Walks in Rome

by Augustus J. C. Hare

The climate of Rome is very variable. If the sirocco blows, it is mild and very relaxing; but the winters are more apt to be subject to the severe cold of the tramontana, which requires even greater precaution and care than that of an English winter. Nothing can be more mistaken than the impression that those who go to Italy are sure to find there a mild and congenial temperature. The climate of Rome has been subject to severity, even from the earliest times of its history. Dionysius speaks of one year in the time of the republic when the snow at Rome lay seven feet deep, and many men and cattle died of the cold.[1] Another year, the snow lay for forty days, trees perished, and cattle died of hunger.[2] Present times are a great improvement on these: snow seldom lies upon the ground for many hours together, and the beautiful fountains of the city are only hung with icicles long enough to allow the photographers to represent them thus; but still the climate is not to be trifled with, and violent transitions from the hot sunshine to the cold shade of the streets often prove fatal. "No one but dogs and Englishmen," say the Romans, "ever walk in the sun."

The malaria, which is so much dreaded by the natives, lies dormant during the winter months, and seldom affects strangers, unless they are inordinately imprudent in sitting out in the sunset. With the heats of the late summer this insidious ague-fever is apt to follow on the slightest exertion, and particularly to overwhelm those who are employed in field labour. From June to November the Villa Borghese and the Villa Doria are uninhabitable, and the more deserted hills—the Cœlian, the Aventine, and the greater part of the Esquiline,—are a constant prey to fever. The malaria, however, flies before a crowd of human life, and the Ghetto, which teems with inhabitants, is perfectly free from it. In the Campagna,—with the exception of Porto d'Anzio, which has always been healthy,—no town or village is safe after the month of August, and to this cause the utter desolation of so many formerly populous sites (especially those of Veii and Galera) may be attributed:—

"Roma, vorax hominum, domat ardua colla virorum;
Roma, ferax febrium, necis est uberrima frugum:
Romanæ febres stabili sunt jure fideles."

Thus wrote Peter Damian in the 10th century, and those who refuse to be on their guard will find it so still.

The greatest risk at Rome is incurred by those who, coming out of the hot sunshine, spend long hours in the Vatican and the other galleries, which are filled with a deadly chill during the winter months. As March comes on this chill wears away, and in April and May the temperature of the galleries is delightful, and it is impossible to find a more agreeable retreat. It is in the hope of inducing strangers to spend more time in the study of these wonderful museums, and of giving additional interest to the hours which are passed there, that so much is said about their contents in these volumes. As far as possible it has been desired to evade any mere catalogue of their collections,—so that no mention has been made of objects which possess inferior artistic or historical interest; while by introducing anecdotes connected with those to which attention is drawn, or by quoting the opinion of some good authority concerning them, an endeavour has been made to fix them in the recollection.

So much has been written about Rome, that in quoting from the remarks of others the great difficulty has been selection,—and the rule has been followed that the most learned books are not always the most instructive or the most interesting. No endeavour has been made to enter into deep archæological questions,—to define the exact limits of the Walls of Servius Tullius,—or to hazard a fresh opinion as to how the earth accumulated in the Roman Forum, or whence the pottery came, out of which the Monte Testaccio has arisen; but it has rather been sought to gather up and present to the reader such a succession of word pictures from various authors, as may not only make the scenes of Rome more interesting at the time, but may deepen their impression afterwards. This was the work which the late illustrious M. Ampère intended to carry out, and which he would have done so much better and more fully.

From the experience of many years the writer can truly say that the more intimately these scenes become known, the more deeply they become engraven upon the inmost affections. Rome, as Goethe truly says, "is a world, and it takes years to find oneself at home in it." It is not a hurried visit to the Coliseum, with guide book and cicerone, which will enable one to drink in the fulness of its beauty; but a long and familiar friendship with its solemn walls, in the ever-varying grandeur of golden sunlight and grey shadow—till, after many days' companionship, its stones become dear as those of no other building ever can be;—and it is not a rapid inspection of the huge cheerless basilicas and churches, with their gaudy marbles and gilded ceilings and ill-suited monuments, which arouses your sympathy; but the long investigation of their precious fragments of ancient cloister, and sculptured fountain,—of mouldering fresco, and mediæval tomb,—of mosaic-crowned gateway, and palm-shadowed garden;—and the gradually-acquired knowledge of the wondrous story which clings around each of these ancient things, and which tells how each has a motive and meaning entirely unsuspected and unseen by the passing eye.

The immense extent of Rome, and the wide distances to be traversed between its different ruins and churches, is in itself a sufficient reason for devoting more time to it than to the other cities of Italy. Surprise will doubtless be felt that so few pagan ruins remain, considering the enormous number which are known to have existed even down to a comparatively late period. A monumental record of A.D. 540, published by Cardinal Mai, mentions 324 streets, 2 capitols—the Tarpeian and that on the Quirinal,—80 gilt statues of the gods (only the Hercules remains), 66 ivory statues of the gods, 46,608 houses, 17,097 palaces, 13,052 fountains, 3785 statues of emperors and generals in bronze, 22 great equestrian statues of bronze (only Marcus Aurelius remains), 2 colossi (Marcus Aurelius and Trajan), 9026 baths, 31 theatres, and 8 amphitheatres!

It is impossible to speak too highly of the facilities afforded to strangers for seeing and enjoying everything, especially by the Roman nobility. The beautiful grounds of the Villa Borghese and the Villa Doria appear to be kept up at an enormous expense, solely for the use and pleasure of the public, and almost all the palaces and collections are thrown open on fixed days with unequalled liberality. In almost all these galleries, museums, and gardens the stranger is permitted to wander about and linger as he pleases, entirely unmolested by officious servants and ignorant ciceroni.

Those will enjoy Rome most who have studied it thoroughly before leaving their own homes. In the multiplicity of engagements in which a foreigner is soon involved, there is little time for historical research, and few are able to do more than "read up their Murray," so that half the pleasure and all the advantage of a visit to Rome are thrown away: while those who arrive with the foundation already prepared, easily and naturally acquire, amid the scenes around which the history of the world revolved, an amount of information which will be astonishing even to themselves. "People out of Rome," says Goethe, "have no idea how one is schooled there;" but then, as the author of 'Vera' remarks, "that is true of Rome, which Madame Swetchine said of life, viz. that you find exactly what you put into it."