Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Forum! But Rome-still bearing even in her decline the heavenly keys, conferring the sacred power to bind and to loose the Catholic world, and the golden crown for the head of imperial Cæsar-no longer wears the glittering robes of purple and gold as of yore, the universe no longer quails under her iron sceptre; sorrow, and suffering, and age, and ruin, have wrinkled her imperial brow; her lofty spirit has fled, her head is bent down in the dust, and she weeps, for the days of her mourning are come! But, in the midst of my joy and happiness at being in Rome, Death came like a dark shadow between me and the living, obscuring the bright, enticing world, and spreading his gloomy wings over one I loved. Death came with his icy breath, to tell me that this world is but a passing, many-hued vision, and that art, and intellect, and earthly grandeur, and the pride of wealth, and the delights of learning, and the intoxication of science, must all fall before the mysterious summons to that unseen world, towards which each moment we are hastening! It came like a sad but wholesome lesson, for I had been too happy. A lovely girl, not yet twenty, had come from the distant shores of the New World to seek for health under these warm Italian skies. She was beautiful, this young American-beautiful with the type of her Indian blood-dark, restless, gazelle eyes, fringed by long silken eyelashes, and brown hair, braided over a chiselled forehead, pure as a Madonna; but there was death in the fragile form and rosy complexion of those thin cheeks. Yet she was young and full of hope, life lay so fresh and fair before her, and she fought valiantly with her insidious enemy. Her gaiety, her grace, her goodness, and a certain merry roguishness, that became her prettily, seemed to defy the dark fate looming in the distance. We forgot she was ill, for she was the gayest of us all, and entwined round our very hearts. But the dreary day came, in the early spring, when even Italian winds are chill and wintry. She sank, and sank.

Still ever and anon abundant youth, and the fresh blood in her veins, bounded forth, and she fought sorely with the foe.. But her hours were numbered, and the angel of death descended upon that once cheerful house, and bore our pretty flower to bloom in the heavenly gardens. In pity to her innocence and youth the dread visitant came softly and gently. She died sitting in her chair, and none knew, until she was cold, but that she peacefully slumbered. Sleep it was-but a sleep from which there is no awaking to the soft voice of beloved friends. Oh! there was grief, horror, and misery, and despair, when we knew that she was called away. It was a scene too harrowing to describe. Then there came friends of her own land-holy, pious women like the blessed saints of oldand they performed every office tenderly and kindly, usually left to menials and hirelings. But they loved her too well not to attire her themselves for the last solemn ceremony.

All honour to those noble-minded American mothers who had the fortitude to step between the dead and the living; their names are surely registered in heaven for this high act of Christian sympathy, and their charity shall cover a multitude of sins in the mighty day of reckoning! They laid her on the bier in the same room where her merry laugh had so lately echoed, and where we had gazed with delight at her beauty. A plain deal shell, the boards uncovered, according to the Italian custom, enclosed her virgin form. Did I speak of

beauty? Never did she look half so fair. Death had spared her even a sigh, and she lay calm and composed as a sleeping infant-alabaster was not more white. The long lashes fringed her pale cheeks—a wreath of white roses bound her temples, and the white shroud, and the masses of rich auburn hair. A crucifix lay on her breast, and white flowers, fit emblems of her maiden innocence, strewed the coffin. Never before had I looked on the face of the dead; but here was no horror; death was disarmed of all his terrors, and seemed but the gentle messenger to eternal peace in the far-off fatherland above. There was no reserve or refusal in the survivors to receive the sympathy of friends. We sat round the darkened room in solemn contemplation, and prayed before the bier. Eternity seemed there, and the sweet dead linked us to the world of spirits whither we must all go. The crowd and the garish world buzzed and jarred around, heedless of our great grief. Day and night we sat beside the corpse and watched; no one would leave her; there was a spell around her even in death-that sweet girl! But on the evening of the second day there came many steps, and whisperings of strange voices, and strange forms appeared like spirits of evil, fearful to behold, all clothed in black from head to foot, only their eyes were visible through the serge garments; they bore torches in their hands, and pressed round our beloved. We took one last look-impressed one last kiss on the pale, icy lips-scattered fresh flowers over the bier, and she was borne out by the black gliding ghosts. A long procession formed in the street priests, and monks, and choristers; and I saw her overshrouded by the pall the white crown of roses at her head, and a cross of flowers at her feet; and the low chant burst forth, and the tapers glimmered in the dark street, and she was gone from us for ever! "And who," said L- "will watch over our dear S

in the dark, lonely church ?"

to-night "The angels, love," replied W, "will be there; they will guard

our sister!"

I have already mentioned the church of the Ara Coli, and its miraculous and very ugly Bambino Santo, which, at the time of the revolution, drove about, they say, in the Pope's state carriage, by order of the government, to visit the sick who invoked it. Beside the splendid memories that cling to these mouldering walls, now falling into a second decay, as the spot where once stood the glittering temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, there is much that is venerable and interesting in its architecture and traditions. It stands on the highest point of the Capitoline Hill, elevated above the modern structure of the Campidoglio, designed by Michael Angelo-to my mind one of the many fiascos committed by that extraordinary man. The principal entrance is reached by a broad and lofty flight of one hundred and twenty-four marble steps, evidently a remnant of the Pagan temple. At Christmas-time it is the custom to form a solemn procession within the church, when the Bambino is carried in triumph, followed by priests in rich vestments, carrying lights and incense, and a long line of the dark-robed, barefooted Franciscan monks, to whom the Bambino belongs, which they declare to have been carved by a Franciscan pilgrim out of a tree which grew on the Mount of Olives, and painted by St. Luke, while the monk slept over his work. As the procession passes the entrance it is held up for veneration to the

sound of solemn music and chanting, when hundreds of the lower classes of the modern plebs prostrate themselves on the long flight of steps, grouped in various attitudes of delight, admiration, and awe. Some are

so devout as actually to ascend the steps on their knees, in the same manner as at the Scala Santa, in honour of the Santo Bambino. The erowd within the church was so dense and exceedingly ill-savoured that I could scarcely remain to see the ceremony out.

At this festive season the Presepio is also exhibited in one of the sidechapels, and is much visited, as being the best in Rome. A species of theatre is formed, raised to the level of the altar, on which appear fullsized figures of Joseph and Mary, holding in her arms the Bambino, wearing its diamond crown, and glittering with gold offerings and jewels. Before them are prostrated the shepherds, their sheep reposing near; in the recesses of the grotto-stable appear the oxen feeding in their stalls; while above, in a glory, heaven opens, and the Almighty, surrounded by the celestial hosts, gazes on the touching scene, linking the Godhead with mankind. As the representation is extremely graceful, and the figures artistically correct in drapery and expression, I must confess that I viewed with pleasure a sacred picture recalling to my mind the humiliation and love of our divine Saviour thus visibly brought home to the imagination. By Catholics it is contemplated with unquestioning and unaffected reverence and gratitude; they adore the Saviour in the symbolic image, and earnest prayers and long looks of love, heaving sighs and tearful eyes, evidence the intensity of their feelings. The Presepio is not shown until the falling day permits of an artificial light. When the body of the church is in deep gloom this one bright, happy, genial spot shines out, shedding floods of typical and positive light around. After about an hour a Franciscan monk appears on the stage, blows out the lights, and lets down a curtain, terminating the exhibition in a most primitive

manner.

Opposite, for ten successive days after Christmas, little children, previously instructed by the monks, mount on a kind of wooden pulpit, erected beside a column, and pronounce a discourse, or sermon, on the subject of the divine Saviour's lowly birth and humble infant years. Some of the children, all very young, perform their part admirably, and are full of fire and animation; their little eyes shining, and fat, chubby arms raised, they gesticulate with an energy and scream with a vigour of lungs quite Italian, as they stand opposite the mildly illuminated Presepio, and point with their tiny fingers towards the image of Him through whom they, as well as ourselves, can alone find redemption.

Everything in the church of the Ara Coeli leads the mind to the touching contemplation of the young and feeble years of the son of God. What a world of beauty is there in the idea! A church dedicated to that Virgin who was pronounced "blessed above women," and devoted to display and glorify the child-like obedience and gentleness of the infant Jesus, now stands on the foundations of the awful sanctuary where cruel and unnatural demons once had rule, the pure, gracious, and merciful Mary usurping the altar of Jupiter! Rome, in her many astounding contrasts, offers none more striking. The master of Olympus has vanished, but his stately temple has furnished the columns which support her shrine; the very gold that gilds the roof was a spoil gained from the Turks at the battle of Lepanto.

66

Immediately over the high altar is a curious inscription, in large golden letters, recalling a miracle remarkable in the mediæval history of Rome. Regina Coeli latare alleluia" is engraven there, and thus runs the chronicle-In the reign of Gregory the Great, that sainted and exalted Pope, a horrible pestilence ravaged the city. To intercede with the Almighty for his afflicted servants a great procession was formed on Easter Sunday, A.D. 596, from the church of the Ara Cœli to St. Peter's, situated at extreme and opposite ends of the city, to implore mercy, and call on the people generally to repentance. The pontiff himself headed the assembled thousands, and as the long line of the sacred pageant passed over the bridge, and under the tomb of Adrian, on the opposite side of the Tiber, celestial voices are said to have been heard in the air, singing, "Regina Coeli latare alleluia," the Pope and the vast multitude responding, as if by inspiration, "Ora pro nobis." Gregory also, it is said, beheld an angel radiant with celestial effulgence sheathing a fiery sword. That very day the plague ceased, in memory of which miraculous event a procession takes place every year on St. Mark's day; a statue of bronze, representing an angel sheathing a sword, was placed on the summit of Adrian's tomb, ever afterwards named, in memory of the vision, Castel San Angelo; the words "Regina Coeli" were incorporated by the Catholic Church into her offices, and the inscription I have mentioned engraved on the arch over the high altar in the church of the Ara Coeli.

But I have yet to mention another most curious legend before leaving this church, so venerable by its ecclesiastical traditions. To the left of the high altar I was shown a chapel dedicated to Helena, the mother of Constantine, and I read another inscription which excited my curiosity. It was in Latin, and expressed "that the chapel was called Ara Čoli, and was erected in the very place where it was supposed the Virgin appeared in a glory to the Emperor Augustus. This curious tradition arose from the following circumstance :-Augustus is said to have demanded of the oracle of Apollo, "who, after him, should be the master of the world?" The oracle was silent. Again a second time he offered sacrifice, but the god deigned no reply. At length, still pressed by the emperor, after a solemn pause, it spake and said: “That a Jewish child, God himself, and the master of gods, is about to drive Apollo from his seat, therefore expect no longer any answers from his altars." Augustus, astonished and confounded at the reply, retired, and immediately caused an altar to be erected on the Capitol, bearing the inscription, "Ara primogeniti Dei.". At the end of three days he beheld in a vision a virgin of surpassing beauty seated on the altar, holding a child in her arms, while a voice proclaimed "Hæc ara Filii Dei est ;" and therefore, it is said, Augustus would allow no one afterwards to call him a god.

t

History informs us that a Sybil (the Tiburtine) lived in early days at Tivoli, the remains of whose beautiful temple, overhanging the precipice, washed by foaming cascades, still remains. An oracle is known to have existed there as late as the time of the Emperor Adrian, who consulted it during his residence at the far-famed villa, whose gigantic ruins still extend over the plain at the foot of the mountains that enclose and shelter the beautiful town, its fragrant valleys, and delicious rivers and water

falls. As to the vision which is said to have visited Augustus, it is no more incredible than the universally admitted fact that his successor, Constantine, was favoured with a similar miraculous revelation. Why not, therefore, Augustus? Especially when the traditions of the East and the West plainly pointed to the coming of the future Messiah.

I cannot tell how these legendary facts, half history, half tradition, read at a distance, but I can only say, studied on the spot, supported by contemporaneous monuments, and consecrated by long ages of profound and unhesitating belief, they are very convincing and utterly astonishing.

Some friends of mine, who were in Rome during the siege, gave me last night many amusing details. The poor Pope-good and innocent as a child, with the most benevolent desire of rendering his people happy -granted measure after measure, of a republican character, at the desire of the Romans, with a rapidity quite alarming. What he accorded in two years without subterfuge or opposition, ought to have been laboriously extorted from him inch by inch in half a lifetime. The cardinals were en masse opposed to his liberal views; but when any measure was demanded of Pius by the republican leaders of the national movement that they would not sanction, he immediately granted it on his own responsibility. A young politician, truly! All this ended in the murder of Count Rossi; a crime at which the people openly and indecently rejoiced. The Corso was hung with tapestry, flowers, flags, and festoons, ornamented as for a festa, and the deed applauded as a patriotic act.

After the Pope's flight and the declaration of a republic, the anarchy and confusion waxed greater-especially when the arrival of the French became certain. When the French troops (destined to subdue the rebellious city, and replace Pius on the throne) really landed at Civita Vecchia, the executive government assembled the whole of the national troops in the Piazza degli Apostoli, in order officially to inform them that the news was correct, and to come to a mutual understanding as to how they meant to act, and whether to fight and defend the city in good earnest, or to capitulate. An immense concourse of troops assembled, all under arms; the spacious Piazza could scarce contain the throng; the enthusiasm was immense, overwhelming. Italians have such imaginations and such lungs, their united action is always something prodigious: amid cheers, shouts, and screams of patriotic excitement, they declared their intention of defending the city to the utmost, of willingly sacrificing their individual lives in the glorious struggle for freedom against foreign invasion. Some called on the Madonna to help them, others invoked the martial saints, George and Michael, while some, less religious, execrated the Pope, called on the heathen deities, and swore by "Great Jove and Bacchus," and wished a thousand "accidenti" and the mystic horrors of the Evil Eye, to those who doubted them! It was a tremendous scene, thoroughly national and dramatic; for the Italians are inimitable actors, and fight like knights palatine on the stage.

In the mean time, finding that war was inevitable, the existing government had applied to General Garibaldi to undertake the defence of the Eternal City. This individual, a native of Piedmont, had much distinguished himself in the wars against the Austrians in the north of

« ZurückWeiter »