Old Rome and New Italy

Contents

PAGE

Preface

TO THE READER.

This book is the record of the lively emotions awakened in my soul by the marvelous spectacles of Italy. It is not a book of travels. I have not designed to add one more to the excellent works we already possess in Castilian upon the artistic nation, for these are in the hands of all travelers. When a people, a monument, or a landscape made a profound impression on my mind, I took my pen and hastened to communicate that feeling to my readers with all fidelity. I have not, then, followed any order or itinerary in my book. I have placed my pictures where it seemed best, so that they do not bear any particular relation to each other ; and I have sometimes returned to a town from which I seemed to have departed. Each picture may therefore form a separate work.

In these pages there is but little of the present life and manners of Italy. With that nation, the longer it lives the more it recollects. We must look at it historically and aesthetically. We must endeavor to connect its great monuments with the ages in which they were constructed, with the generations to which they owe their creation. In Italy, we v ili PREFACE.

must before every landscape or every ruin evoke the august shades which realize them, and gather the living ideas distilled from her fruitful bosom. Otherwise it is useless to travel there.

In her history there is an order which is not a natural order, but a human order, like the transition from the ancient world to the modern world — like the passing from the Middle Age to the Renaissance. By those buildings so famed for beauty, those statues so serene and lovely, have passed all the tempests of the human spirit. Knowledge has opened their wounds } and on seeing them, one feels in heart and brain the immense effort it has cost ages to create the modern spirit in which we breathe and live. For this reason a journey to Italy is a journey through all periods of history. And this is why an essay upon Italy, rather than a description, should be, in my judgment, a revival. I have intended to keep always in mind that above these great works of art, of archaeology, history is visible. I am happy, quite happy, if I have succeeded in imparting to my readers the thoughts that, so to speak, are exhaled from the artistic works and the historical recollections of immortal Italy.

Emilio Castelar.

Madrid.

OLD ROME AND NEW ITALY.

Chapter I. ARRIVAL IN ROME

At last 'we were at Civita Vecchia. As the boat rapidly neared the shore, our hearts bounded in our bosoms with enthusiasm. The buildings and all around spoke of antiquity. However little inclined to classical studies, one is tempted at such a moment to repeat the verses which Virgil puts into the mouths of the companions of ^Eneas. The emotions awakened by the first sight of Italy are enduring — not transient as the furrow of a vessel in the ocean. I sprung joyfully to land, and if our prosaic age did not quarrel with outward manifestation of high sentiments, I would have flung myself on my knees and kissed the earth. Italiam^ Italiam, primus condamat Achates. But in my excitement I forgot I was in Pontifical Italy. A custom-house officer stopped us, demanding the price of admission as at a theatre. A crowd of beggars, whose statuesque features bore the sad stamp of misery, with loud clamors divided our luggage among them as a rich booty. Then the police claimed our passports, now abolished in all civilized Europe ; exacting another govern-

A ?

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merit duty, although they had been previously vised and taxed by the Nuncio in Paris and at the Consulate in Marseilles.

Following our baggage, we entered a wretched store-house, dark as a dungeon of the Inquisition ; an obscurity incomprehensible in this land of resplendent heavens and dazzling light, which gives to the eyes a feast of colors, and fills the mind with poetic rapture. For articles worn, or intended to be worn, custom-house dues were exacted. When these were paid, and we fancied we were free to move, all our effects were placed in a cart drawn by a number of ragged and shirtless lads, who cried, " To the custom-house !" A second time ? These taxes and tariffs, this want of intercourse with the world — are these also of divine right ? Is it essential to the exercise of the Pope's authority over consciences that he should incline to the economic errors of prohibition and the political errors of absolutism ?

I compared this entrance into the Pontifical States with my arrival in the Swiss Cantons. Certainly, sentiments not less sublime are awakened at beholding those mountains crowned with eternal snows ; those dark and shady groves beside which stretch meadows of tender green enameled with flowers \ those azure lakes sleeping at the foot of gentle slopes, contrasting with hoary peaks half-veiled by clouds ; those impetuous torrents of crystal waters ; those villages peopled by a vigorous and hardy race, which realizes the greatest happiness known to human society — the union of liberty and democracy. Nothing disturbs the traveler in the contemplation of this grandeur. No policeman demands his

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name, no custom-house official searches his baggage. These mountains seem like impenetrable barriers, but liberty has thrown them open to the world, while on the Roman shore — those coasts which look so gentle and tranquil — absolutism has placed a cloud of spies and tax-gatherers, to inclose the country which nature has opened to all nations and to every breath of Heaven.

Nothing is more inconvenient than the registration of luggage; nothing more tormenting and ridiculous. On books, especially, custom-house officers fall with inquisitorial eagerness. And after having tossed about and examined every thing, they send the traveler's effects to the station, demanding another tax, which last forced contribution is equal to the first. Who can patiently endure such an administration? Is it possible that there exists in central Europe a beautiful and classic country, more remarkable for its glorious past than any other, under such injudicious and ruinous guardianship? Will not the Holy Spirit, which pours forth torrents of religious truth on the Church of St. Peter — will it not in mercy shed a few drops of political truth and economy, at once the happiness and riches of modern peoples ? The soul shrinks from all that is administrative, to turn to the lovely and picturesque in this land of song and flowers. The heavens and the sea are of brilliant azure, the air mild and aromatic ; the rocks which bind the coast are gilded and embrowned by the sun ; on the trees the tender leaves come forth to meet the soft kisses of April ; and among groups of merry and half-clothed children every now and then mingle

I2 ARRIVAL IN ROME.

the white tunics and gray serge robes of friars, looking like the living ruins of other ages, and moving like the ignis fatuus over the crumbling monuments of antiquity.

The hour of departure strikes. The whistle sounds. Civita Vecchia is the port of the Roman States ; but there are no carts, nor barrels, nor burdens, nor laborers — nothing indicative of commercial existence except the custom-house officials placed there to obstruct it. I had often heard of the dreariness of the Roman Campagna, but I had not imagined its reality. Death seems to have swallowed even the ruins. Ravens and vultures have eaten even the bones of this huge corpse. There are eleven stations between the sea and the Eternal City, but no town near any of them. The officials call out the names, such as Rio Fiume or Magliana ; sounds lost in distant echoes in the immensity of the desert. It is very strange to see a train in solitude, no one mounting or descending, no one looking on, no one loading or unloading. A circular hovel, surmounted by a wooden cross, is dignified by the name of "the station." They look like the tombs of savages. The train moves as slowly as a cart, so there is ample time to observe the immense horizon, the desolate plain, the vast marshes, some frightened horses and buffaloes, a few shepherds on worn-out ponies, or a cart with a poor fever-stricken family — the remains of a nomade race, dying in the desert where so many majestic remains of antiquity have fallen and are buried.

Economic errors are to be found in all ages and even amid much civilization. When Cincinnatus cultivated the Roman

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plains in the early days of the Republic, they might have been called the earthly Elysian Fields ; a plantation of riches, an abode of happiness and abundance. Wine, corn, oil, milk, and honey were produced in such quantities by agricultural labor that Rome was sufficient for herself. But by degrees the great families took possession of the ground once owned and tilled by many. In order to avoid daily labor they converted agricultural land into pasturage. One slave was enough to guard the flock. Irrigation was suspended ; the canals dried up, drainage was stopped. Water became stagnant in low places ; those streams which had brought life in their flow, scattered death by their putrid emanations. Having conquered the known world, the Roman people were no longer employed with war and had forgotten the occupations of peace. The want of food and pleasure opened the way for despotism. From despotism came the moral death which is in tyranny, as material death is in the Pontine marshes. Well did Pliny say — Latifundia Italiam perdidere.

At last, at the fall of evening, when shadows hung over Rome, we arrived in the Eternal City ; that city which gave us jurisprudence with her praetors, liberty with her tribunes, authority with her Caesars, religion with her priests : that city on which the annals of the human race are written ; the tomb of antiquity; the triumphal arch through which the modern ages have been ushered ; the temple to which generations of Catholics have come for fifteen centuries, seeking spiritual light ; the great school in which artists learn before thousands of statues and columns the secrets of the chisel \ the battle-

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field on which lie buried the gods of ancient theologies, brought to the Pantheon on cars of triumph ; the city the most august and most powerful that has ever existed on the earth ; that which still directs the conscience of a part of the human family by the prestige of its history, by the mysteries which arise from its majestic ruins. I am penetrated with a deep sentiment of veneration toward this city, unique in the world. Babylon, Tyre, Jerusalem, Athens, Alexandria, have reigned in ancient story at different intervals and at certain periods, realizing each one its idea \ then it has disappeared in the dust of its ruins, without other trace than the records of its existence, or the bones of its children in the earth. Paris, London, and New York will be great in history ; but this Rome, which the ancients justly called Eternal, belongs to both hemispheres of times — the heathen and the Christian world.

With what emotions Rome inspires the traveler ! He may be strictly Catholic ; the impressions of his early education may remain unsullied, but at beholding these statues of antiquity, these fauns with their immortal smile, these goddesses in whose marble flesh appears to circulate the warmth of life and the blood of unfading youth ; before that choir of Greek divinities in their dignified repose and Olympic serenity ; in the wondrous harmony of outline and the splendid beauty of expression \ the vitality which hangs on those lips almost vibrating with the hymn of classic poesy ; — before those forms of stone, more animated and intelligent than their living guardians, he is overcome with sorrow for the death of art, and led

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to wish the temples of antiquity could rise from their ruins and continue their songs and sacrifices, the eloquent pages of Plato or the glowing words of Demosthenes, in the midst of that world of deities which pour upon the earth from cups of amber the nectar of eternal joy.

Goethe experienced this profound classical enthusiasm in the Museum of the Vatican : the abode of Catholic Pontiffs, by a miracle of art, has been converted into the Olympus of the heathen divinities !

Thus it happens in the Christian world. The great Basilicas, notwithstanding their colossal majesty, chill the warmth of our devotion. Those monuments of bronze and marble, sparkling with gold and jewels, bathed in light, and rich in mosaics and bass-reliefs, dazzle, but do not affect us. The coldness of marble touches the soul. But on entering, for example, the Catacombs of St. Clement \ on seeing the damp earth which preserved for four centuries the seed of Christianity - on beholding by torchlight, in these subterraneous inscriptions traced by the hands of martyrs, the symbols of hope in the midst of the terrors of persecution, we hear in imagination the hymns of catechumens beneath the feasts of the Caesars, ascending to the circus where ferocious beasts await their prey — and the sentiment of loving admiration inspired by all great sacrifices overcomes us by its sublime mystery, leading us to contemplate on our knees the secrets of eternity, and to desire the sleep of death in the sepulchre illuminated by the faith of the first Christians. How these emotions are stifled at sight of the Pontifical Court ! I can not resist the temptation of repeating an anecdote from the most accomplished of Italian writers, Boccaccio :

a An old Florentine Christian took much pains to win souls to heaven, in order to secure his own eternal happiness ; at length he met with one, either Jew or Mohammedan — I forget which — and endeavoring to open the eyes of his soul to divine light, succeeded so well that in a few days he was half converted. The idea of going to Rome then occurred to the infidel ; a notion which much disconcerted the missionary, for he feared the licentiousness of that court would reduce his great work to ashes. What was his astonishment when the catechumen returned with feelings of gall toward his ancient faith and of honey toward the new, exclaiming, 'My father! I am quite converted ; for if, notwithstanding the profligacy of the clergy, the Church exists, grows, and prospers, it is doubtless because, being the depositary of truth, it deserves the direct protection of Heaven !' "

I will not accuse the court which surrounds Pius IX. of licentiousness. I am not accustomed to speak without proof, and am always inclined to believe more good than evil of human nature. I believe Pius IX. to be venerable from his age and perfect morality. I suppose that the example of his unsullied character influences his whole court. But I say that neither he nor his followers comprehend the free, reasoning, and independent spirit of this age — perhaps too positive — which demands a pure and disinterested worship, in opposition to materialism ; and which can never have that desire satisfied by the vain and pompous luxury with which the

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Roman Court adorns religious ceremonies, changing them into the worship of sense. To which side do the errors of this generation incline ? To that of industry and commerce. The marvels of modern progress have made us forget the sentiments hidden in the depths of the soul !

The exclusively luxurious tendency of its character may produce one of those idealistic reactions which mark the progress of the human race, as the sensuality of the Roman Empire operating on the conscience brought the too spiritual reaction of Christianity, and converted a world of epicureans into a world of monks. The ancient religion of the spirit may well experience a conscientious crisis in order to recover some part of the moral influence it has lost. But with this system of unrestrained luxury ; of strangely dressed courtiers and pages clad in gold ; of cardinals attired in purple and ermine ; of bishops with Oriental mitres ; of Swiss, who resemble harlequins ; of noble body-guards, who throw black velvet mantles on their shoulders and wear silver swords by their sides ; of servants clothed in all the hues of the rainbow ; of lackeys, whose finery challenges the painted parrots of the tropics ; of soldiers with uniforms like that of General Boom in the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein — with all this Eastern ostentation the Papal Court wanders from Christ and approaches Heliogabalus.

It is Palm Sunday. The great Basilica of St. Peter is going to bestow the benediction of Palms. Behind in the church the people are crushed together, as if they had not received with baptism the seal of Christian equality. From the grand jg ARRIVAL IN ROME.

altar to the great door are two lines of soldiers to prevent the multitude from pressing on the Pope. Although the assemblage is most numerous, it does not fill the immense space ; for St. Peter's could contain sixty thousand souls. The words of military command resound loudly in the temple, where the voice of prayer should alone be audible. The butts of the fire-arms fall noisily on the marble pavement. Those present are strangers. The Roman citizen has almost disappeared in the inundation of foreigners called by the Pope to his succor. At the time fixed, the procession bringing Pius IX. appears. It is impossible for any one to give an idea of the different dresses worn by his retinue. To do so would necessitate a masquerading nomenclature like that of Bizancio. At length, after an army of courtiers, comes the Pope, seated on a gilded throne, and borne like the saints in our processions, wearing a robe of crimson velvet and a white mitre, his left hand holding the golden crosier, his right uplifted in benediction to those who implore it kneeling. St. Peter's appears a theatre. The stalls, raised on steps under the vast arches which support the wondrous dome of Michael Angelo, are occupied by ladies. The arrangement of these religious seats seems the same as that of the central area of the Grand Opera of Paris. Gentlemen whose costume is strictly en regie occupy the places below 7 the stalls.

During the Mass, some talk, others walk about, and all occasionally use opera-glasses, sometimes turned on the ladies in the stalls, sometimes directed toward the cardinals. The noble guards — dressed like our cavaliers of the Court of Philip

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IV., with trunk hose and silk stockings, short velvet jackets, the sleeves slashed and adorned with ellipses of satin; the mantle on the shoulder ; the dagger with hilt of steel before ; the black head-gear under the arm, and the white collar on the neck — join in the general conversation and mingle in the general promenade. The Swiss only are immovable. It is pitiful to reflect that they have been so weak-minded as to forsake the liberty of their native mountains to serve — poor mercenaries! — a foreign sovereign. Their costume was designed by Raphael, and in this the great painter did not prove himself a master of color — it is a mixture of strips of black, red, and yellow cloth; a helmet ornamented with a white feather covers the head, and each bears an elegant battle-axe. They look like lay figures dressed as harlequins.

After the conclusion of the function I went into the piazza or square of St. Peter. It was occupied by an immense multitude. Luxurious coaches traversed it in all directions, military bands performed warlike airs. The decoration of this piazza is admirable : in the centre the great obelisk, mute trophy of the victories of the Roman people in Egypt; at either side are fountains, which cast upward jets of sparkling water; to the right and left, intercolumniations open in colossal semicircles, half exposing the lovely southern vegetation of the adjoining gardens, and terminated by a magnificent diadem of statuary. On a height stands the Vatican, a palace which bears testimony to the genius of the first artists in the world ; and below, at the end of an elegant flight of steps, the Church of St. Peter, crowned by the dome of Michael Angelo,who designed it grandly as an aerial temple ascending tothe infinite, among the rosy clouds of that glorious heaven which extends over all, as a magic gauze of incomparable beauty, its mantle of golden light.

I must not forget to make an observation inspired by the festival. This city can not, notwithstanding so much splendor, perpetuate enchantment with the philtre of mysticism, nor ensnare in the nets of artifice. When Religion held in her hands arts, science, and politics, such a society was naturally governed by sacerdotal bodies. But from the time that all social employments became laic, a theocratic government became impossible. I noticed that the choirs of the Sistine Chapel have greatly degenerated. The sublime inspirations of Palestrina can scarcely find worthy interpreters. This falling off is explained by the difficulty which exists in our time of finding such singers as are required by the Papal Court. It is known that women are not allowed to sing in the choir of St. Peter, and for trebles they have recourse to boys from infancy reduced to the condition of those unfortunates who guard Eastern harems. Alexander Dumas says, in one of his books of travels, that he saw over the shop of a Roman barber the following announcement : " Here boys are perfected." I never saw any thing of this kind ; but I know that the choirs decay, for there are now no families so despicable as thus to sacrifice their sons for money. And it is no longer possible that in order to support a religious and moral authority there should exist a city without a press, without a tribune, without the first rights constituting the personal protection of the people.

ARRIVAL IN ROME.

The internal tempest which rages in Rome is at once visible to the stranger. There are three thousand emigrants in a city of two hundred thousand inhabitants. Four hundred persons are now in prison for political offenses ; and a priest of high position, an intimate friend of the Pope, and even an enthusiast for the temporal power, has assured me that Rome contains more than seventy thousand Garibaldians. Every thing indicates uneasiness. The city gates are defended by barricades. At nine o'clock in the evening all shrink behind their walls — and that in an age when other towns open their gates to welcome light and air, new ideas and new sciences — the products of every clime and the representatives of every race and nation.

At nightfall you meet guards at every corner, as in a besieged city. Passports are registered with astonishing minuteness. A State which scarce contains six hundred thousand souls keeps up a standing army of twenty thousand !

These twenty thousand men are of different nations and speak different languages. The greater number do not understand Italian. Thus the ties of blood and of language exist not among them, although they are bound together by the same religion and the same political sentiments. This is a serious inconvenience with regard to their manoeuvres. French, as the language most generally understood, is used in the army ; but it is unintelligible to the greater number of the private soldiers. In fact, to be able to live in Rome (not being born in the country) one must possess a mind of uncommon elevation — a soul capable of understanding her arts, her ruins, and her monuments. Those who are unable to hear the eloquent voices which awaken so many lofty ideas and inspirations, soon weary of this academical and monastic city. I do not speak idly ; but having closely observed the Pontifical forces, I declare that I found an elegance, a refinement, and a distinction of manners one would seek vainly in any other European army. It is well known that if a great part of it is mercenary, or has been entrapped into the service, most of it is composed of high-spirited and romantic youths — with a chivalrous worship for old institutions, exalted in their opinions and tastes, some of them having lost their illusions, but all more or less eccentric and sentimental — seeking the exercise of arms and the turmoil of camps as food for that mysticism which formerly a more gentle and more religious generation sought in the silence of the cloister and the mortification of penance.

These soldiers have come from the four points of the horizon ; they belong to all Christian races, and speak all languages ; so Rome maintains under the Popes the character of universality bestowed on her by the Caesars. But this, which is a moral excellence, is a material disadvantage to the army. The notion of individuality, which the Germans have brought into modern history, is so deep-rooted that differences of race, of nationality, and of character continually show themselves in the ranks, and occasion innumerable conflicts. As the officers speak one language and the subordinates another, friendly relations scarcely exist among them, though these are even more necessary than discipline in times of danger. As the soldiers do not understand each other, there is no unity in their body ; and from this the greatest difficulties arise, and the chiefs are obliged to struggle through them in directing the manoeuvres. Catholic Rome chose Pagan Latin that all her children should have one spirit and one language. But the difference of pronunciation was so great that, though all spoke Latin, the monks of different nations did not understand each other, thus demonstrating the superiority of nature over law. Political Rome in our age has in her affliction selected the elegant and ductile language of Voltaire in addressing her soldiers — that language fatal to all idols and idolatries. The aristocracy of the Roman army understand it, but not the rank and file. And the troops are discontented, on account of the fatigue and difficulty of the manoeuvres and the continual mounting guard to which they are compelled by the growing anxieties of the Papal Court.

Those nations which from their past history should send most soldiers, send fewest in proportion to their population. Spain destroyed herself to save Catholicism. Since the fifteenth century the bones of her children have whitened every battle-field where she found it necessary to defend her religion. She gave for it all the blood in her veins, and all the vitality of her spirit. But there are only thirty-eight Spanish soldiers in the Pontifical army. On the other hand, Holland, which protected the Reformation by its Princes of Orange, and introduced liberty of religious opinion into the modern world, has sent a great number of volunteers. This proves that while the freedom of worship has kept alive the Catholic

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faith in Protestant countries, intolerance has extinguished it in those places where it was most sincere and most exalted.

But leaving these reflections and returning to political questions, I can not understand what the Pope proposes to do with this numerous army, so disproportioned to his means, to his resources, and to his State. The shadow of the French Empire protects him. The day in which that shadow is withdrawn, no matter how valiant the Papal army, it will not be able to resist a hundred thousand Italian soldiers. While the French protection endures, the Pontifical army is useless; and without French protection the Pontifical army would be insufficient. It serves only to consume the succor which is sent to the Pontiff with full and lavish hands from all Catholic nations. But all this comes now from an exaltation of sentiment that can not continue. When Italy shall be convinced of her inability to struggle with Napoleon, or to promote the Franco-Prussian war with regard to the Roman question, the zeal of the faithful will diminish, the resources will fall away, and the army be speedily reduced. Then an insurrection will be not only possible, but easy ; for the people still preserve the love of liberty.

It is wonderful what force and intelligence still remain in the physiognomy of these Romans, revealing all the indomitable pride of that ancient character which conquered the known world. The women are tall and majestic, with wellturned shoulders. Their complexion is pale brown, the lips full, the nose aquiline; black and brilliant eyes, made more beautiful by long lashes and artistic brows, a statuesque fore-

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head, and head like the Madonnas of the divine Raphael; dark and curling hair falls in large masses on sculptured necks — they have the manner of Roman matrons such as commanded Coriolanus to die for his country, or Caius Gracchus to sacrifice himself for the people. The Roman youths inherit the beauty of their mothers, combined with manly vigor. The silence imposed by the Inquisition and the obedience exacted by despotism have not extinguished the spirit of this great people. The formula of ancient liberty yet trembles on their lips — Civis Romanus sum /

Side by side we see the Oriental luxury of the cardinals and the rags of a starving populace ; here a gilded coach, and there a crowd of shoeless beggars ; close to magnificent palaces of marble there are heaps of refuse, emitting horrible effluvia. And yet this city is the capital of Italy. At the fall of evening, in the sacred hour of poetic silence, under the pure heavens, glorified by the last rays of the setting sun, which give an air of mysticism to all around ; from the height of the Pincio look on this city, with its eleven Egyptian obelisks, its three hundred cupolas, its groves of columns, its myriads of statues, and you see the seven hills from whence have sprung senators, consuls, and tribunes ; the political and civil rights of antiquity, now the bases of our rights ; contemplate the fagade of St. Peter's, the Great Basilica surmounted by the dome foretold by Bramante and executed by Michael Angelo; the Titanic mausoleum of Adrian, over which are extended the wings of the brazen seraphim ; there, to the left, the world of history, the walls on which are engraved a thousand victo-