From the Oak to the Olive: A Plain record of a Pleasant Journey

by Julia Ward Howe

Mr. F. Hem—hem! Sir, I am old and infirm, and—

Father ——. O, sir, ask any questions you like. The more you ask, the better I can explain myself. (Repeated over some three times.)

Mr. F. But, sir, I do not wish to ask any questions. I only wish—

Father ——. Don't make any excuses, sir. I shall be very glad to have you ask any questions. I am very ready to answer and explain everything. (Several repetitions.)

After a number of efforts, the senior member of the party at length obtained the floor, and succeeded in expressing himself to the effect that he feared to take death of cold in the catacomb, and would gladly be piloted out by the commonplace youth who followed Father —— as attendant, without views of any kind, except as to a possible buona mano. This suggestion of the elder met with so hearty a response from the remainder of the party as to bring the present exploration to an end, and Father —— and his public simultaneously dispersed to carriages and horses. In view of the whole expedition, I would advise people in general to read up on the subject of the catacombs, but not to visit them in company with one intent on developing theories of any kind. The underground chill is unwholesome in warm weather, and a conversion made in these dark galleries and windings would be much akin to baptism at the sword's point. Meet, therefore, the theorist above ground, and on equal terms; and for the subterraneous proceeding, elect the society of swift and prosaic silence.

VIA APPIA AND THE COLUMBARIA.

Since my last visit to Rome, more progress has been made under ground than above it. Rome is the true antipodes of America. Our business is to build—her business is to excavate. The tombs on Via Appia are among the interesting objects which the spade and mattock, during the last seventeen years, have brought to view. I remember well the beginning of this work, and the marble tombs and sarcophagi which it brought to light. I also remember, in those unconscientious days, a marble head, in exceedingly flat relief, which was desired by me, and stolen for me by the faithful servant of a friend. At the commencement of the diggings, we descended from our carriage, and easily walked to the end of the way then opened. Via Appia now affords a long drive, set with tombs on either side. Many of these are in brick, and of large dimensions. Most of the marbles have, however, been removed to the Museum of the Vatican.

On this road, if I mistake not, are the two columbaria discovered and excavated some seven years ago. They stand in a vineyard, which I saw in its spring bloom. The proprietor, a civil man, answers the little bell at the gate, and taking down a bunch of keys, unlocks for you the door of the small building erected over the vault. The original roof has fallen. All else looks as if it might have been used the day before for burial. The descent is by a steep, narrow stairway, of at least thirty steps, each of which is paved with a single lamina of coarse brick. The walls are honeycombed with small parallelogrammatic niches, in each of which was set a funeral vase or box. Over some of these places are such inscriptions as, "Non tangite vestes mortales," "Vencrare deos manes." There are many names, of which I have preserved but one, "Castus Germanicus Cæsaris." This columbarium belonged to the Flavian family. It has about it an indescribable gloom, like that of a family vault in our own time, but, it must be confessed, more æsthetic. One felt the bitter partings that death had made here, the tears, the unavailing desire to heap all the remaining goods of life upon the altar of departed friendship. Time healed these wounds then, no doubt, as he does to-day. The tears were dried, the goods enjoyed again; but, while Christianity has certainly lightened the dead weight of such sorrows, the anguish of the first blow remains what it was all those dim centuries ago. A glance into the columbarium makes you feel this.

The second columbarium is much like the first, excepting that the stair is not so well preserved. On emerging, the proprietor invited us to visit an upper room in his own house, in which were a number of objects, taken, he averred, from the two columbaria. These were mostly vases, tear-bottles, and engraved gems. But I doubted their genuineness too much to make any purchases from among them. The trade in antiquities is too cheap and easy a thing in Italy to allow faith in unattested relics.

Not very far beyond the columbaria stand the catacombs of the ancient Hebrews, much resembling in general arrangement those of the Christians. We found in several places the image of the seven-branched candlestick impressed upon the tufa. In one of the rooms were some remains of fresco. At each of its corners was painted a date-palm with its fruit. In two other rooms the frescos were in good preservation. Some of the graves were sunk in the earth, the head and feet at right angles with the others. We were shown the graves of two masters of synagogues. The frescos are not unlike those in the Christian and pagan tombs, though as I remember them, the Christian paintings are the rudest of all, as respects artistic merit.