Part 25

Some people set about the seeing of sights in Rome in a very methodical, systematic manner, and so as to ensure their missing nothing, planning minutely each night what is to be done next day. This exhaustive method of ‘doing’ Rome is calculated rather to make a toil of a pleasure; but some degree of pre–arrangement is necessary, so as to economize time and to see as much as possible without weariness. Having decided where to go, we usually after breakfast engaged a carriage by the hour, or, if desirous of seeing a gallery of paintings or a palace, which would consume an hour, drove to the place, dismissed the cab, and on leaving took the first vacant one at the door. In the city itself there is no difficulty in at once procuring one anywhere. But in the outskirts they are not so easily found. This difficulty happened once to ourselves, on occasion of visiting St. John in Lateran. Having in view to see the church, museum, baptistery, Santa Scala, and other neighbouring places, which would take at least two hours, we unluckily dismissed our carriage, and when we left had to walk some distance before obtaining another to take us back to town.

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Our first day in Rome was a Sunday. We readily found the Presbyterian or Scotch church just outside the Porto del Popolo. It is a large, airy, nice place of worship. The climate of Rome, however, does not suit every one, and may produce weakness or develop what is latent. We met at Mentone, in the following winter, an esteemed Scotch clergyman, who ascribed debility to having in a previous year had three months’ duty in Rome. He had never, he said, been in good health since.

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Next morning we drove to St. Peter’s, which is generally the first object of attraction to the visitor. The way to it leads through narrow insignificant streets till the Ponte St. Angelo be reached. This bridge across the Tiber is decorated on each side parapet with five white marble statues, looking very black with exposure to the weather. The Tiber rolls below, yellow, muddy, and unalluring, and is in breadth between 300 and 400 feet, or about one–third the width of the Thames at Blackfriars Bridge.

The Castle of St. Angelo is one of those marked features of old Rome which engravings enable us at once to recognise. It was built by Hadrian as a mausoleum for himself and succeeding emperors, and the square base of this immense monument covered an acre and a half of ground. The round tower, which rises from the base, is now 188 feet in diameter; but it is stripped of its outer case of stone and white marble, and it no longer possesses what it is believed to have had, a dome 300 feet high, together with encircling statues. When built, it was no doubt a monument of the greatest magnificence; but its massive strength caused it to be for centuries occupied as a fort, and the successive sieges to which it has been subjected have brought about the destruction of all its adornment. Its history is to a large extent, since it was built, the history of the city of Rome, and may be seen set forth in Mr. Storey’s _Castle of St. Angelo_.

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Passing the castle on the right, the Tiber being on the left after crossing the bridge, the way lies along one of several narrow streets terminating in the great Piazza San Pietro, so that till the Piazza be reached St. Peter’s is obscured. It was not without emotion we arrived in view of this noble building, sending out from it on each side, like huge arms, imposing colonnades, consisting of no less than 284 columns each 64 feet high, which enclose so far the Piazza. The Egyptian obelisk brought to Rome by Caligula has been placed in the centre of the Piazza, attaining, with its pedestal, a height of 127 feet 6 inches, and yet dwarfed in presence of the great temple, the dome of which, however, is not well seen from the Piazza, or, indeed, from any place near. The obelisk is flanked on each side by a large and handsome fountain always playing, and in windy weather sending a shower of spray to a considerable distance leeward.

The cab stopped at the bottom of the long flight of steps which led up to the grand portico, and ascending it, we passed through, and pushing aside the heavy mat which, as usual in Italian churches, depends upon the door, looked eagerly in, and were—must I confess it?—at first disappointed. One expects a great deal, and the magnitude of the building at first sight did not strike us as so overwhelming. I suppose this was partly owing to its admirable proportions; but when we had walked round the interior, the vastness of the structure seemed to grow upon us, and with every successive visit we felt its solemn grandeur and majestic harmony impressing more and more. We contented ourselves on the present occasion with walking round, Bædeker in hand, studying the plan, and making ourselves familiar with the different parts. St. Peter’s drew us to it repeatedly afterwards, and as this is not a journal of visits, I may here simply notice the result of the impressions which we formed.

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This grand edifice, the largest church in Christendom, is in every respect on a colossal scale. There is nothing paltry about it, unless it be the statue of St. Peter himself. This is frightfully hideous, and why it should have been allowed to be set and to remain in a place where everything is in such good taste, is very extraordinary. The statue is a sitting one, bolt upright, and holding up two fingers of the right hand in a stiff manner. The face is ugly, and certainly has not anything of the Jewish type about it. Every minute people are seen coming up to kiss the toe of this odious image, the kissing being performed by all classes of people. I observed how inconsistent it was with the character of the apostle, who, with all his forwardness, had a profound consciousness of his own sinful humanity, and who himself, when ‘Cornelius fell down at his feet and worshipped him, took him up, saying, Stand up, I myself also am a man.’ A story goes that a person affected with sore eyes had gone up and rubbed them upon the toe, and immediately afterwards a gentleman, ignorant of this remedial operation, coming in, kissed it. Let us hope he was straightway informed by some charitable onlooker of what had previously been done, and that the fact opened his eyes to the grossness of such superstitious idolatry. It is strange that Peter should be forced into association with Rome, because, as those who have anxiously investigated the subject consider, there is no actual proof of the ‘first’ (called) of the apostles ever having been there. And yet in the Mamertine prison, the place is shown where it is given out that Peter and Paul were imprisoned; and so far do they presume on credulity, that a hollow in the wall is actually pointed out and gravely affirmed to have been made upon it by contact with the energetic apostle’s head, I suppose during animated discussions with Paul. If I am not mistaken, it was Adam Smith who left the mark of his head on the wall paper of the room in which he wrote his _Wealth of Nations_; but Peter’s head must have been formed of stuff harder and rougher even than that of his statue, to have hollowed out a hole in a stone wall. A more wonderful stone, however, is shown in a little chapel outside the gates, fixed on the floor, where we were gravely informed, for the charge of, I think, 5 soldi (twopence halfpenny), that the deep impression of two feet—pretty large ones too—were the marks of Peter’s feet. This marvellous petrifaction is protected by an iron grating.[29] To crown all, the dome of St. Peter’s is held to cover the site of the burial–place of the apostle, and beneath lies his tomb. Over the supposed tomb and over the high altar attached, at which only a pope or a cardinal delegate can officiate on important occasions, a canopy (_baldacchino_) rises ninety–five feet high, to which, architecturally, exception has been taken. More exception might be taken to the reality of the place of sepulture. It cannot even be proved that Peter was put to death at Rome, and is it likely that his persecutors would allow him to be buried in the spot alleged, or that any succeeding emperor, supposing he was desirous of removing the martyr to a place with which he, the apostle of the Jews, had no peculiar connection, would have been able to have recovered and identified the body?

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The grand central aisle of the cathedral is flanked by colossal columns, the size of which can hardly be appreciated without actual measurement or veritable comparison with other known heights. On each side the aisles, of proportionate size, contain large chapels, one of which is used for the ordinary services of the Church, which are chanted by the pope’s choir. Gigantic statues and monuments of popes adorn the aisles and transept. The altars, as usual, are enriched by paintings, which at our first visit, being in Lent, were, as in all the churches at that season, veiled. The altars themselves are rich, but not obtrusively so—all in quiet keeping with the august building. In the transept, wooden confessional boxes are set, each different confessing nation, England included, having one. Looking up the gigantic dome, we find the walls covered with mosaics. The four Evangelists occupy a first course, and high above them other figures.

Once a week, Thursday mornings, before ten o’clock, the public are admitted to ascend the dome, which, to the top of the lantern, is 403 feet high, the extreme height at the summit of the cross being 435 feet. The ascent, which can be made on horseback to the roof, is extremely interesting, and gives a better idea of the magnitude of the building than any perambulations below. It is effected by a special tower situated near the portico. By a gentle slope the passage rises, winding and winding round this huge tower, along the sides of which inscriptions, cut in the stone, bear the names of monarchs who have made the ascent, till, after a long and wearisome progression, the roof of the cathedral is reached, and stepping out on it we see its great extent and the gigantic size of the statues, which, having regard to view from below, are three times the size of life. Walking across the roof and mounting a few steps, we enter the dome, and get into the first gallery which encircles it within. Even from this elevation, gazing down, the people walking on the floor below looked like pigmies. At this point we were brought into proximity to the mosaics, and perceived the colossal scale upon which they are constructed. The Evangelists, who look like life–size below, are found to be of immense magnitude; and what look like small cherub boys below, are huge giants, the dimensions of which I would not venture to name, because in St. Peter’s all computations by the eye are deceptive, and it is only by referring to actual measurement that sizes can be safely reckoned. Here also the width of the dome (178 feet) is observable by finding what a long walk it is round the gallery. A further ascent up narrow stairs leads to the second gallery over the first and inside the dome, and from this gallery everything below is still more dwarfed. Then, by contracted stairs between the inner and outer walls of the dome, the lantern is gained. It would be a dizzy height were it not for the platform of the roof more immediately below. From this point an admirable bird’s–eye view of Rome is had. Unfortunately the day we ascended was gusty and wet with occasional showers, rendering it undesirable to stand at the embrasures, and disturbing our view. But we could catch a glimpse of the lie of the town and its extent, which appeared less than we had expected to see it. Rome is compact, and this city, once the mistress of the world, and said to have in the days of its glory possessed a population exceeding that of London, does not appear to cover one–third of the ground on which the city of Edinburgh stands. The greatest length of the inhabited part seems to be about 1¾ miles, its greatest width about the same. According to the last census, the present population is under 250,000. The town, as now occupied, dates back only to the end of the sixteenth century.

The second Sunday we were in Rome was Palm Sunday, and after an early breakfast we drove to St. Peter’s. A tedious service kept us waiting about an hour, when the priests formed in procession and marched to the portal with palms in their hands. These were blanched palms, twisted into fantastic shapes, and not, as one would suppose, of the long natural green branches, which would certainly have been more suitable. The great door was opened and half the procession passed through and stood outside, the remainder standing within. Some form of blessing or other ceremony took place, and then they all marched back again. Altogether it was a very poor affair, although, when it used to be performed by the pope himself, I believe it was more imposing; but the absence of the pope (Pius IX.), who since 1871 had never appeared in public at this or other ceremonials, stripped the pageant of its wonted attractions.

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The Vatican adjoins St. Peter’s, and consists of immense ranges of buildings, said to contain 11,000 chambers. It is no ornament, architecturally, to the cathedral, upon which it impinges, the portion seen from the Piazza of St. Peter’s having too much the appearance of a huge factory. Attached to it, and seen from some of the windows of the Vatican, the pope’s garden occupies a large piece of ground, very stiffly laid out, in which His Holiness can, unincommoded by the public, who are not admitted to it, take his walks or drives. Admission to the Vatican is by means of _permessoes_, which are procurable through booksellers and others. To obtain these documents, people are put to trouble and expense, while it must cost a little to issue them, and really they seem required without adequate reason. As the _permesso_ is given up at the door, a fresh one is necessary at every visit, unless the visitor express a desire to retain it for use again; when he intimates this at entering, gets it back at going out, and pays the doorkeeper 1 franc for the privilege. Whatever may be the object of employing them, it does not save fees, which are payable at every door which is opened. The doors are very numerous, but fortunately the fee expected is small—half a franc, or even, in some cases, quarter of a franc from each party suffices for each janitor. These ‘proud porters’ have no objection to copper. It would be really much better if all fees and _permessoes_ were abolished and strictly _prohibited_, and a fee not exceeding a franc for a party of, say, four were exacted at each visit. The galleries of the Vatican are places which most people desire, when they go to Rome, to see over and over again.

The great gate of the galleries, in which the sculptures are deposited, is reached by driving or walking all round St. Peter’s; and by making the circuit, although it is rather long, one obtains another idea of the vast extent and huge proportions of the cathedral.

The galleries containing the paintings are situated in other rooms, and require separate days as well as separate orders for their examination. The entrance is reached by the Scala Regia in the Colonnade, on the right side approaching St. Peter’s.

We devoted two separate afternoons to each.

The sculptures are far more numerous than the paintings, and even after two inspections, we could only consider we had seen them in a very general way. To do them justice, one would almost require to bestow upon each different group of halls a distinct visit. The number of statues, busts, urns, and other sculptured objects exhibited, is very great. Most, if not all of them, have been recovered from the ruins of ancient Rome while under the government of the popes. The visitor is brought face to face with the original of the Apollo Belvedere, the Laocoon, and many other statues and groups familiar to all by copies or by engravings. But it is necessary to watch carefully, lest omission be made of some of the rooms; for we discovered, on going a second time, rooms we had previously overlooked, and which contained some of the finest statuary. Of many of the halls and of the individual statues, photographs can be purchased in the shops, which, to those who have not seen them, convey some idea of the galleries and their contents, and are exceedingly useful to those who have, in recalling them. Without this help, the multiplicity of objects tends to obscure and confuse the recollection. There is one annoying feature about the statue galleries of the Vatican, that in place of the names of the objects, there is painted upon them the name of the pope by whom they were placed where they stand. One gets quite irritated by the vanity of Pius VI. and Pius VII., leading them in so objectionable a manner to obtrude their names upon the public.

The examination of the picture galleries is much more easily accomplished. The good paintings are in reality confined to two or three rooms, and one or two more, in which are fine frescoes by Raphael and others. The great attractions of this gallery are—’The Transfiguration,’ by Raphael; ‘The Madonna di Foligno,’ a fine work of the same great master; and ‘The Communion of St. Jerome,’ by Domenichino. The upper portion of ‘The Transfiguration’ is so exquisitely beautiful as to suggest whether it would not have been better severed from the lower half, representing the writhing boy in the midst of the perplexed disciples, which, though it may have been designed by Raphael, was painted by his pupils. Indeed, the insertion of the scene may be said to be an anachronism, because the cure was effected on ‘the next day,’ while its introduction detracts from the feeling of sublime elevation above the world and the things of the world which the upper portion of the picture breathes.

There are many other fine pictures in the rooms by the old masters. One in particular, which struck me for its softness and beauty of colouring, was a ‘Madonna and Child,’ by Sasso Ferrato, although it must be confessed both the mother and child are rather plumply fat. I asked the price of a photograph of it for sale in the rooms, taken from an engraving, and was asked 4 francs. It is so often the way in such places to demand long prices.

We had not an opportunity of seeing the library of the Vatican.

The Sistine Chapel is what nobody omits to see. The entrance to it is from the Scala Regia, just before coming to the picture galleries. We saw it once, and I must own it fell short of expectation. The chamber is dark, the frescoes are fading, and to see some of them it is necessary to lie on one’s back and look up. The view, therefore, is indistinct and uncomfortable; but though they are from the hand of a great master, the eye experiences a want of repose, the effect of over–decoration.

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It is usually recommended to people visiting Rome for the first time, to take a preliminary drive of some hours, to form a general idea of the city. This, after our first visit to St. Peter’s, we did, and found it attended with considerable advantage. Except where it is bounded by the Tiber, Rome is surrounded by walls of defence, in which are several gates. Outside of some of these gates, the town has slightly extended; but, for the most part, the walls stretch a good way beyond the inhabited portion of the town, which is very compactly built, there being no large public gardens or parks within the city, and scarcely an open square, while the streets are narrow and the houses high. The seven hills upon which Rome has always been regarded as standing, are rather hillocks than hills, and do not, seen from the Campagna, bulk much upon the eye. They vary in height from 156 feet to 218 feet above the level of the sea; so that, deducting at least 40 feet for the general level of the city, the highest is but low. From the Porto del Popolo, outside of which the Protestant churches are, with one exception, placed, and inside of which is one of the largest piazzas, or open places, in Rome, three straight–leading streets branch out, diverging at acute angles—viz., the Via Babuino, conducting into the Piazza di Spagna; a centre street, the famous Via del Corso; and a third, the Via di Ripetta, which passes by or near to the banks of the Tiber. All these streets proceed (a wonderful circumstance in Rome) in straight lines to a considerable distance, the Corso fully a mile in length, the vista of all being terminated at the one end in the Piazza del Popolo by the Flaminian Egyptian obelisk, the third in altitude in Rome. The Corso, the longest and central one, terminates at a point not far from the forum of Trajan and the Capitoline Hill, in the vicinity of which the principal ruins of Rome lie. Out of the Corso, however, except where it is crossed for a short way after leaving the Porto del Popolo by a few regular streets, the streets of Rome are so tortuous that I do not recollect any other city, at least similar in size, where it is so puzzling to find one’s way about. I did once or twice adventure on a walk, just to try and familiarize myself with the streets, but in doing so found it necessary to take the bearings very exactly, and to keep the map in hand, to prevent my getting bewildered. These tortuous streets are irregular and narrow, sometimes with scarcely room for two little cabs to pass. They are causewayed, but have no footpath. Even the three leading streets I have named are extremely narrow. The Corso is only 40 to 50 feet wide, and the footpaths which have been placed there are proportionately contracted, leaving, I may say, no room in some places for two foot–passengers to pass each other. The streets are now, however, like other Italian towns, lighted with gas, the want of proper lighting previously having been much felt. The principal shops are in the Corso, the Piazza di Spagna, and the Via Condotti, which crosses from the Corso to the Piazza. Some of the chief booksellers are in the Piazza, but the jewellers’ and photographers’ shops are the kind which are most largely patronized by strangers. None of the shops, however, are capacious, and the wares they contain are in general marvellously limited in quantity.

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Beyond the inhabited part of Rome, there are many good roads, principally conducting to or from the gates, and leading to the country beyond. As one passes along the streets, the eye is continually met by churches, palaces, and other public buildings; but the great attractive interest lies in what remains of the grand buildings of ancient Rome, which for the most part are found in proximity to each other.