Part 27

The drive to the Catacombs of Calixtus is very interesting; the ground lies by the Appian Way some distance out of the city, and beyond the Porta St. Sebastian. On the way the tombs of the Cæsars and Scipios are passed, and in a neighbouring private garden (on entering which it is highly proper to settle the fee to be paid) there are two buildings sunk in the ground, termed Columbaria—pigeon–holes—apartments probably about 20 feet square, judging from recollection. Descending by a narrow stair, the walls are found covered over with small plates of marble, and under each plate a little niche is formed, containing a vase. The marble plates bear the names of persons deceased, and in the vases below their ashes were deposited. They are curious, carrying one back to ancient times, and becoming, too, a sort of preparative for the visit to the Catacombs, to see which a _permesso_ is requisite, a fee being, however, paid at exit to the conductor for each person, varying a little in amount according to the number. As soon as a sufficient party is collected, and waiting until the party which may be below has reappeared, for only one set is taken at a time, the man in charge of the Catacombs makes up the company for the visit. Each person then lights the taper with which he or she ought to be provided (which, as tapers are not supplied at the place, must be brought from the city, a circumstance sometimes overlooked), and descent is made by a stair. The visitors are rapidly marched or whisked along the narrow intricate passages, on each side of which they see the catacombs in which the bodies of persons deceased were formerly laid—the great burial–place of the first Christians. There are many old Latin inscriptions, which the guide stops a minute to point out; but with a very large number it is difficult for all to get near him. It does not appear as if the passages lay far below ground, I should imagine not exceeding 50 feet; but though the air is warm, it is a dismal place, which the generality of people, seeing once, will not care to see again. One requires to be careful to follow the guide to avoid being lost. The examination does not occupy so much as half an hour.

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On returning to the light of day we were glad to take a drive farther along the Appian Way. This famous old Roman road was constructed at enormous cost, and was 26 feet wide. At one part a mountain was cut down 120 feet, to obtain that levelness which the Romans always desired for their roads. In its original state it must have offered a very remarkable scene. For, though not unusual for the Romans to bury, or at least to erect monuments to the dead, along the side of public roads, the Appian Way was the favourite part for entombment. For many miles on each side it was lined by sculptured monuments or tombs in marble, of more or less size or magnificence. But all that is now left is, in general, nothing but portions of the brick carcases which underlay the stone or marble surface. Vast numbers of these monuments have been destroyed for the sake of the material. The only notable monument remaining to some extent in preservation is the large and massive tomb of Cecilia Metella—a circular tower 70 feet in diameter, the walls of which are 25 feet thick. Its strength caused it at one time to be used as a fortress. The Appian Way itself fell into ruin and became impassable, but has now been cleared; and one can look along it and see it proceeding as far as the eye can reach in a straight line. It terminates at Puteoli, which when we were at Naples we visited, and so had the good fortune, if it may be so called, to pass over both ends of the road, immortalized by the Scripture record as that by which the Apostle Paul went on his way to Rome.

Mr. Thomson, in an interesting paper on the _Recent Excavations in Rome_, in which he gives, by illustrative restorations as proposed by Canina of monuments in portions of the Way, some idea of its grandeur, says (p. 28):

‘Altogether the Via Appia, when in its pristine glory, must have been a wondrous scene, with its innumerable monuments extending on both sides of fifteen miles of roadway, varied by occasional villas of great extent and beauty, by temples, by exedræ or covered seats, and by fountains. These are of every age and style, from the simplest republican to the richest adornments of imperial times.

‘The Via Appia was the road by which travellers from Spain, or Africa, or the East, arrived at the city.

‘How striking this approach to the Mistress of the World! How heart–stirring the memories of the illustrious departed which it must have called up in every heart!

‘We are not aware of any similar arrangement of equal extent and grandeur among all the remains of ancient times.’

So numerous are the churches in Rome, that I believe it may be said there is one for every day in the year. They abound everywhere, and during a short visit one can only, of course, see a few of those which may be regarded as among the chief. All of them, however, possess some distinguishing mark to attract attention. We entered a good many, the very names of which we did not know. And it is useful to notice that in general it is necessary to visit the churches before twelve o’clock; after the hour of noon they are closed, except in the case of some of the more important.

The Pantheon (built B.C. 27) is the only ancient building in Rome which is now standing entire, although bereft of its ornamentation; but such has been the accumulation of rubbish around it, that the steps leading up to it are now considerably below the level of the street. The edifice itself, also, is much hid by surrounding houses, and is not seen till one is close upon it. Passing through a grand columnar portico, we enter a vast circular expanse 140 feet wide, surmounted by a dome 140 feet high. There are large recesses or deep niches around, which were formerly used as receptacles for statues of the gods, when it became a Roman temple. The place now looks very vacant. The building has been stripped also externally of its marble covering or skin and other adornments, so that it no longer exhibits the magnificence it once possessed. But here Raphael and other great painters have been buried, and here the body of Victor Emmanuel, the gallant first King of Italy, has found its resting–place. Mr. Thomson observes:

‘The noblest of all the remains of ancient Rome, the Pantheon was, without doubt, originally built as a portion of these (Agrippa’s) baths; it is proved by the contiguity of the other fragments, and by the identity of the style of the brickwork. It was turned into a temple by Agrippa himself, on which occasion he added the portico of sixteen Corinthian columns of granite, each of one stone, 50 feet 9 inches in length and 5 feet 9 inches in diameter. Thirteen of these remain as originally placed; the three on the east side are modern restorations.’[33]

San Pietro in Vinculi is visited because it possesses Michael Angelo’s grand colossal statue of Moses. Notwithstanding its masterly power, it is far from pleasing in the confined space in which it is placed.

The Jesuit Church (under which one of the lost obelisks has been unfortunately buried) is very gorgeously adorned, and the altar of St. Ignatius (the body of Ignatius Loyola lies below it) exhibits a globe of lapis lazuli, said to be the largest known. This, like every other church at Rome, is besieged by beggars at the door, who whiningly importune for coppers, and one of them always officiously pushes open the thick, heavy, greasy mat placed swinging at the doorway, to keep out the cold air and to offer a convenient asylum to the insect world, and thus, as it is never cleaned, affording a valid excuse for a demand (were reason required). But in all the churches where anything is to be seen inside, a spider is on the watch in the shape of a guardian, who, keys in hand, proffers his services to open locked doors and exhibit the treasures of the church, or to draw curtains which conceal principal paintings. However, the fee is small; one franc or half a franc for the party generally suffices.

One of these churches, containing a veiled picture, the celebrated St. Michael of Guido Reni, is that of the Capuccini. The picture is certainly well worth seeing, and, in some respects, it may claim a preference over that of the same subject by Raphael in the Louvre. But why should such pictures—except for fees—be veiled? The veiling is very detrimental to the colour, as the exclusion of sunlight will in time make a picture black. Italian churches are dark enough as built, without shutting out the light of day from the paintings by an impervious curtain.

That for which, however, people chiefly go to the Capuccini is the extraordinary vaulting below the church. Here are arranged in all manner of devices the bones of the monks attached to the Capuccini monastery, of which this is the church. The skeletons of the more noted are exposed entire in their garments, some of them 300 years old. It is a ghastly spectacle, and was shown to us by a monk, who told us he expected his own bones, when he died, would be placed in the vaults, although we had understood the practice had been stopped.

Of a very different kind of interest was what is underground of two other churches,—San Clementi and San Cosmo in Damian. In the vaults below them we were shown the remains of the original churches, built not later than the fourth century, though the precise date cannot be ascertained. Those of San Clementi, discovered in excavating since 1858, are extensive and extremely interesting, including frescoes of the eighth and ninth centuries—one of them being the Crucifixion. It carries one back to Christianity in Rome of a very early period.

No visitor to Rome fails to visit San Giovanni in Laterano. This is a spacious edifice with altars all round, and is one of the grand churches in Rome, dating back a long way, and historically celebrated. It is, of course, splendidly adorned. The baptistery, like that at Pisa, is an entirely separate building in the Piazza. The Lateran Museum adjoins the church, and on the ground floor contains a collection of ancient statues, the entrance to which we had some difficulty in finding. The upper floor is chiefly remarkable for its collection of inscriptions inserted in the walls, taken from the Catacombs, and of which there is an immense number; but there was nobody to give any information. The famous Santa Scala, said to be the steps of the staircase of Pontius Pilate’s house, up which, it is given out, our Lord walked, is on the opposite side of the Piazza. The steps are covered with wood to prevent them being further worn. We saw a good many of the faithful painfully and laboriously ascending it upon their knees,—a very tedious operation, and sometimes, it is said, from its difficulty and unwonted novelty, a ludicrous one, the people (who are of all classes, and fine ladies as well as common men) in their contortions nearly tumbling over or knocking each other about. At every few steps there is a fixed cross to kiss, and at each step fresh paternosters are said; and when at last they attain the top (the stair consists, according to my reckoning, of twenty–eight steps), they kneel upon a small bench and look through an opening into a sacred chapel beyond, and perform further devotions. We heretics ascended more rapidly by one of the two side stairs by which the devotees descend.

A more splendid church than that of the Lateran is the Santa Maria Maggiore, so named from being the largest of eighty churches in Rome dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It is also one of the oldest churches in existence, and has a handsome façade, in front of which a lofty Corinthian column stands, surmounted by a statue of Philip IV. of Spain. The interior is profusely decorated, and is remarkably beautiful.

But perhaps the church which of all others, after St. Peter’s, attracts most attention, is that of ‘San Paolo fuori le mura.’ This is situated about a mile and a half outside the Porta San Paolo, in a road where foot passengers had been lately robbed, and was not, therefore, considered to be very safe for them. But no apprehension was felt in proceeding by carriage, and it forms a pleasant drive from the city. In going, the English cemetery, and the Pyramid of Cestus adjoining, both outside the walls, are passed. These we had intended visiting, but by a mistake of our driver we were taken some way beyond the entrance gate, and then unluckily postponed our visit for another opportunity, which never came, and our return to the city on the occasion was by a different route. The Church of St. Paul, erected on the road to Tre Fontane, where it is said the apostle was beheaded, is a new one, the former one having been destroyed by fire in 1823. The original church was founded so far back as the fourth century, and became in time one of great magnificence. Externally there is nothing remarkable about the present building, but internally it is one mass of marble ornament on a grand scale. It was expected, when commenced, the cost would amount to £1,500,000; but it is alleged that as much as £10,000,000 sterling have already been spent upon it. This may be quite the case. £10,000,000 according to some, and £20,000,000 according to others, have in three centuries been expended on St. Peter’s, and that during times when money was more valuable. But whatever has been the cost, it must necessarily have been enormous. The church consists of immense, square–shaped rooms,—huge boxes,—which are not over–pleasing architecturally. Floors and walls are covered with large plates of marble of every description, and long rows of costly granite pillars (80 in number) and of oriental alabaster pillars imposingly line the aisles. Four of the oriental yellow alabaster columns are supported on malachite pedestals presented by the Emperor of Russia. The ceilings (flat) are decorated; and along the walls under them a very long series of portraits of all the popes has been executed in mosaic. The windows are filled with stained glass containing representations of sacred events. The decorations of the church, which comprise some saved from the fire, are not yet completed, and at present (that is, when we saw it) a feeling of emptiness was conveyed; but when, in course of time, it is filled up with fine statues, paintings, and other ornaments, like other Roman Catholic churches, as no doubt it will be, this feeling of vacancy will disappear, and although in design it may not brook comparison with other churches, it will probably be the most sumptuous building in the world. Outside the church there is a beautiful court of cloisters of the Benedictine monastery; but the site is unhealthy, and the monastery cannot be inhabited during the summer. If nobody remains in charge of this costly church during summer, I do not know how it is guarded from depredation. It seems a great risk to build it in such a situation. Perhaps the laws against sacrilege may be so severe as to deter.[34]

There are many other churches in Rome which should be visited, but cannot be described in a sketch like the present. Indeed, the fullest description of such places can only enable a stranger to realize them very imperfectly.

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The palaces in Rome, or what are termed such, are as great an attraction as the churches, and to many much more so. There are about seventy of one kind or another, generally huge old buildings, some of which are open to the public on certain days of the week, or on other stated days,—a fee of 1 franc per party being given to the doorkeeper at leaving, which is always the time in Italy when fees are paid, except when admission is by ticket, paid for at entrance. Most of these palaces are visited for the collections of paintings and sculptures which they contain, some of which are very valuable. Generally the second storey is devoted to these collections, the first being sometimes occupied as shops or as servants’ apartments, and the upper floors by the family. Leaving umbrellas and sticks at the door, visitors pass from one room to another unattended, although there are men usually going quietly about to keep watch. There are lists in each room, printed on cardboard, of the pictures in it,—one side being generally in Italian, and the other in French. It would be perfectly endless to describe these various collections. Those most worthy of notice are specified in Hare’s _Walks in Rome_, which is a useful guide to them. But it would really be conferring a great boon upon visitors to Rome if some one were to publish a catalogue of all the collections in the manner of the _Academy Notes_, illustrating the noteworthy. Only by such means is it possible to retain in memory, or recall distinctly and without confusion, some recollection of their varied contents, and where given pictures are to be found.[35] Photographs of many can no doubt be procured, and are useful, and, so far as they go, better than the little rough sketches of the _Academy Notes_; but the collection of such photographs is limited (they are for the most part taken from engravings), and they can only be picked up by degrees. There is, however, a very valuable collection of engravings, published under direction of the Italian Government, of the choicest of the pictures and sculptures; and a few pounds may be well spent in purchases, which can be safely carried home rolled in tin cases which are supplied for the purpose. The shop in which they are sold is close to the Fountain of Treves, No. 6 Via Stamperia. The catalogue, extending to 33 pages, is divided into three parts,—_Pittura_, _Scultura_, and _Architettura_,—and in the first part comprises the works of 43 painters. The engravings are fairly moderate in price.

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The galleries for the most part contain specimens of the great masters,—such as Titian, Guido Reni, Vandyke, and almost every other master of note,—though most frequently of the Italian masters and artists. Some of these collections are very extensive. That of the Borghese Palace occupies no less than twelve rooms. Among so many pictures there is always to be found a great amount of mediocrity, interspersed with works and gems of the highest art, over which one could gladly linger. On most of them age has bestowed its mellow tint. There is a richness and power in these old masters which one misses in modern galleries; and after visiting the principal collections in Italy, and fresh from the Louvre in Paris, I felt as if landed in a new world on entering the Royal Academy in London.

In some of the galleries persons are usually to be seen making copies of more or less merit of noted paintings, the copying of pictures being apparently, as it is in other Italian cities, a considerable branch of business in Rome. The casino of the Rospigliosi is visited principally for the celebrated Aurora of Guido Reni, with which that of Guercino cannot compare. It is a large work of art, which, like too many others, is painted on a ceiling, at all times an awkward position in which to be seen; and so awkward, too, for the artist, that to copy it always seems a very wonderful effort of execution. In this case, however, with much consideration for visitors’ necks, a mirror is placed on a table below for the purpose of reflecting it at a convenient angle, and in this way it can be studied. As the masterpiece of the great painter (for Guido can hold his place alongside of Titian and Raphael), this picture is a very favourite subject of copy; and while we were in the room, there were three or four artists making copies of it varying in size. I asked the price of one good–sized copy, the execution of which was remarkably good, and the answer was, 600 francs—£24 nominally, or about £21 calculating according to the then state of the exchange (which, however, does not enter into the artist’s calculations) with England. There was a good deal of work upon it, and it might possibly be fairly worth the money; but, according to the Italian mode of dealing, more may have been stated than would be taken, although it is only fair to say that in any transactions I have myself had with the Italian painters, this does not seem to be a practice which extends to them.

At the Barberini Palace, the favourite subject of copy is what is termed the head of Beatrice Cenci, by Guido Reni, although doubt has been cast upon the statement that it is the portrait of her who was executed upon being, rightly or wrongly, condemned as one of the murderers of her father. Whoever it may represent, the eyes in this lovely pale face, with a quiet, tender, inexpressible sorrow, fix themselves on the spectator; but it is a melancholy and suggestively sad picture, to which the white headgear very much adds. Why people should desire to have copies of it, it is difficult to say. Its attraction lies in its inimitable painting, which none of the copies reproduce. Indeed, some of them are simply hideous or grotesque. Yet copies, more or less bad, are seen everywhere; and not merely is the head copied on canvas, but it is transferred to china, to wood, and other material on which reproduction is necessarily coarse; as if the subject in itself were attractive.

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Besides the palaces, there are regular galleries, such as the Academia di San Luca, a collection of the old masters, although not very extensive. Visitors also can obtain admittance to the studios of artists and sculptors, who are always glad to see them. We did not do much, however, in this way. We called on Mr. Glennie, an English artist settled in Rome, to whom we had an introduction, and had the pleasure of seeing several of his pictures, principally in water–colour. Mr. Lawrence MacDonald, the venerable–looking old Scotchman, since deceased, kindly with his son showed us over their studio, in which were many fine pieces of sculpture; and Signor Rosetti was also good enough to let us see his collection, which contained a large number of finely conceived and executed sculptures in white marble, at prices much below what is expected at home for similar works. A small fee (1 franc) is given at leaving to the workman who attends or opens the door.

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We heard that the Royal Palace (Quirinal) could be seen, and accordingly visited it. After inscribing our names in a visitors’ book, we were shown round the rooms by an attendant. The palace is on the Quirinal Hill, and is one of several which the King of Italy maintains; some of which, I doubt not, he would gladly dispense with, as adding unnecessarily to the cost of his establishment. It formerly belonged to the Popes, and the room was shown us in which the cardinals used to sit in conclave for the election of the Pope, which, when completed, was announced from a balcony to the people congregated outside. There are several spacious apartments in the building, adorned by some interesting paintings and sculptures. We were taken through the audience and other public _salons_, including the ballroom, which is decorated in a peculiar manner, especially by mirrors, on which appropriate figures have been depicted. The ceiling is painted to represent dancers in the air, and the floor is of polished wood. Some of the rooms are tapestried. A franc to the attendant, and a half–franc to the porter who had charge of our umbrellas, was all that was expected.

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