In the most ancient representations of the martyrdom of St. Paul, the legend of Plautilla is seldom omitted. In the picture of Giotto preserved in the sacristy of St. Peter’s, Plautilla is seen on an eminence in the background, receiving the veil from the hand of Paul, who appears in the clouds above; the same representation, but little varied, is executed in bas-relief on the bronze doors of St. Peter’s. The three fountains gushing up beneath the severed head are also frequently represented as a literal fact, though a manifest and beautiful allegory, figurative of the fountains of Christian faith which should spring forth from his martyrdom.
In all the melancholy vicinity of Rome, there is not a more melancholy spot than the ‘Tre Fontane.’ A splendid monastery, rich with the offerings of all Christendom, once existed there: the ravages of that mysterious scourge of the Campagna, the malaria, have rendered it a desert; three ancient churches and some ruins still exist, and a few pale monks wander about the swampy dismal confines of the hollow in which they stand. In winter you approach them through a quagmire; in summer, you dare not breathe in their pestilential vicinity; and yet there is a sort of dead beauty about the place, something hallowed as well as sad, which seizes on the fancy. In the church properly called ‘San Paolo delle Tre Fontane,’ and which is so old that the date of the foundation is unknown, are three chapels with altars raised over as many wells or fountains; the altars are modern, and have each the head of St. Paul carved in relief. The water, which appeared to me exactly the same in all the three fountains, has a soft insipid taste, neither refreshing nor agreeable. The ancient frescoes have perished, and the modern ones are perishing. It is a melancholy spot.
To return, however, to that event which has rendered it for ages consecrated and memorable. Among the many representations of the decollation of St. Paul which exist in sculpture and in painting, I have not met with one which could take a high place as a work of art, or which has done justice to the tragic capabilities of the subject.
After his martyrdom the body of St. Paul was interred on a spot between the Ostian gate and the Aqua Salvias, and there arose the magnificent church known as San Paolo-fuori-le-mura. I saw this church a few months before it was consumed by fire in 1823; I saw it again in 1847, when the restoration was far advanced. Its cold magnificence, compared with the impressions left by the former structure, rich with inestimable remains of ancient art, and venerable from a thousand associations, saddened and chilled me.
The mosaics in the old church, which represented the life and actions of St. Paul, were executed by the Greek mosaic masters of the eleventh century. They appear to have comprised the same subjects which still exist as a series in the church of Monreale near Palermo, and which I shall now describe.
1. Saul is sent by the high-priest to Damascus. Two priests are seated on a raised throne in front of the Temple; Saul stands before them.
2. The Conversion of Saul, as already described (p. 214).
3. Saul, being blind, is led by his attendants to the gate of Damascus.
4. Saul seated. Ananias enters and addresses him.
5. Paul is baptized: he is standing, or rather sitting, in a font, which is a large vase, and not much larger in proportion than a punch-bowl.