IN the earliest times the name of this hill was Mons Querquetulanus, "The Hill of Oaks," and it was clothed with forest, part of which long remained as the sacred wood of the Camenæ. It first received its name of Cœlius from Cœlius Vibenna, an Etruscan Lucumo of Ardea, who is said to have come to the assistance of Romulus in his war against the Sabine king Tatius, and to have afterwards established himself here. In the reign of Tullus Hostilius the Cœlian assumed some importance, as that king fixed his residence here, and transported hither the Latin population of Alba.
As the Cœlian had a less prominent share in the history of Rome than any of the other hills, it preserves scarcely any historical monuments of pagan times. All those which existed under the republic were destroyed by a great fire which ravaged this hill in the reign of Tiberius,[155] except the Temple of the Nymphs, which once stood in the grove of the Camenæ, and which had been already burnt by Clodius, in order to destroy the records of his falsehoods and debts which it contained.[156] Some small remains in the garden of the Passionist convent are attributed to the temple which Agrippina raised to her husband the Emperor Claudius, and in S. Stefano Rotondo some antiquaries recognize the Macellum of Nero. There are no remains of the palace of the Emperor Tetricus, who lived here, "between the two sacred groves,"[157] in a magnificent captivity under Aurelian, whom he received here at a banquet, at which he exhibited an allegorical picture representing his reception of the empire of Gaul, and his subsequent resignation of it for the simple insignia of a Roman senator.[158]
To the Christian visitor, however, the Cœlian will always prove of the deepest interest—and the slight thread of connection which runs between all its principal objects, as well as their nearness to one another, brings them pleasantly within the limits of a single day's excursion. Many of those who are not mere passing visitors at Rome, will probably find that their chief pleasure lies not amid the well-known sights of the great basilicas and palaces, but in quiet walks through the silent lanes and amid the decaying buildings of these more distant hills.
"The recollection of Rome will come back, after many years, in images of long delicious strolls, in musing loneliness, through the deserted ways of the ancient city; of climbing among its hills, over ruins, to reach some vantage-ground for mapping out the subjacent territory, and looking beyond on the glorious chains of greater and lesser mountains, clad in their imperial hues of gold and purple; and then, perhaps, of solemn entrance into the cool solitude of an open basilica, where your thought now rests, as your body then did, after the silent evening prayer, and brings forward from many well-remembered nooks, every local inscription, every lovely monument of art, the characteristic feature of each, or the great names with which it is associated. The Liberian speaks to you of Bethlehem and its treasured mysteries; the Sessorian of Calvary and its touching relics. Baronius gives you his injunctions on Christian architecture inscribed, as a legacy, in his title of Fasciola; St. Dominic lives in the fresh paintings of a faithful disciple, on the walls of the opposite church of St. Xystus; there stands the chair and there hangs the hat of St. Charles, as if he had just left his own church, from which he calls himself in his signature to letters 'the Cardinal of St. Praxedes;' near it, in a sister church, is fresh the memory of St. Justin Martyr, addressing his apologies for Christianity to heathen emperor and senate, and of Pudens and his British spouse; and, far beyond the city gates, the cheerful Philip[159] is seen kneeling at S. Sebastiano, waiting for the door to the Platonia to be opened for him, that he may watch the night through in the martyr's dormitory."—Wiseman's Life of Leo XII.
"For myself, I must say that I know nothing to compare with a pilgrimage among the antique churches scattered over the Esquiline, the Cœlian, and the Aventine Hills. They stand apart, each in its solitude, amid gardens, and vineyards, and heaps of nameless ruins;—here a group of cypresses, there a lofty pine or solitary palm; the tutelary saint, perhaps some Sant' Achilleo, or Santa Bibiana, whom we never heard of before,—an altar rich in precious marbles,—columns of porphyry,—the old frescoes dropping from the walls,—the everlasting colossal mosaics looking down so solemn, so dim, so spectral;—these grow upon us, until at each succeeding visit they themselves, and the associations by which they are surrounded, become a part of our daily life, and may be said to hallow that daily life when considered in a right spirit. True, what is most sacred, what is most poetical, is often desecrated to the fancy by the intrusion of those prosaic realities which easily strike prosaic minds; by disgust at the foolish fabrications which those who recite them do not believe, by lying inscriptions, by tawdry pictures, by tasteless and even profane restorations;—by much that saddens, much that offends, much that disappoints;—but then so much remains! So much to awaken, to elevate, to touch the heart; so much that will not pass away from the memory, so much that makes a part of our after-life."—Mrs. Jameson.
We may pass under the Arch of Constantine, or through the pleasant sunny walks known as the Parco di San Gregorio,—planted by the French during their first occupation of Rome, but which may almost be regarded as a remnant of the sacred grove of the Camenæ which once occupied this site.
The further gate of the Parco opens on a small triangular piazza, whence a broad flight of steps lead up to the Church of S. Gregorio, to the English pilgrim one of the most interesting spots in Rome, for it was at the head of these steps that St. Augustine took his last farewell of Gregory the Great, and, kneeling on this green-sward below, the first missionaries of England received the parting blessing of the great pontiff, as he stood on the height in the gateway. As we enter the portico (built 1633, by Card. Scipio Borghese,) we see on either side two world-famous inscriptions.
On the right:
Adsta hospes
et lege.
Hic olim fuit M. Gregori domus
Ipse in monasterium convertit,
Ubi monasticen professus est
Et diu abbas præfuit.
Monachi primum Benedictini
Mox Græci tenuere
Dein Benedictini iterum
Post varios casos
Quum jamdiu
Esset commendatum
Et poene desertum.
Anno MDLXXIII
Camaldulenses inducti
Qui et industria sua
Et ope plurium
R. E. Cardinalium
Quorum hic monumenta exstant,
Favente etiam Clemente XI. P. M.
Templum et adjacentes ædes
In hanc quam cernis formam
Restituerunt.