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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 
 
 7 
 
 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. 
 
 R' 
 
 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. 
 
 26 
 
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 
 
 29 
 
 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. 
 
 36 
 
 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. 
 
 37 
 
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. 
 
 39 
 
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 
 
 46 
 
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. 
 
 4T 
 
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 
 
 49 
 
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. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 63 
 
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 
 
 64 
 
 '<^^. 
 
 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 
 
 6s 
 
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.) 
 
 66 
 
 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! 
 
 67 
 
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 
 
 68 
 
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. 
 
 74 
 
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. 
 
 n 
 
 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. 
 
 76 
 
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 
 
 79 
 
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 
 
 80 
 
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. 
 
 83 
 
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 
 
 95 
 
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 
 
 96 
 
''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." 
 
 S ' V - F >- 
 
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 HI C C L AVDOR DA NTES PATRll 5 EXTOR M SAB OR I S 
 0\ f: M GE NJ V I T PARVT FlDH ENT I A Mat ER AA^bR 
 
 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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