Of all these various buildings nothing remains except the Pantheon, a single arch of the Baths of Agrippa, some disfigured fragments of the Mausoleum, a range of columns belonging to the temple of Neptune, and a portion of the Portico of Octavia. The interest of the Campus Martius is almost entirely mediæval or modern, and the objects worth visiting are scattered amid such a maze of dirty and intricate streets, that they are seldom sought out except by those who make a long stay in Rome, and care for everything connected with its history and architecture.
Following the line of streets which leads from the Piazza di Spagna to St. Peter's (Via Condotti, Via Fontanella Borghese), beyond the Borghese Palace, let us turn to the left by the Via della Scrofa,[300] at the entrance of which is the Palazzo Galitzin on the right, and the Palazzo Cardelli on the left.
Passing, on the right, St. Ivo of Brittany, the national church of the Bretons, the second turn on the right, Via S. Antonio dei Portoguesi, shows a church dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua, and the fine mediæval tower called Torre della Scimia.
In this tower once lived a man who had a favourite ape. One day this creature seized upon a baby, and rushing to the summit, was seen from below, by the agonized parents, perched upon the battlements, and balancing their child to and fro over the abyss. They made a vow in their terror that if the baby were restored in safety, they would make provision that a lamp should burn nightly for ever before an image of the Virgin on the summit. The monkey, without relaxing its hold of the infant, slid down the wall, and bounding and grimacing, laid the child at its mother's feet. Thus a lamp always burns upon the battlements before an image of the Madonna.
This building is better known, however, as "Hilda's Tower," a fictitious name which it has received from Hawthorne's mysterious novel.
"Taking her way through some of the intricacies of the city, Miriam entered what might be called either a widening of a street or a small piazza. The neighbourhood comprised a baker's oven, emitting the usual fragrance of sour bread; a shoe shop; a linendraper's shop; a pipe and cigar shop; a lottery office; a station for French soldiers, with a sentinel pacing in front; and a fruit stand, at which a Roman matron was selling the dried kernels of chesnuts, wretched little figs, and some bouquets of yesterday. A church, of course, was near at hand, the façade of which ascended into lofty pinnacles, whereon were perched two or three winged figures of stone, either angelic or allegorical, blowing stone trumpets in close vicinity to the upper windows of an old and shabby palace. This palace was distinguished by a feature not very common in the architecture of Roman edifices; that is to say, a mediæval tower, square, massive, lofty, and battlemented and machicolated at the summit.
"At one of the angles of the battlements stood a shrine of the Virgin, such as we see everywhere at the street-corners of Rome, but seldom or never, except in this solitary instance, at a height above the ordinary level of men's views and aspirations. Connected with this old tower and its lofty shrine, there is a legend; and for centuries a lamp has been burning before the Virgin's image at noon, at midnight, at all hours of the twenty-four, and must be kept burning for ever, as long as the tower shall stand; or else the tower itself, the palace, and whatever estate belongs to it, shall pass from its hereditary possessor, in accordance with an ancient vow, and become the property of the Church.
"As Miriam approached, she looked upward, and saw—not, indeed, the flame of the never-dying lamp, which was swallowed up in the broad sunlight that brightened the shrine—but a flock of white doves, shining, fluttering, and wheeling above the topmost height of the tower, their silver wings flashing in the pure transparency of the air. Several of them sat on the ledge of the upper window, pushing one another off by their eager struggle for this favourite station, and all tapping their beaks and flapping their wings tumultuously against the panes; some had alighted in the street, far below, but flew hastily upward, at the sound of the window being thrust ajar, and opening in the middle, on rusty hinges, as Roman windows do."—Transformation.
The next street, on the right, leads to the Church of S. Agostino, built originally by Bacio Pintelli, in 1483, for Cardinal d'Estouteville, archbishop of Rouen and Legate in France (the vindicator of Joan of Arc), but altered in 1740 by Vanvitelli. The delicate work of the front, built of travertine robbed from the Coliseum, is much admired by those who do not seek for strength of light and shadow. This church—dedicated to her son—contains the remains of Sta. Monica, brought hither from Ostia, where she died. The chapel of St. Augustin, in the right transept, contains a gloomy picture by Guercino of St. Augustin between St. John Baptist and St. Paul the Hermit. The high altar, by Bernini, has an image of the Madonna brought from Sta. Sophia at Constantinople, and attributed to St. Luke. The second chapel in the left aisle has a group of the Virgin and Child with St. Anna, by Andrea Sansovino, 1512.