,
and assume our nature, and suffer reproach and shed Thy blood upon the cross.
Come, Lord, for her deliverance — come and punish those godless men ; con-
found and humble them, that we may peaceably serve Thee."

The effect of such apostrophes and appeals as these, delivered with impas-
sioned fervour to an enthusiastic and excitable Italian audience, may be imagined.
We can easily understand how readily such an audience would respond to them.

ILLUSTRIOUS FLORENTINES.

The following passage, in a very different style, is from the same course of
sermons. He has been descanting on the inability of the unregenerate soul to
comprehend the love of Christ, or " to participate in the feeling which prompted
Paul to exclaim, * I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge
of Christ Jesus my Lord.' " " I will cheerfully endure all things for the sake
of that redeeming love which makes all other things sweet and pleasant
to me. This is sufficient for me, and fills up all my desires. This is

my exceeding great reward. If I
possessed all the world, but had no
part in Christ, I should be utterly
destitute. But if I possess Thee,
O my Saviour, and nothing else be-
sides, I possess in Thee everything ;
because Thou art * all, and in all.'
In Thee is the sum of all good ; out
of Thee is no real good. In Thee
are riches incorruptible and eternal ;
in Thee honour and glory true and
imperishable ; in Thee health and
beauty free from change or decay ;
in Thee is knowledge without error,
pleasure without bitterness, light
without darkness, life without death,
good without admixture of evil.
Truly it is good for me to draw nigh
unto God. I give myself, O blessed
Jesus, for ever unto Thee."

We cannot wonder that, under
such rulers as the church then had,
the fearless preacher was persecuted
to the death. He was strangled and
burnt in the Piazza del Gran Duca,
in front of the Palazzo Vecchio and
the court of the Signiory, where he had for some years before exercised such
a mighty influence over the Florentines."' •

In the long list of illustrious Florentines, the name of Dante holds the first
place. He, like Savonarola, thundered out his denunciations of the corruptions
of the Papacy, and like him, too, endured the bitterness of persecution and exile.
Though living six centuries ago, his birthplace is still pointed out ; and the stone
bench on which he used to sit is an object of reverential pride to his fellow-
citizens. It is in the Piazza del Duomo, and looks upon the cathedral, the

* For details of the life and martyrdom of this illustrious man, see a biographical tract published
by the Religious Tract Society, entitled Savonarola^ the Florentine Reformer.
170

THE PALAZZO VECCHIO.

DANTE.

Campanile of Giotto, and the Baptistery. His portrait by Giotto has recently
been discovered on the walls of the Bargello. It represents a face of singular
delicacy, beauty, and force. Though some doubts have been thrown upon its
authenticity, the general current of opinion is strongly in favour of its being a
genuine and original portrait of the great poet. Driven into banishment by his
foes, he endured, as he tells us, the hard-
ship of climbing the stairs of strangers,
and the bitterness of eating the bread of
patrons. Buried at Ravenna, his country-
men, repenting of their hostility, begged
that his ashes might be restored to them :
but their prayers were refused. How
fondly he cherished the memory of his
birthplace is evident on almost every page
of his great poem ; for amidst his denuncia-
tion of the follies and vices of the Floren-
tines, he dwells with loving minuteness on
all the details of the varied scenery and
architecture of the ungrateful city which
had cast him forth.

Dante may justly be classed with Sa-
vonarola among " the Reformers before the
Reformation." Not content with scourging
the vices of the clergy, the corruptions of
the church, and the worldly ambition of the
pontiffs, he displays considerable knowledge
of the Scriptures, and of evangelical truth
in its scholastic forms. Thus, in the 7th canto of the Paradiso, Beatrice is
represented as explaining the mode of redemption by the atonement of Christ :

" Adam, submitting not that God should place

A salutary curb upon his will,

Condemned himself, and with him all his race ;
Who thence, infirm and weak, e'en from their birth.

For ages lay in error grovelling, till

The Word of God descended upon earth.
Then was the nature, that rebellious strove

Against its Maker, to His person joined

By the sole act of His eternal Love."

There was no way of ransom and restoration save by the exercise of Divine mercy
and Divine justice. The exercise of mercy alone would have left just punish-
ment unfulfilled ; the exercise of justice would have involved all mankind in
merciless misery.

"Behoved it then that God should lead again
His creature to pure life by his own ways : —
Either I say by one, or by the twain (Justice and Mercy).

PORTRAIT OF DANTE.

(From the Picture by Giotto.)

ILL US TRIO US FLORENTINES.

But, since the work is deemed of greater worth
The more the Agent's goodness it displays,
And manifests the heart that gave it birth,

The Good Supreme, whose stamp benign on all
His works is written, chose the twofold way
Your fallen race from misery to recall.

Nor in the one or other, since the time
The first sun shone unto the latest day,
Hath been, or shall be, project so sublime. —

Giving Himself a ransom for mankind.
His bounty God more evidently showed
Than if He merely had a pardon signed.

And every other mode had wholly failed,
As short of Justice, if the Son of God
Had not in flesh His God-head humbly veiled."

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lOMH OF DANTE AT RAVENNA.

Amongst the most illustrious of Florentines was Michael Angelo. Painter,
sculptor, architect, civil and military engineer, and poet, he was one of the most
variously accomplished men who ever lived ; and In every one of these depart-
ments he was great. Nothing that came forth from his hands was mean or
poor. His faults were those of superabundant strength and force. St. Peter's
at Rome Is one amongst the many buildings which display his power as an

architect. The paintings In the Sistine Chapel have already been referred to
as illustrations of his genius as a painter. As a sculptor he is perhaps un-
rivalled since the palmy days of Greece and Rome. In the great engineering
works of his time his advice and co-operation were eagerly sought, both in peace
and war. That he is less known as a poet is mainly due to the fact that his
sonnets are often mystical in thought and obscure in expression. The following,
however, translated by Wordsworth, will show how pure and devout was the
spirit which pervaded his writings and was exemplified in his life :

" TO THE SUPREME BEING.

" The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,

If Thou the spirit give by which I pray :

My unassisted heart is barren clay,
Which of its native self can nothing feed :
Of good and pious works Thou art the seed,

Which quickens only where Thou say'st it may.

Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way,
No man can find it : Father ! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind

By which such virtue may in me be bred

That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of Thee,
And sound Thy praises everlastingly."

But the briefest possible summary of the lives of the illustrious men who
were Florentine by birth or adoption would demand a volume. We hasten to
mention some of the buildings which adorn the Athens of Italy. Chief among
its ecclesiastical edifices is the magnificent group composed of the Duomo, the
Campanile of Giotto, and the Baptistery. The interior of the cathedral is at
first view disappointing. The sombre, colourless walls, the dim light, and the
almost entire absence of enrichment or decoration, have a meagre effect. But
by degrees the simple purity of the lines, and the grand sweep of the dome,
impress the spectator. The richly jewelled windows, which are overlooked at
first from their smallness, soon attract the eye and add to the general eftect.
The dome, which is the largest in the world, suggested that of St. Peter's. As
Michael Angelo passed it on his way to undertake the erection of the great
basilica at Rome, he is reported to have looked up to it and said, " Like you
I will not be ; better I cannot be."

At one corner of the cathedral stands the Campanile of Giotto — the pride
of Florence. Mr. Ruskin has described it so admirably, that we cannot do
better than quote his words :

" The characteristics of Power and Beauty occur more or less in different
buildings, some in one and some in another. But altogether, and all in their
highest possible relative degrees, they exist, as far as I know, only in one
building in the world — the Campanile of Giotto, at Florence. ... I remember
well how, when a boy, I used to despise that Campanile, and think it meanly

THE CAMPANILE OF GIOTTO.

smooth and finished. But I have since lived beside it many a day, and looked
out upon it from my windows by sunlight and moonlight, and I shall not soon
forget how profound and gloomy appeared to me the savageness of the Northern
Gothic, when I afterwards stood, for the first time, beneath the front of Salisbury.
The contrast is indeed strange, if it could be quickly felt, between the rising of
those grey walls out of their quiet swarded space, like dark and barren rocks
out of a green lake, with their rude, mouldering, rough-grained shafts, and triple
lights, without tracery or other ornament than the martins' nests in the height
of them, and that bright, smooth, sunny surface of glowing jasper, those spiral

THE nrOMO AND CAMI'AMl.K.

shafts and fairy traceries, so white, so faint, so crystalHne, that their slight
shapes are hardly traced in darkness on the pallor of the Eastern sky, that
serene height of mountain alabaster, coloured like a morning cloud, and chased
like a sea-shell. And if this be, as I believe it, the model and mirror of perfect
architecture, is there not something to be learned by looking back to the early
life of him who raised it ? I said that the Power of human mind had its growth
in the Wilderness; much more must the love and the conception of that beauty,
whose every line and hue we have seen to be, at the best, a faded image of
God's daily work, and an arrested ray of some star of creation, be given chiefly
in the places which He has gladdened by planting there the fir tree and the

ECCLESIASTICAL EDIFICES OF FLORENCE.

pine. Not within the walls of Florence, but among the far-away fields of her
lilies, was the child trained who was to raise that headstone of Beauty above
her towers of watch and war. Remember all that he became ; count the sacred
thoughts with which he filled the heart of Italy ; ask those who followed him
what they learned at his feet ; and when you have numbered his labours, and
received their testimony, if it seem to you that God had verily poured out
upon this His servant no common nor restrained portion of His Spirit, and
that he was indeed a king among the children of men, remember also that the
legend upon his crown was that of David's : ' I took thee from the sheepcote,
and from following the sheep.' "

Across the square in front of the Cathedral and Campanile, is the Baptistery
of St. John. The Florentines affirm that it was originally a temple dedicated
to Mars, but admit that little remains of the pagan edifice beyond the general
design. It is, however, not older than the seventh century, though some of
the columns may be of an earlier date. The mosaics of the floor and ceiling,
and the frescoes round the walls, have a very striking effect. But the glory
of this edifice are its great bronze doors, one of which, engraved on the opposite
page, was so admired by Michael Angelo, that he declared it worthy to be the
Gate of Paradise.

Of the other churches of Florence, only a few can be mentioned here,
Santa Croce is the Westminster Abbey of the Florentines. Here are monu-
ments to Michael Angelo, Aretino, Galileo, Dante, Filicaja, Raphael, Morghen,
Macchiavelli, Alfieri, Melloni, and many others. The church of San Lorenzo is
chiefly famous for its Medicean Chapel, lined with the richest marbles, jasper,
agate, lapis-lazuli, and other precious stones ; and for the Sacristy, containing the
monuments erected to the Medici by Michael Angelo. The colossal figures
of Morning and Evening, and Day and Night, with the life-size statues of
Giuliano and Lorenzo de' Medici, deserve all the praise which has been lavished
upon them, and are alone sufficient to establish the reputation of Michael Angelo
as one of the very greatest sculptors the world has seen. Santa Maria Novella,
in addition to the treasures of art which it contains, is interesting from its
connection with the Decameron of Boccaccio. The Annunziata is a blaze of
colour from its paintings, marbles, precious stones, and its altars covered with
gold and silver. These are but a few of the ecclesiastical edifices in Florence,
each of which is noteworthy from its historical associations, its architectural
merits, or the works of art it contains.

The secular edifices of Florence are interesting, more from their historical
associations than their architectural merits. The Palazzo Vecchio was erected
in 1298 for the Gonfaloniere and Magistracy of the Republic. For many ages
it formed the centre of the political life of the Florentines. A magnificent '
staircase leads from the court up to the vast hall in which Savonarola convened
the citizens in his futile attempts to restore their ancient liberties. This hall,
much mutilated, was used for the meeting of the Italian deputies until the

THE PIAZZA BELLA SIGNORIA.

removal of the capital to Rome. In front of the Palazzo Vecchio, in the Piazza
della Signoria, and in the Loggia dei Lanzi, stand some of the finest statues in
Florence. Here are the David of Michael Angelo,* the Perseus of Benvenuto

COURT OF THE PALAZZO VIXCHIO.

Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines by John of Bologna, and other works of art of
world-wide reputation. The David is thought by some to be Michael Angelo's
masterpiece. The youth has just confronted the Philistine. His nostrils and

* Recently removed, with questionable taste, to San Miniato.

178

THE FITTI AND UFFIZI GALLERIES.

throat seem to swell with indignation at the blasphemies he hears. His whole
attitude expresses confidence in the victory he is about to gain, and yet a shade
of anxiety is passing across his face as he advances to the unequal conflict.

THE Ul'l-IZI, THE I'AI,A/./.0 VECC1IU1, AND STATUARY IN THE PIAZZA.

It is with a sense of surprise that visitors to Florence find works of genius
such as these standing in the open air, amidst the busy life of the people.

To describe the treasures of art in the Pitti and Uffizi galleries would
require a volume. They contain some thousands of statues, paintings, and

VALLOMBROSA.

mosaics. Of course in so vast a collection there are many of inferior merit,
but the proportion of these is less than in almost any other great gallery,
and the works of art which are recognised as masterpieces are very numerous.
The Venus de' Medici and Madonna deJla Sees^iola would alone suffice to
make the reputation of the gallery which contained them.

For years Florence has been the centre of evangelical activity in Italy.
After a period of bitter persecution under the Grand Ducal government, liberty
of worship is now enjoyed, and several Protestant congregations meet every
Lord's day. The Waldensian church has here its college for the training of
pastors. From the Claudian press, supported by funds contributed by the
Religious Tract Society and other friends in England and America, numbers of

CONVENT OF VALLOMUKOSA.

publications are spread throughout the peninsula. These include books, tracts,
periodicals — the Eco della Verita and Amico del Fanciulli — and an almanack,
the Amico di Casa^ containing a large amount of Scriptural truth.

Amongst the many charming spots in the neighbourhood of Florence, none
repays a visit more fully than Vallombrosa. The monastery, now suppressed,
is approached through forests of beech, chestnut, oak, and pine, with open
spaces of turf deliciously green, and steep walls of rock, which enclose the
shady valley {Val Ombrosd), from which it takes its name. Every English
visitor will remember the lines in Paradise Lost :

'* Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In ^^allombrosa, where Etrurian shades
High over arched embower."

PISA.

The accuracy of these lines Is confirmed by Beckford, who speaks of " the
showers of leaves which blew full in our faces as we approached the convent."
Indeed, Milton was intimately acquainted with Florence and its neighbourhood,
having resided here for some time, when he paid his memorable visit to Galileo.

Pisa, the ancient rival of Florence, has dwindled down into a small pro-
vincial town, less than a fifth of its former size. Grass-grown streets, and
vacant spaces within the walls, tell of past prosperity and present decay.
The city which equipped one hundred and twenty ships for the first crusade,
which reduced the Emperor Alexius to submission, which sent out an expedition
of three hundred vessels, thirty-five thousand men, and nine hundred horses,
for the conquest of the Balearic Islands, and which maintained mercantile
colonies throughout Greece, the Levant, and Asia Minor, has now a population
little exceeding twenty thousand persons.

When we remember the wealth, the power, and the glory of the Italian
cities, an inquiry into the causes of their decay becomes deeply interesting. It
was due in part to the incessant hostilities which raged among them. The
energy and genius which ought to have been employed for mutual advantage
were wasted in frantic efforts for mutual destruction. Neighbouring cities waged
war upon each other with insane fury, and each city was split up into hostile
camps. Guelphs and Ghibelines, Bianchi and Neri, deluged the streets with
each others' blood. The great families held their palaces as strongholds, fitted
either for attack or defence. Every man's house was his castle, in a sense very
different from that in which we understand the words. In Rome the Colosseum,
the Arch of Titus, the tombs of Hadrian and of Cecilia Metella, and the temples
of the gods, were turned into fortresses by the Frangipani, the Annibaldi. the
Orsini, and the Colonnas. Blood feuds, as causeless and as purposeless as an
Irish faction-fight, were handed down from father to son through successive
generations. Upon the languor caused by centuries of anarchy, there supervened
the benumbing influences of despotism. The cities and the factions which
emerged victorious from the strife crushed their rivals into the dust, whilst they
themselves yielded to the domination of some great family, to which they
surrendered their liberties as the price of revenge upon their enemies. It was
at this period of exhaustion that the discovery of the route to India by the Cape
deprived the Italian cities of the advantages of position which they had hitherto
enjoyed. The tide of commerce ebbed away from their shores and flowed into
other channels. Spain, Portugal, and England gained what Italy had lost. It
is a noteworthy coincidence, that at the very time when the unification of Italy
under the present government has terminated the intestine feuds of ages, the
opening of the Suez Canal should again restore to the peninsula her former
advantages of position, and carry past her shores the commerce of the East.

The remains of the ancient glories of Pisa are grouped together in one
"sacred corner." The Cathedral, the Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, the
Campo Santo, form a combination of buildings scarcely surpassed in interest

z8i

PISA.

and beauty by any in the world. The Cathedral was erected to commemorate
the victory of the Pisans 'over the Saracens in Sicily, in 1063. Having forced
an entrance into the harbour of Palermo, they carried off six large treasure-
ships, and devoted a large portion of the spoils to the construction of an edifice
which, "in the ecclesiastical architecture of Italy, remained for long not' only
unrivalled, but alone in its superiority."

The Campanile of the cathedral, better known as the Leaning Tower of
Pisa, was commenced about a century after the cathedral. It consists of eight
tiers of columns with semicircular arches, each tier forming a sort of arcade or

THE CATHEDRAL ANU CAMPANILE, I'lSA.

open gallery. The lower story is thirty-five feet high, the upper stories are each
about twenty feet, making together one hundred and seventy-nine feet. From
the summit a magnificent view is gained, extending to the Lucchese Hills
on the one side, and on the other far over the Mediterranean to Gorgona, or
even Corsica. The Pisans pretend that the deviation of the tower from the
perpendicular is a part of the original design, but it is manifestly due to the
sinking of the ground, from which the cathedral has also greatly suffered.

The Baptistery was commenced a few years before the Campanile, but
It remained unfinished for many generations, and seems not to have been
completed before the fourteenth century. This accounts for the mixture of

THE LEAJSlNi; TOWER, IMSA.

PISA.

architectural styles and a want of harmony In its ornamentation. A somewhat
unsightly cone rises from the dome and mars the general effect. But most
visitors will concur in the verdict of so competent a judge as Mr. Fergusson,
who says : ** Even as it is, the beauty of its details and the exuberance of its
ornaments render it externally a most captivating design, though internally it
possesses neither elegance of form nor beauty of any sort."

THE BAPTISTERY, PISA.

The Campo Santo lies between the Baptistery, the Duomo, and the
Campanile on one side, and the old city walls on the other. It was formed
by the Archbishop Ubaldo Lanfranchi, who on his expulsion from Palestine
by Saladin brought back with him fifty-three vessels laden with soil from the
traditional site of Calvary. A century and a half later the sacred earth was

i8s

PISA AND LEGHORN.

enclosed by John of Pisa. Giotto and other eminent artists were employed
to decorate the walls with frescoes. The paintings, however, have to a great
extent faded from the walls, and in many cases have peeled off altogether.
However interesting they may be to artists and art-students, they now possess
little attraction to the general visitor. The Campo Santo contains a large number
of Roman and mediaeval sarcophagi, as well as some modern monuments of
great merit.

Leghorn has inherited a great measure of the mercantile prosperity once

PUBLIC GARDENS AND ROADSTEAD OK LEGHORN.

enjoyed by Pisa. Under the wise commercial policy of the Tuscan government,
it rose from a small fishing village to a city containing 100,000 persons.
Its harbour is visited by the vessels of all nations, and in 1868 its merchant navy
was returned as 656 vessels, with a capacity of 38,028 tons. To the artist or
antiquarian it contains few objects of interest. It is, however, a lively and
prosperous city, contrasting very strikingly, in this respect, with the decayed and
poverty-stricken magnificence of the older capitals of Italy. A stroll along the
busy quays, with the blue waters of the Mediterranean rolling in upon the beach.

186

GENOA.

and the islands of Elba, Gorgona, Capraja, and Corsica faintly visible on the
horizon, forms a most agreeable change after a tour amongst the inland cities of
the peninsula.

Genoa, which was the rival and deadly enemy of Pisa in her prosperous
days, has continued to retain a large amount of commercial activity. In the
year 1868, nearly half the mercantile navy of Italy was Genoese.* Even this,
however, is a considerable falling off from the time when the merchant princes
of Genova la Supei'ba held the first place in the commerce of the world.

GENOA, FROM THE HKIGHTS.

The situation of the city is magnificent. Seen from the heights which rise
above it, or from the extremity of the Molo Nuova, It may bear comparison with
the view of Naples from the Castle of San Elmo or the Castel del Ovo.

The streets in the older parts of Genoa are very narrrow and steep, being
seldom wide enough to admit a wheel-carriage, and the houses are so high as
only to show a slender strip of blue sky. This mode of building has advantages
in a hot climate, securing constant shade and comparative coolness, but it has
a mean appearance ; and the visitor who has been impressed by the distant

* The exact figures were as follows :
Genoa — Sailing Vessels, 1,832 ; tons, 351,157.
All Italy— „ 17,690; ,, 792,430-

^■;teamers, 59 ; tons, 13,378 ;
98; „ 23,091;

horse-power, 7,439.
» 12,259.

187

GENOA.

view of the city is disappointed when he finds himself entangled in a labyrinth
of narrow lanes. There i's, however, one line of streets — the Strade Balbi,

THE ARSENAL, GENOA.

Nuovissima, and Nuova — which is unsurpassed in Europe. The marble palaces
of the old Genoese nobles rise in stately magnificence on either hand. They
are built with a central quadrangle, bright with fountains, flowers, and orange-

i83

GENOA.

groves, and open to the public view through a wide and lofty gateway. Of late
years, however, much of the effect has been lost from the fact that the lower
stories have been turned into shops and places of business.

The animosities which prevailed amongst the Itahan cities, the result of
long ages of internecine war, have been nowhere more bitter than in the case
of Genoa. To call a man a Genoese is still an opprobrious epithet throughout
Northern Italy. And a Tuscan proverb declares that Genoa has "a sea
without fish, mountains without trees, men without honour, and women without
modesty." These animosities are slowly but surely dying out under a united
national government. Of this a striking illustration has recently been given.
In front of the Dogana there hung, as a trophy of victory, a portion of the

ISLAND OK PALMARIA, OPPOSlTK LA SPEZIA.

massive chain which closed the port of Pisa, and which was carried off by
the Genoese, when, in 1290, under Conrad Doria, they crushed the Pisan
power, blocked up the harbour, and destroyed its commerce. These chains,
after a lapse of nearly six centuries, were restored to Pisa as a mark of amity,
when both were united under one national and constitutional government.

The shores of the Gulf of Genoa afford some of the finest coast scenery in
the wodd. Every reader of Rogers' Italy will remember his glowing description
of a moonlight sail from La Spezia, and every one who has travelled along the
Riviera from Nice will feel that it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to
exaggerate the beauty of the scene. For its full enjoyment, however, it is
necessary to follow the old Corniche road. The railway recently opened runs
too near the sea, and in many of the grandest points of view it plunges into

SCENERY OF THE GULF OF GEXOA.

tunnels, which tantalise the traveller by cutting off the glorious prospect at
the moment when he has caught but a glimpse of it. 7'he old road, for the
most part, traversed the sides of the mountains instead of burrowing into them,
and followed a much higher level, especially where the mountains come down to
the sea. A curious reason is assigned for this. It was one of the great military
roads constructed by Napoleon, in order to facilitate the movement of his armies
into Italy. But the British fleet having the command of the Mediterranean, it
was necessary that the French troops should be kept out of the range of our
artillery, so as to secure their safe and undisputed passage. Hence the seeming
paradox, that the maritime supremacy of England caused the construction of
the most picturesque drive in Europe.

MONACO.

190

NORTHERN ITALY.

STATUE OF BARTOLOMEO COLLEONI, VENICE.

^.pHTji^n]^ imY'

THE history of Venice is
legibly written in its build-
ines. As we leave the main-
land, and see the city rise
before us from the sea, we are
reminded of its foundation, in
the fifth century, by a band of
fugitives who sought safety
from the fury of barbarous in-
vaders amongst the islands of
this remote corner of the
Adriatic. The most heedless
tourist who glides in his gon-
dola through the intricate laby-
rinth of its canals, or stands
entranced before the splendours
of its cathedral, is conscious of
its unlikeness to any European
city he has ever seen before.
He may be unable to define

STRKET IN VENICE.

VENICE.

to himself the nature of its dissimilarity, still less may he be able to account
for it, but he feels it nevertheless. He has only to study its history to discover,
as Mr. Freeman points out, that " Venice is for our purpose no part of Italy,
no part of the dominions of the Western Emperor. It is a fragment of the
Empire of the East, which gradually became independent of the East, but
never admitted the supremacy of the West." The Oriental feeling^ which every-
where predominates reminds us that " once she did hold the glorious East in fee."
The marble lions which guard the entrance to the Arsenal were brought from

ON XHE GRAND CANAL.

the Piraeus when Venice held the keys of the Levant. The long succession of
palaces which line the canals were built by Doges famous in history, whose
names they bear and whose achievements they commemorate.

The entrance to Venice by railway is often and justly spoken of as poor and
commonplace as compared with the old approach by boat across the lagoon. It
has, however, the compensating advantage of sharp and sudden contrast. Before
the completion of the great bridge the visitor saw the city slowly and gradually
emerge into view. We became familiarized with it before we reached it.

THE PIAZZETTA.

Now, however, we step out from the station, with its bustle and confusion, the
shrieking of its enorines, and the clamour of its porters, into a city where cabs
and omnibuses, horses and carriages, are unknown ; where hearse-like gondolas
pass to and fro without a sound, where a sense of strangeness and mystery
broods over everything. The silence of Venice impresses me afresh however
often I visit it. In other commercial cities there is a roar of traffic in the
streets, a clatter of hoofs and rattle of wheels on the pavements. Here the
gondola glides along the waterways without a sound save the plash of the

THE PIAZZETTA.

oar or the sharp cry of the gondolier as he rounds a corner. Even in the
streets the same mysterious silence prevails, for they are so narrow that
no carriage can pass along them, and no quadruped bigger than a dog is
to be seen.

The first place to be visited, the last to be revisited, and which once seen will
live for ever in the memory like some gorgeous vision, is the Cathedral of St.
Mark. Leaving behind us the narrow streets, with their piles of houses huddled
confusedly together, and rising so high that they show but a riband of sky over-

THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. MARK

head, we find ourselves in a magnificent piazza, which looks even larger than
it is from its contrast with the rest of the city. " On each side countless arches
prolong themselves into ranged symmetry, as if the rugged and irregular houses
that pressed together above us in the dark alleys had been struck back into

196

THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. MARK.

sudden obedience and order, and all their rude casements and broken walls had
been transformed into arches, charged with goodly sculptures and fluted shafts
of delicate stone." In front of us rises a structure which is absolutely fairy-like
in its strange unearthly beauty. At first it seems to be a confused pile of domes,
and minarets, and recessed arches, columns of marble and alabaster, glowing
mosaics and grotesque carvings, heaped together in more than Oriental pro-
fusion and disorder. Gradually, the exquisite symmetry of the whole is
realized — a symmetry, however, like that of the works of nature, which admits

THE BRONZE )IORSES OF ST. MARK.

of infinite variety of detail, no part being a mere reproduction of any other part.
The impression produced by the exterior is renewed and confirmed by the
interior. For this I must again quote Mr. Ruskin : —

" The church is lost in a deep twilight, to which the eye must be accus-
tomed for some moments before the form of the building can be traced ; and
then there opens before us a vast cave, hewn out into the form of a cross, and
divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round the domes of its roof the
light enters only through narrow apertures like large stars ; and here and there a

199

VENICE.

COURTYARD OF DOGE's PALACE.

ray or two from some far away casement wanders into the darkness, and casts a
narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves of marble that heave and fall in a
thousand colours along the floor. What else there is of light is from torches, or
silver lamps, burning ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels ; the roof sheeted

VENICE.

with gold, and the polished walls covered with alabaster, give back at every
curve and angle some feeble gleaming to the flames ; and the glories round the
heads of the sculptured saints flash out upon us as we pass them, and sink again
into the gloom. Under foot and overhead, a continual succession of crowded
imagery, one picture passing into another, as in a dream ; forms beautiful and
terrible mixed together ; dragons and serpents, and ravening beasts of prey,
and graceful birds that in the midst of them drink from running fountains
and feed from vases of crystal ; the passions and the pleasures of human life
symbolized together, and the mystery of its redemption ; for the mazes of
interwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at last to the Cross, lifted
and carved in every place and upon every stone ; sometimes with the serpent
of eternity wrapt round it, sometimes with doves beneath its arms and sweet
herbage growing forth from its feet ; but conspicuous most of all on the great
rood that crosses the church before the altar, raised in bright blazonry against
the shadow of the apse. And although in the recesses of the aisles and
chapels, when the mist of the incense hangs heavily, we may see continually a
figure traced in faint lines upon their marble, a woman standing with her
eyes raised to heaven, and the inscription above her, * Mother of God,' she
is not here the presiding deity. It is the cross that first is seen, and always,
burning in the centre of the Temple ; and every dome and hollow of its
roof has the figure of Christ in the utmost height of it, raised in power, or
returning in judgment."

The history and the architecture of Venice have furnished materials for a
literature which would form a library of itself With the brief space at our
disposal, it is impossible to do more than glance at a few points of interest.
Towering above the cathedral is the Campanile, like a huge giant guarding the
fairy creation at its foot. Close by is the Doge's palace, with its noble courtyard
and its stately Scala, its wealth of architectural beauty, and its vast halls filled
with relics of bygone magnificence. Underneath, as though to illustrate the
strange admixture of splendid achievements with gloomy despotism which runs
throughout Venetian history, are the State prisons dug out below the bed of the
canal, their walls wet with ooze and slime, and into whose gloomy recesses no
ray of light can penetrate. In front of the Doge's palace is the Piazzetta, at the
end of which, facing the Giudecca, are the two famous columns brought from
Palestine when Venice was in its glory ; the one surmounted by the lion of
St. Mark, the other by St. Theodore standing on a crocodile. At the steps of
the Piazzetta we may take a gondola, and winding our way through the intricate
labyrinth of the canals beneath the Bridge of Sighs and the Rialto, passing an
endless succession of churches and palaces, we reach the open space in front of
SS. Giovanni e Paolo, where stands the equestrian statue of Bartolomeo
Colleoni, of which Mr. Ruskin says, with slight and pardonable exaggeration,
" I do not believe that there is a more glorious work of sculpture existing in the
world." A short distance further brings us to the Arsenal, now desolate and

VENICE TO VERONA.

silent, but once the centre and source of the naval supremacy of the republic,
when she claimed to be —

" A ruler of the waters and their powers ;

And such she was : — her daughters had their dowers

From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East

Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.

In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased."

The railway journey from Venice to Turin is through a district which
suggests a combination of Lincolnshire and Switzerland. The great plain of
\^enetia and Lombardy, flat as a bowling-green, and intersected by irrigation
ditches, reminds the traveller of the fen country. But through the sultry
quivering atmosphere of the plains we see the northern horizon bounded by
ranges of mountains with their glittering ice peaks and domes clothed with
eternal snows. Lest lovers of Italian scenery should think the comparison with
Lincolnshire too disparaging, it should be added that there is everywhere a
fulness of light, a glow of colour, and a frequent beauty and picturesqueness
of detail to which the dull grey monotone of the English landscape can
lay no claim. The historical student, too, will find interest In every stage of the
journey. Northern Italy may with even more justice than Belgium claim the
title of having been " the cockpit of Europe." From the time when Gothic and
Cimbric hordes, emerging from their mountain fastnesses, poured forth upon
the fertile plains at their feet to be confronted by the swords of the Roman
legionaries, down to the campaigns of Solferino and Custozza, few generations
have escaped the scourge of war.

Amongst the numerous cities between Venice and Milan which tempt the
passing traveller to halt for a while Verona stands prominent. The beauty of
Its situation. Its historical associations, the interest and importance of its buildings,
both secular and sacred, are unsurpassed even In Italy. Mr. Freeman sums up
In a few Impressive lines the memories of the past which linger around this grand
old city. '* There Is the classic Verona, the Verona of Catullus and Pliny ; there
is the Verona of the NIbelungen, the Bern of Theodoric ; there Is the Mediaeval
Verona, the Verona of commonwealths and tyrants ; the Verona of Eccelino and
Can Grande ; and there Is the Verona of later times, under Venetian, French, and
Austrian bondage, the Verona of congresses and fortifications." Foremost
amongst its architectural remains Is the grand Roman Amphitheatre, constructed
to accommodate 28,000 spectators, which Is so perfect that It might readily be
restored for Its original purpose, and Is still used as an open air theatre.
We enter through the arched doorways, and walk along the corridors, where
walked eighteen centuries ago Roman knights and senators ; we may take our
places in numbered seats reserved for the authorities, may trace the passages and
gateways from which rushed the wild beasts when the cry went up, " The
Christians to lions," and stand upon the very spot where gladiators were

TOMB OF THE SCALIGERS.

" butchered to make a Roman holiday." The traditions of the churches go back
to Charlemagne and Pepin, and the most critical of antiquaries admit that portions
of the existing structures are really of that early date. The tomb of the

TOMB OF THE SCALIGERS.

Scaligers suggested the design for the Albert Memorial at Kensington. Those
who " speak the tongue which Shakespeare spake" will look with special interest
on a tablet over the arch of a gateway leading into a gloomy courtyard on which

ao5

MILAN.

is carved a hat — the well-known badge of the Capulets, — and under it the
inscription, " From this house went forth that Juliet, sung by so many poets,
and bewailed by so many hearts."

Milan, architecturally, is more of a French than an Italian city. It lacks
the picturesqueness and variety and colour of Lombard and Venetian towns.
Its resemblance to Paris, which was remarked even by Montaigne, has greatly
increased in the last few years by the erection of brilliant, but stiff and formal
boulevards and arcades quite in Parisian style. Few ecclesiastical edifices in
Italy or in Europe awaken more general admiration than its cathedral. The
architectural purist complains of its irregularity of style and its bizarre orna-
mentation. Even to the untrained and uncritical eye it wants unity of effect.
The general impression is frittered away amid innumerable points of detail, with
no central mass to arrest and concentrate attention ; and yet there are not many
cathedrals in the world on which the ordinary tourist looks with more pleasure.
Its bewildering maze of pinnacles, each surmounted by a marble statue lifted up
against the bright transparent blue of an Italian sky, cannot be easily forgotten.
Far more impressive is it to pass from the blinding glare without into the solemn
gloom and " the dim religious light " of the interior. Lofty massive columns, with
richly sculptured capitals, majestic arches, " storied windows richly dight," the
broad sweep of the central nave leading up to the richly decorated altar, produce
a temporary feeling of solemnity even in the most frivolous. The view from
the roof is superb. The eye sweeps over the great Lombard plain, and rests on
. the magnificent ranges of mountains which form its northern boundary, from the
Pennine Alps on the west to those of Tyrol on the east. Conspicuous amongst
these is Monte Rosa, whose vast dome of snow, flushing into a delicious pink at
sunrise or sunset, is an object of surpassing beauty. On a perfectly clear day
the Ortler Spitz is distinctly visible.

Milan holds an important place in the early history of Christendom. Here,
in March, 312, Constantine issued his famous edict, proclaiming the victory of
Christianity over the paganism of preceding centuries. The edict of Milan,
giving sanction to the profession and practice of the Christian religion, was only
a public recognition of the victory already gained by the pure spiritual verities
of the gospel over the gross delusions of heathenism, which, indeed, was already
dying out by a process of natural and inevitable decay. A few years later,
Ambrose, then Bishop of Milan, enriched the Christian Church for all time by
the gift of his hymns and the example of his heroic fidelity. Every reader
of the " Confessions " of Augustine will remember that it was here, and under
the teachings of Ambrose, that the prayers of Monica on her son's behalf
were answered, that he was led to abjure his errors, and find peace in Christ.

Amongst the religious associations of Milan, the Last Supper, painted by
Leonardo da Vinci, must not be forgotten. Defaced though it has been by
ignorant and incompetent restorers, and fading from the walls as it now is, it yet
holds its place in the front rank of the world's great masterpieces. And so far

"THE LAST SUPPER,'" BY DA VINCI.

as religious impressiveness goes it has always seemed to me to surpass them all.
Many years ago, when I first saw it, the convent for whose refectory it was
painted was occupied by a regiment of Croat cavalry in the Austrian service.
Passing through the courtyard, which was a scene of reckless revelry and riot,
an aged curator opened a small door, giving entrance to the deserted hall, at
the end of which is the picture. The effect of the sudden transition from the
uproar outside to the solemn silence within was almost magical. One could

PINNACLES OF MILAN CATHEDRAL.

not but remember the Incident related by Beckford, when he was admitted to
the same spot by an aged monk, the last survivor of the confraternity who had
inhabited the convent. " I have seen," said the old man, " generation after
generation of brethren take their places at the table here, and then pass away,
but amid all those changes, the figures upon the wall there have looked down
upon us unchanged ; so I have come to feel that that is the reality, and that we
are but shadows."

TURIN.

There is not much in Turin to attract or detain the tourist. It has few
historical associations, and -little beauty or picturesqueness. Its streets, stiff,
heavy, and formal, run in straight lines, intersecting each other at right angles,
and enclosing huge square blocks of houses, which seldom offer any architectural
features. But the mountain scenery of the neighbourhood is seen to great
advantage from the city. A most striking effect is produced by looking down
a long line of streets to the snowy Alps beyond.

The Waldensian valleys are now easily accessible from Turin by a railway

STREhT l.N 11 KIM.

to Pignerol, whence a road, traversed by a diligence daily, takes the traveller to
La Tour, the capital of the district. It is situated at the entrance of the valley
of Lucerna or Val Pellice to the left, and of Angrogna to the right. Beyond
Angrogna, and parallel with it, but separated by a range of heights, is the valley
of Perouse, from which opens the valley of St. Martin. Beyond are the French
valleys, the scene of the self-denying labours of Felix Neff. The present extent
of the Waldensian valleys is about twenty-two miles in the greatest length, by
eighteen miles in breadth.

Even apart from the stirring historical associations which make every spot

jliiii.iiiLiiiilli

i!lli,lillllllli'i:!' ■ ' i!

THE WALDENSIAN C ALLEYS.

memorable, the home of the Vaudois well deserves and repays a visit. Nowhere
in the Alps is there to be found a more glorious combination of richness and
beauty in the lower valleys, and wild magnificence and sublimity in the higher
peaks and passes. Except at its upper extremity the mountains of the Val

MONTE VISO, FROM THE HEAD OF THE VAL PELLICE.

Angrogna are covered with wood up to their very summits, with bold masses of
rock rising from out the foliage into splintered peaks. The lower portion has
considerable patches of cultivated ground. The meadows are enamelled with the
white sweet-scented narcissus, gleaming like pearls on green velvet. Above are
vineyards ^nd little fields of rye or maize, intersected by groves of mulberry trees

THE WALDENSIAN VALLE YS.

for the silkworms ; while the dwellings of the peasant proprietors, with their
overhanging roofs and rude verandahs, rise amid the few acres they cultivate.

One cannot imagine a more delightful combination of wooded mountain,
and nestling hamlets, and craggy peaks, and, far beyond, those dazzling snows
which rise over all into the deep blue sky.

The early history of the Vaudois is involved in much obscurity. Even the
origin and meaning of their name cannot be positively determined. It is said
that in the earlier periods of their history they adopted some of the strange
tenets of the Cathari and Manicheans. This is possible ; but the charge rests

THE WALDENSIAN CHURCH AND COLLEGE OK LA TOUR.

upon no stronger evidence than the accusations of their bitter, unscrupulous
enemies. It is clear that when the attention of Europe was called to them at
the period of the Reformation, they held fast " the doctrine of the apostles and
prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner stone." This is proved
by one of their early confessions of faith, in which, after a list of the books of
Scripture, distinguishing them from the Apocrypha, it is added :

" The books above named teach thus much, that there is one God Almighty, wholly wise and
good, Who hath made all things by His goodness. For He created Adam according to
His own image and similitude ; but by the malice of the devil, and the disobedience of Adam,
sin entered into the world, and we are made sinners in Adam and by Adam.

THE IVALDENSES.

" That Christ was promised to our forefathers, who received the law, to the end that knowing their
sin by the law, and their unrighteousness and insufficiency, they might desire the coming of
Christ, to the end He might satisfy for their sins, and accomplish the law by Himself.

"That Christ was born at the time appointed by God the Father; that is to say, at a time when
all iniquity abounded, and not for our good works' sake only, for all were sinners, but to the
end He might offer His grace and mercy unto us.

" That Christ is our life, truth, peace, and justice, our Advocate, Pastor, Sacrifice, and
Sacrificer, Who died for the salvation of all who believe, and is raised again for our
justification.

"We do also firmly hold that there is no other Mediator and Advocate with God the Father,
but only Jesus Christ. And as touching the Virgin Mary, that she is holy, humble, and
full of grace ; and so do we believe of all the other saints, that they wait in heaven the
resurrection of their bodies, at the day of judgment.

" We do also believe that, after this life, there are only two places : the one for those that shall
be saved, the other for the damned, which we call paradise and hell ; denying altogether
purgator)', as being a dream of antichrist, and invented against the truth.

" We believe that the sacraments are outward signs of holy things, or visible forms of invisible
grace ; and are of opinion that it is good that the faithful do sometimes use those signs and
visible forms, if it may be done. But, nevertheless, we believe and do hold that the aforesaid
faithful may be saved, not receiving the said signs, when they want place or power to use them.

" We do not acknowledge any other sacrament but baptism and the eucharist.

" We do honour the secular power with all subjection, obedience, promptitude, and payment."

In the maintenance of these truths they endured a series of fearful and
bloody persecutions, which must have worn out the steadfastness of any whose
faith was not sustained by a more than human power. " Almost every rock is
a monument, every meadow has witnessed executions, every village has its roll
of martyrs." Interwoven with the story of their sufferings is that of their heroic
courage. The defences of Rora, and Angrogna, and Balsille, were marvellous
deeds of endurance and daring. Every visitor to La Tour must be struck by
the picturesque rock which rises behind the little town. This is Castelluzzo,
from which, on April 27, 1655, the signal was given to execute the orders of
Christina, regent of Savoy, who sent fifteen thousand soldiers to massacre
every Protestant the valleys contained ! Accordingly the Marquis Pianizza,
with his fifteen thousand men, broke into the valley of Lucerna, and the
massacre began. " They murdered the aged, and burned them in their beds.
They took the men and women, and cut their throats like sheep in a slaughter-
house. They took the infants by the heel, and brained them on the rocks ;
and one soldier, taking one limb of an infant they had torn from its mother's
breast, and another taking another limb, they tore the living creature asunder,
and smote the mother with the fragments of her own child. Tired of that
slow work, they drove the inhabitants up to the top of Castelluzzo, and stripping
them naked, tied them together, and rolled them over the precipice.

We cannot wonder that atrocities such as these stirred the heart of Europe
to an indignant protest against the persecutors. The Swiss Cantons, Great
Britain, Holland, Germany, Denmark, joined in a remonstrance so vehement,
that even the instruments of papal cruelty quailed before it. Cromwell pro-

THE WALDENSES.

claimed a fast throughout the United Kingdom, and ordered a collection to
be made for the survivors. This amounted to 30,000/. — a large sum in those
days — of which 2,000/. was contributed by the Protector himself. Sir Samuel
Morland was employed to carry out the instructions of Cromwell in the matter.
Milton, the Foreign Secretary of the Commonwealth, wrote a stern despatch
denouncing the crime, and commanding, in the name of the Parliament of
England, that these iniquities should cease.

The cry for mercy and vengeance that burst irrepressibly from many hearts
and lips throughout Protestant Europe is now being answered in a way which
could not then have been anticipated. The persecuted Christians of the valleys
are engaged in speaking the words of everlasting life to their old persecutors.
Every city, almost every village, in Italy is being visited by Waldensian
evangelists, who, carrying out the Divine command, " Love your enemies," are
conferring unspeakable blessings upon the descendants of those from whom their
ancestors suffered such frightful cruelties. The fields are white unto the harvest.
Already the firstfruits are being gathered in. " Pray ye therefore the Lord
of the harvest, that He will send forth labourers into His harvest."

ORPHAN ASYLUM IN THE WALDENSIAN VALLEYS.

216

J. AND W. KIOBK, PKINTBRS, LONDON.

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