"Over the altar is St. Matthew writing his Gospel; he looks up at the attendant angel, who is behind with outspread wings, and in the act of dictating. On the left is the Calling of St. Matthew: the saint, who has been counting money, rises with one hand on his breast, and turns to follow the Saviour: an old man, with spectacles on his nose, examines with curiosity the personage whose summons has had such a miraculous effect: a boy is slyly appropriating the money which the apostle has thrown down. The third picture is the martyrdom of the saint, who, in the sacerdotal habit, lies extended on a block; while a half-naked executioner raises the sword, and several spectators shrink back with horror. There is nothing dignified or poetical in these representations; and though painted with all that power of effect which characterized Caravaggio, then at the height of his reputation, they have also his coarseness of feeling and execution: the priests were (not without reason) dissatisfied; and it required all the influence of his patron, Cardinal Giustiniani, to induce them to retain the pictures in the church where we now see them."—Jameson's Sacred Art, p. 146.
Amongst the monuments scattered over this church are those of Cardinal d'Ossat, ambassador of Henry IV.; Cardinal de la Grange d'Arquien, father-in-law of Sobieski, who died at the age of 105; Cardinal de la Trémouille, ambassador of Louis XIV.; Madame de Montmorin, with an epitaph by Chateaubriand; and Claude Lorraine, who is buried at the Trinità di Monti.
The pillars which separate the nave and aisles are of splendid Sicilian jasper. They were intended for S. Ignazio, but when the Order of the Jesuits was dissolved by Clement XIV., he presented them to S. Luigi.
The site of this church, the Palazzo Madama, and their adjoining buildings, was once occupied by the baths of Nero. They are commemorated by the name of the small church "S. Salvatore in Thermis."
In front of S. Luigi are the Palaces Patrizi and Giustiniani, and, following—to the right—the Via della Sediola, on the left is the entrance to the University of the Sapienza, founded by Innocent IV. in 1244 as a law school. Its buildings were begun by Pius III. and Julius II., and extended by Leo X. on plans of Michael Angelo. The portico was built under Gregory XIII. by Giacomo della Porta. The northern façade was erected by Borromini, with the ridiculous church (S. Ivo), built in the form of a bee to flatter Urban VIII., that insect being his device. The building is called the Sapienza, from the motto, "Initium Sapientiæ timor Domini," engraved over the window above the principal entrance. Forty professors teach here all the different branches of law, medicine, theology, philosophy, and philology.
Behind the Sapienza is the small Piazza di S. Eustachio, containing on three sides the Giustiniani, Lante, and Maccarini palaces, and celebrated for the festival of the Befana,[309] which takes place here.
"The Piazza and all the adjacent streets are lined with booths covered with every kind of plaything for children. These booths are gaily illuminated with rows of candles and the three-wick'd brass lucerne of Rome; and at intervals, painted posts are set into the pavement, crowned with pans of grease, with a wisp of tow for wick, from which flames blaze and flare about. Besides these, numbers of torches carried about by hand lend a wavering and picturesque light to the scene. By eight o'clock in the evening crowds begin to fill the piazza and the adjacent streets. Long before one arrives the squeak of penny-trumpets is heard at intervals; but in the piazza itself the mirth is wild and furious, and the din that salutes one's ears on entering is almost deafening. The object of every one is to make as much noise as possible, and every kind of instrument for this purpose is sold at the booths. There are drums beating, tamburelli thumping and jingling, pipes squeaking, watchman's rattles clacking, penny-trumpets and tin-horns shrilling, the sharpest whistles shrieking,—and mingling with these is heard the din of voices, screams of laughter, and the confused burr and buzz of a great crowd. On all sides you are saluted by the strangest noises. Instead of being spoken to, you are whistled at. Companies of people are marching together in platoons, or piercing through the crowd in long files, and dancing and blowing like mad on their instruments. It is a perfect witches' Sabbath. Here, huge dolls dressed as Polichinello or Pantaloon are borne about for sale,—or over the heads of the crowd great black-faced jumping-jacks, lifted on a stick, twitch themselves in fantastic fits,—or, what is more Roman than all, long poles are carried about strung with rings of hundreds of Giambelli (a light cake, called jumble in English), which are screamed for sale at a mezzo baiocco each. There is no alternative but to get a drum, whistle, or trumpet, and join in the racket,—and to fill one's pocket with toys for the children, and absurd presents for one's older friends. The moment you are once in for it, and making as much noise as you can, you begin to relish the jest. The toys are very odd, particularly the Roman whistles; some of these are made of pewter, with a little wheel that whirls as you blow; others are of terra-cotta, very rudely modelled into every shape of bird, beast, or human deformity, each with a whistle in its head, breast, or tail, which it is no joke to hear, when blown close to your ears by a stout pair of lungs. The scene is extremely picturesque. Above, the dark vault of night, with its far stars, the blazing and flaring of lights below, and the great, dark walls of the Sapienza and church looking down grimly upon the mirth."—Story's Roba di Roma.
The Church of S. Eustachio commemorates one, who, first a brave soldier of the army of Titus in Palestine, became master of the horse under Trajan, and general under Hadrian, and who suffered martyrdom for refusing to sacrifice to idols, by being roasted alive in a brazen bull before the Coliseum, with his wife Theophista, and his sons, Agapetus and Theophistus. The relics of these saints repose in a porphyry sarcophagus under the high altar. The stags' heads on the portico and on the apex of the gable refer to the legend of the conversion of St. Eustace.
"One day, while hunting in the forest, he saw before him a white stag, of marvellous beauty, and he pursued it eagerly, and the stag fled before him, and ascended a high rock. Then Placidus (Eustace was called Placidus before his conversion), looking up, beheld, between the horns of the stag, a cross of radiant light, and on it the image of the crucified Redeemer; and being astonished and dazzled by this vision, he fell on his knees, and a voice which seemed to come from the crucifix cried to him, and said, 'Placidus! why dost thou pursue me? I am Christ, whom thou hast hitherto served without knowing me. Dost thou now believe?' And Placidus fell with his face to the earth, and said, 'Lord, I believe!' And the voice answered, saying, 'Thou shall suffer many tribulations for my sake, and shalt be tried by many temptations; but be strong and of good courage, and I will not forsake thee.' To which Placidus replied, 'Lord, I am content. Do thou give me patience to suffer!' And when he looked up again the glorious vision had departed."—Jameson's Sacred Art, p. 792.
A similar story is told of St. Hubert, St. Julian, and St. Felix.