From the Oak to the Olive Part 4

On this road, if I mistake not, are the two _columbaria_ discovered and excavated some seven years ago. They stand in a vineyard, which I saw in its spring bloom. The proprietor, a civil man, answers the little bell at the gate, and taking down a bunch of keys, unlocks for you the door of the small building erected over the vault. The original roof has fallen. All else looks as if it might have been used the day before for burial. The descent is by a steep, narrow stairway, of at least thirty steps, each of which is paved with a single lamina of coa.r.s.e brick. The walls are honeycombed with small parallelogrammatic niches, in each of which was set a funeral vase or box. Over some of these places are such inscriptions as, "_Non tangite vestes mortales_," "_Vencrare deos manes_." There are many names, of which I have preserved but one, "_Castus Germanicus Caesaris_." This _columbarium_ belonged to the Flavian family. It has about it an indescribable gloom, like that of a family vault in our own time, but, it must be confessed, more aesthetic.

One felt the bitter partings that death had made here, the tears, the unavailing desire to heap all the remaining goods of life upon the altar of departed friendship. Time healed these wounds then, no doubt, as he does to-day. The tears were dried, the goods enjoyed again; but, while Christianity has certainly lightened the dead weight of such sorrows, the anguish of the first blow remains what it was all those dim centuries ago. A glance into the _columbarium_ makes you feel this.

The second _columbarium_ is much like the first, excepting that the stair is not so well preserved. On emerging, the proprietor invited us to visit an upper room in his own house, in which were a number of objects, taken, he averred, from the two _columbaria_. These were mostly vases, tear-bottles, and engraved gems. But I doubted their genuineness too much to make any purchases from among them. The trade in antiquities is too cheap and easy a thing in Italy to allow faith in unattested relics.

Not very far beyond the _columbaria_ stand the catacombs of the ancient Hebrews, much resembling in general arrangement those of the Christians.

We found in several places the image of the seven-branched candlestick impressed upon the tufa. In one of the rooms were some remains of fresco. At each of its corners was painted a date-palm with its fruit.

In two other rooms the frescos were in good preservation. Some of the graves were sunk in the earth, the head and feet at right angles with the others. We were shown the graves of two masters of synagogues. The frescos are not unlike those in the Christian and pagan tombs, though as I remember them, the Christian paintings are the rudest of all, as respects artistic merit.

The subjects were usually genii, peac.o.c.ks, the c.o.c.k, fruits, garlands, the latter sometimes painted from end to end of the wall. Some of the small tombs were still sealed with a marble slab. An entire skeleton was here shown us, and a number of sarcophagi. Of these, one was sunk into the ground, and several graves were grouped around it, much after the fashion of those in the Christian catacombs, from which Dr. Smith inferred so largely, both concerning the sanct.i.ty of the saint's body and the post-mortem power of the saint.

We were taken also to see some interesting tombs in the Via Latina.

These were recently brought to light from their long concealment in a tract of the Campagna, belonging to the Barberini family. Descending a flight of stone steps, the custode admitted us into two fine vaulted chambers, decorated each after its own manner. The ceiling of the first was adorned with miniature bas-reliefs in stucco. The small figures, beautifully modelled, were enclosed in alternate squares and octagons.

The designs were exhibitions of genii, griffins, and of centaurs, bearing female figures on their backs. The sculptured sarcophagi found in this tomb were removed to the Lateran Museum.

In the second tomb the walls and ceilings were adorned with miniature frescos, also enclosed in small compartments. Many of these represented landscapes, sometimes including a water view, with boats. These were rather faint in style, but very good. Peac.o.c.ks, also, were frequent; and in one compartment was painted a gla.s.s dessert vase, with the fruit showing through its transparency. This design amazed us, both as to its subject and execution. Some panels in this tomb bore stucco reliefs on grounds of brilliant red and blue. In its centre was found hanging a fine bronze lamp, which is now at the Barberini Palace. A large sarcophagus of stone still remains here, nearly entire, with a pointed lid. On looking through a small break in one side of it, we perceived two skeletons, lying side by side, supposed, the custode told us, to have been husband and wife. These tombs certainly belong to a period other than that of the _columbaria_ before described. The presence of sarcophagi, and of these skeletons, attests the burial of the dead in accordance with the usage of modern society, while the great elegance and finish of the ornamentation point to a time of wealth and luxury. I have heard no conjecture as to the original proprietorship of these tombs. They contain no military or civil emblems, and probably belonged to wealthy contractors or merchants. That day, no doubt, had its shoddy, and of the tricks practised upon the government one may read some account in t.i.tus Livy, who, to be sure, wrote of an earlier time, but not a more vicious one.

Rome now boasts an archaeological society, not indeed of Romans, but composed of foreign residents, mostly of British origin. The well-known artist Shakspear Wood is one of its most energetic members. At his invitation I attended a lecture given by Mr. Charles Hemans, on the subject of the ancient churches and mosaics of the city. Complementary to this lecture was an expedition of the society to several of these churches, which I very gladly joined. Our first and princ.i.p.al object of interest was the old Church of San Clementi, a building dating from the eleventh or twelfth century. Here Mr. Hemans first led us to observe an ancient fresco in the apsis, which represents the twelve apostles in the guise of twelve lambs, a thirteenth lamb, in the middle of the row, and crowned with a nimbus, representing Christ. Here we saw also an ancient marble chair, a marble altar screen, and a pavement in the ribbon mosaic, of which archaeologues have so much to say. This mosaic is so named from the strips of colored stones which form its various patterns on the white marble of the pavement.

The church itself, however, occupied us but briefly. Beneath the church has recently been discovered and excavated a very extensive basilica, of a date far more ancient. This crypt was now lighted for us. Its original proportions are marred by walls of masonry built between its long rows of columns, and essential to the support of the church above. These walls are adorned by curious paintings of saints, popes, martyrs, and miracles. Among them is a very rude crucifixion; also a picture of Christ giving benediction after the fashion of the Greek church, and of a pontiff in the same act. Upon these things Mr. Hemans made many interesting comments. From the crypt we descended yet farther into a house supposed to date back at least to the empire, if not to the republic. It is a small but heavily-built enclosure, of two chambers, and contains a curious bas-relief in marble, representing a pagan sacrifice. In the narrow descent that led to it Mr. Wood showed me in three consecutive strata the tufa of the time of the kingdom, travertine of the republic, and brick of the empire.

The presence of the ancient basilica below the ancient church was suggested to one of the priests of the latter by the presence of a capital, rising just above the pavement of the church, and not accounted for by any circ.u.mstance in its architecture. This capital belonged to one of the columns of the basilica; but before so much could be ascertained, a long and laborious series of excavations had to be inst.i.tuted. Father ----, the priest who first conjectured of the presence of this under building, has been indefatigable in following up the hint given by the capital, which he alone, in a succession of centuries, was clever enough to interpret. Most of the expense of this work has been borne by him.

From San Clementi the worshipful society went to the church of Santi Quattro. The object of interest here was a small chapel filled with curious old frescos, one series of which represents the conversion of Constantine. We see first depicted a dream, in which Sts. Peter and Paul appear to Constantine, warning him to desist from the murder of innocent children, whose blood was supposed to be a cure for his leprosy. Not disobedient to the heavenly vision, Constantine relinquishes the blood-bath, and releases the children. He sends for St. Sylvester, the happy possessor of an authentic portrait of the two apostles. The fresco shows us Sylvester responding to this summons, and bringing in his hand the portrait, which the emperor immediately recognizes. Farther on we see Sylvester riding in papal triumph, the emperor leading his palfrey--a haughty device for those days. Another fresco records the finding of the true cross by St. Helena. Coming at one time upon the three crosses she applied each of them in succession to the body of a dying person, who was healed at once by the contact of the true one.

The archaeological society also explores the interesting neighborhoods of Rome, the villas of emperors, statesmen, and poets. Thus life springs out from decay, and the crumbling relics of the past incite new activities in minds that cling, like the ivy, about relics and ruins.

This society, ancient as are the facts about which it occupies itself, seemed to me one of the most modern features of Rome, especially as it travels by rail, and carries its luncheon with it. I was not fortunate enough to join its visits to the environs of the Eternal City, but I wish that on one of its excursions it would take with it the oldest nuisance of modern society, and forget to bring it back. There is room enough outside of Rome for that which, shut within its walls, crowds out every new impulse of life and progress. No harm to the old man; no violence to his representative immunity; only let him remember that the world has room for him, and that Rome has not.

NAPLES--THE JOURNEY.

From these brief, sombre notes of Rome, we slide at once to Naples and her brilliant surroundings. Here, taking the seven colors as the equivalents of the seven notes, we are at the upper end of the octave of color. Rome is painted in purple, gold, olive, and bistre--its shadows all in the latter pigment. Naples is clear red, white, and yellow.

Orange tawny is its deepest shade. The sounds of Rome awaken memories of devotion. They call to prayer, although the forms now be empty, and the religious spirit resident elsewhere. The voice of Naples trills, shrieks, scolds, mingling laughter, wail, and entreaty, in a new and confused symphony. Little piano-fortes, played like a barrel organ, go about the streets, giving a pulse to the quick rhythm of life. The common people are pictures, the aristocracy caricatures. When you rise above low life, Italian taste is too splendid for good effects in costume. The most ill-married colors, the most ill-a.s.sorted ornaments, deform the pale olive faces, and contradict the dignity of the dark eyes and ma.s.sive hair. This is somewhat the case in Rome, much more in Naples. The continual _crescendo_ of glare, as you go southward, points to the African crisis of orange and crimson, after which the negro nakedness presents an enforced pause, saying, "I can no more."

This land is the antipodes of the Puritan country. There all is concentration, inward energy, interior. Here all is external glow and glitter. If there be any interior, it can only belong to one of these three--pa.s.sion, superst.i.tion, avarice. Every one who deals with you speculates upon your credulity. "Will you give four times the value of a thing, or five, or only twice?" is the question which the seller's eyes put to the buyer, however the tongue of the one may respond to that of the other. And here is a sad deforming of the Scripture parable; and he who has five in value gets ten in money for it, he who has three gets six, while the one talent, honesty,--the fundamental gift of G.o.d to man,--is indeed ignominiously buried in a dirty napkin, and laid n.o.body knows where. And while New England energy is a hundred-armed giant that labors, Italian sloth is a hundred-handed lazzaro that begs. If this is the result of the loveliest climate, the most brilliant nature, give me our snow and ice, ay, the east wind and all.

The journey from Rome to Naples at this season is hot, oppressive.

Railway carriages, even as administered in Europe, make you acquainted with strange way-fellows. We chance upon a Neapolitan prince, with an English wife, returning to his own country and possessions after an absence of six years, the time elapsed since the inauguration of the new rule. He obviously regrets the changes over which the rest of the civilized world rejoices. In person, however, he and his partner are simple and courteous. Our car confines also a female nondescript carrying a dog, herself quite decently got up, but with an extraordinary smile, that is either lunatic or wicked, we cannot determine which. A certain steadiness and self-possession incline us to the latter theory, but we hold it subject to correction at a later day. She is obviously of Irish or low English extraction, and may be anything, from a discarded lady's maid to a reigning mistress. As we approach Naples, our princely friend begins to take notice. Here is Caserta, here its battle-field, where poor Francesco would certainly have had the victory, had not the French and Piedmontese interfered. "_Oh Richard, oh mon Roi!_" But we remember another saying: "And I tell you, if these had held their peace, the very stones would have cried out." Ay, those very stones, volcanic lava and tufa, worn by the chariot wheels of the wicked, from Tiberius to Napoleon and after, would have sobbed, "Let the feet of the messenger of peace, the beautiful feet, at last pa.s.s this way!" Arrived at the station, no warning can have taught you what to expect. It costs you forty cents to have your moderate effects transported from the cars to the omnibus of the hotel,--this not through any system, but because various people meddle with them, and shriek after you for recompense. At the Hotel de Rome, you are shown up many stairs into a dingy little room, a sort of spider's web. This will not do. You try the Hotel de Russie, opposite. Here you are forced to take an apartment much too fine for your means and intentions. The choice being this or none, you shut your eyes upon consequences, and blindly issue orders for tea and meats.

To-morrow you will surely get a cheaper apartment. But to-morrow you do not.

The hotel book looks discouraging. Names of your countrymen are in it, not of your friends. Better remain apart than run the risk of ungenial society, and enforced fellowship. But the dull waters soon break into the sparkle of special providences. A bright little Briton, with a mild husband, hospitably makes your acquaintance. She is from Ireland, and has not the "thorough-bred British stare." All the more of a lady do we deem and find her. To her pleasant company is soon added that of an American of the sincere kind. He accepts us without fear or condition, and while we remain under the same roof with him, we have no cause to complain for want of sympathy or of countenance.

THE MUSEUM.

In the Museum we spend two laborious days. The first we give to the world-renowned marbles, finding again with delight our favorites of twenty years' standing. Prominent among these are the Amore Delfino, and the Faun bearing the infant Bacchus.

The Farnese Bull and the Farnese Hercules are admirable for their execution, but their subject has no special interest for us. We observe the Atlas, the Athletes, and the Venuses, one of whom is world-famous, but inexcusable. Here, too, is the quadriform relic of the Psyche, well known by copies, and the whole Balbo family on horseback. These marble knights once guarded the Forum of Pompeii. There is a certain melancholy in their present aspect, whether of fact or imagination we will not determine. One of the most interesting objects, from the vicissitudes through which it has pa.s.sed, is the statue of Caligula, destroyed by the people with all other mementos of him after his death, the head having served, even in modern times, to steady the wheels of carriages in a ferry boat. The Naples Museum does not rival the Vatican in the merit of its nude marbles; but in draped statues it is far richer, as well as in statues of personal historical interest. The belief of the past has the most stately ill.u.s.tration in Rome, its life the most vivid record in Naples.

Many new treasures have been added to the collection during these years of our absence. Among them are some exquisite small bronzes, and three statuettes in marble, of which the eyes are colored blue, and the hair of a reddish tint. One of them is very pretty. It represents the seated figure of a little boy, and almost reconciles us to the strictly inadmissible invasion of color into the abstract domain of sculpture.

Each art has, indeed, its abstraction. Sculpture dispenses with color, painting with the materiality of form. The one is to the other as philosophy to poetry.

From the marbles we flit to the Pompeian bronzes and mosaics, rich in number and in interest. Two tablets in mosaic especially detain us, from their representation of theatrical subjects. One of these shows the manager surrounded by several of his actors, to whom he dispenses the various implements of their art. At his feet, in a basket, lie the comic and tragic masks. Of the personages around him, one is pulling on his garment, another is trying the double tubes of a wind instrument. The second mosaic presents a group of three closely-draped figures. Actor is written on their faces, though we know not the scene they enact. The bronzes are numerous and admirable. Miniature art seems to have been held in great esteem among the Pompeians. Most of these figures are of small size, and suggest a florid and detailed style of adornment. Among other objects, we are shown the semicircular model of a Pompeian bath, on which are arranged the ornaments and water-fixtures just as they were found. One of these imitates a rampant lion standing on his hind legs, and delivering water from his mouth; another a serpent nearly upright.

In the upper story of the Museum we see whole rooms floored with mosaic pavements removed entire from houses in Pompeii. The patterns are mostly in black and white, but of an endless variety. The contents of these rooms match well in interest with their pavements. Here, in gla.s.s cases, are carefully ranged and presented the tools and implements of Pompeian life; the loaves that never left the baker's shop, still fresh and puffy in outline, although calcined in substance; the jewels and silver vessels of the wealthy, the painter's colors, the workman's needles and thread: baths and braziers, armor in bronze and in iron, scarcely more barbaric than that of the middle ages; helmets, with clumsy metal network guarding the s.p.a.ces for the eyes; spades, cooking utensils in great variety, fruits and provisions as various. Among the bronze utensils is a pretty and economical arrangement which furnishes at once hot water, a fire of coals to heat the room, with the convenience of performing at the same time the solemn rites of cookery. Hot water, both for bathing and drinking, seems to have been a great desideratum with the Pompeians. The stone cameos and engraved gems are shown in rows under gla.s.s cases. This Museum contains a well-known tazza, or flat cup, of onyx entire, elaborately carved in cameo on either side. It also possesses a vase of double gla.s.s, of which the outer or white layer has been cut, like a cameo, into the most delicate and elaborate designs.

The latter is an object of unique interest and value, as is shown by the magnificence with which it has been mounted on a base of solid silver, the whole being placed under gla.s.s.

The c.u.maean collection is less rich in objects of interest than the Pompeian. Its treasures are mostly Etruscan. It possesses many vases, Etruscan and Greek, many rude Etruscan sculptures, with household articles of various descriptions. It occupies a separate set of rooms, and is the gift of the Prince of Carignano.

Among the Pompeian remains we forgot to mention a mosaic tablet representing a c.o.c.k-fight. One c.o.c.k already bleeds and droops; above him the figure of his genius turns desponding away. The genius of the victorious c.o.c.k, on the contrary, bears a crown and palm. The design is worthy of the Island of Cuba at the present day.

The frescos brought and transferred from Pompeii are beautiful and interesting. One of them shows thirteen dancing figures, all of which are frequently copied. Many inscriptions in marble are also preserved, but to decipher them would ask much time. We were interested in a small painted model of a Pompeian dwelling, called the House of the Poet. It shows the quadriform arrangement of the dark chambers around the open courts, of which one is the _atrium_, one the _peristylium_. The window-panes of the house of Diomed are shown,--not of gla.s.s, but talc, and only translucent. Windows, however, were rare in Pompeii. Perhaps the most pathetic relic that we observe is the skull of the sentinel in his helmet, as it was found.

We have here given only the most hurried and imperfect indication of the mines of wealth which this inst.i.tution offers to the student of art and of history. A detailed account of its contents will be found in the valuable but prosaic Murray, and would here be superfluous. Its guardians, the custodi, are civil, and are not allowed to ask or receive any compensation from visitors. Several of them, nevertheless, manage to suggest that they would be glad to wait on you at your hotel, with books, objects of antiquity, and other small merchandise, which you hurriedly decline. You will be fortunate to get out of Naples in any state short of utter bankruptcy. How you are ever to get home to America, with temptations and expenses multiplying so frightfully upon you, sometimes threatens to become a serious question.

NAPLES--EXCURSIONS.

You have been two days in Naples, the hotel expenses and temptations of the street eating into your little capital. For value received your intellects have nothing to show. Your eyes and ears have been full, your brain pa.s.sive and empty. You rouse yourself, and determine upon an investment. To learn something, you must spend something. These cherished napoleons must decrease, and you must, if possible, increase.

The first attempt is scarcely a success. Having heard marvels of the conventual church of San Martino, formerly belonging to the Cistercian brotherhood, you consult the porter of the hotel, and engage, for seven francs, a carriage to transport you thither. The drive is one immense climb under the heat of the afternoon sun. When you have gained the difficult ascent, your driver coolly informs you that the church is always closed at four P. M., the present time being 5.30. "Why did you not tell me so?" is the natural but useless question. "Because I could not in that case have got seven francs from you," would be the real answer. The driver shrugs his shoulders, and expects a scolding, which you are too indignant to give.

But you are not to be defeated in this way. A second expedition is planned and executed. To the gates of Pompeii you fly, partly by steam, and partly by horse-aid. You alight from your cloud of dust, demand a guide. "Yes; you can have the guide by paying also for the litter. This being Sunday, the entrance is free, and the government supplies no guide. You must have the _portantina_, or blunder about alone." The litter, with its pink gingham frill and cushion, looks hateful to you.

You remember it twenty-three years ago with dislike. The sun of noon is hot upon you. The men are unpersuadable. Red and fierce as lava, you storm through the deserted streets of the ancient capital of seaside luxury. Like the lava, you soon cool, as to your temper--the rest of you continuing at 120 Fahrenheit. There are two of your party: one finds the litter convenient; the other also gives way, and you ride and tie, as the saying is, in very amicable style, and encourage the guide to tell you all he knows; but he, alas! has cropped but the very top of the clover. The fragments of history which he is able to give you, measure only his own ignorance and yours.

"Here is the Forum in which the Balbo statues were found. At the upper end were the court and seat of justice,--for a figure was found there bearing a balance; underneath were the prisons." Ah, the broken columns!

Stately did they stand around the mounted statues, that expected to ride into perpetual fame on their marble horses--now most famous because so long forgotten. "Wherever four streets met, madam, stood a fountain. The Exchange stood also in the Forum. Here is the street of abundance, in which was found a marble bust bearing a horn of plenty. Here is the Temple of Isis. By this secret staircase the priest ascended and stood unseen behind the G.o.ddess, making the sounds which she was supposed to utter. Here was the bakery; behold the ovens. This was found filled with newly baked loaves. [Yes; for I myself beheld them in the Museum at Naples.] Ah, madam! the baths, with hot water and cold, and vapor. In those niches running around the wall were placed the vases with unguents. Here is the House of the Poet; here that of the Faun. See the frescos. What forms! what colors! Here is a newly excavated house, large and richly appointed. Each of these marble columns surrounding the inner court contains a leaden water-pipe with a faucet, so that from all at once water might flow to cool the extreme heats of summer. Here still stand two fine dragons carved in white marble, which must formerly have supported a marble slab. See what a garden this house had! What a fish-pond! Climb this stair, madam, if you would see the theatre. This larger one was for day performances. Yonder was the stage. There are still the grooves for the scenes to slide in. There was the orchestra [mostly flutes and fiddles]. Here sat the n.o.bles, here the citizens, here the plebeians. From this eminence you can look over into the smaller theatre close at hand, in which night performances were given."

And the stately dames, with those jewels which you saw stored at the Museo, and dressed and undressed like the frescos we have seen to-day, sat on their cushioned benches, and wafted their perfumes far and wide.

Here was the house of Diomed, rich and very extensive. The skeleton of Diomed (as is supposed) was found at the garden gate, with the key of the house and a purse of money. In one of the subterranean rooms is shown the impression of his wife's figure, merely a darker mark on a dark wall. Seventeen similar impressions were found. I think it is in this house that the walls of one of the rooms have an under-coating of lead to keep the moisture from the frescos, which are still brilliant.

The _luxe_ of fountains was, as is known, great and universal in Pompeii, and the arrangement of its leaden conduits is ample and skilful. Besides the well-known frescos, with their airy figures and brilliant coloring, we are shown a bath, whose vaulted roof is adorned with stucco reliefs, arranged in small medallions, octagons alternating with squares.

Presently we come to the street of tombs. Among these I best remember that which bears the inscription, "_Diomede, sibi suis_." At the upper end of this street we find a semicircular seat of stone, for the accommodation of the guard. Close by this was found the skeleton of the sentinel in armor which we saw in the Museum at Naples. In the prison were found the iron stocks, with at least one skeleton in them; others chained in divers ways. A feature new to me is that of various diminutive temples, with roofs roundly or sharply arched, devoted to the household G.o.ds. These usually stand upon an elevated projection, and might measure three feet in height and four in depth. The guide pointed out to us some small, square windows, which are simply open squares in the masonry, defended by iron gratings, deeply rusted. They are not numerous. Our guide suggests that there may have been a tax upon windows, accounting for their rare occurrence. One he shows us still nearly entire, a narrow slit, measuring, perhaps, eight inches by three, with a slab of talc in place of gla.s.s.

And presently we come to a small museum, whose contents are much the same in kind with the household remains seen by us in the Museum at Naples. And farther on is a room in which we are shown the _quattro morti_--the four dead bodies whose impress on the hardened cinders which surrounded them has been so ingeniously utilized. It is known that the ma.s.ses of cinder within which these bodies had slowly mouldered were filled with liquid plaster, and the forms of the bodies themselves, writhing in their last agonies, were thus obtained. One of these figures--that of a young woman--is full of pathetic expression. She lies nearly on her face, her hand near her eyes, as if weeping. Her back, entirely exposed, has the fresh and smooth outline of youth. The forms of two elder women and one man complete the sad gallery. Of these women one wears upon her finger a silver ring, the plaster having just fitted within it. This figure and that of the man are both swollen, probably from the decomposition that took place before the crust of ashes hardened around them into the rigid mould which to-day gives us their outlines.

These four plaster ghosts were the last sights seen by us in Pompeii.

For by this time we had walked and ridden three hours, and those three the most fervent of the day, beginning soon after noon. The heat was cruel and intense, but we had not given ourselves time to think of it.

The umbrella and _portantina_ helped us as they could, but the feeling that the work had to be done now or never helped us most of all. Our vexation against our guides had long ago cooled into a quiet good will.

Relinquishing the fiery journey, which might have been prolonged some hours further, we paid the rather heavy fee. The second carrier of the litter demanded a few extra pence, reminding us that at our first arrival he had brushed the dust from our dresses with a zeal which then appeared mysterious, but whose object was now clear. Parting from these, we pa.s.sed into the little inn, quite bare and dirty, whose coolness seemed delicious. We here ordered an afternoon _dejeuner_, and ate, drank, and rested.