XCV.
Rome, Italy, April 20, 1854.
Once again in this old city, the mistress of the arts, and at the close of Passion Week with its gorgeous functions and church ceremonies renowned throughout the world. On two former visits, one under Pope Gregory XVI., the other under the present Pope Pius IX., I attempted to describe the magnificence and splendor exhibited on these annual festivals. It would require volumes to speak of modern, aside from ancient Rome, with its one hundred and fifty thousand population, now largely augmented by foreigners from every clime; its three hundred churches, rich in sculpture, paintings, and frescoes; its three hundred and thirty-five palaces, and thirty villas; its five hundred streets and two hundred and seventy-three lanes; its one hundred and forty-eight public piazzas or squares; its aqueducts, bridges, and twelve Egyptian obelisks, aside from its fifty public fountains, more bountifully supplied with water than perhaps any city in the world.
As to antiquities—they abound on all sides, an evidence of what Rome was in her glory, an inheritance of which she cannot be deprived, and in which now consists her chief resource. Being destitute of commerce, without the annual concourse of strangers to the seat of the Catholic church, the modern city would dwindle down to a village. I find since my last visit that the hotels have increased in number and size, and that the shops for the manufacture and sale of mosaics, cameos, and other objects of art, have been enlarged and beautified. Gas has been recently introduced to a limited extent, and telegraph communication extended to Florence north, and Naples south; but here public or government enterprise ceases. The railroad system was vetoed, the Pope’s advisers deciding against it. Beggars are as abundant as ever, and in the country pauperism is fearful. The short crops of the past year, and the over taxation of the badly administered Italian governments, drive many to mendicity from necessity. One requires leather pockets to carry copper coin in to supply the tribe, for no sooner is one hungry swarm satisfied than another as hungry arrives. This is the most disagreeable feature of Italian travel.
I came down from Sienna by post, a distance of some one hundred and twenty miles. And here, to draw a comparison in favor of our own happy country, abounding with plenty for which we cannot be sufficiently thankful, I must cite the fact that in some of the mountain villages the number of beggars was so great that the conducteur, to my horror, provided himself with a dog-whip to resist their importunities. The paper currency of the country is at a discount of seven per cent. Since the Republic an issue of a million of dollars has been made in copper coin, like large medals, of five Baiocchi, equivalent to five cents each, which in the scarcity of gold and silver enters into general circulation. We required a large sack to pay postillions. Everything is quiet here under the protection of some seven thousand troops, who may be seen daily on parade, and standing guard throughout the city; they are very civil and under good discipline. The weather has been delightful during Holy Week; the city thronged with strangers, every means of conveyance in requisition, the almost daily visits to St. Peter’s and the Vatican, with the other sights of the city, gave much animation. The heavy carriages of the cardinals, with wheels and bodies of gold and silver gilt, the famous black horses with massive gold plated harness, with two coachmen and three footmen in richly embroidered livery, added greatly to the scene. On Palm Sunday took place the presentation to the Pope of the cardinals in full regalia, bishops, priests, the noble guard, princes and foreign ministers in full costume, and the kissing of his Holiness’s slipper; then came the blessing singly of palm leaves tastefully wreathed and braided, of which some three hundred were provided for the officers and soldiers of the army who had made special application for them. The rush of thousands to witness the ceremonies of washing the feet of twelve pilgrims by the Pope in person, in St. Peter’s; their banqueting at a well furnished table in commemoration of the Last Supper; the services in the Sistine Chapel, the beautiful music of the Miserere, and the Lamentations of Jeremiah; the exhibition of the Holy Relics; the nails which it is said fastened our Saviour to the cross, some of the wood of which is shown; the handkerchief, inclosed in crystal, with which Santa Veronica wiped the face of Christ; the baptism with oil and water of a converted Jew and a negro girl at the Baptistry of Constantine, and the ceremonies of confirmation at the Basilica of San Giovanni de Laterano; all were calculated to keep up the excitement of strangers, and employ them fully during the Holy Week.
Having witnessed these ceremonies for the third time here, as also on a similar occasion at Jerusalem, with all the rites of the Greek and Latin Catholics, Armenians, and Copts, not omitting the extravagant exercises of Spain, Peru, and the island of Cuba, the scenes have become so familiar that I cannot describe to you the gorgeous display under the same impressions as formerly. Still it must be admitted that high mass on Sunday, at the close of the week, the Pope officiating in person in the vast edifice of St. Peter’s, in full pontifical robes and jewelled mitre, surrounded by thirty or forty cardinals, with a host of bishops and other members of the clergy, in their rich attire; the temporary loges festooned with red damask drapery fringed with gold, and occupied by the Princes of Prussia, Saxony, and France, in uniform; the Swiss Guards, with helmets and coats of mail; hundreds of the fair sex in black church dresses; hundreds of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and again other thousands of the masculine race in dress coats and white kid gloves—the whole together presents perhaps the most dazzling group of court, religious, and the military display in the world. At the close of high mass the Pope, in his pontifical chair, supported upon the shoulders of twelve bearers in red silk costume, with a brilliant cortege, is carried to the balcony of St. Peter’s in the presence of the expectant multitude of some fifty thousand persons, composed in part of cavalry and infantry. The vast square as I saw it from the top of the colonnade was one dense mass of humanity; heads were uncovered during the brief service, then the whole multitude at a given signal fell upon their knees, and the benediction was pronounced. The bells of all Rome send forth their merry peals, the thundering cannon of St. Angelo roar along the Tiber, and the crowd disperse. The evening illumination of the cathedral St. Peter’s with its immense façade of colonnades, and three domes brilliantly lighted as if by magic, with eight thousand lamps, closed the ceremonies and sights of the week. The exhibition of fireworks took place the next evening, with fine effect, at the Porto del Popolo, one of the gates of the city. The former Girandolo from the Castle of San Angelo, representing the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, when the waters of the Tiber seemed in flames, was a magnificent spectacle.
I have never seen so many strangers in Rome as during the past Holy Week. My last visit was during the European revolution of 1848, which prevented general travel; we have visitors now, however, from all countries, though fewer Russians than usual. The Coliseum has become a great resort by moonlight; groups of ladies and gentlemen may be seen climbing its old and antiquated walls, or wending their way through its melancholy corridors by torchlight, which has a happy effect, bringing out their beauties more boldly, and hiding the deformities and decay visible by daylight. While standing upon the heights of this vast ruin, whose broken walls have contributed to the erection of many of the palaces of Rome, and reflecting that sufficient material remains for the construction of a small town, one cannot but be struck with the grandeur and power of the former in comparison with the present fallen race. While figuring to myself the grand and imposing spectacle of the mammoth amphitheatre, under the patronage of the Roman emperors, filled with the élite of the city, during the gladiatorial contests, and the combats of the wild beasts, rushing out from their dens in the vast arena, I could find no better comparison in miniature for the enthusiasm of the multitude in the well filled galleries, than that which is shown at the barbarous bull fights of Spain and Peru; the ancients, however, carried off the palm for brutality by throwing the innocent Christians among the wild beasts. The stranger in Rome, however fastidious, may have his taste gratified, and his time constantly occupied here, after repeated visits; his labors for the first trip may be pleasant to the mind and refreshing to the eye, but they are arduous.
The long picture galleries and avenues of statuary of the palaces, the suburban drives to the various villas, as well as the villages Frascati, Albano, and the falls of Tivoli, with the picturesque costume of the peasants, all afford variety.
The antiquarian strolls among the triumphal arches of the Roman emperors, the broken columns of the Forum, or wanders among the ruins of the palaces of Nero and Cæsar, and the baths of Caracalla. When the eye tires with the sight of marbles, bronzes, or the interior decorations of churches, which are perfect museums of fine arts, by the old masters, one can mount the dome of Peter’s, or the Campidolio tower, and grasp the seven hills of ancient and modern Rome, with all their beauties and all their deformities, not forgetting one pretty spot which it is profitable to visit, and where, under the shady willows and rosebuds of the Strangers’ Cemetery, he can read the epitaphs of his friends or countrymen whose career is ended.