"Le tombeau de Cecilia-Metella était devenu un château fort alors aux mains des Caëtani, et autour du château s'était formé un village avec son église, dont on a récemment retrouvé les restes."—Ampère, Voyage Dantesque.
It is at Cecilia Metella's tomb that the beauties of the Via Appia really begin. A very short distance further, we emerge from the walls which have hitherto shut in the road on either side, and enjoy uninterrupted views over the Latin plain, strewn with its ruined castles and villages—and the long lines of aqueducts, to the Sabine and Alban mountains.
"The Via Appia is a magnificent promenade, amongst ruinous tombs, the massive remains of which extend for many miles over the Roman Campagna. The powerful families of ancient Rome loved to build monuments to their dead by the side of the public road, probably to exhibit at once their affection for their relations and their own power and affluence. Most of these monuments are now nothing but heaps of ruins, upon which are placed the statues and sculptures which have been found in the earth or amongst the rubbish. Those inscriptions which have been found on the Via Appia bear witness to the grief of the living for the dead, but never to the hope of reunion. On a great number of sarcophagi or the friezes of tombs may be seen the dead sitting or lying as if they were alive, some seem to be praying. Many heads have great individuality of character. Sometimes a white marble figure, beautifully draped, projects from these heaps of ruins, but without head or hands; sometimes a hand is stretched out, or a portion of a figure rises from the tomb. It is a street through monuments of the dead, across an immense churchyard; for the desolate Roman Campagna may be regarded as such. To the left it is scattered with the ruins of colossal aqueducts, which, during the time of the emperors, conveyed lakes and rivers to Rome, and which still, ruinous and destroyed, delight the eye by the beautiful proportions of their arcades. To the right is an immense prairie, without any other limit than that of the ocean, which, however, is not seen from it. The country is desolate, and only here and there are there any huts or trees to be seen."—Frederika Bremer.
"For the space of a mile or two beyond the gate of S. Sebastiano, this ancient and famous road is as desolate and disagreeable as most of the other Roman avenues. It extends over small, uncomfortable paving-stones, between brick and plastered walls, which are very solidly constructed, and so high as almost to exclude a view of the surrounding country. The houses are of the most uninviting aspect, neither picturesque, nor homelike and social; they have seldom or never a door opening on the wayside, but are accessible only from the rear, and frown inhospitably upon the traveller through iron-grated windows. Here and there appears a dreary inn, or a wine-shop, designated by the withered bush beside the entrance, within which you discover a stone-built and sepulchral interior, where guests refresh themselves with sour bread and goat's-milk cheese, washed down with wine of dolorous acerbity.
"At frequent intervals along the roadside, up rises the ruin of an ancient tomb. As they stand now, these structures are immensely high, and broken mounds of conglomerated brick, stone, pebbles, and earth, all molten by time into a mass as solid and indestructible as if each tomb were composed of a single boulder of granite. When first erected, they were cased externally, no doubt, with slabs of polished marble, artfully wrought, bas-reliefs, and all such suitable adornments, and were rendered majestically beautiful by grand architectural designs. This antique splendour has long since been stolen from the dead, to decorate the palaces and churches of the living. Nothing remains to the dishonoured sepulchres, except their massiveness.
"Even the pyramids form hardly a stranger spectacle, or a more alien from human sympathies, than the tombs of the Appian Way, with their gigantic height, breadth, and solidity, defying time and the elements, and far too mighty to be demolished by an ordinary earthquake. Here you may see a modern dwelling, and a garden with its vines and olive-trees, perched on the lofty dilapidation of a tomb, which forms a precipice of fifty feet in depth on each of the four sides. There is a house on that funeral mound, where generations of children have been born, and successive lives have been spent, undisturbed by the ghost of the stern Roman whose ashes were so preposterously burdened. Other sepulchres wear a crown of grass, shrubbery, and forest-trees, which throw out a broad sweep of branches, having had time, twice over, to be a thousand years of age. On one of them stands a tower, which, though immemorially more modern than the tomb, was itself built by immemorial hands, and is now rifted quite from top to bottom by a vast fissure of decay; the tomb-hillock, its foundation, being still as firm as ever, and likely to endure until the last trump shall rend it wide asunder, and summon forth its unknown dead.
"Yes, its unknown dead! For, except in one or two doubtful instances, these mountainous sepulchral edifices have not availed to keep so much as the bare name of an individual or a family from oblivion. Ambitious of everlasting remembrance as they were, the slumberers might just as well have gone quietly to rest, each in his pigeon-hole of a columbarium, or under his little green hillock, in a grave-yard, without a headstone to mark the spot. It is rather satisfactory than otherwise, to think that all these idle pains have turned out so utterly abortive."—Hawthorne.
Near the fourth milestone, is the tomb of Marcus Servilius Quartus (with an inscription), restored by Canova in 1808. A bas-relief of the death of Atys, killed by Adrastus, a short distance beyond this, has been suggested as part of the tomb of Seneca, who was put to death "near the fourth milestone" by order of Nero. An inscribed tomb beyond this is that of Sextus Pompeius Justus.
Near this, in the Campagna on the left, are some small remains, supposed to be those of a Temple of Juno.
Beyond this a number of tombs can be identified, but none of any importance. Such are the tombs of Plinius Eutychius, erected by Plinius Zosimus, a freedman of Pliny the younger; of Caius Licinius; the Doric tomb of the tax-gatherer Claudius Philippanus, inscribed "Tito. Claudio. Secundo. Philippiano. Coactori. Flavia. Irene. Vxori Indulgentissimo;" of Rabinius, with three busts in relief; of Hermodorus; of Elsia Prima, priestess of Isis; of Marcus C. Cerdonus, with the bas-relief of an elephant bearing a burning altar.
Beyond the fifth milestone, two circular mounds with basements of peperino, were considered by Canina to be the tombs of the Horatii and Curiatii.
On the opposite side of the road is the exceedingly picturesque mediæval fortress, known as Torre Mezza Strada, into which are incorporated the remains of the Church of Sta. Maria Nuova, or della Gloria. Behind this extend a vast assemblage of ruins, which form a splendid foreground to the distant mountain view, and whose size has led to their receiving the popular epithet of Roma Vecchia. Here was the favourite villa of the Emperor Commodus, where he was residing, when the people, excited by a sudden impulse during the games of the Circus, rose and poured out of Rome against him—as the inhabitants of Paris to Versailles—and refused to depart, till, terrified into action by the entreaties of his concubine Marcia, he tossed the head of the unpopular Cleander to them out of the window, and had the brains of that minister's child dashed out against the stones. This villa is proved by the discovery of a number of pipes bearing their names to have been that of the brothers Condianus and Maximus, of the great family of the Quintilii, which was confiscated by Commodus.
"L'histoire des deux frères est intéressante et romanesque. Condianus et Maximus Quintilius étaient distingués par la science, les talents militaires, la richesse, et surtout par une tendresse mutuelle qui ne s'était jamais démentie. Servant toujours ensemble, l'un se faisait le lieutenant de l'autre. Bien qu'étrangers à toute conspiration, leur vertu les fit soupçonner d'être peu favorables à Commode; ils furent proscrits et moururent ensemble comme ils avaient vécu. L'un d'eux avait un fils nommé Sextus. Au moment de la mort de son père et de son oncle, ce fils se trouvait en Syrie. Pensant bien que le même sort l'attendait, il feignit de mourir pour sauver sa vie. Sextus, après avoir bu sang du lièvre, monta à cheval, se laissa tomber, vomit le sang qu'il avait pris et qui parut être son propre sang. On mit dans sa bière le corps d'un bélier qui passa pour son cadavre, et il disparut. Depuis ce temps, il erra sons divers déguisements; mais on sut qu'il avait échappé, et on se mit à sa recherche. Beaucoup furent tués parce-qu'ils lui ressemblaient ou parce-qu'ils étaient soupçonnés de lui avoir donné asile. Il n'est pas bien sûr qu'il ait été atteint, que sa tête se trouvât parmi celles qu'on apporta à Rome et qu'on dit être la sienne. Ce qui est certain, c'est qu'après la mort de Commode, un aventurier, tenté par la belle villa et par les grandes richesses des Quintilii, se donna pour Sextus et réclama son héritage. Il paraît ne pas avoir manqué d'adresse et avoir connu celui pour lequel il voulut qu'on le prît, car par ses réponses il se tira très-bien de toutes les enquêtes. Peut-être s'était-il lié avec Sextus et l'avait-il assassiné ensuite. Cependant l'empereur Pertinax, successeur de Commode, l'ayant fait venir, eut l'idée de lui parler grec. Le vrai Sextus connaissait parfaitement cette langue. Le faux Sextus, qui ne savait pas le grec, répondit tout de travers, et sa fraude fut ainsi découverte."—Ampère, Emp. ii. 253.
On the left of the Via Appia, appears a huge monument, on a narrow base, called the Tomb of the Metelli. Beyond this, after the fifth milestone, are the tombs of Sergius Demetrius, a wine merchant; of Lucius Arrius; of Septimia Gallia; and of one of the Cæcilii, in whose sepulchre, according to Eutropius, was buried Pomponius Atticus, the friend of Cicero, whose daughter Vipsania was the first wife of Agrippa, and whose granddaughter Vipsania Agrippina was the first wife of Tiberius.
Close to the sixth milestone is the mass of masonry sometimes called "Casale Rotondo," or "Cotta's Tomb," from that name being found there inscribed on a stone, but generally attributed to Messala Corvinus, the poet, and friend of Horace, and believed to have been raised to him by his son Valerius Maximus Cotta, mentioned in Ovid.
Pieridum lumen, præsidiumque fori."
Epist. xvi.
This tomb was even larger than that of Cecilia Metella, and was turned into a fortress by the Orsini in the fifteenth century.
Beyond this are tombs identified as those of P. Quintius, tribune of the sixteenth legion; Marcus Julius, steward of Claudius; Publius Decumius Philomusus (with appropriate bas-reliefs of two mice nibbling a cake); and of Cedritius Flaccianius.
Passing on the left the Tor di Selce, erected upon a huge unknown tomb, are the tombs of Titia Eucharis, and of Atilius Evodus, jeweller (margaritarius) on the Via Sacra, with the inscription, "Hospes resiste—aspice ubi continentur ossa hominis boni misericordis amantis pauperis." Near the eighth milestone are ruins attributed to the temples of Silvanus and of Hercules,—of which the latter is mentioned in Martial's Epigrams, beyond which were the villas of Bassus and of Persius. The last tomb identified is that of Quintus Verranius. Near the ninth milestone is a tomb supposed to be that of Gallienus (Imp. 268), who lived close by in a villa, amid the ruins of which "the Discobolus" was discovered.
From the stream called Pontecello, near the tenth milestone, the road gradually ascends to Albano, passing several large but unnamed tombs. At the Osteria delle Frattocchie it joins the Via Appia Nuova. Close to the gate of Albano, it passes on the left the tall tomb attributed to Pompey the Great, in accordance with the statement of Plutarch, and in spite of the epigram of Varro Atacinus, which says:—
Pompeius nullo: quis putet esse Deus."
Among the many processions which have passed along this road, perhaps the most remarkable have been that bearing back to Rome the dead body of Sylla, who died at Pozzuoli, "in a gilt litter, with royal ornaments, trumpets before him, and horsemen behind;"[223] and the funeral of Augustus, who dying at Nola (A.D. 14), was brought to Bovillæ, and remained there a month in the sanctuary of the Julian family, after which the knights brought the body in solemn procession to his palace on the Palatine.
But throughout a walk along the Appian Way, the one great Christian interest of this world-famous road, will, to the Christian visitor, overpower all others.
"And so we went toward Rome.
"And from thence, when the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii-forum, and the Three Taverns: whom when Paul saw, he thanked God, and took courage.
"And when we came to Rome, the centurion delivered the prisoners to the captain of the guard; but Paul was suffered to dwell by himself, with a soldier that kept him."—Acts xxviii. 14—16.
"It is not without its manifold uses to remember that, amidst the dim and wavering traditions of later times, one figure at least stands out clear and distinct and undoubted, and this figure is the Apostle Paul. He, whatever we may think concerning any other apostle or apostolic man in connection with Rome, he, beyond a shadow of doubt, appears in the New Testament as her great teacher. No criticism or scepticism of modern times has ever questioned the perfect authenticity of that last chapter of the Acts, which gives the account of his journey, stage by stage, till he set foot within the walls of the city. However much we may be compelled to distrust any particular traditions concerning special localities of his life and death, we cannot doubt for a moment that his eye rested on the same general view of sky and plain and mountain; that his feet trod the pavement of the same Appian road; that his way lay through the same long avenue of ancient tombs on which we now look and wonder; that he entered (and there we have our last authentic glimpse of his progress) through the arch of Drusus, and then is lost to our view in the great Babylon of Rome."—A. P. Stanley's Sermons.
"When St. Paul was approaching Rome, all the bases of the mountains were (as indeed they are partially now) clustered round with the villas and gardens of wealthy citizens. The Appian Way climbs and then descends along its southern slope. After passing Lanuvium it crossed a crater-like valley or immense substructions, which still remain. Here is Aricia, an easy stage from Rome. The town was above the road, and on the hillside swarms of beggars beset travellers as they passed. On the summit of the next rise, Paul of Tarsus would obtain his first view of Rome. There is no doubt that the prospect was, in many respects, very different from the view which is now obtained from the same spot. It is true that the natural features of the scene are unaltered. The long wall of blue Sabine mountains, with Soracte in the distance, closed in the Campagna, which stretched far across to the sea and round the base of the Alban hills. But ancient Rome was not, like modern Rome, impressive from its solitude, standing alone, with its one conspicuous cupola, in the midst of a desolate though beautiful waste. St. Paul would see a vast city, covering the Campagna, and almost continuously connected by its suburbs with the villas on the hill where he stood, and with the bright towns which clustered on the sides of the mountains opposite. Over all the intermediate space were the houses and gardens, through which aqueducts and roads might be traced in converging lines towards the confused mass of edifices which formed the city of Rome. Here no conspicuous building, elevated above the rest, attracted the eye or the imagination. Ancient Rome had neither cupola nor campanile, still less had it any of those spires which give life to all the capitals of northern Christendom. It was a widespread aggregate of buildings, which, though separated by narrow streets and open spaces, appeared, when seen from near Aricia, blended into one indiscriminate mass: for distance concealed the contrasts which divided the crowded habitations of the poor and the dark haunts of filth and misery—from the theatres and colonnades, the baths, the temples, and palaces with gilded roofs, flashing back the sun.
"The road descended into the plain at Bovillæ, six miles from Aricia: and thence it proceeded in a straight line, with the sepulchres of illustrious families on either hand. One of these was the burial-place of the Julian gens, with which the centurion who had charge of the prisoners was in some way connected. As they proceeded over the old pavement, among gardens and modern houses, and approached nearer the busy metropolis—the 'conflux issuing forth or entering in' in various costumes and on various errands,—vehicles, horsemen, and foot-passengers, soldiers and labourers, Romans and foreigners,—became more crowded and confusing. The houses grew closer. They were already in Rome. It was impossible to define the commencement of the city. Its populous portions extended far beyond the limits marked out by Servius. The ancient wall, with its once sacred pomœrium, was rather an object for antiquarian interest, like the walls of York or Chester, than any protection against the enemies, who were kept far aloof by the legions on the frontier.
"Yet the Porta Capena is a spot which we can hardly leave without lingering for a moment. Under this arch—which was perpetually dripping with the water of the aqueduct that went over it—had passed all those who, since a remote period of the republic, had travelled by the Appian Way,—victorious generals with their legions, returning from foreign service,—emperors and courtiers, vagrant representatives of every form of heathenism, Greeks and Asiatics, Jews and Christians. From this point entering within the city, Julius and his prisoners moved on, with the Aventine on their left, close round the base of the Cœlian, and through the hollow ground which lay between this hill and the Palatine: thence over the low ridge called Velia, where afterwards was built the arch of Titus, to commemorate the destruction of Jerusalem; and then descending, by the Via Sacra, into that space which was the centre of imperial power and imperial magnificence, and associated also with the most glorious recollections of the republic. The Forum was to Rome, what the Acropolis was to Athens, the heart of all the characteristic interest of the place. Here was the Milliarium Aureum, to which the roads of all the provinces converged. All around were the stately buildings, which were raised in the closing years of the republic, and by the earlier emperors. In front was the Capitoline Hill, illustrious long before the invasion of the Gauls. Close on the left, covering that hill, whose name is associated in every modern European language with the notion of imperial splendour, were the vast ranges of the palace—the 'house of Cæsar' (Philipp. iv. 22). Here were the household troops quartered in a prætorium attached to the palace. And here (unless, indeed, it was in the great Prætorian Camp outside the city wall) Julius gave up his prisoner to Burrus, the Prætorian Prefect, whose official duty it was to keep in custody all accused persons who were to be tried before the Emperor."—Conybeare and Howson.
CHAPTER X.
THE QUIRINAL AND VIMINAL.
Palazzo Barberini—Palazzo Albani—S. Carlo a Quattro Fontane—S. Andrea a Monte Cavallo—Quirinal Palace—Palazzo della Consulta—Palazzo Rospigliosi—Colonna Gardens and Temple of the Sun—S. Silvestro a Monte Cavallo—Sta. Caterina di Siena—SS. Domenico e Sisto—Sta. Agata dei Goti—Sta. Maria in Monte—S. Lorenzo Pane e Perna—Sta. Pudenziana—S. Paolo Primo Eremita—S. Dionisio—S. Vitale.
IT is difficult to determine the exact limits of what in ancient times were regarded as the Quirinal and Viminal hills. They, like the Esquiline and Cœlian, are "in fact merely spurs or tongues of hill, projecting inwards from a common base, the broad table-land, which slopes on the other side almost imperceptibly into the Campagna."[224] That, which is described in this chapter as belonging to these two hills, is chiefly the district to the right of the Via Quattro Fontane, and its continuations—which extend in a straight line to Sta. Maria Maggiore.
The Quirinal, like all the other hills, except the Palatine and the Cœlian, belonged to the Sabines in the early period of Roman history, and is full of records of their occupation. They had a Capitol here which is believed to have been long anterior to that on the Capitoline, and which was crowned by a temple of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. This Sabine capitol occupied the site of the present Palazzo Rospigliosi.
The name Quirinal is derived from the Sabine word Quiris—signifying a lance, which gave the Sabines their name of Quirites, or lance-bearers, and to their god the name Quirinus.[225] After his death Romulus received this title, and an important temple was raised to him on the Quirinal by Numa,[226] under this name, thus identifying him with Janus Quirinus, the national god. This temple was surrounded by a sacred grove mentioned by Ovid.[227] It was rebuilt by the consul L. Papirius Cursor, to commemorate his triumph after the third Samnite war, B.C. 293, when he adorned it with a sun-dial (solarium horologium), the first set up in Rome, which, however, not being constructed for the right latitude, did not show the time correctly. This defect was not remedied till nearly a century afterwards, when Q. Marcius Philippus set up a correct dial.[228] In front of this temple grew two celebrated myrtle-trees, one called Patricia, the other Plebeia, which shared the fortunes of their respective orders, as the orange-tree at Sta. Sabina now does that of the Dominicans. Thus, up to the fifth century, Patricia flourished gloriously, and Plebeia pined; but from the time when the plebeians completely gained the upper hand, Patricia withered away.[229] The temple was rebuilt by Augustus, and Dion Cassius states that the number of pillars by which it was surrounded accorded with that of the years of his life.[230]
Adjoining the temple was a portico:
Turbam non habet otiosiorem
Pompeius."
Martial, xi. Ep. i.
Primo sole mihi peragendum in valle Quirini."
Juvenal, Sat. ii. 132.
Hard by was a temple of Fortuna Publica,
Hac Fortuna die Publica; verus erit."
Ovid, Fast. iv. 375.
also an altar to Mamurius, an ancient Sabine divinity, probably identical with Mars, and a temple of Salus, or Health, which gave a name to the Porta Salutaria, which must have stood nearly on the site of the present Quattro Fontane, and near which, not inappropriately, was a temple of Fever, in the Via S. Vitale, where fever is still prevalent.
The site of the temple of Quirinus is ascertained to have been nearly that now occupied by S. Andrea a Monte Cavallo. On the opposite side of the street, where part of the papal palace now stands, was the temple of Semo-Sanctus, the reputed father of Sabinus. Between these two temples was the House of Pomponius Atticus (the friend and correspondent of Cicero), a situation which gave an opportunity for the witticism of Cicero when he said that Caesar would rather dwell with Quirinus than with Salus, meaning that he would rather be at war than be in good health.[231]
In the same neighbourhood lived Martial the epigrammatist, "on the third floor, in a narrow street," whence he had a view as far as the portico of Agrippa, near the Flaminian Way. Below, probably on the site now occupied by the Piazza Barberini, was a Circus of Flora.
Distuleram partes mense priore tuas.
Incipis Aprili: transis in tempora Maii.
Alter te, fugiens; cum venit, alter habet.
Quum tua sint cedantque tibi confinia mensum,
Convenit in laudes ille vel ille tuas.
Circus in hunc exit, clamataque palma theatris:
Hoc quoque cum Circi munere carmen eat."
Ovid, Fast. v. 183.
Among the great families who lived on the Quirinal were the Cornelii, who had a street of their own, Vicus Corneliorum, probably on the slopes behind the present Colonna Palace; and the Flavii, who were of Sabine origin.[232] Domitian was born here in the house of the Flavii, afterwards consecrated by him as a temple, in which Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian himself were buried, and Julia the ugly daughter of Titus—well known from her statues in the Vatican.
As some fragments remain of the two buildings erected on the Quirinal during the later empire, Aurelian's Temple of the Sun, and the Baths of Constantine, they will be noticed in the regular course.
On the ascent of the hill, just above the Piazza del Tritone, is the noble Barberini Palace, built by Urban VIII. from designs of Carlo Maderno, continued by Borromini, and finished by Bernini, in 1640. It is screened from the street by a magnificent railing between columns, erected 1865—67, and if this railing could be continued, and the block of houses towards the piazza removed, it would be far the most splendid private palace in Rome.
This immense building is a memorial of the magnificence and ambition of Urban VIII. Its size is enormous, the smallest apartment in the palace containing forty rooms. The Prince at present inhabits the right wing; with him lives his elder brother the Duke, who abdicated the family honours in his favour. In the left wing—occupied in the beginning of this century by the ex-king (Charles VII.) and queen of Spain, and the "Prince of Peace"—is the huge apartment of the late Cardinal Barberini, now uninhabited. On this side is the grand staircase, upon which is placed a lion in high relief, found on the family property at Palestrina. It is before this lion that Canova is said to have lain for hours upon the pavement, studying for his tomb of Clement XIII. in St. Peter's. The guarda-roba, badly kept, contains many curious relics of family grandeur; amongst them is a sedan-chair, painted by Titian.
The Library (open on Thursdays from nine to two) contains a most valuable collection of MSS., about 7000 in number, brought together by Cardinal Francesco Barberini, nephew of Urban VIII. They include collections of letters of Galileo, Bembo, and Bellarmine; the official reports to Urban VIII., relating to the state of Catholicism in England in the time of Charles I.; a copy of the Bible in the Samaritan character; a Bible of the fourth century; several MSS. copies of Dante; a missal illuminated by Ghirlandajo; and a book of sketches of ancient Roman edifices, of 1465, by Giuliano de Sangallo,—most interesting to the antiquarian and architect, as preserving the forms of many public buildings which have disappeared since that date. Among the 50,000 printed books is a Hebrew Bible of 1788, one of the twelve known copies of the complete edition of Soncino; a Latin Plato, by Ficino, with marginal notes by Tasso and his father Bernardo; a Dante of 1477, with notes by Bembo, &c.
In the right wing is a huge Hall (adorned with second-rate statues), with a grand ceiling by Pietro da Cortona (1596—1669), representing "Il Trionfo della Gloria," the Forge of Vulcan, Minerva annihilating the Titans, and other mythological subjects—much admired by Lanzi, and considered by Kugler to be the most important work of the artist. Four vast frescoes of the Fathers of the Church are preserved here, having been removed from the dome of St. Peter's, where they were replaced with mosaics by Urban VIII. Below are other frescoes by Pietro da Cortona, a portrait of Urban VIII., and some tapestries illustrative of the events of his reign and of his own intense self-esteem—thus the Virgin and Angels are represented bringing in the ornaments of the papacy at his coronation, &c. But the conceit of Pope Urban reaches its climax in a room at the top of the house, which exhibits a number of the Barberini bees (the family crest) flocking against the sun, and eclipsing it—to typify the splendour of the family. The Will of Pope Urban VIII. is a very curious document, providing against the extinction of the family in every apparent contingency; this, however, now seems likely to take place; the heir is a Sciarra. The pillars in front of the palace, and all the surrounding buildings, teem with the bees of the Barberini, which may also be seen on the Propaganda and many other great Roman edifices, and which are creeping up the robe of Urban VIII. in St. Peter's.
"The Barberini were the last papal nephews who aspired to independent principalities. Urban VIII., though he enriched them enormously, appears to have been but little satisfied with them. He used to complain that he had four relations who were fit for nothing, the first, Cardinal Francesco, was a saint, and worked no miracles: the second, Cardinal Antonio, was a monk, and had no patience: the third, Cardinal Antonio the younger, was an orator (i.e. an ambassador), and did not know how to speak: and the fourth was a general, who could not draw a sword."—Goethe, Romische Briefe.
On the right, on entering the palace, is the small Collection of Pictures (open when the custode chooses to be there), indifferently lodged for a building so magnificent. We may notice:—
2nd Room.—
34. Urban VIII.: Andrea Sacchi.
35. A Cardinal: Titian.
48. Madonna and Child, St. John, and St Jerome: Francia.
54. Madonna and Child: Sodoma.
58. Madonna and Child: Giovanni Bellini.
63. Daughter of Raphael Mengs: Mengs.
67. Portrait of himself: Masaccio.
74. Adam and Eve: Domenichino.
3rd Room.—
73. The "Schiava:" Palma Vecchio.
"The so-called Slave (a totally unmeaning name) is probably a mere
school picture, of grand beauty, but with too clumsy a style of
drapery, too cold an expression, and too brown a carnation for
Titian—to whom it is attributed."—Kugler.
76. Castel Gandolfo: Claude Lorraine.
78. Portrait: Bronzino.
79. Christ among the Doctors—painted in five days, in 1506:
Albert Durer.
81. "The mother of Beatrice Cenci"? Caravaggio.
82. The Fornarina (with the painter's name on the armlet):
Raphael.
"The history of this person, to whom Raphael was attached even to his death, is obscure, nor are we very clear with regard to her likenesses. In the tribune at Florence there is a portrait, inscribed with the date 1512, of a very beautiful woman holding the fur trimming of her mantle with her right hand, which is said to represent her. The picture is decidedly by Raphael, but can hardly represent the Fornarina; at least it has no resemblance to this portrait, which has the name of Raphael on the armlet, and of the authenticity of which (particularly with respect to the subject) there can hardly be a doubt. In this the figure is seated, and is uncovered to the waist; she draws a light drapery around her; a shawl is twisted round her head. The execution is beautiful and delicate, although the lines are sufficiently defined; the forms are fine and not without beauty, but at the same time not free from an expression of coarseness and common life. The eyes are large, dark, and full of fire, and seem to speak of brighter days. There are repetitions of this picture, from the school of Raphael, in Roman galleries."—Kugler.
86. Death of Germanicus: Poussin.
88. Seaport: Claude Lorraine.
90. Holy Family: Andrea del Sarto.
93. Annunciation: Botticelli.
But the interest of this collection centres entirely around two portraits—that (81) of Lucrezia, the unhappy wife of Francesco Cenci, by Scipione Gaetani, and that (85) of Beatrice Cenci, by Guido Reni.
"The portrait of Beatrice Cenci is most interesting as a just representation of one of the loveliest specimens of the workmanship of nature. There is a fixed and pale composure upon the features; she seems sad and stricken down in spirit, yet the despair thus expressed is lightened by the patience of gentleness. Her head is bound with folds of white drapery, from which the yellow strings of her golden hair escape, and fall about her neck. The moulding of her face is exquisitely delicate; the eyebrows are distinct and arched; the lips have that permanent meaning of imagination and sensibility which suffering has not repressed, and which it seems as if death scarcely could extinguish. Her forehead is large and clear; her eyes, which we are told were remarkable for their vivacity, are swollen with weeping, and lustreless, but beautifully tender and serene. In the whole mien there is a simplicity and dignity, which, united with her exquisite loveliness and deep sorrow, is inexpressibly pathetic. Beatrice Cenci appears to have been one of those persons in whom energy and gentleness dwell together without destroying one another; her nature simple and profound. The crimes and miseries in which she was an actor and sufferer, are as the mask and the mantle in which circumstances clothed her for her impersonation on the scene of the world."—Shelley's Preface to the Cenci.
"The picture of Beatrice Cenci represents simply a female head; a very youthful, girlish, perfectly beautiful face, enveloped in white drapery, from beneath which strays a lock or two of what seems a rich, though hidden luxuriance of auburn hair. The eyes are large and brown, and meet those of the spectator, evidently with a strange, ineffectual effort to escape. There is a little redness about the eyes, very slightly indicated, so that you would question whether or no the girl had been weeping. The whole face is very quiet; there is no distortion or disturbance of any single feature; nor is it easy to see why the expression is not cheerful, or why a single touch of the artist's pencil should not brighten it into joyousness. But, in fact, it is the very saddest picture ever painted or conceived; it involves an unfathomable depth of sorrow, the sense of which comes to the observer by a sort of intuition. It is a sorrow that removes this beautiful girl out of the sphere of humanity, and sets her in a far-off region, the remoteness of which, while yet her face is so close before us,—makes us shiver as at a spectre. You feel all the time you look at Beatrice, as if she were trying to escape from your gaze. She knows that her sorrow is so strange and immense, that she ought to be solitary for ever both for the world's sake and her own; and this is the reason we feel such a distance between Beatrice and ourselves, even when our eyes meet hers. It is infinitely heart-breaking to meet her glance, and to know that nothing can be done to help or comfort her, neither does she ask help or comfort, knowing the hopelessness of her case better than we do. She is a fallen angel—fallen and yet sinless: and it is only this depth of sorrow with its weight and darkness, that keeps her down to earth, and brings her within our view even while it sets her beyond our reach."—Hawthorne, Transformation.
"The portrait of Beatrice Cenci is a picture almost impossible to be forgotten. Through the transcendent sweetness and beauty of the face, there is a something shining out that haunts me. I see it now, as I see this paper, or my pen. The head is loosely draped in white; the light hair falling down below the linen folds. She has turned suddenly towards you; and there is an expression in the eyes—although they are very tender and gentle—as if the wildness of a momentary terror, or distraction, had been struggled with and overcome, that instant; and nothing but a celestial hope, and a beautiful sorrow, and a desolate earthly helplessness remained. Some stories say that Guido painted it the night before her execution; some other stories, that he painted it from memory, after having seen her on her way to the scaffold. I am willing to believe that, as you see her on his canvas, so she turned towards him, in the crowd, from the first sight of the axe, and stamped upon his mind a look which he has stamped on mine as though I had stood beside him in the concourse. The guilty palace of the Cenci: blighting a whole quarter of the town, as it stands withering away by grains: had that face, to my fancy, in its dismal porch, and at its black blind windows, and flitting up and down its dreary stairs, and growing out of the darkness of its ghostly galleries. The history is written in the painting; written, in the dying girl's face, by Nature's own hand. And oh! how in that one touch she puts to flight (instead of making kin) the puny world that claims to be related to her, in right of poor conventional forgeries!"—Dickens.
"Five days had been passed by Beatrice in the secret prisons of the Torre Savella, when, at an early hour in the morning, her advocate, Farinacci, entered her sad abode. With him appeared a young man of about twenty-five years of age, dressed in the fashion of a writer in the courts of justice of that day. Unheeded by Beatrice, he sat regarding her at a little distance with fixed attention. She had risen from her miserable pallet, but, unlike the wretched inmate of a dungeon, she seemed a being from a brighter sphere. Her eyes were of liquid softness, her forehead large and clear, her countenance of angelic purity, mysteriously beautiful. Around her head a fold of white muslin had been carelessly wrapped, from whence in rich luxuriance fell her fair and waving hair. Profound sorrow imparted an air of touching sensibility to her lovely features. With all the eagerness of hope, she begged Farinacci to tell her frankly if his visit foreboded good, and assured him of her gratitude for the anxiety he evinced, to save her life and that of her family.
"Farinacci conversed with her for some time, while at a distance sat his companion, sketching the features of Beatrice. Turning round, she observed this with displeasure and surprise; Farinacci explained that this seeming writer was the celebrated painter, Guido Reni, who, earnestly desiring her picture, had entreated to be introduced into the prison for the purpose of obtaining so rich an acquisition. At first unwilling, but afterwards consenting, she turned and said, 'Signor Guido, your renown might make me desirous of knowing you, but how will you undervalue me in my present situation. From the fatality that surrounds me, you will judge me guilty. Perhaps my face will tell you I am not wicked; it will show you, too, that I now languish in this prison, which I may quit, only to ascend the scaffold. Your great name, and my sad story, may make my portrait interesting, and,' she added, with touching simplicity, 'the picture will awaken compassion if you write on one of its angles the word, innocente.' The great artist set himself to work, and produced the picture now in the Palazzo Barberini, a picture that rivets the attention of every beholder, which, once seen, ever after hovers over the memory with an interest the most harrowing and mysterious."—From "Beatrice Cenci, Storia del Secolo XVI., Raccontata dal D.A.A., Firenze." Whiteside's Translation.
There is a pretty old-fashioned garden belonging to this palace, at one corner of which—overhanging an old statue—was the celebrated Barberini Pine, often drawn by artists from the Via Sterrata at the back of the garden, where statue and pine combined well with the Church of S. Caio; but, alas, this magnificent tree was cut down in 1872.
At the back of the palace-court, behind the arched bridge leading to the garden, is—let into the wall—an inscription which formed part of the dedication of an arch erected to Claudius by the senate and people, in honour of the conquest of Britain. The letters were inlaid with bronze. It was found near the Palazzo Sciarra, where the arch is supposed to have stood.
Ascending to the summit of the hill, we find four ugly statues of river-gods, lying over the Quattro Fontane, from which the street takes its name.
On the left is the Palazzo Albani, recently restored by Queen Christina of Spain.
"In one of its rooms is a very ancient painting of Jupiter and Ganymede, in a very uncommon style, uniting considerable grandeur of conception, great force and decision, and a deep tone and colour which produce great effect. It is said to be Grecian."—Eaton's Rome.
The opposite church, S. Carlo a Quattro Fontane, is worth observing from the fact that the whole building, church and convent, corresponds with one of the four piers supporting the cupola of St. Peter's. Here was formed the point of attack against the Quirinal Palace, November 16, 1848, which caused the flight of Pius IX., and the downfall of his government. From a window of this convent the shot was fired which killed Monsignor Palma, one of the pontifical secretaries, and a writer on ecclesiastical history—who had unfortunately exposed himself at one of the windows opposite. The church contains two pictures by Mignard relating to the history of S. Carlo.
Turning down Via del Quirinale, on the left is S. Andrea a Monte Cavallo (on the supposed site of the temple of Quirinus), erected, as it is told by an inscription inside, by Camillo Pamphili, nephew of Innocent X., from designs of Bernini. It has a Corinthian façade and a projecting semicircular portico with Ionic columns. The interior is oval. It is exceedingly rich, being almost entirely lined with red marble streaked with white (Sicilian jasper), divided by white marble pillars supporting a gilt cupola. The high altar—supposed to cover the body of St. Zeno—between really magnificent pillars, is surmounted by a fine picture, by Borgognone, of the crucifixion of St. Andrew. Near this is the tomb, by Festa, of Emmanuel IV., king of Sardinia, who abdicated his throne in 1802, to become a Jesuit monk in the adjoining convent, where he died in 1818. On the right is the chapel of Santa Croce, with three pictures of the passion and death of Christ by Brandini; and that of St. Francis Xavier, with three pictures by Baciccio, representing the saint preaching,—baptizing an Indian queen,—and lying dead in the island of Sancian in China. On the left is the chapel of the Virgin, with pictures, by David, of the three great Jesuit saints—St. Ignatius Loyola, St. Francis Borgia, and St. Luigi Gonzaga—adoring the Virgin, and, by Gerard de la Nuit, of the Adoration of the Shepherds and of the Magi; and lastly the chapel of S. Stanislas Kostka, containing his shrine of gold and lapis-lazuli, under an exceedingly rich altar, which is adorned with a beautiful picture by Carlo Maratta, representing the saint receiving the Infant Jesus from the arms of his mother. At the sides of the chapel are two other pictures by Maratta, one of which represents S. Stanislas "bathing with water his breast inflamed with divine love," the other his receiving the host from the hands of an angel. These are the three principal incidents in the story of the young S. Stanislas, who belonged to a noble Polish family and abandoned the world to shut himself up here, saying, "I am not born for the good things of this world; that which my heart desires is the good things of eternity."
"I have long ago exhausted all my capacity of admiration for splendid interiors of churches; but methinks this little, little temple (it is not more than fifty or sixty feet across) has a more perfect and gem-like beauty than any other. Its shape is oval, with an oval dome, and above that another little dome, both of which are magnificently frescoed. Around the base of the larger dome is wreathed a flight of angels, and the smaller and upper one is encircled by a garland of cherubs—cherub and angel all of pure white marble. The oval centre of the church is walled round with precious and lustrous marble, of a red-veined variety, interspersed with columns and pilasters of white; and there are arches, opening through this rich wall, forming chapels, which the architect seems to have striven hard to make even more gorgeous than the main body of the church. The pavement is one star of various tinted marble."—Hawthorne, Notes on Italy.
The adjoining Convent of the Noviciate of the Order of Jesus contains the room in which S. Stanislas Kostka died, at the age of eighteen, with his reclining statue by Le Gros, the body in white, his dress (that of a novice) in black, and the couch upon which he lies in yellow marble. Behind his statue is a picture of a celestial vision which consoled him in his last moments. On the day of his death, November 13, the convent is thrown open, and mass is said without ceasing in this chamber, which is visited by thousands.