"Ye too, marvellous Twain, that erect on the Monte Cavallo
Stand by your rearing steeds in the grace of your motionless movement,
Stand with your upstretched arms and tranquil regardant faces,
Stand as instinct with life in the might of immutable manhood,—
O ye mighty and strange, ye ancient divine ones of Hellas."
A. H. Clough.
"Before me were the two Monte Cavallo statues, towering gigantically above the pygmies of the present day, and looking like Titans in the act of threatening heaven. Over my head the stars were just beginning to look out, and might have been taken for guardian angels keeping watch over the temples below. Behind, and on my left, were palaces; on my right, gardens, and hills beyond, with the orange tints of sunset over them still glowing in the distance. Within a stone's throw of me, in the midst of objects thus glorious in themselves, and thus in harmony with each other, was stuck an unplaned post, on which glimmered a paper lantern. Such is Rome."—Guesses at Truth.
Close by is a fountain playing into a fine bason of Egyptian granite, brought hither by Pius VII. from the Forum, where it had long been used for watering cattle.
On the left, is the Palace of the Consulta, built in 1730 by Clement XII. (Corsini), from designs of Fuga. Before its gates, under the old regime, some of the Papal Guardia Nobile were always to be seen sunning themselves in a uniform so resplendent that it could scarcely be believed that the pay of this "noble guard" of the Pope amounted only to £5 6s. 3d. a month!
On the right, is the immense Palace of the Quirinal, which also extends along one whole side of the street we have been pursuing.
"That palace-building, ruin-destroying pope, Paul IV., began to erect the enormous palace on the Quirinal Hill; and the prolongation of his labours, by a long series of successive pontiffs, has made it one of the largest and ugliest buildings extant."—Eaton's Rome.
The chief, indeed almost the only, interest of this palace arises from its having been the favourite residence of Pius VII. (Chiaramonte). It was here that he was taken prisoner by the French. General Radet forced his way into the pope's room on the night of June 6, 1809, and, while excusing himself for being the messenger, hastily intimated to the pontiff, in the name of the emperor, that he must at once abdicate his temporal sovereignty. Pius absolutely refused, upon which he was forced to descend the staircase, and found a coach waiting at the entrance of the palace. Here the pope paused, his face streaming with tears, and, standing in the starlit piazza, solemnly extended his arms in benediction over his sleeping people. Then he entered the carriage, followed by Cardinal Pacca, and was hurried away to exile.... "Whirled away through the heat and dust of an Italian summer's day, without an attendant, without linen, without his spectacles—fevered and wearied, he never for a moment lost his serenity. Cardinal Pacca tells us, that when they had just started on this most dismal of journeys, the pope asked him if he had any money. The secretary of state replied that he had had no opportunity of providing himself. 'We then drew forth our purses,' continues the cardinal, 'and notwithstanding the state of affliction we were in at being thus torn away from Rome, and all that was dear to us, we could hardly compose our countenances, on finding the contents of each purse to consist—of the pope's, of a papetto (10d.), and of mine, of three grossi (7½d.). We had precisely thirty-five baiocchi between us. The pope, extending his hand, showed his papetto to General Radet, saying, at the same time, 'Look here—this is all I possess.'"[234].... Six years after, Napoleon was sent to St. Helena, and Pius VII. returned in triumph to Rome!
It was from this same palace that Pius IX.—who has never inhabited it since—made his escape to Gaeta during the revolution of 1848, when the siege of the Quirinal by the insurgents had succeeded in extorting the appointment of a democratic ministry.
"On the afternoon of the 24th of November, the Duc d'Harcourt had arrived at the Quirinal in his coach as ambassador of France, and craved an audience of the sovereign. The guards wondered that he stayed so long; but they knew not that he sat reading the newspapers in the papal study, while the pope had retired to his bed-room to change his dress. Here his major-domo, Filippani, had laid out the black cassock and dress of an ordinary priest. The pontiff took off his purple stole and white pontifical robe, and came forth in the simple garb he had worn in his quiet youth. The Duc d'Harcourt threw himself on his knees exclaiming, 'Go forth, holy Father; divine wisdom inspires this counsel, divine power will lead it to a happy end.' By secret passages and narrow staircases, Pius IX. and his trusty servant passed unseen to a little door, used only occasionally for the Swiss guards, and by which they were to leave the palace. They reached it, and bethought them that the key had been forgotten! Filippani hastened back to the papal apartment to fetch it; and returning unquestioned to the wicket, found the pontiff on his knees, and quite absorbed in prayer. The wards were rusty, and the key turned with difficulty; but the door was opened at last, and the holy fugitive and his servant quickly entered a poor hackney coach that was waiting for them outside. Here, again, they ran risk of being discovered through the thoughtless adherence to old etiquette of the other servant, who stood by the coach, and who, having let down the steps, knelt, as usual, before he shut the door.
"The pope wore a dark great coat over his priest's cassock, a low-crowned round hat, and a broad brown woollen neckcloth outside his straight Roman collar. Filippani had on his usual loose cloak; but under this he carried the three-cornered hat of the pope, a bundle of the most private and secret papers, the papal seals, the breviary, the cross-embroidered slippers, a small quantity of linen, and a little box full of gold medals stamped with the likeness of his Holiness. From the inside of the carriage, he directed the coachman to follow many winding and diverging streets, in the hope of misleading the spies, who were known to swarm at every corner. Beside the Church of SS. Pietro e Marcellino, in the deserted quarter beyond the Coliseum, they found the Bavarian minister, Count Spaur, waiting in his own private carriage, and imagining every danger which could have detained them so long. The sovereign pressed the hand of his faithful Filippani, and entered the Count's carriage. Silently they drove on through the old gate of Rome,—Count Spaur having there shown the passport of the Bavarian minister going to Naples on affairs of state.