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THE story of Rome is a mighty chronicle of such deep importance towards an understanding of the growth of Europe, that a feeling almost of helplessness assails me as I essay to set down in this limited space an account of the city’s ancient grandeur and of its monuments. It is with a sense of awe that one enters Rome. The scene gives birth to so much reflection, the pulse quickens, the imagination is stirred by the annals of Pompey and Cæsar, and the mighty names that resound in the history of the wonderful capital; while the ruins of the days of power and pomp are as solemn tokens of the fate of all great civilisations.

The surroundings of Rome, the vast silent Campagna, that rolling tract of wild country, may be likened to an upland district of Wales. Here are scattered relics of the resplendent days, in a desert where the sirocco breathes hotly; where flocks of sheep and goats wander, and foxes prowl close to the ancient gates. Eastward stand the great natural ramparts of purple mountains, whence the Tiber rolls swiftly, and washing Rome, winds on through lonely valleys.

Dim are the early records of the city. Myth and legend long passed as history in the chronicles of the founding of Rome. We learn now from the etymologists and modern historians that the name of Rome was not derived from Roma, the mother of Romulus, nor from ruma, but, according to Niebuhr, from the Greek rhoma, signifying strength; while Michelet tells us that city was called after the River Rumo, the ancient name of the Tiber.

ROME, 1831. THE BRIDGE AND CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO.

Romulus, the legendary founder, was supposed to have lived B.C. 752. The growth of the community on the Seven Hills began, according to the old annalists, with a settlement of shepherds. We are told that after the death of Romulus, the first king, the city was ruled by Numa Pompilius. This sovereign instituted nine guilds of industry, and united the mixed population. Tarquinius Superbus, the despotic king, reigned with fanatical religious austerity, and after his banishment Rome became a republic.

The first system of rule was sacerdotal, the second aristocratic, and the third a state of liberty for the plebeians. Then came the Gauls who burned the city to the ground and harried the whole country. Hannibal and Scipio arose, and we enter upon the period of the great Punic Wars, followed by the stirring epoch of Cæsar and Pompey.

How shall we separate myth and simple tradition from the veracious chronicles of the Roman people? What were the causes of the downfall of their proud city, and the decadence of the great race that invaded all quarters of Europe? These are the questions which fill the mind as we wander to-day in Rome. We are reminded of the menace of wealth, the insecurity of prosperity, and the devastating influence of militarism and the lust of conquest. We meditate, too, on the spirit of persecution that flourished here, the love of ferocity, and the cruelty that characterised the recreations of the city under the emperors.

With all its eminence in art and industry, in spite of its high distinction in the science of warfare, and its elaborate jurisprudence and codes, Rome, at one time terrorised by Nero, at another humanely governed by Aurelius, was in its last state a melancholy symbol of decrepitude and failure. The final stage of degradation was worse than the primitive period of barbarism and superstition.

In the Middle Ages, at the time when most of the wealth went to the Popes of Avignon, the city had fallen into pitiful decay. The majestic St. Peter’s was threatened by destruction through lack of repair; the Capitol was described as on a level with “a town of cowherds.”

The monarchy of Rome is said to have endured for about two hundred and forty years. The city extended then over a wide area, and was protected by walls and towers. The Coliseum, the Pantheon, and the Forum were built as Rome grew in might and magnificence, and the Roman style of architecture became a model for the world. Happily these structures have survived. The Rome of pagan days and the Rome of the Renaissance are mingled here strangely, and the pomp and affluence of former times contrasts with the poverty of to-day that meets us in the streets.

Note the faces of the people; here are features stern and regular, recalling often old prints of the Romans of history. The dress of the poorer women is ancient, while that of the upper classes is as modern as the costumes of Paris, Berlin, or London. On days of fête it is interesting to watch these people at play, all animated with a southern gaiety which the northerner may envy. The life of Rome is outdoor; folk loiter and congregate in the streets; there is much traffic of vehicles used for pleasure. Over the city stretches “the Italian sky,” ardently blue—the sky that we know from paintings before we have visited Rome—and upon the white buildings shines a hot sun from which we shrink in midsummer noons.

It is hard to decide which appeals to us the more strongly in Rome—the relics of Cæsar’s empire or the art of the Middle Ages. The Coliseum brings to mind “the grandeur that was Rome,” in the days of the pagan majesty, while St. Peter’s, with its wealth of gorgeous decoration and great paintings, reminds us of the supreme power of the city under the popes.

In the Coliseum there is social history written in stone. We look upon the tiers rising one above the other, and picture them in all the splendour of a day of cruel carnival. We may see traces of the lifts that brought the beasts to the arena from the dens below.

Ad leones! The trumpet blares, and a victim of the heretical creed is led into the amphitheatre to encounter the lions. How often has this soil been drenched in blood. How often have the walls echoed with the plaudits of the Roman populace, gloating upon a spectacle of torture, or aroused to ecstasy by the combats of gladiators.

Silence broods in the arena, and in every interstice the maidenhair fern grows rife among the decaying stones. The glory has departed, but the shell of the Flavian amphitheatre remains as a monument of Rome’s imperial days. Here were held the chariot races, the competitions of athletes, the tournaments on horseback, the baiting of savage brutes, the wrestling bouts, throwing the spear, and the fights of martyrs with animals. Luxury and cruelty rioted here on Roman holidays.

For a comprehensive view of the Coliseum, you should climb the Palatine Hill. The hundreds of arches and windows admit the sunlight, and the building glows, “a monstrous mountain of stone,” as Michelet describes it. Tons of the masonry have been removed by vandals. The fountain in which the combatants washed their wounds remains, and the walls of the circus rise to a height of a hundred-and-fifty-seven feet. In yonder “monument of murder” there died ten thousand victims in a hundred days during the reign of Trajan.

The triumph of Christianity is symbolised in St. Peter’s. An impartial chronicler cannot close his eyes to the truth written in the great cathedral. Both pagans and Christians persecuted in turn to the glory of their deities. Force was worshipped alike by emperor and pope. Pagans tortured martyrs in the arena; the Christians burned them in the square. In 1600 Giordano Bruno was tied to the stake, and consumed in the flames, by decree of the Church, after two years of imprisonment. His offence was the writing of treatises attempting to prove that the earth is not flat, and that God is “the All in All.” He also dared to opine that there may be other inhabited worlds besides our own. Bruno’s last words have echoed through the ages: “Perhaps it is with greater fear that you pass the sentence upon me than I receive it.”

Under Innocent IV. the Inquisition was established as a special tribunal against heretics. Men of science soon came under its penalties. Copernicus was a teacher of mathematics in Rome, when he conceived his theory, “The Revolutions of the Heavenly Bodies,” which he dedicated to Pope Paul. Fearing the awful penalties of the Holy Office, he withheld publication of the work for many years, only seeing a copy of the printed volume in his last hours. The book was condemned by the Inquisition and placed on the index.

About a century later, Galileo wrote his “System of the World,” an exposition and defence of the theories of Copernicus. The Inquisition dragged him before its tribunal at Rome, where he was charged with heresy and compelled to recant or die. We know that he chose recantation, or the fate of Bruno would have been his. For ten years Galileo pined in the dungeon, and his body was flung into a dishonoured grave.

Not a man in Rome was safe from the Inquisition. Its courts travestied justice; its terrified witnesses lied, and the accusers were intimidated. Suspicion alone was sufficient to compel arrest and trial, and there was no possible appeal, and no hope of pity or leniency. The Church urged that while unbelief existed, the Inquisition was a necessity, and the chief means of stamping out heretical doctrine. And yet, a few years ago, an International Free-thought Congress was held under the shadow of St. Peter’s. How truly, “it moves!”

The Renaissance, with its mighty intellectual impetus, its reverence for the arts and culture, and its resistance against the absolutism of the Papacy came as the salvation of Rome from the terrors and the stagnation of the dark days.

The birth of Michael Angelo, in 1474, came with a new era of enlightenment. Angelo, painter, sculptor, poet, and philosopher, was commissioned by Pope Julius II. to carve a great work in Rome, and to adorn the Sistine Chapel with frescoes. Three years were spent on these superb paintings. This is the most wonderful ceiling painting in the world. In the centre are pictures of scenes of the Creation and Fall; in compartments are the prophets, and other portions represent the ancestors of the Virgin Mary and historical characters.

The figures are colossal, and wonderful in their anatomy, revealing the artist’s richness of imagination, as well as his unsurpassed technical skill. To see to advantage the frescoes of the roof, it is necessary to lie flat on the back, and gaze upwards. The human figure is superbly imaged in “The Temptation, Fall and Expulsion.” The largest figures in the whole composition are among the prophets and sibyls.

“Here, at last, here indeed for the first time,” writes Mr. Arthur Symons, in his “Cities,” “is all that can be meant by sublimity; a sublimity which attains its pre-eminence through no sacrifice of other qualities; a sublimity which (let us say it frankly) is amusing. I find the magnificent and extreme life of these figures as touching, intimate, and direct in its appeal, as the most vivid and gracious realism of any easel picture.”

The vast picture of “The Last Judgment,” on the wall of the Sistine Chapel, was painted by Michael Angelo when he was growing old. The work occupied about seven years. It is full of figures in every kind of action, and most of them are nude. Their nakedness affronted Paul IV., who commanded Da Volterra, a pupil of Angelo, to paint clothing on some of the forms, thus marring the beauty of the work.

In the Pauline Chapel of the Vatican are two mural paintings by Michael Angelo, “The Crucifixion of St. Peter,” and “The Conversion of St. Paul.”

“I could only see and wonder,” writes Goethe, referring to the works of Angelo in a letter from Rome. The mental confidence and boldness of the master, and his grandeur of conception, are beyond all expression.

Sir Joshua Reynolds spent some time in Rome, in 1750, and recorded the result of his study of the work of Raphael and Michael Angelo. It was in the cold chambers of the Vatican that Reynolds caught the chill which brought about his deafness. He made many copies of parts of the paintings of Angelo. “The Adonis” of Titian in the Colonna Palace, the “Leda,” by Coreggio, and the works of Raphael, were closely studied by the English painter. Before he left Rome he declared that the art of Angelo represented the highest perfection.

Many critics affirm that St. Peter’s is somewhat disappointing, architecturally considered, while some critics maintain that it is one of the finest churches in the world. The colonnades, with their gallery of sculptured images, are stately and impressive. It is the huge façade that disappoints. Nevertheless, St. Peter’s is a stupendous temple, with a dignity and majesty of its own. The interior is garish; we miss the dim religious light and the atmosphere of sober piety so manifest in the cathedrals of Spain. As a repository of masterpieces St. Peter’s is world-famous. Here is “The Virgin and Dead Christ,” the finest of Michael Angelo’s early statues.

Angelo spent various periods in Rome, after his first stay of five years. He was in the city at the age of sixty, and much of his work was executed when he was growing old. It was in the evening of his days that he became the close friend of Vittoria Colonna, the inspirer of his poetry, and after her death, in 1547, he entered upon a spell of ill-health and sadness. But his activities were marvellous, even in old age. In 1564 he planned the Farnese Palace for Paul III., and directed the building of the Church of Santa Maria.

Immensity is the chief impression of the interior of St. Peter’s. Even the figures of cherubs are gigantic. The great nave with its marble pavement and huge pillars, is long-drawn from the portal to the altar, and the space within the great dome is bewildering in its vastness.

The bronze statue of St. Peter, whose foot is kissed yearly by thousands of devotees, is noted here among the numerous images. At the altar we shall see Canova’s statue of Pius VI., the chair of St. Peter, and tombs of the Popes Urban and Paul.

Michael Angelo designed the beautiful Capello Gregoriana. His lovely “Pieta” is the Cappella della Pieta, and this is the most splendid work within the building. Tombs of popes are seen in the various chapels. In the resplendent choir chapel is Thorvaldsen’s statue of Pius VII.

The Vatican is a great museum of statuary, the finest collection in existence to-day. On the site of the building once stood a Roman emperor’s palace, which was reconstructed as a residence for Pope Innocent III. Besides the statues in the Vatican and the cathedral, there are many remarkable works of sculpture in the Villa Albani and the Capitoline. In the Capitoline Museum are, the “Dying Gladiator,” the “Resting Faun,” and the “Venus.”

Days may be spent in inspecting the minor churches of Rome. Perhaps the most interesting is San Giovanni Laterano, built on the site of a Roman imperial palace, and dating from the fourteenth century. The front is by Galileo, very highly decorated. Within, the chapels of the double aisles are especially interesting for their lavish embellishment. The apse is a very old part of the structure, and the Gothic cloister has grace and dignity, with most admirable carved columns. It is a debated question whether the ceiling of this church was painted by Michael Angelo or Della Porta.

The Lateran Palace, close to San Giovanni, has a small decorated chapel at the head of a sacred staircase, said to have been trodden by Christ when he appeared before Pilate, and brought here from Jerusalem.

The Churches of San Clemente, Santi Giovanni Paolo, Santa Maria in Ara Coeli are among the other churches of note.

The memorials of pagan and Christian times stand side by side in Rome, and in roaming the city it is difficult to direct one’s steps on a formal plan. Turning away from an arch or a temple of Roman origin, you note a Renaissance church, and are tempted to enter it. If I fail to point out here many buildings which the visitor should see, it is because the number is so great.

The part of the city between the Regia and the Palatine Hill is very rich in antiquities. It is said that Michael Angelo carried away a great mass of stone from the Temple of Vesta to build a part of St. Peter’s; but I do not know upon what authority this is stated. A few blocks of stone are, however, all that remain of the buildings sacred to the vestals.

The tall columns seen as we walk to the Palatine Hill, are relics of the temple of Castor and Pollux. Behind the Regia is the temple of Julius Cæsar, built by Augustus; and here Mark Antony delivered his splendid oration. Near to this temple is the Forum, with traces of basilicas, and a few standing columns. The whole way to the Capitoline abounds in ancient stones of rich historical interest. Here are the walls of the Plutei, with reliefs representing the life of Trajan, the grand arch of Septimus Severus, the columns of the Temple of Saturn.

The Palatine Hill is crowned with the ruins of the Palace of the Cæsars. Mural decorations still remain on the walls of an apartment. Here will be seen relics of a school, a temple dedicated to Jupiter, and portions of the famous wall of the mythical Romulus. These are but a few of the antiquities of the Palatine, whence the eye surveys Rome and the rolling Campagna.

In the quarter of the Coliseum are ancient baths, once sumptuously fitted and adorned with images, now removed to the museum of the city. Trajan’s Column towers here to about one hundred-and-fifty feet. Then there is the Pantheon, a classic building wonderfully preserved. All these are but a few of the ancient edifices of Rome.

Among the more important museums and picture galleries are the splendid Vatican, at which we have glanced, the Capitol Museum, the Palazzo del Senatore, with works by Velazquez, Van Dyck, Titian, and other masters, the National Museum, the Villa Borghese, the Dorian Palace, and the Kircheriano.

The art annals of the Rome of Christian times are of supreme interest. The greatest of the painters who came to study in Rome was Velazquez, who was offered the hospitality of Cardinal Barberini in the Vatican. He stayed, however, in a quieter lodging, at the Villa Medici, and afterwards in the house of the Spanish ambassador. Velazquez paid a second visit to Rome in 1649, where he met Poussin, and Salvator Rosa. To Rosa he remarked, “It is Titian that bears the palm.”

The Spanish painter was made a member of the Roman Academy; and at this time he painted the portrait of Innocent X., which occupies a position of honour in the Dorian Palace. Reynolds described this as “the finest piece of portrait-painting in Rome.” Velazquez’ portrait of himself is in the Capitoline Museum in the city.

The art records of Rome are so many that I cannot attempt to refer to more than a small number of them. Literary associations, too, crowd into the mind as we walk the lava-paved streets of the glowing capital.

Goethe sojourned long in Rome, and wrote many pages of his impressions. In 1787 he writes of the amazing loveliness of a walk through the historic streets by moonlight, of the solemnity of the Coliseum by night, and the grandeur of the portico of St. Peter’s. He praises the climate in spring, the delight of long sunny days, with noons “almost too warm”; and the sky “like a bright blue taffeta in the sunshine.” In the Capitoline Museum he admired the nude “Venus” as one of the finest statues in Rome. “My imagination, my memory,” he writes, “is storing itself full with endlessly beautiful subjects. … I am in the land of the arts.”

Full of rapture are the letters of Shelley from Rome: “Since I last wrote to you,” he says to Peacock, “I have seen the ruins of Rome, the Vatican, St. Peter’s, and all the miracles of ancient and modern art contained in that majestic city. The impression of it exceeds anything I have ever experienced in my travels. … We visited the Forum, and the ruins of the Coliseum every day. The Coliseum is unlike any work of human hands I ever saw before. It is of enormous height and circuit, and the arches, built of massy stones, are piled on one another, and jut into the blue air, shattered into the forms of overhanging rocks.”

Shelley was entranced by the arch of Constantine. “It is exquisitely beautiful and perfect.” In March 1819, he writes: “Come to Rome. It is a scene by which expression is overpowered, which words cannot convey.” The Cathedral scarcely appealed to Shelley; he thought it inferior externally to St. Paul’s, though he admired the façade and colonnade. More satisfying to the poet’s æsthetic taste was the Pantheon, with its handsome fluted columns of yellow marble, and the beauty of the proportions in the structure.

The Pantheon is generally admitted to be the most noble of the ancient edifices of the city. It was erected by Agrippa 27 B.C., and sumptuously adorned with fine marbles. The dome is vast and nobly planned, and the building truly merits Shelley’s designation, “sublime.”

Keats was buried in the Protestant cemetery in Rome, in a tomb bearing the inscription: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” His loyal and admiring friend, Shelley, wrote a truer memorial of the young poet: