. I •! f % GIFT or PBOFFSSOR n.A. KOPiiA I i » ^p Eanb of f^t fnmm anb ft\t ^ata ; OR, THOUGHTS AND SKETCHES DUKING AN EASTER PILGRIMAGE TO ROME. NEWMAN HALL, B.A. AUTHOR OF " COME TO JESUS, " IT IS I, ETC. ^m Edition. LONDON: JAMES NISBET AND CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. M.DCCC.LIX. QIFT 0^ raOFESSOR C.A. KOFJID EDINBURGH : PRINTED Btr BALLANTYNE Am> (COMPANY. Paul's work. lYAVr TO THE BELOVED COMPANION OF HIS HOME, AND THE CHARM OF EVERY EXCURSION FROM IT ®|is Mm% (so DEEPLY INDEBTED TO THE JOURNAL WHICH SHE WROTE AMIDST THE SCENES DESCRIBED,) IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. mZWB87 PEEFACE. The following pages contain some record of an excur- sion which occupied eleven weeks in the spring of the present year. So many works of ability have recently appeared on the subject of Italy, that such a book as this may appear uncalled for. Yet though the scenes are the same, the observers vary. Each looks through a different medium, and narrates what he sees, with an object and in a style in some degree distinct from those of others. I therefore venture to hope, that those who honour this volume with a perusal, may acknowledge that whatever its defects, it has a character and purpose of its own. Many have remarked that additional dissertations on religion are not so much needed, as books on secular themes, written in a religious spirit. To the latter class I have now endeavoured to add my contribution. If some may wish that these pages had contained more VI PREFACE. theology — I reply that my object would thereby have been defeated. If others complain that there is too much — I answer, that unless in a narrative designed for general interest, I could have suggested thoughts beneficial to man's social and spiritual nature, I should not have written at alL Though I have not wished to be controversial, the subject of Romanism must be an essential element in every account of modem Rome. In faithfully describ- ing what I saw, and candidly expressing what I thought, I disclaim all unkind feelings, as I have avoided all un- courteous language towards those whose errors I lament. In so doing I shaU be exposed to a double censure. Many persons, to whom all forms of faith are alike, denounce an earnest advocacy of some one in preference to others, as bigotry and intolerance ; while others can- not credit the sincerity of an adherent to their own tenets, unless he denounces with hard names those who hold opposite opinions. I can only say that there are two habits which I desire increasingly to cultivate — the first, to express my opinion faithfully on all subjects affecting the truth of God and the welfare of man, whosoever may take offence : the second, to " speak the tiTith in love,'' and to exhibit Christian courtesy towards PEEFACE. VU all, how much soever they may differ in opinion from myself. In conclusion, I have to express my obligations, more or less, to the labours of my predecessors, especially to the elaborate work of Sir G. Head, in three volumes. Every quotation of which I am conscious has been ac- knowledged in the margin. For many valuable sug- gestions, I am indebted to our estimable and accom- plished travelling companion, the Rev. G. E. Cecil, whose character does not belie the honoured lineage his name bespeaks. But chiefly the volume is under obli- gations for whatever interest it contains, to numerous quotations from the journal of my wife, written from day to day during the excitement of travel, and ac- knowledged in the dedication. Hull, Nov. 24, 1853. CONTENTS. BOOK I. PAGE LONDON TO MARSEILLES, .1—33 Chapter I. — Paris. — Sermon at the Madeleine — Place de la Concorde — True Conservatism — The Louvre — Tuilleries — Louis Napoleon, .... 1 — 8 Chapter II. — Lyons. — The Martyrs' Dungeons — Notre Dame de Fourvieres — Reign of Terror, . . 9 — 13 Chapter III. — The Rhone — Valence. — An Emblem of the Church — Hannibal — Capuchin's Sermon at Valence — Prayer — Avignon — Pleasures and Perils — Knavery — View of Avignon— Papal Palace — Rienzi — ^the Inquisition — Chamber of Torture — Persecution, 14 — 26 Chapter IV. — Sunday at Marseilles. — Vaudois Waiter — English Church — French Sundays — Working Man's Charter — Children Chaunting — Pagan and Papal Votives — Historical Musings — the Mediter- 27—33 BOOK II. NORTH ITALY.— GENOA TO ROME, . . . 34—127 Chapter I. — Genoa. — Corniche Road — View of Genoa — A. Dorea — Siege — Ramble through the City — Palaces— The Hero of Peace — Evening at Sea, 34—42 CONTENTS. PAOB Chapter II.— Livorno.— Pis a. — Cathedral— Baptistery — Campo-Santo — Leaning Tower — Uprightness- Historical Recollections — Tower of Famine — Beautiful Peasant Boy, 43—49 Chapter III. — Florence— View from San Miniato. — M. Angelo's Fortifications — Vallombrosa — Historical Sketch— Liberty, .... 50 — 65 Chapter IV.— Florence — The Churches. — The Ca- thedral — Seat of Dante — Brunelleschi — Gates of Paradise — S. Croce — S. Maria Novella — Re- markable Fresco — "Dogs of the Lord" — Medi cean Chapels — Sermon in the Cathedral — Earnestness in Preaching, .... 56 — 67 Chapter V. — Florence— Pictures and Statues. — Piazza Vecchia — Statues of Great Men — Pitti Palace — M. Angelo's Three Fates — Lely's Crom- well — Milton, Macaulay, and D'Aubign^ on Cromwell — Cromwell and the Grand Duke — Ecce Homo— Seeing by Faith— The Uflazi Gal- lery — The Tribtme — Venus de Medici — Christ our Model, 68—84 Chapter VI.— Environs op Florence— Fiesole.— Banks of the Amo — Sunset from Fiesole — Gali- leo and Milton— The Valley Transfigured, . 85—92 Chapter VII. — Palazzo Vecchio, and Savonarola. — His treatment of Lorenzo — His Preaching — Denounces the Vices of the Priesthood — The Devil's Counsel — " Stedfast, unmoveable " — The Monster Pope— Fiery Ordeal— Put to the Tor- ture — Martyrdom — Was he a Fanatic ?— Truth indestructible, 93 — m CONTENTS. XI, PAGK Chapter VIII. — TheBible at Florence. — Prohibition of the Bible — the Bayonet and the Priest — the ^ Madiai — the Bible and the Tricolour — the Dub- lin Review — Council of Trent forbids the Bible — Roman Catholic Avowal of Intolerance — Bible Dangerous to Tyrants — NicoU's Poems, . 112 — 118 Chapter IX. — Florence to Rome. — Stormy Voyage — Civita Vecchia — Entrance into Rome — First sight of the Ruins, 119—127 BOOK III. ANCIENT ROME 128—208 Chapter I. — View from the Capitol. — The Forum — The Seven Hills— The Modern City— Soracte, Tivoli, Tusculum — The Alban Mount— Descrip- tions of Poggio and Milton, . . . 128—139 Chapter II. — Mirabilia op the Capitol. — Historical Associations — the Dying Gladiator — The Bronze Wolf — The Tarpeian Rock — Temple of Jupiter — Mamertine Prison — The True Hero, . 140 — 151 Chapter III. — The Forum and its Ruins. — Temples of Jupiter Tonans, Fortune, and Concord — Arch of S. Severus — Temple of Antoninus — Of Venus and Rome — Arch of Titus — Via Sacra — Triumphs — The " Disputed Columns " — The Rostrum— Memories of the Forum — Moral and Physical Ruin, 152—169 Chapter IV. — The Colosseum. — Corridors and Arena — Vivarium — Ignatius and the Lions — its last Martyr— View in Sunshine— By Moonlight, 170—183 XU CONTENTS. Chapter V.— Walls, Baths, Palaces, &c.— City Gates — Forum of Trajan — of Nen'a — Forum Boarium — Cloaca Maxima — Theatre of Marcellus — Baths of Titus, Diocletian, and Caracalla — Palaces of the Caesars, Chapter VL — Temples and Tombs. — Pantheon — Temples of Esculapius, Venus, Vesta, Fortuna Virilis, Piety, Pallas, the Sun, &c. — Paganism impure and cruel — The Tombs of Augustus, Bibulus, Scipio, Cecilia Metella, the Baker, Had- rian — Paganism the Tomb of Hope, BOOK IV. HOLY WEEK IN ROME, Chapter I. — Palm Sunday. — Grand Procession, . Chapter II. — Tenebrjb in the Sistine Chapel. — Ex- tinguishing the Candles — Pope's Choir — Miserere ofAUegri, 214—218 Chapter III.— Maundat Thursday. — Washing the Feet — The Supper — Confessionals — Washing the Altar — Procession of Pilgrims — The Sepulchres, 219 — 226 Chapter IV. — Good Friday.— The Sistine Chapel — The Passion — Adoration of the Cross — The Re- proaches — Mass of the Presanctified — St Peter's Toe — The Pope Adoring the Relics — S. Veronica —Is it Idolatry ? 227—240 Chapter V. — Holy Saturday. — Blessing the Fire and the Candles — Baptism of a Jewess, . . 241 — 245 COXTENTS. Xlll PAGE Chapter VI. — Easter Sunday. — Grand Procession in St Peter's — the Homage— Pontifical High Mass — Papal Benediction — the Pope or the Saviour? the Illumination and Fireworks, . . . 246 — 257 BOOK T. DEVELOPMENTS OF EOMANISM IN ROME, . 258—308 Chapter I. — Veneration op Relics. — Table of the Last Supper — Moses' Rod — the True Cross — Bottle of the Virgin's Milk — Footprints of Christ, 258—263 Chapter II. — Indulgences. — Eleven thousand years — Souls bought out of Purgatory — the Holy Stairs and Luther — ^the Doctrines Involved, Unscrip- tural and Contradictory, .... 264 — 276 Chapter III. — Worship op Pictures and Images — Miraculous Picture of the Virgin — Image of Christ— the Bambino, 277—283 Chapter IV. — Mediatorship op the Virgin and other Saints. — " Jesus, Joseph, Mary, I give you my Soul" — St Anthony — " Come with boldness to the Throne of the Virgin" — Psalter of St , Bonaventure — the only Mediator, . . 284 — 293 Chapter V. — The Bible and the Magician. — the Bible Prohibited — Invitation to the Lottery, 294 — 299 Chapter VI. — Thoughts on Popery and Protestan- tism. — The Romanist's Rejoinder — Reply, . 300—308 XIV CONTENTS. BOOK YI. PAGE MISCELLANEOUS NOTES IN ROME, . 309—363 Chapter L— St Peter's and other Churches. — St Peter's, its Magnitude and Monuments — ^Ascent to the Ball — Contrast to York-Minster — Hal- lowed Ground, 309—314 Chapter IL— The Vatican. — The Apollo and other Sculptures — M. Angelo's " Last Judgment" — Raphael's "Transfiguration," . . . 315—320 Chapter III. — Varieties. — Capuchin Cemetery — Guido's Archangel — Beatrice Cenci — Cenci Palace — A lover's Present of Masses — S. Cecilia — American Slavery — Sunset from the Janicu- lum — Statue ot Pompey — Castle of S. Angelo and B. Cellini — The French in Rome — A Pleas- ing Hope — Uncle Tom prohibited — The Cata- combs — Protestant Burying-groimd, . . 321 — 337 Chapter IV. — Protestantism in Rome — St Paul. — The English Church — The American Church — Acceptable Worship— A Gospel Sermon — Evan- gelical Alliance in Rome — ^Memories of St Paul, 338 — 343 Chapter V. — Environs op Rome.— The Campagna — The Sacred Mount— The Street of Tombs— The Aqueducts — The Fountain of Egeria — Grotta Ferrata — Frascati — Tusculum — Tivoli — Had- rian's Villa — Horace's Farm — Albano — Genzano — Nemi — The Alban Mount — Hannibal's Camp — Rocca di Papa — The Alban Lake — Castel Gon- dolpho — Last Day in Rome, . , , 344 — 363 CONTENTS. XV BOOK YIL PAGE NAPLES, 364-376 Rome to Naples. — The Three Taverns — The Pontine Marshes — Detention at Terracina — Fondi — Cicero's Tomb— Gaeta— Capua, . . . 364—366 Naples. — The Chiaja — Museum — Palaces — View from S. Elmo — S. Januarius — Extraordinary Cere- monies at Easter — Bibles Prohibited — Illustra- tions of Tyranny, 366-367 Excursion to Balm. — Virgil's Tomb — Posilipo — Ro- man Tunnel — Lake Agnano — SoKatara — Faler- nian Vineyards — Pozzuoli — St Paul — Temple of Serapis — Cicero's Villa — Lake Avernus — Cave of the Sibyl — Lucrine Lake — Baise — Elysian Fields— Misenum, 368—370 Hekculaneum and Pompeii, 370 Ascent op Vesuvius, 370 — 371 Excursion to P^stum. — Castellamare — Beauty of Sor- rento — Attempt at the Blue Grotto of Capri — Amalfi — Salerno — The Greek Temples of Psestum, 371—375 The English Chuech at Naples. — Return Home- Conclusion, . 375—376 THOUGHTS AND SKETCHES DTJBnWJ AJS EASTEE PILGEIMAGE TO EOME. BOOK I LOKDOl^ TO MAESEILLES. CHAPTEK I. PARIS. " Down in a soutliem clime, amidst the silent waves of a tideless sea, there lies a weary land, whose life is only in the past and the future."* This land, weary indeed, yet still potent in her weariness, where Art sits enthroned and ITature lavishes her charms, which History has enshrined and Poetry enwreathed, where every spot is haunted by classic memories, and what is invisible as much surpasses what is seen, as this exceeds the best of most other climes — ^this land, in whose very name there is fascination, who does not desire to visit? And who * Mariotti. A S''' ' ••' PARIS. would not sympathise in our pleasure, when, after many months of most delightful anticipation, we felt that at length, on Tuesday morning, March 1, 1853, we were really on our way to Italy 1 While crossing the channel I thought of the change in the relative condition of our country and the Imperial City, since Julius Caesar, with his brazen-beaked galleys, crossed over from yonder coast of Gaul! We were Britons on a pilgrimage to the ruins of the Roman Fonim ! That haughty mistress of the world, debased and down-trodden; that island of barbarians, Queen of the ocean, Metropolis of nations, Home of liberty. Light- bearer to the world ! We are in Boulogne harbour. The first glance tells us we are out of England, for armed soldiers line the quay, allowing only a narrow passage between them to the custom-house, so that no one may enter the country before the police have inspected that essential, expensive, troublesome document called a passport. Now, clear of the custom-house, we gallop to the rail- way station, where we arrive just as the gates are closed. There are yet five minutes before the time is up, but we plead in vain for admission; so, having watched the departure of some of our more fortunate fellow-travellers, we endeavoured over a comfortable cup of tea to forget our vexation at discovering that the promise of " London to Paris in twelve hours" is not always l^ulfilled, and to reconcile ourselves to the annoyance of spending th^ night in a slow train, and involuntarily imitating many "fast" travellers, who even in the day-time j^ass through a country without seeing it. VIRGIN CRUSHING THE SERPENT. 8 Paris, Wednesday^ March 2. — We lost no xmnecessary time in the refreshments so acceptable after a night of travelling, for it was our first visit, and we were anxious to see as much as possible of this famous city. As we traversed the streets, which during sixty years have wit- nessed so much civil strife, we felt grateful that we lived in a country where tyranny does not erect those barriers Against advancement, which are the inevitable incentives to revolution, but where the cause of order is acknow- ledged to be identified with that of progress. "Well has Lord Bacon said — " Every medicine is an innovation, and he that will not apply new remedies must expect new evils, for time is the greatest of innovators; a fro ward retention of custom is as turbulent a thing as innovation." On entering that superb Corinthian Temple, the Made- leine Church, my attention was first attracted by a very beautiful statue of the Virgin in white marble. As I observed that the foot was placed on the head of a serpent, in the act of crushing it, I remembered that it was written — " The Seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head," and felt that her glorified spirit, if aware of what is done on earth, could derive no satisfaction from the transference to herself of any of the honour due to her Divine Son. Not Mary, but "the Son of God, was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil" (1 John iii. 8). " JSTeither is there salvation in any other; for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved" (Acts iii. 3). Though it was early, and on a week-day morning, there was a very large congregation listening attentively to a sermon, mass having been just celebrated. We seated ourselves 4 PARia on chairs, there being no pews in Catholic churches. To our surprise, a man was going ahout in the very front of the preacher, collecting money and giving change. Pre- sently he came to us, demanding a sou for the hire of each chair. I have heard of the bad behaviour of the English in Catholic churches, and have sometimes witnessed it with shame ; but I certainly never saw anything so cal- culated to disturb both the officiating clergy and the congregation, as this traffic in chairs! Certainly those who sanction it, can with little consistency complain of the far less disturbing impropriety of walking about the church at a distance from the worshippers. I took the more notice of it on account of the earnest yet refined eloquence of the preacher, and the truly evangelical cha- i"acter of his sermon. His subject was " Love as the only method of attain- ing to the knowledge of God." Never shall I forget the tone with which he reiterated the word, " Aimez! Aimezf* and how it echoed round the church. "Would you com- prehend the Deity ? Love Him ! Do you think to know Him by merely examining His works, by gazing at the lightning, by watching the stars ? You must love Him ! Will it suffice to study what He has revealed, to be learned in theology, to be diligent in worship? You must love Him ! You cannot understand till you love. He has -therefore sent His Son to die for us, that our hearts may melt in gratitude towards Him. Then, and not till then, we see Him, know Him, enjoy Him. Mys- teries grow plain to him who loves. Duties cease to be difficult to him who loves. Heaven has begun in him who loves 1'* As I listened I thought of the words of St PLACE DE LA CONCORDE. 0' John, — " He tiiat loveth not, knowetk not God, for God is love" (1 John iv. 8). We passed down the Rue Royale to the Place de la Concorde. Few city scenes can equal this in splendour. In the centre is the obelisk of Luxor, which stood in front of the great temple of Thebes, erected 1500 years before Christ, by the renowned Sesostris and placed where- it now stands in 1836. It is a single mass of red granite,- upwards of seventy feet high, and is covered with hiero- glyphics, which appear as sharp and well defined as if cut only yesterday. Before us, to the east, separated from us only by its own terraced gardens, is the noble Palace of the Tuilleries. Looking back, we see the Champs Elysees, adorned with statues, and closed by the magni- ficent Arch of Triumph, originated by Napoleon, covered with sculpture and towering to the height of 150 feet. On the right is the Seine — on whose opposite bank, with nothing to intercept the view, is the Chamber of Depu- ties, with its fine portico of twelve Corinthian columns — while on the left we look up a wide street between masses of splendid buildings to the classic temple we had just visited. On each side is a fountain from whose circular basin, fifty feet in diameter, Tritons, JSTereids, and spouting dolphins throw up water into elegant vases, over the edges of which it returns in copious streams, forming a circular cascade of surpassing beauty. It is enough to say of these fountains that they rival any at Pome. But how painful the memories which haunt the place ! Here stood the murderous guillotine during the Eeign of Terror. Here flowed the blood of unhappy Louis, and 6 PABIS. of that beautiful Queen of whom Burke said, " I should have thought that ten thousand swords would have leapt from their scabbards to -avenge even a look that threatened her with insult!** Here the Princess Elizabeth hallowed a spot so often stained with less saintly blood. Here died Philippe Egalit6, and Camille Desmoulins, and Charlotte Corday, and Robespierre, and nearly three thousand other agents, or victims, or both, who in a little more than two years were sacrificed to the demon of revolution. Tyranny had goaded to revolt a people whom Atheism had left without restraint, and all the furies of hell seemed let loose on unhappy Paris, as an awful warning to all future time. The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou knowst, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hinder'd. He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones. Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays. With willing sport to the wild ocean.* They who obstinately dam it up, insanely thinking ta prevent its fertilising flow, are the first to be overwhelmed hy its desolatihg outburst. Wise progress is sound con- servatism. Yet a nation destitute of the fear of God, however excellent its laws, resembles a mountain surface torrent, not indeed held back, but regulated by artificial, embankments. For a time it flows steadily in its pre- scribed course, but at any moment it may burst out, and desolate the fields. The channel must be deep for the stream to be safe. True religion is the best guarantee both of liberty and order, and in politics as well as social • Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii. 7. THE LOUVEE. 7 life it is true that " godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of ihe life which.now.is, and of that which is to come." We hastily inspected the Chamber of Deputies, once the scene of so many exciting debates, for the present obsolete. There had been too much talk, so the efibrt is made to govern France with none. Then to the Louvre, with its sculpture and picture gallery, nearly a quarter of a mile in length, hung with the works of the great mas- ters. We could but glance at these treasures : properly to examine them would require at least a week. Yet with even this hasty survey several of the pictures are vividly impressed on our memory, especially "Michael the Archangel" and "A Boy Listening," by Raphael. Of the sculptures, we were, especially struck with the life- like figure of a warrior by Agasias of Ephesus, who en- graved his name on the marble, little dreaming that it would be read by Gauls and Britons who, two thou- sand years afterwards, would discuss the merits of his performance in a palace, the site of which was then only a swampy forest in the heart, of a country of bar- barians. In the immense quadrangle of the Louvre and the Tuilleries, on the Place de Carrousel, stands a magnificent Arch of Triumph, erected by Napoleon. It is surmounted by a triumphal car, with four horses in bronze, of admir- able workmanship, and is adorned by sculptures comme- morating what are called "glorious victories." How do architecture, sculpture, and painting combine to perpe- tuate the grievous mistake, that the great fighter is the true hero ! — & TUILLERIES. " What do these worthies But rob, and spoil, bum, slaughter, and enslave? But if there be in glory aught of good. It may by means far differout be attain'd : By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent. By patience, temperance 1 " Par. Reg. iii. We gazed on the Tuilleries, and especially on that angle of this truly imperial imlace appropriated to the residence of royalty, musing on the past and the future. Here dwelt the ill-fated Louis with Marie Antoinette, and hence, with the Dauphin, they fled for refuge to the Assembly, when at the sound of the tocsin the wild tumult of the populace swept through those corridors. Here the brave Swiss, whose fidelity all ages will admire, perished at their posts — here Buonaparte sat enthroned — and hence, so recently, Louis Philippe fled. How will end the extra- ordinary career of its present occupants? Will the mode in which power is used be some atonement for the manner in which it was grasped, and will the Cotup cT etat be for- gotten amongst the blessings of industry, order, and free- dom? Who would not pray that this may be the case? May He, by whom "kings reign and princes decree justice," dispose him to achieve true greatness by the consolidation of society, the restoration of liberty, and the maintenance of peace. The day was too short for what we crowded into it, but we were bound to Italy, and resolved that nothing should induce us to loiter by the way. At eight o'clock, therefore, the same evening, we were seated in an express train, rushing through the darkness to Chalons. CHUECH OF ABBEY OF AINAY. CHAPTER II LYONS. Thursday, March 3. — It was still dark when we reached Chalons, the snow lay thick, and the cold was intense. Weary and half-asleep, our immediaj;e embarkation on a narrow, dirty, noisy, and crowded steamboat, was dis- agreeable enough. The banks were uninteresting until we passed the little town of Macon, the birth-place of Lamartine, when the scenery improved, picturesque hills rising from the water's edge, and the Jura Mountains closing the view to the east. About noon we reached Lyons^ and as we could not proceed further till the next morning, we resolved to make the most of our afternoon. Our first visit was to the church of the Abbey of Ainay, erected in the tenth century, on the site of a heathen temple. It boasts four granite columns, said to have belonged to an altar of Augustus, who resided here three years. But the church is chiefly famous for the dungeons of Pothinus and Blan- dina, who suffered martyrdom under Marcus Aurelius, in the year 177. A phrenzy of rage had seized magistrates and people against the Christians, whom slaves were tor- tured to accuse of the most revolting crimes. Women and children did not escape, l3Tit "in their firmness and composure," says a letter still extant, written by this per- lO LYONS. secuted Church to their brethreu in Asia Minor, " it was seen how they were invigorated by the living water that flows from the heart of Christ; how nothing is dreadful where the love of the Father dwells, nothing painful where the glory of Christ prevails." Pothinus, the bishop, ninety years of age, having wit- nessed a good confession before the enraged judges, was thrust into a dungeon, where he survived only two days. Ponticus, a youth of fifteen, and a girl Blandina, being first compelled to witness the agonies of others, were sub- jected to every torture which cruelty could invent. When led back to prison, they refused to be called martyrs, as unworthy of so high an honour, but prayed that they might be faithful unto death, and that their persecutors might be forgiven. At length, with many others, they were mangled by -wild beasts, and their remains having been burnt, the ashes were thrown into the Ehone. " We will now see," said their enemies, "whether they will arise, and whether God can deliver them out of our hands."* With much difficulty I crept into the "dungeon of Blandina." It has no entrance for light, and is too small either to stand upright in, or to lie at full length. That of Pothinus is still smaller,.and.the wonder is,, not that he died in two days, but that he survived so long. We lingered, feeling that if any place is holier than another, it is surely that which has been consecrated by patient suffering for Christ Those black, damp, narrow cells have received angel- visits. Christ himself was there to comfort His afflicted saints.. Happy .Pothinus! Happy Blandina ! Yours were short torments followed by an Neander'e Church History. Vok I. -Clarke's Edition. I CHURCH OF OUR LADY OF LORETTO. 11 eternity of bliss — a bliss enhanced by the grateful recol- lection of having been permitted, " in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake." Who ever regretted, when leaving this world, that he had done too much for his divine Saviour I The more eminent the saintship, the more emphatic the con- fession, "We are unprofitable servants'!" '■ On approaching Lyons, we had remarked on our right a very lofty hill surmounted by a church, on the summit of whose spire was a gilt figure of the Virgin, looking lovely against the clear blue sky, towering above the city as its tutelary saint, her hands seeming gently to invite all to come and pay their homage. To this church we now made a pilgrimage; an humble funeral, with a priest intoning the service, winding up the narrow zigzag path, adding much to the interest of our walk. An official notice at the entrance of the church announced, "Every day a plenary indulgence to all pious visitors. Granted by Pius YII., and confirmed by Gregory XYI., who enriched the church with all the indulgences, and other spiritual favours granted to our Lady of Loretto." Many persons were kneeling on the pavement, and the walls were covered with votive offerings, consisting of small models of arms, legs, and other parts of the body, together with rude pictures representing cures and deliverances attributed to the intercession of Mary. With mingled feelings of pleasure at beholding so many tokens of grateful devotion, of pain at what we felt a sad mis-direction of the sentiment, we left the church to gaze on the glorious prospect around; Below lies the city, occupying a tongue of land between > the Rhone and 12 LYONS. Saone, which rivers, being crossed by seventeen bridges in their course through and around Lyons, blend their waters at its southern extremity. The view is very ex- tensive, and in clear weather, Mont Blanc, 100 miles distant, can be distinguished. "Going to bed," that common-place affair, dispensed with since leaving London, was quite a luxury, after three days and two nights of travelling and sight-seeing. The next morning, having an hour to spare before the steamer started for Avignon, we continued our inspec- tion of this handsome, thriving, and populous city. We walked along the quay of the Rhone ; in front of the Maison Dieu, the most ancient hospital in France, founded by Childebert, and visited by 150 Sisters of Charity; then up some narrow streets to the Place de Terreaux. One side is occupied by the Hotel de Ville, and another by the Museum, our peep at whose antiquarian treasures convinced us that no traveller, detained here for a day, need complain of want of occupation. Would that the interest of the spot were confined to these treasures of Art! Horrible recollections are suggested by its very name, for here, during the Reign of Terror, the guillotine was in restless activity. Refusal to submit to the Jacobins, who now ruled Paris, and revolted Europe with their cruelties, was the inexpiable crime of this city. A savage decree was issued that it should be utterly demolished, and a monument reared on the ruins with this inscription — "Lyons made war upon liberty. Lyons is no more!" An army of 60,000 men laid siege to it, and after 30,000 of the inhabitants had perished, during sixty days of gallant resistance, the Terrorists entered the city. Many EEIGN OF TERROR. 13 of the houses were first demolished with pickaxes, then whole streets were blown up with gunpowder. CoUot d'Herbois, who, as an actor, had been hissed off the stage by the Lyonnese, thirsting with a vulgar vengeance, was nominated one of the Commissioners of the Convention which sat in the Hotel de Yille, where he glutted his savage soul by coolly watching the guillotine. The square becoming deluged with blood, and the butchers being impatient at the slow process of individual execu- tions, the prisoners were led out in companies of fifty or sixty into a field, with hands pinioned, where, fastened by a cable to a row of willows, they were mowed down with grape shot, many lingering for hours amid heaps of slain. The fury of the murderers increased, and men and women, seized at random, were led forth, 200 at a time, and fired at by companies of soldiers, who killing but a small num- ber at the first discharge, fired again and again at the shrieking and mangled survivors, till the sword and bay- onet completed the massacre. Upwards of 6000 persons, including the most respectable of the inhabitants, were thus deliberately murdered, without distinction of age or sex. One of the judges wrote to a friend — " "What enjoy- ment thou wouldst have felt, if thou hadst yesterday wit- nessed justice executed on 200 wretches. What majesty ! How imposing a sight ! How many scoundrels bit the dust that day ! Truly it was a spectacle worthy of liberty !'* Liberty ! Alas, how has thy sacred name, like that of Christianity itself, been prostituted by those who hate thee ! But thou art not on this account any more than the blessed Gospel, of which thou art the daughter, the less heavenly and divine. 14 THE BHONE. CHAPTER III THE RHONE — VALENCE — AVIGNON. Friday, March L — At noon we embarked in one of the notorious Rhone steamers, not without some apprehen- sion of delay, owing to the scarcity of water caused by the long frost. The boat was unpleasantly long and narrow, being 270 feet by only 15, the span of some of the bridges not allowing a greater width. We soon reached the junction of the rivers, and noticed how the brown tide of the Saone flows on for some dis- tance side by side with the blue waters of the Rhone, before submitting to its stronger and purer influence. "We looked lovingly on the latter as it swept down to join us from its Alpine home. It seemed to talk to us of lovely scenes we had visited a few years before, — of Geneva, Lausanne, Vevay, and Chillon, those beautiful gems adorning the Queen of Lakes ; of the Ghemmi pass, and not least of the Convent of St Bernard and the polite monks, whose hospitality we had enjoyed on that day of delight when the long cherished desire for that lofty pil- grimage was gratified. Streams which had murmured sweet music in all these lovely and sublime scenes were now bearing us towards Rome ! I thought that the history of the Church might be illustrated by the course of such a river. Born above AN EMBLEM OP THE CHURCH. 15 the clouds ; dashing down the mountains in its youthful purity and power; wearing for itself channels through the solid rock; overcoming every obstacle; now tortured and torn in craggy defiles, now reposing in some placid lake which reflects the azure and the stars of Heaven; coming forth from paradises of beauty, and in a wider stream rolling through the open country; receiving indeed many corrupt admixtures, yet purifying them more than they defile it; and though with waters, alas, too much mingled with earthly elements, yet in a fuller tide than ever, spreading fertility over the land as it approaches nearer and nearer the great ocean. It would be tedious to enumerate half the elegant sus- pension bridges, picturesque littk towns, and romantic ruins past which we rapi weight to bear upon the point." These we looked for in THE TORTURE CHAMBER. 23 vain, and were told by our guide that all visible memo- rials of those cruelties had been recently removed. Her explang,tion of the design of the chamber, calling the opening above a chimney, seemed much more rational than Murray's, who says that the form was devised to stifle the cries of the victims. The sound would be in- creased by circular and vaulted walls, with an opening to the external air. There would also be no motive for stifling shrieks which might infuse a useful terror without endangering the Inquisition; for who would be so sacri- legious as to disturb their holy investigations, who so foolish as to expose himself to their terrible wrath ? No ! that peculiar form constituted the chamber a furnace, and that opening above was a chimney to let out the smoke mingled with the stench of broiling flesh. There on that solid pavement floor, were torture fires often kindled, and doubtless many have been the wretched sufferers who there have lingeringly perished. No contrivance could be more convenient for reducing to ashes the bodies of those, who not having been condemned, and consequently being possibly innocent even according to their own code, had died under any of their merciless modes of exami- nation. Other dark associations haunt this quarter of the old palace. In the narrow passage by which we approached it, a number of prisoners were enclosed during the Revo- lution, and mowed down by cannon, the walls still bear- ing obvious marks of the storm of grape-shot poured in through the gate, upon the living mass within. Till very recently, was also shewn a tower called the glaciere, down which sixty innocent persons of both sexes were 24 AVIGNON. hurled in 1791, and travellers used to be directed to look through an aperture in the wall, at the dark blood-stains below. Terrible are such memories, yet we must not allow one atrocity to diminish our horror for another. Murray's Guide, so invaluable to every traveller for facts, is often grossly wrong when it leaves its proper province for that of reflection. After referring to the torture chamber, it says — " These are the associations of the dark ages, and they are dismal enough. But this building has beheld events in modern and enlightened times, which far dis- tance them in their horrors and atrocities. The crimes accumulated during a few hours of the French Revolu- tion, exceed those dispersed through previous ages." For those revolutionary crimes, which excite horror in every breast, I would be the last to ofier any apology, but I confess I was indignant when I read the sentence just quoted. Compare the two tragedies. The more recent was the result of a tornado sweeping suddenly over the land and passing away; the more ajicient was cool, deli- berate, protracted. In the torture chamber of the Inqui- sition, machines were contrived for dislocating the joints, and crushing the bones, and lacerating the flesh ; death, the greatest boon that could have been bestowed, being studiously delayed : in the gloomy passage of the Revo- lution, grape-shot did fierce but rapid execution, and the victims of the glaciere were stabbed before they were hurled down. When it was believed some still survived, Murray says, " To finish the deed of infamy, quicklime in large quantities was thrown down on the mangled heap of dead and dying." It was truly a " deed of infamy," iR PAPAL PERSECUTION. 25 but it had been still worse had its victims been allowed to linger in their agony. The Terrorists by long tyranny were driven headlong in a blind frenzy ; the Inquisitors spent a long life in deeds of barbarity, coolly meditated, discussedj defended. The Terrorists, finally, did not add hypocrisy to murder, and their acts only tended to excite disgust towards that execrable Atheism which they pro- fessed; but the Inquisitors, while they did the works of the Devil, pretended to be the servants of Christ, and invoked the God of Love as the patron of their infernal orgies ! It would be most unjust to charge on all Romanists, the black deeds of their Church in former times. It would also be unfair to make a system responsible for whatever any of its adherents may do, or for its own former acts if now repudiated. But surely there is no injustice in charging on any institution, actions done in its name, by its sanction, and which up to the present time it has never authoritatively condemned. Has then the Church of Rome sanctioned those persecutions, or has she not? Was the Inquisition set up and supported by that Church, and in its own Palace, or was it not? Do her own canons, still binding, authorise bodily punishment for spiritual error 1 Has not her history proved that in what- ever country she has the power, she possesses also the will, to enforce uniformity of religious belief? If these queries are uncharitable, will the objector point out in the laws of that Church, one denunciation of such endeavours to extirpate heresy? If the Church of Rome has never persecuted, are not her own documents false, and is nob all history a lie? If she confess the errors of the past, 26 AVIGNON. pleading as Protestant Churches do, that with our present superior enlightenment, we are not responsible for what our misguided forefathers may have done, what becomes of her infallibility? If to preserve this, she adheres to all her former acts and decisions, who would undertake the forlorn hope of proving her to be scriptural? But since she declares herself to be always the same, and in- idlible, and therefore cannot repudiate any of her former acts, nor admit that she ever erred, is not this single feature of her history, persecution, alone sufficient to enable any candid inquirer to ascertain whether she be indeed the Bride of that benignant Saviour, who, when His disciples asked if they should command fire from heaven to consume those who would not welcome their mission, rebuked them and said, "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of, for the Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save" (Luke ix. 55, 56). VAUDOIS WAITER. 27 CHAPTEE IT. SUNDAY AT MARSEILLES. March 6. — Leaving A-vignon by tlie evening train, at ten o'clock last night we were toiling up the hundred steep slippery stairs that led to our tile-floored chamber, glad to find any resting place in the crowded hotel. It was strange, after a week of so much excitement, to awake this morning without having to hurry forth to save the train or steamer, or to see a sight. For it was the Sabbath — " the couch of Time" — rest welcome no less to the man who travels than to him who toils. It was a luxury to awake gradually, to dress leisurely, to breakfast deliberately, and we could enter into the joy with which this day must be hailed, by the midtitudes whose life without it would be one unvarying routine of anxiety, hurry, and fatigue. Our obliging little waiter expressed much regret that at this season of the year, there was no such interval of repose for him. He was a Yaudois, and spoke with ex- ultation of his country and his religion. His Church, he said, was not Calvinist, nor Lutheran, nor Protestant, but existed before these names were known — from the beginning. They would never give up their religion — jamais! They had died for it, and would do so again. He had a Bible, which he valued and read daily, but said 28 SUNDAY AT MARSEILLES. that the mere knowledge of the true gospel would not save any one whose heai-t was not given to God. We shall not soon forget the enthusiasm with which he spoke. "We went to the English church, an up-stairs room in a large house, comfortably fitted up for worship. The British Consul acted as clerk, reading the responses of the Liturgy, whose grand old dialect, embodying so much that is sublime in prayer and adoration, and hallowed by so many home associations, sounded doubly beautiful in a strange land. We walked under a long row of trees, on what was evidently the fashionable Sunday promenade, as it was thronged with citizens in holiday attire. Our attention was attracted by a large crowd opposite a house, from which a stream of carriages, with company in full dress, was pouring down the street. There had been a sacred concert for some charity, and the charms of music, aided by the sanctioning presence of the Archbishop, had at- tracted a large audience. Pleasure is the authorised Sabbath keeping of the con- tinent, and is the special worship of the French. Of this we had emphatic evidence at Paris, where we spent a Sunday on our return. Whatever other fashions England may borrow from France, may she never adopt this! Our national sta- bility, our sturdy liberty, our steadfast loyalty, depend on the deep religious spirit of the people, for the cultivation of which Sabbath observance is essential. A population fearing God, can neither be the slaves of the despot, nor the tools of the demagogue. Tyranny and faction alike Eail with a people devoting one day in seven to the spiri- WORKING man's CHARTER. 29 tiial, enlightened, voluntary worship of the God of Truth. While I would be the last to advocate any legal enforce- ment of worship, which when it ceases to be spontaneous, ceases to be religious, yet I hold that from mere political considerations, every one who would not have our history resemble that of our fickle neighbours, should deprecate any tendency to lessen Sabbath sacredness in the estima- tion and habits of the people. And let the working classes beware how they echo the cry of those talse friends, who, pretending a benevolent concern for their interests, advocate Sunday amuse- ments for the poor. The charter of their weekly rest is thereby jeoparded. The toil of some is demanded for the gratification of the many. The precedent will soon be followed among a people eager to be rich. If one esta- blishment, for the purpose of profit, may employ its ser- vants on the plea of furnishing pleasure to the people ; others, with no worse motive, though with a difierent and perhaps superior plea, such as the increase of the neces- saries of life, will soon imitate the example. The wedge whose thin end is introduced by the plea of Philanthropy, will soon be driven home by the sledge hammer of cupi- dity. The Holy Day is the guardian of the holiday, and when once the spell of sacredness is broken, the working men of England may discover, too late, that while dreaming of pleasure they have been robbed even of repose, and that the strait-laced fanatics, as the ad- vocates of Sabbath sanctity are sometimes designated, were really their best friends. Passing the door of an old church, we looked in, and were spell-bound by some of the sweetest sounds we had 30 SUNDAY AT MARSEILLES. ever heard. Most simple they were, but how enchant- ing was that simplicity! Gathered round the altar an infant band were raising their clear voices in a plaintive chant, which swelled and died away and rose again, ever returning on itself, impressing its beauty by a reiteration which had a greater charm than variety, and which sug- gested the idea of eternity. It seemed as if those hal- lelujahs could not end. When we tore ourselves away, they still echoed through the pillared nave, where it seems they must be echoing still, as in our own ears they certainly do. We left the church quite forgetting the fetigue we had felt on entering it, the pleasure of the music mingling with that of the hope, that those songs were accepted by Him who would not rebuke the children when they cried " Hosannah," and that, whatever the errors of their Church, of many among them, the gracious words might be verified,-—" Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise." We strolled up the hill of Notre Dame de la Garde, 80 called from a chapel of the Virgin within the fortress on its summit. The third largest city of France, with its extensive port and forests of masts lay at our feet, sur- rounded by upwards of six thousand country houses, scattered over the plain, and climbing up the encompass- ing hills. Here was once a shrine to the " Great Diana of the Ephesians," whose worship was introduced by the Phocoeans, and up this hill, seamen in ancient times climbed as they do still, to present their votive offerings. Me tabula sacer Votiva paries indicat uvida Suspendisse potenti Vestimenta maris Deo. Ew. Car. I. 5. THE MEDITERRANEAN. 31 The walls of tlie chapel are hung with memorial pic- tures representing escapes from shipwreck, and with bits of rope by which persons were rescued from drowning, through the supposed influence of the Virgin, whose image in olive wood, of gi'eat antiquity, preserved here as a sacred treasure, is held in high . estimation by sailors. The coincidence is striking between the modern custom and the ancient, as referred to by Horace, and also by Yirgil, in the following lines where the poet describes the olive tree in which the spear of ^neas stuck, as being especially venerated by sailors, who fastened to it their votive offerings in gratitude to the god who had delivered them from the waves. Forte sacer Fauno foliis oleaster amaris Hie steterat, nautia olim venerabile lignum ; Servati ex undis ubi figere dona solebant Laurent! Divo, et votas suspendere vestes. ^n. xii. 766. The name is changed, but the thing is little altered. Pained at this sad perversion of a true sentiment, we turned from the superstitions of men, to the great works of God, and seated ourselves on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. And this is the Mediterranean ! How we had longed to reach its classic shore, and gaze, as we did now, upon its azure waves sporting themselves before us, just as they had done to the heroes of the olden time. Here Phoenician fleets, Carthaginian triremes and Roman gal- leys, competed in commerce and in war. Into these waters Jonah was cast from the ship bound to Tarshish, and in this sea the Apostle of the Gentiles suffered ship- wreck on his way to Rome. Up this very bay, into this 32 SUNDAY AT MARSEILLES. . very harbour, nearly twenty-five centuries ago, sailed a I fleet of Grecian colonists, who first built the town Mas- l silia, spreading civilisation and letters among the sur- rounding barbarians. Their vessels sailed to every shore, and at last, daring to be the rivals even of Carthage, these rocks beheld their fleet return decorated with the ti-ophies of a victory, won upon the ocean of which that haughty city vaunted herself the queen. , Centuries elapse, and now the fleet of Caesar blockades [the city which has espoused the cause of Pompey, but ! after a vigorous defence is compelled to yield. And now ^ it becomes a seat of learning, the Athens of the west, j the resort of the Roman youth. Cicero, in his oration for Flaccus (c. xxvi.) extols it as a school for learning superior to any not only in Greece, but in the whole world, and says that although in the remote region of • the Gauls, and surrounded by barbarians, its institutions were such as to be far more easily praised than equalled : ut omnes ejus instituta laudare facilius possint, quam cemu- r lari. Ages more pass by, and a gallant squadron sails forth under the banner of the Cross to join the grand armament of the Ci-usaders. Other centuries are num- bered, and we, in 1S53, look upon the self-same scene, rocks, sky, ocean, still unchanged! "We thought of those lines, beautiful enough to bear quotation, however familiar — Thy shores are empires changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play— MUSINGS. 33 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ! The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible! Childe Harold, IV. Yes, those empires, once washed by this sea, have passed away, and our own may at some future period share a similar fate, but we could exult in a higher citizenship, a "kingdom which cannot be moved." We sat and mused, and sang some favourite hymns, and mused again, thinking how much we had seen, and how far we had travelled during the week. Last Sunday, at our happy home, and in the house of God, on the banks of the Humber, and now seated on the shores of the Mediterranean, impatient to cross the narrow gulph which alone divided us from the object of our hopes, " the land of the Yatican and the Forum." Thoughts of our heavenly journey blended with the circumstances of this, and we returned to our inn, thankful that we were pilgrims towards " a city which hath foundations, whose builder and ma,ker is God." BOOK IL NOKTH ITALY.— GENOA TO ROME. CHAPTER L GENOA. March 8. Jamque rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis : Quum procul obscuros coUes, humilemque videmua Italiam ! ItAliam primus couclamat Achates; Italiam Iseto socii clamore salutant. ^n. iii. 521. Yea, it was indeed Italy which we were coasting, but to describe the fairy scene is beyond my power. All we had ever read or heard of blue Italian skies and waters, snowy mountains, vine-covered hills, and romantic vil- lages, was more than realised from the deck of our steamer as we sailed along the fair Ligurian shore. The following lines of Rogers came spontaneously to my lips — Italy ! how beautiful thou art ! Yet I could weep, for thou art lying, alas, Low in the dust; and we admire thee now As we iidmire the beautiful iu death. Thine was a dangerous gift when thou wast bom. The fatal gift of beauty. Would thou hadst it uot. Or wert as once, awing the caitiffs vile Who now beset thee, making thee their slave I Would they had Ijved thee less, or feared thee more 1 CORNICHE EOAD. 35 Between Nice and Genoa, the road is carried along the side of the mountains, and although recently much widened, retains the name, " Corniche Road," given it when a mere rocky ledge overhanging the sea, barely wide enough for the safe passage of a single mule. We could trace its course, winding round the mountain curves, clinging to precipices, crossing cataracts, spanning ravines, now trembling over the deep blue waters on the bare side of some steep headland, now lost in the depth of the retiring bay, sometimes embosomed in orange groves and vineyards, then re-appearing studded with old church towers, ancient castles, and gleaming villages — a delicate silver thread strung at intervals with jewels that sparkled in the morning sun ; for while far enough off for " dis- tance" to "lend enchantment to the view," we were suffi- ciently near to discriminate the varied beauties of a scene which, in the blushing light of a spring sunrise, appeared more like a dream than a reality. How soft the tints on these nearest mountains, all whose undulations are clearly marked out in shadow by the slanting rays ; what para- dises of beauty are sheltered in those valleys where the white villas gleam out from rich masses of foliage; and how gloriously in the background do the snowy peaks of Alp and Apennine shoot up into the clear blue sky! But when we fixed our attention on any lovely spot, leisurely to drink in its beauty, it rapidly faded from our view: like all earthly joys, however pure and fair; for the present life is at the best but a passing scene, whose sweetest spots were designed, not to detain us here, but only to gladden the journey towards that which alone is enduring:. :36 GENOA. We are now sailing up the narrowing gulph o1 " Geneva la Superba," and surely never was title more fitly conferred. Enchanting was the view, expanding in ever-increasing beauty, as we swiftly glided over the waters sparkling in the sunshine as in very gladness. Far distant snowy peaks are the background to the most majestic amphitheatre of mountains, at the foot of which, :Stretching two miles along the coast, is proudly seated this city of the sea, long the rival of Venice, chosen b}? Liberty as the last spot on which to linger before she fled from Italy, where alone any of her angel-fragrance is still retained, and which in all probability she will select a^ the fa-^oured spot whence to expand her wings, again tc revive and gladden, by her heavenly smile, the down- trexlden and the dead. How grandly its palaces and churches climb the steep sides of the hills which ascend from the water's edge ! The whole city lies before you. spread out as a map upon the encompassing slopes. scarcely a building which is not visible, the walls and parapets, white, yellow, or red, undimmed by any film o1 city smoke, while the bluest of skies is reflected in the bluest of seas, a glorious frame for an unrivalled picture. I We are now at anchor, and impatient to go on shore. i€i8 the steamer sails again in the afternoon. How pro- jvoking! we must wait till the passports are examined, 8 J whole hour's business ! Each minute seemed five till 1 1 1 thought of my sketch-book, and now each five minute& X /seemed but one. Time is only tedious when without an fl't^jl object, inactivity being the paradise of fools alone, and "^ \ J that only in the anticipation. I look round for a central object. What is that vast range of yellow tinted build- ANDREA DORIA^ — SIEGE. 37 ings, with its long colonnades, its arched verandahs, its terraced gardens overhanging the sea? " It is the Palazzo Doria," a name which stands among the noblest of Italy's worthies. Devoting his wealth and naval talents to the' emancipation of Genoa, Andrea Doria demanded its free- dom from France as the remuneration of his services. Denied by Francis, he turned to his imperial rival Charles Y., who even proposed to confer on him the sovereignty, which however he rejected for the prouder title of Father and Liberator of his country ! From this palace, bestowed by his grateful fellow citizens, and de- corated under his own direction, the brave Admiral often looked forth on the harbour and city, and with far more satisfaction than if he could say, " Genoa is mine," could feel that " Genoa is free." He was a glorious old veteran, and had no idea of receiving his pay without rendering an equivalent to the Republic, for at the age of eighty-six, he led a squadron against the Turks, nor did he resign his command of the fleet till ninety years of age. •Having secured an outline of the palace, let us try to wash in the fine mountainous background. Within the lines of fortification are many unoccupied spots, where the rocky soil is covered with a brown and scanty herb- age. What painful associations arise as the pencil is at work ! Imagination pictures the Genoese ladies clamber- ing there to gather weeds for their famishing children. The city is besieged by the Austrians, while the British navy blockades it by sea. Within the walls, Massena, with seven thousand French troops, is closely invested, and the miserable citizens, not allowed by the besiegers to escape, lest the garrison should be enabled by their 38 GENOA. share of the provisions, the longer to hold out, suffer all the agonies of famine. I cannot forbear quoting a short description of this terrible illustration of the horrors of war, from the pen of Dr Arnold: — "Some of you, I doubt not, remem- ber Genoa; you have seen that queenly city with its streets of palaces, rising tier after tier from the water, girdling with the long lines of its bright white houses the vast sweep of its harbour, the mouth of which is mai'ked by a huge natural mole of rock, crowned by its magnificent lighthouse Hither the remains of the French force were collected. Its very numbers, added to the population of a great city, held out to the enemy a hope of reducing it by famine. It is not at once that the inhabitants of a great city accustomed to the daily sight of well-stored shops and an abundant market, begin to realise the idea of scarcity; or that the wealthy classes of society, who have never known any other state than one of abundance and luxury, begin seriously to conceive of famine. But the shops were emptied, and the storehouses began to be drawn upon ; and no fresh supply or hope of supply appeared. Winter passed away, and spring re- turned, so early and so beautiful on that garden-like coast, sheltered as it is from the north winds by its belt of mountains, and open to the full rays of a southern sun. Spring returned, and clothed the hill sides within the lines with its fresh verdure. But that verdure was no longer the mere delight of the careless eye of luxury, re- freshing the citizens by its liveliness and softness, when they rode or walked up thither from the city, to enjoy the surpassing beauty of the prospect. The green hill EAMBLE THROUGH THE CITY. 39 sides were now visited for a very different object; ladies of the highest rank might be seen cutting up every plant which it was possible to turn to food, and bearing home the common weeds of our waysides as a most precious treasure In the most gorgeous palaces of that gor- geous city, no less than in the humblest tenements of the humblest poor, death was busy ; not the momentary death of battle or massacre, nor the speedy death of pestilence, but the lingering and most miserable death of famine. Infants died before their parents' eyes, husbands and wives lay down to expire together. .... The agonising death of twenty thousand innocent and helpless persoiis requires nothing to be added to it."* We were delighted with our ramble through the city ; all was so novel, so gay, so picturesque. The streets too narrow for carriages, the goldsmiths' shops displaying the filagree work for which Genoa is famous, the number and sjilendour of the marble palaces, the background of moun- tains at the end of each narrow vista, the terraced gardens with groves of orange trees bending with fruit, the women wearing, instead of bonnets, ample white gauze veils falling elegantly from luxuriant plaits of hair listened with long silver arrows, priests in their flowing robes, monks of every order in hooded cloaks, fastened round the waist with a piece of rope; all this formed to English eyes a most novel sight. We looked into several churches, gorgeous with marble and gilding, and saw many fine pictures ; but our time was so short, and the treasures of art so plentiful, that we remembered only one blended scene of magnificence and beauty. I must, how- Lectures on Modern History. 40 GENOA. ever, specify the church of the Anminciata, which \\a one blaze of splendour, its majestic columns of the rar( marbles, their capitals and the roof, covered with gilding, j and the walls enriched in every part with frescoes and brilliant decorations. It is impossible to convey to the reader any idea of the gorgeousness of this church, sur- passing in elaborate enrichment any thing we subsequently saw in Florence, Rome, or Naples. Over one of the old city gates, we saw suspended part of a ponderous chain, taken by Andrea Doria from the port of Pisa, a proud trophy of Genoa's ancient prowess, but a sad memento of those suicidal rivalries which at last rendered the states of Italy an easy prey to foreign The Strada Nuovissima is entirely composed of marble palaces, such as we had only read of in fairy tales. They are of great height, and are built with a court-yard open to the street, revealing the beautiful marble arcades within. As we stood under their shadow, listening to a military band stationed in the street, playing very taste- fully, "The Last E-ose of Summer," with variations, amidst a crowd of gay folks in varied and picturesque costume — soldiers, priests, citizens, and foreigners, all talking as fast as possible-^we thought we had never wit- nessed a gayer or more foreign scene. We were con- ducted over the Palazzo Brignole, and passed through long suites of princely rooms, hung with the works of the first masters, and paved with variegated marbles in most elegant patterns. From one of the windows we walked out upon an extensive terrace, from whose balustraded parapet we looked down into the street far below, and THE HERO OF PEACE. 41 thought of the merchant princes and the stately dames, who had paced these polished pavements in the days of Genoa's ancient freedom and greatness. It was now time to return to the vessel. The sun was setting, and the city faded gradually from view, while light after light gleamed forth from the gloom, till the shore and mountain sides presented the aspect of an immense illumination, reflected in the sea below. As thus we still feasted our eyes on scenes at which the worthies of former days had gazed, we wondered not that so fair a queen had captivated so many hearts, to forget their selfish interests, in the nobler passion of serving and defending her. Among them was one whose whole life was a long act of peaceful but unsurpassed heroism. Marco GrifFoni was the richest citizen of Genoa, scat- tering his wealth with a princely profusion — which drew on him blessings wherever he went. Foreseeing th^ dis- astrous consequences even of successful war, he urged his belligerent countrymen to peace. In vain. Suddenly " he became another man. For full fifty years he was seen sitting at his desk among his money-bags ; giving no longer to any, but lending to all at the highest rate, and exacting with the utmost rigour. 'No longer relieving the miserable, he sought only to enrich himself by their misery ; and there he sat in his gown of frieze, till every finger was pointed at him in passing, and every tongue exclaimed, 'There sits the miser!'" Peace had now come, but Genoa was ruined, and heavy taxes "lay like a curse on the land, till an old man entered the senate-house on his crutches, and all was 42 GENOA. changed. For amidst all that obloquy he was still the same as ever, still acting to the best of his judgment for the good of his fellow-citizens : and when the measure of their calamities was full, and the lesson, as he flattered himself, was graven in their minds, then, but not till then, though his hair had long grown gray, he threw off the mask and gave up all he had, to annihilate at a blow his great and cruel adversaries, — those taxes, which, when excessive, break the hearts of the people."* "Was there not more true heroism, more self-denial, in such a life, than if it had been sj^ent in deluging battle- fields with the blood of his country's foes? Whose heart, capable of any sympathy with nobleness, does not swell with emotion at such a narrative! Would not the absence of enthusiasm for such a patriot be a stigma to any people? And so our thoughts wandered to Him who " though He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through His poverty might be rich." Is en- thiisiasm for Him less reasonable? Long after Genoa and its lights disappeared, we re- mained on deck leaning over the bulwarks, watching the phosphoric waves, on which diamonds and emeralds seemed thrown about in profusion. The other passengers having retired, we sang some favourite trios, winding up with our usual evening hymn, from Keble's " Christian Year," henceforth doubly dear, as associated with the many lovely scenes and venerable ruins amidst which we have sung it during our tour. Rogers' Italy. LIVORNA. 4.3 CHAPTER II LIVORNO — PISA. Wednesday^ March 9. — We were roused early by casting anchor at Livorno. Was this musical word changed into Leghorn because so unattractive a town did not deserve so beautiful a designation? Why cannot a place be universally known by the name its inhabitants give it? Surely Napoli and Roma, no more than Livorno, are improved by the Englishman's version. Four hours of tedious detention elapse,> while the officials deliberately awake, dress, and breakfast before they examine the passports, and allow us to land. We then made a hasty inspection of the city. It owes its real origin to the enterprise of Cosmo and Ferdinand I. in the sixteenth century. The population, which pre- viously was not 1000, now numbers 80,000, of which 15,000 are Jews. The streets were thronged by sailors and travellers of all nations. Incessant offers of varied service were tendered us, and articles of sale were at every corner thrust into our faces by eager vendors stammering out a little broken English in commendation of their wares. We had no time to visit the Monastery of Monte Nero, where is preserved, according to Mui-ray, a miraculous picture of the Virgin, said to have sailed by itself in 44 PISA. 1345, from Negropont in the Archipelago, to the neigh- bouring shore, whence, by its own direction, it was con- veyed to its present resting-place by the shepherd who found it! A railroad ride of half an hour brought us to Pisa, and we at once proceeded to that wonderful group of build- ings, " which the traveller's eye embraces at one glance, but does not weary of beholding." And these majestic marble monuments were reared by this little Republic, amid the darkness of the middle ages, and while the rest of Europe was in a state of barbarism ! The Cathedral, completed in 1118, is Romanesque, of red and white marble. The interior is very imposing, with its forest of columns, each a single block, the spoils of ancient temples. Among other fine pictures we especially admired an Andrea del Sarto of St Margaret, awing with one gesture of her hand the fierce lion which lies harmless at her feet. We were much interested at seeing, still suspended in the nave, the famous bronze lamp, the vibrations of which sug- gested to Galileo the employment of the pendulum as a measure of time. What important secrets are for ages within reach before they are grasped ! Suspended objects had always vibrated in equal times, whatever the length of the arc, before the philosopher marked the fact and applied the principle. And, doubtless, future genera- tions will deem essential to comfort and almost to exist- ence, many things now concealed beneath most familiar forms, and will wonder that we remained so ignorant of what kind Nature so perseveringly and importunately seemed to teach. The Baptistery, fronting the Cathedral, in form resem- LEANING TOWER. 45 bling a huge bride-cake, is surmounted by a cupola, rising to the height of one hundred and eighty feet. The pulpit by Nicolo Pisano, erected in 1206, was, says Murray, " so much prized, that it was placed under the special guar- dianship of the law, and during Holy Week, the Podesta was sworn to send one of his officers with a proper guard, to preserve it from injury." It is supported by nine small columns, resting on crouching griffins, lions, and tigers. The carving on its sides represents the history of Christ from the nativity to the judgment. We now visited the Campo Santo, the most remark able cemetery in the world. It was founded in tEe twelfth century, and is covered with earth brought from Mount Calvary at the time when Saladin expelled the Crusaders from Palestine. The centre is open, surrounded by a cloister, covered with ancient frescoes, and contain- ing the most complete collection of Roman tombs and inscriptions, to be found out of the Vatican. These anti- quities have been appropriated by the Pisan nobles, and the bones of mediaeval princes peacefully repose in marble sarcophagi elaborately sculptured in honour of Roman senators. The most remarkable building of the group, is the celebrated Leaning Tower, at the east end of the Cathe- i dral. Instead of its peculiar feature being exaggerated by the pictures which have made it familiar to every one, we were perfectly astonished at the degree of its inclina- tion. It surely cannot be stationary — it has gone too far to stop — it must be falling — keep clear of the ruin ! But no, it remains where it was, standing as it has done for six centuries, and may do till the end of time. Opinion L'fe 46 PISA. is divided, but my own conviction is that its position was designed. Had the ground once given way so much, would it in all after-time have remained so firm ? Would no rents in the walls have resulted from such a settle- ment) Had the tower begun to fall, would not its own momentum have completed the catastrophe? I was con- vinced that the architect had designed to produce a marvel, before our guide told us that the earth round the foundation having recently been partially removed, the lower courses of masonry were discovered quite hori- zontal This, if true, of course settles the question. A But was this architectural experiment really success- ^fed? The tower stands, but is it beautiful? You are startled, but are you either awed or pleased? On the contrary, being unnatural, you condemn it as untrue, I and shrink from it as unsafe. Still more in the archi- tecture of morality, is building out of the perpendicular to be deprecated. To venture one iota from perfect uprightness — ^to try how far we may lean from virtue without absolutely falling — to make the experiment of approaching, and yet escaping destruction — is not only more displeasing to a pure moral taste than a line out of the perpendicular to a correct eye, but it is infinitely perilous. Buildings of stone thus erected may possibly stand, charactei-s never. The true perpendicular must be regained, or the edifice will fall. The good old Book declares " He that walketh uprightly walketh surely." In ascending the spiral staircase to the summit, a height of 180 feet, the varying level caused a queer sensa- tion, for while the labour of the steps is increased by the HISTORICAL RECOLLECTIONS. 47 inclined plane, up which you move on the one side, on the other you feel as if falling while in the act of climb- ing ! Few can look without dizziness over the parapet on the inclining side, as it overhangs no less than thirteen feet. On the top are hung seven bells, one of which weighs 12,000 lbs., and as these are not allowed to remain silent, it is evident that no fears are entertained for the tower. They rang for vespers while I was there, and the whole building vibrated ^ith the sound. I much enjoyed the view, as I looked down on the old city, and thought of its ancient greatness, when from its Porto Pisano, at the mouth of the Arno, it disputed with Genoa and Yenice the sovereignty of the sea, conquered Sardinia, and made the palaces of Constantinople tremble at her name. Sismondi says — " The republic of Pisa was one of the first to make known to the world the riches and power which a small state might acquire by the aid of commerce and liberty, and was the first to introduce into Tuscany the arts which ennoble wealth." But foreign rivalry and domestic faction, those twin foes of Italian states, gradually proved her ruin. A grand system of retribution is ever at work among the nations : Liberty flees from those who defile her shrine by violence; and all history is a comment on the words of the Prince of Peace — " They that use the sword shall perish by the sword." Exhausted by wars with Genoa, and the long contention of Guelph and Ghibbeline, Pisa, distracted, looked for a dictator to pilot her through the storm. But Ugolino betrayed his trust to enslave his country. Then the citizens whom his cruelties had exasperated, shut him up with his sons and grandsons in the tower of 48 PISA. the Sette Vie. The Archbishop, to whom their custody was intrusted, threw into the river the key of the dun- geon, where they miserably died. The tower of famine has disappeared, but the tragedy remains, an imperishable fossil in the rock of Dante's divine comedy. I Pisa, forming an alliance with the Viscontis the tyrants of Milan, the Florentines deemed it necessary to wage an I exterminating war on . their ancient neighbour, to dis- i lodge from this dangerous proximity so inveterate a foe ]to freedom. The population, once 100,000, is now re- duced to 20,000, and grass grows in the forsaken streets. And now I look down from the lofty tower which wit- nessed all those changes, these glorious structures still remaining in the midst of the desolation, a group of majestic mournful witnesses, warning every successive generation of the follies, crimes, and punishment of the past. On our way to the railroad, a little Italian boy ran to us with some lovely bunches of violets, and though the bouquet I bought was very sweet, the heavenly counte- nance of the little salesman was much sweeter. I love to recall his beautiful face, for never have I before seen one so lovely in a boy. Its oval shape, the large melan- choly dark eyes and long eye-lashes, the aquiline nose, the perfect little mouth, the clear though dark complexion, and his look, so gentle yet so noble, I shall ever remem- ber. Indeed, we have been struck with the features of all the common people in Italy. Their fine Roman noses and well defined mouths, seem to recall their ancient splendour, and to remind us that some day they will ai'ise, shake off their slavish chains, and again become a FEATURES OF THE COMMON PEOPLE. 49 noble and free people, I love to recall their physiognomy; it appears to me prophetic, "And oft the blessed time foretells When all men shall be free. And musical as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be." ^-r-MS-. Journal. 50 FLORENCE. CHAPTER III. FLORENCE. — VIEW PROM SAN MINIATO. Thursday, March 10. — The bells of the far famed Duomo, immediately above us, had been for some hours endea- vouring to drive away our welcome slumbers, before we thoroughly awoke to the delightful consciousness that we were in Florence ! The post-office was the first attraction, so passing even the cathedral, and the Baptistery with its "gates of Paradise," we hastened to obtain the first letters we could have received after leaving home. To know that those dear to us in England were well and happy, in- spired us with additional zest for examining the innu- merable objects of interest around. The gi-eatest of our mercies are the commonest, and their very frequency , makes them ofcen received as matters of course, with ^1 W\\ little thankfulness. Among these, not the least is that ' ^ - * soother of anxiety, that handmaid of afi'ection, that faith- till messenger of love, the world's great pulse — the post- * office. Soldiers thronged the streets, swarming at every corner, in every piazza, at the gate of every public building. Accosting some of them in Italian, we found they could not understand a word of the language of the people whom they protected, or rather over whom they kept M. ANGELO'S FORTIFICATIONS. 51 guard. They were Austrians. Alas for the poor Floren- / tines ! kept down by foreign mercenaries — " paid with ) their own money, for shielding the tyrant, within walls) their fathers had reared to protect freedom." * On visiting a strange city, the best thing to do first is, to obtain a bird's-eye view of the whole of what you ^ will afterwards examine in detail. This is very easy at j Florence, for in every direction the surrounding heights' command prospects of great beauty. Crossing the Arno, and passing through the city gate, we climbed the steep Via Crucis to the cypressed terrace of a Franciscan con- vent, from which, still ascending and turning to the right, we came to an ancient portal connected with shat- tered walls and dilapidated towers. These were the fortifications erected by Michael Angelo, in defence of Florentine freedom. This republic had seized the oppor- tunity of throwing off the yoke of the Medici and the Pope, while the latter was besieged at Rome by the soldiers of Charles Y. Though this army had com- mitted more atrocities in E,ome than any horde of bar- barians that had preceded them, sacrilege and abomina- tions of every kind were forgiven, and important conces- sions made to the Emperor, on condition of his lending these mercenary ruffians to enable the Pope to punish the Tuscan rebels. Abhorrence of popular freedom was the one bond of sympathy which overpowered the anti- pathies of these hostile potentates. Florence was wicked enough to desire liberty, and, by the basest of compro- mises, " the same day Herod and Pilate were made friends together; for before they were at enmity between themselves." * Sismondi. 52 FLORENCE. We now entered on a level terrace enclosed by an old church on the left, and on the right by the low broad parapet of an ancient bastion. Let us sit on this shat- tered relic of the past, consecrated by genius and patriot- ism, while we feast our eyes on the matchless landscape which has suddenly burst upon us. " Florefice the beautiful, the Athens of modern Italy, the mother oi genius, who has given birth to a greater number oi eminent men than all the rest of Italy put together, wsa idly and voluptuously lying in the lap of her green vah of Amo, like a beautiful pearl set in emerald, as if lulled by the murmur of her river, and by the fascination of th( smiles of her climate." * The sun at our back pours a flood of light on the palaces and churches, the turrets and cupolas of this fairest of cities, which, with all its details minutely dis tinguishable, undimmed by smoke or vapour, sparkles ir the radiance. In the centre, towering majestically abov< its encompassing satellites, rises the famous cupola o BrunelleschL It is the largest in the world, and thoug! not so loftily planted as the dome of St Peter's, exceedi it, as I venture to think, in beauty of form still mor( than in dimensions. M. Angelo often gazed on it witl an enthusiasm which stimulated him to attempt the riva prodigy at Rome, and is reported to have often said, ii despair of surpassing his model — Come te non voglio, meglv di te non posso." Beside it is the elegant Campanile o Giotto, rising in its elaborate beauty of variegated marbles without break or diminution from foundation to parapet to the height of 280 feet. That dome beneath it is th( * MariottL VIEW OF THE CITY. 53 Baptistery, the ancient church of St John, built in the sixth century on the site of the temple of Mars. A little to the left, far above the surrounding houses, frowns the massive fortress-palace of the ancient Republic, with its square slender minaret rising to a dizzy height, sur- mounted by a widely projecting turret, which hovers as an eagle over the city. That dome, nearly in the same line but more distant, is the sepulchral chapel of the Medici, while to the right is the spire of S. Croce, the Westminster Abbey of Florence, where the ashes of so many of her illustrious sons repose. How brightly does the sun light up that long row of houses, whose white and yellow fronts rise from the bank of the river flowing from the mysterious recesses of yonder mountains, which are still haunted by the spirit of Milton, and recall those exquisite lines in which he says that the legions of Satan " lay entranced, Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks- In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades High overarch'd embower." Coming forth from these classic glens, the river passes through the city, spanned by numerous bridges, and then meanders in the vast plain which stretches endlessly away on our left, till it is lost in the azure of distance. Yery near us, flanked with picturesque towers, are the gray old city walls, from whose gates the Florentine youth, wearing white shirts over their dress, to distin- guish one another in the darkness of the night, made desperate but ineffectual sallies, in defence of freedom, at that crisis of their city's history to which we have 54 FLORENCE. referred. Compelled at last to capitulate to the Pope on honourable terms, Florence soon discovered, by the tor turing, exile, and murder of her citizens, how little to be trusted are the oaths of tyrants. For miles in all directions the white villas of the citizens spread over the plain, or climb the encircling fi heights. Opposite us, dotted with houses, are the classic I \ heights of Fesol6, ancient city of the Etruscans, where dwelt the great astronomer when visited by our own 'great poet ; and surely no star ever shone more brightly in the physical heavens contemplated by Galileo, than jMilton in the firmament of genius and virtue. The back- '(gi'ound to this enchanting view is formed by the majestic J Apennines, their summits covered with snow, here \ strongly contrasted with the deep blue sky, there scarcely distinguishable from the clouds. The whole was a scene not more lovely than replete with thrilling memories, and we felt with Rogers — *' Of all the fairest cities of the earth None is so fair as Florence. 'Tis a gem Of purest ray ; and what a light broke'forth, When it emerged from darkness ! Search within. Without, all is enchantment ! Tis the past Contending with the present ; and in turn Each has the mastery." What various scenes has she witnessed since first the citizens of Fesole planted their little colony on the Arno for the purposes of commerce ! The child grown gigantic, throws off" the parent's yoke, and amidst the confusion of the middle ages, asserts her rights as an independent state. The feudal chiefs renouncing the authority of their liege lord, are in their turn discarded by the free HISTORICAL SKETCH. 55 citizens. Then was exhibited to astonished and indignant princes, the sublime spectacle of a noble people govern- ing themselves; commerce, manufactures, and the arts, flourishing at a time when the rest of Europe was in a state of semi-barbarism. Amidst the conflicts of con- tending factions, this narrow soil produced as many illus- trious men as might have furnished a whole continent with cause for boasting. When nearly all the world was in chains. Liberty dwelt here as in a chosen temple, where her faithful worshippers zealously kept alive the sacred fire on her altars, a solitary beacon amidst the surround- ing gloom. Here by the labours of its learned men, the writings of ancient historians, philosophers, and poets, which in a few years might have perished for ever, were rescued from oblivion, to become the instruction and delight of all after-ages. In this city, revived architec- ture, painting, and sculpture achieved some of their earliest and mightiest triumphs, and still Florence remains the favourite palace of the arts. But pleasure is mingled with regret when we thus turn from the past to the present, for what are natural beauty, stately edifices, paintings eloquent with sentiment, and statues, that heave with life — without Liberty ! Freedom for every one to read and teach the Bible, alone eclipses all. We need not envy Italian skies and Italian art, though we should spend all our days amidst damp fogs and smoky chimneys. It were better even to live in huts with liberty and law, and never to have seen a statue or a picture, than to boast of all that refinem^at and luxury can confer, and be slaves to a fellow mortal's despot will. Oii' FLOB£NCE. CHAPTER lY. FLORENCE THE CHURCHES. , Among the many magnificent buildings of Florence, our J first object was, of course, the cathedral church of S. ! Maria del Fiore, commenced in 1298 and completed in- I 1446. For centuries it was without a rival, and for \ centuries to come it will continue to impress the spectator jwith an indefinable sense of grandeur. It is completely I encased in panneling of black and white marble, the i effect of which is not adequate to its costliness, reminding fi us at first of plaster indifierently marked out in patterns. I But the longer we gazed at this wonderful structure the ' greater was our admiration ; nor do I think that Rome itself has anything to shew so solemnly majestic, so truly \ church-like, as the Duomo of Florence. The best view is from the side of the piazza opposite the intersection of the south transept with the choir. Seen from that point, the queen-like dome, swelling up from its octagonal drum with exquisite oval curve, attended by the numerous smaller cupolas with which the cathedral is adorned, fairest among the fair, like charity amidst the virtues, and looking down serenely on the city, as it had looked for four hundi-ed years, was an object on which we were ,' never weaiy of gazing. And as we wandered up and '. down in musing admiration, a flag-stone inscribed as the THE CATHEDSAL. 57 seat of Dante, added more than I can express, to the ' interest we felt. Hither the poet would continually | resort, meditating great thoughts of hell, purgatory, and paradise, and contemplating the cathedral. " On that ancient seat. Would Dante sit conversing, and with those Who little thought that in his hand he held The balance, and assigned at his good pleasure To each his place in the invisible world, To some an upper region, some a lower." Near this are two fine statues of the architects of the cathedral. Arnolfo, who commenced it, is looking down as if examining the foundations, while Brunelleschi, with a plan of the cupola on his knee, is looking up at the completion of his design. We were struck with the severe grandeur of the in- terior : unlike the gaudy splendour of the majority of continental churches, it had new charms on every visit, not like a talkative pretender, babbling out at once all he has to say to every passer-by frivolous or sober, but as a grave and reverend teacher, ever with some lesson of wisdom for those who seek instruction. The nave, 150 feet high, is separated from its aisles, by four immense pointed arches on each side. The cupola was a work of great enterprise, as nothing of the kind had hitherto been attempted. I enjoyed a ravishing view from its summit, 350 feet above the ground. As I ascended the winding passages between the exterior and interior walls, for it is a double dome, my mind was full of Brunelleschi, of whose skill and perseverance Vasari gives so graphic an account. 58 FLORENCE. Architecture was his master passion. To gratify it he visited Rome, where he studied all the ancient buildings, and meditated during many years, some method of imit- ing the four naves of the still unfinished cathedral of his ( native city. In 1407, having matured his plans, and / wishing, with the confident ambition of genius, to prove j his superiority over his rivals, he counselled the autho- \ rities to convene an assembly of architects from all parts i of the world. When all had declared it impossible to rear a dome of such magnitude, he astonished the assembly by boldly announcing his readiness at once to undertake j the achievement, though he refused to make known the I means he should adopt. He was for some time ridiculed and denounced as a presumptuous visionary, but continu- ing pertinaciously to assert his competence to do what the Florentines so earnestly desired, he was at length intrusted with its execution. But a rival architect, who had great influence with the Signoria, succeeded in being appointed his coadjutor. Vexed at having to share the honour with one who, whatever his talent in other j branches of art, could render him no aid here, Brunel- ileschi, watching his opportunity, when the works had reached a point requiring his constant personal superin- tendence, shammed illness. In vain the workmen applied to the baffled Ghibei-ti for instructions. The cupola I hung critically in the air, and not a stone did any one \ venture to add to it, without directions from the master !mind, to which alone the great idea they were developing was familiar. All physicians failed in curing the obsti- nate illness of the architect, till his incompetent rival SANTA CROCE. 59 •was dismissed. Then the murmurs of the workmen ceased, and the citizens again had the proud delight of seeing their beloved cupola continue its daily climb. Opposite the western front of the cathedral is the Baptistery, whose bronze doors were declared by M. Angelo " worthy of being the gates of Paradise." The first put up was by Andrea Pisano in 1330, and such was the interest felt in the arts, at a period when other lands were still so rude, that the event was celebrated as a public festival, attended by the Signoria in state, and the Ambassadors of foreign powers. The Campanile, 270 feet high, built entirely of marble, and covered with sculpture, was commenced in 1334, by Giotto, who was commissioned to erect " an edifice which in height and richness of workmanship, should surpass any structure raised by the Greeks and the Romans, in the most palmy periods of their power." Of one of the statues which occupy its numerous niches it is said, that Donatello, when giving it the last stroke of his chisel, exclaimed in enthusiastic admiration for his own perform- ance — " Speak !" The outside of the church of Santa Croce presents to the view a dismal mass of unfinished brickwork, but the interior is invested by the memory of the great men who there repose, with a dignity superior to any that visible magnificence can confer. Here are the tombs of Galileo, Machiavelli, Alfieri, and many more. Over that of M. Angelo, the sorrowing sister arts, — architecture, painting and sculpture, mourn in marble day and night, and year by year, the loss of their illustrious votary. We were 60 FLORENCE. most of all impressed with the monument id Dante, in -which Italy, a majestic figure, crowned with a star, points! 1 triumphantly to his effigy, while Poetry weeps despairingly \ over his sarcophagus. The Piazza of the church is interesting to every lover of liberty, for it was here that, in 1250, the citizens as- sembled when they threw off the galling yoke of the y Nobles and the Emperor, constituting themselves a free f Republic. From this place it was, that, arranged in com- Ipanies of militia, they issued to destroy those baronial ' towers in which their oppressors had long dwelt in proud superiority to all law ; and here was instituted that ancient Signoria composed of twelve magistrates, elected every second month from the six districts into which the city was divided. " The Republic," says Sismondi, *' was so rich in good citizens, and in men worthy of its confi- dence, that this rapid succession did not exhaust their number." In the church of S. Maria Novella, attached to the Dominican convent, we were much interested in looking at the celebrated picture of the Virgin by Cimabue, now nearly six centuries old. It was conducted from the 2)ainter's house by a grand procession of magistrates and clergy, amid an innumerable concourse of citizens; another illustration of the high state of civilisation at Florence in those dark ages. While we were examining the numerous frescoes on the old walls, the most hideous nasal sounds, intended for I chanting, came from behind the high altar, and presently I there issued from the penetralia a swarm of naked-footed REMARKABLE FRESCO. 61 monks, whose features and general aspect were such that any caricaturist, wishing to be uncomplimentary to their order, could not succeed so well by any effort of his ima- gination, as by faithfully taking their portraits. When we saw the singers we ceased to wonder at the sounds, and remembering how nearly the Dominicans and the Inquisition are related, we shuddered at the bare possi- bility of any one being in the power of men, apparently so destitute of all human sympathies. Am I uncharitable? Come with us then into the chapter-house. Look at that large fresco-painting repre- senting the church militant and the church triumphant. On one side, the Pope and the Emperor on thrones, sur- rounded by bishops and other persons of distinction, are watching a pack of dogs as they drive away from a flock of sheep some ravenous wolves. These dogs of the Lord (Domini canes) are black and white, the colours of the Domi- nicans whom they represent. The wolves whom they are destroying, tearing open their bowels in the fiercest canine fashion, depict the Waldenses and other heretics, while the sheep are the good Papists imperilled by their wicked errors ! In the corner of the fresco some of the heretics are represented as having been converted, and in the act of destroying their erroneous books, while S. Dominic, above, is leading the elect to S. Peter, who keeps the gate, of heaven. Here, then, are the persecutions of Popery, in England often denied as fabulous, publicly commemo- rated in the fresco of a Romanist church, and gloried in as one of the virtues of the Dominicans. Would Pro- testants be guilty of vulgar uncharitableness in calling 63 PLOBENCE. them sanguinary blood-hounds 1 It would be unnecessary, as it is the character they give themselves. The exterior of S. Lorenzo, like the generality of Florentine churches, is unfinished and unsightly. Near the high altar, a slab of porphyry, inlaid with precious stones, and inscribed with the words PATER PATEI^, mark3 the resting-place of Cosmo, the founder of the greatness of the Medici. Instead of " Father of his country" says Whiteside, his epitaph " ought to have been * the enslaver of its freedom.' " The chapel of the Medici, behind the choir, was built in 1604, by Ferdi- nand, who intended to place it in the holy sepulchre, which he designed to steal from Jerusalem. His agents had actually begun to saw it from the rock, before the ridiculous and monstrous design was discovered and frus- trated. The building was then appropriated as the ceme- teiy of the Grand Dukes. Its walls are entirely covered with costly marbles elaborately inlaid, and mosaics of most exquisite patterns are composed of jasper, chalce- dony, agate, lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, turquoises and topazes. "We then visited the Capelli dei depositi, built by M. Angelo on the north of the church, for receiving his master-pieces of sculpture, the monuments of Lorenzo and Giuliano de Medici. He who has once seen will for ever continue to see the figure of Lorenzo, sitting there in profound meditation, the head resting on the hand, much more like mind than marble. " For deep and intense feeling," says Westmacott, " it is one of the finest works in existence." Here are also the celebrated allegorical SERVICE IN THE CATHEDRAL. 63 figures of Day and Night, Morning and Evening. To these great woi-ks of art Rogers thus alludes : — " Nor then forget that chamber of the dead. Where the gigantic shapes of Night and Day, Turned into stone, rest everlastingly ; Yet still are breathing, and shed round at noon A twofold influence — only to be felt — A light, a darkness, mingling each with each ; Both, and yet neither. There, from age to age. Two Ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres. That is the Duke Lorenzo. Mark him -vrell. He meditates, his head upon his hand. What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls ? Is it a face, or but an eyeless skuU ? 'Tis lost in shade ; yet lik,e the basilisk, ' It fascinates and is intolerable." These and other churches we could only see once, but scarcely a day passed without our re-visiting the cathe- dral, which had always something new to interest us. Let one scene suffice as an illustration. A priest at the high altar, with his back to the people, is saying or rather whispering mass in tones perfectly inaudible. From a side-chapel filled with ecclesiastics, instead of the sweet and plaintive strains we hope for, there issues a discordant gabble too hideous for description. We begin to think that any primitive-Methodist choir in York- shire would be ashamed of the ordinary singing in Itahan churches, an opinion afterwards most abundantly con- firmed. A few worshippers are on their knees near the altar, but a vast crowd is congregated around the pulpit, in the vast and distant nave. They pay no attention to the service, but are evidently waiting for the preacher. A velvet carpet is now spread in the centre of the 64 rLORENCE. cathedml, and a cushion placed upon it. While we are conjecturing the puq)ose of this preparation, a carriage drives up to the transept door, from which a cardinal alights. Attended by a procession of priests, he advances to this cushion, on which he kneels for a few seconds towards the altar, and is then conducted to his seat opposite the pulpit. Now the preacher, a celebrated orator from, Rimini, ascends the rostrum, bows to his Eminence, and without book or notes, begins his sermon. He commences ear- ; nestly and without hesitation, as if he felt he had some , important message to deliver. His sonorous voice echoes \ through the immense cathedral. Now, with deliberate emphasis he rolls forth syllable by syllable, and now the sentences rush from his lips like a torrent, so that you marvel how it is possible to articulate so fast. He becomes increasingly animated ; his eyes sparkle ; he walks backwards and forwards in the spacious pulpit with vehe- ment gesticulation ; sometimes he claps his hands, then folds them on his breast, then spreads them out over the people ; suddenly he throws himself down on a seat behind ;him, still continuing his harangue, and leans, as if ex- I hausted, over the pulpit-side ; soon he rekindles, and as if unconsciously, rises from his seat, and is again borne [along in his harangue by a very tempest of emotion. "With all his impetuosity, he is never vulgar nor inelegant, 'and though to us it might appear extravagant, to the Italian audience it seemed quite natural. Let me here pause and inquire whether, if this style of preaching is too energetic, that which generally pre- vails with us is not too tame. Have we many churches EARNESTNESS IN PREACHING. 65 where two thousand persons, chiefly of the trading and working classes, could be induced to stand for more than m hour, on a week-day morning, to listen to a sermon ? Why should preaching be often the dullest of all dull bhings ? Why should themes the most important, solemn, md sublime be so frequently treated in a style too unin- beresting to be tolerated on the platform, at the bar, or in the senate 1 If when only worldly interests are at ?take, men speak as if they were in earnest, shall tame- less be regarded essential to propriety when the sublime [•ealities of eternity are illustrated, and the most moment- ous of all duties enforced ? Whatever the faults of Romanism, let such preaching prevail as we heard in the Duomo of Florence, in the old church at Yalence, and in the Madeleine at Paris, and multitudes will be attracted for whom tedious ceremonies have lost their charm. Nothing is more needed by English Protestants, than I revived pulpit. Dry theological essays ; cold disserta- bions either on doctrines or precepts; an old-fashioned religious phraseology which has ceased to be the language Df common life ; a stereotyped style of sermonising per- tinaciously retained as if it were inspired, while the QQodes in which men express themselves on other themes is ever changing; the stately, pompous mouthing of official iuUness — how can this be expected to stir on the Sunday bhe souls of men, who during the other six days are in unmistakable earnest about worldly afikirs ? Is it enough that the sermon be evangelical, if it be technical, formal, insipid, heartless 1 Why should speaking on religion from a pulpit be regarded as differing from any other kind of address, excepting as the theme is so much more 66 FLORENCE. important, and therefore demands the more self-oblivior the more indiflference to mere forms, the more thoroiigl going earnestness of heart and of manner 1 Let it not for a moment be supposed that I plead fo Italian gesticulation out of Italy, but surely the Gospe demands the highest manifestation of English eamestnes ' in England. This is quite compatible with the solemnit befitting the place, the occasion the theme. The deepes earnestness is not generally the noisiest. But how ofte: is the gloomy, drowsy, monotonous delivery of ponderou periods, or threadbare phrases, excused and defended b the pretence of seriousness ! CaEL-ilifir£_be_nQ.iLecorui without apathy, no gravity without gloomy no solemnit without death ? And as regards language, must a man' orthodoxy, to avoid suspicion, be expressed in terms en ployed two centuries ago 1 Must the ever-living tnitl in order to be recognised, be dressed in the livery of on great-great-grandfathers? Can we not travel in thei good old road unless we also use their ruts 1 But if w are resolved to follow in our preaching, a course s different to that exhibited in all other pursuits, let u cease to wonder that men who are interested in othe things, care nothing for our sermons. It is much easie to lay the blame on human depravity, than to correc our own blunders ; and to charge upon hatred to th tmth, the indifference which is greatly due to our du mode of exhibiting it. Once more let me say, I do no advocate noise, and rant, and extravagant gesticulatio in the pulpit, but Englishmen do require earnest thoughts expressed in the earnest language of daily life, and wit^ the earnestness of manner always seen when men cor EARNESTNESS IN PREACHING. 67 verse on other subjects in which they are deeply interested. Surely every preacher should feel, and should so speak as to convince his hearers that he feels that he is making known the great message of God's love to some who never heard it, or have hitherto rejected it, who are on the brink of ruin, to whom this may be the last warning, the last encouragement, the last opportunity to escape from the thraldom of sin, and from "the wrath to come ! " 68 FLORENCE. CHAPTER y. FLORENCE — PICTURES AND STATUES. Few walks of half-an-hour can equal in interest the one from our hotel to the Pitti Palace. Passing beside the bronze gates of Ghiberti, under the shadow of the dome of Brunelleschi, beneath the sculptured marble tower of Giotto, and near the seat of Dante, you enter by a short but handsome street, a piazza of most unique and im- posing grandeur. Its old republican associations cannot be obliterated by its modern appellation, the Piazza del gran Duca, so long as in solemn stateliness the Palazzo Yecchio, the seat of the ancient Signorial government, jfrom its lofty walls of massive masonry deeply machico- lated, seems ever to be repeating the same old dirge of other days and bygone glories. In front of it are two colossal statues, one of which is the celebrated David oi M. Angelo, who boldly undertook to produce this great work from a block of marble which had received so deep an indentation as to be quite unserviceable under a less daring chisel. In the open space is the famous fountain representing Neptune in his car, drawn by spirited horses, and surrounded by tritons and sea- nymphs. Opposite us, as we cross the square, is an open portico of pointed arches, in which are exposed to public STATUES OF GREAT MEN. 69 view, statues of inestimable value. It is the Loggia di Lanzi, built in 1375. That bronze figure, so exultingly triumphant, a sword in one hand, and a head just severed from its trunk in the other, is the Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini, whom his amusing autobiography has made so familiarly known'. Near it is " the Rape of the Sabines," a group of marvellous energy by John of Bologna. An antique of Grecian workmanship, representing " Ajax dying and supported by a soldier," is so true to nature tind so full of feeling, that the longer we looked, the greater was the effort to turn away. We now entered the open, oblong, quadrangular court of the Ufiizi Palace, admiring as we passed along the statues of the great men of Florence, with which the niches on both sides are occupied. Here, among others, are Giotto, B. Cellini, Alberti, L. da Yinci, M. Angel o, Bante, Macchiavelli, Bocaccio, and Petrarch. Of these admirable works, the last mentioned pleased us most. He is represented arrayed as when crowned on the Capi- tol, the poetic wreath round his brow, looking up with features full of inspiration, and holding a pen as if about to express in immortal verse the thoughts with which he burns. So many works of the highest order of art, exposed in the public streets, constituted a novel sight, but their own nobleness seemed to ensure for them uni- versal protection, and we tried to imagine what ancient Rome must have been when her public thoroughfares were lined with the statues of her most illustrious fcitizens. How proud must the Florentines feel as they walk here and think of the illustrious men their city has produced, *' the grand old masters," and 70 FLORENCE. " the Bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of time ; "— > and though the conti'ast with their present condition must make them sad, it seems impossible these statues can be contemplated without enkindling a desire in the men of the present day, to shew themselves worthy of such an ancestry. May Longfellow's beautiful poetry soon become Florentine fact — " Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime. And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another. Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother. Seeing, shall take heart again." We now cross the Arno by the picturesque Ponte Vecchio, both sides of which are occupied, in the style of old London bridge, by the shops of jewellers, and the vendors of the beautiful Mosaic work for which Florence is famous. We stop midway, to admire through an arch, a charming view up the river, whose rapid stream washes the walls of houses and palaces on either bank, behind which are swelling hills crowned with convents and cypresses, while the snowy Apennines close the dis- tance. In the street along which we now pass, a mural tablet marks the house of Macchiavelli. Just opposite is that of Guicciardini. We now arrive at the Pitti Palace, the residence of the Grand Duke, an immense pile of massive masonry. It was built by Lucas Pitti, the rival of Cosmo de Medici and his co-conspirator against Florentine freedom, on PITTI PALACE GALLERY. 71 that infamous occasion when the popular assembly- was overawed by the mercenary troops engaged for the purpose, by these self-seeking plotters against the Republic. On the death of Cosmo, Pitti became as obnoxious to the party of the Medici as he had always been to the friends of liberty. Poverty and disgrace overwhelmed him before he had completed this immense palace of his pride, which actually became the property of his rivals, and remains a lasting lesson of the instability of human greatness, a striking illustration of "the Mirage of Life." The complete inspection of this unrivalled gallery re- quires days : alas, we had not as many hours, and there- fore retain only a confused notion of its treasures. Yet some of the pictures will long remain impressed on our memory. Among these is a " Depositing of Christ's body," by A. del Sarto, remarkable for the intense but subdued grief of the Virgin and Mary Magdalene ; and the " Ma- donna della Seggiola" of Raphael, celebrated as "the sweet- est of all his Madonnas, if not the grandest." " There is a * Holy Family ' by the same great artist, in which the Virgin is seated, holding on her knee the infant Jesus, over whom Elizabeth's beautiful face is eagerly and re- verently bending, while Anna, the venerable prophetess, kneels adoringly beside him, and John, though yet a child, as if conscious of his great mission to prepare the way of the Highest, holds up his hand with exulting triumph towards the Holy Babe. We could have gazed on these sweet faces for houi-s, so full of feeling are they, and so expressing what we may well suppose were the emotions of saints so highly favoured. The great artists seem indeed to have exerted all their efft>"ts to depict the 72 riiORENCE. Virgin's lovely character, vying with one another to com- bine humility with dignity, and making the canvas radiant with the expression of every Christian grace " * What a contrast is presented in that fearful but sublime picture by M. Angelo, of the Three Fates ! One holds the distaflf, another spins the thread of human life which the third is prepared to sever. Who that has once looked on it can ever forget it ? How those faces, so haggard, earnest, stem, seem to haunt you ! And who but must rejoice that Pagan fable is supplanted by Chris- tian fact 1 Our life is in the hand of no relentless Fate, but is watched over by a tender Father, who fixes the bounds of our habitation, who makes all things work together for our good, and at the best moment takes us to Himself, not cutting short our life, but intertwining it with the golden thread of immortality. Is it possible that the portrait of an Englishman, in ,whom resided the concentrated essence of Protestantism and Liberty, should hang in a palace where Protestantism and Liberty are hated names? Yet yonder picture is indeed a Cromwell, painted by Sir Peter Lely for the Grand Duke, in the lifetime of the Protector. Another original, little known, is in the British Museum, which they would do well to examine, whose notions of his pliysiognomy are only formed from the vulgar bloated caricatures which have been suggested by the misrepre- sentations of his calumniators. In both these pictures they will find that combination of strength with sensi- bility, of boldness with gentlemanly courtesy, of in- domitable bravery with kindliness of heart, which the • MS. Journal MILTON ON CROMWELL. ' 73 laborious researches of Carlyle prove to have characterised him. It is not to be expected that all will think alike of his public acts, but surely every one for the credit of h\i- manity and of our country, would feel pleasure in being able to believe, that this great Englishman was not the selfish hypocrite he was represented to be, by those who, being unaccustomed to see Piety and Princedom united, regarded them as necessarily incompatible, and therefore concluded that the profession of spiritual religion by a ruler must needs be false. Whatever the detraction he has suffered in the long interval of two centuries, the best writers of the present day are endorsing the high opinion of him expressed by the greatest man not only of his own, but almost of every age. Milton, complaining that in a time of faction, the most discreet are the most exposed to the calumnies of both the extreme parties, and that thus every invective was levelled against Cromwell, both by Presbyterians and Koyalists, launches forth into a magnificent eulogium, in which he says that "in the vigour and maturity of his life, which he passed in retirement, he was conspicuous for nothing more than for the strictness of his religious habits, and the innocence of his life. . . . He had either extinguished, or by habit had learned to subdue, the whole host of vain hopes, fears, and passions which infest the soul. He first acquired the government of himself, and over himself acquired the most signal victories; so that on the first day he took the field against the external enemy, he was a veteran in arms, consummately practised in the toils and exigencies of war. ... The good and 74 FLORENCE. the brave were from all quarters attracted to his camp, not only as to the best school of military talents, but of piety and virtue. . . A profound peace ensued ; when we found, though indeed not then for the first time, that you were as wise in the cabinet, as valiant in the field." Then after referring to the incapacity and factious dis- putes of the Parliament, he resumes — " In this state of desolation, you, O Cromwell ! alone remained to conduct the government and to save the country. We all will- ingly yield the palm of sovereignty to your unrivalled ability and virtue, except the few among us who do not know that nothing in the world is more pleasing to God, more agreeable to reason, more politically just, or more generally useful, than that the supreme power should be vested in the best and wisest of men. Such, O Cromwell, all acknowledge you to be ; such are the sei-vices which you have rendered, as the leader of our councils, the general of our armies, and the father of your country. For this is the tender appellation by which all the good among us salute you from the very soul. Other names you neither have nor could endure ; and you deservedly reject that pomp of title which attracts the gaze and admiration of the multitude. For what is a title but a certain definite mode of dignity? But actions such as yours surpass, not only the bounds of our admiration, but our titles; and, like the points of pyramids, which are lost in the clouds, they soar above the possibilities of titular commendation." * As an appropriate comment on this eulogy, it may not be uninteresting, especially as the Poet's name is so * Second Defence of the People of England. MACAULAY ON CROMWELL. 75 associated with Florence, to quote Macaulay's opinion of the witness himself, as a reply to any who may be so presumptuous and so ignorant as to suppose Milton capable of flattery. " He was one of the few characters which have stood the closest scrutiny and the severest tests, which have been tried in the furnace and have not been found wanting, which have been declared sterling by the general consent of mankind, and which are visibly stamped with the image and superscription of the Most High. Nor do we envy the man who can study either the life or the writings of the great Poet and Patriot, without aspiring to emulate, not indeed the sublime works with which his genius has enriched our literature, but the zeal with which he laboured for the public good, the fortitude with which he endured every private calamity, the lofty disdain with which he looked down on temptations and dangers, the deadly hatred which he bore to bigots and tyrants, and the faith which he so sternly kept with his country and with his fame." * The reader is referred to the introductory chapter of Macaulay's History for a noble eulogy of the Protector himself Of his army, we are told, " no oath was heard, no drunkenness or gambling was seen," and that when disbanded, any one " who attracted notice by his diligence and sobriety, was in all probability one of Oliver's old soldiers." As regards his conduct to the King, Macaulay says that Charles could not be trusted, that Cromwell had to balance his cause and even his life, with the attempt "to save a prince whom no engagement could bind." He tells us that under Cromwell's rule, "justice was * MacavXay's Essays. 76 FLORENCE. administered with an exactness and purity not before known"—" that never since the Reformation, had there been so little religious persecution " — that " all the Ee- formed Churches acknowledged Cromwell as their guar- dian," and that " the Pope himself was forced to preach humanity and moderation to Popish princes. For a voice which seldom threatened in vain had declared that unless favour were shewn to the people of God, the English guns should be heard in the Castle of Saint Angelo." As Carlyle has exhibited the Hero, the eminent historian of the Reformation, Merle d'Aubign^, has illustrated the Christian. In his work entitled " A Vindication of the Protector," he says, " It is seldom that a great man is a Christian, but Cromwell was both : the result has been that men of the world have scouted him as a hypocrite." " It was not a feather in his cap that occupied his mind. He was fighting the gi-eat battle against the Papacy and Royalty of the middle ages. The principal thing which drew down the anger of his enemies was Protestantism in its boldest not less than its clearest form, and the false imputation borne by this eminent man was essentially the work of Popery." What he regarded as the great secret of National Pros- perity may be gathered from his own address to the Parliament — " I am convinced that our liberty and pros- perity depend on reformation (of manners). Make it a shame to see men bold in sin and profaneness, and God will bless you. The mind is the man. If that be kept pure a man signifies somewhat; if not, I would very fain see what difierence there is betwixt him and a beast. He hath only activity to do some more mischief." " Those CROMWELL AND THE GRAND DUKE. 77 that are called to this work, it will not depend for them upon formalities, nor notions, nor speeches. I do not look the work should be done by these. No! but by men of honest hearts, engaged to God, strengthened by Providence, enlightened in His Word to know His Word, to which He hath set His seal, sealed with the blood of His Son : that is such a spirit as will carry on this work." In this strain, he exhorted them " to be knit together to promote the glory of God against the common enemy ; to suppress everything that is evil, and encourage whatsoever is of godliness." This has been a very long digression, yet not too long if it help the reader to contemplate with admiration the picture in the Pitti Palace, before which we are still standing. But is there anything in Cromwell's history specially to connect him with Florence? Amongst his " letters of state," there are several to the Grand Duke, illustrating the care with which he " Protected " British subjects in foreign parts. In a letter, dated January 20, 1651, he acknowledges the favour shewn to merchants "as most grateful to us, and we make this request to your Highness, that your serenity will persevere in yoiir accustomed goodness and affection towards the citizens of our republic." In another of December 14, 1652, he is equally anxious to redress an insult offered by an English captain to a sentinel at Leghorn, promising that " such a course shall be taken with him as may sufficiently prove that we no less heinously brook the violation of your right than the infringement of our own authority." He evidently thought, that the precept to do to others as we would that they should do to us, was to be acted on by a 78 FLORENCK Christian as much in foreign politics as in social life Would that all who ever managed our foreign affairij had acted in the same spirit ! Afterwards he has on hit! part to complain of certain conduct of the Tuscan Govern- ment towards the English fleet at Leghorn. After a calm statement of the case, the letter ends with his characteristic coolness and determination — " These things, if they were not done by your highness's consent and command, as we hope they were not, we desire tliat you would make it appear by the punishment of the governor, who so easily presumed to violate his masters alliances; but if they were done with your higness's approbation and order, we would have your highness understand, that as we always had a singular value for your friendsh'p, so we have learnt to distinguish between injuries and acts oi kindness. Your good friend, so far as we may, Oliver, Protector of the Commonwealth of England." Thus did Oliver make himself known in the Pitti Palace, not by the mere present of his portrait, but by letters, courteous indeed, yet so unmistakably decided that none durst trifle with them. And how does that picture seem to look down frowningly on the present policy of the Grand Duke ! Who can doubt that he would have protested as indignantly against the imprison- ment of the Madiai and the prohibition of the Bible, as he did against the persecution of the Waldenses by the Duke of Savoy ? Of all the pictures in this gallery none impressed me so deeply as an " Ecce Homo," by Carlo Dolce. I do not say that this arose from the superlative excellence oi the painting; other persons might not feel as I did — I ECCE HOMO SEEING BY FAITH. 79 myself, in all probability, should not again see in it the expression of so much divine dignity combined with such intense human agony as then overpowered me. How did those eyes, drowned in grief, seem to follow me with compassionate expostulation, saying — " Look and see if there is any sorrow like unto my sorrow ! " How I wished, as I gazed on that picture, that the suffering Saviour himself, were always as vividly present to me by faith ! How would such a vision disarm temptation of its power, deprive worldly vanities of their attractiveness, render the most distasteful duties pleasant, convert the heaviest trials unto " light afflictions," and while assur- ing us that sin is pardoned, animate us to such a struggle against it as must end in victory ! But the objects of Faith, to produce this effect, require to be seen spiritually, even as the objects of sense, in order to impress us, must be beheld physically. It is not enough to acknowledge their existence. They must be vividly conceived as well as firmly credited. The imagination must become handmaid to the judgment, and place before the eye of the soul the grand truths to which it has assented. They who reject, with the writer, the aid of pictures in worship as unnecessary, frequently in- 1 jurious, and always liable to dangerous abuse, must guard on the other hand against neglecting the cultivation of , that vivid conception of spiritual truth which sacred art \ professes to assist. Pictures may be gazed at without \ any sanctifying effect ; so also pictures may be repudiated \ with an earnestness that seems devout, and yet that re- \ pudiation may be the sum total of such a person's religion, t A sorry sort' of piety is that which consists in negations ! j 80 FLORENCR \'6 It is much easier to condemn the sensuous than to culti- vate the spiritual. We do not require pictures, but it ia essential that we resist the indolence of reposing on mere past conclusions of the judgment. By constant effort we must place eternal tri^ths before the mind and realise the unseen. The spiritual world must be beheld, if it is to counteract the undue influence of the temporal. The soul also must have an eye, which by constant use must bring the unseen and distant near, if it would triumph amidst objects ever appealing to the bodily senses. " This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith ;" but this faith will only conquer in proportion as it resembles that of Moses, who " endured, as seeinff the invisible." We must not leave these magnificent halls, without one glance at the floors of polished marble, and at the massive Mosaic tables, exhibiting the choicest specimens of an art for which Florence is so famed. On a dark ground the stones, all having their own natural hue, are inlaid with the greatest variety of pattern. Flowers of all kinds seem thrown in careless profusion over the table ; in form, colour, shadow, and perspective, so true to nature, that it is only by passing your hand over the flat surface, that you can be persuaded they are not real. Sometimes an elegant vase, a string of beads, or a musical instrument is expressed with equal correctness, while the complicated and exquisite borders fill you with wonder at the skill and patience of the artist. I have little space for the Uffizi Palace, and shall attempt no wearisome enumeration of its treasures. We passed through an immensely long gallery representing the history of painting, beginning with the quaintly THE UFFIZI GALLERY. 81 gilded canvas of Cimabue, and gradually advancing as mccessive artists improved on their predecessors, until Derfection was reached under the hand of Haffael. A.niong the valuable antique statues in this gallery, the Bacchus and Fawn " of M. Angelo much interested us, Tom the incident connected with its history. Buono- rotti's envious contemporaries were ever asserting the ^reat inferiority of his works to those of the ancients. He therefore, having finished the Bacchus, knocked off the hand, and buried the statue thus mutilated. After iwhile, he caused it to be dug up, and to be represented IS a great discovery. The connoisseurs all flocked to see it, and lavished on it every possible commendation. Then the great sculptor produced the missing hand, to the ^reat mortification of his jealous neighbours, who had with their own lips, pronounced his work to be perfec- don. The mark where the hand was joined to the arm, LS easily traced. The celebrated Mercury of John of Bologna seems to oe exerting no pressure on the pedestal; it is on the Doint of soaring; an infant's head might be under that foot and receive no injury; you wonder it does not fly iway as you are gazing on it. Beautiful is the Yenus Urania, and deeply interesting that unfinished bust of Brutus by M. Angelo. The hall of Niobe impressed us with its grandeur, and we long lingered before the figure Df the mother, as she rushes to her youngest child, who seeks protection from their destroyer. We saw a Mosaic ible which occupied twenty-two men during twenty-five i^eai-s, so elaborate is the workmanship. The cabinet of jems contains cameos, amethysts, turquoises, and jasper, F 82 FLORENCE. bearing the most exquisite designs. "We passed through many noble rooms hung with pictures of great vahie, among which we shall not soon forget Albertinelli's "Visitation of S. Elizabeth," who is represented in the act of greeting with a reverential embrace the favoured Virgin, whose countenance is the perfect embodiment of purity, meekness, and self-possession. But the Tribune is the most sacred shrine of this Temple of the Arts. On entering you are conscious of that sense of awe which is produced by all works oi highest genius. Here it is intensified, for in this small chamber are collected some of the greatest treasures oi sculpture the world contains. No one speaks above a whisper, a loud voice would be desecration, the rudest and most ignorant are hushed, they know not why. From a cupola inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the light comes down on the five marvellous productions of the Grecian chisel which occupy the centre of the room. They a})pear from the midst of life to have been suddenly transformed to stone, and having been the admiration oi the world two thousand years ago, remain in all the freshness of youth, every muscle eloquent with nature, for successive generations to gaze upon. Opposite us as we enter, is the Venus de Medici, " filling the air witl] beauty." The slight disappointment arising from oui very high anticipations soon passed away, for its loveli- ness grew on us each moment. Everybody is familial with its general form, but no cast can give an adequate idea of the refined nobility of the countenance, the grace- ful dignity of the attitude, the unapproachable aristocracy of the whole figure. The " Wrestlers " on her right, now CHRIST OUR MODEL. 8^ attract our notice by tlie marvellous energy of their muscular limbs, interlocked in fiercest struggle. Then we turn to the " Dancing Fawn/' joyously capering, and then to the exquisite Apollino, leaning with graceful ease on the trunk of a tree, with his right arm thrown over his shoulder, in a manner perfectly marvellous. And now we admire the " Whetter," inferior to none of these great works. You forget it is only marble. You see a man suspending for a moment the sharpening of his knife, while with eager attention depicted in every feature, he looks up to discover the cause of the sound which has disturbed him. " We could have looked on it till we felt it breathed. I almost got frightened, it seemed so alive." Not till we have long feasted on these admirable works, do we discover on the walls, a Holy Family by M. Angelo, the Fornarina, John the Baptist, Julius II. &c., by Eaffael, Titian's Yenus, and many other choice pictures of the great masters. We are standing in the very focus of a lens, through which the brightest luminaries of art are concentrating their rays. While wandering through these galleries, I thought that as the best models, the purest ideals, were constantly contemplated by the sculptor or the painter, who labo- riously toiled on through his whole life, aspiring to per- fection ; so should our minds habitually dwell on Christ, as our great example. Far short of the model will be our best achievements, but as in that Uffizi gallery which illustrates the progress of painting, so in the Christian life there are many degrees of attainment. Our first attempts may be rudely uncooth, by-standers may see little resemblance to the pattern, we may see less our- 84 FLORENCE. selves, but the great Master will gi'aciously recognise some likeness to Himself, in the work of every earnest and sincere disciple. By His aid we shall improve, until at last, in a brighter world, where no mists will conceal or distort our view of the model, no trifles distract from it our attention, no sin paralyse our efibrts, our work, or leather His in us, will be perfected, and "We shall be like Him, seeing Him as He is." BANKS OF THE ARNO. 85 CHAPTER VI. ENVIRONS OF FLORENCE — FESOLE. Our mornings were spent in the inspection of churches and galleries of art; our afternoons in visiting the environs. In the Boboli gardens, attached to the Pitti Palace, we paced the broad terraces adorned with statues, enjoying superb views of the city from the higher grounds. "VYe also visited the Cascine gardens, the Hyde Park of Florence. We went expecting to hear a military band, but the fete had been put off in consequence of the un- promising appearance of the weather, and we were the only visitors. Yet the solitude, the silence, even the dulness of the day as we strolled along the banks of the Arno, gave us more pleasure than sunshine, music, and gay crowds; for we had been so very busy in sight-seeing, that our eyes and minds luxuriated in the repose of having nothing more wonderful to look at than green grass, budding trees, a few stray violets, some bargemen toiling to force their heavy vessels against the strong tide, and the curtain of a cloudy sombre sky drawn closely all around. These river-banks have a peculiar charm as being associated with the memory of Milton, who refers to them in a pleasing and graphic picture, in one of his Latin poems. Here he loved to wander, gathering 86 FLORENCE. violets, and listening to the murmurs of the stream, aa he lay stretched on the mossy turf. O ego quantus eram, golidi cum stratus ad Arni Murmura, populeumque nemus, qua raollior herba, Carpero nunc violas, nunc suramas carpere myrtos.* We did so too, every flower we plucked talking to us of old England, and home, and favourite haunts in grassy lanes where we had often breathed the same scent of violets, which now exerted a charm on us like that of an old familiar song of childhood, or as the gentle voice of a faithful friend. Lured by the soothing ripple of the current, and by the enticing quest of flowers, we had wandered a long distance, when, suddenly warned by appearances, we hurried to our carriage, which we just reached in time to escape such a deluge of rain as would have instantaneously drenched us had we been exposed to it. What a halo rests on the memory of our visit to Fesol^ ! The very name had always a mysterious charm for me, owing to its occurrence in the " Paradise Lost;" for what would not appear a gem in such a setting ? Before Rome was founded, Fesole was here enthroned in strength and beauty. With deep interest we gazed at the massive blocks of its Cyclopean walls, overgrown with ferns and shrubs, yet still exhibiting that colossal strength by which Etruria so long withstood the ambition, and so often jeoparded the very existence of her aspiring rival. In a farm-yard we saw the remains of the amphitheatre, erected after Fesole became a Roman * Epit Dam. SUNSET VIEW FROM FESOLE. 87 colony. Amid grass and weeds, the seats once occupied by thousands of spectators of bloody sports and brutal battles are distinctly traceable, and we entered some of the dens whence the wild beasts rushed forth to the arena. We were deeply interested and could have lingered here for hours, but the indescribably rich tints with which all surrounding objects began to be invested, warned us to hasten to another point of view, if we would enjoy the glorious spectacle which Nature was preparing. A commanding eminence, anciently crowned by the citadel, is now occupied by a Franciscan monastery and church. In front of the door, and at the top of the steep flight of steps by which this eminence is reached, a tall wooden cross is planted, adding greatly to the interest and picturesqueness of the scene. Let us sit down at the foot of it, and leisurely feast on the unrivalled pro- spect. Tall cypresses shoot up from the sloping side of the hill below us, and with their conical masses of dark foliage, give effect and distance to the view which they partially intercept. Beyond, spread out upon its verdant plain through which the Arno wanders to the sea, lies the fair Florence, silent as if in slumber, but smiling in her sleep. The atmosphere is clear as when we gazed from S. Miniato. Palaces, churches, turrets, spires, cupolas — the buildings with which we have now become familiar — all are there, the wonderful dome of Brunel- leschi presiding in stately beauty over the rest. Sunny hills encompass the city, swelling up one above another as if to gaze upon her beauty. Mountains, helmeted with snow, keep watch in the far distance. The whole scene palpitates in the rosy light which bathes it with 88 FLORENCE. beauty. We sat speechless with delight, and could sym- pathise with the following rhapsody of Wordsworth : — " Sound needed none. Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form, All melted into him : they swallowed up His animal being. . . . They were his life. In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God Thought was not ; in enjoyment it expired. No thanks he breathed, he proifcr'd no request ; Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect oflSces of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him : it was blessedness and love !" Memories of the past increase the interest of the scene. Here, where Etruscan warriors once kept guard, Francis- can monks now chant their vesper hymn. Yonder villa was built by Cosmo on a spot where Catiline deposited his stolen treasures, and near to it is the fatal field, where, after his plots were unmasked by Cicero, he was overtaken, defeated, and slain. This was the favourite resort of Lorenzo, the " Magnificent " destroyer of Flo- rentine freedom, and here, when a little boy, sported . Pope Leo X., his son, who at seven years of age was ; ordained a priest, at eight obtained a rich abbey, was to have been an archbishop at nine, and was actually con- secrated a cardinal at sixteen ! ! ! Here dwelt successive generations of the Medici, who from their terraced walks which Art and Nature vied with each other in adorning, could look down on the city which they enslaved while they beautified, depriving it of the life while cunningly preserving the forms of liberty, then gilding the coffin, and strewing flowers on the corpse. But greater names GALILEO AND MILTON. 89 than these hallow the spot. Yonder dwelt Galileo, who rendered the telescope more than the useless toy it had hitherto been, and first of human kind, beheld the satellites of Jupiter, the rings of Saturn, and the countless stars of the " Milky Way." These labours are beautifully referred to by Milton, when he says that Satan's shield was — " Like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass, the Tuscan artist views, At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Val d' Arno, to descry new lands. Rivers or mountains iu her spotty globe." The council of the " infallible " church, sitting in judg- ment on the astronomer, declared that " the propositions that the sun is the centre of the universe, and immove- able, and that the earth is not the centre, but moves, is absurd, philosophically false, and formally heretical." But as when compelled to "abjure, curse, and detest the said heresies," on rising from his knees he whispered to a friend — "it moves for all that;" even so shall every assault be equally impotent on the great cause of evan- gelical truth and liberty, which, when superstition and infidelity have done their worst, " moves for all that." Here it was, that old, blind, and neglected, he was visited by Milton. "Little then Did Galileo think whom he received ; That in his hand he held the hand of one Who could requite him — who would spread his name, O'er lands and seas— great as himself, nay gi-eater; Milton as little that in him he saw. As in a glass what he himself should be. Destined so soon to fall on evil days % 90 FLORENCE. And evil tongues — bo soon, alas, to live In darkness, and with dangers compassed round. And solitude."* This visit of the poet occurred during his sojourn at I Florence, to which he thus alludes in his Second Defence I of the People of England : — " In Florence, which I have always, and more particularly esteemed for the elegance j of its dialect, its genius, and its taste, I stopped about I two months, when I contracted an intimacy with many j persons of rank and learning, and was a constant attendant at their literary parties, a practice which prevails there, and tends so much to the diffusion of knowledge and the preservation of friendship." Though so young, he re- ceived distinguished marks of respect from the nobility and literati, one of whom addressed to him a Latin pane- gyric, and another an Italian ode predicting his greatness. Such was his critical skill in their language, that he was frequently consulted on its niceties by an academy insti- tuted for its preservation and improvement. On his way back he says he was received with as much affection as if ^ he had returned to his native countiy, but he tore him- self from the fascination, for, says he, " I thought it base i to be travelling for amusement abroad, while my fellow- [ citizens were fighting for libei-ty at home." * In that masterly defence of the freedom of the press, the Areopagitica, one of the most eloquent arguments I ever penned, he says that when in Italy he found and I visited the famous Galileo, to whose imprisonment he I refers, for thinking in astronomy otherwise than the j Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought. Protesting * Rogers' Italy. GALILEO AKD MILTON. 91 against the limiting of free discussion, lie says — " If it come to prohibiting, there is not aught more likely to be v ^ prohibited than truth itself; whose first appearance to } fj ^^ our eyes, bleared and dimmed with prejudice and custom, \ ^-. is more unsightly and unplausible than many errors." It ( is in this treatise that he thus grandly replies to those ^ who urge the danger of multiplying sects and opinions — " It is a lively and cheerful presage of our happy victory. Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks ; methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam ; purging and unsealing her long abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking j birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, 1 amazed at what she means, and in their envious gabble \ would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms." But both Galileo and his illustrious guest were wise before their age. The discoveries of the former, and these noble sentiments of the latter, could not be forgiven by the ignorance and intolerance of the age in which they lived. Martyrs to science and to liberty, both " fell on evil days and evil tongues," and closed their lives in obscurity and neglect. Of each of them it may be said, in the words of a modern poet, — " The world was cold, And he went down like a lone ship at sea ; And now the fame that scorn'd him while he lived. Waits on him like a menial." "While we thus sit and muse, the sun is gradually 92 FLORENCE. stealing down to the western horizon on our right, and pours a flood of gorgeous radiance, ever changeful in its hues, along the valley, and over the city. The buildings which had hitherto appeared in shadow, become bathed in sunshine. Scattered round the city, especially far away to the east, innumerable villas, which had been in- visible in the prevailing gray of distance, suddenly start out as if into new existence, their windows and snow- white walls blazing in the radiance. It is a creation ! And the whole valley is transfigured in unimaginable splendour. Just so, I thought, is it with the truths of the Bible — whose beauties are not seen without special illumination. The doctrines, the precepts, the promises, all are there, but no glory gilds them to the natural mind. They have "no form nor comeliness." But what a change takes place when they are beheld under the influence of the " Sun of Righteousness." And to the Christian himself, in what new lights and new splendours do many truths often appear, which had hitherto been regarded without emotion. A scene so splendid as the one we had beheld, can seldom be gazed on, but we might frequently rejoice with joy unspeakable in beholding spiritual objects, did we more earnestly offer the prayer — " Thou that dwell- est between the cheinibim, shine forth ! Send out Thy light and Thy truth!" PALAZZO VECCHIO. 93 CHAPTER VII. THE PALAZZO VECCHIO, AND SAVONAROLA. The public square, formerly called the Pizaza del Signori, as being the seat of the ancient Signorial Government, had daily charms for us which were irresistible. The Loggia with its sculptures, was always an object of in- terest, and the Palazzo Yecchio, with its historical associations, cast over us, whenever we passed, a spell which is indescribable. Here the ancient magistrates of the people lived together, taking their meals at a com- mon table, with republican simplicity, during their two months of office. From its windows, an Archbishop was hung, in all his sacerdotal robes, for taking part with the Pazzi, in their conspiracy to assassinate the Medici. But the principal interest of the spot arose from its being hallowed by the name of one of the greatest Reformers who ever lived, and one of the most magnanimous of Mai-tyrs too, Gieolamo Savonakola. Let us enter the stern, massive, fortress-like Palace. This grand saloon, which we reach by a few easy steps, so imposing by its dimensions, and by the elaborate carving of its lofty and ponderous roof, was erected by the influence of Savonarola, for popular assemblies, when he so zeal- ously attempted, but with so transient success, to revive the ancient Republic. I ascend to the higher stories, and 94 FLORENCE. climb the steep staircase of the lofty tower, which resting on the projecting battlements, "almost warrants the V local proverb, that it is built in the air." There are j several small chambers in the narrow space enclosed by I its thick walls. Into one of these I looked. It was the dungeon of Savonarola ! From the summit, 250 feet high, . I looked down into the Piazza. It was the scene of the I martyrdom of Savonarola! As his history may not be ^ familiar to some of my readers, I hope I shall be excused I for giving them the following brief narrative, which t have condensed from a history of that remarkable man, " collected from original sources." * If it is a digression from my theme, it is not so from my purpose. Savonarola was born in 1452, at Ferrara. From early youth he experienced the sanctifying influences of the Holy Spirit. The prevailing licentiousness of the age deeply grieved him. He fled to the cloister to avoid contami- nation, and became a Dominican Monk at the age of twenty-two. He soon discovered, to his dismay, that the convent was no purer than the world, and that the wickedness he bewailed derived its chief support from the Church. He devoted himself to the study of the Scrip- tures, and became remarkable for the strictness of his life. He was appointed to preach Lent sermons in the church of S. Lorenzo, in the very year of Luther's birth. His genmsileat1iiiig,-aTid enthusiasm were unquestioned, but his failure as an orator was complete. Deeply mortified, he laboured earnestly to acquire a power so essential if he was to become useful to his generation. He began to ex- pound the Apocalypse and denounced Divine Judgments " Life and Times of G. Savonarola." Whittaker and Co. GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA. 95 on Italy and the Popedom. "The Popes have attained through the most shameful simony and subtlety the high- est priestly dignities, and even then, when seated in the holy chair, surrender themselves to a shamefully volup- tuous life and an insatiable avarice. The Cardinals and Bishops follow their example. Many believe in no God. ; The chastity of the cloister is slain. The princes openly ' exercise tyranny." Savonarola was becoming a danger- ; ous man ! Instead of confining himself to the condem- : nation of the sins of former days, he so little understood his vocation, as to meddle with the men of his own generation, and to denounce wickedness then in process | of commission ! Is it not at once evident that if he pur- sues this course, the chief Priests and Pharisees will take counsel together to put him to death, even as they did his Divine Master? He was now Prior of S. Marco. His persevering efforts to improve his oratorical powers had not been in vain, and crowds thronged to his sermons. Reasoning from the past to the present, in connexion with the threatenings of God against sinners, he began to think himself in some sort inspired to proclaim approaching judgments. Peal religion had expired beneath a smother- ing heap of ceremonies. Licentiousness, openly sanc- tioned by the highest dignitaries of the church, prevailed throughout all classes of society. Savonarola set himself? by the help of God, to withstand the torrent. " Except ye repent ye shall perish " — was the burden of his vehement and incessant expostulations. He pointed men from dead forms to a living Saviour. He directed them to ob- tain the peace of God, not by money, but by faith. He 96 FLORENCE. preached Jesus as the only Justifies He equally insisted that "all who named th€ name of Christ should depart from iniquity." With sin, whether in princes or in people, he made no compromise. Savonarola regarded himself as the servant not of man but of God, and therefore omitted the homage usually paid to Lorenzo de Medici. " Who has raised me to this dignity," said he — " Lorenzo, or God ? " They to whom his conduct had given offence offered no reply. " Let us then," resumed the Prior, "render thanks to God to whom they are due, and not to a mortal man." Lorenzo felt the power of Savonarola, and sought to win to him- self one who might become so useful or so dangerous. He therefore sometimes walked in the cloister-garden after service, that the Prior might have an opportunity of familiar intercourse. The monks inform Savonarola of his condescension. "Has he desired my presence?" "No." "Be it so! Let him tarry and continue his de- votions!" Gifts are now resorted to. But Savonarola denounces wickedness with undiminished boldness, saying " A good dog barks always, in order to defend his mas- ter's house, and if a robber offer him a bone or the like, lie pushes it aside, and ceases not therefore to bark ! " Lorenzo on his deathbed, did homage to the faithful monk, as a true servant of God. He could not die in peace without his benediction. Savonarola standing be- side the dying man, demanded compliance with three con- ditions before he would grant absolution. He must have sincere faith in Christ. This he professed. He must make restitution of whatever he had unjustly obtained. This he promised. He must liberate Florence from the HIS EARNEST PREACHmG. 97 despotism of his family, and re-establish the ancient re- public. Lorenzo was silent. Could he undo the labour of his life ? The uncompromising monk immediately left him, unabsolved! Savonarola continued his warnings against that luxury of manners, by which Florentine liberty was being so successfully destroyed by the Medici. He was an earnest Christian. He was also an ardent lover of liberty. He felt that his religion and his politics alike demanded purity of life. Florence could never be free till it was holy. Asa means to this he urged the reading of the Eible. " People of Florence ! give yourselves to the study of the sacred Scriptures : they have been locked up — this light has been almost extinguished among men !" "When- ever it is clearly seen that the commands of superiors are contrary to the commandments of God, especially to the law of charity, no one should obey in this case." Danger- ous ground, Savonarola ! good Christianity, sound Pro- testantism, suicidal Popery! Most earnest, pathetic, impressive was his style of address. Thus he closes one of his sermons, — " I think not what more to say. There is nothing left for me but to weep. I would dissolve in tears upon this pulpit. I ask not, O Lord, that Thou shouldest hear us for our merits, but for Thy mercy, for the love of Thy Son. Have compassion on Thy sheep. Dost Thou not love them, O my God 1 Wert Thou not crucified, didst Thou not die for them ? If I cannot pre- vail — ^if this work is too much for me, recall my soul, — take me away, O Lord! release me from life. What have Thy sheep done! I am the guilty one; yet, O Lord, have not respect to my sins, have respect this once to Thy G 98 FLORENCE. loving-kindness, and let us feel all Thy compassion !" H( often descended from the pulpit bathed in tears, amids the sighs and groans of the people. No wonder tha many came from far to hear him, and that the shops wer closed till the conclusion of morning service, that thos who kept them might have liberty to be present. Ii the cold mornings of winter, people would resort to th church some hours before daylight, spending the interva before his appearance, in prayer. In his sermons he often laments that " the pure simpl woi*sliip of God is lost, and a crowd of external usages i made to supply the void of the internal life. Therefor such worship consists in the present day almost exclusive! of outward ordinances for delighting the sense, withou men troubling themselves about the inward worship c God, the purity of the heart. But if we ask whence i comes, that the Church has so much lost her origins purity, the answer is, because the Holy Scripture, whic demands and nourishes the Christian life, which me ought to have read, and given as the true nourishment c the soul to the faithful, has fallen into oblivion." Wit] increasing boldness he rebukes the sins of churchmei "The wicked priests are the cause of this corruptioi Some practise simony, others gambol in the evening, kee concubines in the night, and come with sin in the morr ing to mass. O ye priests, leave your wanton pleasur( your obscene life, while it is yet time to repent! O y monks, leave your decorations, your fat abbeys an benefices, give yourselves up to simplicity, and wor with yoiir hands as the old monks did!" Such preaching exposed Savonarola to the terribl DENOUNCES THE VICES OP THE PRIESTHOOD. 99 malice of those who felt too well its application. Black threatening clouds gathered on every hand, and porten- tous mutterings told of the approaching storm. But nothing could daunt the Reformer. He was not urged on by a blind impulse, but clearly saw his vocation, and anticipated the result to himself, but was confident that his labour could not be in vain. " Do you ask me in general, what will be the end of the conflict ? I answer, Victory! But if you ask me in particular? then I answer. Death! But death is not extinction] Rather it serves to spread abroad the light.** On the expulsion of Pietro de Medici, while Savonarola's influence was successfully exerted in restraining the pop- ular excitement, he earnestly devoted himself to the establishment of a free Democracy, as most suited to the Florentines. But he knew that for its efiiciency and stability, a high tone of religious feeling and patriotism was essential. To the cultivation of this he continued to consecrate his energies. And not without success. The reformation of manners which resulted from his labours was unprecedented. Some extravagance, indeed, attended it, for in the new born zeal of his disciples, vast piles of paintings and sculptures, which were capable of suggest- ing evil thoughts to impure minds, were collected and publicly destroyed. But who would not prefer the supre- macy of virtue, even though attended by excesses, to the unchecked prevalence of licentiousness ? Alexander YI., that incarnation of all abomination, a faithful history of whose life written in plain language would be too hideous and disgusting for perusal, now occupied the chair of Infallibility, as Christ's repre- 100 FLORENCE. sentative and Yicar! He resolved to silence the bold Florentine who dared to denounce the sins he loved. But Savonarola's courage increased with his perils. After thanking God for using him as an arrow, he says, " So now come forth thou Satan ! set all thy tools in motion, I fear not the least — for he who does not fear death, what shall he fear beside?" — "Hear," says the devil, "I will give thee good counsel — do not stir the sore place, wouldst thou live in peace." — " I desire not thy counsels, for thy peace is no peace, and thy war breaks not my peace ! " 1 As threats failed, might not other means be tried? The \ Pope requests a Dominican bishop to repair to Florence , and answer the Abbot's sermons. " Holy Father, I will obey, but I must be supplied with arms." — " What arms ?" — " This monk," replied the bishop, " says we ought not / to keep concubines, commit simony, or be guilty of licen- \ tiousness. If in this he speaks truly, what shall I reply ?" (■ — " "What then shall we dol" said the Pope. — "Reward him, give him a red hat, make a Cardinal and a friend of him at once." Savonarola kindly receives the Papal inesseuger, and for three days listens to his arguments, but is unconvinced. The tempting bribe is then offered. " Come to my sermon to-morrow morning, and you shall hear my answer." How great was the emissary's surprise 'at hearing more daring denunciations than ever from ' Savonarola, who exclaimed, " No other red hat will I have than that of martyrdom, coloured with my own blood." " I saw him beat the sxirges under him, And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flimg asiile, and breasted The aurgo most swohi that met him ; his bold head SAVONAROLA AND'.THE^i'OTK KJl 'Bove the contentious wavas he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er its wave-worn basis bow'd As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt That he came safe to land ! " * But the haven, which, with every true soul tossed in the tempest of trial, he struggled to reach, was that of duty rather than of delight ; of persevering fidelity rather than of present victory ; of constancy in danger rather than of deliverance from it; of the s&,lufcation "well done, good and faithful servant " from his Divine Master in the next world, rather than ease, and honour, and the flattery of man, in this. And verily in such a sense, he did " come safe to land ! " A citation now came from Rome, forbidding him to preach. Savonarola disregarded the order, yet he pro- fessed obedience to the Papal See ! He argued thus — •' I must obey the intention of Christ's vicar, not the word of a mistaken man. We must do nothing against\ jl ^ .^ love. But to forbid preaching, which nourishes love to ^ ■'^ ' God and men, is against the true intention of the Church. Therefore my duty to the Pope requires me to neglect his citation. I best obey him when I disobey." A wise decision, a questionable argument ! The present occupant of the Papal chair being so wicked a man, Savonarola felt that the only refuge for the Church was in a general council. He therefore wrote letters to various princes, urging its convocation. In one of these he says : — " Know, then, that this Alexander the Sixth is no Pope, and cannot be recognised as Pope, not only because he has bought the Papal chair with * Tempest, ii. 1. .162 -FiOKENCE. scandalous simony, but on account of his secret scandalous actions, which at fitting time and place we will bring to light. Yes, I say to you that he is no Christian, and believes in no Almighty God." This letter was treacher- ously shewn to the Pope, whose wrathful vengeance burned for the destruction of the writer. He designated him a Son of Blasphemy, and issued against him a Bull of Excommunication. But Savonarola encouraged his fol- lowers, saying, " the light will burn the brighter the more its enemies endieavour to extinguish it. There- fore think not that persecutions will destroy or hinder I the work of God : no, it will mightily grow and increase. Wonder not that God permits so much \ misfortune to seize on the poor and oppressed, without / rising to vengeance ; for truly God's anger cannot be greater than when He lets their accusers accumu- late iniquity, and gives them over to be tools of the devil, that the good may be exercised the more in true patience." Anathema follows anathema. All who attend his sermons are denied confession, and burial in consecrated ground. Yet the Signory permitted him to preach in the Duomo, which was densely thronged by multitudes who had learned to despise tlie Papal thunders. " He who commands anything against love," said the monk, "is excommunicated by God. To me it is enough if Christ curses me not, but blesses me. Whether wilt thou turn thyself to those who are blessed by the Pope, and whose life is a disgrace to Christendom ; or to those who are excommunicated by the Pope, while their life brings the fruits of tinith, and daily becomes better? WICKEDNESS OF THE CLERGY. 103 Thou answerest not, but Christ speaks, ' I am the way, the truth, and the life.' " He rebuked still more boldly the wickedness of the clergy. " The scandal begins at Rome. They will do anything for money. Their bells sound avarice — call to nothing else but money and ease. The priests go for money to the choir, the vespers, and their office. They sell the benefices — they sell the sacraments — they traffic with the mass. As soon as evening comes, one goes to gaming, another to concubines. If a priest lives well, men will make game of him, and accuse him of hypocrisy. Now the word is no more, my nephew, but my sou ! Harlots go publicly to St Peter's ; each priest has his concubine. It has become a saying — If you will ruin your son, make a priest of him !" What a fearful exhi- bition of the vices of the clergy; and the results of a compelled celibacy ! But the seeming and temporary triumph of wicked- ness was now approaching. There were two political factions opposed to the one which acknowledged Savona- rola as leader. The adherents of the Medici, who sought the restoration of that family, and the aristocrats who wished themselves to possess the supremacy it had so long usurped, were combined for the overthrow of the Republican government. By their exertions a new Signory was elected, in which there was a majority against the Reformer. Letters from the Pope followed fast on one another, demanding the punishment of the refractory Abbot. He, on his part, wrote an earnest epistle to Alex- ander, in which he exhorted him not to delay seeking the salvation of his soul ! 104 FLORENCE. At last it was decided by the government of Florence, that, in obedience to the Pope, Savonarola must be silenced. On March 18, 1498, he preached his last ser- mon, saying, " From the Pope we must turn to the heavenly Pope — that is, to Christ. I never set myself against the right true power of the Church. But if the power of the Church be destructive, it is a hellish power of Satan." He then goes on to speak of himself as only a hammer in the hand of the Lord to be thrown aside when God has used it in His own way. "But let the Lord do what pleases Him ! The heavier the con- dition here beneath, the more glorious the crown there above !" The Franciscans, cherishing their old rivalry towards the Dominicans, put forth as their champion, one Fran- cesco di Puglia, who attracted large congregations to hear his denunciations of Savonarola, and his assertion of the Papal authority. He demanded that Savonarola should prove by some miracle the truth of his mission. Dominico da Pescia, who was zealously maintaining the cause of Savonarola, was impelled, in the heat of contro- versy, to accept his opponent's challenge of testing their cause by the fiery ordeal. This was a cunning plot of Rome, a masterpiece of strategy. Savonarola was not a party to the impi-udence of his disciple ; he maintained that his cause was sufficiently supported by truth to be independent of miracle; but the ordeal having been formally proposed and accepted, he reluctantly sanctioned it, and thus fell into the snare. There was no lack of candidates for martyrdom. Many noble ladies offered themselves. A beautiful child prostrated himself before THE FIERY ORDEAL. 105 the Abbot in the Convent garden entreating permission to enter the fire. The Signory determined on the ordeal, having previously resolved that if the Dominican should be burnt, Savonarola should quit Florence in three hours. The public square was prepared for the purpose. The area, the windows, the roofs of the houses, commanding a view of the spot, were densely crowded. Two immense piles, 80 feet long and 6 feet high, were constructed of faggots, covered with oil and pitch, and sprinkled with gunpowder. A narrow passage, two feet wide divided them. Through this, the rival monks were to pass. In different compartments of the Loggia di Lanzi, the Fran- ciscans and Dominicans are to take their stations. Now the former are seen walking barefoot, following their champion. Soon after Savonarola appears at the head of the Dominicans, bearing the consecrated host. Last of all is Domenico, grasping a crucifix. They advance to the fatal pile. The multitude anxiously anticipate the horrible spectacle. There are some preliminary difficul- ties. The Franciscans insist that Domenico shall not enter the fire with the crucifix. But he will not relin- quish this symbol of his being Christ's soldier. Both are now ready, when Savonarola places in the hands of his disciple, the consecrated host. The Franciscans de- nounce the impiety of exposing Christ's very body to such peril ! Domenico declares he will not enter the flames without his God. While they dispute a deluge of rain suddenly falls on the pile which cannot now be lighted. The populace are disappointed. Some had come from a distance; some had waited there many hours; they were indignant at losing such a gratification. It 106 FLORENCE. was easy to persuade them that Savonarola was to blame. Had not he insisted on a blasphemous condition? Had he not wished to expose to destruction the body of Christ? His political opponents were busy. His Fran- ciscan rivals were busy. The profligate, who hated an influence which had deprived them of their vicious, pleasures were busy. The emissaries of the Pope were busy. The opportunity was a golden one. It was turned to good account. Against Savonarola the popular indig- nation was directed. An angry tide of rioters rolled on- wards to S. Marco, and attacked the Church and Convent. For some time the monks stood on their defence, when orders came from the Signory that Savonarola should surrender himself to their custody. Expresses were sent off" to |lome to announce his capture. A commission of inquiry was instituted in which were two delegates from the Vatican, several Franciscans, two priests, the Vicar of the Archbishop, and the Vicar of the Bishop of Florence. Before this tribunal, Savonarola and two of his disciples were put to the question. Under terror of torture he was required to confess himself a false prophet. But threats were in vain. He reiterated all he h^d said, affirming it to be the truth of God. Then his hands being bound behind him, he was drawn up by a cord which was suddenly loosened, so that he fell with a jerk which wi-enched his limbs, without his touching the ground. His physical constitution was extremely sen- sitive to pain. In the anguish of the rack he uttered half sentences which were wrested from their connexion and paraded as confessions. But when he recovered his senses, he uniformly reasserted what he was charged with SAVONAROLA PUT TO THE TORTURE. 107 liaving recanted. On the second day of examination, fiercer torture was employed. Among other diabolic de- vices to extort some admission which might form a pre- text for condemning him, fire was applied to the soles of his feet. Still he protested that he had only preached the truth. A fiilse document was drawn up purporting to contain a confession of having sought his own personal ends throughout his career. This was published in order to rouse the populace still more against him. But the Signoria, however inimical, seemed dissatisfied with the result, for while they thanked the Pope for permission to torture the three monks, they added that scarcely any- thing had been elicited during several days of severe in- quisition. Thus did the Abbot of Florence " endure to the end." No longer applauded by admiring multitudes, but become the object of their indignation, forsaken by false friends, in the hands of merciless foes, in a narrow dungeon, debilitated with torture, and threatened with death, he was still a faithful witness for Christ. Like the Seraph Abdiel, " Unshaken, imseduced, unterrified, His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ; Nor number nor example with him wrought To swerve from truth or change his constant mind Though single." Care was taken at the ensuing election that the new Signory should be still more opposed to Savonarola than their predecessors. They were prompt to execute the sentence which soon arrived from Rome, condemning him to death as a heretic, disturber of the church, and per- verter of the people. After being again put to the 108 FLORENCE. torture, he was ordered to be hanged and burnt, with his two disciples, Domenico and Silvestro. On the 22d of May; 1498, they were led through the large hall which had been erected by Savonarola's suggestion, and brouglit forth, amidst much insult, into the Piazza, where the gallows and the funeral piles were prepared. An eager multitude were looking on, not now to be disappointed. The three monks were first disrobed and degraded. " I separate thee from the Church Militant," said the officiat- ing Bishop. " But thou canst not separate me from the Church triumphant," replied Savonarola. Being asked by a priest if he met death with composure, he said, " Should I not willingly die for His sake, who willingly died for me, a sinful man?" To the inquiry if he had any statement to make before he died, he answered — "Pray for me, and tell my friends that they take no offence at my death, but continue in my doctrine and in peace." Then repeating the Apostle's Creed he ascended the fatal ladder. Thus with calm dignity did this faithful martyr of Jesus Christ finish his course. A volley of stones was hurled at his body as soon as it hung sus- pended, and before life was extinct one of his implac- able enemies hastened to light the faggots. As the multitude who had saluted his divine Master with shouts of hosannah, being perverted by the " Chief Priests " firet demanded the death of Jesus, and then mocked him say- ing, "Come down from the Cross," — so did the poor Florentines, deluded by those who plotted for their enthralment, turn against their true friend and champion, crying out to him as he hung in the agonies of death, "Now, brother, it is time to do miracles." "When all WAS SAVONAROLA A FANATIC? 109 ivas over, his ashes were collected, and thrown over the Ponte Vecchio into the Arno ! * Thus perished, or rather, thus triumphed, this faithful nartyr of liberty and truth. For is it not victory to mdure to the end? When death meets the true soldier )f Jesus Christ on the battle-field, it cannot injure, it 3an only crown him. From the dawn to the close of life, lis career had been one of singular consistency. The reformation of manners, the cleansing of the Church from ts shameless profligacy, the elevation of a people sunk in :lie vices of luxury — this had been the absorbing aim of tiis life. He felt commissioned to summon all men to repent. He could truly say — " This one thing I do." Of course, he was not faultless. In his zeal to promote holier living, he may have been led into extravagance, and have prematurely imposed restraints which provoked terriWe reaction against himself Alas that the number of those who go to excesses in wickedness, should so exceed that of those who go too far in endeavours to check it. Of course, Savonarola was denounced as a fanatic. And what man who was disinterested in the midst of selfish- ness, and steadfastly set himself to reprove the errors and reform the corruptions of his day, ever escaped this epithet? To dissent from prevailing errors, to denounce fashionable sins, to attack wickedness in high places, and in so doing, not only to lose caste, wealth, promotion, but to run the risk of imprisonment and death, is not this most fanatical 1 Is it not so totally unlike what a selfish worldling would do, that, unable to comprehend it, he According to Sismondi the three mouks were " bmiit alive." 110 FLORENCK gives it a name of odium, and congi'atulates himself that he is no fanatic ! But as of old, — " men will praise thee if thou doest good to thyself ^ How falsely have high sounding words of praise been applied ! " They who call Lorenzo, Magnificent, are welcome to call Savonarola an impostor." * Neither he nor Luther wished to separate themselves from the Roman Church, but only to purify it. But both discovered that it was too essentially corrupt for cure. Fire and water, light and darkness, are not more antagonistic than the truths they advocated and the system to which so long they clung. One of them, therefore, was burnt, and the other was driven out of the fold, and would as surely as his Florentine forerunner, have been murdered by his "Holy Mother," could she have laid hands on him. But the triumph of wickedness cannot last. The seeds of truth, however buried, ar^ inde- structible. They soon sprang up elsewhere, contributing more than has been conjectured, to the golden harvest of the Reformation, which Luther, and Zwingle, and Calvin, were permitted to reap. Thoy soon sprang up in Florence itself, when the citizens, discovering too late their error, so heroically struggled against Papal perfidy and Medicean tyranny, during that memorable siege, in which liberty and patriotism emitted so glorious a blaze prior to their final extinction. Yet not final! For " Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from dying sire to son. Though baffled oft, at last is won I " From the shores of that river into which Savonarola's • Whiteside's Italy. TRUTH INDESTRUCTIBLE. Ill ashes were thrown, other champions will ere long arise to assert the liberty he claimed, to defend the truths he taught. That forbidden book, which he urged the Florentines to read, shall yet become the charter of their rights, the treasure of their homes and their guide to Heaven. That Saviour to whom he pointed them, rather than to superstitious forms and lifeless ceremonies, will again be acknowledged as the only true Priest, the Divine King of men. And from multitudes assembled on the place of his martyrdom, the shout of freedom, and the song of praise shall yet be uplifted, for " they shall know the truth and the truth shall make them free." 112 FLORENCE. CHAPTER YIIL THE BIBLE IN FLORENCE. I HAD often been told by Roman Catholics in England, that to say the Bible was a forbidden book in Italy and could not be purchased at the booksellers was a slander. \] ' 1 1) j I resolved to test the question for myself, but the invari- ,.. . '.!. able reply to every application was, as I expected — Fro- hibito I After some difficulty, I found an intelligent Florentijie who would freely converse with me on public affairs, when he ascertained that no one was within hearing. I asked if he knew anything of the Madiai 1 He replied — "They were good, quiet people, never charged with poli- tical disaffection, or even suspected of it. Their only crime was reading the Bible with some of their domestics. The law forbids us even to possess it in the Italian lan- guage. Any crime can be more easily committed with impunity. The reading of the Bible would be the ruin of priestly power. It is therefore so strictly forbidden. But if the j)eople were free, half the Florentines would at once discard Popery. After this I called on an English gentleman, several years resident in Florence, from whom I obtained tht following confirmatory information : — " The priests are A CRIME TO POSSESS GOd's WORD. 113 the instigators of all tlie severe laws against what they call heresy, and their directions come from their head- quarters, the Vatican. The Madiai kept lodgings in the Piazza della Maria Novella, and were much patronised by English visitors. A rival lodging-house keeper, through envy, denounced him to a priest. The house was searched, and Bibles found. This was sufficient, as the mere possession of the Scriptures by a Tuscan ex- poses him to the penalty of the law. As many as thirty persons are at this moment in prison for this crime. An old law recently revived making the offence capital, hangs with an awful vagueness over the people. The public trial of the Madiai brought such odium on its promotei-s that a more politic course is now pursued, the owner of a Bible being kept in prison without any trial as long as it suits the purpose of the authorities, and then dismissed without punishment ! This detention may continue for years. The authorities pretend that only proselytising and not Protestantism is punished, and that Tuscans may be of what religion they please, if they do not per- vert others. Yet if any Florentine were to attempt to worship at the Swiss Protestant, or French Reformed Church, he would be sent to prison, and no Italian Pro- testant Church is tolerated. A young man I know well, has now been in prison four months without trial. -His house was entered and searched one morning at four o'clock, when he and his family were in bed. He was so respected in the bank where he was a clerk, that his salary has been continued during his imprisonment. When his friends demanded from the authorities on what pretext he was detained in gaol, the only answer H 114 FLORENCE. i was — * It is sufficient that a Bible was found in his pos- session.' " I have before me an article on the Madiai, in the Dublin (Roman Catholic) Review, of April 1, 1853 ; wi'it- ten at the very time I was at Florence. Its object is to disprove the fact that they were the victims of religious persecution. This writer admits that the secular and religious system of Florence must stand or fall together, and that liberty to read the Bible would endanger both I "What, then, must such a system be, which cannot bear the light of God's Word? Our reviewer states that — " Catholicity is the only Christianity known in Tuscany, Whatever crime, therefore, it may be considered in othei countries, to endeavour to sap and destroy religion and morality, that in its full extent would be there held tht estimate of an attempt to deal similarly with Catholicity.' If, then, to distribute the Bible is to sap Catholicity and to commit " a crime against religion and morality,' what, by their own admission, must such religion anc morality be worth? But the government and the priests in thus dealing with the reading of the Scripture: as a crime, only do their duty in the eyes of consistent Papists. At the Fourth Session of the Council of Trent, helc April 8, 154G, it was decreed that whosoever shall pre sume to read the sacred Scriptures, though translated b] Catholic authoi-s, without authority of the bishop or in quisitor, " let him not be able to obtain absolution unles lie has first given back the books : and the bookseller who shall sell the Bible to a person not having the afore said power, are to lose the price of the books, and shall b COUNCIL OF TRENT FORBIDS THE BIBLE. 115 subject to other penalties at the discretion of the Bishop." In a bull of Clement XI., condemning Quesnel's Jan- senist New Testament, Louis XI Y., the fierce persecutor of the Huguenots, is styled " Our particularly dear son in Christ, Louis the most Christian King of the French, whose extraordinary zeal in defending the purity of the Catholic faith, and in extirpating errors — we cannot suf- ficiently commend." Then follow the hundred and one condemned propositions. Among them are these : " The Grace of Jesus Christ is necessary for every good work.'' " The Heading of Sacred Scriptures is for all." These, amongst other propositions, are denounced " all and each as false, offensive to pious ears, scandalous, pernicious, seditious, impious, and blasphemous ; we command, moreover, our venerable brethren the bishops and inqui- sitors of heretical depravity, that they by all means coerce and keep in check all contradictory and refractory per- sons whatsoever by the above-mentioned censures and penalties, and by the other remedies of law and fact, the aid of the secular arm being appealed to if it should be ne- cessary." English Romanists often endeavour to defend their Church by saying it has never persecuted, it has only delivered over ofi'enders to the m^agistrate ! A judge might as well say he had not hanged a thief, but only intrusted him to the tender mercies of the executioner ! But would those Romanists who in England pretend to be such lovers of civil and religious liberty, use the same language in Italy? Have they ever used it except when in a mi- nority ? Some, however, have the honesty to speak out. The JRarabler, for September 1851, Part XLY., published 116 FLORENCE. by Bums and Lambert, in an article on Civil and Keli- gious Liberty, says : — ""When you hear a Catholic orator at some public assemblage declaring solemnly that this is the most humi- liating day in his life, when he is called on to defend once more the glorious principle of religious freedom — be not too simple in your credulity. These are brave words, but they mean nothing. He is not talking Catholicism, but nonsense and Protestantism. You ask if he were lord of the land, and you in a minority, what would he do to you ? That would depend on circumstances. If it would benefit the cause of Catholicism, he would tolerate you ; if expedient, he would imprison you, banish you, fine you, possibly he might even hang you. But be assured of one thing, he would never tolerate you for the sake of ithe 'glorious principles of civil and religious liberty.' . . . Religious liberty, in the sense of a liberty j)os- sessed by every man to choose his own religion, is one of the most wicked delusions ever foisted on this age by the father of all deceit Shall I fall in with this abominable delusion, and foster the notion of my fellow- countrymen, that they have a right to deny the truth of God in the hope that I may throw dust in their eyes, and get them to tolerate my creed as one of the many forms of theological opinion prevalent in these latter days 1 Shall I foster that damnable doctrine that Socinianism, and Calvinism, and Anglicanism, and Judaism, are not every one of them mortal sins, like murder and adultery 1 Shall I lend my countenance to this unhappy persuasion of my brotlier, that he is not flyijig in the face of Almighty God every day that he remains a Protestant 1 Shall I THE BIBLE DAITGEROUS TO TYRANTS. 117 hold out to liim hopes that I will not meddle with his creed, if he will not meddle with mine ? Shall I lead him to think that religion is a matter for private opinion, and tempt him to forget that he has no more right to his religious views than he has to my purse, or my house, or my life-blood ? No ! Catholicism is the most intolerant of creeds. It is intolerance itself, for it is truth itself. We might as rationally believe that a sane man has a right to believe that two and two do not make four, as this theory of Religious Liberty. Its impiety is only equalled by its absurdity." Englishmen, beware of such a system ! Imitate not its intolerance : but spare no pains to expose its errors, and never forget that the pre- dominance of Popery must be the death of liberty. Yet this forbiddal of the Bible is in a worldly sense most wise. Would it not be suicidal in a church to sanction a book which in every page condemns its arrogant pretensions, and its complicated ceremonies — which teaches in terms a little child may understand, that a sinner may be saved without the aid of any other priest, than Jesus; and needing not a single mass to escape from purgatory, may die in full assurance of at once being " present with the Lord," by virtue of " the blood which cleanseth from ALL sin !" ? And would it not be suicidal also for any tyrant government to allow the circulation of a book, than which no volume was ever written more adapted to nurture a spirit of freedom such as must event- ually snap asunder every chain? Beautifully has a Bard of the working classes whom Scotland need not blush to place side by side with Burns (though if purity be an element in real poetry, he occupies a far higher rank) — 118 FLORENCE. beautifully has he illustrated this sentiment in his Ode entitled, "The Ha' Bible:" — * "Oil could worship thee I Thou art a gift a God of love might give ; For love, and hope, and joy, In thy Almighty-written pages live : — The slave who reads shall never crouch again ; For, mind-inspired by thee, he bursts his feeble chain I And, Father, Thou hast spread Before men's eyes this Charter of the Free, That All Thy Book might read. And Justice love, and Truth, and Liberty : The Gift was unto men — the giver God, Thou Slave ! it stamps thee Man— go spurn thy weary load t Thou doubly-precious Book ! Unto Thy light what doth not Scotland owe !— Thou teachest Age to die. And Youth in truth unsullied up to gi-ow 1 In lowly homes a Comforter art thou — A Sunbeam sent from God— an everlasting bow ! " "Who will not join in the prayer of the last line of the poem, extending it to every part of the Empire ; " May Britain reverence aye— The BIBLE of the Ha' ! " Poems by Robert NicolL—Tait, Edinbuigh. THE GRAND DUKE IN FLORENCE. 119 CHAPTER IX FLORENCE TO ROME. * March 16. — Our last day in Florence! We visited the Uffizi for a parting glance at some of our favourite pictures and statues. On my way I bought a beautiful bunch of lilies of the valley. The flowers were a daily charm. The country people stand in the streets with baskets full of mignionette, violets, roses, &c., which, though so early in the year, are sold for a mere trifle. I was seldom without a nosegay. One morning as we drove past a flower girl with her large Leghorn hat on her head, and her fragrant basket on her arm, she dex- terously threw a bunch of violets into the carriage. I suppose she had seen my admiring glance at her stores. I was so pleased with her kindness that I stopped the carriage to pay her some trifling coin, on which she in- sisted on my taking two other bunches, and then, with such a smile, bid us farewell. " I was very much struck with the ominous silence as the Grand Duke drove along the streets. Not a hat was taken ofi", nor any mark of respect paid. One would think he must be very miserable to rule over a people who hate him. * For this entire chapter I am indebted to my wife's journal. 120 FLORENCE TO ROME. " We were very sorry to leave beautiful Florence, and our comfortable ' Hotel de York.' But Eome was before us ! In two hours we were in Leghorn. After dinner at the Hotel de Nord, we got out our glees, and being alono in the Salle-a-manger were enjoying a pleasant sing, when a gentleman and two ladies entered. We at once stopped, but they begged us to proceed, saying they were English residing in Italy, and had been charmed by hearing the old familiar airs of home. We found that they personally knew the Madiai, of whose liberation they were the fii*st to inform us. They had come in haste to Leghorn, hoping to see them before sailing, but the ship had gone taking them to Marseilles penniless and friendless. Mr. , however, determined to follow them by the next steamer. The evening was spent talking of those and other unfortunate ones whom the Roman Catholics are persecuting so cruelly. It is really difficult to be charitable towards those who manifest siTch intense bigotry. When I hear of that church rebuking those who thus act, I shall alter my opinion, but not till then. "Thursday, March 17. — There was a strong wind this morning, and poor N., who is such a bad sailor, saw with dismay the ships in the harbour tossing about in good earnest. After breakfast we went to a bookseller's, where, having made a few purchases, we asked the good man if he had a IsTuovo Testamento. He handed \is a little pamphlet containing a few Scripture stories. On repeating our demand, he shook his head, and told us it was prohibited. Thus we again proved that it is a book which the priests forbid to be sold. "At five o'clock we were on board. The packet STORMY VOYAGE. 121 having come from Marseilles full of passengers, all tlie berths and the sofas were engaged in the ladies' cabin, in which, besides adults, there were a number of children. So I was glad to secure a resting-place in the second cabin, in which, happily, there were only two other persons. Many tourists like ourselves were on board. Two Fran- ciscan monks and some priests were also on their way to Rome. The sun shone splendidly, and we resolved to take a seat on deck, and enjoy a little toss. But the moment we rounded the pier, such a tremendous sea met us ! We were so engulphed, that for a moment I thought we should never rise. The next instant a wave swept over the deck, and drenched everybody. My bonnet, dress, everything was soaked. I tried to take refuge in the cabin, but this was no easy task, as the deck was covered with water, and the ship rolled very much. However, with the help of N. and C. I accomplished it with the greatest difficulty. You can imagine what a doleful, dripping state I was in when I got into the cabin ! One of the passengers soon became very ill, so I sat as far off as I could, upon the small sofa, which I shared with a little French maid, for I durst not enter a berth. There we sat as the vessel rolled about, a wave now and then thumping it so violently, that we felt as if striking on a rock, and the planks groaned and squeaked as if they were going to pieces. IST. had disappeared, ill. I began to feel poorly myself, and with a pillow and cloak had contrived a resting-place for my head, when it was suddenly drenched by a wave which entered the sky- light, and made the floor half an inch deep in water. So I had to sit with my toes only resting on it. This inun- 122 FLORENCE TO ROME. dation was repeated several times. I never passed so terrible a night. ^* Friday J March 18. — At eight o'clock I was over- joyed to find we were in tlie harbour of Civita Vecchia. I was a perfect object: as pale as a very yellow ghost; my hair in an awful state of dishevelment; my bonnet the most ludicrous afiair, having been drenched several times, and bent in all directions. I could attempt no tidying in that cabin, so I crept on deck, feeling as miser- able as I must have looked. It was no satisfaction to find that the ladies of the other cabin had fared still worse. Three whole hours we had to wait, while pass- ports and bills of health were examined. What a tedious three hours it was; and how we longed for a clean room, soap, hot water, a comb and brush, and a cup of tea! Though we were in the ancient port of Trajan, and felt almost within sight of Rome, such was my exhaustion, that I looked about with the most profound indifierence, and could not make myself feel enthusiastic. When per- mission was given to land, there was such a demand for boats, and the luggage was so difficult to get at, that we were delayed a considerable time longer. At last the happy moment arrived, and I felt thankful to get to the ■svi-etched inn, and have the opportunity of refreshing myself. "Everything was in most intense confusion; such a multitude of travellers — such a fuss in passing the custom house — such a number of diligences preparing for Rome, that I felt grateful indeed when we were all three seated together in a comfortable coupee. We were considerably refreshed, and began to enjoy ourselves. This mode of ENTRANCE INTO ROME. 123 travelling was quite luxurious after our voyage. We were much entertained by our postilion, who cracked his whip and made his horses gallop in fine style, continually turning round with an air of triumph, and laughing boisterously when he saw we were pleased. The harness was of a most barbarous description, rope supplying the place of leather. The horses were a great distance apart, and we were highly amused to see them going one in this direction, and one in another. Still we got on very quickly, preceded and followed by other vehicles. "We were now traversing the Campagna. It was desolation, varied only by a few miserable dirty dwellings where we changed horses. We soon began to be in the gi-eatest excitement as to when we should get the first glimpse of the great city which had been our chief thought for the last six months. Every stone seemed fraught with the history of the past, and so many recollections crowded on my mind that I could think of no one thing distinctly. At last we all caught sight of the Dome of S. Peter's towering majestically through the dim twilight. " Our fatigue now seemed entirely gone. I made my eyes ache with staring through the dusk to see some other part of * the Niobe of Nations,' as Byron beautifully and appropriately calls Eome. We entered the city by the Janiculum, and passed close to S. Peter's under the sha- dow of its superb colonnade. Then \ve came in sight of the Castle of S. Angelo, whose great round form was so familiar to us by pictures, that we knew it at once. Then we crossed the old Tiber, and threading some narrow streets, stopped at the diligence office, expecting, as a matter of course, that carriages would be in attend- 124 FLORENCE TO ROME. ance to convey passengers to tlieir lodgings. But, alas, none were to be had ! So we engaged a porter to wheel our luggage, and, tired as we were, between nine and ten o'clock, we went through strange and dark streets in quest of a hotel "We called at several in vain. All were quite full. When fairly wearied out, we luckily found a coach and drove to some lodgings of which we had heard. They were most filthy, and the owner de- manded fifteen scudi, more than three pounds for one night ! At length, in despair, we drove to a gentleman's to whom we had letters of introduction, thinking he might recommend us what to do. Alas, after considerable difficulty with the sleepy man who answered the bell, we learnt he had gone to bed. We drove to another letter- of-introduction friend, but could make no one hear though we knocked and rang vehemently. At length, nearly at midnight, we were so fortunate as to find rooms in the hotel Serny. It was so late that we could only get a little cofiee with a limited supply of bread and butter, but for this I was thankful, as it had the good quality of being vei'y clean. Our rooms were as comfortable as could be, and the linen snowy white. I never before felt so grateful for a roof to shelter me. "Saturday, March 19. — As soon as I awoke, I pulled from under my pillow and read aloud, those beautiful lines of Rogers in which he describes his feelings when he first visited this city. They quite expressed our own. " I am in Rome ! Oft as the morning ray- Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome ! A thousand busy thoughts FIRST DAY IN ROME. 125 Rush, on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up, as girt to run a race ! Thou art in Rome ! the city that so long Reigned absolute, the mistress of the world; The mighty vision that the prophets saw And trembled; that from nothing, from the least The lowliest village (what but here and there A reed-roofed cabin by a river side?) Grew into everything: and, year by year, Patiently, fearlessly, working her way O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea, Not like the merchant with his merchandise, Or traveller with stafif and scrip exploring, But hand to hand, and foot to foot, through hosts, Through nations numberless in battle-array. Each behind each, each, when the other fell. Up and in arms, at length subdued them all. Thou art at Rome ! the city where the Gauls, Entering at sun-rise through her open gates, And, through her streets silent and desolate. Marching to slay, thought they saw gods, not men; The city that by temperance, fortitude, And love of glory, towered above the clouds, Then fell— but, falling kept the highest seat, And in her loneliness, her pomp of woe. Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild. Still o'er the mind maintains, from age to age. Her empire undiminished I And I am there 1" I was in a hurry to be dressed. It was such a treat to discard my worn-out travelling gear, and dip into my box of fresh things, and to feel that we were not off again directly, but were to stay to drink in the interest which hangs over every inch of ground, and arranging my clothes in drawers to feel settled in Rome ! JST. went to the post and brought three letters, which we greedily read. They were indeed a pleasant prelude to the day. " It was very late when we breakfasted, for, fatigued as we had been, our night was a very long one. We 126 FLORENCE TO ROME. then drove through the modern city, and left our nume- rous letters of introduction at their various destinations. "We dined at a Trattoria in the Piazza di Spagna, where we met an American artist with whom we got into pleasant conversation. He kilidly offered to guide us to the Capitol. I shall never forget the solemn feeling I had, on coming suddenly in front of the arch of Septimius Severus. It was the first of the ruins of old Rome I had seen; it looked so eloquent in its desolation, and the twilight, fast stealing on, added to the effect. We now caught sight of the three famous columns, and the Temple of Fortune, and the pillar of Phocas, and the Basilica of Constantine. We walked on the Yia Sacra. Every step was classic ground. We passed under the arch of Titus and gazed with wonder and delight at the bass-reliefs representing the golden candlestick carried in the tri- umphal procession of the Roman Emperor. We still wandered on at the base of the Palatine, beneath the ruins of the Palace of the Caesars, to the Coliseum. We entered it. I was quite overpowered by seeing so much all at once. I felt I could not feel enough. It was overwhelming. There was more than could be grasped. As it was now almost dark, we returned through some narrow streets to our inn, where our very kind friend, Mr M., to whom we had a letter of introduction, called on us with tickets for S. Peter's the next day, and witli offers of assistance in obtaining lodgings. I shall not soon forget his kindness." ARRANGEMENT OF SUBJECTS. 127 [In the following chapters on Rome, I have arranged together similar subjects, instead of giving a history of each day's observations. It was only owing to the acci- dent of our arriving on the eve of Holy Week, that our first attention was chiefly paid to religious ceremonies. But as ancient and Pagan Rome, naturally precedes modern and ecclesiastical Rome, the narrative of our second day. Palm Sunday, must be looked for after the next Book, which will be devoted entirely to classical antiquities.] BOOK IIL ANCIENT ROME. CHAPTER I. VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. What pilgrim to Rome is not impatient to climb the Capitol 1 Not only as the central point of classic inte- rest, but as commanding the most comprehensive view of the city, this is deservedly the first object of attraction. Our lodgings were within a few yards of the Piazza del Popolo. Standing in the centre, beneath the old obelisk, just within the Flaminian gate, we look along the straight line of the old Flaminian way, which stretches across the ancient Campus Martins. It is now called the Corso, and is the principal street in the modem city. "We look through a vista of palaces, churches, and variously gabled houses, the view being closed at the distance of nearly a mile, by a mass of lofty buildings surmounted by a tall slender tower, bearing on its summit an image of Roma Chris- tiana. This is the Capitol ! We are soon at the spot — climb its hundred steps — cross its open square, flanked by the modern structures VIEW FBOM TH^ CAPITOL. 129 of iL Angelo — and enter a large building, the lower part of which, with its massive Etruscan masonry, invites us twe pass, to stop and hear it talk to us of the old re- blic. But we cannot now examine the separate objects interest around us, nor can we confine our thoughts the thrilling memories which the very name " THE CAPITOL" recalls — for we are eager to feast on the unrivalled panorama, which every steep stair we ascend is unrolling more widely for our inspection. Now it bursts on us in all its marvellous extent and beauty, as we step out on the roof of the lofty tower. Rome lies round about us — the shattered ruins which have survived the rude assaults of twenty centuries — churches and convents which elsewhere would be ancient, reared on the foundations of demolished temples — gloomy towers of the middle ages — and the domes, palaces, and hovels of modem times ! Of all spots on the globe, Jerusalem ever excepted, the one we look upon is more intimately bound up than any other, with the history of the past — ^has been trodden by a larger number of illus- trious men — and has had a greater influence on the cha- racter and condition of the world. The city with whose name such thrilling associations had been connected from our childhood — the city of Komulus and the kings, of Brutus and the consuls, of Caesar and the emperors — the city of Scipio, and Gracchus, and Cato — of Cicero, and Virgil, and Horace — the city of S. Paul and the early Christian martyrs — ^the city of the Popes — the heart of that vast sys-tem of ecclesiastical sovereignty as extensive as was ever Rome's temporal dominion — whence decrees go forth which are obeyed beyond the Indus and on the I 130 VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. banks of the Mississippi, in regions more remote than ever trembled beneath the tramp of imperial legions — this mighty city of the seven hills, lay spread out before TIS. Having for some time gazed vacantly at the whole scene, with emotions too deep for expression, let us now examine in detail the objects of principal interest. And first of all we, of course, look for the FORUM ! It is immediately below us as we stand facing the S.E. Modern structures shunning intrusion on its sacredness, have reverently left it in its majestic desolation. Tri- umphal arches, whose marble, no longer white, is eloquent with the stains of nearly two thousand years — broken columns which once formed the porticos of majestic temples, — vast masses of brickwork, substructions oi edifices which have long disappeared — shattered pave- ments trodden by renowned heroes and orators in the days of old — these are the objects which mark the spot which was the heaH of Rome, as Rome itself was the heart of the world. From the temple of Jupiter Tonans at our feet, we trace the Sacred Way, the path of triumphs, under the arch of S. Severus, through the Forum, and beneath the arch of Titus, which carries us back in thought to Solomon, to Moses, and to the very infancy of our race. Beyond is the mighty mass of the Colosseum, that mountain memorial of Roman power and Roman cruelty. Still looking forward we see the Papal palace and church of the Lateran, beyond which spreads the vast verdant expanse of the Campagna, dotted with ruins, and traversed by long lines of ruined aqueducts. The beautiful Alban mount, once crowned with the stately THE SEVEN HILLS. 131 temple of tlie Latian Jove, the massive foundations of whicii may yet be distinguished, closes the view. All this, and much more, is embraced in one glance, within a very small augle, without the least inclination of the eyes from the straight line along which we are supposed to look ! Let us now endeavour to make out the seven hills. * From the disappointment expressed by other travellers, I had exiDected to be unable, without great difficulty, to discover any hills at all. I was agreeably surprised to find them so clearly defined. Four of them enclose the valley of the Forum. The Capitol, on which we stand, bounds it to the N.W., and is still a steep and lofty rock in spite of the accumulations of soil and ruins below. To; our right, bounding the Forum on the S.W., is the! Palatine, scarped all round with ancient walls of solid! brickwork, and crowned with the ruined palaces of the Caesars. At its base, according to the tradition, the twin Ijrothers were suckled by the Wolf and discovered by Faustulus in the deep cave Lupercal, consecrated by Evander to Pan, whose shameless festival, the Lupercalia, was held there every spring. We recall the words which Shakspeare puts into the mouth of M. Antony, who, as Consul and High Priest of Pan, naked save a narrow girdle of goat skin, entered the Forum and having harangued the people, presented a crown to Csesar. " You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?" On that hill Romulus watched for the augury — there he founded his infant state — there in after-times was the 132 VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. . house of Cicero, burnt in the popular commotion excited against him by Clodius, — there the Emperors built their I stately palaces, and there Nero, surpassing all in despotic splendour, erected his " golden house." Now, with the exception of a modern dwelling, built by an Englishman with egi'egiously bad taste, resembling a Chinese Pagoda, in the midst of solemn ruins, and rejoicing in the classi- cal designation. The Villa Mills — with this exception, the Palatine is " waste, without inhabitant.** Vineyards I and cabbage gardens are cultivated in the spaces between the ruins whose shattered arches and massive walls, which once echoed to the tread of the Masters of the world, are now overgrown with weeds and briars. En- closing the Forum in the distance, towards the S.E. is the Ccelian, conspicuous by the magnificent church of St John Lateran ; while on our left, and of course bounding the Forum on the N.E. is the Esc[uiline, on the edge of which, just above The Colosseum, are the " Baths of Titus," while its more distant extremity is crowned by the Church of S. Maria Maggiore. If now we turn a little to the right, and look down the valley between ourselves and the Palatine, we see the Arch of Janufi, the beautiful Temple of Vesta, and the windings of the Tiber, up which -^neas and his companions sailed when they were beheld by Evander from his Arcadian Village. Rising abruptly from the river-banks is the rocky Aventine, the legendary station of Pemus, the allotted residence of the Plebs, consecrated by the memory of Gracchus, now covered with convents and cypresses. The valley between it and the Palatine wit- nessed the " Pape of the Sabines," being the site of the THE MODERN CITY. 133 ancient games of Romulus, and subsequently of the Circus Maximus. Within this vast intramural space, stood the chief part of the ancient city. What once teemed with life, would for the most part be now a solitude, but for a convent planted here and there amidst the desolation. Turning to the northern side of the tower, we see the habitations of the modern Romans, crowding the Campus Martins. Just below us, the Column of Trajan, in all its beauty, rises from his ruined Forum. Beyond it is the Quirinal, crowned by the summer palace of the Popes, between which and the Esquiline, ought to be Yiminal, the only one of the seven hills we were unable to recog- nise. Among the multitudinous roofs of private dwell- ings, we distinguish the Column of Antoninus, the vast Dome of the Pantheon, and the towers and cupolas of two hundred churches. The city is bounded in this direction by the Pincian-hill, the scene of Nero's death, now the fashionable drive of the citizens. Turning a little more to the west, and standing with our backs to the Roman Forum, we see the great round tower of Hadrian's Mausoleum on the opposite bank of the Tiber. A little beyond is the huge mass of the Vatican, whose thunders have so often shaken thrones, and whose autho- . rity still binds the consciences of millions. Adjoining it,| is " the most magnificent temple ever reared to the wor-i ship of the Deity;" built on the site of Nero's gardens and amphitheatre, where so many Christian martyrs expired in agony, burning within their shirt of pitch to \ illuminate the night, or torn by wild beasts amidst the exultations of a frenzied populace. Here, according to tradition, is the last resting place of the body of Saint 134 VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. I Peter, above which, the Dome of M. Angelo, that grand- est of sepulchral monuments, towers in reposeful stateli- ness. Beyond it is the Monte Vaticano, which, according ; to Horace, echoed back the plaudits accorded in Pompey's i theatre to his patron Msecenas. In front of us i» the Janiculum, whence Poi*senna threatened the existence of the infant republic, and as we look first on it, then at the Yellow Tiber flowing beneath, we call to mind the hero- ism of Horatius, — " How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old " — and the stem self-devotion of Mucins, and the hardy- daring of Cloelia and her fellow hostages, when, escaping from the Etruscan camp, they swam the swollen tide. But this hill has more thrilling memories, for tradition says that on yonder spot, occupied in commemoration of the event by the church of S. Pietro in Montorio, the Apostle was crucified with his head downwards. Near to this is the gate by which the French entered the city at its last siege, when the feeble republic was crushed by the mighty one whose example it had presumed to emulate. ' Extending now our view beyond the city, to the vast plain and mountains, we see the hills of Etruria closing ithe prospect on the N.W. Just outside the walls on the I north, is the picturesque Monte Mario, crowned with villas, pines, and cypresses; while in the far distance, rising in isolated grandeur from the plain, is the classical Monte di S. Silvestro, the alta nive candidum Soracte of Hoi-ace. To the N.E. is the beautiful range of the Sabine hills, with their deep wooded glens, and their purple TIVOLI ALGIDUS TUSCTJLUM. 135 • ' perched on a rocky slope above its ravine, is beautiful Tivoli, the ancient Tibur, where the grandees of old Rome had their summer palaces, and in whose shady- groves, and by the cool banks of whose plunging cataract the poet so loved to linger and to muse. i» Circa nemus uvidique Tiburis ripas operosa parvus Carmina fingo. [Car, iv. 2. Beyond Tivoli we catch the summit of M. Genaro, the Lucretilis of Horace. Along the plain flows the Arno to join the Tiber, dividing in its course the territory of Latium, from that of the Sabines. Through a gap in the hills we look to an immense distance, over the site of the ancient cities of Gabii and CoUatia to Palestrina, the Frigidum Prcenede which competed with Tibur and BaisB for the Poet's visits, and to the supposed locality of the Lake Regillus, where the twin Divinities aided new-born liberty, in resisting Tarquin the Proud. In this direction we see Mount Algidus, sacred to Diana, another locality made familiar to us by Horace, and we think how ofter the old Romans looked defiantly from this very Capitol to that very hill, whereon, as a favourite stronghold, so frequently lay encamped their sturdy -^quian foes. Further to the south is the Alban Mount, on which we were never weary of gazing, so picturesque is its form, so ethereal its hue, so thrilling its historical interest. On one of its eminences are the ruins of ancient Tusculum, BO long Rome's formidable rival, consecrated by having been the favourite residence of Cicero, and the scene of 136 TIEW FROM THE CAPITOL his "Tusculan disputations." On the highest summit, called Monte Cavi, is a convent which occupies the site of the Temple of the Latian Jupiter, to which conquerors led their armies in triumphant procession. Romantic little towns whose white houses gleam out from the dArk purple hue of the mountain, are perched on its steep slopes, and though at a distance of twelve miles we can distinguish every individual dwelling. Poetry and music are in their very names. There we see Frascati, and Castel Gondolpho, and Marino, and Grotto Ferrata, and Albano. Higher up is Rocca di Papa, the Arx Albana of Livy, clinging to the perpendicular rock, beneath the very apex of the Alban Mount. Close to it is the elevated plain where it is said the great Cai'thaginian pitched his tents, and which is still called " the Camp of Hannibal." We see the crest of the hill above Alba Longa, and the edge of the volcanic basin in which repose the waters of the Alban Lake. Beyond all, the Apennines lift their snowy erests into the deep bhie of an unclouded sky. Towards the S.E. the Appian way stretches in an undeviating line across the Campagna towards Aricia, Lanuvium, Corioli and Yelitrae. Along that very road the Apostle Paul approached the city accompanied by the brethren who had gone out to meet him " as far as Appii Forum, , and the Three Taverns." To the south extend the vast plains of Latium, bounded by the Volscian moimtains. To the S.W. the Campagna lies outspread, in eloquent desolation, as far as Ostia and the sea, intersected by the windings of the Tiber, the ancient boundary between Latium and Etruria. It is impossible to over-estimate the emotions produced by such a scene. Apart from its DESCRIBED BY POGGIO. 137 historical interest, it is a panorama wliicli lias few rivals in beauty. But when we contemplate its most important elements, which, as always, are invisible, we must acknow- ledge that it immeasurably surpasses any other view the world can furnish. What events of stirring interest, during nearly thirty centuries, have here transpired! What sanguinary battles have been fought on that vast plain ! What stately triumphs have entered those gates and clinabed this Capitol ! How does the mere enumera- tion of so many charmed names, thrill the spectator as he gradually awakes from what at first seems a dream, and becomes convinced that he is looking on those very spots themselves ! There might be no end of moralising — but the scene is in itself too suggestive to need an interpreter. My readers will, I am convinced, prefer to any com- ments of my own, the thoughts with which the learned Poggio, in 1430, and Milton, two centuries later, con- templated the same prospect. " When Evander enter- tained the stranger at Troy, as delineated by Yirgil, this Tarpeian rock was a savage and solitary thicket. In the time of the poet it was crowned with the golden roofs of a temple. The temple has been overthrown, the gold has been pillaged, the wheel of fortune has accom- plished her revolution, and the sacred ground is again disfigured with brambles. The hill of the Capitol on which we sit was formerly the head of the Roman Empire, the Citadel of the Earth, the terror of kings, illustrious by the footsteps of how many triumphs, enriched with the spoils and tributes of how many nations ! This spectacle of the world, how is it fallen ! how changed ! how defaced ! 1 38 VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL The path of victory is obliterated by vines, and the benches of senators are concealed by a dunghill. Cast your eyes on the Palatine hill, and seek among the shapeless and enormous fragments the marble theatre, the obelisks, columns, statues, and porticos of Nero's palace ! Survey the other hills of the city — the vacant space is interrupted only by ruins and gardens; the Forum of the Roman People where they assembled to enact their laws and elect their magistrates, is now enclosed for the cultivation of pot herbs, or thrown open for the recej^tion of swine and oxen. The public and private edifices that were founded for eternity lie prostrate, naked and broken, like the limbs of a mighty giant ; and the ruin is the more visible . from the stupendous relics that have survived the injuries ; of time and fortune." * Mil ton, when a youth, looked forth from this Capitol, and stored up in his capacious memory the mighty picture, which when old and blind was again spread out before him, and which was undoubtedly in his thoughts when, in those magnificent lines of the Paradise Regained, he builds up from its ruins the Imperial City, and beholds it as it was in the days of all its pride and power. " The city, which thou seest, no other deem Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the earth. So far renown'd, and with the spoils enrich'd Of nations : there the Capitol thou seest, Above the rest lifting his stately head On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine, The imperial palace, compass huge, and high The structure, skill of noblest architects. With gilded battlements conspicuous far. Turrets and terraces, and glittering spires: • Gibbon.— Chap. bud. DESCRIBED BY MILTON. 139 Many a fair edifice besides, more like Houses of gods : . . . pillars and roofe, Carved work the hand of famed artificers. In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. ' Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see What confiux issuing forth, or entering in ; Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces Hasting or on return, in robes of state, Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power, Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; Or embassies from regions far remote, In various habits, on the Appian road. Or on the Emilian : some from furthest south. From India and the golden Chersonese, From Gallia, Gades, and the British west ; , (Germans and Scythians ; and Sarmatians, north Beyond Danubius to the Taurick pool. All nations now to Rome obedience pay ! " " THE WORLD PASSETH AWAY AND THE LUST THEREOF, BUT HE THAT DOETB THH WILL OF GOD ABIDKTH FOB EVER!" 140 MIRABILIA OF THE CAPITOL, CHAPTER IL MIRABILIA OF THE CAPITOL. This narrow spot might alone occupy the stranger manj days, in examining the numerous objects of interest whicl crowd it Yet were there nothing but itself to see, w( should have enough on which to feast, in knowing witl a certainty secure from the cavils of the most sceptica antiquaries, that we are standing on the very rock wheri Romulus planted his citadel, which Tarpeia betrayed t( the Sabines, where king Tatius reigned, which Manliu defended from the Gauls, and to which he pointed on hi trial with such success, that his envious foes the Patri cians postponed their accusation, despairing of a verdic from the judges. Hither Scipio Africanus led the wa; when he answered the charge of a fraudulent appropriatioi of the spoils, by saying, " This day I defeated Hannibal, le us go to the Capitol and offer thanks to the gods." Her Brutus, Cassius. and the other confederates fortified them selves after the death of Caesar, vainly hoping to enlis the sympathies of a populace too degraded to care fo liberty ; or too much attached to the memory of one whos valour, wisdom, and munificence they had experienced, t fight for his murderers, in a quarrel which was to them bn a choice of tyrants. On this very spot, all the great me: HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS 141 of Rome tliroughout its marvellous history have, often stood, surveying, if not the same buildings, yet the identical river, plain, and mountains on which we now are gazing. Here, too, in more recent times Petrarch was crowned, and here the " Last of the Tribunes " dwelt, when he strove to restore to the still beautiful corpse, the soul which had so long deserted it. " And who that walks where men of ancient days Have wrought with godhke arm the deeds of praise. Feels not the spirit of the place control Or rouse and agitate his labouring soul?" Wordsworth. The Capitol is about three quarters of a mile in circum- ference, and somewhat resembles, though on a very reduced scale as to height, the castle-roct of Dumbarton. The level space on its summit was overlooked by the citadel on the southern crag, and by the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus on the northern. This area is bounded on three sides by edifices erected by M. Angelo, in a style, as we presumed to think, little in harmony with the inspira- tion of the spot. At the bottom of the long flight of broad marble steps by which you ascend to this piazza, are a pair of lionesses in black granite, the most ancient pieces of sculpture in Rome. At the top are colossal figures of Castor and Pollux, holding their horses as the legend represents them, in the Roman Forum, after the battle by the lake Regillus. These groups were dug up in 1580, on the supposed site of the temple dedicated to the twin gods. Here are also exhibited the sculptured representations of armour grouped round the trunk of a tree, and called the "trophies of Marius." The statues 142 MIRABILIA OF THE CAPITOL. of Constantine and his son next attracted our attention, and then a relic of peculiar interest, the very column which marked the first mile from the Capitol on the Appian Way. It was discovered in 1584, is eight feet high, and is in perfect preservation. It bears, between two inscriptions of Vespasian and Nerva, the numeral I. How many a traveller, in the days of Rome's greatness, has been told by that very figure, that he had accomplished the first mile of some long journey, or returning, has saluted it with delight, that so shoi-t a distance alone intervened between him and the Forum ! In the centre of the square is the celebrated colossal equestrian statue ol M. Aurelius, still bearing traces of its original gilding. The structure in front, surmounted by the tower from which we enjoyed so glorious a panorama, is the palace ol the Senator. We cared not to examine the building itself, but its massive substructions from the Forum below, up to the level of the Capitoline hill, perfectly absorbed us. We were looking on an indisputable monument ol the Republic. Its immense blocks of stone are laid together in Etruscan style, one layer presenting the sides, and the next the ends, and though without cement, the edges are so accurately squared, that there is no per- ceptible intervening space. It was anciently the Tabu- larium, so called from the bronze tablets on which the decrees of the Senate were inscribed. On our left is the Museum, containing a multitude of relics of great interest to the spectator, but whose enumer- ation would be most tedious to the reader. I shall merely specify, as peculiarly attractive, — the fragments of the map of Rome, engraved in marble, shewing us the ground THE DYING GLADIATOR. 143 plan of the temples traced by one who beheld them in all their grandeur — the chamber of inscriptions from Tiberius to Theodosius — the busts of the Emperors and the Philosophers, in perfect preservation — the beautiful Mosaic from Hadrian's villa, representing four doves on the edge of a vase, seen and described by Pliny, and known to the moderns by his pages, long before it was itself discovered * — the Yenus of the Capitol, which some consider rivals her of Florence — and that most interesting bronze inscrip- tion of the decree of the Senate conferring imperial power on Vespasian, pointed to by Rienzi when he urged the people to re-assume that dignity to which the Emperors themselves had done homage, as the source of their own. These I simply hint at, in my haste to recall the " Dying Gladiator," that most eloquent of all sculptures. I should pity any one who could look on it unmoved. We sat long in silent admiration, then we walked slowly round, examining it on every side. Each time we visited it the more interest we felt. That sinking head, which you wonder does not actually fall — that robust yet drooping form — those powerful but relaxing muscles — that manly but agonised countenance— those features, barbarian indeed, but revealing the deep and tender sympathies of our common humanity — so deeply are they imprinted on our memory, that "the Dying Gladiator" seems before me while I write. It is seldom that the representation of a painful subject gives permanent pleasure. But this is perfectly fascinating, irresistible. The longer you gaze the more you feel its pathos and power to be inexhaustible. * " Mirabilis ibi coluraba bibens, et aquam umbra capitis infuscans. Apri- cautur alise scabentes sese in cantbari labro." 144 MIRABILIA OF THE CAPITOL. No description and no copy gives an adequate idea of the original. But if words could utter what this marble breathes, they would be those exquisite lines of Byron — " I seo before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 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 hail'd the wretch [who won. " He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes "Were with his heart, and that was for away; He reck'd 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, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday- All this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire And unavenged? — Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!" Antiquaries say that this is a statue not of a gladiator but of a Gaul dying in battle ; the rope round the neck being the torques worn by that nation as an ornament. Yet why should not a Gaulish captive, fighting in the amphitheatre, wear it too? But whether soldier or gladiator, this eloquent marble teaches the same great lesson of humanity — declaims equally against battle and bloodshed — and to all who gaze on it denounces that cruel ambition, which, reckless of human suffering so long as Rome was victorious, carried slaughter through the world, and even made that very suffering minister to the depraved tastes of a civilised-savage people. * Opposite the Museum is the Palace of the Conser- THE SHE- WOLF. 145 vafcori. Of all its numerous treasures I shall refer to two alone. On the wall of one of the chambers are arranged the Fasti Consulares, excavated from the Forum on the site of the Curia Hostilia and Comitium. They consist of a large number of marble slabs, bearing the names of consuls and other officers of state, from the time of the kings to Augustus. With what interest we made out the names of camillus — virginius — cato — sciPio — gracchus — c^SAR — BRUTUS, and many others ! For we were read- ing them not in some modern history, not in the pages of Livy himself, but in the very tablets over which the old Romans cast their eyes when they lounged in the Comi- tium, descanting on the achievements of their ancestors ! Another object of great interest in this building is the bronze group of the " wolf suckling Romulus and Remus." It is the most ancient specimen of Roman art in existence, being regarded as the same which was dedi- cated by Ogulnius, about 300 B.c,, and of which Cicero speaks in one of his orations as having been struck by lightning. He reminded his auditors that they had seen in the Capitol this image of Romulus, as a little boy suck- ing the teats of the wolf. We observed what appears to be the identical scar occasioned by the stroke of light- ning referred to by the orator. Yirgil also seems to have had this group in his eye when he so graphically pictured the twin brothers as fearlessly sporting round the udder of their fierce foster-mother, while she, with reverted neck, caressed them alternately, and moulded their bodies with her tongue.* Most interesting was it to look on the very object which the writers of ancient Rome had thus * .ffln. viii. 631. K 1 46 MIRABILIA OP THE CAPITOL. described, and on which her citizens had, during so many centuries, looked with proud delight. " Here is exhibited the most extraordinary contrast in nature imaginable, between the gaunt figure of the ferocious animal and the tender limbs of the infants, yet recon- ciled by the maternal solicitude that inclines the monster s lean pliant neck towards its adopted offspring; while the children, as if endowed with supernatural strength owing to their divine origin, almost stand upon their feet, in their efforts to reach the mother's teat." * " And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome! She-wolf 1 whose brazen-imaged dugs impart The milk of conquest dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget?" How true an emblem of Rome is this ancient bronze 1 Imbibing the wolfish instinct for blood and rapine, in- stead of the milk of human kindness, she became a huge beast of prey, the terror and scourge of the world, until her own bloated carcass was in its turn trampled on and devoured by the revengeful hordes her aggressions had provoked. Between the palaces of the Senator and the Conser- vatori, a flight of broad steps leads to the site of the ancient citadel and the Tarpeian E-ock. We shall not soon forget our emotions on looking over that memorable precipice down which had been hurled so many victims of crime, ambition, and revenge. The fate of that " father of the people," whose brave defence of the Capitol proved no atonement for the crime of aiding the plebs in their struggle with the crafty and tyi-annical Patricians, would * Sir George Head. TEMPLE OF JUPITER. 147 be alone enough to consecrate tlie spot. After the de- preciating comments of others, we were surprised to find a sheer precipice of about fifty feet. Originally the height must have been much greater, there being a large accumulation of soil below. If, moreover, the condemned were thrown from the top of the citadel, we need not wonder if death was in most cases instantaneous. Enter- ing a garden door of the Palace, we saw the foundations of the ancient fortress, composed of masses of peperino laid even with the perpendicular face of the red-tufa rock. Let us now visit the northern knoll of the Cg-pitol, occupied by the church of Ara Coeli, which stands on the site of the temple of Jupiter. A flight of 124 marble steps lead up to it in an oblique direction, from the bottom of the ascent by which we at first reached the Piazza. The exterior, of unfinished brick- work, resembles a warehouse more than a church ; but within, you wan- der through a forest of ancient marble columns, the spoils of heathen edifices, many of them, most probably, relics of the very temple which preceded the present. A^few barefooted monks were walking about, and one or two persons were kneeling at an altar. Approaching one of the numerous side-chapels, I saw, stretched on a bier, clothed in the usual monastic dress of cloak and cord, and surrounded with burning tapers, the dead body of one of the fraternity, some of whom were keeping watch over it. I thought how changed was the scene since Pontiffs, Augurs, and Vestal Virgins paced this very platform; and I did not wonder that Gibbon while walking here, under the influence of these objects, and 148 MIRABILIA OF THE CAPITOL. while listening to the monks at vespers, should have designed his history of the decline and fall of the empire. The ancient temple was originally built by Tarquinius Superbus. A human head discovered in digging the foundations, was the well-known origin of the name of the hill. "Now Publius and Marcus cast lots which should dedicate the temple, and the lot fell to Marcus. So when Marcus was going to begin the dedication, and had his hand on the door-post of the temple, and was speaking the set words of prayer, there came a man running to tell him that his son was dead. But he said, ' Then let them carry him out, and bury him.' So Marcus honoured the gods above his son, and de- dicated the temple on the hill of the Capitol ; and his name was recorded on the front of the temple."* Having been frequently destroyed by fire, it was rebuilt first by Sylla, then by Yespasian, and finally by Domi- tian. It was divided into three parts containing statues of Juno, Jupiter, and Minerva. Below it were preserved the books of the Sybil. We can scarcely imagine how great must have been its splendour, adorned as it was by the spoils of a conquered world; and how gloriously from its lofty elevation, must have glanced in the sun- shine, its porticos of three rows of white marble pillars ; its double rows of columns at the sides ; its brazen gates, and gilded tiles; its statues of bronze, silver, and gold in the pediments, and the resplendent image of Jupiter surmounting all, of such proportions as to be visible from the Alban Mount. The Capitol has yet another object of great interest, * Br Arnold's Borne. MAMERTINE PRISON. 149 the Mamertine prison. K; is at the base of the rock on which this temple stood. The path by which we descend must be nearly coincident with the hundred steps which anciently led from the dungeon to the Tarpeian Rock, and we thought of the Ambassador of the Latins who came to demand perfect incorporation with the Roman people — a boldness, says Livy, " so insulting to Jupiter, that the god taught him repentance by hurling his thunderbolts, so that as he left to go down by the hun- dred steps his foot slipped, and falling to the bottom, he died." What an illustration of the haughty pride of ' Rome, that when a great and valiant nation, instead of prostrating themselves as tributaries, asked alliance on equal terms, Jove himself should be represented as inter- posing to punish their pride by smiting their Ambassador with lightning ! At the bottom, a few steps to the left brought us to the church of S. Giuseppe. Over the door ; is inscribed, " Entrance to the prisons of the holy Apostles ' Peter and Paul." At a shrine dedicated to their memory, a number of devotees were kneeling in prayer. With an attendant bearing a lighted candle, we descended about thii-ty steps into the Mamertine dungeon, constructed by Ancus Martins, six hundred years before Christ. The stones with which it is built are of an immense size. The roof is a very flattened arch. In the centre of the floor is a hole down which the wretched victims of Roman cruelty were thrust into the lower or Tullian prison, built by S. Tullius. We descended to it by some r modern steps. It measures about twenty feet by ten. | It is cold, damp, and totally dark. We shuddered to think of the agonies it had witnessed, for there can be i 150 MIRABILIA OP THE CAPITOL. no doubt of this being the identical prison of the Roman Republic; the very den into which, after being led in triumph, Jugurtha was thrust, facetiously remarking to his executioners, how cold their bath was — where the j confederates of Catiline sujBTered death, and which Sallust thus graphically describes in his narrative of that con- spiracy : — "In the prison called the Tullian, as you ascend a little to the left, there is a place sunk about twelve feet below the surface. Walls guard it all round, and the roof above is bound together by stone arches; but owing to filth, darkness, stench, its aspect is foul and terrible.'* Tradition states that S. Peter and S. Paul were con- fined here nine months, during which period their keepers and forty-seven others were converted — that S. Peter having escaped, returned in consequence of his interview with Christ on the Appian Way — and that both apostlea were taken hence to be executed on the 29th June, 67 A.D. I Our conductor shewed us in the lower dungeon, a pillar ' to which he said S. Peter was bound ! — a well of very clear water in the floor which sprang up to enable the Apostle to baptize his jailor ! ! — and an indentation re- sembling a face in one of the massive stones of the wall, j caused by the keeper violently striking the Apostle's ;head against it ! ! ! An iron grating protects the miracu- i'lous likeness from being injured by the venerating fingers I of the faithful! ' We are in no mood for cavil. Disregarding all that i savours of superstitious credulity, it is enough to know the bare possibility of at least one of the apostles having been an occupant of this dismal dungeon. How doea THE TRUE HERO OF THE CAPITOL. 151 sucli a thought fill it with radiance and transform it to a palace ! For whatever other names invest the Capitol with interest, that of the Apostle Paul alone eclipses all. What was their heroism — selfish, proud, vain-glorious, cruel, as for the most part it was — compared with his, who, animated only by zeal for the glory of God and the eternal good of man, " suffered the loss of all things," and *' counted not his life dear to himself," in prosecuting his high enterprise of publishing the gospel of universal love? The mighty structures on which he looked have for centuries lain prostrate, but the Kingdom of Truth he proclaimed has triumphed alike over the philosophic pride of Athens, and over the imperial power of Rome. The sceptre of the Csesars has long been broken, but the dominion of the crucified One shall still extend until *' all nations shall serve Him. His kingdom is an ever- lasting kingdom ! and He shall reign for ever and ever !" h.6 152 THE FOKUM AND ITS KUINS. CHAPTER III. THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. " But what the narrow space Just underneath ? in many a heap the ground Heaves, as though Ruin in a frantic mood Had done his utmost. Here and there appears. As left to shew his handy work not ours. An idle column, a half-buried arch, A wall of some great temple. — It was once. And long the centre of their universe. The Forum — whence a mandate, eagle-winged, Went to the ends of the earth. Let us descend. Slowly. At every step much may be lost. The very dust we tread, stirs as with life, And not a breath, but from the ground sends up. Something of human grandeur." Sogers. Enclosed between the massive substructions of the Tabularium and the two roads by which we may descend from the Capitol to the Forum, is a deep excavation, rich in antiquities. We can enter it through a stone-mason's shop, and undisturbed by noisy ciceroni and clamorous beggars, may wander amid the solemn ruins. Imme- diately at the base of the Tabularium, are three Corinthian columns supporting a richly sculptured fragment of en- tablature, being all that remains of the magnificent temple of Jupiter Tonans, erected by Augustus in com- memoration of his escape in a thunder-storm, when an TEMPLE OF CONCOKD. 153 attendant was struck dead at his side. This is admitted to be the most beautiful fragment of Grecian architecture in existence. On our right, resting on massive masonry, is the greater part of the portico of the temple of Fortune, consisting of six front and two lateral Ionic columns, supporting the entire entablature and portions of the pediment. It was interesting to read the inscription, still perfectly legible on the architrave — senatus. popu- LUSQUE. KOMANUS. INCENDIO. CONSUMPTUM. RESTITUIT. But what is this elevated marble platform on which we stand, a little to the left of the three columns of Jupiter? It is the basement of the temple of Concord. There had been a protracted contest between the Plebeians and the Patricians. Titus Manlius, the champion of the former, had fallen a victim to the malice of the latter. Then, for ten long years the Tribunes Licinius Stolo and L. Sextius, peacefully persevered against the strongest opposition, in urging their laws for the relief of poor debtors, and for throwing open to the people those offices of public trust which had hitherto been the selfish mono- poly of the few. Success finally crowned their efforts, and this temple was built by Camillus about 370 B.C., to commemorate the reconciliation between the two estates. It was here, as in a place of peculiar safety, that the Senate was specially convened when danger was ap- prehended from the plots of Catiline. We were standing on the very spot where Cicero denounced the conspirator ! If as a schoolboy I was fond of spouting parts of that magnificent oration, I leave to be conjectured what were my feelings in reciting, on the very pavement which heard it uttered by the magnanimous consul, the opening 154 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. Bentence— " Quousque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia nostra ? . . Nihilne te noctiirnum praesidium palatii . . . nihil hie munitissimus hahendi senatus locus, nihil horum ora vultusque moverunt 1 " How often we re-visited this si)ot ! and how many a half-hour delightfully stole away, while, lost in reflection, I endeavoured to secure a memo- rial of a view which has few equals in comprehensiveness and interest. The three columns stand out boldly in the foreground, the arch of S, Severus is on the left, the temple of Fortune on the right, between whose columns are seen the ruins of the Caesars on the Palatine, while the arch of Titus and the Colosseum in the distance, close the view of the other ruins which mark the site of the Roman Forum. The arch of S. Severus is peculiarly interesting to Britons, as it recalls the name of the Emperor who died at York. It was erected to commemorate victories over the Parthians and the Persians. It is built of Pentelic marble, and covered with sculptures which include figures of Fame, soldiers, captives, and engines of war. On its level summit, now waving with grass and weeds, originally stood a group representing Sevei-us with his sons Caracalla and Geta, seated in a triumphal chariot drawn by six horses. The inscription in front is still perfectly legible. How solemnly beautiful it is, deeply marked by the variegated stains of centuries, which tell a tale as eloquent as the defaced sculptures which it beai-s ! Beneath it, recently exposed after a sepulture of ages, is a part of the Clivus Sacer, by which victorious generals ascended to the Capitol. We walked on the identical pavement which they trod, composed of immense polygonal blocks CHURCH OF S. MARTINA. 155 of dark coloured stone. The patli of triumph was verily a rough one ! These are the more prominent objects of an enclosure covered in every part with the substructions of vanished edifices, and strewn with broken columns, and fragments of " Cornice or frieze with bossy sculptures graven." Let us now walk slowly from the arch of Severus along the northern boundary of the Forum. Haifa dozen steps bring us to the isolated Corinthian pillar, described by Byron as " The nameless column with the buried base." The pedestal, bearing an inscription which proves it to have been erected to the Emperor Phocas, a.d. 608, has been cleared from the thirty -feet depth of rubbish in which for centuries the column had been buried. The church of of S. Martina, on our left, occupies the site of the temple of Mars TJltor, built by Augustus in reference to his vow to avenge the death of Ceesar, when ** Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife [Did] cumber all the parts of Italy ; And Ca3sar's spirit, ranging for revenge. With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, [Did] iu these confines, with a Monarch's voice. Cry Havock, and let slip the dogs of war." To this neighbourhood antiquaries assign the position of the shops from one of which, Yirginius, despairing of justice in ^the adjoining court, snatched the knife to slay his daughter, saying as he planted the steel in her heart — "This is the only way, my child, to keep thee free !" Then, flourishing his bloody blade, he summoned the people to throw off the yoke of their tyrants. Advancing a few paces we come to a stately Corinthian 156 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. portico, hoary with age. Behind it is the church of S Lorenzo in Miranda, the walls of which, composed of im mense blocks of peperino, belonged to the temple erectec by the Senate to Antoninus Pius and his wife Faustina The original inscription is clearly legible on the frieze — Divo. ANTONINO. Div^ FAUSTINA EX. S.C. The seven re maining columns, each formed of a single block of marble are forty-five feet high and fifteen feet in circumference Their bases are about fifteen feet below the present level yet they originally stood high above the ancient road from which the temple was approached by twenty-on( marble steps. We next pass what remains of the temple of Romulus at present the vestibule of a church. In front of it ar( two ancient porphyry columns. We now arrive at tli( Basilica of Constantine, till recently designated the Temph of Peace. It consists of three immense arches of orna mental brick-work, having a span of about eighty feet Massy fragments of walls, broken columns, and sculpturec cornices lie scattered about in all directions. A fe^w more steps bring us to the ruins of the Temple of Venus and Rome, consisting of two gigantic semicircular domes or niches, back to back, in which the statues of thos( deities were placed for worship. This temple was erectec by the Emperor Hadrian, from a plan of his own, in 2 style of great magnificence. It stood on an elevated plat form approached by marble steps, and was surrounded bj a peristyle of sixty Corinthian columns in Parian mar ble, eighteen feet in circumference, which supported a roof of dazzling bronze. But memories of cruelty clina to all the ruins of Rome's ancient grandeur. The archi- ARCH OF TITUS. 157 3, tect Apollodorus, to whom the Emperor submitted his design, having ventured to suggest an improvement, was d first exiled, and then put to death by the mortified tyrant. We have now arrived at the Arch of Titus. Looking through it we see the Arch of Constantine to the right, !• rich with sculptured spoils from the vanished Arch of Trajan; while on the left towers the massive Colosseum. Just before us is the Meta Sudans, a ruinous mass of brickwork. It was a fountain erected by Nero. Here it is said the gladiators washed after fighting in the adjoin- ing amphitheatre. The perpendicular channel for the jet of water, nearly three feet in diameter, with the ori- ginal cement adhering to it, may still be seen. Very near this is the massive substruction on which stood a colossal statue of Nero, in bronze, 115 feet high. The head of the Emperor was afterwards removed to make way for the disc of the Sun, which was placed on the shoulders of the colossus. Turning round, we look back on the space we have just traversed, an easy walk of five minutes. The view in this direction is, of course, closed by the Capitol. The arch itself is one of the most interesting of Rome's antiquities. It is built of white marble, and is in excellent preservation, the crumbling ruin having been recently restored with great judgment. On the front, facing the Colosseum, the original inscrip- tion, as distinct as if cut yesterday, is as follows : — SENATVS. POPVLVSQVE. EOMANVS. DIVO. TITO. DIVI. VESPASIANI. VESPASIANO. AVGVSTO. 158 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. The inside of the arch is elaborately decorated with sunk square panellings. On one of the interior walls is a bass- relief representing Titus celebrating his triumph over the \ Jews. He is in a chariot drawn by four horses abreast, attended by groups of senators, and is accompanied by a figure of Victory, who holds a wreath over his head. On the opposite side is the famous sculpture representing the sacred spoils from Jerusalem, carried in procession by the victorious Romans. First is a standard-bearer, leading the way under a triumphal arch. Eight others follow, bearing on poles the table of shew-bread, on the top oi which is a cup, and on the side, crossing each other, are two of the long silver trumpets used to proclaim the year of Jubilee. Another standard-bearer follows, and after him eight other soldiers with laurel chaplets, bearing the seven-branched candlestick. It is very richly embossed, and judging from the size of the men, was about five feet higL The lower parts of the figures are much mutila- ted, but the upper parts, especially the heads, are very perfect, and the candlestick is in wonderful preservation. The vessels have long since disappeared. Some say they were carried by Genseric into Africa; others that they are in the bed of the Tiber. — The sons of Aaron minister I no longer before the Lord. The sacred temple is over- thrown, and trodden under foot of the Gentiles. The I Jewish nation have during eighteen centuries been wan- derers on the face of the earth, yet we are still permit- ted to contemplate copies of these very objects, executed by some one who had the originals before him as he wrought. What a new train of associations is now opened up! HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS. 159 That candlestick, that table, those trumpets, were in the temple when Peter and John went up into it to pray, and when our Saviour drove out the traffickers and taught the people who gathered together at the feast. These vessels or their prototypes were treasured up amongst the j spoils of Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon — were deposited by j Solomon in his sumptuous sanctuary — were led up to | Mount Zion by David — ^were employed in their ministries by Eli and Samuel — were carried over Jordan, whose tide rolled backward at their approach — accompanied the Israelites in their wanderings through the desert — were made according to the pattern shewed to Moses in the Mount ! Among the collateral and historical evidences of our religion, none surpass this bass-relief, which has been so marvellously preserved amidst the ravages of barba- ; rians, and has so remarkably escaped the still more de- 1 structive rage of curiosity collectors, as to make one f almost feel that some special superintending Providence | had secured it as a visible testimony to the historic truth \ of the Bible. Here also we behold the verification of our ; Saviour's prediction when he said of the temple — " There 1 shall not be one stone on another which shall not be thrown ' down;" and also of the still earlier prophecy — "Behold the days come, saith the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel, and with the house of Judah." True was the Apostle's inference — " Now that which decayeth and waxeth old is ready to vanish away." . Of that entire abolition which so soon followed the pen- I ning of these words by S. Paul, the eloquent monument I stands before us. May we become personally partici- \ pants in that New Covenant, which was to supplant the / IGO THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. old — "I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts; and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people." Observe now the rough paving of the road which passes under the arch, and along which we will slowly return towards the Capitol. It is the indentical Yia Sacra of ancient days, another portion of which we noticed under the arch of Severus. On these huge blocks so roughly fitted together, what men of renown have trodden! What gorgeous processions have passed over them to the temple of Jupiter, which once shone refulgent on yonder rock! " Along the Sacred way Hither the triumph came, and winding i-ound With acclamation, and the martial clang Of instruments, and cars laden with spoil, Stopt at the sacred stair that then appeared, Then through the darkness broke, ample, star-bright, As though it led to heaven. 'Twas night; but now A thousand torches, turning night to day. Blazed, and the victor, springing from his seat. Went up, and, kneeling as iu fervent prayer, Entered the Capitol. But what are they Who at the foot withdraw, a mournful train In fetters? And who yet incredulous, Now gazing wildly round, now on his sons. On those so young, well pleased with all they see^ Staggers along, the last? They are the fallen. Those who were spared to grace the chariot wheels : And there they parted, where the road divides, The victor and the vanquished — there withdrew ; He to his festal board, and they to die." Here Cincinnatus celebrated his victory over the -^qui ; then returned to plough his field on the other bank of the Tiber. Camillus, after the ten years siege of Yeii, was here drawn in triumph by four white horses, with a TRIUMPHS. 161 splendour to wliich the simple republic was so unaccus- tomed, that wise men said — " Marcus makes himself equal to the blessed gods ! See if vengeance come not on him, and he be made lower than other men!" Here Papirius, on the conclusion of the second Samnite war, displayed the captured silver shields of the devoted band of patriots, who had entered the battle with white dresses and lofty- plumes, having sworn by the immortal gods, that they would conquer or die. Here, too — when that heroic Samnite nation which had so long struggled against the encroachments of Roman ambition, had been finally subdued — Q, F. Gurges (his father, Q. F. Maximus, by whose counsel and aid in the battle the victory had been secured, following him as his lieutenant) led in chains the brave old hero C. Pontius, who thirty years before had spared the lives of the entire Roman army when fallen into his power. Now, captured in the final battle, from which his great age did not withhold him when his country's existence was at stake, after being exhibited as a spectacle to his exulting foes, he was inhumanly led aside to be butchered in the Mamertine prison, while the conquerors paid their worship in the temple of Jupiter above. — An eternal stigma on Rome and an everlasting dishonour to the name of Fabius. Here after his victory at Panormus, Metullus caused the captured elephants to be driven up and down with blunt spears, in order to remove from the minds of the Romans the dread which the fame of these animals had inspired. Here Marcellus displayed the armour of the vanquished Gaul Yirido- njarus, and here again he triumphed after his conquest of Syracuse, bearing in procession the captured artilleiy of L 1G2 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. A rcliimedes. Here Scipio Africaniis celebrated his victorj over Hannibal, and here Perseus, king of Macedon, was led in chains with his family, by ^milius Paulus. Pass- ing by numerous intervening scenes we thought of Aure- lian, and read on the six)t the following graphic descrip tion by Gibbon, of the triumph he celebrated on the evt of the destruction of the Roman empire : — " The pomp was opened by twenty elephants, four royaJ tigers, and above two hundred of the most curious animals from every climate of the north, the east, and the south, They were followed by sixteen hundred gladiators, devotee to the cruel amusement of the amphitheatre. The wealtl: of Asia, the arms and designs of so many conquerec nations, and the magnificent plate and wardrobe of th( Syrian Queen were disposed in exact symmetry or artfu disorder. The ambassadors of the most remote parts o: the earth — of -(:Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia, Bactriana, India and China — all remarkable by their rich or singula] dresses, displayed the fame and power of the Romar Emperor; who also exposed to view the presents he hac received, and particularly a great number of crowns o: gold, the ofierings of grateful cities. The victories o: Aurelian were attested by a long train of captives wh( reluctantly attended his triumph; — Goths, Vandals Sarmatians, Alemanni, Franks, Gauls, Syrians anc Egyptians. Each people was distinguished by its peculiai inscription, and the title of Amazons was bestowed on tei martial heroines of the Gothic nation who had been taker in arms. But every eye, disregarding the crowd of cap tives, was fixed on the Emperor Tetricus and the Queer of the East The former was dressed in Gallic trowsers "the disputed columns." 163 Ti saffron tunic, and a robe of purple. The beauteous 13 figure of Zenobia was confined by fetters of gold ; a slave s- supported the gold chain vhich encircled her neck, and J- she almost fainted under the intolerable weight of jewels. )• 3he preceded on foot the magnificent chariot in which she e mce hoped to enter the gates of Rome. It was followed by two other chariots still more sumptuous, of Odenathus J md of the Persian monarch. The triumphal car oi s A-urelian, formerly used by a Gothic king, was drawn . either by four stags, or four elephants. The most illus- brious of the Senate, the people, and the army, closed the solemn procession." Our path from the arch of Titus has been bounded on the right by the ruins already described, and on the left, at the base of the Palatine, by a long wall, above whicli appear the ruins of the Palace of the Csesars. Opposite the portico of A ntoninus and Faustina, we come to the three famous Corinthian pillars of the Forum, about whicli the conjectures of antiquaries have so differed, that they have obtained the name of "the disputed columns." " The prevailing opinion, however," says Sir G. Head, principally supported by a portion of the ancient diagram of the building with the letters ' Grecost,' engraved upon it, found among the fragments of the Pianta Capitolina, identifies the ruin with the Grecostasis, an ancient edifice of the Republic, built about two hundred and eighty years before the Christian era, for the express purpose of the reception of the ambassadors from foreign countries, and so called in consequence of the ambassadors of Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, being the first who were received there. It was rebuilt by Antoninus Pius." These white marble 164 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. pillars are nearly fifteen feet in circumference, and suppori a fragment of entablature which is richly sculptured They form a most picturesque object, standing alone in £ large area of desolation. Just beyond this ruin, is the sit( of the Curia Hostilia or Senate House, so called froa Tullus Hostilius, its founder. It was here that " the gooc king Servius TuUius," the friend of the people, fell a victin: to the conspiracy of the Patricians; whose wrath he hac incurred by depriving them of that portion of the public land they had unjustly appropriated, and by the divisior of th6 people into centuries, whereby those whose plebeiar birth excluded them from the Curiae, obtained some share of municipal rights. Here his son-in-law, Tarquin the Proud, acting for these angry nobles, whose cause he hac abetted for his own ambitious ends, hurled the old mar down the steps of the Curia to the ground. As he rose up to cross over to the Esquiline, he was stabbed by the conspirators. "Then the wicked Tullia mounted hei chariot and drove into the Forum, and called Lucius oul from the Senate House, and said to him — * Hail to thee, king Tarquinius.' But Lucius bade her to go home, anc as she was going home, the body of her father was lyin^ in the way. The driver of the chariot stopped short, anci shewed to Tullia where her father lay in his blood. Bui she bade him drive on, for the furies of her wickedness were upon her, and the chariot rolled over the body ; and she went to her home with her father's blood upon the wheels of her chariot ! Thus Lucius Tarquinius and the wicked Tullia reigned in the place of the good king Servius."* * Dr. Arnold's History of Rome. THE ROSTRUM. 165 Adjoining tlie Curia was the Comitium, where the de- crees of the Senate were promulgated, and in front was * the Rostrum, so called from the beaks of captured vessels with which it was ornamented. " Whence spoke They who harangued the people ; turning now To the twelve tables, now with lifted hands To the Capitoline Jove, whose fulgent shape In the unclouded azure shone far off, And to the shepherd on the Alban mount Seemed like a star new-risen ! " To that rostrum, from which Cicero had denounced Antony, the Triumvir's vengeance barbarously affixed the head of the orator after he had been treacherously sacri- ficed by the heartless Augustus, in a fiendish compact of blood. We were perfectly spell-bound by the overwhelming historical associations of the spot. Although the space between the ruins I have described is a mere wilderness, defiled with filth, and haunted by thieves — it had a charm for us which day after day was increasingly irresistible. Whenever it was practicable, we embraced it within our drives to other scenes — we sat on broken columns, sketching, musing, talking of the past — we wandered there at noon, at sun-set, and when the moon bathed every ruined portico and shattered pillar with her soft and pensive light. How often did we pace up and down too full of thought for utterance, except in the continual re- iteration of the words — " This was the Roman Forum 1 " " We are come. Are now where once the mightiest spirits met In terrible conflict ; this, while Rome was free The noblest theatre on this side Heaven I 166 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. Here tho first Brutua stood, when o'er the corse Of her so chaste all mourned, and from his cloud Burst like a God Now all is changed ; and here, as in the wild. The day is silent, dreary as the night ; None stirring, save the herdsman and his herd. Savage alike ; or they that would explore, Discuss and learnedly ; or they that come (And there are many who have crossed the earth) That they may give the hours to meditation, And wander, often saying to themselves, • This was the Roman Fobum !' " We are treading the spot where the Eoraans an( Sabines fought till separated by the Sabine women rushing from the Palatine to prevent the mutual slaughter o their husbands and their fathers. And here through lon^ years took place the more peaceful struggles, by whicl the people who did the work and fought the battles, a last succeeded in eiFecting their enfranchisement, and th< United Republic exhibited an iron strength to which th( history of the world affords no parallel. Here, according to the legend, just as Brennus cast his naked sword intc the scales where the gold for the ransom of the city wai being weighed, Camillus rushed in with his patriot band put the Gauls to flight and pursued them till not one re mained to boast of sharing in the sack of Rome. Here when the question was debated of transferring the seat o; the commonwealth from the ruined city to Yeii, the cen^ turion's word of command to his soldiers as they marched across the Forum, was taken as a divine augury — " Stan- dard-bearer! plant the ensign — it is best that we haH here!" To this spot old Appius Claudius the blind, in the manner of our own Chatham, was carried in his littei to dissuade the Senate from granting peace to Pyrrhua MEMORIES OF THE FORUM, 167 Then Cineas, tlie king's friend and ambassador, returned to the magnanimous invader, saying, " The city is like a temple, and the Senate an assembly of kings ! " Here Regulus tore himself from the embraces of his family, to return as a captive to Carthage— and here, when the people crowded together in intense excitement on the news of the fatal fight of Cannse, public thanks were voted to Yarro, because, though defeated, he had not de- spaired of the Republic ! How often have, perhaps, these very fragments of i^arble pavement echoed the voice of the orator and the applauses of his audience, when he pleaded for Koscius in spite of Sulla's tyranny — or advo- cated the cause of the plundered Sicilians — or exposed the villany of Clodius — or narrated daily to the people what was done in the Senate, to counteract the machi- nations of Catiline 1 Through the Forum he was led back from exile amid the plaudits of the multitude, and after Antony had here inflamed the populace in his funeral oration over Caesar's corpse, Cicero here strove to unmask his ambition, and urged the people to make a last struggle for freedom. Yes ! in this field, — " A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — The Forum, where the immortal accents glow. And still the eloquent air breathes— burns with Cicero ! " And this scene of Rome's former greatness is a cattle market ! Excavations hava long been in progress for the purpose of discovering the foundations of the ancient buildings. The men thus employed strive to make the contrast as striking as possible between the feebleness of the present and the energy of the past. ISTothing can 1C8 THE FORUM AND ITS RUINS. exceed their indolence. It is the very caricature of labour ! I am within bounds when I say that twelve men were doing the work of a couple of children. With little shovels, like playthings, they passed a handful of dust from one to another with such deliberate and solemn ceremony that we could not refrain from laughter. I afterwards ascei'tained that they were sustained by charity, and put on these public works. They certainly appeared to be contending for a prize to be awarded to him who, keeping up the pretence of labour, should pro- duce the very least possible result. Yet slow as is the pi-ocess, it is one very interesting to watch, for as now and then, amidst the rubbish, a piece of sculptured marble or the fragment of a column is turned up, the period intervening since they were buried seems annihi- lated. We sat upon a colossal statue which had just been brought to light, disinterred from its tomb of cen- turies ! One day as I was sketching among the ruins, a shout startled me from my reverie. Looking up I saw a little boy in rapid flight, throwing away the travelling map which he had skilfully abstracted from my pocket. The Koman artist who had witnessed the feat and warned me of my loss, told me that several of these gentry had long ^ been skulking round me watching their opportunity. He 1 advised me to be always on my guard in the Forum, as jits neighbourhood was a noted nest of thieves ! I thought how much, in a moral point of view, this incident har- jmonised with the physical desolation around ! (To complete the picture, the French soldiers were daily drilled amidst the ruins ! What a change ! The Basilica of REFLECTIONS. 169 Constantine glittering with bayonets — the temple of Jupiter and the arch of Titus, echoing back the roll of musketry — the Capitol and the Palatine reverberating with the drums and trumpets of the barbarian — the path of triumphs and the Roman Forum again resounding with the tramp of the exulting Gaul ! " Alas ! the lofty city ! and alasl The 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 !" Again I remembered the dictum of the Prince of Peace — " They that use the sword shall perish by the sword ! " 170 THE COLOSSEUM. CHAPTER IT. THE COLOSSEUM. " Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Her Coliseum stands ! " In commencing this chapter I feel guilty of the presump- tion of attempting to describe the indescribable. The height of its walls, the span of its arches, the thickness of its piers, the extent of its area — all this may be de- tailed; aiid yet that solemn, venerable, colossal ruin, which awes, delights, and overwhelms the beholder, must itself remain unportrayed. All that we had read left us totally unprepared for the effect it produced as we stood within its arena, or looked down from its lofty galleries. No one need fear that the reality will dis- appoint his expectations. You behold the Colosseum and something more, which " something more " must be seen, or rather felt, upon the spot, by every one for him- self — it can never be described to another. Chief among those features which can be delineated, is its immense magnitude. It covers an area whose circum- ference is no less than 1780 feet, or upwards of a third of a mile. The wall encompassing this ellipse, towers to CORRTDOES. 171 the astonisliing heiglit of 164 feet, and exhibits on the exterior, three rows of arches flanked with half columns, the lower being Doric, the 'next Ionic, the third Corin- thian. Above this is a row of composite pilasters with- out arches, surmounted by a parapet. On this we dis- tinguished the original brackets for supporting the wooden bars to which the awning was suspended. The lower row of arches are open, and through them all access was obtained to the interior. Forty -four of these remain out of the original eighty. Over the key-stone, we read in Tvoman numerals, deep and well-defined, the number of each arch, for enabling the ticket-holder to know the precise entrance by which he was to gain his appropriated seat. Within this wall are two others, each lower than the one next outside. They sustained the many tiers of seats which ascended one above another, from the arena to the parapet. These walls are constructed of large blocks of travertine, some of which are six feet long, five and a half broad, and two and a half thick ! On entering by any one of the arches, we are impressed , by the massive character of the double corridor which runs round the amphitheatre, between its encompassing walls. How gigantic are these three rows of square pillars which bear up the ponderous arches whereon once rested the marble benches of a hundred thousand spectators ! Yerily they tell a tale of " weight supported." How in harmony with the stern, unrelenting, invincible character of ancient Rome itself ! And how in keeping with the stone-hearted cruelty of the sports exhibited within, are these massive gloomy passages, through which the people thronged to witness them. Truth is a " lamp 172 THE COLOSSEUM. of architecture," which here is hung on every pillar and under every arch. Leading to the upper storeys, are numerous ruined staircases, the steps of which shew the wear of the multitudes who passed up and down them in the days of old, when .... " Buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays." The arena on which wild beasts and gladiators con- j tended in deadly strife is overgrown with grass. It is I 4315 square yards, or nearly an acre in extent. It is en- i circled by the Podium, a wall of about ten feet high, a I short distance within the three walls already mentioned. ! Above this was a gallery for the exclusive use of the Emperor and other persons of distinction. In the centre jof the vast area a large wooden cross has been erected as jif in triumph over the Pagan barbarities by which this spot was once desecrated. An indulgence of two hundred days is promised to all who kiss it. Whenever we were in the Colosseum, we saw several devotees performing the ceremony with an appearance of great earnestness. There are also some other crosses, or " stations," placed at inter- vals against the podium. As we walked round, we ob- served several dark openings leading to the subterranean passages and dungeons, now closed up. Immense as are the remaining ruins, an almost equal quantity of stone must have been removed, the Colosseum having been for many years regarded as a common quarry. Much of the huge outer wall has entirely disappeared, and in that portion which remains, a wide rent from the top to the bottom, where it gapes no less than two feet, THE VIVARIUM. 173 boars testimony to the violent and reckless measures resorted to for obtaining building materials. It is now- secured by an immense brick buttress, nearly twelve feet tliick, and sloping upwards from a base of fifty feet to a I height of one hundred and fifty. ai " A ruin— yet what ruin ! from its mass Walls, palaces, half- cities, have been rear'd, Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. Hath it indeed been plundered, or but clear'd ? " In order to see the Yivarium, where the wild beasts and captives destined for the service of the amphitheatre were confined, we ascended the side of the Ccelian which overlooks the ruin. Close to the church of S. John and S. Paul, is a Passionist Convent, built on the massive substructions of some ancient edifices of great magnitude. One of the monks conducted us down some steps under an excavated archway into the dismal recesses below. Having lighted a torch, he led the way through passages, j cut in the solid rock, of great height, and in some places ' of considerable width. On either side as we walked along, other openings gaped upon us with their huge, black, ; jagged mouths. Our guide told us that these dens com- municated with others below the arena, though the way was now blocked up. He directed our attention to some singular chimney-like openings, by which he told us, the keepers of the wild beasts passed in and out. He shewed us other gloomy caverns, which he said were the prisons of gladi- ators, and of the Christians and other captives reserved for slaughter. The intense darkness, solitude, and silence of these recesses — ^the rugged forms of the dark rock par- tially illuminated by the glare of our monk's torch — the 174 THE COLOSSEUM-. remembrance of the purpose for which these excavations were made — the roar of lions, and the sigh of captives, and the savage shout of gladiators, with which imagina- tion made them still vocal as we groped along — all com- bined to render the morning we visited the Yivarium, not the least memorable of our Roman sojourn. The Colosseum was commenced in 72 a.d. by Flavins ' Yespasianus, whence its title, " The Flavian Amphi- I theatre." Eight years afterwards it was completed by ; Titus, who employed thousands of captive Jews on the |k , IQ / works. The occasion of its opening was celebrated by a festival which lasted a hundred days, during which nine thousand lions, tigers, elephants and other animals WQre killed in cruel conflict with gladiators and with one an- other. The arena flowed also with the blood of men com- pelled to mutual slaughter, and even women fought with i women to gratify the brutal taste of the Roman people. i Moreover, the arena was suddenly converted into a lake, and made the scene of a naval engagement. Thus in- augurated, it became for many a long year the favourite resort of a populace so maddened with the thirst of blood, that nothing but deadly strife was sufficiently exciting for their amusement. Pompey once exhibited six hundred , I lions, and Augustus four hundred panthers, in cruel com- bat with men ! But with what astonishment must the Romans have here beheld persons of all ranks, so resolute in their attachment to the new religion of the crucified Kazarene, as cheerfully to be exposed to the fury of wild beasts rather than renounce it! How marvellous, how unaccountable to that Ej)icurean population must have . (been the phenomenon of timid women, and tottering old IGNATIUS AND THE LIONS. 175 Dien, and little cliildren, equally witli bold warriors, calmly, unresistingly, joyfully submitting to torture and to death, rather than sprinkle a little salt on the altar of Jupiter ! The appearance of this "sect which was every- where spoken against," was hailed as an opportunity of furnishing victims for the amphitheatre. On the most absurd pretexts they were hurried away to make sport for the people. Tertullian says — " If the Tiber overflowed, if there were famine or plague, if the season were cold, or dry, or scorching — whatever public calamity happened, the universal cry of the populace was — ' The Christians to the lions.' " Here the crown of martyrdom was won by the venerable Ignatius, who, prior to the destruction of Je- rusalem, became Bishop of the church at Antioch, where he laboured during forty years. What a stigma on the name of Trajan, that when visiting that city, he should have con- demned to so cruel a death the venerable man whose life had been spent in works of charity ! But Ignatius " re- joiced to be counted worthy to suffer for the name of Jesus," and astonished his guards by his impatience to reach the place where he was to have the privilege of tes- tifying by death, his love to Him who had given him life — a life which neither wild beasts, nor men more fierce than they, could touch. On this spot, more eager for the lions than the most ravenous of them for him, did the gray-headed saint, in the presence of a hundred thousand spectators, testify his unflinching faith that He whom he served was " able to save to the uttermost." Here, too, while a few sorrowing friends gathered up the scanty re- lics of his bones, angels received and bore away his tri- umphant spirit into the presence of his approving Lord. 176 THE COLOSSEUM. How speedily were the wild shouts of the populace and the savage roar of the lions, lost in the songs of Heaven, and the gi*acious salutation — " "Well done, good and faith- ful servant !" The last martyr of the Colosseum was the good monk Telemachus. So inveterate was the passion for blood, that after three centuries, notwithstanding the spread of Christianity and its adoption as the Imperial faith, gla- I diatorial combats continued to be the favourite pastime of I a large proportion of the citizens. Constantino prohi- ; bited them. The populace persisted. To avoid an in- ' suiTCction, they were suffered to have their wilL Hono- ' rious re-enacted the prohibition. It was equally in vain. i They who patiently endured the loss of freedom were pre- ( pared to act the hero rather than be deprived of their \cruel games. One day as the gladiatorial fight was about /to commence, Telemachus rushed down into the arena ( and separated the combatants. Then the spectators, in- \ dignant at this interruption to their sport, tore up the ; marble benches and hurled them down upon him "from /the amphitheatre which seemed crowded with so many Eimons raging for human blood." But in his death, the nevolent monk was victorious — rage yielded to admi- tion — and gladiatorial combats ceased for ever. The battles of wild beasts, however, continued till the sixth century. In the middle ages the Colosseum was frequently converted into a fortress by the conflicting nobles. In 1332 there was a faint and final flicker from the dying embers of its ancient abominations. For it was the scene of a bull-fight and tournament, in which many of the nobility were slain, and then interred with great VIEW m SUNSHINE. 177 rantry. It afterwards was plundered during many IS for building materials, whole palaces btiing reared ii Jill its ruins, until 150 years ago, it was placed under the protection of the cross, and consecrated to the memory of the martyrs. ISTotwithstanding the high authority which says " it will not bear the brightness of the day," the view of the Colosseum under a cloudless sun, is second only to that by moonlight. We stationed ourselves on such a day, to read and sketch, in the cool shade of the massive corri- dor, looking out upon the arena from under a shattered arch, adorned with the drapery of beautiful flowers. The sun shone full on the pile of ruins beyond. The stupen- dous substructions of the ascending galleries cast deep shadows, which varied in breadth in proportion to the curve of the building, whose form was thus strikingly developed, there being a different effect of sunshine in every part. How astonishingly did that wondrous Sun of Italy warm up, as painters phrase it, the old ruin. Its peculiar yellowish reddish hue, exquisitely beautiful even in shadow, seemed positively to glow and burn in the light. And then how indescribable the contrast with the deep blue sky, spreading above like a canopy, and seen through the fissures and window spaces of the para- pet, whose jagged edges, sparkling in the clear atmo- sphere, were sharply defined upon the azure background, — while the liveliest tints of green, yellow, and pink were reflected from the herbage which clung to every nook and cranny of the mighty fabric ! Two hundred and sixty different species of plants grow upon the walls, and even large trees have sprung up between the fissures of ruin ! M 178 TIIE COLOSSEUM. Those waving grasses, those graceful festoons of verdure [those lovely flowers flinging around their fragrance, seen ''4z/ I ^^^^ *^ ^® singing the song of Nature's triumph over art or i-ather of the victory of love over cruelty. We triec to picture the very different scene, so frequently presentee here, when the Colosseum, in the days of its glory, wa: thronged for some grand entertainment — when the ampl< awning above protected the multitude from the sun, whiL fragrant odours were dispersed through the air, and cool ing fountains threw up their refreshing columns of crysta water around — when tier above tier the eager thousand gazed down upon scenes of blood — from the Emperor sur , rounded by the chief dignitaries of state, by governors o \ distant provinces, and Ambassadors from far-off" realm '' arrayed in barbaric pomp — ^through the various grades o dignity — Vestal Yirgins, Pontiffs, Augurs, Tribunes Senators, Equites, up to the higher benches of the Bui gesses, and to the rabble of slaves in the loftiest tier c ;all — while Roman ladies affecting the utmost delicacy an( refinement, and arrayed in all the meretricious blandish ments of licentiousness, vied in numbers and eagernes with men, in watching the mortal struggle of the com batants, or in giving the fatal signal which doomed th vanquished to death ! And we felt how true was th following extract from Schlegel which we read on th spot : — " A thirst of blood, after having been long the predo minant passion of the party-leaders of this all-ruling peo pie, became an actual craving — a festive entertainmen for the multitude. And yet the Romans of this age, whei we consider their conduct in war — in the battles anc VIEW BY MOONLIGHT. 179 nctories they won, or the strength of character they evinced, whether on the tented field, or on the arena of ] political contests, displayed an admirable, we might some- I times say a superhuman, energy ; so that we are often at a loss how to reconcile our admiration, with the detesta- i fcion which their actions unavoidably inspire. It was as if the iron-footed god of war, Gradivus, so highly revered from of old by the people of E-omulus, actually bestrode ilio globe, and at every step struck out new torrents of M)d ; or as if the dark Pluto had emerged from the abyss i'ternal night, escorted by all the vengeful spirits of the v er world, by all the furies of passion and insatiable cupidity, by the blood-thirsty demons of murder, to esta- blish his visible empire, and erect his throne for ever on the earth. There can be no doubt if the Roman history were divested of its accustomed rhetoric, of all the patrio- tic maxims and trite sayings of politicians, and were pre- sented with strict and minute accuracy in all its living reality, every human mind would be deeply shocked at such a picture of tragic truth, and penetrated with the profoundest detestation and horror." The grandest sight in E-ome is the Colosseum by moon- light. On three several occasions, we had this inexpres- sible enjoyment. A moon so very bright, sailing majes- tically through a midnight sky so very blue, we had never before seen or imagined. What a mysterious drapery it threw over the colossal ruin, hiding its deformities, en- hancing its dignity, and bathing it in beauty ! And then all was so still, save the tread of the distant sentinel, or the hooting of the owl from the imperial ruins on the Palatine ! But I will not attempt a description for which 180 THE COLOSSEUM. my pen is totally incompetent. And it is unnecessary, since Byron in his " Manfred," lias thus portrayed what we witnessed. " The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful I I do remember me, that in my youth, Wheu I was wandering, — upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark hi the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar The watchdog bay'd beyond the Tiber ; aud More near, from out the Caesar's palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinals the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood Within a bow-shot— where the Caesars dwelt,— But the gladiators' bloody circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection ! While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls. Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which soften'd down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so. And making that which was not, till the heart ran o'er With silent [homage] of the great of old !— The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns. — 'Twas such a night ! " On our first night-visit the moon was within severa days of being full, and the effect resembled a fall moon light scene in our own climate. On the third occasioi there was too much light — we could see almost as dis VIEW BY MOONLIGHT. 181 tinctly as in the day-time — ^tlie mystery was gone. On the second night the effect was very fine, for clouds occasionly threw their dark mantle of shadow over the scene, which then became suddenly re-illuminated as the moon again emerged. How majestic and solemn in the darkness, were the grand corridors I have already de- scribed! Of course, no light reached them, but as we walked round in silence, and looked through the vista of massive columns and black impending arches, to the arena, all silver bright in the moon's rays — the effect was per- fectly magical. "We ascended by one of the broken stair- cases, accompanied by a torch-bearer. Other explorers were above, and every now and then we saw the red glare of their flambeaux gleaming forth from some black depth of shadow, or moving about in the ruined galleries, a striking contrast to the mild yellow radiance in which the mighty structure was bathed. " How enormous it looked as we gazed around from the highest point we could reach, and how eloquently did those deserted seats tell of the instability of earthly glory. But the decay of this majestic structure was also a sign that cruelty and Paganism had been vanquished by humanity and truth. It was painful as I looked down on the vast arena, to remember the despair, the revenge, the agony, the terror, when ' Here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, As man was slaugbter'd by his fellow man ! ' Then we thought of the triumphant death of Christians torn by wild beasts amidst the shouts of the brutal people, 182 THE COLOSSEUM. whose retribution was so close at hand. Now the Gauls tread triumphantly the spot where they graced the pro- cessions of ancient conquerors, — Frankish soldiers stand as sentries where their ancestors were 'butchered to make a Roman holiday,' — while barbaric Britons wander over the ruins and moralise on these mighty relics of vanished greatness. The Colosseum is impressive at all" times — ' But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ! When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the lone night-breeze waves along the air, The garland forest, which the gray walls wear. Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head — When the light shines serene but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead : Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. " How fully we entered into the feelings of this beauti- ful description ! " * Yes ! heroes have indeed trod the spot ! Not the de- graded gladiators who fought for gold ; nor the miserable captives urged to mutual slaughter by the distant hope of life and liberty to the few who should survive the struggle ; far less the proud, cruel wretches who boasted that they had subdued the world, and here glutted their savage souls in witnessing the agonies of those they had spared in the battle for the more terrible death of the arena — but those who here patiently suffered for con- science sake ! They are the real heroes ! Of the victory they achieved the world still reaps the fruit, while the crowns of triumph they won are eternal. Mankind's * M.S. JoumaL REFLECTIONS. 183 greatest benefactor was the "Man of sorrows!" He conquered by suffering, and in the end it will be seen that not to those whose earthly career has been the most triumphant, but to those who, like their Master, have patiently endured, is the world under the weightiest obli- gations. To do, to dare, to achieve much for any earthly object may be heroic, but to suffer and to die for God, humanity, and truth — is divine! We felt truly of the Colosseum that " heroes have trod this spot." 184 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. CHAPTEK T. WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. The Walls of Kome. The circuit of the walls is a most interesting drive. They were built by Aurelian, repaired and flanked with towers by Honorius, and having been partially destroyed by Totila, were again restored by Be- lisarius. Their extent, east of the Tiber, is about eight miles. We began on the north, at the Porta del Popolo, the site of .the old Flaminian gate. By this Constantino entered in triumph after his defeat of Maxentius. Turn- ing to the right, we passed under the overhanging, bulg- ing, twisted mass of reticulated brick-work, called the Mui'o Torto. In consequence of their belief that it was under the special guardianship a£ S. Peter, the citizens prevented its being rebuilt by Belisarius, who feared it might fall. The superstition was established by the Gauls abstaining from an attack in this quarter, notwithstand- ing its defenceless condition. As we passed along we ob- served the various masonry of the walls. Shapeless stones and squared blocks, Roman tile and marble fragments, are miscellaneously jumbled together, testifying the hasty manner in which the repairs were executed for the de- fence of the city against the sudden incursions of the bar- barians. Nothing could be more desolate than this route. CITY GATES. 185 Yon may ride for an hour and not meet a human being. Though so close to the city, there is not a solitary dwell- ing. High walls of gardens shut up the road on the left and conceal all view of the country. Here and there is a strong railing enclosing the angle of a tower, forming a refuge for foot-passengers, when the tinkle of bells an- nounces the approach of a herd of buffaloes, which are often very ferocious. How eloquent a history did those silent, melancholy walls, read to us as we drove slowly beneath them ! The second gate was the Porta Pinciana, now closed up. Here, according to the uncorroborated tradition, Belisa- rius, blind and degraded, sat and begged as the people passed by. Then we came to the Porta Salaria, memor- able as the spot where Alaric entered at midnight, and gave up the city to be sacked by his Goths. The Porta Pia, anciently the Porta Nomentana, is the next gate, rebuilt by M. Angelo. Near this was the famous Colline gate, of the walls of S. TuUius, through which the Plebs made their famous secessions to the sacred mount, and to which Hannibal with two thousand guards rode up, when, in vexation at being baffled of his prey after so many years of unremitting pursuit, he hurled a spear at the city he had sworn to destroy. We then drove round three sides of the Praetorian camp, which was included in the circumvallation. The P. San Lorenzo was anciently the Porta Tiburtina, leading to Tibur and Prseneste. The P. Maggiore, originally an arch of the Claudian aqueduct, built of immense blocks of uncemented travertine, is very imposing. Passing the amphitheatre called Castrense, built for the savage sports of the Praetorian guards, we 186 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. arrived at the P. San Giovanni, near which is the P. Asinaria, now closed, memorable as having been entered both by Belisarius and Totila. It is on the high road to Naples. Beyond the P. Latina, which is also walled up, we reach the P. San Sebastiano, through which we see the picturesque ruined arch of Drusus, whose praises have so much more enduring a record in the pages of Horace. This is the gate of the Appian Way, out of which the Ro- man funerals passed to the street of tombs. The last gate before we again arrive at the Tiber is the P. San Paolo, built by belisarius, on the site of the P. Ostiensis. Its two massive round towers with the pyramid of Caius Cestius close by, form a very picturesque scene. By this gate Genseric entered in the year 455. Home was now no longer capable of self-defence. Instead of armed war- riors, Pope Leo the Great, in pontifical robes, at the head of a long procession of ecclesiastics, went forth vainly hoping to ward ofi" by entreaties the fary of the barba- rian, who during fourteen days and nights subjected the city to all the atrocities which his remorseless Yandals could commit. Forums. — The Forum of Trajan is very imposing. In a deep excavation, are the bases, and parts of the shat- tered shafts of forty granite pillars, eleven feet in circum- ference. They are in four rows, and divided tlie hall of justice of the Ulpian Basilica into five naves. Broken fragments of columns lie about in all directions. High above all, its beauty undiminished by age, the column of Trajan rises to the height of one hundred and forty feet. Thirty-four blocks of white marble compose the whole. The base of the column is a single enormous mass of mar- FOEUM OF TEAJAlN-. 187 Ae, twenty-one feet square. The shaft, which is thirty- lix feet in circumference, is built of twenty- three circular slocks. A staircase is cut in the inside, and the exterior is adorned with a spiral band of bass-relief, from the top to the bottom, in which are no less than two thousand Bve hundred human figures, two feet two inches high. Trajan's victories over the Dacians are here commemo- •ated. His column " created so profound an impression on the minds of posterity, that five centuries afterwards Pope Gregory the Great caused masses to be celebrated in jeveral of the Roman churches, for the express purpose of liberating his heathen soul from Purgatory."* The statue of the Emperor, which originally crowned the column, has given place to that of S. Peter. How little could contemporaries have conjectured the possibility of so altered a state of things as that the fisherman of Galilee should supplant the illustrious Trajan ! Yet every one must think it very uncongruous for the Apostle, whose triumphs were of so difierent a character, to surmount a. column commemorative of bloody victories. " Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood A votive cohimn, spared by fire and flood ; And though the passions of man's fretful race Have never ceased to eddy round its base — Still as he turns, the charm'd spectator sees Group after group ascend with dreamlike ease ; Triumphs in sunbright gratitude display'd, Or softly stealing into modest shade. ^ So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine Some lofty elm-tree, mounts the daring vine; The woodbine so with spiral grace, and breatnes Wide spreading odours from her flowery wreaths. A Pontiflf, Trajan here the Gods implores— There, greets an embassy from Indian shores — * Sir G. Head. 188 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. • Le I he harangues his cohorts— there the storm Of battle meets him in authentic form. Unharness'd, naked, troops of Moorish horse Sweep to the charge — more high the Dacian force. — Alas that one thus disciplined, should toil To enslave whole nations ou their native soil ! — O weakness of the great ! O folly of the wise I Where now the haughty empire that was spread With such fond hope ? Her very speech is dead ! Yet glorious Art the power of time defies, And Trajan still, through various enterprise, Mouuts on this fine illusion, towards the skies." Wordswortk. The Forum of Nerva, near to that of Trajan, was very magnificent. Three of its marble columns remain. They are of an immense size, being eighteen feet in circum- ference and fifty-four in height. The Forum Boarium was the cattle market in the tim€ of the emperors. Other circumstances made the namt appropriate. Hercules had an altar here, in commemora- tion of his victory over Cacus, the robber of cattle. From this point Romulus started when he traced the limits oj his city with a plough drawn by a bull and a cow. And here was erected a bronze cow by the sculptor Myron, sc true to nature that it is said the cattle mistook it for a living companion. The Arch of Janus, four-sided, was built for the convenience of the cattle dealers. "What is called "the Arch of S. Severus" adjoining, is a flat mas- sive entablature with sculpture representing a sacrifice. It was dedicated to the emperor by the merchants and bankers. Cloaca Maxima. — "Very near to this, is what may be seen of the Cloaca Maxima. It is one of the most in- teresting antiquities of Home, being an unquestioned THEATRE OF MARCELLUS. 189 .lie of the kingly period. It was built by Tarquin, for tlie grand trunk of the drains of the marshy valley of the Forum. The span of the arch is thirteen feet. It is I J ruscan, without cement, of stones five feet long and >ut three feet square, laid in concentric courses. It (ears as solid as it was nearly three thousand years . -, and will in all probability so continue till the end of time. From this a few steps bring us to the Pulchrum Littus, the work of Servius Tullius, on the bank of the Tiber. As we examined these " monuments of the kings," and looked across the turbid stream, swollen with heavy rains, to the opposite Etruscan bank, the familiar lines of Horace came to my lips — " Vidimus flavum Tiberim, retortis Litore Etrusco violenter uudis, Ire dejectum monumenta Regis, Templaque Vestse." " April 9. — To the theatre of Marcellus erected by Augustus and dedicated to his nephew. The upper part is gone. In the arches of the lower story are mean and miserable shops, over which are gloomy modern dwellings. On the ruins of the opposite side, the Orsini palace has been reared. A few yards off is the dilapidated portico of Octavia. It is pitiable to see the fine Corinthian columns built up into modern houses, and pieces knocked away to make room for the road! Massive blocks of marble, remnants of the ancient portico, are used as fish slabs, the fish market being held here! We drove to the top of the Aventine, and entered a church built in the fifth century, on the site of the temple of Juno, or 190 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. according to some, of Diana. Its interior boasts twenty four columns, the spoils of Paganism. From an adjoining convent garden, we enjoyed a fine view of Rome. Stand ing near the spot pointed out as the Cave of Cacus, wi looked down the rocky sides of the hill, upon the yellov Tiber, and the wide stretching plain beyond, thinking o Remus, Grachus, and other names associated with thi classic spot. The view of the Palatine crowned with ruins was very imposing on our return. We then drove alon^ the site of the Circus Maximus to the arch of Constan tine." "April 18. — The moon was so bright, that once mon we drove to the ruins. In this light, the majestic an( solemn old walls of the Coliseum have an indescribabh charm. ' The moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here to illume This long-explored but still exhaustless mine Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume Hties Which have words, and speak to ye of Heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument And shadows forth its glory. There is given Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent» A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in the ruin'd battlement, For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.' Leaving the Coliseum, we walked slowly up the Via Sacra, and under the Arch of, Titus, and descended intc the excavations of the Forum, and sat down on the broken fragments of white marble that lay in profusion around. The charming stillness — the absence of any one but our- BATHS OF TITUS AND DIOCLETIAN. 191 selves — tlie soft light shed on all things by the quiet moon, gave a peculiar charm to this all-interesting place. After remaining a long time here, we walked up to the Capitol, stopping on our way to gaze with indescribable admira- tion at the eight columns of Fortune, for the moon was peeping between two of them, and shed a silver light on the rest, which stood out from the background of deep blue sky, forming an object so extremely beautiful that we could scarcely tear ourselves away from its fascination. Arrived on the summit we thought of Manlius defending the Capitol in the night. How sedate the old statues looked in the moonlight ! There was a charm about the whole which quite overpowers me in attempting any de- scription."* Baths and Palaces. The immense extent of ruin on the Esquiline, called the Baths of Titus, is really a portion of Nero's golden house, which extended hither from the Palatine, and afterwards served as a substruction for the work of Titus. We walked along spacious corridors, now subterranean, and explored an endless number of vast chambers, uniform in shape, some of them still bearing on their walls, beautiful frescoes, which retain their vivid colouring. These halls were first opened from the accu- mulated rubbish of centuries, by Leo X., and from the paintings there brought to light, Raphael gained many hints for the frescoes of the Vatican. The celebrated " Laocoon " was disinterred here. " April 8. — The baths of Diocletian were of such enormous extent as to allow 3200 persons to bathe at once. * M.S. Journal. 192 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC. In their construction 40,000 Christians, victims of the famous persecution, were employed. Vast fragments ol walls and arches surround the great hall, which is in per- fect preservation, having been restored by M. Angelo, and consecrated at the church of S. Maria degli Angeli. We thought it the most imposing church in Rome, in some respects superior even to S. Peter's. This immense hall, where the luxurious Komans used to lounge, is very nearly 300 feet long by 90 wide. Its eight original granite columns, 45 feet high, and 16 feet in circumference, still support the ancient vaulted roof of Diocletian, where we saw still remaining, the very rings by which the lamps were suspended more than fifteen hundred years ago ! " We drove to the baths of Caracalla, and were asto- nished at the vastness of the ruins. Next to the Coli- seum, they are the most extensive in Rome. Immense vaulted halls with half the roof fallen in — massive heajia of masonry lying in all directions — Mosaic flooring still preserving its form and colour — blocks of marble, and enormous arches exhibiting the rich warm tint which distinguishes the Roman ruins, variegated by all sorts oi beautiful verdure, and abounding with wall-flowers — these were the objects that surrounded us on every side. The large swimming bath is overgrown with grass. Along one side of it a row of wild monthly roses were in full bloom, covered with flowers, and violets shed their fragrance all around. What a contrast to the rugged ruins ! We went to the top of some of the vast halls, and at a dizzy height crossed the arches. While N. sketched I sat down with our friends, and read Childe Harold. Then the day cleared up, and the most dazzling PALACES OF THE CJESARS. 193 e sky appeared throiigli the rents in the roof of the mighty arch above. What must Rome have been when uch provision was made, simply for the luxury of its litizens ! Here was accommodation for 1 600 bathers at 3ne time, with halls for exercise and disputation, adorned svith sculpture. What a change since this spot was the fashionable resort of thousands ! We were the only visi- tors. How silent and desolate ! ' No voice in the chambers, No soiind in the hall ; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all ! ' " * The Euins of the Palaces of the Cjesars. — Through a narrow door in the Yia di Cerchi, we entered the wide region of desolation on the Palatine. Unattended, and meeting no one, we wandered amidst shapeless heaps of masonry, and gigantic fragments of walls and arches, where nettles and weeds of all kinds enjoy a luxuriant vegetation. Some of the intervening spaces of soil are cultivated as kitchen gardens. Multitudes of lizards were glancing about over the crumbling remains of Imperial palaces. The solemn silence was unbroken save by the drums and trumpets of the French soldiers from the re- gion of the Colosseum, who have adopted it as their daily parade and drilling ground. From another quarter we gained access to the noble terrace, whence Nero used to give a signal for the games in the Circus Maximus below. "April 13. — I am sitting amidst the ruins of Csesar's palace, on the Palatine. Before me, in the distance, are the baths of Caracalla, the arch of Drusus, the walls of * MS. Journal. N 194 WALLS, BATHS, PALACES, ETC, Rome, the tomb of Cecilia Metella, and the Campagna, On my left I look down upon the arch of Constantincj and the entire circle of the Coliseum. The Sabine hills and the snowy Apennines close the view. Around me — ' Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Matted and massed together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch cnish'd, column strewn In ft-agraents, choked up vaults, and frescoes steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd. Deeming it midnight : Temples, baths, or halls? Pronounce who can ; for all that learning reap'd From her research, hath been that these are walls — Behold the Imperial Mount ! 'tis thus the mighty falls.' " We have been spending the morning here, reading while N. has sketched. I am sitting on some steps, shaded by heaps of ruin, which are covered with beautiful shrubs, We are now going to the Forum."* In exploring these mighty ruins of Rome's ancieni greatness, we constantly felt what has been thus expressed by the author of " Rome under Paganism and under the Popes : " — " Never had mortal eye beheld a catastrophe more impressive. Fortune had turned back on her ste2)Sj and made it her sport to reverse everything, on that very scene, where beyond all others, men had become elated with imagining that she had at length descended from hei slippery globe for ever, and fixed her perpetual sojourn. , But it would seem as if she had lured the Romans to the 'highest pinnacle of grandeur and felicity, only to render 'their downfall the more tremendous — had helped them to build up testimonials of boundless empire, and to stamp a character of eternity on their works, merely that the vouchers of her own instability might endure for ever." * MS. Journal. THE PANTHEON. 195 CHAPTER YI TEMPLES AND TOMBS. " Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — Shriue of all saints, and temple of all gods — Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Pantheon ! Pride of Rome !" 4.S we suddenly emerged from narrow and intricate streets, into a small dirty piazza, used for an herb market, jhe best preserved of all the Roman temples stood before IS. Instantly arrested as by some awful Presence, we stood mute in solemn admiration. " Amid filth and squalor, it seemed frowningly yet sadly to vindicate the majesty of Imperial Rome. How touching the contrast between its sublime portico, and the common-place modern tiouses around ! In voiceless yet most pathetic language, it was always telling the passers-by of the time when the city boasted a hundred temples as beautiful, and seemed to us as if it had been left entire on purpose to remind us, that with all our boasted civilisation, we have never im- proved on the faultless proportions of edifices which were standing eighteen centuries ago." The Pantheon was built by A grippa, the friend of Augustus, about 2 7 b. c. The per- 196 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. tico consists of sixteen Corinthian columns, eight < which are in front. Each is formed out of a single bloc of granite, and measures forty-one feet in height, by fiftee feet in circumference. On the frieze is the original ii scription, recording the name of its founder, m. agripp. L. F. COS. TERTIVM. FECIT. Forsyth says, " it is more tha faultless; it is positively the most sublime result ihi was ever produced by so little architecture." Still moi imposing must this portico have been, previous to tli accumulation of soil which now makes it almost level wit the ground — when it was approached by an aacent ( seven marble steps — when the pediment was filled wit sculptures — and no wretched bell-towers interrupted tl view of the majestic dome, covered with glittering bronze But the metal was stripped off by Pope Urban VIII., i the amount of five hundred thousand lbs. weight, to coi struct the canopy over the tomb of S. Peter, and fc other ecclesiastical purposes. On this act of spoliatioi Pasquin, in allusion to the Pontiff's family name, wrot the following epigram — " Quod non fecerunt Barbar fecit Barberini." We entered by the doors of bronze, forty feet high b nineteen wide, which Agrippa suspended eighteen cer tunes ago; and we paced the very pavement wher Augustus and Virgil and Horace had stood to worship The entablature of white marble, with its porphyry friezt j encircling the interior, and supported by fourteen larg columns and sixteen pilasters, is in such good preserva tion, as to appear like a work of modern times. In th centre of the dome which covers the whole area of th temple, there is an opening twenty-seven feet in diameter TEMPLE OF ANTONINUS PIUS. 197 Y which all the light enters, and through which also the lin has fallen, during eighteen hundred years, wearing way the pavement below. The recess opposite the great oor, formerly contained the image of Jupiter, other idols ccupying the rest of the niches, which are now used as toman Catholic altars. As we stood under the centre f the majestic dome, we chanted the ancient doxology Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to he Holy Ghost," &c. How marvellously our voices choed round and round that noble roof! I leave others imagine the feelings with which we thus united in elebrating the praises of the true God, on a spot which ad so often resounded with the " hideous hum" of Pa- anism. In one of the chapels we viewed with great interest the omb of Raphael. Over the spot where repose the ashes f the great master, a marble tablet declares that while le lived, nature feared her works would be surpassed, nd when he died, that she hei'self would perish. " Ille hie est Raphael, timuit quo sospite vinci, Rerum magna Parens, et moriente mori." The Temple of Antoninus Pius is now the Dogana or ^istom-house, and many travellers taken here on their irst arrival, little dream, amidst the confusion arising rom the examination of luggage, that they are within the precincts of one of the temples of Old Rome ! The eleven beautiful Corinthian columns which remain and are em- bedded in the front elevation, originally belonged to one of the flanks of the temple. They are of Greek marble, upwards of forty feet high, and appear to have sufiered much from fire. 198 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. The Temple op Esculapius was on the island of tli Tiber, which tradition says was first produced by th harvests of Tarquin accumulating in that spot, whej thrown into the river by the exasperated citizens. I: consequence of a plague, the Senate sent an embassy t the Temple of Esculapius, at Epidauinis, whose high pries presented them with a sacred serpent. Tliis the ambas sadoi*s were conveying up the Tiber when it escaped t the island, which the Augurs thereupon declared to be th divinely appointed site of a temple to Esculapius. Th ■soil was prepared for the erections by massive substruc tions, in form resembling a ship. The temple has disaj peared, a convent and church occupying its place. Bu on entering the garden, I saw the ancient masonry whic defends the island from the action of the river — distinctl recognised its shiplike form — and was deeply interested i observing, amidst the muddy depositions of the strean the figure of a serpent sculptured on the fragment of white marble column, which seemed every minute in dar ger of being washed away by the swollen tide. Temple of Venus. — The ruins of this temple are in th gardens of Sailust on the Esquiline. They consist of circular dome-roofed brick building, and immense fra^ ments of walls. An adjacent ruin was pointed out as th " house of Sailust," by the lame old man, who, accompanie by his little dog, hobbled before us. An extensive, desc late-looking kitchen garden covers the spot where th historian entertained his friends and feasted emperors Some women were cutting artichokes, which they tied tc gether and placed in a large circular stone basin of water- possibly one of Sallust's fountains. This afterwards be TEMPLES OF VESTA AXD FORTUNA VIRILIS. 199 cime a favourite retreat of Tiberius, Nero, Aurelian, and f other masters of the world. We were shewn here the \ Campus Sceleratus, where the Yestal Virgins who broke their vows were buried alive. Close by are some remains of the Agger of Servius TuUius, and about forty yards of the old Roman wall, composed of immense Etruscan blocks laid together without cement. Weeds and nettles cover them with a luxuriant vegetation. The Temple of Yesta is too well known to need de- scription. Though built subsequently to the time of Horace, it occupies the same locality as the temple to which he refers in the passage formerly quoted. Most elegantly beautiful, in spite of the mean tiled roof laid upon their shattered capitals, are the nineteen remaining columns which surround its circular wall of marble. It is now a church, dedicated under the somewhat Pagan expression, "Maria del Sole," — "which allusion to the sun, though applied in the instance of -a Christian church, evidently bears reference to the sacred fire preserved in the temples of Yesta." * The Temple of Fortuna Yirilis is only a few yards from the Temple of Yesta. It is said to have been founded by S. Tullius and dedicated to Fortune, in grati- tude for his elevation from slavery to a throne. It is now a church. Seven Ionic columns with their entablature, resting on a solid basement, still remain. " It is a beauti- ful specimen of strength and simplicity, and is considered one of the most perfect models existing, of pure Grecian architecture."* The Temple of Piety stood on the spot now occupied * Sir George Head. 200 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. by the Church of S. Nicolao in Carcere, the site of the prison where the act of " filial piety " occurred, wliich painting and poetry have so much commemorated. We were shewn, beneath the pavement, the entrance to a dark chasm which we were told was the identical scene of the Roman daughter's devotion. The Temple of Pallas was near the Forum of Nerva. "What remains of it is a very imposing fragment, consist- ing of two Corinthian columns, deeply embedded, sup- porting a most elaborately sculptured entablature which bears a figure of Minerva. It is now a baker's shop ! We took shelter there from a deluge of rain. Temple of the Sun. — After admiring the splendid hall of the Colonna Palace, in which we noticed, still remain- ing on the shattered pavement a cannon ball fired by the French at the last siege, we walked out into the gardens f behind, where we saw two of the hugest blocks of sculp- \ tured marble in the world. They are partially embedded > in the soil, but I calculated their dimensions as well as I ' was able. One was fifteen feet long, four and a half wide, and ten thick, containing therefore about 675 cubic feet, and weighing about fifty-two tons. The dimensions of the other were twelve by twelve by ten feet — containing about 1 440 cubic feet, and weighing about 111 tons. The latter block was intended for an angle of the architrave, the richly sculptured mouldings being continued along two of its sides. They were evidently designed to form part of the entablature of some gigantic edifice. Aure- lian, after his gorgeous triumph, devoted part of the spoils of Palmyra to the erection of a temple, of unsurpassed splendour. In it was placed a golden image of the Sun, PAGANISM IMPURE AND CRUEL. 201 n the production of which fifteen thousand pounds weight Df that precious metal were consumed. Antiquaries say- hat these blocks of marble are the remains of that tem- ple. But if so, how is it that there are no other traces 3f so stupendous a structure ? Some say that these blocks ^vere brought here in preparation for a temple which was lever erected. Yet why should the entablature be pre- pared, before the columns on which it was to rest ? before even the substructions were laid ? These doubts respect- ing relics so gigantic, are at least a striking illustration of the utter ruin which has swept over the city. How little did he dream of such a result, who thought thus to make himself for ever famous ! The Temples of Fortune, Jupiter Stator, Antoninus and Faustina, and Yenus and Rome, have been alluded to in a preceding chapter on the ruins of the Forum. And all this gorgeous system of Paganism has passed vay ! " The idols are utterly abolished ! " Was there anything in that worship calculated to make us regret the overthrow of its temples ? Did it cultivate faith in God 1 The Romans, however brave in battle, were the cringing slaves of superstition, alarmed if a raven croaked on the left, or a crow on the right, or if the chickens would not feed! Did it cultivate purity and humanity? Was it the guardian of home, the friend of the poor, the protector of the oppressed 1 On the contrary, — the worst lusts were deified. Revenge was a pleasing sacrifice to Mars, and fornication was the unblushing homage rendered to Yenus, whose numerous priestesses were harlots. Jupiter was invoked as presiding over the cruel sports of the amphi- 202 TEMPLES AND TOMBa theatre. At the feast of Pan, priests and consuls ran naked through the city pursuing married women with thongs of goat skin. On the island of the Tiber, slaves when old and sick were heartlessly abandoned by their masters, who were thus saved the expense and trouble of providing for them, under the pretence of homage to Esculapius. The religion of Rome was heartless cruelty. A large proportion of the inhabitants were in a condition of hopeless slavery, under the irresponsible power of their owners. The noise of whips, and cries of agony from the wretched victims of domestic tyranny, might be heard on every hand. Juvenal, describing a lady dressing for some special appointment, gives us an insight into their condi- tion. " Unhappy Psecas stands with shoulders and bo- som bare, and her hair torn by the angry mistress whose [locks she had been arranging. Why is this curl higher !than the rest? The bull's hide punishes the fault of every hair not in place." The porter at the gate was a slave in jchains ! If a master was mur.dered, all his slaves might be put to death on suspicion. On one occasion, four hun- dred were thus murdered. Buying slaves, training them for the amphitheatre, and hiring them out for bloody spectacles, was a lucrative profession. The gladiators were fed on a succulent diet for some weeks pre^dous to the ex- hibition, in order that their veins, being full, might bleed more freely, for the greater gratification of the spectators ! How true was the Apostle's description of their moral condition in his Epistle to the Romans ! They " did not like to retain God in their knowledge;" — but invented to themselves deities whose character should harmonise with their own depravity. Therefore were they " given over MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 203 a reprobate mind " — " to vile affections" — " being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covet- ousness, maliciousness, full of envy, murder, debate, de- ceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful ; proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, diso- bedient to parents, without understanding, covenant- breakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmer- ciful !" [If it be objected that a slavery equally cruel, may be found among Chris- tians, I reply that this is an argument, not against the Gospel, but against those who impiously profess it, while violating its plainest precepts. The in- humanities of Heathenism were the result of Heathenism. Those of Christen- dom are in spite of Christianity : and shew that there is one thing worse than the consistent service of a cruel idolatry — namely, the hypocritical worship of a God of Love.] THE TOMBS. " March 29. — After some trouble, we discovered the Mausoleum of Augustus, in a narrow street behind the Ripetta. Entering a sort of stable-yard, we saw part of. the old massive circular wall. A woman, living in an adjoining tenement, shewed us the interior, which is filled up to a considerable height by the falling in of the ruins. It is now used for displays of fire-works and rope-dancing. We were taken into some lofty sepulchral chambers ■where the ashes of the Emperor himself, of Marcellus, Octavia, Agrippa, Livia, Germanicus, and others were deposited. They are occasionally used as stables by strol- ling companies of equestrians ! Strabo describes it as the most remarkable monument in the Campus Martius. It was elevated on a lofty base of white marble, and was surmounted by a statue of the Emperor. How wonder- 204 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. ful that an edifice once so splendid with marbles and statues, should be so despoiled, and so hidden by modern buildings, that we had to go from one street to another to obtain peeps of its once conspicuous wall ! " We now proceeded to the tomb of Bibulus, one of the few remaining monuments of the Republic. It forms part of the wall of a house in the Marforio, at the end of the Corso. It is built of huge stones, in the Doric style. It was very interesting to puzzle out the inscription which I still records that it was erected at the public expense to I C. Poblicius Bibulus, the Plsebeian ^dile, ' honoris vir- f tutisque causa.' This tomb is two thousand years old. " The Tomb of the Scipios. — I had no idea it was so extensive. After wandering some time through subter- ranean passages, we came to the small vaulted apartment where the Sarcophagus of Scipio Barbatus, now in the Vatican, was discovered. It was a dark and silent place for the great warrior to rest in, after all the turmoil and tumult of war. I thought of Byron's beautiful lines — ' The Niobe of Nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; An empty um within her wither'd hands. Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now 1 The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers ! ' ** We next visited the Columbarium of the slaves of Augiistus, close by. I thought it the most curious thing I had seen in Rome. We descended by a very steep stair into a large chamber covered with little niches like pigeon-cotes from top to bottom. Each of them contained two copper basins let into the rock, and covered with a THE baker's tomb. 205 ■.■.»j)per lid, wherein the ashes were held. Over these little sepulchres, as they may be termed, are inscriptions with the name and age of the dead person. The follow- ing one particularly interested us. ' Hie relicise Pelopis ; sit tibi terra lebis' — Here are the remains of Pelops; may the earth rest lightly on thee. " The Tomb of, Cecilia Metella (the wife of Crassus) stands amidst the remains of countless other monuments, on the Appian Way. It is an enormous circular build- ing, and will probably stand for centuries to come, as its walls are more than forty feet thick." The tomb is ninety-six feet in diameter : its sepulchral chamber within measures only fifteen feet — the remainder is solid masonry ! The Baker's Tomb is just outside the Porta Maggiore. It was only discovered in 1838, by the pulling down of a number of mean dwellings. It is of travertine, four-sided, about twenty feet high, and is ornamented with rude sculpture, representing the various utensils employed in grinding, kneading, and baking. There is an inscription round the upper part, setting forth that this is the monu- ment of M. Y. Euryax, baker and contractor for customs — " apparet," — " and no mistake !" Inside were found two rough statues of himself and his wife. Under the latter was an inscription put up by the affectionate and humorous husband, informing posterity that this is his " most excellent wife Atistia, whose remains are in this bread-box." Amid so many relics of mere power, wealth, luxury, and war, we were especially interested by this well-preserved monument of an industrious working man ; who had too much good sense to be ashamed of the use- 206 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. ful trade by which, with his good wife Atistia, he had gained an honest living and served his country. The Mausoleum op Hadrian. — " We crossed the bridge of S. Angelo, built by Hadrian, as an approach to his tomb. The balustrades with the frightful looking angels are modern. We have crossed this bridge many times, and it always appears fuller of interest than before. There flows the Tiber, and however much Rome has altered since its days of power, that yellow stream looks the same as when Horatius Codes swam across, and as when Cicero, Horace, and Virgil looked upon it. Before us stands the still proud tomb of Hadrian, once glittering with gold and marble ; now a huge mass of rough stones, its marble covering torn off, and its beautiful dome gone, to make room for modern fortifications. Here Belisarius nobly defended the fallen city from the Goths ; and though we cannot perhaps blame him, we felt much regret that he used the beautiful statues to hurl at the barbarians below."* The Mausoleum consists of a circular tower, one hun- dred and ninety feet in diameter, reared on a quadrangular base. It is built of massive blocks of travertine once sheathed with marble. It has for centuries been the Papal fortress, and the sepulchral chambers are used as state prisons. On the summit is a very ugly figure in bronze of Michael, his right arm extended in the act of sheathing a sword. Thus it is said the archangel appeared, hovering above the castle, while Pope Gregory the Great was praying that the city might be delivered from the plague. In this tomb Antoninus Pius, M. Aurelius, * MS Journal PAGANISM THE TOMB OF HOPE. 207 Commodus, Severus, and other Emperors were interred, as well as its founder, Hadrian. After travelling through- out his dominions, including Britain, for the purpose of consolidating the empire, he built a palace, resembling a city in extent, near to Tibur, and erected this immense tomb, as if to secure to himself some kind of immortality. But his last days were spent in suspicion and wretched- ness, and several times he endeavoured to commit suicide. Wealth, power, philosophy, alike failed to impart peace. To him is attributed the well-known address to the soul when leaving the body, in which the best hope of Heathen- ism presents a most dreary picture of futurity : — " Animula vagula blandiila, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quae nunc ^bibis in loca ? Pallidula, rigida, midula, Nee ut soles dabis jocos." Paganism was as incapable of imparting a rational hope of the future, as it was of purifying and meliorating the present. " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," was the sentiment it nourished. These massive stones shew how men longed for immortality. Shrinking from the idea of absolute non-existence — they endeavoured in a sense, to prolong their lives by perpetuating their memory. To them, death was the end of enjoyment, and the soul, so long the body's guest and companion, went forth pallid, cold, and naked, to unknown regions, never again to smile ! To how different a strain may the Christian poet attune his lyre and sing — " The soul of origin divine, God's glorious image — freed from day In Heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, A star of day ! 208 TEMPLES AND TOMBS. Tho sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky I The soul — ^immoitol as its sire — Shall never die 1 " Mmtgomery. "Life and Immortality are brought to light by tht Gospel" — and the Christian in full assurance of hope, can say — " We know that if this earthly house of our taber- nacle be dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." DEATH, WHERE IS THY STINO ? GBA.YE, WHK&E IS TUY VICIO&Yt BOOK IV. HOLY WEEK IN ROME. CHAPTER I. PALM SUNDAY. As our object was not mere amusement, but instruction botli for ourselves and others, we considered we were justified in embracing the only opportunity we might ever have of witnessing at head-quarters the most im- posing ceremonies of the Romish Church. We were therefore early at S. Peter's, which we found already occupied by about fifteen thousand persons, a number which was soon doubled, and yet the vast temple did not seem crowded. At first we could look at nothing but the building itself, for it was our first visit. With what emotion we pushed aside the heavy mat suspended at the door, concealing what had been hitherto as a fairy dream ! The realisation of splendid visions generally disappoints -not so the interior of S. Peter's. How vast, gorgeous, overwhelming ! Through ever-moving crowds of persons from all countries, we walk along the immense nave till O 210 PALM SUNDAY. we stand opposite the massive baldachino or bronz( canopy above the tomb of S. Peter, and feel we ar( beneath Michael Angelo'g. " Firmament of Marble." Hov unspeakably impressive are the height and expanse o that wondrous dome as in all your littleness you stan( beneath it ! But our business was now to watch i church ceremonial. We therefore postponed all minut examination of the building itself. A spacious gallery of ascending seats had been erectei on each side of the high altar, for the accommodation c those ladies who were fortunate enough to obtain tickets In compliance with the regulations, they came withou cloaks or bonnets, habited in black, with veils of th same colour over their heads. The pavement in front c these seats, was occupied by gentlemen of all nations, i: dress coats — no surtout or coloured waistcoat bein allowed to pass the long double lines of soldiers, wh were arranged all down the nave. Behind their helmet and glittering bayonets the massed of the " profan vulgar" were standing on tip-toe, to catch what glimps they might of the procession which was now ever \ moment expected. Presently we hear the faint swellin tones of distant chanting. Every eye is turned to th great portico. Choristers and priests lead the way, io. lowed by mitred abbots, bishops, and cardinals in Ion and imposing succession. Last of all appears the " Hoi Father," wearing a large cape of bright purple. Ove ifche clasp which fastens it on his breast, is a silver plat( '\called a formal, on which " in heautifid relief is the figm /o/ the venerable ancient of days, Daniel vii. 9 : clouds ar embossed wreathing about the figures of attending chert GRAND PROCESSION. 211 im ; Exodus xxv. 18 !"* He was seated on a tlirone ovne on the shoulders of his attendants. Over his head persons held a richly emblazoned canopy. Others at side carried immense fans of peacock-feathers. His ; were apparently closed, his lips moved as if in prayer, while with each hand he made the sign of the jross in the air, scattering benedictions in all directions, m the faithful children of the Church who reverently melt as he advanced, to receive the sacred boon ! Hav- ng reached the tribune or Chancel, the Pope took his eat on a throne, and the distribution of the palms com- menced. These " palms " disappointed and amused us. Instead of resembling "branches of trees," they were exactly like osier twigs bound over with ornamental straw. I am, however, informed that they are really manufactured out of dried leaves of the date palm. They were of various sizes, from six to two feet long, according to the gradation in rank of the recipients The cardinals first presented themselves to the Pontiff, kissing the hand from which they received the branch, then the palm itself, and then the Pope's right knee. All sorts of officials followed in tedious multitude, for this part of the ceremonies occupies a long time, during which the vast concourse of spectators amuse themselves by talking, laughing, and walking about. A grand procession was now formed to represent Christ's entry into Jerusalem, when the people "cut down branches of palm trees and strewed them in the * " Explanation of the Ceremonies of the Holy Week, by the late Rt. Rev. Dr England, Bishop of Charlestown." Published iu Rome, by authority. 212 PALM SUNDAY. way." But how unlike that scene, when the lowlj Jesus, riding on a colt, surrounded by his fishermen disciples, moved onward to the scene of his agony — wai the stately progress of the Sovereign Pontiff, borne abov< the heads of the people, and attended by an imposin| array of cardinals, bishops, and other dignitaries in costh and magnificent attire ! And how did the swords bayonets, and halberds of the attendant guards effectu ally destroy any analogy with the entry into Jerusalen ' of the unarmed " Prince of Peace," in spite of the fan tastical palms, which, prominently displayed by thai bearers, from the Pope to the singing boy, appeare( f simply ridiculous. The procession having slowly move< 1 to the solemn chanting of the choir, down one side of th ^ nave and returned by the other to the chancel, hig] mass was performed by one of the cardinals, towards th close of which there was some very fine singing. Th softest sounds apparently from a great distance, soo) swelled into louder and still louder tones, till the ful harmony of "Hosannah" burst forth " With her smooth tones and discords just, Temper'd into rapturous strife." The ceremony having terminated by the ofiiciating cai dinal announcing the usual indulgence of thirty year for all present, the multitude separated no doubt highl; satisfied, especially those who had the good fortune t obtain " palms," which are much venerated as communi eating blessings to their owners. On this point, the lat " Eight Rev. Dr England," says, in his " Explanation c the Ceremonies of the Holy Week," published at Romt with " full approval of the authorities " — " The faithtu] CHRIST TKt TRUE BLESSING. 213 king with confidence to the Divine protection, which been implored by the Church, in favour of those who I bear these palms with proper dispositions, as also for he places into which they shall he carried; and revering lesides even those inanimate objects upon which the lessing of heaven has been specially invoked, and which ,re used to aid the practice of religion, keep those )ranches with much respect, not only as memorials of he great event which has caused their introduction, )ut also as occasions of blessing. They bear them upon heir persons, and place them in their dwellings." We had no palms, but we enjoyed the better hope, hat He who alone can confer true blessedness, dwelt in )ur hearts. His presence can make all places, all cir- jumstances, all conditions happy. Blessed is the family, )lessed the house, where He dwells. Without the inter- vention of Church, or priest. He will enter every willing leart. His disposition is the same as when it was said if Him, " He is gone to be guest with a man who is a inner." — " Behold I stand at the door and knock. If iny man open the door I will come in to him, and sup vith him, and he with me ! " 214 THE TENEBILE OR MISERERE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. CHAPTER II. THE TENEBRiE OR MISERERE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. Wednesday f March 23. — This office was anciently cele- brated at midnight, it being properly the matins of holy Thursday. It now commences at four o'clock on the pre- ceding afternoon. Being very anxious not to have our long-cherished wishes thwarted by the great crowds which were expected, we took care to be early : so at one o'clock we were ascending the Scala Regia, congratulating our- selves that, being the first of the company, we could leisurely choose the best places, and quietly enjoy Michael Angelo's frescoes while waiting for the service. Alas we were stopped half-way up, by a guard of soldiers who would allow no one to pass on till three o'clock. There then we had to stand on the marble steps, the crowd gra- dually accumulating behind us in fearful force. A con- stant rivalry was maintained between the people who pushed us up, and the soldiers in front who did their best to keep us down : no enviable position for those who, with ourselves, were in the front ranks. At last the signal was given, and a narrow passage was opened between the soldiers. Through it we were forced with such violence that it was marvellous some serious accident did not occur, EXTINGUISHING THE CANDLES. 215 and the fearful shrieks of some of the ladies added to the confasion. The greater part of the chapel, which altogether is of small dimensions, was reserved for the Pope and the Car- dinals. The throne of the former was on the right of the altar, opposite our left, — the seats of the latter were ranged in a quadrangular form, the altar completing the square. These dignitaries came in by a small door at the side of the altar, attired in violet coloured robes, with ermine capes. Each was attended by a chaplain, who held his train, adjusted it when he was seated, and then took his own place at the feet of his Eminence. The guards presented arms to each Cardinal on entering, who bowed low to all who had previously arrived, these rising to re- turn the salutation. At last came the Pope with his attendants, wearing a reddish-purj3le cape and silver mitre. Opposite to his throne, at the side of the altar, was a sin- gular candlestick, about six feet high, bearing a triangular frame, on the sides of which were fourteen large lighted candles. They converged from the extremities of the base to the apex, on which was another, making fifteen in all. As the service proceeded these were put out one after the other, commencing from the bottom. Yarious explana- tions have been suggested. According to some the gather- ing sorrows of the Saviour are represented by the increas- ing darkness; others see typified the desertion of the Apostles, the Virgin alone retaining her confidence, re- presented by the upper candle, which is not extinguished. Dr England, in the little work already quoted, says that the fourteen candles represent the Patriarchs and Pro- phets, who one after the other, concluding with John the 216 THE TENEBILE OR MISERERE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. Baptist, disappeared, leaving Christ himself as the true light of the world. He was not destroyed, but only was lost sight of in the sepulchre, re-appearing after His resur- rection, even as the fifteenth candle is brought out again from its temporary eclipse behind the altar. While the choir chanted the appointed Psalms, the candles were put out at intervals of about eight minutes, the Pope and Cardinals remaining motionless. With the last but one, the lights on the altar were also extinguished. And now the only remaining candle is reverently removed and placed behind the tabernacle. The Pope descends from his throne and kneels down in front of the cross on the altar. The twenty -four Cardinals also, with their at- tendants, rise from their seats and kneel. The gradual extinction of the lights has made more than usually im- pressive the solemn gloom of evening which now pervades the chapel, giving additional mystery to the frescoed pro- phets and sybils of the roof, and to the figures of the "Great Judgment." And now amid the profoundest silence commences the Miserere of Allegri, performed by an invisible choir. Never had we heard, never do we ex- pect to hear again, such strains. "If angels could be supposed to sigh and mourn in sorrow, they might attune their harps of heaven to such music as is then sung in the Sistin« Chapel."* I had been standing in a crowd for five hours, but all sense of weariness was at once dispelled, and willingly \ would I at any time undergo the ordeal for such a recom- ; pense. Indeed, I can imagine a person going from Eng- ; land on purpose to hear the Miserere, and not being dis- //. Seymour's Pilgrimage to Rome. THE pope's choir. 217 Mppointed. I cannot myself attempt a description of what v/as as unlike as it was superior to, anything I had ever lieard. Neither is it necessary, as my wife's journal thus comes to my aid. " I shall never forget the singing, it was quite unearthly. The very tone of some of the voices ;ii)[)eared supernatural, and when from the softest strains the full chorus swelled out into enchanting harmony, I felt it was just such music as Milton describes — ' As may with sweetness through mme ear. Dissolve me into ecstacies. And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.' * How often shall I think with delight of two voices espe- cially, which recited on notes I had never heard before. As if independent of and far beyond all musical rules, they seemed to improvisatrise in such intricate yet exqui- site style, that nothing but hearing it can give the re- motest idea, of its wondrous beauty and pathos. While the singing of the rest of the choir served as an oi'chestral accompaniment, one of these voices seemed like some dis- embodied but happy spirit, warbling the most heavenly strains. "When you thought it was at an almost impos- sible height, it would rise still higher and higher, and shake and recite for many seconds together, on a note be- yond all power to describe. Then the other would join it, accompanying it in its daring flight, sometimes above, sometimes below it, and then the full choir in meltins' tones joined in so divinely, that when it concluded, one felt like returning to earthly things and feelings, after listening to the music of heaven." The service ended with a short prayer pronounced by 218 THE TENEBILE OR MISERERE IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL. the Pope without any benediction, the last words, which were scarcely audible, being instantly followed by an ex- ti-aoi-dinary rattling sound apparently from beneath the floor, round the sides of the chapel. Such a noise used to be made in the Jewish synagogues when the name of Haman was read in the book of Esther, but on this occa- sion it is intended to represent the earthquake and the rending of the rocks at the death of Christ. MAUNDAY THURSDAY AT ST PETER'S. 219 CHAPTER III. MAUNDAY THURSDAY. ''e were early at St Peter's, for this was a high day, and there was much to see. At this morning's mass two hosts are consecrated, the additional one being for the next day, as no transubstantiation takes place on Good Friday, when our Lord is represented as dead. Moreover, this supplemental host is solemnly removed to a side chapel, in order that the high altar may be completely stripped, so as to present an a^^pearance of utter desolation on the day of the crucifixion. The Pope and Cardinals bear the sacred wafer in procession from the Sistine Chapel to the Pauline, and deposit it on the altar which is illuminated by six hundred wax tapers. We witnessed a similar pro- cession in St Peter's, the multitude of priests who com- posed it all carrying lighted tapers of immense size, the choir singing most beautifully as they moved slowly on in long succession to deposit the " very body and blood" of the Saviour in what they term " the Sepulchre." The benediction generally takes place from the balcony in front of the church, but in consequence of the bad weather, it was on this day given by the Pope, from his throne, erected in the south transept. As however this is repeated on Easter Sunday with greater effect, I shaE 220 MA.UNDAY THURSDAY. defer the description of it. A " plenary indulgence" was then read by one of the Cardinals. "Washing the Feet. — Thirteen persons, one of whom happened to be an Englishman, personated the apostles. They were dressed in white flannel, and were seated on an elevated platform in the south transept, which had been arranged for the ceremony, with galleries of ascend- ing seats for lady-spectators, who came, as before, in the prescribed costume. Descending from his throne after the benediction, the Pope was divested of his gorgeous outer vestments, and appeared as if in a very large flannel dress- ing gown, fastened with a cord round the waist. A towel of fine cloth, trimmed with lace, having been tied on him, he walked slowly to the nearest apostle, whose right foot, evidently well washed beforehand, was already bare. The stocking had been previously cut so as with- out any trouble or delay to be removed sufiiciently for the purpose, at the precise moment. Everything was done to facilitate his Holiness in the arduous duty which now awaited him. The apostleS were seated at such a convenient elevation that he was under no necessity of stooping. A sub-deacon on his right raised the apostle's foot, over the instep of which a second attendant poured a little water which fell into a silver-gilt basin held by a third, while a fourth, carrying thirteen towels in a silver basin handed one of them to his Holiness, who passed it over the foot which he then kissed. Another officer in waiting was a bearer of nosegays, one of which he then handed to the Pope who presented it to the Apostle, toge- ther with two medals from a purse of crimson velvet fringed with, gold, borne by the Papal treasurer. The rest were WASHING THE FEET. 22] tlien similarly served, and the whole was done so expedi- tiously, that in a very few minutes the immense crowd were rushing off to be present at the next ceremony. This "feet washing" is to represent our Saviour's signi- ficant act on the day before his crucifixion, when " sup- per being ended He began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded; saying, if I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet." Does this ceremony with its pompous circumstances, resemble the simple act of our Saviour? If in letter it is rather a contrast than an imitation, does it exhibit the sinrit of that symbolical act ? Christ said to his followers " One is your master, and all ye are brethren." He re- proved the disposition to be accounted " greatest." He sternly rebuked the rising spirit of " supremacy." The greatest was he who most humbled liimself, who best imitated the example of Him who came " not to be ministered unto but to minister." But has the Romish Church exhibited in practice, this sign of having been taught of Christ? Have Popes, Cardinals, and Prelates left to heretics the contention which should be greatest, their own rivalry being one of meekness 1 Have they strikingly illustrated the precept " Not as Lords over God's heritage, but being ensamples to the flock?" Can the most fertile fancy suggest a stronger contrast than between the spirit of the Vatican, and our Saviour's washing his disciples' feet? Too little, alas, have both E-omanists and Protestants learned the lesson He designed to teach. O that all who hear the name of Christ, of whatever church, while conscientiously contending for 222 MAUNDAT THURSDAY. what they believe to be doctrinal truth, would still more earnestly strive to recommend that truth by their imita- tion of Him who said " Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heai-t, and ye shall find rest unto your souls," The Supper. — The Last Supper is also commemorated on this day. The Rev. H. Seymour who witnessed the performace, says " Language cannot be too strong in re- probation of such a representing of the Last Supper, that solemn and touching scene, by a Pope personating our Lord, with Bishops on their knees as waiters, at a table loaded with plate and flowers, and all the * pomps and vanities' of the world. As a scene of mockery it was sufficiently sad, and yet the sadness was utterly banished in the merriment occasioned by these dramatic apostles. They sat themselves to it as if it was the first supper they had ever eaten, and the last they were ever to eat. There was a voraciousness of manner, a perfect demolition of \everything, to the very cleaning of their plates, that drew ''bursts of merriment from every part of the company. A good man would find it difficult to say whether laughter at the absurdity or grief at the mockery, of the whole iscene, was the most natural effect produced." Confessionals. — In walking round St Peter's in the afternoon, we observed a number of confessionals, like sentry boxes, with the names of different languages writ- ten above them. Here the Frenchman and the Spaniard, the Hindoo and the Briton, the Arab and the Greek, could unburden their consciences and receive absolution. However I abhorred auricular confession, I felt there was something grand in a church being open to all nations and languages, with Priests ready to administer spiritual in- WASHING THE ALTAR. 223 stiTiction in their various dialects. But admiration soon g;Lve place to a sense of the ridiculous when I saw in each of these confessionals a priest seated with a very long wand, projecting from him like a fishing rod, with which he gently touched the heads of those who knelt in front of his box. Many I saw apply for this absolution, with- out auricular confession, a privilege I believe peculiar to this basilica at this season. Foreign priests, monks of different orders, old beggars and little children, as they passed dropt down on the pavement, and on receiving the mystic touch of the fishing rod, passed on apparently with much satisfaction. On this day the Cardinal Peni- tentiary sits in St Peters for the absolution of great criminals. We saw the throne prepared for him. Many were waiting round it, but in the multiplicity of sights, we missed the vision of his Eminence. Washing the Altar. — An extraordinary ceremony, peculiar to St Peter's, takes place on this afternoon. We were standing at the door of one of the side chapels, listen- ing to the service which was being performed within, when we saw a number of brushes, resembling the brooms of Bavarian girls, distributed to all the officiating priests and choristers. Presently a procession was formed, which to the sound of chanting, slowly passed out of the chapel towards the high altar. Preceded by a veiled cross, on each side of which was carried a candle extinguished in token of mourning, six of the senior priests approached the altar, and the words " they parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture they did cast lots," having been chanted, the altar was stripped of its cloth covering, the choir singing " O God, my God, look upon 224 MAUNDAT THURSDAY. me ; why hast thou foreaken me." Wine and water, to represent the water and the blood that flowed from the side of our Saviour, was then poured over the bare altar, and every one as he passed by gave the altar a wipe with his brush. If " washing" was really intended, a jingle person could have done it more effectually in five minutes than this multitude of priests and choristers, who seemed only to be jylaying at washing — marching up the altar steps, flourishing the brush, and going down again, one following another in quick succession and regaining his place in the procession. Many of the ceremonies, how- ever I might condemn them as unscriptural, were im- posing, but this seemed to us unmitigatedly absurd and ridiculous. Procession op Pilgrims. — On this day "the gather- ing of the Gentiles" is represented by a procession of persons purporting to be pilgrims, from different parts of the world. St Peter's is so vast that many ceremonies may be going on at once without interfering with each other, so that while busy in observing something of in- terest in one pai-t, a stranger may be quite unconscious of what he is losing in another direction. I suppose that in listening again to the Miserere in one of the side chapels, (which was a far inferior performance to that in the Sis- tine Chapel) we missed this procession. The author of " The Pilgrimage to Rome" s?ys, that amongst those who formed it, he " recognised many of the beggars who for several months had infested the Piazza di Spagna, and who had assailed us an hundred times. Some of them mai/ have travelled from far-off climes, mai/ have sigljed and suffered much to perform the vow ; but some of them THE SEPULCHRES. 225 were personally known to myself for months before, as among the very dirtiest and most impudent beggars that infested the streets of Rome. They were walking recep- tacles of every unclean thing : one of the plagues of Egypt realised again in Rome." They afterwards had their feet washed in one of the convents, by some of the Roman nobility, to represent the welcome the Church gives to those who seek her embrace. The Sepulchres. — Wandering about St Peter's, we were attracted by a great blaze of light in one of the chapels. It was "the Sepulchre" where the host had been deposited ! It was still the day before the Cruci- fixion, and yet by some strange anachronism, our Lord was already buried ! Hundreds of massive wax tapers, elegantly arranged, were burning on and above the altar, before which, on the marble pavement, were a kneeling multitude, apparently engaged in intense devotion. Their absorbed aspect awed even heretical sight-seers into silence. A most striking scene was that motley group, — pilgrims and priests, citizens and peasants, monks and sisters of charity, in varied costumes, illuminated by a thousand brilliant lights from the altar, which cast its radiance far into the surrounding gloom of that vast temple, now apparently infinite by reason of darkness. For day-light had died away, yet was the church still thronged by undiminished multitudes. We then ascended to the Pauline Chapel, to see the similar " Sepulchre" there, and on our way home entered two or three churches where the altars were very elegantly illuminated, with crowds of devotees kneeling before them. But how un- like the darkness and solitude of our Lord's last resting 226 MAUNDAY THURSDAY. place, when Joseph " took the body and wrapped it in a cle-an linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock ; and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre and departed." When the women went to the Saviour's tomb on the morning of the resurrection, the angels said to them — " Why seek ye the living among the dead ? He is not here, but is risen !'* The homage paid by the Roman Catholic Church at these sepulchres, in which our Lord is represented as buried, is typical, not only of her own system, but of a too general tendency to light up with the artificial glare of this world's wisdom, old forms which possess only a dead Christ. that all Christians would look beyond mere sect and formula, for the living Saviour ! The husk is worthless without the kernel, and a body without life is only a corpse which nothing can preserve from putrefac- tion. We must not worship the sepulchre after the Lord has left it, nor grope downwards in the tomb, when we are invited to gaze upwards at the throne. Christ is a living Saviour, and our religion is a worthless thing if it does not bring us into constant, vital union with Himself? THE SISTINE CHAPEL. CHAPTER IV. GOOD FKIDAY. We were in tlie Sistine Chapel at nine o'clock. During blie hour which elapsed before service, I had ample oppor- bunity to obtain what information I required, from gome ariests who stood near me in the crowd, and especially from a very courteous and intelligent student at the English college. He directed my attention to the appear- ance of the chapel denuded of all ornament, the altar stripped "to represent the nakedness of the Redeemer on the cross," the platform uncarpeted, the Pope's throne quite bare, the cushions removed from the seats of the Cardinals, — all to betoken grief and desolation on this day of the Saviour's crucifixion. There was no holy water in any of the churches. No bells had sounded in the city since the preceding day. Even the clocks were silent and would not strike the hour till the festival of the resurrection. The Cardinals entered one by one, habited iri purple, the colour of mourning, — the fabric being serge, reserved for this sole day of the year, their robes on all other occasions being of silk. Their hands were divested of the large rings they invariably wear for presentation to the reverent lips of the faithful, and I observed that although the Cardinals who had already arrived, rose at 228 GOOD FRIDAY. the entrance of every new comer, neither he nor they bowed, as they had done on the Wednesday. Their minds were supposed to be too much taken up with the sad and awful subject of the Lord's death, to think of earthly compliment. The attendants bore their maces reversed. Cardinal Feretti, the celebrant on the occasion, was habited in black vestments, as were also the Deacon and Sub-Deacon. The candles on the altar were yellow, in token of grief ; but none were burning, to represent the supernatural darkness. No incense ascended during the service, nor was any benediction uttered. The Pope preceded by a cross, entered, clothed in mourning robes, he also having laid aside his ring. After kneeling a few seconds in silence before the altar, he took his seat on the throne, and the service began with the chanting of some prayers. Then followed what I shall never forget, — the intoning by three priests of the narrative of the Passion by St John, the only Apostle who followed his Lord to the cross, and was an eye-witness of His sufferings. It was read or sung dramatically — though without action or any repulsive aiming at effect. The peculiarity consisted in each priest assuming a distinct part. Thus, one of them recited only the words of the historian — the second those uttered by our Lord, while the third came in at the different points of the story with the language of Pilate, and other subordinate actora The most startling effect was produced by the choir personating the rabble, and in wild angry tones, shouting — " Not this man, but Barab- bas," and " Crucify him, crucify him ! " I must confess that this part of the service, in which no words but those of inspiration were employed, and these so touchingly de- THE PASSION. 229 5criptive of the most momentous event in the world's listory, affected me very deeply. But when at the words —inclinato capite tradidit spiritum — " He bowed the head md gave up the ghost," — the Pope and Cardinals rose irom their seats and knelt, and all the congregation knelt, md the voices of the priests were still, and an intense dlence prevailed for several minutes, — I could not remain 3n my feet as I had so often done amidst a kneeling crowd. [ bent with all around me — for there was no outward object held up — it was at the majesty of the truth which aad been read — it was to the suffering Saviour, of whose igonies we had just heard. I could not restrain my tears and earnest were then my prayers, that the crucified Dne might reign more fully in my own heart and in that 3f all my friends — and that in His mercy He would re- move that veil of superstition which so concealed the full brightness of His Gospel, from those who, amid so many corruptions, still held this great central truth of His tneditorial death. Whatever some of my Protestant readers, may think of it, I felt pleasure at the time, and [ feel pleasure now in the remembrance, that amid so very many things in which I felt compelled openly to manifest my non-concurrence, there was one act of worship in which I could conscientiously join. Surely it would have been the exaggeration of Protestantism to refuse to kneel with Romanists in silent prayer at the reading of the narrative of the Saviour's death. After a few minutes, all rose, the Deacon put on the stole as a sign of penance, and read the remainder of the Gospel in the ordinary tone. Now followed a sermon by an Augustin Friar. He first approached the Papal throne and on his knees prayed 230 GOOD FRIDAY. the holy Father to grant an indulgence of thirty days, on which the Pope replied, " Thirty years'* The Friar tlien stood opposite the Pope, never taking his eyes off him during the whole delivery, which, however, only occupied ten minutes. The sermon was in Latin, but as, owing to the tone and pronunciation, I failed to distinguish one word, I regret to be unable to give any account of it. Then followed a variety of intercessory prayers. One for the " opening of prisons and breaking asunder of chains " reminded me very forcibly of the dungeons of the Inquisition, and the many wretched victims of Ecclesi- astical tyranny at that very moment expiating imaginary offences, either without trial, or after a mere mockery of it. "Who can deny that the way which Rome calls heresy, has always been, is still punished by bonds and imprison- ment? I could scarcely repress my indignation at hearing the chief priests of the Church solemnly asking God to undo their own favourite work ! — Every prayer was ac- companied by an iovitation to bend the knee, whereupon all knelt down, rising at the close to listen to a fresh sum- mons. This was the case when even heretics and Pagans were prayed for, but I was struck with its omission when intercession was solicited for the Jews, and I was told that thus the Church marks her indignation against that people for bending their knees to Christ in mockery. This explanation I also found in the authorised book on the Ceremonies of Holy Week ! Would that the Jews alone had ever been guilty of this crime, and that others who have done the same, had done it as ignorantly as they! Adoration of the Cross. — Next came a part of the ADORATION OF THE CROSS. 231 ceremony as distressing to me as the reading of the Gospel had been impressive, for those who had just bent the knee to Christ, now performed the same act of worship, only still more devoutly, to a mere bit of wood. The celebrant Cardinal laid aside part of his vestments, and from behind the altar brought forth a wooden cross covered with a black veil, which he then partially removed so that the top of the cross was seen. At the same time he chaunted the words — Ecce lignum cruds, — " behold the wood of the cross," — the tenor voices continuing " on which hung the salvation of the world," and the whole choir bursting forth with Venite adoremus ! "Come let us adore !" — when all knelt. The priest then came to the front corner and uncovered one arm of the cross which he lifted up, saying in a louder voice than before — Ecce lignum crucis ! The same responses were repeated, and again Pope, Cardinals, and congregation knelt in adoration. The celebrant then came to the middle of the altar and exposed the entire cross, raising it on high with a still louder summons to adore it. And a third time all bowed themselves on their knees. He then laid it on a ciishion prepared for it in front of the altar. The Pope now rose from his knees and while seated on his throne, was divested of his shoes, his mitre, and his cope. Destitute of all marks of dignity, a striking contrast to the splendour of his ordinary ap- pearance, in the plain habit of a monk, and barefooted, he was led by two bishops into the centre of the chapel at some distance from the cross, towards which he then knelt. Rising, he walked forward a few steps supported by the bishops, and knelt again. He again rose and ad- vanced to the foot of the cross which was lying longitu- 232 GOOD FRIDAY. dinally on the floor, and knelt again. And now he per- fectly prostrated himself before it, supporting himself on his hands as he kissed " the wood of the cross." Having left beside it an offering, he resumed his seat. The Car- dinals, Bishops, and others followed in succession, bare- footed; all kneeling three times during their approach to the cross, and then prostrated themselves to kiss it. Dur- ing this ceremony, which occupied a considerable time, the most pathetic strains of music came from the invisible choir, who were singing those exquisitely touching words called " The Reproaches," in which God is represented as thus expostulating with His people. " my people, what have I done to thee 1 or in what have I afflicted thee ? Answer me. — Because I led thee out of the land of Egypt, thou hast prepared a cix)ss for thy Saviour." — Then the chorus wails forth a supplication for mercy from the Holy One ! The two chanters then resume — " Because I led thee out through the desert for forty years, &c.,