Leaving the great St. Peter’s and the Vatican to return to our hotel for dinner, we noticed the mixed crowds jostling one another in the streets. The men seemed to be broad shouldered, and their rugged bronze faces and dark piercing eyes give you an idea that they look upon you with curiosity. Men dressed in home-spun blue cloth as a rule. The women dress in colours, no unusual thing to see them apparently enjoying a feed of raw onions and salad with a good square piece of black bread. Here we passed a professional letter writer, sitting in the open-air in the street with a table before him on which are pens, ink and paper. Here he is ready to read or write letters for the unlearned, and they are by no means few in the city of Rome. Many a declaration of passionate love must have been whispered into the ear of this old Italian, to be transmitted to some village maiden on the mountain heights, or in some sequestered village. A rustic approaches the old scribe as we watch him, he has received an epistle from some Italian beauty far away. As he waits his turn he looks over the precious documents with wandering eyes. Oh! if only he could himself spell out its sacred contents. His cheeks are flushed, his heart throbs as he hands the paper to the scribe; and, as the old man reads, the smile plays upon his face, his dark eyes brighten with delight. Yes! she is true to the boy who is far away, what a joy to know their hearts beat in unison and in passionate love. What a strange task! that of the Italian scribe. Sometimes his task is to read letters that tell of separations by death; the scalding tear, the heart throbs, tell of grief and anguish, a life’s hope crushed out. A dear mother, sister or lover passed away. All these experiences go through the old scribe’s hands daily. Young Italy, however, is awaking to her need as a nation, for education and for the training of the young.
Our hotel is our home of rest, and we certainly enjoyed it after hours of travel and inspection. Sights seen that we had never dreamed of. Pictures, sculpture, arch, column, colonnades, so profuse and so attractive that we forgot we were tired until we turned away for a break and a rest.
Again, we are on the tram, and down one of the principal boulevards, past shops, bazaars, cafes, hotels and churches, to the Pont du Angelo, over the Tiber. This is a lovely piece of workmanship, built of solid masonry, and on the pont, or bridge, there are six statues on each side on pedestals, representing the various architects, sculptors and painters of ancient Rome, and as we crossed the bridge, right in front of us we saw the castle of St. Angelo, erected by one of the Emperors for his own tomb, and for the tombs of his successors. As most of the important buildings in Rome, it is lavishly decorated with marble sculpture, more fitted for a palace than for a mausoleum.
“Valerius struck at Titus and lopped off half his crest,
But Titus stabbed Valerius, a span deep in his breast.
Like a mast snapped by the tempest, Valerius reeled and fell.
Ah! woe is me for the good house that loves the people well!
Then shouted loud the Latins, and with one rush they bore
The struggling Romans backward, three lances length or more:And up they took proud Tarquin, and laid him on the shield,
And four strong yeomen bore him, still senseless from the field.
But fiercer grew the fighting around Valerius dead,
For Titus dragged him by the foot, and Anlus by the head.
Twice tenfold round the body the roar of battle rose
Like the roar of a burning forest, when a strong north wind blows.Now backward and now forward, rocked furiously the fray,
Till none could see Valerius, and none knew where he lay.
For shivered arms and ensigns were heaped there in a mound,
And corpses stiff, and dying men, that writhed upon the ground,
And wounded horses kicking, and snorting purple foam,
Right well did such a couch befit a Consular of Rome.”
There are also, in this palace, the seven-branched candlesticks, and many other objects taken from the Temple of the Holy City.
Next we saw the triumphal arch of Constantine (the first Christian Emperor of Rome), this seems to be the best preserved of all the arches we saw, although now it has been standing since 311 A.D. We learned it was erected by the people of Rome in honour of the great victory achieved over Maxentius at Ponte Mollo. The central arcade is about thirty-feet high, the side ones are about twenty-feet. There are four beautiful columns of Corinthian marble which support the pillars upon which stand some fine statuary representing some of the “Dacian prisoners,” “Trajan’s entry into Rome after his victory in the east,” “The rest on the Appian Way,” “Trajan bringing help and succour to the poor children,” “Trajan speaking to his soldiers.” Under these are bas-reliefs which represent hunts and sacrifices. On the opposite side of the street we noticed a large pedestal which we were told held, in ancient times, a colossal statue of Nero, executed in bronze. After his death it was thrown down and replaced by another called “The god of the sun.” This, however, has been allowed to fall into decay; the iron tooth of time has done its work, and only the pedestal remains.
The Navona Square or Piazza calls for a remark or two, it is the next largest to St. Peter’s. There are three fine fountains in the square, These seem to be of a modern design and workmanship. One represents Neptune coping with a sea monster, surrounded by sea horses. In the basin rises a kind of rock; on the four sides of which are representations of “The Danube,” for Europe; “The Ganges,” for Asia; “The Nile,” for Africa; and the “Rio de la Plata,” for America. The rock is surmounted by a very neatly-cut obelisk. The first and largest fountain is about 100-feet high, and when in play has a very beautiful effect. The Church of St. Mary is but a plain looking building from the outside. We approached with little interest, but when we got inside we found it to be a perfect museum of painting and sculpture; also, there are many tombs of celebrated cardinals. The guide showed us a picture said to be the work of St. Luke, and in all seriousness, told us it was supposed to have the power to work miracles still. We did not stay to ask whether that power was ever evoked. There is a chapel inside, the architecture of which was planned by Raphael. The design of big mosaics on the vault of the dome is simply marvellous. There is a representation of the heavenly bodies in their fullest splendour; also a fine statue of Jonah by Raphael. There is attached to this church a monastery, in which reside the monks of the Order of St. Augustine. It is said to have been the residence of the famous Martin Luther, during his visit to Rome. He entered the city through the Porto del Popolo, and knelt down as soon as he had passed the gate, crying most sincerely, “I salute thee, Oh! holy Rome!—Rome, venerable through the blood and the tombs of the martyrs.” And then he went straightway to the convent, and there he celebrated mass. And after the experiences he went through during his stay in the city, what he had seen, and what he had heard—he said, on passing again through the same gate out, with bitterness and grief, “Adieu, Oh! City, where everything is permitted, but to be a good man.” Every place we visited brought some reminders of the sad fall of the papacy from real Christianity.
To the Berbine picture gallery, was a visit which gave us much pleasure, as we saw pictures from the ablest of artists. The paintings by Michael Angelo and Raphael, Francesco and Tiziano. “Adam and Eve driven from Paradise,” by Guido Reni; “Christ and the Doctors of the Church,” by Dürer; “The Holy Family,” by Andrea; “The Annunciation,” by Bronzine; and many others that we considered marvels of the artists’ brush. There is also within this gallery a very large room as a library in which, we learned, there are over 30,000 books in print, and over 8,000 in manuscript, by Dante, Galileo, Lasso and others. The wonders of these places filled us with such admiration, we could stay and look until quite weary, so we take tram to hotel again for rest.
