"Standing with half its battlements alone,
And with two thousand years of ivy grown,
The garland of eternity."
The "stern round tower" looks little like a woman's grave. Many other tombs, all possessing more or less interest, we passed, and I must not forget the English cemetery, where—
"Like an infant's smile, over the dead
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread."
Here lie the remains of our two young poets, taken from us in the flower of their manhood, ere genius had fairly ripened, and ere, alas! we had learned to appreciate them at their true value.
At length we arrived at the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, the most extensive in Rome. We first passed through the church of St. Sebastian, and then, following a monk with lighted tapers, were soon underground among dismal tunnels, with here and there an open tomb, or rather great shelves cut in the soft brownish rocks (tufa). In many places the sides of these tunnel passages were almost honeycombed with open graves. There were still in some of these little heaps of decaying bones: occasionally a name was roughly cut below, executed probably by one of the little flock of the faithful, and an inscription in Greek, for the early church was more Greek than Latin. These long corridors extend in every direction, and, in fact, surround the city on this side. It was a frequent custom amongst the Christians in Rome to pay visits on Sunday to the sepulchres of the martyrs, and especially to the Catacombs. When the sacred roll of martyrs had scarcely been closed, Jerome went the round with his schoolfellows, and speaks awesomely of the darkness and dread gloom of these crypts, deep in the earth, dimly lighted by broken gleams through shafts and holes. They were reached by a narrow entrance, down a long flight of steps, and through innumerable winding passages, all carefully concealed from the persecutors. How great a contrast to the glowing sunshine, and the light breezes, which whispered through the vine leaves on the hills outside! God's love and man's hatred! Our thoughts wandered away irresistibly to those times when the Christians lived here like moles underground, until they died, and were laid by the loving and devoted hands of their comrades in these dark shelves of the rock. It is said that there are some seven million bodies buried in these Catacombs. True enough that all around the Eternal City is one vast tomb, especially in the direction of the Via Appia, recalling the prophecy, "He shall fill the places with dead bodies."
I have sometimes thought it a pity that Rome rather than Milan was selected as the seat of the Italian Government. I say Milan, because I think neither Florence nor Turin are suitable from a military point of view, as, if once the heights around were seized by a hostile army, the city would be lost. Now, Milan, as far as the eye can reach, stands in the midst of fine open plains, and an enemy could find but little shelter or commanding position. Rome seems almost polluted by these vast tombs surrounding her, and will require an immense amount of labour to render it healthy as a continual residence. Yet no doubt Nature, the never-resting, ever-working, irresistible evolutionary power, will assist in the coming changes. For "Nature," says Emerson, "is nascent, infant. When we are dizzied with the arithmetic of the savant toiling to compute the length of her line, the return of her curve, we are steadied by the perception that a great deal is doing; that all seems just begun: remote aims are in active accomplishment. We can point nowhere to anything final; but tendency appears on all hands: planet, system, constellation, total Nature, is growing like a field of maize in July; is becoming somewhat else; is in rapid metamorphosis.... Says Nature 'I have not arrived at any end; I grow, I grow.'"
It was a great relief to gain the open air after the long and saddening exploration of the Catacombs. Some three or four miles on the road towards Ostia we passed some very old monuments and tombs, and also the ruins of ancient residences. All around is an uncultivated wilderness, a few fine but rusty iron gates alone remaining to show their past pomp and grandeur as suburban residences.
After passing these, we came suddenly on a splendid, newly built Cathedral. It was indeed surprising to find so large and handsome a structure far away from any town or village—completely isolated among the dead! It was the Basilica S. Paolo Fuori le Mura, which was built in 1847 in this uninhabited spot, on the site of a venerable and interesting church burnt in 1823, which had been founded by Constantine to mark the grave of St. Paul. The present edifice was rebuilt under the eye of Pius IX., who was to have been buried here. It is some four hundred feet long, and is divided into fine aisles and noble pillars of Baveno marble and granite in single blocks, two of which support an arch over the altar, dedicated to the sister of Honorius, who completed the former church, and whose design has been copied in the present one, which also contains copies of the old mosaics by Giotto's pupils. The front is likewise a copy, and when completed is to be adorned by a great mosaic costing 30,000 scudi. The timber roof is richly carved and gilt; and the frescoes in the nave are ornamented with mosaic heads of all the popes, chiefly modern, from the government studios, but there are a few ancient ones among them. It seems as though the whole civilized world had united to do honour to this noble edifice and the great Apostle in memory of whom it was erected. The alabaster pillars of the high altar were presented by the infidel Pacha of Egypt; a detached altar in the transept was a gift from the heretic Emperor of Russia; the granite pillars in the nave came from the Emperor of Austria. Among them is the one celebrated by Wordsworth when it stood on the Simplon, and which Napoleon intended for the triumphal arch of Milan. Some noble-minded and generous Jew has bequeathed a large sum for the support of the church; and the King of Holland gave 50,000 francs for the same purpose—truly a world's acknowledgment of St. Paul's large-hearted, self-sacrificing, and noble life. Among other treasures it possesses a painting of the Conversion of St. Paul by Camuccini, the choir by Carlo Maderno, and a fine St. Benedict by Ramaldi.
An adjoining cloister, belonging to the Benedictine Convent, dates from the thirteenth century. It rests on fluted and twisted columns, and contains in its library a small collection of Christian gravestones from A.D. 355. One bears the figure of an organ, with the words, "Rustreus te vit, and Feci." The atrium of the old church, which is the distinguishing mark of a Basilica, existed down to the seventeenth century, and is now replaced by a modern court. The plan of the former church was a duplicate of that of old St. Peter's. About twenty-four of its columns were taken from the tomb of Hadrian; and yet one other remarkable feature consists in its having been under the patronage of the English kings till the time of Henry VIII., when that fickle monarch broke allegiance with Rome altogether, for reasons of his own. Though this church always seems to have struck travellers with admiration, as combining in itself the last reminiscence of pagan Rome, and the earliest mementoes of the Christian world, it had nevertheless been so far altered by the processes of decay and whitewash, that many of its most striking peculiarities and beauties had been effaced, even before its total destruction by fire.