The Christmas holydays in Rome

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Preface

To have seen Rome is a great fact in an individual's life. So it appeared to the writer of these pages, v^^hen wandering among her mighty ruins, finding every where the bright pictures of youthful imagination surpassed. Cicero in his day declared — " We are surrounded by the vestiges of history." How then should we feel when, standing on the same spot, we realize, that eighteen centuries have since added their relics !

The title of this volume does not perhaps, give an adequate idea of its contents. The writer was led to adopt it, because his primary object in visiting Rome at that season, was to witness the Christmas services. His residence there was, however, prolonged through the greater part of the winter, all of which time was occupied in diligent study of the inexhaustible objects around him. To attempt a description of one-half, in a work of this size, would be in vain ; he has therefore only selected from his notes written on the spot, some of those things which excited the greatest interest in his own mind.

It will be seen that while he has paid some attention to the antiquities of the city and the classical associations connected with them, he has dwelt particularly upon Ecclesiastical matters relating to the Church of Rome. And in this respect, he thinks the work will differ from most of those on the same subject. Travellers seem generally to have given only a one-sided view of the Papal Church. Some were ready to commend every thing, and others, on the contrary, saw nothing good in the whole system — ^no rite or service which did not shock some violent prejudice. Now in this, as in every thing else, there is a proper medium. The Church of Rome is indeed deformed by many fearful errors, which often stjike at

X PREFACE.

the very cardinal doctrines of our faith, but she has also retained much that is Catholic. Were it not so, that mighty Hierarchy could not have subsisted for so many centuries, through every change and convulsion — winning to its spiritual sway, the crowds of northern barbarians which swept over the city — and even at the present day, drawing to itself proselytes in lands, where intellectual and spiritual freedom give every opportunity for the thorough discussion of this subject. These are the very things which render the system so dangerous, enabling it to charm the imagination and retain its hold upon the human mind, while its influence is withering to the best interests of our race. The writer has therefore endeavored to look at the Church of Rome without prejudice, and while his investigation strengthened the unfavorable view he before had of the practical working of that system, he still has not withheld his tribute of praise from any thing he saw which was truly Catholic.

He has been obliged to write this volume entirely during the last three months, amidst those engrossing cares of Parish duty which necessarily gathered around him after the absence of nearly a year from his field of labor. He mentions this, not to deprecate criticism, but to account for mistakes which may exist. To him, however, the labor has been a pleasant one, reviving associations which he would always wish to cherish. Beautiful Italy! thy old traditions lingering around each crumbling fane, and consecrating each fountain and grove, are inspiration to the mind ! thy very language is melody to the ear ! Thy bright and sunny clime — thy land so richly dowered with loveliness — thy antique and solemn ruins — how will the recollections they furnish mingle with the stern realities of coming days, and soften the carking cares of this working world ! They will return to us like the glorious visions which ever after floated before the eyes of the Arabian shepherd, when — as Eastern fable tells us — while wandering in the wilderness, he had

caught a single glimpse of the gardens of Trim, and then lost them again forever.

Albany, Christmas, 184.5.

CIVITA VECCHIA. — JOURNEY TO ROME. — THE "ETERNAL CITY" BY MOONLIGHT.

Chapter I

It was in one of the most lovely nights ever seen under an Italian sky, that the steamer in which we had embarked from Genoa came within sight of the coast of the Papal dominions. The moon had risen in her queen-like beauty, and as she rode high above us in the heavens, every wave of the Mediterranean seemed tinged with her radiance. Felucca, polacre, xebec, and other strange looking craft, were floating lazily on the sea, while our own vessel, as she glided through the blue waters, left a track of molten silver to mark her way. The cool fresh breeze which came sweeping over the sea was far more grateful than the heated air of the cabin, and we remained long on deck, seeing as we passed, on the one hand. Napoleon's miniature kingdom of Elba, and on the other, the long line of the main land, which owes submission to his Holiness, Gregory XVI.

At sunrise the next morning we entered the harbor of Civita Vecchia, the nearest approach which can be made by sea to the city of Rome. The remaining distance, fifty- two miles, must be travelled by land. Ostia, the ancient port, in which during the days of the republic her galleys rode, where Scipio Africanus embarked for Spain, and Claudius for Britain, is indeed but sixteen miles from the city, and was formerly much nearer, but the gradual accumulation of sand has entirely destroyed its harbor. After it was sacked by the Saracens in the fifth century, no attempt was made to restore it. The salt marshes which Livy mentions as existing in the days of Ancus Martius, gradually encroached on the one side, and the sand was drifted over it from the sea on the other, until this city, which once contained eighty thousand inhabitants, now has only about fifty souls living in wretchedness among its ruins. We passed it in the steamer some months afterwards on our way up from Naples ; but the site is only marked by the remains of a temple and theatre almost concealed by brambles, and a picturesque old fortress erected during the middle ages, with two solitary pine trees standing in front of it. And yet, this place was once a suburb of imperial Rome — from thence the old consuls went forth to victory, and there they landed to commence their triumphs as they entered the city.

Civita Vecchia, with its fortress erected from plans furnished by Michael Angelo, and its long ramparts, presents a striking view from the sea, which you find, on landing, the reality by no means justifies. It has, however, some traces of antiquity, for the massive stonework of its port was built under the direction of Trajan, (the younger Pliny describes it as the " Trajani Portus,") and here, as at Terracina, the bronze rings by which the Roman galleys were made fast to the quays still remain. The immense prisons lining the basin have a bright appearance which contrasts strangely with the gloomy object to which they are devoted. When we came on deck at dawn, the galley-slaves, in their parti-colored dresses, were just marching out to work, attended by a strong guard of soldiers. Their number is said to be nearly twelve hundred, and the clanking of their chains as they walked was the first sound which greeted us from the States of the Church.

The manner in which we were fleeced on all sides at this port of his Holiness, was a foretaste of what we were to expect in Italy. You first pay sundry pauls* for being rowed

* A paul or paalo, is about eleven cents.

ashore from the steamer; several porters (facchini) seize your baggage, and, unless you can squabble in Italian, you must bestow some more pauls on each for carrying it to the custom-house — more pauls to the officials there, for weighing it, to see whether or not it is beyond the allowable weight for the carriage — more for plumbing it, (that is, cording it up and fastening it with a lead seal, which is not to be taken off till you reach Rome,) — more for the printed permit to pass it through the gates when you leave — more for hoisting it up on the top of the carriage ; and so you go on, paying away on the right and on the left, until your small change and patience are both exhausted. In this little catalogue is not included the fee to the custom-house officer, whose inspection was a mere pro forma business. He lifted the covers of our trunks, made a great flourish about the examination, in the course of which he opened a book, (happening to be a controversial one on the Romish Church,) and looked into it as curiously as if there was any probability of his understanding what it was, and then closed the trunks again. He next whispered to us, that "he should be happy to receive something, as we had been well served," turned his back, put his open hand behind him with a great affectation of secrecy, closed it as the expected pauls dropped in, and the farce was over. Add to this about a dollar for the vise of each passport, and you have the history of the black-mail levied on us at Civita Vecchia in about two hours.

At noon we set out in a carriage drawn by three horses. *' And so we went towards Rome." The road for one half of the distance skirts the Mediterranean through a region dreary and often uncultivated, though the last part, where it turns eastward into the country, becomes more hilly. One who looked only to the present, would pronounce it a ride without interest, except where his curiosity was, at times, excited by some massive ruins near the road, or a lonely tower hanging over the sea, reminding him of days of feudal strife. But, as Walpole says, "our memory sees more than our eyes in this country." The classical scholar, therefore, looks upon it as a land seamed and furrowed by the footsteps of past ages. He is in the midst of places of which Strabo and Pliny wrote. He crosses the Vaccina, the Amnis Coeretanus of his old school days. He passes through Cervetere, once one of the most important cities of ancient Etruria, where Virgil tells us Mezentius reigned when Eneas entered Italy ; and the paintings in whose tombs, Pliny says, existed long before the foundation of Rome. It is supposed, indeed, that the Romans were first initiated in the mysteries of the Etruscan worship by the priests of Caere; and, when Rome was invaded by the Gauls, it was here that the vestal virgins found an asylum, and were sent for safety with the sacred fire. Every scene, indeed, has its separate story; and old memories of the past are crowding back on the traveller's mind, as he hears names which are associated with all he knows of classical interest.

It is something too to be riding along the shores of the Mediterranean. Its waves are haunted by the spirit of the past. We see them sparkling at our feet, or stretching out to the horizon, blue and beautiful in the sunlight, and we remember what countries they lave. Opposite to us is Africa, where St. Augustine once ruled, and hundreds of temples reared- the Cross on high — then comes Egypt with its hoary antiquity, by the side of which Italy is young and childlike — then that holy land which our Lord "environed with his blessed feet," and whereParadise was Lost and was Regained. On we pass to old Tyre, where, as prophecy foretold, the nets are drying on the rocks, — and onward again, till we behold the waters breaking in the many bays of Greece. There was the last foothold of the " faded hierarchy " of Olympus; and now, though songs are hushed and dances stilled in that land, yet beauty has every where left the wonderful tokens of her presence. And to the shores, too, where we are, the waves of this sea have borne one race after another from the far East, and seen the feeble colonies expand into greatness, until their children went forth to inherit the earth. What wonderful memories then linger around this mighty "valley of waters!"*

The last few miles were over the silent and desolate Campagna — low stunted trees only at times were seen, and not a habitation gave notice that we were drawing nigh to a mighty city. Far as the eye can reach is an unbroken waste, and the Mistress of the world stands encircled by a melancholy solitude. Yet is it not appropriate that it should be so? About fair Naples are lovely vineyards, lining the road with the rich festoons they have hung from tree to tree ; and from whichever side you approach beautiful Florence, whether from the smiling fields of Tuscany, or "leafy Valembrosa," or the woody heights of Fiesole, where Milton mused and wrote, there is still the same rich and lively scenery. All things are in unison with the gay and poetical character of these cities. Should not Rome, then, the fallen Metropolis of the earth, majestic even in ruins, be surrounded only by barrenness and decay? Every object should inspire thoughts of awe and melancholy, as we approach this "Niobe of nations," standing thus

It was late at night when we reached the neighborhood of "the eternal city;" but the moon was up, shedding its light over the whole landscape, and we waited with eager impatience for our first view of the Mistress of the World. At length it came. "Roma!" shouted the postillion, and at once all heads were thrust through the carriage windows. Towers and turrets, columns and cupolas rose before us, and

• * " The valley of waters, widest next to that

Which doth the eanh engarland."

Dante. II Paradiso,c. ix. 1. 80.

so THE CHRISTMAS HOLYDAYS IN ROME.

high above all, the majestic dome of St. Peter's mounting in the air. We were approaching the Porta Cavalliggeri, immediately in the rear of that miracle of architecture. A few moments more and we reached it — our passports were inspected by the guard — we entered, and were within the walls of Rome. Our carriage drove round close to the mighty colonnades of St. Peter's, stretched out far on both sides as if embracing the vast arena they enclose — then rose before us with its massive towers, the Castle of St. Angelo, once the mighty tomb

-" "Which Hadrian rear'd on high,

Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles.

We crossed the Tiber, as it sluggishly wound along in the calm moonlight, by the ancient Pons iElius, and around us on every side was the magnificence of which we had heard from our earliest years, — a magnificence which still survives the wreck of wars and violence, and rapine and earthquake, and conflagrations and floods. All was the more grand and solemn because not seen in the glare of day. The delusive visionary light and deep broad shadows enlarged every portico, increased the height of every dome and tower, and lefl the imagination to fill up the gigantic outline they revealed. And thus, we felt, should Rome be seen for the first time !

VIEW FROM THE TOWER OF THE SENATOR.

2*

Chapter II

It takes some time for one to become accustomed to the thought that he is in Rome. To be actually living within its walls — to be treading on the same spot where the old consuls walked — where the Scipios and Caesars played that mighty game which bequeathed their names to all posterity — this is the fulfilment of our early dreams which it is for a long while difficult to realize. We find ourselves insensibly exclaiming, " this is Rome !" as if these little words contained a meaning we were unable fully to grasp, and which we were endeavoring therefore to impress upon our minds. And these feelings are natural. Servius Sulpicius, "the Roman friend of Rome's least mortal mind," could be won from a remem. brance of his own griefs, by a sight of the time-worn ruins of ancient days. As he gazed upon Megara and ^Egina, Cornith and the Piraeus, he forgot his private sorrows, merging all other feelings in his sympathy for fallen greatness.* May not we then, wanderers from a distant continent, of whose very existence the old Roman was ignorant, when we stand for the first time in the home of his ancient glory, feel as if haunted by a memory of the mighty deeds which have been there achieved ?

Our first object was to gain a clear knowledge of the situation of Rome and the localities of the surrounding coun^ try. This morning, therefore, we took our way through tha

Corso, (or Via Lata,) passing the beautiful columns of Trajan and Antoninus, with the spiral line of sculpture winding from the base to the capital of each. They are perfect, except that the statues of the emperors have been removed, and those of St. Peter and St. Paul substituted in their place. At the distance of a hundred aad twenty feet from the ground it is of course impossible to distinguish an apostle from an emperor, although the former seems very much out of place above these sculptured representations of eastern wars and heathen sacrifices. We ascended to the Capitol, and, from the lofty tower of the Palace of the Senator, beheld the country spread out around us like a panorama. It was a clear and beautiful day, so that in the transparency of an Italian atmosphere, the most distant points were easily visible. But where on the wide earth can a single spot be selected, which will command a view of so much historical interest ! The Capitoline hill stands between the ruins which remain of old Rome and the new city which has sprung into being on the other side — between the ancient Capitol of the Republic and the Empire, and the modern city of the Popes, which has grown up in the last few centuries. It seems therefore to look down, as it were, upon the living and the dead. On the one hand stand lonely and grand those majestic ruins — ^the Forum, with the Jofty pillars of its temples — the Coliseum — the triumphal arches of the Emperors — all, indeed, which eighteen centuries of war and rapine have left us. Their venerable forms bear not alone the furrows of age, but are marked also by the traces of destruction and Gothic violence. We turn from them, and on the other hand are the narrow crowded streets, and faintly there ascend to us the tumult and noise of busy life among the thousands who have inherited the name of Roman, without being heirs to any of the stern virtues which distinguished their ancestors.

Let us then place ourselves for an hour on this hill, and "begetting the time again" out of the recollections of history, summon back the two thousand years which have gone. ^n this spot stood the humble cottage of Romulus, long preserved with pious care as a relic of their rude forefathers. Here and on the neighboring Palatine Mount were gathered his little band of colonists, while the surrounding hills were yet tangled wildernesses of trees, and the low grounds were marshes formed by the overflow of the Tiber. About their habitations they had erected a wall, which, if we credit the traditionary stories of Livy, could have offered but little resistance to the many enemies who lived almost at their gates. Years went by, and one hostile nation after another was conquered, and sometimes, as in the case of Alba, the population removed and incorporated among the victors. Thus the city grew, and extended over " the Seven Hills," whose outline we can yet easily trace, though the accumulation of soil in the valleys has much diminished their height. It was not however till the days of Aurelian that it attained its extent, and by him the walls were erected the same in circumference that they are at this day. Then too the ancient Campus Martins was taken in, which from the time of Servius Tullius had been without the city. Where the Roman youth had been for ages accustomed to practice their martial exercises, Augustus commenced the erection of magnificent buildings. The population has since travelled northward, and gradually encroached upon it, until now it is the most thickly settled district.

Thus it is that the old landmarks connect the past with the present, and ancient Rome was the same in the circuit of its vast and antique walls that the city is now. Yet within them how different does every thing appear ! The population has gradually diminished, until it has become thinly scattered over this wide space. Look over it, and you behold wild fields mingled with its habitations, and here and there grassy lanes winding among ruins, or some hill-top rising up lonely and bare, apparently deserted by the foot of man.

The " yellow Tiber" sweeps onward, among hoary monuments which bend over its waters. Heathen temples an(^ the domes of Christian churches — ^the stately palaces of her ancient nobility, with around them garden terraces rising one above the other, glittering with pillars and statues, on whose snowy whiteness the climate produces no change — smiling orange groves, their rich green and gold gleaming in the sunshine— ^the tall cypresses, with their dark foliage — ^the stone pines with their broad flat tops, so oriental in appearance — and, diffused over all, the many tinted, colored atmosphere of this delicious clime — such is Rome as we gaze upon it to-day.

We said in the last chapter that the Campagna encircled the city, and from the elevated place on which we stood, we saw its flat unbroken surface stretching out, until it was bounded, like the frame of some mighty picture, by the Sabine hills about sixteen miles distant. It is a waste of fern, with here and there a withered pine tree breaking the dull uniformity ; yet generally treeless, and often shrubless. The roads of ancient Rome — such, for example, as the Appian way — pass over it, lined with the remains of tombs, which, though now in ruins, are so beautifully picturesque, that they are the admiration of the painter, and form always the finest feature in his landscape. At a distance, too, may be seen the long line of arches of the Claudian aqueduct, the most massive ruin without the walls. But from the surface of the ground, the noxious malaria is constantly rising, and malignant sickness cuts down the shepherds who have made their home in the old ruined tombs.

And yet it is evident that this dreary waste must once have been covered with cities, and inhabited by a busy population. Among the fifty nations enumerated by Pliny as belonging to Latium in an early day, and which had entirely disappeared, he places no less than thirty-three towns within the compass of what are now the Pontine marshes.* The

* Hist. Nat. iii. 5.

Fidense were only five, and the Gabii ten miles from Rome, and yet so few vestiges of their existence remained, that when Horace wishes to convey an idea of perfect desolation, he savs — *

Ancient writers tell us, indeed, that from Rome to Ostia, a space of sixteen miles, the whole road was lined with buildings ; and Florus calls Tibur, which is about the same distance over the Campagna, a suburb of Rome. " Whoever," says Dionysius, "wishes to ascertain the size of Rome, will be led into error, and have no certain mark to decide how far the city reaches, or where it begins not to be city ; the country is so connected with the town, and gives those who see it an idea of a city infinitely extended. "f This certainly presents a very different picture from Rome as it is at the present day, hemmed in by its walls, and all without them a desolate solitude. Tacitus, however, states that in the reign of Claudius the inhabitants amounted to nearly six millions ',% a population which could not have been contained within the walls, and must have been widely spread over the Campagna itself.

The causes of this change, however, are obvious. As long ago as the days of Strabo, the marshes on the coast rendered that part of the country unhealthy. These must gradually have encroached on the interior, their poisonous exhalations been borne farther and farther by the sea breeze, and the evil of course gone on more rapidly, when a place became uninhabited. Now the Campagna was wasted by successive hordes of invaders to the very walls of Rome. We can see to this day the traces of their progress. The northern side of the city, from which direction they came, is more ruinous than the rest, while the antiquities on the

* Epis. i. xi. 7. t Lib. iv. t An. lib. xi. c. 25.

southern part are in the best preservation. When, therefore, the population was driven within the walls, and the open country became deserted, a few seasons would transform all without into a desolate wilderness, and then the rank herbage would gradually conceal the ruins.

And so it has remained for centuries, becoming each age more dreary, and except the tombs, and here and there a mound of loose stones, there are no traces of the nations which once inhabited those extensive tracts. In winter, you may see upon it thousands of the large gray Tuscan oxen, with their mild eyes and long horns ; the descendants of the white cattle of whom Virgil speaks. At intervals, a herdsman, one of the gaunt massari, is watching them, and in his picturesque costume — a broad hat flapped over the eyes, sheepskin cloak, and carrying a long lance, while the gun is slung at his side — he seems wilder even than the fiery horse on which he dashes about. Vast herds of buffaloes, too, of a dingy color, introduced from foreign lands into Tuscany by Lorenzo de Medici, but since naturalized all over Italy, roam on the Campagna, and with their wild red eye, bent neck, and lowering aspect, they seem to warn the passer-by not to approach too near their short curved horns.

But when the summer comes, the cattle are driven to the pastures of the Sabine hills, or even the more distant mountains of the Abruzzi. Then each day the heat increases, until the air seems like a sea of fire. Even the shade of night brings no relief, and the only breeze which blows through the sultry atmosphere is the hot sirocco. The grass is burnt up, the stagnant water infects the air, and even the Tiber seems to have shrunk from its banks to half its usual breadth. No cloud, no rain, no cooling wind ; nothing but the hot rays of the sun beating down on the parched ground. Every breath drawn from the sulphurous atmosphere seems to kindle a scorching fever in the blood, and the wild buffaloes are roused to madness by the myriads of stinging insects which swarm the heated air. Thus for months on the wide Campagna life seems ahuost insupportable. But even at this season, when the heats are so terrific and the malaria is most deadly, there are materials there from which death can reap his harvest. About once in four years certain portions of this desolate tract are planted, and the summer is the time of harvest. "The peasants from the Volscian hills, and from beyond the frontier, come down into the plain to earn a few crowns for the ensuing winter ; they work in the harvest-field all day under a scorching sun, and at night sleep on the damp earth, from which the low heavy vapor of the pestilent malaria begins to rise at sunset. Even the strongest and healthiest are often struck down in a single week : before the harvest is gathered in, hundreds of hardy mountaineers have perished on the plain, and those who survive either die on their return home or bear the mark of the pestilence for life." Such is the Campagna, which has usurped the place where the busy thousands of Imperial Rome once dwelt. How invaluable to us would be a view of the City as it was in those its palmy days! Charlemagne, we are told, had "faire silver tables " made, on which were engravings of Constantinople and Rome. The one which contained the plan of Rome was given by him to the Church of Ravenna. If this could be recovered, what a treasure would it be to the historical student !

But let us resume the map and continue our view. Beyond the Campagna rises the chain of richly- wooded mountains, of which we have already spoken. But of what changing scenes have those heights been the mute observers, since fii'st the land around them lay, silent and untenanted, when the waters of the deluge had gone ! They beheld one race after another come from the East, and strange rites and sacrifices performed on those Seven Hills, and the wide plain between. The Etruscans laid deep their massive architecture, and then passed away so entirely that even their language has perished, and the inscriptions they recorded on the solid rock, later generations cannot interpret. Then came a wilder race, which gradually rose to power, until the Roman name filled the earth. One by one their enemies fell before them. On that long ridge once stood Alba Longa, whose ruin Livy has immortalized. There dwelt the Samnites, and that little stream, the Anio, which still goes murmuring on its way to join the Tiber on the plain, then separated their country from Latium. The Gauls came, and on that crest of rocks is the Arx Libana of Livy, to which they were driven back when attacking the city. The Carthaginians, too, entered the arena of conflict ; and there, to the left of the Alban Mount, is still pointed out the small open plain, on which they were encamped while they besieged Rome. What consternation must have been felt around the Capitoline Hill, while these events were going on ! What noise and busy note of preparation were heard, as the armed legions of Rome marched down its sides, and went forth to fight for their homes and altars ! How different from the stillness which now rests upon this spot, where nothing is seen but these old and hoary ruins !