Part 13

The monks retained possession of their Pincian vineyard during the three following centuries, or until 1809, at which time Napoleon annexed the Papal States to his Empire, banished the recalcitrant Pope, Pius VII, and set about making Rome over to suit himself. He found the architect who had worked for Pius VI and Pius VII equally ready to serve him, and it was to this architect, Giuseppe Valadier, that Napoleon intrusted the conversion of the old convent vineyard into the Pincian Gardens of the present day. The work was not begun until 1812, and before it was finished Pius VII was back in Rome, and Napoleon was eating out his heart in St. Helena. In that long dying, when this last of the world’s great conquerors had time to remember even all that he himself had done, Napoleon must have often thought of Rome. The old mother who had always believed in him, yet never looked up to him, still lived there in her sombre palace under the shadow of the Austrian Legation and the Austrian hate. His favorite sister, Pauline, was a princess of one of the greatest of the Roman families; and the little son, who was to grow up as the Austrian Duke of Reichstadt, was still, to his father, the King of Rome. Did he ever think of the instructions he had given to Valadier about a public garden for the Romans? There was time to think of everything as the seasons came and went and the remote seas washed the crags beneath his feet, while his English jailers watched him from a distance with hard, uncomprehending eyes.

It is something of a shock to find Napoleon’s bust in that company of great Italians which Mazzini placed here. In these Pincian Gardens, as elsewhere in the world, he surely belongs in a niche by himself! However, the Roman episode was of small importance in his life, and he would not have grudged the honorable position to Valadier, whose bust stands alone facing the principal promenade of the Pincian. That architect lived to welcome back the exiled Pius VII and to finish for him the gardens begun by order of Napoleon.

One explanation of Rome’s charm may be found in her power of suggestion. Although the things to be seen in the Eternal City are of transcendent interest, the things which are only apprehended have a still stronger hold upon the imagination. The actual loveliness of the Pincian Gardens is forgotten as the archæologists build up from buried marbles and scattered inscriptions the life lived here in centuries gone by. Where now is Valadier’s casino there stood in the second century of our era a great Roman dwelling, the home of a patrician family, Christian in faith, its members holding from generation to generation high offices of state and called by historians “the noblest of the noble.” The grounds about this house of the Acilii included not only the present public gardens but also the precincts of the Villa Medici, the garden and convent of the Sacred Heart, and a part of the Villa Borghese. It would be impossible to find nowadays in any land the exact counterpart of this Roman dwelling. Its comfort, splendor and universal perfection of detail could not be surpassed, perhaps not equalled. Its artificially heated bathrooms, the cool, dark recesses of the wine-cellars, the courts and offices and state apartments, the devices for garden and foundation building, everything which made up this perfect specimen of the highest domestic civilization the world has known, has been discovered on the Pincian Hill. The great buttresses which this private family built to sustain the northwestern boundaries of their terraced garden still support the public gardens of to-day, and were incorporated by the Emperor Aurelian into the great wall with which he surrounded the city. Surely no stories of the Pincian can ever give so good an idea of the power, solidity, and grandeur of Rome as do these archæological discoveries, which show in fullest detail the domestic life of the Roman patrician under the Antonines. Of all this the northwestern buttresses of the Pincian Hill and the immortality of Nature alone remain.

Napoleon was only following in the footsteps of another Emperor, when he created these gardens; for the Emperor Aurelian made the grounds--which had been the estate of the Acilii--into a public park. So whether owned by private individuals or by Emperor, church, or municipality, the Pincian has always been known as the Hill of Gardens; and the water which now feeds its public fountains is once more the Acqua Marcia--the same water which supplied the fountains, baths, and fish-ponds of the great Antonine villa.

FONTANA PAOLA

FONTANA PAOLA

Throughout Roman history the Janiculum has suffered many alternations of peace idyllic and of sanguinary strife, for it is a natural garden, and it is also the key to Rome. Whoever can hold the terraces of San Pietro in Montorio and the heights to the north and south has the city at his mercy. At the present day the Villa Pamphili-Doria and the Villa Garibaldi crown its summit, and stretch downward toward the west, and its southeastern slope, leading toward the Tiber, once contained the gardens of Julius Cæsar--those gardens where he received Cleopatra and which he left by his will to the Roman people. One of the earliest chapters in Roman history tells how Lars Porsena came over the Janiculum to reinstate the Tarquins, and one of the latest recounts the struggle carried on across its heights and terraces in Garibaldi’s defense of the Mazzinian Roman Republic. Like the gardens of Ischia and the vineyards on Vesuvius, which are forever threatened by earthquake or eruption, the Janiculum villas will have, so long as war lasts, a precarious existence; but with villas, gardens, and vineyards, so great is the fertility of the soil and so enchanting the prospect, while the world endures men will take the risk.

The water for this part of the city was brought to Rome by the Emperors Augustus and Trajan. Trajan built the aqueduct bearing his name; and this aqueduct, like that of the Virgo, has, in spite of many vicissitudes continued to supply Rome with a varying quantity of water from that time until the present day. The Emperor brought the water thirty-five miles from Lake Bracciano to the Janiculum. It was almost the last water brought to Rome and entered the city at the level of two hundred and three feet above the sea. The first water (the Appian) had entered Rome fifty feet under ground. Trajan used the water from the springs about Lake Bracciano, not from the lake itself, because the spring-water was much purer and the ancient Romans were fastidious in the water they used. Alsietina water, for instance, brought to Rome by Augustus, was considered fit only for baths and the _naumachiæ_; and Frontinus says that, as a matter of fact, the water was intended for that purpose only and for the irrigation of the gardens across the Tiber. Christian Rome was far from being so particular, and its inhabitants drank Tiber water as late as Michelangelo’s time. During the “Golden days of the Renaissance in Rome” Virgo water, which was to be had intermittently from the Trevi fountain, and a remnant of this Acqua Traiana still flowing in the fountain of Innocent VIII were the only pure waters. Meantime many Romans of that period preferred the Tiber water; and Petrarch coming to Rome gave special instructions to a friend to have a quantity of Tiber water which had stood for a day or two, to settle, ready for his use. Paul III took with him, on his journey to Nice to meet the Emperor Charles V and King Francis I of France, a supply of Tiber water, so that he might not miss his customary beverage! When, therefore, Pope Paul V bethought him of reconstructing the Trajan Aqueduct he had nothing to hinder him from collecting the water from every available source. He used Trajan water from the springs, water from Lake Bracciano, and water from Lake Alsietina as well. By this means the united water now called the Acqua Paola, although not so pure as the former Acqua Traiana, is yet good enough, and it forms a supply of magnificent quantity and force. Paul V’s intention was to surpass the Acqua Felice, brought to Rome some twenty years previously by Sixtus V. No one could forget Sixtus V and the Acqua Felice. Was not the water always before men’s eyes as it gushed out of the great fountain of Moses on the side of the Viminal Hill; and did not every Roman know that Cavaliere Domenico Fontana had brought it there by order of Sixtus V? The Borghese pontiff determined to erect another fountain, across the Tiber, on the Janiculum, which was a still more commanding position, and to build another aqueduct for Rome, so that there should be an Acqua Paola as well as an Acqua Felice, and men should remember Paul V even as they remembered Sixtus V.

Domenico Fontana had just died in Naples, rich and honored by the Neapolitans, but there were others at hand of that renowned family of architects. Fontana’s elder brother Giovanni was still alive, and had great skill in hydraulics; and Carlo Maderno, his nephew, was also to be had. So in 1611 Paul V employed these two to build his great fountain on the Janiculum. This fountain is made of travertine, adorned with six Ionic columns of red granite taken from the Temple of Minerva in the Forum Transitorium. Other portions of the same beautiful ruin were sawed into slabs and used in the decoration of the fountain. The design is that of a church façade in the style of the florid and debased Renaissance. It consists of five arches, three colossal ones in the middle, directly under the great inscription which they support, and on each side smaller arches. The three centre cascades fall into a huge semicircular basin, which is sunk into the ground, while the arches on the side have small individual basins in which to receive the water. The inscription, which is a magnificent example of Renaissance caligraphy, gives the history of the Paola Aqueduct and the pontifical dates. A smaller inscription describes the final completion of the fountain under Alexander VIII.

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_This water, drawn from the purest of springs, in the neighborhood of Bracciano, was conducted by Pope Paul the fifth, thirty-five miles from its source, over ancient channels of the Alsietine aqueduct, which he restored, and new ones, which he added._

_In the year of the Lord 1612, and of Paul’s Pontificate the seventh._

_Pope Alexander the eighth, Ottoboni, of Venice, in protection of the beneficent work of that most far-sighted pontiff, Paul the fifth, recleaned the channel, admitted water from new sources, and constructed a single capacious reservoir for the common reception of the several streams which had formerly been strictly confined each to its own channel. To prevent the wearing away of the hill, he paved the surrounding area, surrounding and beautifying it with a marble coping. In the year of Salvation 1690, and of Alexander’s pontificate the second._

* * * * *

The Borghese griffins and eagles compose the decoration of the mostra, and the whole structure is surmounted by the papal insignia and the arms of Paul V, the escutcheon being guarded by two angels.

In Maggi’s book on the fountains of Rome, printed in 1618, there is an engraving of this fountain. It is represented as having four griffins and two eagles spouting water into the basins as do the lions in Sixtus V’s Fountain of the Moses. This device is not shown in Falda’s engraving a generation later, nor does Piranesi show it. It is probable that this feature existed only on paper in the original design for the fountain. Under the two side niches of the actual fountain the water spouts from lions’ mouths. From the three centre niches it simply pours in three cascades, equal in size, and of really magnificent force and volume. The effect of this water in full sunshine is dazzling in the extreme, and both in sight and sound the fountain must have been as conspicuous as Paul V could have wished it to be. Paul V never saw it completed, for he died in 1621, ten years after the fountain was begun. It was finished by Alexander VIII in 1690, eight pontificates later. It was, therefore, seventy-eight years in building, whereas Domenico Fontana built and unveiled the Fountain of the Moses for Sixtus V within that Pope’s own pontificate, which lasted only five years! The Fontana Paola is--to translate sight into sound--an echo of the Fountain of the Moses. It has the characteristics of an echo--it is magnified and meaningless. Giovanni Fontana and Maderno could not free themselves from the taste and traditions of the greater and more forceful Domenico. They did not mar the effect of their great fountain by an absurd colossus, like the Moses, but they made a mistake of another kind; they left the central niche above the cascade absolutely empty, yet failed to secure an adequate background for the eye to rest upon, so that the structure, for all its size and magnificence, gives a disagreeable sense of vacancy and incompleteness. However, as one studies the Fontanone, as this fountain is commonly called, it becomes apparent that its mostra must be regarded not as a façade, nor as a screen, but as a great water-gate. It is a triumphal arch through which the water of the Pauline Aqueduct makes its formal entry on the Janiculum in the sight of all Rome. It is also built to hold before the eyes of all Rome the inscription which sets forth the history of Pope Paul V and the construction of the aqueduct. The inscription is certainly the most successful part of the mostra. It is adequately supported, its dimensions are noble, and the lettering is remarkably beautiful. The entrance of the water, on the other hand, is not sufficiently imposing. The three streams are not great enough in themselves to justify their right to so pretentious a setting, and they require a background which would augment their importance. Through the huge arches, which were certainly never intended to hold statuary, the eye should see the approach of the water either in a series of cascades or in one broad flood like the serried ranks of a great army. But to produce this effect it would be necessary for the channel of the aqueduct to approach the fountain directly from the rear and to have the castellum or receiving tank immediately behind the mostra. It is noticeable that neither in this fountain nor in the other two great fountains of Rome--the Moses and the Trevi--is this done. In all three the castellum is at the side of the mostra, and the water falls into the basins at a right angle to the direction in which it enters the fountain from the castellum. This position of the castellum was obligatory in the case of Trevi, as that fountain backs against the Poli Palace, but when the Moses and Paola fountains were constructed they stood free from all other buildings on open hillsides, and the castellum in either instance could be located at will. In the Paola fountain the castellum lies to the left of the mostra, as it faces the city, and the aqueduct comes underground down the hill forming the boundary between the gardens now belonging to the Villa Chiaraviglio, which is a part of the American Academy, and a small villa owned by the Torlonia family, so that the stream approaches the fountain obliquely. The ground directly back of the Paola fountain is occupied by a modern villa with a small garden, and the entrance to the house as well as the trees in the garden are clearly seen through the arches of the mostra, which thus has more or less the appearance from the front of a huge screen before a shrine of no signification, while the view of it in profile is too thin. The entire fountain seems to require a solid background such as Giovanni Fontana gave to his truly noble and beautiful fountain of the Ponte Sisto. There the immense niche is placed against a massive wall, and the gloom of the vaulted space is lighted by a gleaming cascade which issues not at the base of the niche but high up in the very spring of the arch. This cascade falls into a projecting vase, also near the roof, and thence descends in heavy spray to the black pool beneath. On either side this pool jets of water spouting from the Borghese griffins cross like flashing rapiers--a natural enough fancy to an artist living in an age when the thrust and parry of the rapier were known to all men. This most artistic of all the Fontana fountains was also erected for Paul V. It used to stand on the other side of the Tiber, opposite the Strada Giulia, but in recent years, when the Tiber embankment was constructed, the fountain was taken down and set up in its present position at the head of the Ponte Sisto. If the waters of the Fontanone had received some such treatment as this, Paul V’s greatest fountain might have indeed rivalled those of ancient Rome.

Paul V (Borghese), surnamed by the friends of the Aldobrandini “the Grand Ingrate,” succeeded to the papacy in 1605. His immediate predecessor had been the Medici pontiff, Leo XI, but Leo died twenty-six days after his election, so that Paul V’s real forerunner was Clement VIII (Aldobrandini).

The Borghese family came originally from Siena. When the Spaniard took that heroic and beautiful city, Philip II handed her over to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and many Sienese families emigrated, rather than submit to the rule of the Medici. Camillo Borghese, the father of Paul V, emigrated to Rome, where his son Camillo, the future pontiff, was born. This was in 1552, Julius III being then Pope. Camillo’s career began in the law, as has been the case with so many of those who have risen to the See of St. Peter. He studied in Perugia and Padua; was sent on a mission to Spain, and, proving successful there, was given the Red Hat in 1596 by Clement VIII, he being at that time forty-four years of age. Living as cardinal, quietly and unobtrusively among his books and documents, he had seemed to Peter Aldobrandini, who was the all-powerful nephew of Clement VIII, the very man to carry on Clement’s steady policy of restoring the French influence at Rome and of keeping his own family in power. The Aldobrandini had left Florence from hatred of the Medici, as the Borghese had left Siena, and Peter felt that in the case of Camillo Borghese he could rely upon feelings similar to his own to back up the coalition of himself and France against Spain. With the premature death of Leo XI all the complicated machinery of the conclave had had to be put in motion once again, and in this second conclave the nephew of Clement VIII was the most powerful of the forces at work. He threw his influence for Cardinal Borghese, and Paul V undoubtedly owed his election to that fact. Peter Aldobrandini had been a very great papal nephew, indeed, and he expected from the Borghese pontiff a proper recognition of his services. Even with the keenest sense of humor in the world, Cardinal Aldobrandini would have found it hard not to feel resentment when he learned that Cardinal Borghese, now Paul V, considered his unsought-for election to the papal chair entirely due to the direct intervention of the Holy Spirit, and that in consequence he owed nothing whatever to earthly aid. It was because Paul V carried this idea so far on the one hand, and on the other poured such lavish favors upon his own kin, that he won for himself the name of “the Grand Ingrate.” Looking upon himself as divinely appointed in a marked and special degree, the quiet, unassuming cardinal became the opinionated and inflexible pontiff. He administered the papal power, temporal and spiritual, with the arrogance of a despot, the intolerance of an inquisitor, and the formality of the jurist. During the sixteen years of his pontificate he succeeded in rousing bitter hostility on all sides. The aged Grand Duke of Tuscany, who had lived through nine pontificates and had known both Sixtus V and Clement VIII, complained that this Pope judged of the world as he would of one of the towns belonging to the papal territory where everything was done according to the letter of the law, and went on to say that in this respect there would soon have to be a change. The year before his election the gunpowder plot had fanned England into a white heat of patriotism, and a new oath of allegiance was required by Parliament. Paul V was the Pope who forbade the English Catholics to take it. He also was the Pope who so mishandled the Gallican Church that he forced the States General of 1614 to declare that the King of France held his power from God alone; and, finally, it was Paul V who spent the first two years of his pontificate in such a quarrel with Venice as threatened to involve all Christendom. The Republic so unflinchingly endured excommunication and interdict that the Pope even thought of subduing her by arms. He was brought to his senses only by the fear that Venice in her extremity might call Protestant powers to her aid and thus bring confusion and disaster not only upon Italy but upon all Catholic countries. In this grave crisis France took it upon herself to mediate, and the dispute was finally settled, but with little honor to the papacy. It was a Venetian ambassador who has recorded of Clement VIII that when he found he could not reform Florence without great trouble he reformed his own mind. But Paul V did not, like the wise Clement VIII, “look to his predecessors” when in difficulties. Paul V had certainly no cause to love the Venetians, and it is one of the quaint tricks of history that his magnificent fountain on the Janiculum was at last finished by a Venetian Pope.

Although the Fontanone was built in the seventeenth century, its most interesting associations are connected with modern Rome. It is pre-eminently the fountain of the Risorgimento, for the last stand in Garibaldi’s three months’ defense of the Roman Republic was made upon the terraces surrounding this water, and it was just above here that the worst fighting occurred.

The second stage of the siege consisted of the nine days’ defense of the Aurelian wall, behind which Garibaldi was intrenched.

This bit of wall runs northwest and southeast on the eastern slope of the hill, and within the walls of Pope Urban VIII. At its northern end it is at about an equal distance from the Fontanone and the Porta San Pancrazio. When this defense broke down, the French troops entered the city through a breach in the Urban walls to the southwest of the fountain. The narrow lane leading from this point to Porta San Pancrazio was soon choked with the dead and dying. The Italians and French fought hand to hand in the darkness, along the road in front of the Villa Aurelia, that road which is to-day so quiet and so clean! During the previous eight days bursting shells from the French batteries erected on the walls and near the Villa Corsini and the Convent of San Pancrazio had wrought far-reaching havoc.