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by Dickens, Chales


  (famous for its wine) and Viterbo (for its fountains): and after

  climbing up a long hill of eight or ten miles' extent, came

  suddenly upon the margin of a solitary lake: in one part very

  beautiful, with a luxuriant wood; in another, very barren, and shut

  in by bleak volcanic hills. Where this lake flows, there stood, of

  old, a city. It was swallowed up one day; and in its stead, this

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  water rose. There are ancient traditions (common to many parts of

  the world) of the ruined city having been seen below, when the

  water was clear; but however that may be, from this spot of earth

  it vanished. The ground came bubbling up above it; and the water

  too; and here they stand, like ghosts on whom the other world

  closed suddenly, and who have no means of getting back again. They

  seem to be waiting the course of ages, for the next earthquake in

  that place; when they will plunge below the ground, at its first

  yawning, and be seen no more. The unhappy city below, is not more

  lost and dreary, than these fire-charred hills and the stagnant

  water, above. The red sun looked strangely on them, as with the

  knowledge that they were made for caverns and darkness; and the

  melancholy water oozed and sucked the mud, and crept quietly among

  the marshy grass and reeds, as if the overthrow of all the ancient

  towers and house-tops, and the death of all the ancient people born

  and bred there, were yet heavy on its conscience.

  A short ride from this lake, brought us to Ronciglione; a little

  town like a large pig-sty, where we passed the night. Next morning

  at seven o'clock, we started for Rome.

  As soon as we were out of the pig-sty, we entered on the Campagna

  Romana; an undulating flat (as you know), where few people can

  live; and where, for miles and miles, there is nothing to relieve

  the terrible monotony and gloom. Of all kinds of country that

  could, by possibility, lie outside the gates of Rome, this is the

  aptest and fittest burial-ground for the Dead City. So sad, so

  quiet, so sullen; so secret in its covering up of great masses of

  ruin, and hiding them; so like the waste places into which the men

  possessed with devils used to go and howl, and rend themselves, in

  the old days of Jerusalem. We had to traverse thirty miles of this

  Campagna; and for two-and-twenty we went on and on, seeing nothing

  but now and then a lonely house, or a villainous-looking shepherd:

  with matted hair all over his face, and himself wrapped to the chin

  in a frowsy brown mantle, tending his sheep. At the end of that

  distance, we stopped to refresh the horses, and to get some lunch,

  in a common malaria-shaken, despondent little public-house, whose

  every inch of wall and beam, inside, was (according to custom)

  painted and decorated in a way so miserable that every room looked

  like the wrong side of another room, and, with its wretched

  imitation of drapery, and lop-sided little daubs of lyres, seemed

  to have been plundered from behind the scenes of some travelling

  circus.

  When we were fairly going off again, we began, in a perfect fever,

  to strain our eyes for Rome; and when, after another mile or two,

  the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the distance; it looked

  like - I am half afraid to write the word - like LONDON!!! There

  it lay, under a thick cloud, with innumerable towers, and steeples,

  and roofs of houses, rising up into the sky, and high above them

  all, one Dome. I swear, that keenly as I felt the seeming

  absurdity of the comparison, it was so like London, at that

  distance, that if you could have shown it me, in a glass, I should

  have taken it for nothing else.

  CHAPTER X - ROME

  WE entered the Eternal City, at about four o'clock in the

  afternoon, on the thirtieth of January, by the Porta del Popolo,

  and came immediately - it was a dark, muddy day, and there had been

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  heavy rain - on the skirts of the Carnival. We did not, then, know

  that we were only looking at the fag end of the masks, who were

  driving slowly round and round the Piazza until they could find a

  promising opportunity for falling into the stream of carriages, and

  getting, in good time, into the thick of the festivity; and coming

  among them so abruptly, all travel-stained and weary, was not

  coming very well prepared to enjoy the scene.

  We had crossed the Tiber by the Ponte Molle two or three miles

  before. It had looked as yellow as it ought to look, and hurrying

  on between its worn-away and miry banks, had a promising aspect of

  desolation and ruin. The masquerade dresses on the fringe of the

  Carnival, did great violence to this promise. There were no great

  ruins, no solemn tokens of antiquity, to be seen; - they all lie on

  the other side of the city. There seemed to be long streets of

  commonplace shops and houses, such as are to be found in any

  European town; there were busy people, equipages, ordinary walkers

  to and fro; a multitude of chattering strangers. It was no more MY

  Rome: the Rome of anybody's fancy, man or boy; degraded and fallen

  and lying asleep in the sun among a heap of ruins: than the Place

  de la Concorde in Paris is. A cloudy sky, a dull cold rain, and

  muddy streets, I was prepared for, but not for this: and I confess

  to having gone to bed, that night, in a very indifferent humour,

  and with a very considerably quenched enthusiasm.

  Immediately on going out next day, we hurried off to St. Peter's.

  It looked immense in the distance, but distinctly and decidedly

  small, by comparison, on a near approach. The beauty of the

  Piazza, on which it stands, with its clusters of exquisite columns,

  and its gushing fountains - so fresh, so broad, and free, and

  beautiful - nothing can exaggerate. The first burst of the

  interior, in all its expansive majesty and glory: and, most of

  all, the looking up into the Dome: is a sensation never to be

  forgotten. But, there were preparations for a Festa; the pillars

  of stately marble were swathed in some impertinent frippery of red

  and yellow; the altar, and entrance to the subterranean chapel:

  which is before it: in the centre of the church: were like a

  goldsmith's shop, or one of the opening scenes in a very lavish

  pantomime. And though I had as high a sense of the beauty of the

  building (I hope) as it is possible to entertain, I felt no very

  strong emotion. I have been infinitely more affected in many

  English cathedrals when the organ has been playing, and in many

  English country churches when the congregation have been singing.

  I had a much greater sense of mystery and wonder, in the Cathedral

  of San Mark at Venice.

  When we came out of the church again (we stood nearly an hour

  staring up into the dome: and would not have 'gone over' the

  Cathedral then, for any money), we said to the coachman, 'Go to the

  Coliseum.' In a quarter of an hour or so, he stopped at the gate,

  and
we went in.

  It is no fiction, but plain, sober, honest Truth, to say: so

  suggestive and distinct is it at this hour: that, for a moment -

  actually in passing in - they who will, may have the whole great

  pile before them, as it used to be, with thousands of eager faces

  staring down into the arena, and such a whirl of strife, and blood,

  and dust going on there, as no language can describe. Its

  solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desolation, strike upon

  the stranger the next moment, like a softened sorrow; and never in

  his life, perhaps, will he be so moved and overcome by any sight,

  not immediately connected with his own affections and afflictions.

  To see it crumbling there, an inch a year; its walls and arches

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  overgrown with green; its corridors open to the day; the long grass

  growing in its porches; young trees of yesterday, springing up on

  its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit: chance produce of the

  seeds dropped there by the birds who build their nests within its

  chinks and crannies; to see its Pit of Fight filled up with earth,

  and the peaceful Cross planted in the centre; to climb into its

  upper halls, and look down on ruin, ruin, ruin, all about it; the

  triumphal arches of Constantine, Septimus Severus, and Titus; the

  Roman Forum; the Palace of the Caesars; the temples of the old

  religion, fallen down and gone; is to see the ghost of old Rome,

  wicked, wonderful old city, haunting the very ground on which its

  people trod. It is the most impressive, the most stately, the most

  solemn, grand, majestic, mournful sight, conceivable. Never, in

  its bloodiest prime, can the sight of the gigantic Coliseum, full

  and running over with the lustiest life, have moved one's heart, as

  it must move all who look upon it now, a ruin. GOD be thanked: a

  ruin!

  As it tops the other ruins: standing there, a mountain among

  graves: so do its ancient influences outlive all other remnants of

  the old mythology and old butchery of Rome, in the nature of the

  fierce and cruel Roman people. The Italian face changes as the

  visitor approaches the city; its beauty becomes devilish; and there

  is scarcely one countenance in a hundred, among the common people

  in the streets, that would not be at home and happy in a renovated

  Coliseum to-morrow.

  Here was Rome indeed at last; and such a Rome as no one can imagine

  in its full and awful grandeur! We wandered out upon the Appian

  Way, and then went on, through miles of ruined tombs and broken

  walls, with here and there a desolate and uninhabited house: past

  the Circus of Romulus, where the course of the chariots, the

  stations of the judges, competitors, and spectators, are yet as

  plainly to be seen as in old time: past the tomb of Cecilia

  Metella: past all inclosure, hedge, or stake, wall or fence: away

  upon the open Campagna, where on that side of Rome, nothing is to

  be beheld but Ruin. Except where the distant Apennines bound the

  view upon the left, the whole wide prospect is one field of ruin.

  Broken aqueducts, left in the most picturesque and beautiful

  clusters of arches; broken temples; broken tombs. A desert of

  decay, sombre and desolate beyond all expression; and with a

  history in every stone that strews the ground.

  On Sunday, the Pope assisted in the performance of High Mass at St.

  Peter's. The effect of the Cathedral on my mind, on that second

  visit, was exactly what it was at first, and what it remains after

  many visits. It is not religiously impressive or affecting. It is

  an immense edifice, with no one point for the mind to rest upon;

  and it tires itself with wandering round and round. The very

  purpose of the place, is not expressed in anything you see there,

  unless you examine its details - and all examination of details is

  incompatible with the place itself. It might be a Pantheon, or a

  Senate House, or a great architectural trophy, having no other

  object than an architectural triumph. There is a black statue of

  St. Peter, to be sure, under a red canopy; which is larger than

  life and which is constantly having its great toe kissed by good

  Catholics. You cannot help seeing that: it is so very prominent

  and popular. But it does not heighten the effect of the temple, as

  a work of art; and it is not expressive - to me at least - of its

  high purpose.

  A large space behind the altar, was fitted up with boxes, shaped

  like those at the Italian Opera in England, but in their decoration

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  much more gaudy. In the centre of the kind of theatre thus railed

  off, was a canopied dais with the Pope's chair upon it. The

  pavement was covered with a carpet of the brightest green; and what

  with this green, and the intolerable reds and crimsons, and gold

  borders of the hangings, the whole concern looked like a stupendous

  Bonbon. On either side of the altar, was a large box for lady

  strangers. These were filled with ladies in black dresses and

  black veils. The gentlemen of the Pope's guard, in red coats,

  leather breeches, and jack-boots, guarded all this reserved space,

  with drawn swords that were very flashy in every sense; and from

  the altar all down the nave, a broad lane was kept clear by the

  Pope's Swiss guard, who wear a quaint striped surcoat, and striped

  tight legs, and carry halberds like those which are usually

  shouldered by those theatrical supernumeraries, who never CAN get

  off the stage fast enough, and who may be generally observed to

  linger in the enemy's camp after the open country, held by the

  opposite forces, has been split up the middle by a convulsion of

  Nature.

  I got upon the border of the green carpet, in company with a great

  many other gentlemen, attired in black (no other passport is

  necessary), and stood there at my ease, during the performance of

  Mass. The singers were in a crib of wirework (like a large meatsafe

  or bird-cage) in one corner; and sang most atrociously. All

  about the green carpet, there was a slowly moving crowd of people:

  talking to each other: staring at the Pope through eye-glasses;

  defrauding one another, in moments of partial curiosity, out of

  precarious seats on the bases of pillars: and grinning hideously

  at the ladies. Dotted here and there, were little knots of friars

  (Frances-cani, or Cappuccini, in their coarse brown dresses and

  peaked hoods) making a strange contrast to the gaudy ecclesiastics

  of higher degree, and having their humility gratified to the

  utmost, by being shouldered about, and elbowed right and left, on

  all sides. Some of these had muddy sandals and umbrellas, and

  stained garments: having trudged in from the country. The faces

  of the greater part were as coarse and heavy as their dress; their

  dogged, stupid, monotonous stare at all the glory and splendour,

  having something in it, half miserable, and half ridiculous.

  Upon the green carpet itself, and gathered round the altar, wa
s a

  perfect army of cardinals and priests, in red, gold, purple,

  violet, white, and fine linen. Stragglers from these, went to and

  fro among the crowd, conversing two and two, or giving and

  receiving introductions, and exchanging salutations; other

  functionaries in black gowns, and other functionaries in courtdresses,

  were similarly engaged. In the midst of all these, and

  stealthy Jesuits creeping in and out, and the extreme restlessness

  of the Youth of England, who were perpetually wandering about, some

  few steady persons in black cassocks, who had knelt down with their

  faces to the wall, and were poring over their missals, became,

  unintentionally, a sort of humane man-traps, and with their own

  devout legs, tripped up other people's by the dozen.

  There was a great pile of candles lying down on the floor near me,

  which a very old man in a rusty black gown with an open-work

  tippet, like a summer ornament for a fireplace in tissue-paper,

  made himself very busy in dispensing to all the ecclesiastics: one

  a-piece. They loitered about with these for some time, under their

  arms like walking-sticks, or in their hands like truncheons. At a

  certain period of the ceremony, however, each carried his candle up

  to the Pope, laid it across his two knees to be blessed, took it

  back again, and filed off. This was done in a very attenuated

  procession, as you may suppose, and occupied a long time. Not

  because it takes long to bless a candle through and through, but

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  because there were so many candles to be blessed. At last they

  were all blessed: and then they were all lighted; and then the

  Pope was taken up, chair and all, and carried round the church.

  I must say, that I never saw anything, out of November, so like the

  popular English commemoration of the fifth of that month. A bundle

  of matches and a lantern, would have made it perfect. Nor did the

  Pope, himself, at all mar the resemblance, though he has a pleasant

  and venerable face; for, as this part of the ceremony makes him

  giddy and sick, he shuts his eyes when it is performed: and having

  his eyes shut and a great mitre on his head, and his head itself

  wagging to and fro as they shook him in carrying, he looked as if

  his mask were going to tumble off. The two immense fans which are

  always borne, one on either side of him, accompanied him, of

 

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