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 ROBA DI ROMA 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM WETMORE STORY 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOU-GHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1891
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 Bi WILLIAM W. STORY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass , U. 5. A. 
 Blectrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Company.
 
 PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 
 
 SOME of the hopes expressed in the Preface to the 
 Sixth Edition of this work have not been realized, and 
 many of the old picturesque customs which then lent 
 a special charm to Rome have disappeared. The facili- 
 ties of travel, the growth of the city, the fact that it has 
 now become the capital of a great nation, and not simply 
 the central city of the Roman Catholic Church, have 
 brought about many and vital changes, effaced many 
 of its former characteristics, and made of it a modern 
 city. Great improvements have been introduced in all 
 that regards its material advantages as a residence. Its 
 streets have been widened, sidewalks made for foot- 
 passengers, new piazzas opened, its drainage greatly im- 
 proved, its old houses and apartments renewed and fitted 
 to modern requirements, and new quarters, which when 
 this book was written were but empty spaces, gardens, 
 villas, and vineyards, are now covered with continuous 
 rows of buildings and streets, a new and modern Rome 
 has grown up on the outskirts of the old city, to fit it for 
 the exigencies of to-day, to afford habitations to the large 
 increase of the population which is now pouring into it 
 from every part of Italy. It cannot, however, be said 
 that great good taste or regard for architectural beauty 
 characterizes these new quarters. They have been built 
 
 2042159
 
 iv PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 
 
 rather for speculation than for beauty. Still, there are 
 not wanting there creditable and even handsome struc- 
 tures, and the Via Nazionale is really worthy of a great 
 capital. 
 
 In the old portions of the city the changes have gen- 
 erally been improvements, and though here and there 
 there is something to regret in the destruction of the old, 
 on the whole these alterations have been for the benefit 
 of the city and the people. In fact, in most cases they 
 have been absolutely necessary. What is a sorrow and 
 a sadness, what is inexcusable, is the destruction of the 
 villas and gardens within the city, which formerly lent 
 such a peculiar charm to Rome. The beautiful and 
 romantic grounds of the Villa Ludovisi have now dis- 
 appeared ; its ilexes and green alleys have been ruth- 
 lessly hewn down to give place to new streets and houses. 
 The nightingales will sing there no more, and lovers and 
 friends from afar will no longer wander there and yield 
 their spirits to the charm of its romance. That is of the 
 past. And, too, the Villa Massimo has gone, and the Villa 
 Negroni ; and even, as I write, the delightful and pictur- 
 esque Colonna Gardens are about to disappear. Even 
 the Villa Borghese is threatened, with its varied and 
 exquisite slopes, and its broad stone fences and sombre 
 ilexes and shadowy glens, where all the world now drives 
 and saunters as the afternoon draws towards sunset. 
 
 In regard to the ancient remains of Rome, great care 
 has been taken to preserve them, and over them an 
 archaeological commission presides to see that none are 
 destroyed which are deemed to be of importance. Un- 
 doubtedly the exigencies of a capital of Italy, the opening 
 of new streets and the widening of old, have here and 
 there obliterated ancient landmarks and fragments of ruin
 
 PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. v 
 
 which were interesting, and drawn down upon the muni- 
 cipality severe criticism and strong reprehension from 
 strangers. But after all, precious as every stone of Rome 
 is to the world, and filled as every corner of it is with his- 
 torical associations and memories, it is none the less true 
 that some changes were absolutely required, and either 
 the necessary reform of the city to fit it to be the capital 
 of a great nation was to be abandoned, or some things not 
 without interest as relics of the past had to be sacrificed ; 
 and though in some cases there may be strong differences 
 of opinion as to the propriety of certain acts of the muni- 
 cipality, it cannot, I think, be honestly insisted that what 
 has been done has either been wanton or without at least 
 apparent excuse. The modern excavations have been 
 made with much consideration, and if the Forum and the 
 Palace of the Caesars have been shorn of their former pic- 
 turesqueness, they have derived therefrom an additional 
 archaeological interest. 
 
 In the present edition I have not attempted to alter 
 what was originally written, so as to make it in all partic- 
 ulars represent Rome as it now is. Here and there notes 
 have been added to indicate changes, but more than this 
 it was impossible to do without rewriting much of the book. 
 Parts of it belong to the past, and, standing as an histor- 
 ical record of what no longer exists, may perhaps have an 
 additional interest from this very reason. The main por- 
 tion of it, however, is not affected by the many modern 
 changes in the Eternal City. 
 
 The character of Rome has very much changed from 
 what it was. It is no longer the peaceful and tranquil 
 place where the pilgrim might wander and muse over the 
 past, far from the busy traffic of the world, and its worry 
 and its interests. The contemplative and almost monas-
 
 vi PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION. 
 
 tic charm of retirement, which once made it a city apart 
 from all others, is gone or going, and it is gradually 
 drawing into line with all other cities. Life is astir in its 
 crowded streets. It is awaking from its long dream. 
 But one cannot but sigh in remembering how pleasant 
 and soothing that dream of life was, and despite all rea- 
 soning there lingers a fond regret for the olden time, 
 when Rome was sleeping. 
 
 ST. MORITZ, ENGADINE, SUISSE. 
 August 12, 1886.
 
 PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 THE present edition has been carefully revised, and 
 many additions have been made, which, it is hoped, will 
 not be found to be without value and interest. 
 
 As it is going through the press, Rome has become an 
 integral portion of the kingdom of Italy, and will, in all 
 probability, undergo many and important changes. Among 
 others, the censorship of the press will be abolished, and 
 free admission given to literature of all kinds ; so that 
 this book may now enter without that challenge which, 
 on account of some opinions herein expressed, it has 
 hitherto met. It is a curious illustration of the previous 
 condition of things in Rome, that, although the govern- 
 ment formally authorized its admission, it was, during 
 the last two years, persistently stopped at the custom- 
 house, on the avowed ground that the miraculous Bam- 
 bino of Ara Coeli was mentioned with disrespect in its 
 pages. This objection, however, no longer will prevail, 
 and any traveller may now freely carry it with him, 
 without danger of its being confiscated on the frontier. 
 
 Further alterations it is not my purpose to make, if 
 subsequent editions should be required. Some of the 
 national customs described in it are already beginning to 
 disappear, and still more changes will probably occur 
 under the new order of things. It is to be hoped that,
 
 viii PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 with the entrance of liberty, the old picturesque customs 
 and costumes that gave so peculiar a charm to Rome will 
 not be driven out. But the tendency of modern civiliza- 
 tion is to the useful rather than to the picturesque ; and 
 it is to be feared that many years will not elapse before 
 much that is described in these pages will have become 
 purely historical. Let us pray, however, that Italy may 
 not seek to make a Brummagem Paris of this grand old 
 city, and, under the pretence of improvement, obliterate 
 the old landmarks of History, Poetry, and Romance. 
 
 A word or two may be ventured here on a minor sub- 
 ject, yet not without its value. Italy was once the arbiter 
 of dress, and gave the law to the world. Milan and 
 Mantua gave us our milliners and mantua-makers before 
 the word and the law of " mode " were invented by the 
 French. Nothing can exceed the beauty and picturesque- 
 ness of many of those old Italian costumes, which only 
 slowly changed, and were not varied every month to suit 
 the tasteless caprice of man or woman. The fidgety 
 demon of change worshipped by modern society is 
 Fashion ; and its chief temple is Paris. Is it impos- 
 sible to pay reverence again to the ancient and severer 
 divinity of Beauty ? 
 
 Italy at last belongs to herself. Let us see if she 
 cannot be herself, and play no more the jackal to 
 France, be herself in those grand systems of juris- 
 prudence which once she gave to us on land and on 
 sea, herself in commerce, industry, and arts, with 
 which she once led the world, herself in liberty and 
 popular government, in which she once was foremost 
 among nations, and herself in the minor department 
 of dress, so that her artists may no longer be ashamed
 
 PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION. ix 
 
 to paint and to sculpture the great men of to-day; nor 
 blush as they see the portraits of her modern statesmen, 
 poets, and heroes, standing in their ridiculous costumes 
 beside the dignified figures painted by her great artists in 
 the early days of her freedom and power. 
 
 LONDON, November 25, 1870.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ENTRANCE 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 STREET Music IN ROME 8 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 BEGGARS IN ROME .40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 70 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 LENT 93 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 GAMES IN ROME *. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 MAY IN ROME 164 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 CAFFBS AND THEATRES 207 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE COLOSSEUM 240 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 MIMES, MASKS, AND PUPPETS 269
 
 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ENTRANCE. 
 
 IT was on the 6th of December, 1856, that I landed 
 with my family at Civita Vecchia, on my return for the 
 third time to Rome. Before we could make all our ar- 
 rangements, it was too late to think of journeying that 
 day towards the dear old city ; but the following morning 
 we set forth in a rumbling, yellow post-coach, with three 
 horses, and a shabby, gaudy postilion, the wheels clatter- 
 ing, the bells on the horses' necks jingling, the cocks'- 
 plumes on their heads nodding, and a half-dozen sturdy 
 beggar-brats running at our side and singing a dismal 
 chorus of " Dated qualche cosa." Two or three half- 
 baiocchi, however, bought them off, and we had the road 
 to ourselves. The day was charming, the sky cloudless, 
 the air tender and with that delicious odor of the South 
 which so soothingly intoxicates the senses. The sea, ac- 
 companying us for half our way, gleamed and shook out 
 its breaking surf along the shore ; and the rolling slopes 
 of the Campagna, flattered by sunlight, stretched all 
 around us, here desert and sparkling with tall skeleton 
 grasses and the dry canes' tufted feathers, and there cov- 
 ered with low, shrubby trees, that, crowding darkly to- 
 gether, climbed the higher hills. On tongues of land, 
 jutting out into the sea, stood at intervals lonely watch- 
 towers, gray with age, and at their feet shallow and im- 
 potent waves gnashed into foam around the black, jagged 
 teeth of half-sunken rocks along the shore. Here and 
 there the broken arches of a Roman bridge, nearly buried 
 in the lush growth of weeds, shrubs, and flowers, or the
 
 2 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 ruins of some old villa, the home of the owl, snake, and 
 lizard, showed where Ancient Rome journeyed and lived. 
 At intervals, heavy carts, drawn by the massive gray oxen 
 of the Campagna, creaked slowly by, the contadino sitting 
 athwart the tongue ; or some light -wine-carretta came 
 ringing along, the driver fast asleep under its tall, trian- 
 gular cover, with his fierce little dog beside him, and his 
 horse adorned with bright rosettes and feathers. Some- 
 times long lines of mules or horses, tied one to another's 
 tail, plodded on in dusty procession, laden with sacks ; 
 sometimes droves of oxen, or poledri, conducted by a 
 sturdy driver in heavy leathern leggings, and armed with 
 a long, pointed pole, stopped our way for a moment. In 
 the fields, the pecoraro, in shaggy sheep-skin breeches, the 
 very type of the mythic Pan, leaned against his staff, half 
 asleep, and tended his woolly flock, or the contadino 
 drove through dark furrows the old plough of Virgil's 
 time, that figures in the vignettes to the " Georgics," 
 dragged tediously along by four white oxen, yoked abreast. 
 There, too, were herds of long-haired goats, rearing among 
 the bushes and showing their beards over them, or follow- 
 ing the shepherd to their fold, as the shadows began to 
 lengthen, or rude and screaming wains, tugged by un- 
 couth buffaloes, with low heads and knotted knees, bred 
 among the malaria-stricken marshes. 
 
 Half-way to Rome we changed horses at Palo, a little 
 grim settlement, composed of a post-house, inn, stables, a 
 line of straggling fishermen's huts, and a desolate old for- 
 tress, flanked by four towers. This fortress, which once 
 belonged to the Odescalchi family, but is now the prop- 
 erty of the Roman government, looks like the very spot 
 for a tragedy, as it stands there rotting in the pestilential 
 air, and garrisoned by a few stray old soldiers, whose 
 dreary, broken-down appearance is quite in keeping with 
 the place. Palo itself is the site of the city of Alsium, 
 founded by the Pelasgi, in the dim gloom of antiquity, 
 long before the Etruscans landed on this shore. It was 
 subsequently occupied by the Etruscans, and afterwards 
 became a favorite resort of the Roman nobility, who built 
 there the splendid villas of Antoninus, Porcina, Pompeius,
 
 ENTRANCE TO ROME. 3 
 
 and others. Of the Pelasgic and Etruscan town not a 
 vestige remains ; but the ruined foundations of Roman 
 villas are still to be seen along the shore. No longer are 
 to be found there the feasts described by Fronto, 1 of 
 " fatted oysters, savory apples, pastry, confectionery, and 
 generous wines in faultless transparent goblets," nor 
 would it now be called " a voluptuous seaside retreat ; " 
 but good lobsters are still abundant there, and one can get 
 a greasy beefsteak, black bread, an ill-cooked chicken, and 
 sour wine, at only about twice their market value. The 
 situation is lovely, with the sea washing in along the 
 rounded rim of the coast, close up to the door of the inn ; 
 and on a sunny day, when the white wings of feluccas may 
 be seen gleaming far off on the blue Mediterranean, and 
 the fishermen are drawing their nets close into shore, it 
 seems as if it might really be made " a voluptuous seaside 
 retreat," but for the desolating malaria which renders it 
 dangerous to rest there for a single night. 
 
 Here, of course, we stopped as short a time as possible ; 
 and then, bidding adieu to the sea, struck inland over the 
 Campagna to Rome. The country now grows wild, deso- 
 late, and lonely ; but it has a special charm of its own, 
 which they who are only hurrying on to Rome, and to 
 whom it is an obstruction and a tediousness, cannot, of 
 course, perceive. It is dreary, weird, ghostly, the home 
 of the winds ; but its silence, sadness, and solitude are both 
 soothing and impressive. After miles and miles up and 
 down, at last, from the crest of a hill up which we slowly 
 toiled with our lumbering carriage and reeking horses, we 
 saw the dome of St. Peter's hanging above the city, which 
 as yet was buried out of sight, like a tethered balloon. It 
 was but a glimpse, and was soon lost. The postilion cov- 
 ered the worn-out lace of his shabby livery with a heavy 
 cloak, which he flung over his shoulder to keep out the 
 dampening air, gave a series of wild flourishes with his 
 whip, broke into guttural explosions of voice to urge along 
 his horses, and on we went full-gallop. The road grew 
 more and more populated as we approached the city. 
 
 1 De Feriis Alsensibus, Epist. III. See Dennis's Etruscan Anti- 
 quities, Vol. I. 

 
 1 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Carriages were out for a drive, or to meet friends on their 
 way from Civita Vecchia ; and on foot was many a little 
 company of Romans, laughing and talking. At the osterlas 
 were groups seated under vine-covered arbors, or before 
 the door, drinking leisurely their wine and watching the 
 passers-by. At last, toward sundown, we stopped at the 
 Porta Cavalleggieri, where, thanks to our lascia passare, 
 we were detained but a minute, and then we were in 
 Rome. Over us rose the huge swelling dome of St. 
 Peter's, golden with the last rays of sunset. The pillars 
 of the gigantic colonnade of Bernini, as we jolted along, 
 " seemed to be marching by " in broad platoons. The 
 fountains piled their flexile columns of spray and waved 
 them to and fro. The great bell clanged from the belfry. 
 Groups wandered forth in the great Piazza. The old 
 Egyptian obelisk in the centre pointed its lean finger to 
 the sky. We were in Rome ! This one moment of sur- 
 prised sensation is worth the journey from Civita Vecchia. 
 Entered by no other gate, is Rome so suddenly and com- 
 pletely possessed. Nowhere is the contrast so instantaneous 
 and vivid as here, between the silent, desolate Campagna 
 and the splendor of St. Peter's, between the burrows 
 of primitive Christianity and the gorgeousness of ecclesias- 
 tical Rome. 
 
 After leaving the Piazza, we get a glimpse of Hadrian's 
 Mole, and of the rusty Tiber, as it hurries, " retortis littore 
 Etrusco violenter undis," as of old, under the statued 
 bridge of St. Angelo, and then we plunge into long, 
 damp, narrow, dirty streets. Yet shall I confess it ? 
 they had a charm for me. Twilight was deepening into 
 dark as we passed through them. Confused cries and loud 
 Italian voices sounded about me. Children were scream- 
 ing, men howling their wares for sale. Bells were ring- 
 ing everywhere. Priests, soldiers, peasants, and beggars 
 thronged along. The Trasteverini were going home, with 
 their jackets hanging over one shoulder. Women, in their 
 rough woollen gowns, stood in the doorways bare-headed, 
 or looked out from windows and balconies, their black hair 
 shining under the lanterns. Lights were twinkling in the 
 little cavernous shops, and under the Madonna shrines fax
 
 DIFFERENT NOTIONS OF DIRT. 5 
 
 within them. A funeral procession, with its black ban- 
 ners, gilt with a death's-head and crossbones, was passing 
 by, its wavering candles borne by the confraternita, who 
 marched carelessly along, shrouded from head to foot in 
 white, with only two holes for the eyes to glare through. 
 
 It was dirty, but it was Rome ; and to any one who has 
 long lived in Rome even its very dirt has a charm which 
 the neatness of no other place ever had. All depends, of 
 course, on what we call dirt. No one would defend the 
 condition of some of the streets or some of the habits of 
 the people. But the soil and stain which many call dirt I 
 call color, and the cleanliness of Amsterdam would ruin 
 Rome for the artist. Thrift and exceeding cleanliness are 
 sadly at war with the picturesque. To whatever the hand 
 of man builds, the hand of Time adds a grace, and nothing 
 is so prosaic as the rawly new. Fancy for a moment the 
 difference for the worse, if all the grim, browned, rotted 
 walls of Rome, with their peeling mortar, their thousand 
 daubs of varying grays and yellows, their jutting brickwork 
 and patched stonework, from whose intervals the cement 
 has crumbled off, their waving weeds and grasses and 
 flowers, now sparsely fringing their top, now thickly pro- 
 truding from their sides, or clinging and making a home 
 in the clefts and crevices of decay, were to be smoothed 
 to a complete level, and whitewashed over into an uniform 
 and monotonous tint. What a gain in cleanliness ! what 
 a loss in beauty ! An old wall like this I remember on 
 the road from Grotta Ferrata to Frascati, which was ta 
 my eyes a constant delight. One day the owner took it 
 into his head to whitewash it all over, to clean it, as some 
 would say. I look upon that man as little better than a 
 Vandal in taste, one from whom " knowledge at one 
 entrance " was " quite shut out." 
 
 Take another " modern instance." Substitute for the 
 tiled roofs of Rome, now so gray, tumbled, and picturesque 
 with their myriad lichens, the cold, clean slate of New 
 York, or the glittering zinc of Paris, should we gain or 
 lose ? 1 he Rue de Rivoli is long, white, and uniform, 
 all new and all clean ; but there is no more harmony and 
 melody in it than in the " damnable iteration " of a single
 
 6 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 note ; and even Time will be puzzled to make it as pic- 
 turesque, or half as interesting, as those old houses de- 
 stroyed in the back streets for its building, and which had 
 sprouted up here and there, according to the various 
 whims of the various builders. Those were taken down 
 because they were dirty, narrow, unsightly. These are 
 thought elegant and clean. Clean they certainly are ; and 
 they have one other peculiarity, that of being as mo- 
 notonously regular as the military despotism they repre- 
 sent. But I prefer individuality, freedom, and variety, for 
 my own part. The narrow, uneven, huddled Corso, with 
 here a noble palace, and there a quaint passage, archway, 
 or shop, the buildings now high, now low, but all bar- 
 nacled over with balconies, is far more interesting than 
 the unmeaning uniformity of the Rue de Rivoli. So, too, 
 there are those among us who have the bad taste to think 
 it a desecration in Louis Napoleon to have scraped the 
 stained and venerable Notre Dame into cleanliness. The 
 Romantic will not consort with the Monotonous, Nature 
 is not neat, Poetry is not formal, and Rome is not 
 clean. 
 
 Thse thoughts, or ghosts of thoughts, flitted through 
 my mind, as the carriage was passing along the narrow, 
 dirty streets, and brought with them after-trains of reflec- 
 tion. There may be, I thought, among the thousands of 
 travellers that annually winter at Rcme, some to whom the 
 common out-door pictures of modern Roman life would 
 have a charm as special as the galleries and antiquities, 
 and to whom a sketch of many things, which wise and 
 serious travellers have passed by as unworthy their notice, 
 might be interesting. Every ruin has had its score of 
 immortelles hung upon it. The soil has been almost over- 
 worked by antiquarians and scholars, to whom the modern 
 flower was nothing, but the antique brick a prize. Poets 
 and sentimentalists have described to death what the anti- 
 quaries have left ; some have done their work so well 
 that nothing remains to be done after them. Everybody 
 has an herbarium of dried flowers from all the celebrated 
 sites, and a table made from bits of marble collected in the 
 ruined villas. Every Englishman carries a Murray for
 
 BLUNDERS OF STRANGERS. 7 
 
 information and a Byron for sentiment, and finds out by 
 them what he is to know and feel at every step. Pictures 
 and statues have been staled by copy and description, until 
 everything is stereotyped, from the Dying Gladiator, with 
 his "young barbarians all at play," and all that, down to 
 the Beatrice Cenci, the Madame Tonson of the shops, that 
 haunts one everywhere with her white turban and red 
 eyes. All the public and private life and history of the 
 ancient Romans, from Romulus to Constantine and Julian 
 the Apostle (as he is sometimes called), is perfectly well 
 known. But the common life of the modern Romans, the 
 games, customs, and habits of the people, the every-day of 
 To-day, has been only touched upon here and there, 
 sometimes with spirit and accuracy, as by Charles M' Far- 
 lane, sometimes with grace, as by Hans Christian Andersen, 
 and sometimes with ludicrous ignorance, as by Jones, 
 Brown, and Robinson, who see through the eyes of their 
 courier, and the spectacles of their prejudices. A life of 
 several years in Rome has given me opportunities to ob- 
 serve some things which do not strike the hurried travel- 
 ler, and to correct many of my own false notions in regard 
 to the people and place. To a stranger, a first impression 
 is apt to be a false impression ; and it constantly happens 
 to me to hear strangers work out the falsest conclusions 
 from the slightest premises, and settle the character and 
 deserts of the Italians, all of whom they mass together 
 in a lump, after they have been just long enough on 
 the soil to travel from Civita Vecchia to Rome under the 
 charge of a courier, when they know just enough of the 
 language to ask for a coachman when they want a spoon, 
 or to order a " mezzo detto " at the restaurant, and 
 when they have made the respectable acquaintance, be- 
 sides their courier, of a few porters, a few beggars, a few 
 shopkeepers, and the padrone of the apartment they hire. 
 
 No one lives long in Rome without loving it ; and I must, 
 in the beginning, confess myself to be in the same category. 
 Those who shall read these slender papers, without agree- 
 ing to the kindly opinions often expressed, must account 
 for it by remembering that " Love lends a precious seeing 
 to the eye." My aim is far from ambitious. I shall not
 
 8 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 be erudite, but I hope I shall not be dull. These little 
 sketches may remind some of happy days spent under the 
 Roman sky, and, by directing the attention of others to 
 what they have overlooked, may open a door to a new 
 pleasure. Chi sa ? The plainest Ranz des Vaches may 
 sometimes please when the Eroica symphony of Beethoven 
 would be a bore. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 STREET MUSIC IN ROME. 
 
 WHOEVER has passed the month of December in Rome 
 will remember to have been awakened from his morning 
 dreams by the gay notes of the pifferari playing in the 
 streets below, before the shrines of the Madonna and 
 Bambino, and the strains of one set of performers will 
 scarcely have ceased, before the distant notes of another 
 set of pilgrims will be heard to continue the well-known 
 novena. The pifferari are generally contadini of the 
 Abruzzi mountains, who, at the season of Advent, leave 
 their home to make a pilgrimage to Rome, stopping 
 before all the wayside shrines, as they journey along, to 
 play their glad music of welcome to the Virgin and the 
 coming Messiah. Their song is called a novena, from its 
 being sung for nine consecutive days, first for nine days 
 previous to the Festa of the Madonna, which occurs on 
 the 8th of December, and afterwards for the nine days 
 preceding Christmas. Tbe same words and music serve, 
 however, for both celebrations. The pifferari always go 
 in couples, one playing on the zampogna, or bagpipe, the 
 bass and treble accompaniment, and the other on the 
 piffero, or pastoral pipe, which carries the air ; and for 
 the month before Christmas the sound of their instruments 
 resounds through the streets of Rome wherever there is a 
 shrine, whether at the corners of the streets, in the depths 
 of the shops, down little lanes, in the centre of the Corso, 
 in the interior courts of the palaces, or on the stairways of 
 private houses.
 
 STREET MUSIC PIFFERARI. 9 
 
 Their costume is extremely picturesque. On their heads 
 they wear conical felt hats adorned with a frayed pea- 
 cock's feather, or a faded band of red cords and tassels, 
 
 their bodies are clad in red waistcoats, blue jackets, and 
 small-clothes of skin or yellowish homespun cloth, skin 
 sandals are bound to their feet with cords that interlace 
 each other up the leg as far as the knee, and over all is 
 worn a long brown or blue cloak with a short cape, buckled 
 closely round the neck. Sometimes, but rarely, this cloak 
 is of a deep red with a scalloped cape. As they stand be- 
 fore the pictures of the Madonna, their hats placed on the 
 ground before them, and their thick, black, dishevelled hair 
 covering their sunburnt brows, blowing away on their in- 
 struments or pausing to sing their novena. they form a 
 picture which every artist desires to paint. Their dress is 
 common to nearly all the peasantry of the Abruzzi, and, 
 worn and tattered as it often is, it has a richness and har- 
 mony of tint which no new clothes could ever have, and for 
 which the costumes of the shops and regular models offer 
 a poor substitute. It is the old story again. The new and 
 clean is not so paintable, not so picturesque, as the tar- 
 nished and soiled. The worn blue of the cloak is softened 
 by the dull gray of the threads beneath, patches of 
 various colors are often let into the jacket or breeches, 
 the hat is lustreless from age, and rusty as an old wall, 
 
 and the first vivid red of the waistcoat is toned by 
 constant use to a purely pictorial hue. Besides, the true 
 pifferaro wears his costume as if it belonged to him and 
 had always been worn by him, so that it has none of 
 that got-up look which Spoils everything. From the san- 
 dals and corded leggings, which in the Neapolitan dialect 
 are termed cioce, the pifferari are often called ciociari. 
 
 Their Christmas pilgrimages are by no means prompted 
 by purely religious motives, though, undoubtedly, such 
 considerations have some weight with them, the common 
 peasantry being religiously inclined, and often making pil- 
 grimages simply from a sense of duty and propriety. Bat 
 in these wanderings to Rome, their principal object is to 
 earn a little money to support them during the winter 
 months, when their " occupation is gone." As they are
 
 10 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hired in Rome by the owners of the various houses adorned 
 with a Madonna shrine (of which there are over fifteen 
 hundred in the city), to play before them at the rate of a 
 paul or so for each full novena, and as they can easily play 
 before thirty or forty a day, they often return, if their 
 luck be good, with a tolerable little sum in their pockets. 
 Besides this, they often stand as models, if they are good- 
 looking fellows, and thus add to their store ; and then 
 again, the forestieri (for, as the ancient Romans called 
 strangers barbari, so their descendants call them foresters, 
 woodmen, wildmen) occasionally drop baiocchi and pauls 
 into their hats still further to increase it. 
 
 Sometimes it is a father and son who play together, but 
 oftener two old friends who make the pilgrimage in pairs. 
 This morning, as I was going out for a walk round the 
 walls, two admirable specimens of the pifferari were per- 
 forming the novena before a shrine at the corner of the 
 street. The player of the bagpipe was an old man, with a 
 sad but very amiable face, who droned out the bass and 
 treble in a most earnest and deprecatory manner. He 
 looked as if he had stood still, tending his sheep, nearly all 
 his life, until the peace and quiet of Nature had sunk into 
 his being, or, if you will, until he had become assimilated 
 to the animals he tended. The other, who played the 
 pipe, was a man of middle age, stout, vigorous, with a 
 forest of tangled black hair, and dark quick eyes that were 
 fixed steadily on the Virgin, while he blew and vexed the 
 little brown pipe with rapid runs and nervous Jiorittire, 
 until great drops of sweat dripped from its round open 
 mouth. Sometimes, when he could not play fast enough 
 to satisfy his eagerness, he ran his finger up and down the 
 vents. Then, suddenly lowering his instrument, he would 
 scream, in a strong peasant voice, verse after verse of the 
 novena, to the accompaniment of the bagpipe. One was 
 like a slow old Italian vettura all lumbered with luggage 
 and held back by its drag ; the other panting and nervous 
 at his work as an American locomotive, and as constantly 
 running off the rails. Both, however, were very earnest 
 at their occupation. As they stood there playing, a little 
 group gathered round. A scamp of a boy left his sport to
 
 STREET MUSIC PIFFERARI. 11 
 
 come and beat time with a stick on the stone step before 
 them ; several children clustered near ; and two or three 
 women, with black-eyed infants in their arms, also paused 
 to listen and sympathize. At last the playing ceased. The 
 pifferari took up their hats and looked round smilingly 
 at us. 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " I asked. 
 
 " Eh ! " said the pifferaro, showing all his teeth, and 
 shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly, while the other 
 echoed the pantomime. " Dal Regno" for so the Abruzzi 
 peasants call the kingdom of Naples. 
 
 " And do you come every year ? " 
 
 " SI, S ignore. He (indicating his friend) and I (point- 
 ing to himself) have been companions for thirty-three 
 years, and every year we have come to Rome to play the 
 novena." 
 
 To this the old zampognaro bent his head on one side, 
 and said, assentingly, " Eh ! per trenta treanni " 
 
 And " Ecco" continued the pifferaro, bursting in be- 
 fore the zampognaro could go on, and pointing to two 
 stalwart youths of about twenty-two or twenty-three years 
 of age, who at this moment came up the street with their 
 instruments, " These are our two sons. He is mine," 
 indicating one with his reversed thumb ; " and that 
 other is his," jerking his head towards his companion. 
 " And they, too, are going to play in company, as we 
 do." 
 
 " For thirty-three years more, let us hope," said I. 
 
 "Eh ! speriamo " (Let us hope so), was the answer of 
 the pijfferaro, as he showed all his teeth in the broadest of 
 smiles. Then, with a motion of his hand, he set both the 
 young men going, he himself joining in, straining out both 
 his cheeks, blowing all the breath of his body into the little 
 pipe, and running up and down the vents with a sliding 
 finger, until finally he brought up against a high, shrill 
 note, to which he gave the full force of his lungs, and, after 
 holding it in loud blast for a moment, startled us by break- 
 ing off, without gradation, into a silence as sudden as if 
 the music had snapped short off, like a pipe-stem. 
 
 On further conversation with my ciociari, I found that
 
 12 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 they came yearly from Sora, a town in the Abruzzi, about 
 fifty miles from Rome, making the journey on foot, and 
 picking up by the way whatever trifle of coppers they could. 
 In this manner they travelled the whole distance in five 
 days, living upon onions, lettuce, oil, and black bread. 
 They were now singing the second novena for Christmas ; 
 and, if one could judge from their manner and conversa- 
 tion, were quite content with what they had earned. I 
 invited them up into my room, and there in the pleasantest 
 way they stunned us with the noise of both their instru- 
 ments, to the great delight of the children and the astonish- 
 ment of the servants, for whom these common things had 
 worn out their charm by constant repetition. At my re- 
 quest they repeated the words of the novena they had been 
 singing, and I took them down from their lips. After 
 eliminating the wonderful m-ms of the Neapolitan dialect, 
 in which all the words lay imbedded like shells in the 
 sand, and supplying some of the curious elisions with 
 which those Abruzzi Procrusteans recklessly cut away the 
 polysyllables, so as to bring them within the rhythmic 
 compass, they ran thus : 
 
 " Tu Verginella figlia di Sant' Anna, 
 Che in venire tuo portasti il buon Gesu ; 
 E lo partoristi sotto la capanna, 
 E dov' mangiav' no lo bue e 1' asinello. 
 
 " Quel Angelo gridava : ' Venite, Santi ! 
 'Ch' e andato Gesu dentro la capanna ; 
 Ma guardate Vergine beata, 
 Che in ciel in terra sia nostr' avvocata ! ' 
 
 " San Giuseppe andava in compagnia, 
 Si trov6 al partorir di Maria. 
 La notte di Natale e notte santa 
 II Padre e 1' Figliuolo e lo Spirito Santo. 
 'Sta la ragione che abbianio cantato ; 
 Sia a Gesu bambino rappresentato. " l 
 
 1 " Thou little Virgin daughter of Saint Anna, 
 That bore within thy womb the good Jesus ; 
 And gave birth to him in the hovel, 
 Where the ox and the ass were eating together. 
 
 " That angel cried out : ' Come, O ye Saints I 
 For Jesus has gone there into the hovel ;
 
 STREET MUSIC PIFFERARI. 13 
 
 The sudden introduction of " Quel Angela " in this 
 song reminds us of a similar felicity in the romantic ballad 
 of " Lord Bateman," where we are surprised to learn that 
 " this Turk," to whom no allusion had been previously 
 made, " has one lovely daughter." 
 
 The air to which this is sung is simple and sweet, though 
 monotonous, and if for no other reason is interesting as 
 being one of the oldest fragments of popular song existing 
 in Italy. Between the verses a curious little ritornello 
 is played, and at the close of the last verse there is a 
 strange and solemn adagio. It will be found in the Ap- 
 pendix. 
 
 The wanderings of the pifferari are by no means con- 
 fined to the Roman States. Sometimes they stray u as far 
 away as Paris is," and, wandering about in that gay cap- 
 ital, like children at a fair, play in the streets for chanre 
 sous, or stand as models to artists, who, having once been 
 in Rome, hear with a longing Rome-sickness the old char- 
 acteristic sounds of the piffero and zampogna. Two of 
 them I remember to have heard thus, as I was at work in 
 my studio in Paris ; and so vividly did they recall the old 
 Roman time, that I called them in for a chat. Wonderful 
 was their speech. In the few months of their wandering, 
 they had put into their Neapolitan dough various plums of 
 French words, which, pronounced in their odd way, " suf- 
 fered a change into something rich and strange." One of 
 them told me that his wife had just written to him by the 
 hand of a public letter-writer, lamenting his absence, and 
 
 But look down upon us, O blessed Virgin, 
 And in heaven and on earth be our advocate 1 ' 
 
 Saint Joseph went in company with them, 
 And was present at the child-birth of Mary. 
 The night of Christmas is a holy night 
 The Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. 
 This is the reason why we have sung ; 
 Let it be represented to the baby Jesus." 
 
 There cannot be said to be any strict continuity of thought or nar- 
 rative in these disjointed words. They disdain the common rules of 
 rhythm, metre, rhyme, but they serve their purpose, queer as they 
 are, and probably represent as well as may be the confused notions 
 of the peasants upon the great subject which they treat.
 
 14 ROD A DI ROMA. 
 
 praying him to send her his portrait. He had accordingly 
 sent her a photograph in half-length. Some time after- 
 wards she acknowledged the receipt of it, but indignantly 
 remonstrated with him for sending her a picture of a 
 "mezz' uomo, che pareva guard ando per la finest" (a 
 half-man, who seemed to he looking out of the window), 
 as she oddly characterized a half-length, and praying to 
 have his legs also in the next portrait. This same fellow, 
 with his dull, amiable face, played the role of a ferocious 
 wounded brigand dragged into concealment by his wife, in 
 the studio of a friend next door ; but despite thr savagery 
 and danger of his counterfeited position, he was sure to 
 be overpowered by sleep before he had been in it more 
 than five minutes, and if the artist's eye left him for a 
 moment, he never failed to change his attitude for one 
 more fitted to his own somnolent propensities than for 
 the picture. 
 
 Every shopkeeper among the lower clashes in Rome hires 
 these pifferari to play before the little shrine behind his 
 counter, or over his door, thinking thereby to procure the 
 favor of the Madonna, without which his business is sure 
 not to prosper. Padre Bresciani relates that in the year 
 1849 he heard a stout Roman woman (un gran' pezzo di 
 donna, a great piece of a woman, to translate literally) 
 invoking a curse upon some of the birbanti then abroad in 
 the city, after this manner, " Eh ! Madonna Santis- 
 sima, mandate un accident e a 'sti birboni." " Send an 
 apoplexy to those rascals, most holy Madonna." 
 
 " But, Sora Agnese," remonstrated the padre, " you 
 must not invoke such curses upon anybody. You should 
 forgive even wicked persons if you love the Madonna." 
 
 " If I love the Madonna! " was the reply. " Fiyura- 
 tevi, sor compare mio just imagine whether I love her, 
 when every year I hire the pifferari to play the novena 
 to her ! " 
 
 But the Roman pifferari cannot really be heard to 
 advantage in the streets of Rome. In the mountains their 
 pipe and bagpipe produce a wholly different impression, 
 and I remember to have heard them once towards sun. 
 down at San Germane, when the effect was charming.
 
 STREET MUSIC BALLAD SINGERS. 15 
 
 Just before reaching the town, the road passes within a 
 stone's-throw of the ancient amphitheatre built by Umidia 
 Quadrafcilla, and mentioned by Pliny. Here we ordered 
 the carriage to stop, and running through the furrows of a 
 ploughed field ascended the slope of the hill on which it 
 stands. Though ruined in parts, it is a noble structure ; 
 the exterior walls of reticulated work are still in good con- 
 dition, and its main front is tolerably perfect. Time has 
 tinged its marble facings with a rich yellow hue, but has 
 failed to eat out the cement or to shake the solid courses of 
 its stones. Here and there shrubs, flowers, and one or two 
 fig-trees have found a footing and grace its walls. Climb- 
 ing through one of the round arches of entrance which is 
 half choked with rubbish, we found ourselves within the 
 enclosure. The interior is far more ruined than the ex- 
 terior ; the seats are all crumbled away and obliterated ; 
 and Indian corn, beans, and potatoes were growing in the 
 arena. As we stood looking in silence upon this sad decay, 
 we heard in the distance the pipe and bagpipe of some 
 shepherds playing a melancholy pastoral tune. Nothing 
 could be more charming, more perfectly in rhyme with 
 the mountains and the ruins. I could scarcely have be- 
 lieved such tones could come from a bagpipe. Softened by 
 the distance, they lost their nasal drawl, and stole sweetly 
 to our ears with that special charm which the rudest 
 national music has when heard in its native place. Look- 
 ing through the archway over the distant valley and moun- 
 tains, we listened to them, enchanted. 1 
 
 The pifferari are by no means the only street musicians 
 in Rome, though they take the city by storm at Christmas. 
 Every day under my window comes a band of four or five, 
 who play airs and concerted pieces from the operas, 
 and a precious work they make of it sometimes ! Not 
 only do the instruments go very badly together, but the 
 
 1 The pifferari, I regret to say, are no longer permitted to come 
 into Rome and play their novena there at Christmas and New Year. 
 The government has prohibited them, why, I have not been able 
 to learn. In so doing it has obliterated an old popular usage, which 
 harmed no one, and had a special charm for many.
 
 16 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 parts they play are not arranged for them. A violone 
 grunts out a low accompaniment to a vinegar-sharp violin 
 which saws out the air, while a trumpet blares in %t inter- 
 vals to endeavor to unite the two, and a flute does what 
 it can, but not what it would. Sometimes, instead of a 
 violone, a hoarse trombone, with a violent cold in the 
 head, snorts out the bass impatiently, gets ludicrously un- 
 controllable and boastful at times, and is always so choleric, 
 that, instead of waiting for the cadenzas to finish, it bursts 
 in, knocks them over as by a blow on the head, roars away 
 on false intervals, and overwhelms every other voice with 
 its ovn noisy vociferation. The harmonic arrangements 
 are very odd. Each instrument seems to consider itself 
 ill-treated when reduced to an accompaniment or bass, and 
 is constantly endeavoring, however unfitted for it, to get 
 possession of the air, the melody being, for all Italians, 
 the principal object. The violin, however, weak of voice 
 as it is, always carries the day, and the other instruments 
 steal discontentedly back to their secondary places, the 
 snuffy old violone keeping up a constant growl at its ill- 
 luck, and the trombone now and then leaping out like a 
 tiger on its prey. 
 
 Far better and more characteristic are the ballad-singers, 
 who generally go in couples, an old. man, dim of sight, 
 perhaps blind, who plays the violin, and his wife or daugh- 
 ter, who has a guitar, tamborello, or at times a mandolin. 
 Sometimes a little girl accompanies them, sings with them, 
 and carries round a tin box, or the tamborello, to collect 
 baiocchi. They sing long ballads to popular melodies, 
 some of which are very pretty and gay, and for a baiocco 
 they sell a sheet containing the printed words of the song, 
 and headed by a rude woodcut. Sometimes it is in the 
 form of a dialogue, either a love-making, a quarrel, a 
 reconciliation, or a leave-taking, each singer taking an 
 alternate verse. Sometimes it is a story with a chorus, or 
 a religious conversation ballad, or a story of a saint, or 
 from the Bible. Those drawn from the Bible are gener- 
 ally very curious paraphrases of the original simple text, 
 turned into the simplest and commonest idioms of the 
 people ; one of them may be found in the Appendix to
 
 STREET MUSIC. 17 
 
 Goethe's " Italienische Reise." These Roman ballads and 
 popular songs, so far as I am able to learn, have never 
 been collected. Many of them do not exist in print, and 
 are only traditional and caught from mouth to mouth. 
 This is particularly the case with those in the Romanesco 
 dialect, which are replete with the peculiar wit and spirit 
 of the country. But the memory of man is too perilous a 
 repository for such interesting material ; and it is greatly 
 to be wished that some clever Italian, who is fitted for the 
 task, would interest himself to collect them and give them 
 a permanent place in the literature of his language. 
 
 But to return to our ballad-singers, whom we have left 
 in the middle of their song, and who are now finishing. 
 A crowd has gathered round them, as usual ; out of the 
 windows and from the balconies lean the occupants of the 
 houses near by, and the baiocchi thrown by them ring on 
 the pavement below. With rather stentorian voices they 
 have been singing a dialogue which is most elaborately 
 entitled a " Canzonetta Nuova, sopra un marinaro che da 
 1' addio alia sua promessa sposa mentre egli deve partire 
 per la via di Levante. Sdegno, pace, e matrimonio delli 
 medesimi con intercalare sulP aria moderna. Rime di 
 Francesco Calzaroni " (A new song about a mariner, 
 who says good-by to his betrothed, he being on the point 
 of leaving her to go to the East. Indignation, peace, and 
 marriage of the same, with various parts, arranged in a 
 modern air). I give my baiocco, and receive in return a 
 smiling " Grazie " and a copy of the song, which is adorned 
 by a woodcut of a ship in full sail. 
 
 The titles of these ballads are generally very character- 
 istic ; one or two of them I will here copy to give an idea 
 of the subjects of which they treat. Here, for instance, 
 is " The Marriage by Concourse, where a tailor, a barber, 
 a mason, a shoemaker, a carpenter, a locksmith, and a 
 cook are the suitors ; " and here another, which treats of 
 " The Repentance of Young Men after they have taken 
 Wives ; " and one called a " New Song upon a quarrel 
 between a mistress and her servant, whom she dismisses 
 from her service because she spends too much money every 
 day ; " and one entitled " The Blind Little Peasant, who 
 2
 
 18 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 complains of the wrongs he has suffered from Menica, and 
 abandons her to marry another ; " and here is " a most 
 beautiful composition upon an old woman who wishes to 
 dress alia, moda" Here is another of a moral character, 
 containing the sad history of Frederick the Gambler, who, 
 to jiylge from the woodcut accompanying the Canzonetta, 
 must have been a ferocious fellow. He stands with his 
 legs wide apart, in half-armor, a great sash tied over his 
 shoulder and swinging round his legs, an immense sword 
 at his side, and a great hat with two ostrich feathers on his 
 head, looking the very type of a " swashing blade." 
 
 The singers of longer ballads carry about with them 
 sometimes a series of rudely-executed illustrations of dif- 
 ferent incidents in the story, painted in distemper and 
 pasted on a large pasteboard frame, which is hung against 
 a wall or on a stand planted behind the singer in the 
 ground. Now and then he pauses in his song to ex- 
 plain these to the audience, and they are sure to draw a 
 crowd. 
 
 But besides these ballads, there are many in the mouths 
 of the people which are far more interesting and char- 
 acteristic than any to be found in print. Here, for in- 
 stance, is one which Niccolina is constantly singing, and it 
 so amused me by its odd incidents and morals that I wrote 
 it down from her dictation. It is evidently only a frag- 
 ment ; but it was all she knew, and she declared that there 
 was no more. 
 
 ' ' Donna Lombard a perche non m' ami ? 
 Perche ho marito f Se hai marito 
 Fa lo morir ! T' insegnero ! 
 Va giu in giardino del Signer Padre 
 Che c' e un serpente, Piglia la testa 
 Di quel serpente, Pista la bene 
 Dopo che 1' hai bene pistato 
 Mette la dentro una carafina 
 Vien a casa il marito tutto sudato, 
 E chiede da bere dagli da bere ! 
 Lui demanda cos' e quest' aqua 
 Tutta torbida ? Son tuoni e lamp! 
 Del altra sera. " 1 
 
 1 For those who do not understand the original, here is a rough 
 translation :
 
 STREET MUSIC SOSPIRI D' AM ORE. 19 
 
 But despite of Niccolina, there is more, and the tragic 
 end is averted by the momentous interposition of an in- 
 fant, three months old, who, when the wife is just about 
 to administer the poison to her husband, suddenly rises 
 in its cradle and reproves her for her intended crime, and 
 preaches to her " come un viro santo " and so all ends 
 happily. 
 
 Every night during the spi-ing, and sometimes during 
 the clear evenings of winter, around the Piazza Barberini 
 may be heard the sound of the guitar playing in accom- 
 paniment to a mandolin, as the performers march up and 
 down the streets or stop before the little osterias ; and as 
 summer comes on, and the evenings grow warm, begin the 
 street serenades, sometimes like that of Lindoro in the 
 opening of the " Barbiere di Sevilla," but generally with 
 only one voice, accompanied by the same instruments. 
 These serenades are, for the most part, given by a lover or 
 friend to his innamorata, and the words are expressive of 
 the tender passion ; but there are also serenate di gelosia, 
 or satirical serenades, when the most impertinent and sting- 
 ing verses are sung. Long before arriving, the serenaders 
 may be heard marching up the street to the thrum of their 
 instruments. They then place themselves before the win- 
 dows of the fair one, and, surrounded by a group of men 
 and boys, make proclamation of their love in loud and 
 often violent tones. It seems sometimes as if they con- 
 sidered the best method of expressing the intensity of their 
 passion was by the volume of their voice. Certainly, in 
 these cases, the light of love is not hidden under a bushel, 
 for these serenaders shout out their songs in stentorian 
 tones, that pierce the silent air of night, and echo through 
 
 " Lady from Lombardy, why don't you love me ? 
 Because I 've a husband ! If you 've a husband, 
 Cause him to die. I '11 teach you how ! 
 Go down in the garden of your signer father, 
 You '11 find a serpent. Take from the serpent 
 Only his head. Crush it and bray it ! 
 After you 've crushed it and brayed it completely, 
 Mix it all well in a bottle of water. 
 Home comes your husband, hot and perspiring, 
 Asks for some drink. Give him to drink this ! 
 If he demand of you why is this water 
 Turbid like this ? say 't is the lightning 
 And thunder last evening."
 
 20 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the deserted streets. But though the voices are harsh, and 
 the music rude and wild, the words of some of these ser- 
 enades are very pretty and graceful, and particularly those 
 that go by the name of "' Sospiri d' amore " : 
 
 " Vorrei che la finestra omai s' aprisse, 
 Vorrei che lo naio bene s' affacciasse, 
 E un sospiro d' amore lo gradisse.' ' 
 
 In the mountain towns the contadini know by heart 
 hundreds of little songlets, which they shout under the 
 windows of their sposine and lady-loves. Most of them 
 consist of few lines, and all are variations upon the same 
 theme. The stout contadina is a queen, a noble lady, a 
 flower of beauty, a delicate creature, who deprives her 
 lover of rest, and he comes to kiss the ground she has 
 trod upon, and awakens the street with his lamenting, and 
 prays her to come to the window and smile upon him. 
 Love transfigures the world, and the peasant uses the 
 noblest language. He sings : 
 
 " Rizzatevi dl letto e uscite fuora, 
 Venite a vede il cielo quanto e bello ; 
 II vostro viso al lume della luna 
 Par d' un angiolo fatto col penello. 
 
 "Oh Rosa delle rose, o Rosa bella, 
 Per te non dormo ne notte ne giorno, 
 E sempre penso alia tua faccia bella, 
 Alle grazie che hai faccio ritorno. 
 Faccio ritorno alle grazie che hai : 
 Ch' io ti lasci, amor mio, non creder maL 
 
 "Miralo il cielo e mira qnante stelle, 
 E mira quanti nodi in quella rete ; 
 Son piu le pene mie che non son chelle, 
 Son piu le pene mie che dato m'ete, 
 Son pin le pene mie ch' e tuoi martiri ; 
 Io ti amo di buon cuore e tu t' adiri. 
 
 ' Ti vengo a visitare, alma regina, 
 Ti vengo a visitare alia tu' casa ; 
 Inginocchioni per tutta la via, 
 Bacio la terra andti che sei passata : 
 Bacio la terra, e risguardo le mura, 
 Dove se' passa, nobil creatura.
 
 STREET MUSIC RESPETTI. 21 
 
 Bacio la terra, e risguardo la tetta 
 Dove passate, nobil giovanetta. 
 
 ' ' Vada la voce mia dentro le mura, 
 Di poi che vita mia non pub passare. 
 Persona bella, delicata e pura, 
 Da dove siete, statenii ad ascoltare ; 
 Statemi ad ascoltar, persona cara, 
 Per mia consolazione guardo 1' aria ; 
 Statemi ad ascoltar, persona pura, 
 Per mia eonsolazion guardo le mura. ' ' 
 
 In the fulness of his feelings the lover invokes blessings, 
 not only upon his mistress, but also on the house and all 
 the family : 
 
 ' ' In questa casa non ci ho piu cantato ; 
 Vo' domandar 1' usanza che ci sia. 
 Se c' e del bene, Dio ce lo mantenga ! 
 Se c' e del male, Dio lo mandi via! 
 Vo' benedir quella rosa incarnata, 
 E lo padrone e tutta la brigata ; 
 Vo' benedir quella rosa vermiglia, 
 E lo padrone e tutta la f amiglia. ' ' 
 
 Sometimes, when his mistress lives far away in another 
 town, he arrives late at night, and sings until the morning 
 breaks, the bells ring, and the windows begin to open : 
 then he sings, Farewell : 
 
 "La vedo 1' alba che vuole apparire, 
 Chiedo licenza, e non vo' piu cantare, 
 Che le finestre si vedono aprire 
 E le campane si sentono sonare. 
 E si sente sonare in cielo e in terra ; 
 Addio, bel gelsomin, ragazza bella. 
 E si sente sonare in cielo e in Roma, 
 Addio, bel gelsomin, bella persona. ' ' 1 
 
 1 These serenades will all be found in the Canti Popolarl Toscani, 
 collected by Giuseppe. Tigri. 
 
 NOTE. It is impossible in any translation to give the graceful 
 terms of expression which characterize these little songs, English 
 is not the language of love, and wants the endearing diminutives of 
 the Italian, but those who do not imderstand the original will find 
 in these versions the sense, if not the grace, of these verses : 
 
 " Rise from your bed, come out into the night ; 
 Come, see the sky, so beautiful and bright ; 
 In the soft splendor of the moon your face is 
 Like to an angel's, that an artist traces.
 
 22 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 The technical name of the little serenades written in 
 this form of eight lines is " Respetti," and the theme of 
 which they treat is love. Sometimes they celebrate the 
 beauty and charms of the maid in whose honor they are 
 sung; sometimes they utter bitter complaints against her 
 for her hardness of heart ; and sometimes they caricature 
 her and turn her into ridicule. They are so full of grace, 
 have so many happy terms of sentiment and such sim- 
 
 " Dear Rose of roses, Rose of loveliest grace, 
 For thee I cannot sleep by night or day, 
 And always thinking on thy happy face 
 And all thy charms, I cannot keep away 
 Always returning thy sweet face to see, 
 Nor dream, dear love, that I can ever flee. 
 
 " Look at the stars that sparkle in the skies ! 
 Behold the knots that in this net are wove ! 
 My griefs are more than all those starry eyes, 
 More than those knots, that you have made by love I 
 But though my pains are more than yours can be, 
 Loving with all my heart you turn from me. 
 
 "I come, dear maid, to visit your abode 
 I come to see you, and to sing my song 
 And kneeling all the way along the road, 
 I kiss the ground where you have passed along ; 
 I kiss the ground, and gaze upon the wall 
 Where you have passed, oh, noblest maid of all ! 
 I kiss the ground, and gaze upon the eaves 
 Whose roof, oh, noble maid, your form receives ! 
 
 " Go ! voice of mine, these walls to penetrate, 
 Since where thou art, my love, I cannot go. 
 Oh, maiden lovely, pure, and delicate, 
 From where you lie listen to me below ! 
 List to my song, oh, dearest and most fair ! 
 Who, to console me, gaze into the air ! 
 List to my song, oh, purest one of all, 
 Who, to console me, gaze at this blank wall. 
 
 " Within this house I never sang before, 
 
 I wish the friendship of the house to pray ; 
 
 II there be good God keep it evermore 1 
 If there be ill God drive the ill away ! 
 
 I wish that fair and blushing rose to bless, 
 And bring the house and master happiness. 
 Oh, crimson rose ! my blessing rest on thee, 
 And on the master and his family I 
 
 " I see the dawn which now begins to break, 
 I take my leave and will no longer sing, 
 The windows open and the world 's awake, 
 And everywhere the bells begin to ring. 
 In earth and heaven I hear them ringing clear. 
 Farewell, sweet jasmine, lovely maid and dear; 
 In heaven and Rome I hear them ring and knell, 
 Farewell, fair maid, beloved one, farewell ! "
 
 STREET MUSIC RES PETTI. 23 
 
 plicity and grace of expression, that I am tempted to add 
 a few more specimens of them, which I find transcribed by 
 Professor Stanislao Bianciardi, who is himself the author 
 of a number of these little poems, in which the popular 
 spirit has been so admirably caught that peasant and peo- 
 ple have adopted them as their own ; and even learned 
 professors have been taken in. In fact, the first and one 
 of the most graceful of those which I have translated 
 above, beginning 
 
 " Rizzatevi dal letto e uscite fuora," 
 
 is from his pen. But I count it no shame to have fallen 
 into the error of supposing it to be a popular respetto, 
 since I share that error with Tommaseo and the Abate 
 Tigri. 
 
 " O gentilina, gentilina tutta ! 
 Garofanate son vostre parole, 
 E 1' alito che v'esce dalla boeca 
 Odora piu d' un mazzo di viole. 
 
 Odora piu d' un mandrulo e d' un pino 
 La bella bocca, e il bel parlar divino. 
 
 Odora piu d' un mandrulo e d' un pesco 
 La bella bocca, e il bel parlare onesto. 
 
 " L' e tanto tempo che 1' eramo muti, 
 Deccuci ritornati alia f avella ; 
 E 1' angiuli del cielo son vienuti, 
 L' hanno porta la pace in taut a guerra. 
 
 E son vienuti 1' angiuli d' Amore 
 L' hanno porta la pace nel mio cuore. 
 
 E son vienuti 1' angiuli di Dio 
 L' hanno porta la pace nel cuor mio. 
 
 ' ' Hai il viso bianco piu della farina 
 
 Dove 1' ha poste Iddio tante bellezze ; 
 Quando passate voi 1' aria s' inchina, 
 Tutte le stelle vi fanno carezze. 
 
 Dove passate voi 1' aria si f erma ; 
 Sete in cielo d' amor la vaga stella. 
 
 Dove passate voi 1' aria si posa ; 
 Sete in giardin d' amor la vaga rosa. 
 
 " rondinella che voli pell' aria, 
 
 Ritorna addreto, e f ammelo un piacere ; 
 E dammela una penna di tu' alia,
 
 24 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Che scrivero una lettera al mio bene : 
 
 Quando 1' aver& scritta, e fatta bella 
 Ti rendero la penna, o rondinella. 
 
 " Nel passar per la vetta di quel monte 
 Al tuo bel nome mi venne pensato ; 
 Mi raessi ingiuocchioni a mani gionte 
 Ginrai d' amarti infin ch' aver& fiato. 
 
 Giurai d' amarti infin che aver6 core, 
 La morte saran 1'ultime parole. 
 
 Giurai d' amarti infin che avero vita, 
 La morte sara 1' ultima partita." 1 
 
 Another form of popular song is to be found in the 
 Ritornelli, which consist of only three lines, the first of 
 
 1 Oh, full of grace, all grace from head to foot 1 
 Your words are like carnations the dew wets. 
 The breath that issues from your gentle mouth 
 Is sweeter than a bunch of violets ; 
 And sweeter than the almond and the pine 
 Your lovely mouth and your fair speech divine ; 
 And sweeter than the almond or the peach 
 Your lovely mouth and your frank honest speech. 
 
 How long is it that we have both been dumb ? 
 But now we have begun to speak once more. 
 And angels out of heaven to us are come 
 To bring us peace after so long a war. 
 Angels of love are come to heal my pain 
 And to this heart of mine bring peace again. 
 Angels of God are come with love divine 
 To bring their peace unto this heart of mine. 
 
 Whiter than flour is that pale face of thine 
 Where God hath placed such beauty and such graces, 
 That when you pass the very winds incline 
 And all the stars above you send caresses. 
 Whene'er you pass, the hushed winds cease to move, 
 Oh, loveliest star in all the heaven of love ! 
 Whene'er you pass, the winds in peace repose, 
 And in Love's garden you 're the loveliest rose. 
 
 Oh, swallow flying swiftly down the wind, 
 Return and grant me, please, one boon to-night, 
 And from your wings one little feather lend, 
 That I a letter to my love may write ; 
 And when 't is written out all fair and clear 
 I will give back the pen, O swallow dear 1 
 
 As o'er the crest of yonder hill I passed 
 The thought of thy sweet name came over me, 
 And kneeling on the ground my hands I clasped 
 And pledged, while life should last, my love to thee. 
 I swore to love thee, long as beats this' heart, 
 Till death with its last words our lives dispart. 
 I swore to love thee long as life remains, 
 Till death dispart us with its last sad pains.
 
 STREET MUSIC RITORNELLI. 25 
 
 which is often, though not necessarily, the invocation of a 
 flower. These are sung to a wild strident air, and may 
 be heard all over the Campagna and in the country towns, 
 as well as in the city. Wherever there is a knot of women 
 washing at a fountain, or a band of workmen coming from 
 the fields, or a line of carrettieri with their wine carts 
 rattling to Rome, you are pretty sure to hear at intervals 
 these snatches of melody. As you drive along the Cam- 
 pagna they reach you from the distance in a long sad wail 
 or "dying fall," sung by the peasant as he tills the 
 ground. Sometimes a lonely workman solaces his toil by 
 screaming them at the top of his voice ; sometimes a group 
 alternately answer each other with their ritorneUL There 
 are myriads of them scattered everywhere over the moun- 
 tains and towns like wild flowers, and all to be had for the 
 gathering. But it is only of late days that there has been 
 any effort to collect these wild songs, that would well 
 repay the trouble. The thanks of all lovers of natural and 
 popular poetry are due to Mr. C. Blessig, who has lately 
 collected and printed some 400 of these Roman ritornelli, 
 all of which, he tells us, were transcribed from the mouth 
 of the people themselves. In his preface he informs us 
 that he has also made a collection of Ottave, Tarantelle 
 and Canzonette, which, it is to be hoped, will be soon pub- 
 lished. The following, which I have taken from Mr. 
 Blessig's collection, will give an idea of the character of 
 the Roman ritornelli : 
 
 " Fior di Genestra ! 
 
 La vostra mamma non vi marita apposta, 
 Par non levar quel fior dalla finestra. 
 
 " Fior di More ! 
 
 Te 1' hai rubate le perle allo mare 
 Al albero li frutti, a me sto cuore. 
 
 " Fiore di Mele ! 
 
 Pare che non ci possiamo abbandonare 
 Fra voi e me qualche cosetta c' ene. 
 
 " Fiore di Timo ! 
 
 Venti psrsone e piii tenete al remo, 
 E poi volete dir ch' lo sono il primo
 
 26 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 " Fior di Nocca ! 
 
 Non la potei baciar la tua boccuccia 
 Baciai la canipaiiella della porta. 
 
 " Fiore dell' Ormo ! 
 Quando che scrissi donna scrissi danno 
 Scrissi la rovina di questo mondo. 
 
 " Fiore di Riso ! 
 
 E Gesu Cristo lo voglio per sposo 
 La Festa la faremo in Paradiso. 
 
 " Fior di Piselli ! 
 
 Come vi stanno ben quest! coralli ! 
 Come al somaro inio li campanelli. 
 
 " Fiore di Pepe ! 
 Moriro, morirb, non dubitate 
 Quando morta sar6, mi chiamerete. 
 
 "Fior di Granato! 
 La vedovella che non ha marito 
 Mi pare un palazzetto spigionato, 
 
 "Fiore diMento! 
 
 La Roba va e vien' come va il vento 
 La donna bella fa 1' uomo contento. 
 
 ' ' Fior di Gramiccia ! 
 Quando sta sto prete per dir sta messa 
 Lo iiiin amor va di f uori e fisclria. 
 
 ' ' Fiore di Menta ! 
 Quando sar& quella giornata santa 
 Che il prete mi dirk : 'Siete contenta.* 
 
 "Fiore di Canna! 
 
 Quando le tue bellezze vanno alia vigna, 
 Cielo ! quanto risplende la campagna ! 
 
 " Fior di Carote ! 
 A pnnta di pianella camminate 
 Con tanta civiltk ci vuol la dote. 
 
 " Oh bella sei ! 
 
 Porti la canocchia, indove tu vai, 
 E fili o non fili, tu bella sei. 
 
 " Occhi negrelli I 
 O ! quanto pagherei per rivederli 
 Gl' occhietti del mio amor graziosi e belli.
 
 STREET MUSIC RITORNELLL 27 
 
 " In cima d' un nionte 
 Volo 'na tortorella sulle spalle 
 Mi disse : ' Lo tuo ben mo va alia fonte " 
 
 Sta notte m' insognavo ehe morivo 
 Con tanto desiderio vi chiamavo 
 Dicendo : '' Dammi ajuto cuore mio ! " 
 
 Avete la boccuccia piccinina ; 
 Quando m' avete a dir qualche parola 
 Sempre me la fate la risatina. 
 
 Se il Papa mi donasse tutta Roma, 
 
 E mi dicesse ; " lascia andar chi t' ama," 
 
 lo gli direi, ' ' di no, sacra Corona. ' ' 
 
 Voglio pigliar marito a Pasqua Rosa, 
 E non mi euro se n' c' e niente in casa, 
 Quando c' e il marito, c' e ogni cosa. 
 
 Non la pigliate bianca, ch 'e sciapita ; 
 Non la pigliate rossa, ch' & focosa 
 Pigliala moretta, ch' e saporita. 
 
 " E per marito voglio un muratore 
 Mi fa la camerella per dormire 
 E la finestrella per far 1' amore. 
 
 " E qnanto suona ben sto violino 
 Massimamente chi lo porta in mnno 
 E dice ' Balla, Balla, Ballerina ! ' 
 
 " E quanto suona ben questa chitarra, 
 Massimamente 1' ultima cordicella 
 Mi pare lo mio amore quando parla. 
 
 " La gioventu e casa senza scale, 
 E un bastimento in mar 1' eta virile, 
 Ed e 1' eta canuta uno spedale. 
 
 " Garofalo piantato alia finestra, 
 Prima si custodisce, e poi s' innacqua, 
 E poi si ricoglie un giorno di f esta. 
 
 " Ho colto unarosetta nel giardino 
 
 lo sono il giardiniero che 1' adora . 
 
 Colsi la rosa e mi pungi6 lo spino."
 
 28 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Flower of the broom ! 
 
 For this your mother \vill not marry you 
 Not to deprive her window of your bloom. 
 
 Flower of the blackberry ! 
 
 'T is you that steal the pearls from out the sea, 
 And from the tree its fruit and, ah ! my heart from me. 
 
 Flower of the apple-tree ! 
 It seems we never quite can quit each other, 
 Some little thing there is 'twixt you and me. 
 
 Flower of the thyme ! 
 
 Twenty and more you keep them at the oar 
 Till you pretend to say I 'm first and prime. 
 
 O nocca flower ! 
 
 I could not kiss that little mouth of yours, 
 And so I kissed the bell upon the door. 
 
 Flower of the elm ! 
 
 When I wrote woman, I wrote also woe-man t 
 The ruin wrote that will the world overwhelm. 
 
 Flower of the rice ! 
 
 And Jesus Christ for husband I desire, 
 And we our fete will keep in Paradise. 
 
 Flower of the pea ! 
 Just as becoming corals are to you, 
 As on my donkey little bells would be. 
 
 Flower of clove ! 
 
 Oh ! I shall die, shall die, you need not fear ; 
 But when I 'm dead, then you will call me, Love. 
 
 Flower of pomegranate-plants ! 
 The little widow with no husband seems 
 An unlet palace that a lodger wants. 
 
 Flower of mint ! 
 
 Things come and go as comes and goes the wind ; 
 But a dear woman makes a man content. 
 
 Flower of the thistle ! 
 
 While this old priest is saying here his mass, 
 I hear my love outside pass by and whistle. 
 
 Flower of the mint ! 
 
 Oh, when will come to me that blessed day 
 When the priest says to me, " Are you content ? "
 
 STREET MUSIC RITORNELLI. 29 
 
 Flower of the cane ! 
 
 When to the vineyard all your beauty goes, 
 Heavens, how the whole campagna glows again ! 
 
 O carrot flower ! 
 
 How nice you step upon your slippers' points, 
 You are so dainty, you should have a dower. 
 
 Oh, you are fair ! 
 
 The distaff wheresoe'er you go you bear, 
 And if you spin or spin not, you are fair. 
 
 O dark eyes dear ! 
 
 What would I give to see you once again, 
 My love's sweet eyes, so gracious and so clear ? 
 
 High up upon the mountain 
 There flew a turtle-dove above my shoulder 
 And said, "Your love 's now going to the fountain." 
 
 Last night, asleep, I dreamed that I was dying, 
 
 And such a longing for you haunted me, 
 
 That " heart of mine, oh, help me," I kept crying. 
 
 That little mouth is sweet as mouth can be ; 
 Whenever you 've a word or two to say 
 You always make that little smile for me. 
 
 If the Pope offered all Rome to bestow, 
 
 And said t me, ' ' Let him who loves you, go ! " 
 
 I 'd say to him : " Oh, Holy Rosary, no ! " 
 
 A husband I will have before the spring ! 
 I care not if there 's nothing in the house, 
 When there 's a husband, there is everything. 
 
 Choose her not white, for then she has no savor ! 
 Choose her not red, or fiery you will have her ! 
 But choose her dark, for then she 's full of flavor! 
 
 A mason for my husband I will take, 
 . To build me a little room where I may sleep, 
 And a little window where I love may make. 
 
 How sweetly sounds the violin you play, 
 And most when you who hold it in your hand 
 Cry, ' ' Dance, my merry dancers, dance away. ' ' 
 
 And oh, how sweet the sound of that guitar ! 
 And most of all that last dear little string ; 
 It seems as if my love were talking there.
 
 30 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Youth is a house that has no stairs at all, 
 And like a ship at sea is manhood's prime, 
 And hoary age is but a hospital. 
 
 The spiced-carnation at the window planted, 
 First carefully we keep and then we water, 
 Then pluck when for a festal day 't is wanted. 
 
 I in the garden plucked a rose this morn, 
 
 I am th^i gardener, who adore this rose ; 
 
 I plucked it, and it pricked me with its thorn. 
 
 Among the Trasteverini, particularly, these serenades 
 are common. Some of them are very clever in their im- 
 provisations and imitations of different dialects, particu- 
 larly of the Neapolitan, in which there are so many 
 charming songs. Their skill in improvisation, however, 
 is not generally displayed in their serenades, but in the 
 osterias, during the evenings of the festas in summer. 
 There it is that their quickness and epigrammatic turn of 
 expression are hest seen. Two disputants will, when in 
 good-humor and warmed with wine, string off verse after 
 verse at each other's expense, full of point and fun, the 
 guitar burring along in the intervals, and a chorus of 
 laughter saluting every good hit. 
 
 It is not uncommon for those who like to study Roman 
 manners and humors, and eat truly Roman dishes, to make 
 up a little party and dine at the Palombella, or some other 
 osteria con cucina in the Trastevere. There, however, if 
 you would get a taste of the real spirit of the Romans, you 
 should go incognito and take your place at the tables in 
 the common room, and pass, if you can, for one of them, 
 or at least not for a looker-on or a listener. One other 
 thing also is essential, and that is, that you should under- 
 stand their language well ; and then, if you are lucky, you 
 will be rewarded for your pains by hearing capital'songs 
 and improvisations. 
 
 One lucky night I shall never forget, when we made a 
 little party of artists and poets and dined together in a 
 little osteria not far from the Piazza Barberini. Peppo, 
 the Neapolitan "cook, gave us an excellent dinner, wonder- 
 ful macaroni and capital wine, and while we ate and
 
 STREET MUSIC Zl A NICA'S TARANTELLA. 31 
 
 drank, a guitar and mandoline in the adjoining room 
 made a low accompaniment to our talk. We went in our 
 worst coats and most crumpled hats, tried to attract as 
 little attention as possible, and sat at a table in the corner. 
 The rest of the company was composed solely of working 
 men, several of whom were carters, who came in after 
 their hard day's work to take a temperate supper in their 
 shirt-sleeves. Yet even in what is called the " best so- 
 ciety " you will not find simpler or better mariners, at 
 once removed from servility and defiance. They soon 
 saw that we were not of their class, but their behavior to 
 us was perfect. All the staring was done by us. They 
 accepted courteously our offers to drink with them, and of- 
 fered us of their wine in return. Then they talked and 
 jested and played at Passatello with inimitable good- 
 humor ; while old Zia Nica, the padrona of the establish- 
 ment, sat in the middle of the shabby old pot-house, looking 
 with sharp wild eyes out from under a gray fell of tumbled 
 hair now shrieking out her orders, now exchanging with 
 the new-comers keen jokes that flashed like knives, and were 
 received with tumultuous applause. As our dinner drew 
 to a close we had in the mandolin and guitar, and all the 
 opera tunes were played with great cleverness. Was there 
 ever a better mandolin ? how it tingled and quivered 
 as it nervously rang out the air, with its stinging vibrations 
 and tense silvery shakes, while the soft woolly throb of the 
 guitar kept up a constant accompaniment below ! The old 
 cobwebs on the dusky, soiled, and smoky beams of the 
 ceiling, where the colors of faded frescoes were still to be 
 seen, shook to the music, and the flame of the little onion- 
 shaped light before the coarsely-painted engraving of the 
 Madonna seemed to wink in sympathy. Old Zia Nica 
 herself grew excited when a spirited Tarantella was 
 played. She had danced it when young in Naples. " Che 
 bella cosa ! and I could dance it now," she cried. 
 " Brava, Zia Nica ! give us a Tarantella," was the cry 
 all round. " Eh ! Perche no ? " and up she stood and 
 shook her long fell of hair, and laughed a wild laugh, and 
 showed her yellow teeth, and up and down the old osteria 
 she shuffled and tramped, flinging up her hands and snap-
 
 32 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 ping her fingers, and panting and screaming, till at last 
 with a whoop she fell down into her chair, planted her two 
 hands akimbo on her knees, glared at the company, and 
 cried out, " Old Zia Nica 's not dead yet. No, Siynori f 
 The old woman is not so old but that she can dance a 
 Tarantella still grazie a Dio no, Siyiiori-i-i-i." 
 
 Scarcely was this performance finished when the glass 
 door jingled at the entrance of a little middle-aged fellow 
 who had come across the street for a fiasco of wine. He 
 was received with a shout of welcome. " Give us a toast 
 in rhyme," cried one. " Bravo ! give us a toast in 
 rhyme," echoed all ; and spinning round on his feet with 
 a quick, eager face, and flinging out his hands with ner- 
 vous gesticulation, he suddenly, in a high voice, poured out 
 a volley of humorous rhymes upon one after another of 
 his friends, then launched a brindisi at us, and hey, 
 presto change ! was out of the door in a minute, the 
 sharp bell jingling as he closed it, and a peal of laughter 
 pursuing -him. So being in the humor, we called for some 
 improvisation, and the mandoline and guitar began an air 
 and accompaniment in ottava rima. After a minute or 
 two, one of the men at the head of the table opposite 
 broke out in a loud voice, and sang, or rather chanted, a 
 strophe ; and scarcely had the instruments finished the 
 little ritornello, when another answered him in a second 
 strophe; to this he responded, and so alternately for 
 some time the improvisation went on without a break. 
 Then suddenly rose from the opposite end a third person, 
 a carter, who poured out two or three strophes without 
 stopping ; and after him still another carter broke in. So 
 that we had four persons improvising in alternation. This 
 lasted a full half-hour, and during the whole time there 
 was not a pause or hesitation. The language used was 
 uncommonly good, and the ideas were of a character you 
 would little have anticipated from such a company. The 
 theme was art and love and poetry and music, and some 
 of the recitation was original and spirited. Out of Italy 
 could anything like this be seen ? But the sound of music 
 and songs had reached the ears of the police, and tin ir 
 white-barred figures and ohapeaux appeared at the ^.oor,
 
 STREET MUSIC AT THE FOUNTAINS. 33 
 
 and despite all our prayers they stopped the improvisa- 
 tion. This broke up the fun, and it was then proposed 
 that we should go to the Colosseum in two carriages with 
 the music. No sooner said than done. Off ran Antonio 
 for the carriages, and in a few minutes we were on our 
 way, through the Corso and down through the Forum, the 
 mandolin and guitar playing all the way. 
 
 Such a night would be incomplete without a serenade ; 
 for the mandolin and guitar were made for such uses. 
 So we stopped under the windows of one fair lady, and 
 though our voices were loud, I fear they never reached 
 her, as she happened not to be within a dozen or more 
 miles of us. 
 
 In many of the back streets and squares of the city, 
 fountains jet out of lions' heads into great oblong stone 
 cisterns, often sufficiently large to accommodate some 
 thirty washerwomen at once. Here the common people 
 resort to wash their clothes, and with great laughter and 
 merriment amuse themselves while at their work by im- 
 provising verses, sometimes with rhyme, sometimes with- 
 out, at the expense of each other, or perhaps of the passer- 
 by, particularly if he happen to be a gaping forestiere, 
 to whom their language is unintelligible. They stand on 
 an elevated stone step, so as to bring the cistern about 
 mid-hoight of their body, and on the rough inclined bevel 
 of its rim they slash and roll the clothes, or, opening them, 
 flaunt them into the water, or gather them together, lift- 
 ing their arms high above their heads, and always treating 
 them with a violence which nothing but the coarsest mate- 
 rial can resist. The air to which they chant their couplets 
 is almost always a Campagna melody. Sharp attacks are 
 given and as sharp replies received, in exceeding good hu- 
 mor ; and when there is little wit there is sure to be much 
 laughter. The salt is oftentimes pretty coarse, but it gives 
 a relish to the talk. 
 
 A remarkable trait among the Italians is the good-nature 
 with which they take personal jokes, and their callousness 
 to ridicule of personal defects. Jests which would provoke 
 a blow from an Anglo-Saxon, or wound and rankle in the 
 memory for life, are here taken in good part. A cripple
 
 34 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 often joins in the laugh at his own deformity ; and the 
 rough carelessness with wliich such personal misfortunes 
 are alluded to is amazing to us of a more sensitive organi- 
 zation. I well remember the extreme difficulty I once had 
 in breaking an Italian servant of the habit of announcing 
 an acquaintance, whose foreign name he could not pro- 
 nounce, and who had the misfortune to be hump-backed, 
 as " quel gobbo" (that hunchback). He could not under- 
 stand why he should not call him a gobbo, if he was a 
 gobbo ; vainly I remonstrated with him, over and over 
 again I repeated the name and forced him to repeat it, 
 until finally I thought he had learned it. " Now remem- 
 ber," I said, " and call the gentleman by his name when 
 he calls again." " Si, Signore, non dubiti " (don't doubt 
 it). Shortly after, my acquaintance called one evening. 
 The servant opened the door to announce him and began 
 " II Signore" then he hesitated ; tried it again, blundered, 
 and ended by crying out, " Oh ! Dio ! e U solito gobbo, Sig- 
 nore " (It is the usual hunchback), when il gobbo was close 
 to his heels. 
 
 The Italians are also singularly free from that intense 
 self-consciousness which runs in our English blood, and is 
 the root of shyness, awkwardness, and affectation. Un- 
 consciousness is the secret of grace, freedom, and simplic- 
 ity. We never forget ourselves. The Italians always for- 
 get themselves. They are sometimes proud, very seldom 
 vain, and never affected. The converse peculiarity follows, 
 of course : having no self-consciousness, they are as little 
 sensitive to their defects as vain of their charms. The 
 models who come to the studios, and who have been se- 
 lected for their beauty, despite the silent flattery incident to 
 their very profession, and the lavish price they constantly 
 hear expressed, are always simple, natural, and unaffected. 
 If you tell them they are very beautiful, they say, " Ma 
 che ! " deprecatorily, or perhaps admit the fact. But they 
 are better pleased to have their dress admired than their 
 faces. Of the former they are vain, of the latter they are 
 not. For the most part, I think they rather wonder what 
 it is we admire in them and think worthy of perpetuating 
 in stone or color.
 
 STREET MUSIC COBBLERS. 35 
 
 But to return to our washerwomen. In every country 
 town a large washing-cistern is always provided by the 
 authorities for public use ; and at all hours of the day, 
 the picturesque figures of the peasants of every age, from 
 the old hag, whose skin, once smooth and blooming, is now 
 like a brown and crumpled palimpsest (where Anacreontic 
 verses are overwritten by a dull monkish sermon), to the 
 round, dark-eyed girl, with broad, straight back and shin- 
 ing hair, may be seen gathered around it, their heads 
 protected from the sun by their folded tovaglie, their 
 skirts knotted up behind, and their waists embraced by 
 stiff, red bodices. Their work is always enlivened by 
 song, and when their clothes are all washed, the basket 
 is lifted to the head, and home they march, stalwart and 
 majestic, like Roman caryatides. The sharp Italian sun 
 shining on their dark faces and vivid costumes, or flashing 
 into the fountain, and basking on the gray, weed-covered 
 walls, makes a picture which is often enchanting in its 
 color. At the Emissary near Albano, where the waters 
 from the lake are emptied into a huge cistern through the 
 old conduit built by the ancient Romans to sink the level 
 of the lake, I have watched by the hour these strange pic- 
 torial groups, as they sang and thrashed the clothes they 
 were engaged in washing ; while over them, in the fore- 
 ground, the tall gray tower and granary, once a castle, 
 lifted itself in strong light and shade against the peerless 
 blue sky, and rolling hills beyond, covered with the pale- 
 green foliage of rounded olives, formed the characteristic 
 background. Sometimes a peasant, mounted on the crup- 
 per of his donkey, would pause in the sun to chat awhile 
 with the women. The children, meanwhile, sprawled and 
 played upon the grass, and the song and chat at the foun- 
 tain would not unfrequently be interrupted by a shrill 
 scream from one of the mothers, to stop a quarrel, or to 
 silence a cry which showed the stoutness of their little 
 lungs. 
 
 The cobblers of Rome are also a gay and singing set. 
 They do not imprison themselves in a dark cage of a shop, 
 but sit " sub Jove" where they may enjoy the life of the 
 street and all the " skyey influences." Their benches are
 
 36 RODA DI ROMA. 
 
 generally placed near the portone of some palace, so that 
 they may draw them under shelter when it rains. Here 
 all day they sit and draw their wax-ends and sing, a 
 row of hattered-looking boots and shoes ranged along on 
 the ground beside them, and waiting for their turn, being 
 their only stock in trade. They commonly have enough 
 to do, and as they pay nothing for shop-rent, every baiocco 
 they get is nearly clear profit. They are generally as 
 poor as Job's cat ; but they are far happier than the pro- 
 prietor of that interesting animal. Figaro is a high ideal 
 of this class, and about as much like them as Ratfaello's 
 angels are like Jeames Yellowplush. What the cobblers 
 and Figaro have in common is song and a love of scandal. 
 One admirable specimen of this class sits 1 at the corner of 
 the Via Felice and Capo le Case, with his bench backed 
 against the gray wall. He is an oldish man. with a long 
 gray beard and a quizzical face, a sort of Hans Sachs, 
 who turns all his life into verse and song. When he 
 comes out in the morning, he chants a domestic idyl, in 
 which he narrates in verse the events of his household, 
 and the differences and agreements of himself and his 
 wife, whom I take to be a pure invention. This over, he 
 changes into song everything and every person that passes 
 before him. Nothing that is odd, fantastic, or absurd 
 escapes him, or fails to be chronicled and sarcastically 
 commented on in his verse. So he sits all day long, his 
 mind like a kaleidoscope, changing all the odd bits of 
 character which chance may show him into rhythmic 
 forms, and chirps and sings as perpetually as the cricket. 
 Friends he has without number, who stop before his bench 
 from which he administers poetical justice to all per- 
 sons to have a long chat, or sometimes to bring him a 
 friendly token ; and from the dark interior of his drawer 
 he often brings forth an orange, a bunch of grapes, or a 
 handful of chestnuts, supplied by them, as a dessert after 
 the thick cabbage-soup which he eats at mid-day. 
 
 In the busiest street of Rome, the pure Campagna song 
 may often be heard from the throat of some peasant, as he 
 slowly rumbles along in his loaded wine-cart, the little dog 
 1 Once sat. Alas ! he sits no longer there.
 
 STREET MUSIC PEASANTS. 37 
 
 at his side barking a sympathetic chorus. This song is 
 rude enough, and seems in measure founded upon the 
 Church chant. It is in the minor key, and consists ordi- 
 narily of two phrases, ending in a screaming monotone, 
 prolonged until the breath of the singer fails, and often 
 running down at the close into a blurred chromatic. No 
 sooner is one strain ended than it is suddenly taken up 
 again in prestissimo time and " slowed " down to the same 
 dismal conclusion. Heard near, it is deafening and dis- 
 agreeable. But when refined by distance, it has a sad and 
 pleasing effect, and seems to belong to the place, the 
 long wail at the close being the very type of the melan- 
 choly stretches of the Campagna. In the same way I have 
 frequently thought that the Jodeln of the Swiss was an 
 imitation of the echo of the mountains, each note repeated 
 first in octavo, or fifth, and then in its third below. The 
 Campagna song is to be heard not only in the Campagna, 
 but everywhere in the country, in the vineyards, in 
 the grain-fields, in mountain and valley, from companies 
 working together, and from solitary contadini, wherever 
 the influence and sentiment of the Roman Campagna are 
 felt. The moment we get into Tuscany, on the one side, 
 or over into Naples, on the other, it begins to be lost. It 
 was only the other day, at nightfall, that I was sauntering 
 out on the desolate Campagna towards Civita Vecchia. 
 The shadows were deepening, and the mists beginning to 
 creep whitely along the deep hollows. Everything was 
 dreary and melancholy enough. As I paused to listen to 
 the solitude, I heard the grind of a distant invisible cart, 
 and the sound of a distant voice singing. Slowly the cart 
 came up over the crest of the hill, a dark spot against the 
 twilight sky, and mounted on the top of a load of brush- 
 wood sat a contadino, who was singing to himself these 
 words, not very consolatory, perhaps, but so completely 
 in harmony with the scene and the time that they struck 
 me forcibly : 
 
 " E, bella, tu non piangera-a-a-i, 
 Sul giorno ch' io sar6 mor-or-or-to-o-o-o-o-o." 1 
 
 1 " And, dearest, you will never weep for me-e-e-e, 
 The day when I shall be no mo-o-o-ore."
 
 38 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Not only at night and to celebrate their love do the 
 Italian peasants sing, they sing at their work and at 
 their play. All the long summer days, standing in the 
 breast-high corn, or beating with heavy spade the soil, or 
 plucking clusters of purple grapes, they shriek out their 
 ballads and songs in stentorian tones that may be heard 
 for a mile. During the harvesting seasons they gather 
 together at night, and lying under the light of the moon 
 upon their threshing-floors, sing in chorus their simple 
 melodies. And in the long winter evenings, sitting round 
 the smouldering embers of their fires, they "rouse the 
 night-owls " at their veglie, or beat time to their constantly 
 interrupted song with the clattering of their looms. The 
 city also sings as well as the country. The carpenter as 
 he drives his plane ; the blacksmith as he wields his ham- 
 mer and strikes from the sputtering iron its fiery constel- 
 lations ; the cobbler as he pounds the soles of old shoes ; 
 the mason as he lays his bricks ; the rougher-out as the 
 chips of ringing marble fly under the steel point of his 
 chisel ; the maid-of-all-work as she draws water in the 
 court-yard, all solace themselves with song. As the 
 crowd stream back from the theatre, towards midnight, 
 you hear them shouting the airs of the opera they have just 
 been listening to ; and oftentimes, on festal nights, in the 
 *' sma' hours ayont the twal," the prolonged screaming 
 song of the peasants rouses you from your first slumbers 
 as it sounds through the echoing streets. Since the revo- 
 lution in 1848, Rome has been stricken with a morose 
 silence ; but in the brilliant days when Pius IX. first 
 came to the Papal chair the city rang with glad, patriotic 
 songs ; and every evening bands of young men met in the 
 Piazza or wandered through the Corso singing in chorus. 
 The moment the Italians are contented they sing, and 
 there is no clearer proof of their present discontent than 
 the comparative silence of the streets in these latter 
 days. 
 
 Whether this constant habit of song among the Southern 
 people, while at their work, indicates happiness and con- 
 tent, I will not undertake to say ; but it is pleasanter in 
 effect than the sad silence in which we Anglo-Saxons per-
 
 STREET MUSIC HABIT OF SONG. 39 
 
 form our tasks, and it seems to show a less harassed 
 and anxious spirit. But I feel quite sure that these people 
 are more easily pleased, contented with less, less morose, 
 and less envious of the ranks above them, than we are. 
 They give little thought to the differences of caste, have 
 little ambition to make fortunes or rise out of their con- 
 dition, and are satisfied with the commonest fare, if they 
 can get enough of it. The demon of dissatisfaction never 
 harries them. When you speak to them, they answer 
 with a smile which is nowhere else to be found. The 
 nation is old, but the people are children in disposition. 
 Their character is like their climate, generally sunny, 
 subject to violent occasional storms, but never growling 
 life away in an uncomfortable drizzle of discontent. They 
 live upon Nature, sympathize with it and love it, are 
 susceptible to the least touch of beauty, are ardent, if 
 not enduring in their affections, and, unless provoked 
 and irritated, are very peaceful arid amiable. The flaw in 
 their nature is jealousy ; and it is a great flaw. Their 
 want of truth is the result of their education. We who 
 are of the more active and busy nations despise them for 
 not having that irritated discontent which urges us forward 
 to change our condition ; and we think our ambition better 
 than their supineness. But there is good in both. We do 
 more they enjoy more ; we make violent efforts to be 
 happy, invent, create, labor, to arrive at that quiet en- 
 joyment which they own without struggle, and which our 
 anxious strife unfits us to enjoy when the means for it are 
 obtained. The general, popular idea, that an Italian is 
 quarrelsome and ill-tempered, and that the best are only 
 bandits in disguise, is quite a mistake ; and when studied 
 as they exist out of the track of travel, where they are 
 often debased and denaturalized, they will be found to be 
 simple, kind-hearted, and generous. 1 
 
 1 Since Italy became a nation and Liberty has come in, Song 1 
 has gone out. The pifferari play no more novene. The thump of 
 the tamborello, which used everywhere to be heard towards night- 
 fall, is heard no longer calling men and maids to dance in streets, 
 court-yards, and Piazze. The ballad singers and the wandering 1 
 musicians, once so prominent a feature in Rome, are rare. The
 
 40 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BEGGARS IN KOME. 
 
 DIRECTLY above the Piazza di Spagna, and opposite to 
 the Via de' Condotti, rise the double towers of the Tri- 
 nita de' Monti. The ascent to them is over one hundred 
 and thirty-five steps, planned with considerable skill, so as 
 to mask the steepness of the Pincian, and forming the 
 chief feature of the Piazza. Various landings and divid- 
 ing walls break up their monotony ; and a red granite obe- 
 lisk, found in the gardens of Sallust, crowns the upper 
 terrace in front of the church. All day long, these steps 
 are flooded with sunshine, in which, stretched at length, or 
 gathered in picturesque groups, models of every age and 
 both sexes bask away the hours when they are free from 
 employment in the studios. Here, in a rusty old coat, and 
 long white beard and hair, is the Padre Eterno, so called 
 from his constantly standing as model for the First Per- 
 son of the Trinity in religious pictures. Here is the fe- 
 rocious bandit, with his thick black beard and conical hat, 
 now off duty, and sitting with his legs wide apart, munch- 
 ing in alternate bites an onion, which he holds in one hand, 
 and a lump of bread, which he holds in the other. Here 
 is the contadina, who spends her studio life in praying at 
 a shrine with upcast eyes, or lifting to the Virgin her lit- 
 tle sick child, or carrying a perpetual copper vase to the 
 fountain, or receiving imaginary bouquets at a Barme- 
 cide Carnival. Here is the invariable pilgrim, with his 
 scallop-shell, who has been journeying to St. Peter's and 
 
 organ-grinders are prohibited within the street limits of the city, and 
 are even scripturally "Jew." The old carelessness and gayety have 
 disappeared, for Liberty means taxation and dear living, and if 
 it be a grand thing to have, and a sounding name to brag about, it 
 is none the less a costly luxury, and weighs upon the light-hearted- 
 ness of the people. As they have got freer they have got sadder, 
 and more anxious. The government's hand is in every one's pocket. 
 But pazienza is still their motto, and they certainly bear with ex- 
 traordinary equanimity the burdens that are laid upon them.
 
 BEGGARS BEPPO. 41 
 
 reposing by the way near aqueducts or broken columns so 
 long that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, 
 and who is now fast asleep on his back, with his hat pulled 
 over his eyes. When strangers come along, the little ones 
 run up and thrust out their hands for baiocchi ; and so 
 pretty are they with their large, black, lustrous eyes, and 
 their quaint, gay dresses, that a new-comer always finds 
 something in his pocket for them. Sometimes a group of 
 artists, passing by, will pause and steadily examine one of 
 these models, turn him about, pose him, point out his de- 
 fects and excellences, give him a baiocco, and pass on. It 
 is, in fact, a models' exchange. 
 
 All this is on the lower steps, close to the Piazza di 
 Spagna ; but as one ascends to the last platform, before 
 reaching the upper piazza in front of the Trinita de' 
 Monti, a curious squat figure, with two withered and 
 crumpled legs, spread out at right angles and clothed in 
 long blue stockings, comes shuffling along on his knees 
 and hands, which are protected by clogs. As it ap- 
 proaches, it turns suddenly up from its quadrupedal posi- 
 tion, takes off its hat, shows a brjad, stout, legless torso, 
 with a vigorous chest and a ruddy face, as of a person 
 who has come half-way up from below the steps through a 
 trap-door, and with a smile whose breadth is equalled only 
 by the cunning which lurks round the corners of the eyes, 
 says, in the blandest and most patronizing tones, with a 
 rising inflection, " Buon giorno, Signore ! Oggi fa bel 
 tempo," or "fa cattivo tempo," as the case may be. This 
 is no less a person than Beppo, King of the Beggars, and 
 Baron of the Scale di Spagna. He is better known to 
 travellers than the Belvedere Torso of Hercules at the 
 Vatican, and has all the advantage over that wonderful 
 work, of having an admirable head and a good digestion. 
 Hans Christian Andersen has celebrated him in " The Im- 
 provisatore," and unfairly attributed to him an infamous 
 character and life ; but this account is purely fictitious, and 
 is neither vero nor ben trovato. Beppo, like other distin- 
 guished personages, is not without a history. The Ro- 
 mans say of him, ''Era un Signore in paese suo" 
 " He was a gentleman in his own country," and this
 
 42 ROB A DI ROMA. 
 
 belief is borne out by a certain courtesy and style in his 
 bearing which would not shame the first gentleman in the 
 land. He was undoubtedly of a good family in the prov- 
 inces, and came to Rome, while yet young, to seek his 
 fortune. His crippled condition cut him off from any ac- 
 tive employment, and he adopted the profession of a men- 
 dicant, as being the most lucrative and requiring the least 
 exertion. Remembering Belisarius, he probably thought 
 it not beneath his own dignity to ask for an obolus. 
 Should he be above doing what a great general had done ? 
 However this may be, he certainly became a mendicant, 
 after changing his name, and, steadily pursuing this 
 profession for more than a quarter of a century, by dint 
 of his fair words, his bland smiles, and his constant " Fa 
 buon tempo," and "Fa cattivo tempo" which, together 
 with his withered legs, were his sole stock in starting, he 
 has finally amassed a very respectable little fortune. He 
 is now about fifty-five years of age, has a wife and sev- 
 eral children, and a few years ago, on the marriage of a 
 daughter to a very respectable tradesman, he was able to 
 give her what was considered in Rome a very respectable 
 dowry. The other day, a friend of mine met a trades- 
 man of his acquaintance running up the Spanish steps. 
 
 " Where are you going in such haste ? " he inquired. 
 
 " To my banker." 
 
 " To your banker ? But what banker is there above the 
 steps?"' 
 
 " Only Beppo," was the grave answer. " I want sixty 
 scudi, and he can lend them to me without difficulty." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Of course. Come vi pare ? " said the other, as he 
 went on to his banker. 
 
 Beppo hires his bank which is the upper platform of 
 the steps of the government, at a small rent per annum ; 
 and woe to any poor devil of his profession who dares to 
 invade his premises! Hither, every fair day, at about 
 noon, he comes mounted on his donkey and accompanied 
 by his valet, a little boy, who, though not lame exactly, 
 wears a couple of crutches as a sort of livery, and as 
 soon as twilight begins to thicken and the sun is gone, he
 
 BEGGARS BEPPO. 43 
 
 closes his bank (it is purely a bank of deposit), crawls up 
 the steps, mounts a stone post, and there majestically waits 
 for his valet to bring the donkey. But he no more so- 
 licits deposits. His day is done ; his bank is closed ; and 
 from his post he looks around, with a patronizing superi- 
 ority, upon the poorer members of his profession, who are 
 soliciting, with small success, the various passers-by, as a 
 king smiles down upon his subjects. The donkey being 
 brought, he shuffles on to its crupper and makes a joyous 
 and triumphant passage down through the streets of the 
 city to his home. The bland business smile is gone. The 
 wheedling subserviency of the day is over. The cunning 
 eye opens largely. He is calm, dignified, and self-pos- 
 sessed. He mentions no more the state of the weather. 
 " What 's Hecuba to him," at this free moment of his re- 
 turn ? It is the large style in which all this is done that 
 convinces me that Beppo was a " Signor in paese suo." 
 He has a bank, and so had Prince Torlonia and Sir Fran- 
 cis Baring. But what of that ? He is a gentleman still. 
 The robber knights and barons demanded toll of those 
 who passed their castles, with violence and threats, and at 
 the bloody point of their swords. Whoso passes Beppo's 
 castle is prayed in courtesy to leave a remembrance, and 
 receives the blandest bow and thanks in return. Shall we, 
 then, say, the former are nobles and gentlemen, the 
 other is a miserable beggar ? Is it worse to ask than to 
 seize ? Is it meaner to thank than to threaten ? If he 
 who is supported by the public is a beggar, our kings are 
 beggars, our pensions are charity. Did not the Princess 
 Royal hold out her hand, the other day, to the House of 
 Commons ? and does any one think the worse of her for 
 it ? We are all, in measure, beggars ; but Beppo, in the 
 large style of kings and robber-barons, asks for his baiocco, 
 and, like the merchant-princes, keeps his basik. I see 
 dukes and noble guards in shining helmets, spurs, and gi- 
 gantic boots, ride daily through the streets on horseback, 
 and hurry to their palaces ; but Beppo, erectly mounted 
 on his donkey, in his short jacket (for he disdains the tai- 
 lored skirts of a fashionable coat, though at times over his 
 broad shoulders a great blue cloak is grandly thrown, after
 
 44 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the manner of the ancient emperors), is far more impres- 
 sive, far more princely, as he slowly and majestic-ally 
 moves at nightfall towards his august abode. The shad- 
 ows close around him as he passes along ; salutations greet 
 him from the damp shops ; and darkness at last swallows 
 up for a time the great square torso of the " King of the 
 Beggars." 
 
 Such is Beppo as he appears on the public 'change. His 
 private life is involved somewhat in obscurity ; but 
 glimpses have been had of him which indicate a grand 
 spirit of hospitality, and condescension not unworthy of the 
 best days of his ancestors, the Barons of the Middle Ages. 
 Innominate, a short time since, was passing late at night 
 along the district of the Monti, when his attention was at- 
 tracted by an unusual noise and merry-making in one of 
 its mean little osterie or bettole. The door was ajar, and 
 peeping in he beheld a gallant company of roisterers of 
 the same profession as Beppo, with porters, and gentlemen 
 celebrated for lifting in other ways. They were gathered 
 round a table, drinking merrily, and mounted in the cen- 
 tre of it, with his withered legs crooked under him, sat 
 Baron Beppo, the high-priest of the festive rites. It was 
 his banquet, and he had been strictly scriptural in his in- 
 vitations to all classes from the street. He was the Am- 
 phitryon who defrayed the cost of the wine, and acknowl- 
 edged with a smile and a cheerful word the toasts of his 
 guests ; and when Innominato saw him he was as " glo- 
 rious " as Tarn o' Shanter. He was not under the table, 
 simply because he was on it ; and he had not lost his equi- 
 librium, solely because he rested upon so broad a base. 
 Planted like an oak, his legs figuring the roots, there he 
 sat, while the jolly band of beggars and rascals were 
 " rousing the night-owl with a catch," and the blood of the 
 vine was freely flowing in their cups. The conversation 
 was very idiomatic and gay, if not aristocratic, and Bep- 
 po's tongue wagged with the best. It was a most cheer- 
 ing spectacle. The old Barons used to sit above the salt, 
 but Baron Beppo sat higher yet or, rather, he reminded 
 one of classic days, as, mounted there like a Bacchic 
 Torso, he presided over the noisy rout of Silenus.
 
 BEGGARS BEPPO IN DISGRACE. 45 
 
 Beppo has, however, fallen lately into disgrace. His 
 breakfast had perhaps disagreed with him, perhaps he had 
 "roused the night-owl" too late on the previous night, 
 and perhaps his nerves were irritated by a bad scirocco ; 
 but certain it is, that one unfortunate morning an English 
 lady, to whom he applied for qualche cosa, made some 
 jocosely-intended answer to the effect that he was as rich 
 as she, and alluded, it is said, to the dowry he had given 
 his daughter whereupon it became suddenly " cattivo 
 giorno" with Beppo, and he suffered himself to threaten 
 her, and even, as some accounts go, to throw stones ; and 
 the lady having reported him to the authorities, Beppo 
 went into forced retirement for a time. I was made aware 
 of this one day by finding his bank occupied by a new figure 
 and face. Astonished at the audacity of this interloper, 
 I stopped and said " And Beppo, where is he ? " The 
 jolly beggar then informed me, in a very high and rather 
 exulting voice (I am sorry to say), beginning with a sharp 
 and prolonged eh e-e-e-h, that the police had laid violent 
 hands on Beppo, because he had maltreated an English 
 lady, and that he ought to have known better, but come 
 si fa ; and that for the present he was at San Michele. 
 
 Beppo having repented, and it is to be hoped amended 
 during his sojourn in that holy hospice, has now again 
 made his appearance in the world. But during his absence 
 the government has passed a new and salutary law, by 
 which beggars are forbidden publicly to practise their pro- 
 fession, except upon the steps of the churches. There 
 they may sit and extend their hand, and ask charity from 
 those who are going to their prayers, but they may no 
 longer annoy the public, and specially strangers in the 
 street. Beppo,*therefore, keeps no more his bank on the 
 steps of the Piazza di Spagna, but has removed it to those 
 of the church of St. Agostino, where, at least for the pres- 
 ent, he is open to the " receipt of custom." 
 
 The words of the previous sentence ai'e now, alas, no 
 longer true. Since they were written and printed last, 
 Beppo has passed away from among the living to join the 
 great company, among which Lazarus is not the least. 
 Vainly the eye of the stranger will seek him on the steps
 
 4G . ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 of the Piazza di Spagna, or on those of St. Agostino. The 
 familiar figure has gone. The places which have known 
 him will know him no more ; and of the large and noble 
 company of mendicants in Rome, there is not one left 
 who could fitly wear the mantle that has fallen from his 
 shoulders. 
 
 Lest the stranger should imagine that there are no more 
 beggars to be met in Rome, let me hasten to assure him, 
 that though they have " fallen, fallen, fallen, from their 
 high estate " in the Eternal City, they still keep high 
 carnival in the country towns. I must also add that the 
 government is kindly blind of one eye, even within the 
 walls of the city itself, and that the law is to a large extent 
 " more honor'd in the breach than the observance." At 
 frequent intervals you will still see persons to whom excep- 
 tional privileges are granted on account of their personal 
 merit, their just claims to charity, their age, or their mis- 
 fortune. Those you may know by a great brass decora- 
 tion, which they wear with as proud an assurance as a 
 French general ; and it has this advantage over the ribbon 
 of the Legion of Honor, that it is not so common. To 
 all who wear it (and, be it also whispered, to many who 
 do not wear it), give freely of your charity, it will not 
 be ill bestowed. 
 
 It is often a trying question whether or not to give to 
 beggars. Speaking from a merely selfish point of view, I 
 think it better to give ; for refusing a charity steels the 
 heart, while giving tickles the sentiments, and you thus 
 get a little spiritual relish, which, if it be a little Pharisaic 
 of flavor, is, nevertheless, agreeable. What if the rogue 
 do not stand in need of the charity, you have conferred a 
 satisfaction on yourself at a very small outlay, and for a 
 few minutes, at least, you walk with a prouder step. You 
 have, at all events, nothing to lay to the score of con : 
 science. Suppose, on the contrary, you refuse the little 
 gift out of your superfluity, you have thereby laid for 
 yourself a snare of remorse. You have dared, without 
 knowledge or investigation of the real facts, to judge 
 them, and declare the beggar a culprit. You cannot bp
 
 BEGGARS DEFORMITY A PRIVILEGE. 47 
 
 sure that you have acted wisely or justly. You may have 
 refused the cup of water, which is blessed. The beggar's 
 piteous look and voice and outstretched hand will haunt 
 you longer than you like, and a little annoying doubt will 
 keep buzzing about in your mind, and hatch a brood of 
 regrets. You will keep hoping that the beggar was not 
 nearly so wretched as he looked ; or, perhaps, you are 
 made of sterner stuff, and will console yourself with the 
 proud thought that by refusing a small private claim, you 
 have done a great public good ; or that it is better to 
 sacrifice one poor man than to undermine the general in- 
 terests of society ; or, professing a sound indignation for 
 mendicancy, you will applaud yourself for thus obeying 
 the dictates of duty instead of weakly yielding to a senti- 
 mental feeling of compassion. But if you find any suffi- 
 cient consolation out of these husks, you are more fortunate 
 than I have ever been. How many times have I had the 
 weakness to go back arid meekly offer the previously denied 
 penny. It is nothing, I argued, to me ; it may be so much 
 to him. I do not say it is ; but that "may be " cannot be 
 silenced. General principles are very grand things in 
 books, and capital themes for speeches ; but there are so 
 many exceptions to them in life, and who shall say that 
 the individual case is not an exception ? 
 
 You may, indeed, hide poverty out of sight ; you may 
 threaten with imprisonment the poor starving wretch that 
 holds out his hand for the overplus of your abundance ; 
 you may make all proper and white on the outside of 
 society, by laws for the suppression of mendicancy ; but 
 after all, this will not cure the pain and suffering that 
 gnaws its vitals, nor satisfy the absolute needs of the poor. 
 If mendicancy be abolished, then it is the duty of society 
 to see that there are none to whom this is the only means 
 to escape starvation. It is undoubtedly unpleasant to be 
 annoyed by a beggar in the street, but it is still more un- 
 pleasant to famish with hunger. 
 
 Begging, in Rome, is as much a profession as praying 
 and shopkeeping. Happy is he who is born deformed, 
 with a withered limb, or to whom Fortune sends the pres- 
 ent of a hideous accident or malady ; it is a stock to set
 
 48 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 up trade upon. St. Vitus's dance is worth its hundreds 
 of scudi annually ; epileptic fits are also a prize ; and a 
 distorted leg and hare-lip have a considerable market- 
 value. Thenceforth the creature who has the luck to have 
 them is absolved from labor. He stands or lies in the 
 sun, or wanders through the Piazza, and sings his whining, 
 lamentable strophe of, " Signore, povero stroppiato, datemi 
 qualche cosa per amor di Dio ! " and when the baiocco 
 falls into his hat, like ripe fruit from the tree of the 
 stranger, he chants the antistrophe, " Dio la benedica, la 
 Madonna e tutti i santi ! " 1 No refusal but one does he 
 recognize as final, and that is given, not by word of 
 mouth, but by elevating the forefinger of the right hand, 
 and slowly wagging it to and fro. When this finger goes 
 up he resigns all hope, as those who pass the gate of the 
 Inferno, replaces his hat and lapses into silence, or turns 
 away to some new group of sunny-haired foreigners. The 
 recipe to avoid beggars is, to be black-haired, to wear a 
 full beard, to smoke in the streets, speak only Italian, and 
 shake the forefinger of the right hand when besieged for 
 charity. Let it not be supposed from this that the Romans 
 give nothing to the beggars, but pass them by on the other 
 side. This is quite a mistake. On the contrary, they 
 give more than the foreigners ; and the poorest class, out 
 of their little, will always find something to drop into 
 their hats for charity. Another recipe suggested to me by 
 a friend years ago, and which I have known to prove 
 effective in some cases, is solemnly to turn to the beggar, 
 and slowly say ip-e-ca-cu-a-na. But this medicine should 
 be administered rarely, or it will lose its effect ; and great 
 care should be taken to preserve absolute gravity both of 
 tone and demeanor. 
 
 The ingenuity which the beggars sometimes display in 
 asking for alms is often humoristic and satirical. Many 
 a woman on the cold side of thirty is wheedled out of a 
 baiocco by being addressed as Signorina. Many a half- 
 suppressed exclamation of admiration, or a prefix of Bella, 
 softens the hearts of those to whom compliments on their 
 
 Signore, a poor cripple ; give me something, for the love of 
 God ! " " May God bless you, the Madonna, and all the saints ! "
 
 BEGGARS THEIR PROSPERITY. 49 
 
 beauty come rarely. A great many baiocchi are also 
 caught from green travellers of the middle class, by the 
 titles which are lavishly squandered by these poor fellows. 
 Illustrisslmo, Eccellenza, Altezza, will sometimes open 
 the purse, when plain " Mosshoo " is ineffectual. After 
 all, it is worth a penny even to a Republican, to be called 
 Principe or Principessa. 
 
 The profession of a beggar is by no means an unprofit- 
 able one. A great many drops finally make a stream. 
 The cost of living is almost nothing to them, and they 
 frequently lay up money enough to make themselves very 
 comfortable in their old age. A Roman friend of mine, 
 Conte C., speaking of them one day, told me this illustra- 
 tive anecdote : 
 
 " I had occasion," he said, "a few years ago, to reduce 
 my family " (the servants are called, in Rome, the family), 
 " and having no need of the services of one under-servant, 
 named Pietro, I dismissed him. About a year after, as I 
 was returning to my house, towards nightfall, I was so- 
 licited by a beggar, who whiningly asked me for charity. 
 There was something in the voice which struck me as fa- 
 miliar, and, turning round to examine the man more 
 closely, I found it was my old servant, Pietro. ' Is that 
 you, Pietro ? ' I said ; ' you begging here in the streets ! 
 What has brought you to this wretched trade ? ' He gave 
 me, however, no very clear account of himself, and evi- 
 dently desired to avoid me when he recognized who I 
 was. But, shocked to find him in so pitiable a condition, 
 I pressed my questions, and finally told him I could not 
 bear to see any one who had been in my household re- 
 duced to beggary ; and though I had no actual need of 
 his services, yet, rather than see him thus, he might return 
 to his old position as servant in my house, and be paid the 
 same wages as he had before. He hesitated, was much 
 embarrassed, and, after a pause, said ' A thousand 
 thanks, your Excellency, for your kindness ; but I cannot 
 accept your proposal, because to tell you the truth 
 I make more money by this trade of begging.' " 
 
 But though the beggars often lay by considerable sums 
 of money, so that they might, if they chose, live with a
 
 50 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 certain degree of comfort, yet they cannot leave off the 
 habit of begging after having indulged in it for many 
 years. They get to be avaricious, and cannot bring their 
 minds to spend the money they have. The other day, an 
 old beggar, who used to frequent the steps of the Gesii, 
 when about to die, ordered the hem of her garment to be 
 ripped up, saying that there was money in it. In fact, 
 about a thousand scudi were found there, three hundred 
 of which she ordered to be laid out upon her funeral, and 
 the remainder to be appropriated to masses for her soul. 
 This was accordingly done, and her squalid life ended in 
 a pompous procession to the grave. 
 
 The great holidays of the beggars are the country festas. 
 Thronging out of the city, they spread along the highways, 
 and drag, drive, roll, shuffle, hobble, as they can, towards 
 the festive little town. Everywhere along the road they 
 are to be met, perched on a rock, seated on a bank, 
 squatted beneath a wall or hedge, and screaming, with 
 outstretched hand, from the moment a carriage comes in 
 sight until it is utterly passed by. As one approaches the 
 town where the festa is held, they grow thicker and 
 thicker. They crop up along the road like toadstools. 
 They hold up every hideous kind of withered arm, dis- 
 torted leg, and unsightly stump. They glare at you out 
 of horrible eyes, that look like cranberries. You are 
 requested to look at horrors, all without a name, and too 
 terrible to be seen. All their accomplishments are also 
 brought out. They fall into improvised fits ; they shake 
 with sudden palsies ; and all the while keep up a chorus, 
 half-whine, half -scream, which suffers you to listen to 
 nothing else. It is hopeless to attempt to buy them all 
 off, for they are legion in number, and to pay one doubles 
 the chorus of the others. The clever scamps, too, show 
 the utmost skill in selecting their places of attack. Wher- 
 ever there is a sudden rise in the road, or any obstacle 
 which will reduce the gait of the horses to a walk, there 
 is sure to be a beggar. But do not imagine that he relies 
 on his own powers of scream and hideousness alone, 
 not he ! He has a friend, an ambassador, to recommend 
 him to your notice, and to expatiate on his misfortunes.
 
 BEGGARS THEIR PERSISTENCE. 51 
 
 Though he himself can scarcely move, his friend, who is 
 often a little ragged boy or girl, light of weight, and made 
 for a chase, pursues the carriage and prolongs the whine, 
 repeating, with a mechanical iteration, " Signore ! Sig- 
 nore ! datemi qualche cosa, Signore ! " until the phrase, 
 after gradually degenerating to Gno ! gno ! dami ca 
 ca gno ! finally ceases and the fellow's legs, breath, 
 and resolution give out at last ; or, what is still commoner, 
 your patience is wearied out or your sympathy touched, 
 and you are glad to purchase the blessing of silence for 
 the small sum of a balocco. When his whining fails, he 
 tries to amuse you ; and often resorts to the oddest freaks 
 to attract your notice. Sometimes the little rascal flings 
 himself heels over head into the dust, and executes somer- 
 sets without number, as if they had some hidden influence 
 on the sentiment of compassion. Then, running by the 
 side of the carriage, he will play upon his lips with both 
 hands, making a rattling noise, to excite your curiosity. 
 If you laugh, you are lost, and he knows it. But if you 
 sternly resist all his entreaties, it sometimes happens, if 
 you have given him a hard run, that, despite his broken 
 wind and tired legs, he will send after you a peculiar bless- 
 ing in the shape of an u apoplexy," and throw a stone at 
 your carriage, merely for luck, of course, as in other coun- 
 tries a shoe is thrown. 
 
 As you reach the gates of the town, the row becomes 
 furious. There are scores of beggars on either side of the 
 road, screaming in chorus. No matter how far the town 
 be from the city, there is not a wretched, maimed cripple 
 of your acquaintance, not one of the old stumps who have 
 dodged you round a Roman corner, not a ragged baron 
 who has levied toll for passage through the public squares, 
 a privileged robber who has shut up for you a pleasant 
 street or waylaid you at an interesting church, but he is 
 sure to be there. How they got there is as inexplicable 
 as how the apples got into the dumplings in Peter Pindar's 
 poem. But at the first ring of a festa-l>e\\ they start up 
 from underground (those who are legless getting only half 
 way up), like Rhoderick Dhu's men, and level their 
 cratches at you as the others did their arrows. An Eng-
 
 52 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 lish lady, a short time since, after wintering at Rome, 
 went to take the baths of Lucca in the summer. On go- 
 ing out for a walk, on the first morning after her arrival. 
 whom should she meet but King Beppo, whom she had 
 just left in Rome ! He had come with the rest of the 
 nobility for recreation and bathing, and of course had 
 brought his profession with him. 
 
 Owing to a variety of causes, the number of beggars in 
 Rome is large. They grow here as noxious weeds in a 
 hot-bed. The government neither fosters commerce nor 
 stimulates industry. The poh'cy of the Church everywhere 
 is conservative, and this is specially the case in Rome, 
 where the Church is the State. Founded on ancient ideas 
 and dogmas, consolidated by long established forms and 
 usages, its evident duty is to defend them and conserve 
 them. It naturally opposes itself to all innovations. It 
 distrusts and dislikes changes. Its aim is piety, submis- 
 sion, and obedience among the people, rather than pros- 
 perity in business and increase of trade. Its primary 
 duties and interests are ecclesiastical, and to these all 
 other duties and interests are secondary. It restricts edu- 
 cation and subjects literature to censorship through fear 
 that the development of new ideas may lead to revolution 
 or to atheism. This policy makes itself felt everywhere 
 in Rome. If piety be developed by it, life and thought 
 languish, trade stagnates, industry decays, and the people, 
 ceasing to work and think, have grown indolent and su- 
 pine. Poverty is a necessary consequence. The splendid 
 robes of ecclesiastical Rome have a draggled fringe of 
 beggary. But free and constitutional England can boast 
 of no superiority in this respect, for though public begging 
 is prohibited, it is none the less practised, and will be as 
 long as poverty exists unprovided for. But in a country 
 where mendicancy forms the rule of some of the con- 
 ventual orders, and poverty is preached as a formula of 
 religion and as a glory of the saints, neither poverty nor 
 mendicancy is naturally looked upon as shameful or de- 
 manding to be suppressed. One cannot, however, help 
 speculating on the change which mi^ht be effected in 
 Rome if the energies of the people could have a free scope.
 
 BEGGARS WORK OF GALLEY SLAVES. 53 
 
 Industry is the true purification of a nation ; and as the 
 fertile and luxuriant Campagna stagnates into malaria, be- 
 cause of its want of ventilation and movement, so does this 
 grand and noble people. The government does what it 
 can to remedy the evils which grow naturally out of its sys- 
 tem ; but things go in a vicious circle. The people, kept 
 at a stand-still, become idle and poor ; idleness and poverty 
 engender vice and crime ; crime fills the prisons ; and the 
 prisons afford a body of cheap slaves to the government. 
 
 To-day, as I am writing, some hundreds of galley-slaves, 
 in their striped brown uniforms, are tugging at their 
 winches and ropes to drag the column of the Immaculate 
 Virgin to its pedestal on the Piazza di Spagna. By the 
 same system of compulsory labor, the government, de- 
 spite its limited financial resources, is enabled to carry out 
 public projects which, with well-paid workmen, would be 
 too expensive to be feasible. In this manner, for instance, 
 for an incredibly small sum, was built the magnificent 
 viaduct which spans with its triple tier of arches the beauti- 
 ful Val di L' Arriccia. But, for my own part, I cannot 
 look upon this system as being other than very bad, in 
 every respect. And when, examining into the prisons 
 themselves, I find that the support of these poor criminal 
 slaves is farmed out by the government to some respon- 
 sible person at the lowest rate that is offered, generally for 
 some ten baiocchi apiece per diem, and often refarmed by 
 him at a still lower rate, until the poor wretches are re- 
 duced to the very minimum of necessary food as to quan- 
 tity and quality, I confess that I cannot look with pleas- 
 ure on the noble viaduct at L' Arriccia, or the costly col- 
 umn to the Immaculate Virgin, erected by the labor of 
 their hands. 
 
 The government, conscious of the reproach which the 
 great number of beggars in Rome seems to cast upon 
 Rome, have made repeated efforts to employ them bene- 
 ficially. Hundreds of them were at one time hired to ex- 
 cavate in the Forum and the Baths of Caracalla, at the rate 
 of a few baiocchi a day. But never was such a wretched, 
 decrepit, broken-down set of laborers seen gathered to- 
 gether. Falstaffs ragged regiment was a powerful and
 
 54 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 mighty body compared with them. They bore the same 
 relation to an able-bodied workman that the ruins in 
 which they excavated bear to a thoroughly constructed 
 house. They were ruins themselves, working among 
 ruins ; and it would be difficult to say whether the spec- 
 tacle were most sad or most ludicrous. Each had a 
 wheelbarrow, a spade, or pick, and a cloak ; but the last 
 was the most important part of their equipment. Some of 
 them picked at the earth with a gravity that was equalled 
 only by the feebleness of the effort and the poverty of the 
 result. Three strokes so wearied them that they were 
 forced to pause and gather strength, while others carried 
 away the ant-hills which the first dug up. It seemed an end- 
 less task to fill the wheelbarrows. Fill, did I say ? They 
 were never filled. After a bucketful of earth had been 
 slowly shovelled in, the laborer paused, laid down his 
 spade carefully on the little heap, sighed profoundly, looked 
 as if to receive congratulations on his enormous success, 
 then flinging, with a grand sweep, the tattered old cloak 
 over his left shoulder, lifted his wheelbarrow shafts with 
 dignity, and marched slowly and measuredly forward to- 
 wards the heap of deposit, as Belisarius might have moved 
 at a funeral in the intervals of asking for oboli. But re- 
 duced gentlemen, who have been accustomed to carry round 
 the hat as an occupation, always have a certain air of con- 
 descension when they work for pay, and, by their dignity 
 of deportment, make you sensible of their former supe- 
 rior state. Occasionally, as in case a forestiere was near, 
 the older, idler, and more gentlemanlike profession would 
 be resumed for a moment (as by parenthesis), and if with- 
 out success, a sadder dignity would be seen in the subse- 
 quent march. Very properly for persons who had been 
 reduced from beggary to work, they seemed to be anxious 
 both for their health and their appearance in public, and 
 accordingly a vast deal more time was spent in the ar- 
 rangement of the cloak than in any other part of the busi- 
 ness. It was grand in effect, to see these figures, encum- 
 bered in their heavy draperies, guiding their wheelbarrows 
 through the great arches of Caracalla's Baths, or along 
 the Via Sacia; and determined to show, that in despite 
 of fortune they wire still the (jens to^ata.
 
 BEGGARS -PUBLIC CHARITIES IN ROME. 55 
 
 It would, however, be a grievous mistake to suppose that 
 all the beggars in the streets of Rome are Romans. In 
 point of fact, the greater number are strangers, who con- 
 gregate in Rome during the winter from every quarter. 
 Naples sends them in by thousands. Every little coun> 
 try town of the Abruzzi Mountains yields its contribu- 
 tion. From north, south, east, and west they flock here 
 as to a centre where good pickings may be had of the 
 crumbs that fall from the rich men's tables. In the sum- 
 mer season they return to their homes with their earnings, 
 and not one in five of those who haunted the churches and 
 streets in the winter is to be seen in June. 
 
 It is but justice to the Roman government to say that 
 its charities are very large. If, on the one hand, it does 
 not encourage commerce and industry, on the other, it 
 liberally provides for the poor. In proportion to its means, 
 no government does more, if so much. Every church has 
 its poor-box (Cassa del Poveri). Numerous societies, such 
 as the Sacconi, and other confraternities, employ them- 
 selves in accumulating contributions for the relief of the 
 poor and wretched. Well-endowed hospitals exist for the 
 care of the sick and unfortunate ; and there are various es- 
 tablishments for the charge and education of poor orphans. 
 A few figures will show how ample are these charities. 
 The revenue of these institutions is no less than eight hun- 
 dred and forty thousand scudi annually, of which three 
 hundred thousand are contributed by the Papal treasury, 
 forty thousand of which are a tax upon the Lottery. The 
 hospitals, altogether, accommodate about four thousand five 
 hundred patients, the average number annually received 
 amounting to about twelve thousand ; and the foundling 
 hospitals alone are capable of receiving upwards of three 
 thousand children annually. Besides the hospitals for the 
 sick, there is also a hospital for poor convalescents at Sta. 
 Trinitk del Pellegrini, a lunatic asylum containing about 
 four hundred patients, one for incurables at San Giacomo, 
 a lying-in hospital at San Rocco, and a hospital of educa- 
 tion and industry at San Michele. There are also thirteen 
 societies for bestowing dowries on poor young girls on their 
 marriage ; and from the public purse, for the same object,
 
 56 RODA DI ROMA. 
 
 are expended every year no less than thirty- two thousand 
 scudi. In addition to these charities are the sums collected 
 and administered by the various confraternities, as well as 
 the sum of one hundred and seventy-two thousand scitdi 
 distributed to the poor by the commission of subsidies. But 
 though so much money is thus expended, it cannot be said 
 that it is well administered. The proportion of deaths at 
 the hospitals is very large ; and among the foundlings, it 
 amounted, between the years 1829 and 1833, to no less 
 than seventy-two per cent. 
 
 The paupers of Rome, embracing those who live by 
 mendicancy, or who are provided for by private charity, 
 or are sheltered and cared for in the public hospices, are 
 reckoned to amount, in the city itself, to 2,012, thus consti- 
 tuting the proportion of 1 pauper to every 102 inhabitants, 
 which is certainly very small compared with that of Paris, 
 where it is about 1 to 19, or of London, where it is about 
 1 to 16. "While the proportion of paupers is smaller in 
 Rome, the subsidies of their support are much greater, and 
 a case of death from actual famine, such as occurs so fre- 
 quently in London, is absolutely unknown. 
 
 Despite the enormous sums expended in charity, there is 
 much poverty and suffering among the lower classes in 
 Rome. No one certainly need ever die of hunger, if he be 
 willing to live on public charity. But a natural pride pre- 
 vents many from availing themselves of this ; and there is a 
 large class which barely struggles along, enduring great 
 privations, living in the most miserable manner, and glad 
 in any way to earn an honest penny. The beggars are by 
 no means the greatest sufferers, though, heaven knows, 
 many of them are wretched enough. These poor classes 
 live generally on the ground floor, gregariously crowded 
 into damp and unwholesome rooms. You may peep into 
 their dark and dismal caves as you pass along the street. 
 The broken and uneven floors are paved with brick and 
 clammy with moisture, the walls damp and stained with 
 great blotches of saltpetre, the rafters of the ceilings brown 
 with age and smoke, the furniture shabby, rickety and 
 consisting of a rude chest of drawers, a few broken-down 
 chairs, a table, and a large high bed of corn-leaves, mounted
 
 BEGGARS THE POOR AND THEIR PATIENCE. 57 
 
 upon trestles, which stands in the corner covered with a 
 white quilt. Yet no place is so mean as to be without its 
 tawdry picture of the Madonna, and out of the smallest 
 means a sum is squeezed enough to feed with oil the 
 slender, crusted wick of the onion-shaped lamp, which 
 sheds upon it a thick, dull, yellow point of feeble flame. 
 In the winter these rooms are cold, unwholesome, rheu- 
 matic, and reek with moisture. There, in the rainy 
 season, the old women crouch over their little earthenware 
 pot of coals (scaldtno), warming their shrivelled, veiny 
 hands, or place it under their dress to warm their ill-fed 
 bodies. Yet despite their poverty and sufferings they are 
 not a complaining people, and there is something touch- 
 ing in their resignation, their constant reference to the 
 Madonna, and their invariable refrain of " Pazierf^j,." 
 If you give them a baiocco they are very grateful, and at 
 once pray to the Madonna to bless you, for it is she who has 
 prompted the gift and she who will reward it. Yet the 
 climate is kindly, and the weeks of cold and rain are few, 
 and when the sun shines and the air is mild, you will see 
 them all sitting outside their doors in the street, which is 
 their saloon, chatting gayly, screaming across to their neigh- 
 bors, and sometimes bursting into wild Campagna songs. 
 Some of them earn a slender pittance by keeping a little 
 stall of roasted chestnuts, and apples, and pine-cones, over 
 which at times is spread a coarse canvas supported by 
 three or four poles, sometimes to keep the wind off and 
 sometimes to shelter them from the sun. Not all, how- 
 ever, can afford this luxury, one must be rather up in 
 the world for that. The love days have gone by ; but 
 there is often seen hovering about one of these old women 
 the remains of the " bel giovane " who won her heart and 
 hand, in a tall battered white hat, a short jacket, a waist- 
 coat patched with old and new colors, and long blue 
 stockings on his bent legs, who now plays second fiddle and 
 fusses about the little establishment, rearranging the hum- 
 ble wares with tremulous hands, and looking round for 
 customers, and indulging in chat about the weather and 
 the times. She meanwhile sits calmly there with her 
 scaldino, the master-spirit, who rules and decides all.
 
 58 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 But to return to the beggars. At many of the convents 
 in Rome it is the custom at noon to distribute, gratis, at 
 the door, a quantity of soup, and any poor person may 
 receive a bowlful on demand. Many of the beggars thus 
 become pensioners of the convents, and may be seen daily 
 at the appointed hour gathering round the door with tlie5r 
 bowl and wooden spoon, in expectation of \hefrate \vith 
 the soup. This is generally made so thick with cabbage 
 that it might be called a cabbage-stew ; but Soyer himself 
 never made a dish more acceptable to the palate of the 
 guests than this. No nightingales' tongues at a banquet 
 of Tiberius, no edible birds'-nests at a Chinese feast, were 
 ever relished with more gusto. I have often counted at 
 the gates of the Convent of Capuchins, in the Via S. Basilio, 
 from eighty to one hundred of these poor wretches, some 
 stretched at length on the pavement, some gathered in 
 groups under the shadow of the garden wall or on the 
 steps of the studios, and discussing politics, Austria, 
 France, Italy, Louis Napoleon, and Garibaldi, while they 
 waited for their daily meal. When the bells ring for mid- 
 day, the gates are opened and the crowd pours in ; and 
 then, with their hats off, you may see them gathered round 
 the cauldron, from which a burly Capuchin ladles out soup 
 into their wooden platters, after they have all repeated after 
 him their "pater noster." The figures and actions of 
 these poor wretches, after they have obtained their soup, 
 make one sigh for human nature. Each, grasping his por- 
 tion as if it were a treasure, separates himself .immediately 
 from his brothers, flees selfishly to a corner, if he can find 
 one empty, or, if not, goes to a distance, turns his back on 
 his friends, and, glancing anxiously at intervals all around, 
 as if in fear of a surprise, gobbles up his cabbage, wipes 
 out his bowl, and then returns to companionship or dis- 
 appears. The idea of sharing his portion with those who 
 are portionless occurs to him only as the idea of a robber 
 to the mind of a miser. 
 
 Any account of the beggars of Rome without mention 
 of the Capuchins and Franciscans would be like perform- 
 ing the " Merchant of Venice " with no Shylock ; for these 
 orders are founded in beggary and supported by charity.
 
 iEGGARS-FRANCISCANS AND CAPUCHINS. 59 
 
 The priests do not beg; but their ambassadors, the lay 
 brothers, clad in their long brown serge, a cord around 
 their waist, and a basket on their arm, may be seen shuf- 
 fling along at any hour and in every street, in dirty, san- 
 dalled feet, to levy contributions from shops and houses. 
 Here they get a loaf of bread, there a pound of flour or rice, 
 in one place fruit or cheese, in another a bit of meat, until 
 their basket is filled. Sometimes money is given, but gen- 
 erally they are paid in articles of food. There is another 
 set of these brothers, who enter your studio, or ring at 
 your bell, and present a little tin box with a slit in it, into 
 which you are requested to drop any sum you please, for 
 the holidays, for masses, for wax candles, etc. As a big 
 piece of copper makes more ring than gold, it is generally 
 given, and always gratefully received. Sometimes they 
 will enter into conversation, and are always pleased to 
 have a little chat about the weather. They are very poor, 
 very good-natured, and very dirty. It is a pity they do 
 not baptize themselves a little more with the material 
 water of this world. But they seem to have a hydro- 
 phobia. Whatever the inside of the platter may be, the 
 outside is far from clean. They walk by day and they 
 sleep by night in the same old snuffy robe, which is not 
 kept from contact with the skin by any luxury of linen, 
 until it is worn out. Dirt and piety seem to them synony- 
 mous. In disbelieving moments, I cannot help applying 
 to them Charles Lamb's famous speech to Martin Burney, 
 " If dirt were trumps, what a hand they would have of 
 it ! " Yet, beggars as they are, by faith and profession, 
 they have the reputation at Rome of being the most 
 inoffensive of all the conventual orders, and are looked 
 
 This saying-, however, though popularly credited to Charles 
 Lamb, attributed to him by his biographers, and recently repeated 
 by Mr. Proctor (Barry Cornwall) in his very interesting Reminis- 
 cences of Lamb, would appear not to belong to him, if we are to 
 trust the statement of a late writer in Macmillari's Magazine. 
 He says that it was "made by a gentleman who never uttered a 
 second witticism in the whole course of his life, and who thought it 
 a little hard to be robbed of this unique achievement. The real per- 
 son, we have understood, was the father of the present Mr. Commis- 
 sioner Ayrton. ' '
 
 60 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 upon by the common people with kindliness, as being 
 thoroughly sincere in their religious professions. They 
 are at least consistent in many respects in their professions 
 and practice. They really mortify the flesh by penance, 
 fasting, and wretched fare, as well as by dirt. They do 
 not proclaim the virtues and charms of poverty, while they 
 roll about in gilded coaches, dressed in " purple and fine 
 linen," or gloat over the luxuries of the table. Tlnir 
 vices are not the cardinal ones, whatever their virtues may 
 be. The " Miracles of St. Peter," as the common people 
 call the palaces of Rome, are not wrought for them. Their 
 table is mean and scantily provided with the most ordinary 
 food. Three days in the wetk they eat no meat; and 
 during the year they keep three Quaresime. But, good as 
 they are, their sour, thin wine, on empty, craving stomachs, 
 sometimes does a mad work ; and these brothers in dirt 
 and piety have occasionally violent rows and disputes in 
 their refectories over their earthen bottles. It is only a 
 short time since that my old friends the Capuchins got 
 furious together over their wine, and ended by knocking 
 each other about the ears with their earthen jars, aftc r 
 they had emptied them. Several were wounded and had 
 time to repent and wash in their cells. But one should 
 not be too hard on them. The temper will not withstand 
 too much fasting. A good dinner puts one at peace with 
 the world, but an empty stomach is the habitation often of 
 the Devil, who amuses himself there with pulling all the 
 nerve-wires that reach up into the brain. I doubt whether 
 even St. Simeon Stylites always kept his temper as well as 
 he did his fast. 
 
 As I see them walking up and down the alleys of their 
 vegetable-garden, and under the sunny wall where, with- 
 out the least asceticism, oranges glow and roses bloom 
 during the whole winter, I do not believe in their doctrine, 
 nor envy them their life. And I cannot but think that 
 the thousands oifrati who are in the Roman States would 
 do quite as good service to God and man, if they were an 
 army of laborers on the Campagna, or elsewhere, as in 
 their present life of beggary and self-contemplation. I 
 often wonder, as I look at them, hearty and stout as they
 
 BEGGARS CAPUCHINS IN THE GARDEN. 61 
 
 are, despite their mode of life, what brought them to this 
 pass, what induced them to enter this order, and recall, 
 in this connection, a little anecdote current here in Rome, 
 to the following effect : A young fellow, from whom 
 Fortune had withheld her gifts, having become desperate, 
 at last declared to a friend that he meant to throw himself 
 into the Tiber, and end a life which was worse than use- 
 less. " No, no," said his friend, " don't do that. If your 
 affairs are so desperate, retire into a convent ; become a 
 Capuchin." " Ah, no ! " was the indignant answer ; " I 
 am desperate ; but I have not yet arrived at such a pitch 
 of desperation as that." 
 
 Though the Franciscans live upon charity, they have al- 
 most always a garden connected with their convent, where 
 they raise multitudes of cabbages, cauliflowers, fennel, 
 peas, beans, artichokes, and lettuce. Indeed, there is one 
 kind of the latter which is named after them capuccini. 
 But their gardens they do not till themselves ; they hire 
 gardeners, who work for them. Now, I cannot but think 
 that working in a garden is just as pious an employment 
 as begging about the streets, though, perhaps, scarcely as 
 profitable. The opinion that, in some respects, it would 
 be better for them to attend to this work themselves 
 was forced upon my mind by a little farce I happened to 
 see enacted among their cabbages, the other day as I was 
 looking down out of my window. My attention was first 
 attracted by hearing a window open from a little three- 
 story-high loggia, opposite, hanging over their garden. A 
 woman came forth, and, from amid the flowerpots, which 
 half concealed her, she dropped a long cord to the ground. 
 " Pst, pst," she cried to the gardener at work below. He 
 looked up, executed a curious pantomime, shrugged his 
 shoulders, shook his forefinger, and motioned with his 
 head and elbow sideways to a figure, visible to me, but not 
 to her, of a brown Franciscan, who was amusing himself 
 in gathering some fennel, just round the corner of the wall. 
 The woman, who was fishing for the cabbages, immedi- 
 ately understood the predicament, drew up her cord, dis- 
 appeared from the loggia, and the curtain fell upon the 
 little farce. The gardener, however evidently had a little
 
 62 110BA DI ROMA. 
 
 soliloquy after she had gone. He ceased working, and 
 gazed at the unconscious Franciscan for some time, with 
 a curious grimace, as if he were not quite satisfied at thus 
 losing his little perquisite. 
 
 And here, perhaps, a short account of the Capuchins 
 may not be out of place or without interest. 
 
 The headquarters of the Capuchins throughout the 
 world is the Convent of Santa Maria della Concezione, 
 close by the Piazza Barberini, and here reside the general 
 of the order and his staff. The convent is very large, 
 having no less than six hundred cells ; but all of these 
 are rarely if ever occupied. The Famiglia proper, by 
 which term is meant the friars, both lay and clerical, be- 
 longing to it, number about one hundred and twenty ; but 
 as it is the chief house of all the provinces of Rome, the 
 general hospital for sick and infirm is here, and there are 
 always a certain number of friars in it who do not belong 
 to the convent. To this nmst be added the visitors from 
 all parts of the world, who ccme on ecclesiastical business 
 and for other reasons ; and with these additions the num- 
 ber of persons in the ccnvent does not generally vary 
 much from about two hundred persons. The padri or 
 priests are many of them well-educated men, as far as 
 Latin and theology go, and they devote the chief part of 
 their time to prayer and saying mass, giving the remain- 
 der, which is not much, to study. The lay brothers are 
 completely illiterate, and thtir occupation is to beg alms 
 in the streets, to sweep the cells, cook the dinner, serve at 
 table, and perform the menial duties of the convent. 
 They also pretend to cultivate the garden, but they do this 
 chiefly by proxy, " assisting," for the most part, in a 
 purely French sense. 
 
 The cells in which they live are only about six feet by 
 ten in size ; they are paved with brick, and, instead of 
 glass, they have linen cloth in their windows. Their fur- 
 niture is a crucifix, a bed or pallet, a vase of holy water, 
 and some coarse print of a saint or two. They have no 
 sheets upon their beds, but only blankets ; and they do 
 not undress, but sleep in their monastic dresses, which are 
 renewed once in three years. They wear no linen under-
 
 BEGGARS LIFE OF CAPUCHINS. 63 
 
 clothes, and, unless their health requires it, no stockings ; 
 and the result as to cleanliness may be easily imagined. 
 
 Connected with the convent is a factory, where the cloth, 
 worn by the Capuchins throughout the Romagna, is woven, 
 and where the leathern sandals are fashioned. But even 
 in this, secular labor is called in, the friars having a cer- 
 tain unwillingness to do any labor. Pieces of cloth, al- 
 ready cut into the appropriate form, are distributed among 
 the community once in three years, and each sews it up 
 for himself. 
 
 Their life is by no means an enviable one. Their fare 
 is very meagre, and their religious duties constant. Their 
 day commences at midnight, when they are all roused 
 from their beds by a sort of rattle of wood and iron, 
 called a " troccolo," and by the sharp clang of the church- 
 bell, to say matins in the choir of the church. The scene 
 here is then said to be very picturesque. A single oil 
 lamp burning over the reading-desk is the sole light in the 
 church. There stands the officiating priest, and reads the 
 collects and lessons of the day, while the others gather in 
 the shadow, and chant their hymns and responses in hoarse 
 bass voices, that echo through the vaulted choir. At the 
 end of the matins the bell begins to toll, and the solemn 
 Te Deum is sung, after which, without speaking, all re- 
 turn to their narrow cells. Sometimes, in the cold winter 
 nights, sitting alone in a warm room, with all the comforts 
 of life and warmth about me, as I hear the convent bell 
 ringing at midnight, and know that at its sound every one 
 of the Capuchins, whether he be old, rheumatic, and weary, 
 or not, must rise from his bed to go into that cold, cheer- 
 less chapel, and' say his matins, my heart is touched with 
 pity for them. But I hope habit makes it easier to them 
 than it would be to me, and, at all events, the evil is miti- 
 gated by the fact that they do not have to dress. 
 
 At six o'clock in the morning the bell rings them to 
 mass, and from this time forward the chief portion of the 
 day is devoted to religious exercises ; for what with masses, 
 and hearing confessions, and accompanying funerals, and 
 the canonical hours, and vespers, nocturns. and complines, 
 little time can remain for anything else. One of their
 
 64 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 exercises, which they have in common with the Quakers, 
 is that of silent meditation, which takes place in the 
 morning, and at twilight, when the friars all meet and 
 commune silently with themselves. On these occasions 
 the blinds are closed so as to shut out the light, and here 
 they remain without speaking for a half-hour. What they 
 think about then, they alone know. Of course the lay 
 brothers are not held very strictly to the religious exer- 
 cises, or it would be scarcely possible for them to perform 
 all their other functions. 
 
 These brown-cowled gentlemen are not the only ones 
 who carry the tin box. Along the curbstones of the public 
 walks, and on the steps of the churches, sit blind old creat- 
 ures, who shake at you a tin box, outside of which is a 
 figure of the Madonna, and inside of which are two or 
 three baiocchi, as a rattling accompaniment to an unending 
 invocation of aid. Their dismal chant is protracted for 
 hours and hours, increasing in loudness whenever the steps 
 of a passer-by are heard. It is the old strophe and anti- 
 strophe of begging and blessing, and the singers are so 
 wretched that one is often softened into charity. Those 
 who are not blind have often a new almanac to sell to- 
 wards the end of the year, and at other times they vary 
 the occupation of shaking the box by selling lives of the 
 saints, which are sometimes wonderful enough. One sad 
 old woman, who sits near the Quattro Fontane, and says 
 her prayers and rattles her box, always touches my heart, 
 there is such an air of forlornness and sweetness about 
 her. As I was returning, last night, from a mass at San 
 Giovanni in Laterano, an old man glared at us through 
 great green goggles, to which those of the " green-eyed 
 monster " would have yielded in size and color, and 
 shook his box for a baiocco. " And where does this money 
 go ? " I asked. " To say masses for the souls of those 
 who die over opposite," said he, pointing to the Hospital 
 of San Giovanni, through the open doors of which we could 
 see the patients lying in their beds. 
 
 Nor are these the only friends of the box. Often in 
 walking the streets one is suddenly shaken in your ear, 
 and turning round you are stai-tled to see a figure entirely
 
 BEGGARS THE SACCONI. 65 
 
 clothed in white from head to foot, a rope round his waist, 
 and a white hood drawn over his head and face, and show- 
 ing, through two round holes, a pair of sharp black eyes 
 behind them. He says nothing, but shakes his box at 
 you, often threateningly, and always with an air of mys- 
 tery. This is a penitent Saccone ; and as this confrater- 
 nita is composed chiefly of noblemen, he may be one of 
 the first princes or cardinals in Rome, performing penance 
 in expiation of his sins ; or, for all you can see, it may be 
 one of your intimate friends. The money thus collected 
 goes to various charities. The Sacconi always go in 
 couples, one taking one side of the street, the other 
 the opposite, never losing sight of each other, and never 
 speaking. Clothed thus in secrecy, they can test the gen- 
 erosity of any one they meet with complete impunity, and 
 they often amuse themselves with startling foreigners. 
 Many a group of English girls, convoyed by their mother, 
 and staring into some mosaic or cameo shop, is scared into 
 a scream by the sudden jingle of the box, and the appari- 
 tion of the spectre in white who shakes it. And many a 
 simple old lady retains to the end of her life a confused 
 impression, derived therefrom, of inquisitions, stilettos, 
 tortures, and banditti, from which it is vain to attempt to 
 dispossess her mind. The stout old gentleman, with a 
 bald forehead and an irascibly rosy face, takes it often in 
 another way, confounds the fellows for their imperti- 
 nence, has serious notions, first, of knocking them down 
 on the spot, and then of calling the police, but finally de- 
 termines to take no notice of them, as they are nothing 
 but foreigners, who cannot be expected to know how to 
 behave themselves in a rational manner. Sometimes a 
 holy charity (santa elemosina) is demanded after the 
 oddest fashion. It was only yesterday that I met one of 
 the confraternities, dressed in a shabby red suit, coming 
 up the street with the invariable oblong tin begging-box 
 in his hand, a picture of Christ on one side, and of the 
 Madonna on the other. He went straight to a door open- 
 ing into a large, dark room, where there was a full cistern 
 of running water, at which several poor women were wash- 
 ing clothes, and singing and chattering as they worked.
 
 66 KOBA DI ROMA. 
 
 My red acquaintance suddenly opens the door, letting in 
 a stream of light upon this Rembrandtish interior, and 
 lifting his box with the most wheedling of smiles, he says, 
 with a rising inflection of voice, as if asking a question, 
 " Prezioso sangue di Gesu Cristo ? " (Precious blood 
 of Jesus Christ ?) 
 
 Others of these disguised gentlemen of the begging-box 
 sit at the corners of the streets or on the steps of the 
 churches, or wander about, entering everywhere the shops, 
 to collect sums for prisoners, and among these are often 
 gentlemen of good family and fortune ; others carry with 
 them a sack, in which they receive alms in kind for 
 the same purpose. The Romans are a charitable people, 
 and they always give liberally of their store. In the 
 Piazza della Rotonda and the Piazza Navona you will see 
 these brethren of the sack begging of the fruiterers and 
 hucksters ; and few there are who refuse to add their little 
 for the poor prisoners. As soon as they are told that the 
 charity is for them, they drop into the sack a wedge of 
 cheese, a couple of provature, a handful of rice, a loaf of 
 bread, two or three oranges, apples, pears, or potatoes, or 
 a good slice of polenta, saying, " Eh, poveracci, Dio li 
 cojisoli, pigliate " (Ah, poor creatures, may God help them ! 
 take these) ; for you must remember a prisoner does not 
 always mean a criminal in Rome. Sometimes into the 
 box drops the last baiocco of some poor fellow, who as he 
 gives it says, in Trastevere dialect, " Voi die siete un 
 religioso di Dio, fateme busca 'n ternetto, die pozza paga 
 la pigione," (Give me a winning terno in the lottery, 
 to pay my rent.) 
 
 There is another species of begging and extortion prac- 
 tised in Rome which deserves notice in this connection. 
 Besides the perpetual hand held out by the mendicants in 
 the street, there are festivals and ceremonials where the 
 people demand as of right certain vails and presents called 
 mancie and propine. The largesse which in old times 
 used to be scattered by the emperors who came to Rome 
 to be crowned in St. Peter's is still given, after a degener- 
 ate way, upon the coronation of a Pope. Formerly it 
 was the custom for the Pope to proceed to the church on
 
 BEGGARS VAILS AND FEES. 67 
 
 horseback, his almoner following after him with two sacks 
 of money in gold, silver, and copper, which he scattered 
 among the crowds accompanying the Papal procession. 
 But au accident having happened at the installation of 
 Clement XIV., the Pope has ever since driven in a 
 triumphal carriage ; and the largesse is now distributed 
 by his almoner in the Cortile del Belvedere, where the 
 proud inhabitants of the Borgo and Trastevere do not 
 disdain to hold out their hands as they pass before him 
 for the little sum of money which the Holy Father still 
 gives to his faithful children on this august occasion 
 nay, more, they claim it as a right. 
 
 In like manner, on the beatification of a saint, all the 
 intendants, secretaries, agents, and servants of every kind 
 are entitled to a mancia ; and so firmly established is this 
 custom, that a specific time and place is appointed where 
 they present themselves, and each receives his vail sealed 
 up in an envelope of paper, and addressed to him by 
 name. 
 
 Whenever a Cardinal is made Pope, by old custom all 
 his clothes and furniture become the spoil of his servants. 
 And as soon as the report of his election by the Conclave 
 runs through the city, his apartments are at once sacked 
 by them. Sometimes the report proves false, and the 
 irritated Cardinal, whose ambitious hopes have crumbled 
 into vexation, returning home, finds his luxurious rooms 
 turned topsy-turvy, and not even a change of dress in his 
 wardrobe. The first meeting of servants and master on 
 such an occasion is agreeable to neither party ; and it is 
 not to be wondered at if the name of the Lord is some- 
 times taken in vain, and " apoplexies " are showered about 
 in profusion. 
 
 Many of the servants of the princely houses and in the 
 palaces of the Cardinals receive no wages, the mancie, 
 which by time-honored custom they are entitled to claim 
 of visitors, affording an ample compensation. Indeed, in 
 some houses, there are servants who pay for the privilege 
 of serving there, their mancie far exceeding the fair rate 
 of their wages. Some of these vails are expected on 
 Christmas and New Year's day ; but besides these there
 
 68 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 are other stated occasions when the frequenters of the 
 house are expected to give presents. If these seem to the 
 servant insufficient in amount, they sometimes go so far 
 as plainly to express their views and scornfully to say, 
 " Signore, mi si viene de piu ; questa non e la inisura 
 delta propina di sala," (I am entitled to more) just 
 as if they had presented a bill which you had refused to 
 pay. 
 
 Padre Bresciani relates a good story apropos to these 
 mancie, which he says occurred to some of his friends and 
 himself. They had requested a deacon of their acquaint- 
 ance to give them a letter to the custode of a certain 
 palace in order that they might see some beautiful pictures 
 there. With much courtesy the request was granted, and 
 the little company drove at once to the palace, and pre- 
 sented the letter to the custode, a tall fellow of about thirty 
 years of age. He took the letter, opened it, and after 
 fumbling a little in his pockets for something, turned round 
 to one of them, and said, " Excuse me, I have not my 
 spectacles : would your Excellency have the goodness to 
 read this for me?" 
 
 The gentleman appealed to then read as follows : " Vi 
 raccommando sommamente questi nobilissimi Signori, 
 mostrate loro tutte le rarita del palazzo, ben intesi, accet- 
 tando le vostre propine." (" I warmly recommend to 
 you these most distinguished gentlemen : show them all 
 the choice things in the palace, accepting, of course, 
 your present for so doing.") 
 
 The clever custode, imagining that these gentlemen 
 might consider that the letter rendered the mancia un- 
 necessary, resorted to this trick to let them see that neither 
 the deacon nor himself intended to dispense with it. 
 
 The last, but by no means the meanest, of the tribe of 
 pensioners whom I shall mention, is my old friend " Beef-- 
 steak," now, alas ! gone to the shades of his fathers. 
 He was a good dog, a mongrel, a Pole by birth, who 
 accompanied his master on a visit to Rome, where he 
 became so enamored of the place that he could not be 
 persuaded to return to his native home. Bravely he cast 
 himself on the world, determined to live, like many of his
 
 BEGGARS "BEEFSTEAK." 69 
 
 two-legged countrymen, upon his wits. He was a dog of 
 genius, and his confidence in the world was rewarded by 
 its appreciation. He had a sympathy for the arts. The 
 crowd of artists who daily and nightly flocked to the Lepre 
 and the Gaffe Greco attracted his notice. He introduced 
 himself to them, and visited them at their studios and 
 rooms. A friendship was struck between them and him, 
 and he became their constant visitor and their most at- 
 tached ally. Every day, at the hour of lunch, or at the 
 more serious hour of dinner, he lounged into the Lepre, 
 seated himself in a chair, and awaited his friends, con- 
 fident of his reception. His presence was always hailed 
 with a welcome, and to every new-comer he was formally 
 presented. His bearing became, at last, not only assured, 
 but patronizing. He received the gift of a chicken-bone 
 or a delicate titbit as if he conferred a favor. He became 
 an epicure, a gourmet. He did not eat much ; he ate 
 well. With what a calm superiority and gentle contempt 
 he declined the refuse bits a stranger offered from his 
 plate ! His glance, and upturned nose, and quiet refusal, 
 seemed to say, " Ignoramus ! know you not I am Beef- 
 steak?" His dinner finished, he descended gravely and 
 proceeded to the Gaffe Greco, there to listen to the dis- 
 cussions of the artists, and to partake of a little coffee 
 and sugar, of which he was very fond. At night he ac- 
 companied some one or other of his friends to his room, 
 and slept upon the rug. He knew his friends, and valued 
 them ; but perhaps his most remarkable quality was his 
 impartiality. He dispensed his favors with an even hand. 
 He had few favorites, and called no man master. He 
 never outstayed his welcome " and told the jest without 
 the smile," never remaining with one person for more 
 than two or three days at most. A calmer character, a 
 more balanced judgment, a better temper, a more ad- 
 mirable self-respect, in a word, a profounder sense of 
 what belongs to a gentleman, was never known in any dog. 
 But Beefsteak is now no more. Just after the agitations 
 of the Revolution of 1848, with which he had little sym- 
 pathy, he was a conservative by disposition, he dis- 
 appeared. He had always been accustomed to make a
 
 70 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 villeggiatura at L'Arriccia during a portion of the sum- 
 mer months, returning only now and then to look after his 
 affairs in Rome. On such visits he would often arrive 
 towards midnight, and rap at the door of a friend to claim 
 his hospitality, barking a most intelligible answer to the 
 universal Roman inquiry, " Chi e?" "One morn we 
 missed him at the accustomed" place, and thenceforth he 
 was never seen. Whether a sudden homesickness for his 
 native land overcame him, or a fatal accident 'befell him, 
 is not known. Peace to his manes ! There "rests his 
 head upon the lap of earth " no better dog. 
 
 In the Roman studio of one of his friends and admir- 
 ers, Mr. Mason, I had the pleasure, a short time since, to 
 see, among several admirable and spirited pictures of 
 Campagna life and incidents, a very striking portrait of 
 Beefsteak. He was sitting in a straw-bottomed chair, as 
 we have so often seen him in the Lepre, calm, dignified 
 in his deportment, and somewhat obese. The full brain, 
 the narrow, fastidious nose, the sagacious eye, were so 
 perfectly. given, that I seemed to feel the actual presence 
 of my old friend. So admirable a portrait of so distin- 
 guished a person should not be lost to the world. It should 
 be engraved, or at least photographed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. 
 
 THE Christmas Holidays have come, and with them 
 various customs and celebrations quite peculiar to Rome. 
 They are ushered in by the festive clang of a thousand 
 bells from all the belfries in Rome at Ave Maria of the 
 evening before the august day. At about nine o'clock of 
 the same evening the Pope performs High Mass in some 
 one of the great churches, generally at Santa Maria Mag- 
 giore, when the pillars of this fine old basilica are draped 
 with red hangings, and scores of candles burn in the side-
 
 CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. 71 
 
 chapels, and the great altar blazes with light. The fugu- 
 ing chants of the Papal choir sound into the dome and 
 down the aisles, while the Holy Father ministers at the 
 altar, and a motley crowd parade and jostle and saunter 
 through the church. Here, mingled together, may be 
 seen soldiers of the Swiss guard, with their shining hel- 
 mets, long halberds, and parti-colored uniforms, designed 
 by Michael Angelo, chamberlains of the Pope, all in 
 black, with high ruffs, Spanish cloaks, silken stockings, 
 and golden chains, peasants from the mountains, in 
 rich-colored costumes and white tovaglie, common la- 
 borers from the Campagna, with black mops of tangled 
 hair, - foreigners of every nation, Englishmen, with 
 sloping shoulders, long, light, pendent whiskers, and an 
 eye-glass stuck in one eye, Germans, with spectacles, 
 frogged coats, and long straight hair put behind their ears 
 and cut square in the neck, Americans, in high-heeled 
 patent-leather boots, shabby black dress-coats, black satin 
 waistcoats, and beards shaved only from the upper lip, 
 and wasp-waisted French officers, with baggy trousers, 
 goat-beards, and a pretentious swagger. Nearer the altar 
 are crowded together in pens a mass of women in black 
 dresses and black veils, who are determined to see and 
 hear all, treating the ceremony purely as a spectacle, and 
 not as a religious rite. Meantime the music soars, the or- 
 gan groans, the censer clicks, and steams of incense float 
 to and fro. The Pope and his attendants kneel and rise, 
 he lifts the Host and the world prostrates itself. A 
 great procession of dignitaries with torches bears a frag- 
 ment of the original cradle of the Holy Bambino from its 
 chapel to the high altar through the swaying crowd that 
 gape, gaze, stare, sneer, and adore. And thus the evening 
 passes. When the clock strikes midnight all the bells ring 
 merrily, Mass commences at the principal churches, and 
 at San Luigi dei Frances! and the Gesu there is a great 
 illumination (what the French call un joli spectacle) and 
 very good music. Thus Christmas is ushered in at Rome. 
 The next day is a great festival. All classes are dressed 
 in their best and go to Mass, and when that is over, 
 they throng the streets to chat and lounge and laugh and
 
 72 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 look at each other. The Corso is so crowded in the morn- 
 ing that a carriage can scarcely pass. Everywhere one 
 hears the pleasant greetings of " Buona Festa" " Buona 
 Pasqua" All the basso popolo, too, are out, the wo- 
 men wearing their hest jewelry, heavy gold ear-rings, three- 
 rowed collane of well-worn coral and gold, long silver and 
 gold pins and arrows in their hair, and great worked 
 brooches with pendants, and the men of the Trastevere 
 in their peaked hats, their short jackets swung over one 
 shoulder in humble imitation of the Spanish cloak, and 
 rich scarfs tied round their waists. Most of the ordinary 
 cries of the day are missed. But the constant song of 
 " Arancie! arancw dolci!" (oranges, sweet oranges) is 
 heard in the crowd ; and everywhere the cigar-sellers are 
 carrying round their wooden tray of tobacco, and shout- 
 ing, " Sigari ! sigari dolci ! sigari scelti ! " at the top of 
 their lungs ; the nocellaro also cries sadly out his dry 
 chestnuts and pumpkin-seeds. The shops are all closed, 
 and the shopkeepers and clerks saunter up and down the 
 streets, dressed better than the same class anywhere else 
 in the world, looking spick-and-span, as if they had just 
 come out of a bandbox, and nearly all of them carrying a 
 little cane. One cannot but be struck by the difference 
 in this respect between the Romans on a festa-day in the 
 Corso and the Parisians during a fete in the Champs Ely- 
 se'es, the former are so much better dressed, and so 
 much happier, gayer, and handsomer. 
 
 During the morning the Pope celebrates High Mass at 
 San Pietro, and thousands of spectators are there, some 
 from curiosity, some from piety. Few, however, of the 
 Roman families go there to-day ; they perform their 
 religious services in their private chapel or in some minor 
 church ; for the crowd of foreigners spoils St. Peter's for 
 prayer. At the elevation of the Host, the guards, who line 
 the nave, drop to their knees, their side-arms ringing on 
 the pavement, the vast crowd bends, and a swell of 
 trumpets sounds through the dome. Nothing can be more 
 impressive than this moment in St. Peter's. Then the choir 
 from its gilt cage resumes its chant, the high falsetti of the 
 soprani soaring over the rest, and interrupted now and
 
 CHRISTMAS TORONE AND PAN GIALLO. 73 
 
 then by the clear musical voice of the Pope. until at 
 last he is borne aloft in his Papal chair on the shoulders 
 of his attendants, crowned with the triple crown, between 
 the high, white, waving fans ; all the cardinals, monsig- 
 nori, canonici, officials, priests, and guards going before 
 him in splendid procession. The Pope shuts his eyes, 
 from giddiness and from fasting, for he has eaten noth- 
 ing for twenty-four hours, and the swaying motion of the 
 chair makes him dizzy and sick. But he waves at intei'- 
 vals his three fingers to bless the crowd that kneel or bend 
 before him, and then goes home to the Vatican to dine 
 with a clean conscience and, let us hope, with a good 
 appetite. 
 
 It is the custom in Rome at the great festas, of which 
 Christmas is one of the principal ones, for each parish to 
 send round the sacrament to all its sick ; and during these 
 days a procession of priests and attendants may be seen, 
 preceded by their cross and banner, bearing the holy 
 wafer to the various houses. As they march along they 
 make the streets resound with the psalm they sing. Every- 
 body lifts his hat as they pass, and many among the lower 
 classes kneel upon the pavement. Frequently the proces- 
 sion is followed by a rout of men, women, and children, 
 who join in the chanting and responses, pausing with the 
 priest before the door of the sick person, and accompanying 
 it as it moves from house to house. 
 
 At Christmas, all the Roman world which has a baiocco 
 in its pocket eats torone and pan giallo. The shops of the 
 pastry-cooks and confectioners are filled with them, moun- 
 tains of them encumber the counters, and for days before 
 Christmas crowds of purchasers throng to buy them. 
 Torone is a sort of hard candy, made of honey and al- 
 monds, and crusted over with crystallized sugar ; or, in 
 other words, it is a nuga with a sweet frieze coat ; but 
 nuga, is a trifle to it for consistency. Pan giallo is per- 
 haps so called quasi lucus, it being neither bread nor yel- 
 low. I know no way of giving a clearer notion of it, than 
 by saying that its father is almond-candy, and its mother 
 a plum-pudding. It partakes of the qualities of both its 
 parents. From its mother it inherits plums and citron,
 
 74 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 while its father bestows upon it almonds and consistency. 
 In hardness of character it is half-way between the two, 
 having neither the maternal tenderness on the one hand, 
 nor the paternal stoniness on the other. One does not 
 break one's teeth on it as over the torone, which is only 
 to be cajoled into masticability by prolonged suction, and 
 often not then ; but the teeth sink into it as the wagoner's 
 wheels into clayey mire, and every now and then receive a 
 shock, as from sunken rocks, from the raisin stones, in- 
 durated almonds, pistachio-nuts, and pine-seeds, which 
 startle the ignorant and innocent eater with frightful 
 doubts. I carried away one tooth this year over my first 
 piece ; but it was a tooth which had been considerably in- 
 debted to California, and I have forgiven the pan giaUo. 
 My friend the Conte Cignale, who partook at the same 
 time of torone, having incautiously put a large lump into 
 his mouth, found himself compromised thereby to such an 
 extent as to be at once reduced to silence and retirement 
 behind his pocket-handkerchief. An unfortunate jest, 
 however, reduced him to extremities ; and, after a vehe- 
 ment struggle for politeness, he was forced to open the 
 window and give his torone to the pavement and the 
 little boys, perhaps. Chi sa ? But despite these dangers 
 and difficulties, all the world at Rome eats pan giallo and 
 torone at Christmas ; and a Christmas without them would 
 be an egg without salt. They are at once a penance and a 
 pleasure. Not content with the pan giallo, the Romans 
 also import the pan forte di Siena, which is a blood-cousin 
 of the former, and suffers almost nothing from time and 
 age. 
 
 On Christmas and New Year's clay all the servants of 
 your friends present themselves at your door to wish you 
 a u buonafesta" or a " buon capo d" anno." This generous 
 expression of good feeling is, however, expected to be 
 responded to by a more substantial expression on your 
 part, in the shape of four or five pauls, so that one pecul- 
 iarly feels the value of a large visiting-list of acquaint- 
 ances at this season. To such an extent is this practice 
 carried, that in the houses of the cardinals and princes 
 places are sought by servants merely for the vails of the
 
 CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR. 75 
 
 festas, no other wages being demanded. Especially is this 
 the case with the higher dignitaries of the Church, whose 
 maestro di casa, in hiring domestics, takes pains to point 
 out to them the advantages of their situation in this re- 
 spect. Lest the servants should not be aware of all these 
 advantages, the times when such requisitions may be 
 gracefully made and the sums which may be levied are 
 carefully indicated, not by the cardinal in person, of 
 course, but by his underlings ; and many of the fellows 
 who carry the umbrella and cling to the back of the car- 
 dinal's coach, covered with shabby gold lace and carpet- 
 collars, and looking like great beetles, are really paid by 
 everybody rather than the master they serve. But this is 
 not confined to the Eminenze, many of whom are, I dare 
 say, wholly ignorant that such practices exist. The ser- 
 vants of the embassies and all the noble houses also make 
 the circuit of the principal names on the visiting-list, at 
 stated occasions, with good wishes for the family. If one 
 rebel, little care will be taken that letters, cards, and mes- 
 sages arrive promptly at their destination in the palaces of 
 their padroni ; so it is a universal habit to thank them for 
 their politeness, and to request them to do you the favor 
 to accept a piece of silver in order to purchase a bottle of 
 wine and drink your health. I never knew one of them 
 refuse ; probably they would not consider it polite to do 
 so. It is curious to observe the care with which at the 
 embassies a new name is registered by the servants, who 
 scream it from anteroom to salon, and how considerately a 
 deputation waits on you at Christmas and New Year, or, 
 indeed, whenever you are about to leave Rome to take 
 your villeggiatura, for the purpose of conveying to you 
 the good wishes of the season or of invoking for you a 
 " buon viaygio." One young Roman, a teacher of lan- 
 guages, told me that it cost him annually some twenty 
 scudi or more to convey to the servants of his pupils and 
 others his dee]) sense of the honor they did him in inquir- 
 ing for his health at stated times. But this is a rare case, 
 and owing, probably, to his peculiar position. A physician 
 in Rome, whom I had occasion to call in for a slight ill- 
 ness, took an opportunity on his first visit to put a very
 
 76 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 considerable buona mano into the hands of my servant, in 
 order to secure future calls. I cannot, however, say that 
 this is customary : on the contrary, it is the only case I 
 know, though I have had other Roman physicians ; and 
 this man was in his habits and practice peculiarly un- 
 Roman. I do not believe it, therefore, to be a Roman 
 trait. On the other hand, I must say, for my servant's 
 credit, that he told me the fact with a shrug, and added, 
 that he could not, after all, recommend the gentleman 
 as a physician, though I was padrone, of course, to do as 
 I liked. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, a Presepio is exhibited in several of 
 the churches. The most splendid is that of the Ara Coeli, 
 where the miraculous Bambino is kept. It lasts from 
 Christmas to Twelfth-Night, during which period crowds 
 of people flock to see it ; and it well repays a visit. The 
 simple meaning of the term Presepio is a manger, but it 
 is also used in the Church to signify a representation of 
 the birth of Christ. In the Ara Coeli the whole of one 
 of the side-chapels is devoted to this exhibition. In the 
 foreground is a grotto, in which is seated the Virgin Mary, 
 with Joseph at her side, and the miraculous Bambino in 
 her lap. Immediately behind are an ass and an ox. On 
 one side kneel the shepherds and kings in adoration ; and 
 above, God the Father is seen surrounded by clouds of 
 cherubs and angels playing on instruments, as in the early 
 pictures of Raphael. In the background is a scenic repre- 
 sentation of a pastoral landscape, on which all the skill of 
 the scene-painter is expended. Shepherds guard their 
 flocks far away, reposing under palm-trees or standing on 
 green slopes which glow in the sunshine. The distances 
 and perspective are admirable. In the middle ground is 
 a crystal fountain of glass, near which sheep, preternatu- 
 rally white, and made of real wool and cotton-wool, are 
 feeding, tended by figures of shepherds carved in wood. 
 Still nearer come women bearing great baskets of real 
 oranges and other fruits on their heads. All the nearer 
 figures are full-size, carved in wood, painted, and dressed 
 in appropriate robes. The miraculous Bambino is swad- 
 dled in a white dress, which is crusted over with magnifi-
 
 CHRISTMAS AND TWELFTH-NIGHT. 77 
 
 cent diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. The Virgin also 
 wears in her ears superb diamond pendants. Joseph has 
 none ; but he is not a person peculiarly respected in the f 
 Church. As far as the Virgin and Child are concerned, 
 they are so richly dressed that the presents of the kings 
 and wise men seem rather supererogatory, like carrying 
 coals to Newcastle, unless, indeed, Joseph come in for a 
 share, as it is to be hoped he does. The general effect of 
 this scenic show is admirable, and crowds flock to it and 
 press about it all day long. Mothers and fathers are lift- 
 ing their little children as high as they can, and until their 
 arms are ready to break ; little maids are pushing, whis- 
 pering, and staring in great delight ; peasants are gaping 
 at it with a mute wonderment of admiration and devotion ; 
 and Englishmen are discussing loudly the value of the 
 jewels, and wanting to know, by Jove, whether those in 
 the crown can be real. 
 
 While this is taking place on one side of the church, on 
 the other is a very different and quite as singular an exhi- 
 bition. Around one of the antique columns of this basil- 
 ica which once beheld the splendors and crimes of the 
 Caesars' palace a staging is erected, from which little 
 maidens are reciting, with every kind of pretty gesticula- 
 tion, sermons, dialogues, and little speeches, in explana- 
 tion of the Presepio opposite. Sometimes two of them 
 are engaged in alternate question and answer about the 
 mysteries of the Incarnation and the Redemption. Some- 
 times the recitation is a piteous description of the agony 
 of the Saviour and the sufferings of the Madonna,, the 
 greatest stress being, however, always laid upon the lat- 
 ter. All these little speeches have been written for them 
 by their priest or some religious friend, committed to 
 memory, and practised with the appropriate gestures over 
 and over again at home. Their little piping voices are 
 sometimes guilty of such comic breaks and changes, that 
 the crowd about them rustles into a murmurous laughter. 
 Sometimes, also, one of the very little preachers has an 
 obstinate fit, pouts, shakes her shoulders, and refuses to 
 go on with her part ; another, however, always stands 
 ready on the platform to supply the vacancy, until friends
 
 78 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 have coaxed, reasoned, or threatened the little pouter into 
 obedience. These children are often very beautiful and 
 graceful, and their comical little gestures and intonations, 
 their clasping of hands and rolling up of eyes, have a 
 very amusing and interesting effect. The last time I was 
 there I was sorry to see that the French costume had be- 
 gun to make its appearance. Instead of the handsome 
 Roman head, with its dark, shining, braided hair, which is 
 so elegant when uncovered, I saw on two of the children 
 the deforming bonnet which could have been invented 
 only to conceal a defect, and which is never endurable, 
 unless it be perfectly fresh, delicate, and costly. Nothing 
 is so vulgar as a shabby bonnet. Yet the Romans, despite 
 their dislike of the French, are beginning to wear it. Ten 
 years ago it did not exist here among the common people. 
 I know not why it is that the three ugliest pieces of cos- 
 tume ever invented, the dress-coat, the trousers, and the 
 bonnet, all of which we owe to the French, have been ac- 
 cepted all over Europe, to the exclusion of every national 
 costume. Certainly it is not because they are either use- 
 ful, elegant, or commodious. 
 
 If one visit the Ara Coeli during the afternoon of one 
 of these festas, the scene is very striking. The flight of 
 one hundred and twenty-four steps is then thronged by 
 merchants of Madonna wares, who spread them out over 
 the steps and hang them against the walls and balustrades. 
 Here are to be seen all sorts of curious little colored 
 prints of the Madonna and Child of the most ordinary 
 quality, little bags, pewter medals, and crosses stamped 
 with the same figures and to be worn on the neck all 
 offered at once for the sum of one baiocco. Here also are 
 framed pictures of the Saints, of the Nativity, and, in a 
 word, of all sorts of religious subjects appertaining to the 
 season. Little wax dolls, clad in cotton-wool to represent 
 the Saviour, and sheep made of the same materials, are 
 also sold by the basketful. Children and women are busy 
 buying them, and there is a deafening roar all up and 
 down the steps, of " Mezzo baiocco, bello colorito, mezzo 
 baiocco, la Santissima Concezione Incoronata," " Dia- 
 TW Romano, Lunario Romano Nuovo" " Ritratto co>
 
 CHRISTMAS ARA COELL 79 
 
 lorito, medaglia e quadmccio, tin baiocco tutti, un baiocco 
 tutti" " Bambinelli di cera, un baiocco." l None of 
 the prices are higher than one baiocco, except to strangers, 
 and generally several articles are held up together, 
 enumerated, and proffered with aloud voice for this sum. 
 Meanwhile men, women, children, priests, beggars, sol- 
 diers, and peasants are crowding up and down, and we 
 crowd with them. 
 
 At last, ascending, we reach the door with faces to- 
 wards the west. We lift the great leathern curtain and 
 push into the church. A faint perfume of incense salutes 
 the nostrils. The golden sunset bursts in as the curtain 
 sways forward, illuminates the mosaic floor, catches on 
 the rich golden ceiling, and flashes here and there over 
 the crowd on some brilliant costume or shaven head. All 
 sorts of people are thronging there some kneeling be- 
 fore the shrine of the Madonna, which gleams with its 
 hundreds of silver votive hearts, legs, and arms ; some 
 listening to the preaching ; some crowding round the 
 chapel of the Presepio. Old women, haggard and wrin- 
 kled, come tottering along with their scaldini of coals, 
 drop down on their knees to pray, and, as you pass, inter- 
 polate in their prayers a parenthesis of begging. The 
 church is not architecturally handsome ; but it is emi- 
 nently picturesque, with its relics of centuries, its mosaic 
 pulpits and floor, its frescoes of Pinturicchio and Pesaro, 
 its antique columns, its rich golden ceiling, its Gothic mau- 
 soleum to the Savelli, and its mediaeval tombs. A dim, 
 dingy look is over all ; but it is the dimness of faded 
 splendor; and one cannot stand there, knowing the his- 
 tory of the church, its great antiquity, and the various 
 fortunes it has known, without a peculiar sense of interest 
 and pleasure. 
 
 It was here that Romulus, in the gray dawning of 
 Rome, built the temple of Jupiter Feretrius. Here 
 the spolia opima were deposited. Here the trium- 
 
 1 "A half-frcHocco, beautifully colored, a half-baiocco, the Holy 
 Conception Crowned." " Roman Diary, New Roman Almanac." 
 "Colored portrait, medal, and little picture, one baiocco, all." 
 " Infants in wax, one baiocco."
 
 80 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 phal processions of the emperors and generals ended. 
 Heve the victors paused before making their vows, 
 until, from the Mamertine Prisons below, the message 
 came to announce that their noblest prisoner and vic- 
 tim, while the clang of their triumph and his defeat rose 
 ringing in his ears as the procession ascended the steps, 
 had expiated with death the crime of being the enemy of 
 Rome. Up the steep steps, which then led to the temple 
 of the Capitoline Jove, here, after his earliest triumph, 
 the first great Caesar climbed upon his knees. Here, mur- 
 dered at their base, Rienzi, "last of the Rotnan trib- 
 unes," fell. And, if the tradition of the Church is to be 
 trusted, it was on the site of the present high altar that 
 Augustus erected the " Ara primogenito Dei" to com- 
 memorate the Delphic prophecy of the coming of our 
 Saviour. Standing on a spot so thronged with memories, 
 the dullest imagination takes fire. The forms and scenes 
 of the past rise from their graves and pass before us, and 
 the actual and visionary are mingled together in strange 
 poetic confusion. Truly, as Walpole says, " our memory 
 sees more than our eyes in this country." 
 
 And this is one great charm of Rome that it ani- 
 mates the dead figures of its history. On the spot where 
 they lived and acted, the Caesars change from the mani- 
 kins of books to living men ; and Virgil, Horace, and 
 Cicero grow to be realities, when we walk down the Sa- 
 cred Way and over the very pavement they may once have 
 trod. The conversations " De Claris Oratoribus " and the 
 " Tusculan Questions " seem like the talk of the last gener 
 ation, as we wander on the heights of Tusculum, or over 
 the grounds of that charming villa on the banks of the 
 Liris, which the great Roman orator so graphically de- 
 scribes in his treatise " De Legibus." The landscape of 
 Horace has not changed. Still in the winter you may see 
 the dazzling peak of the " gelidus Algidits" and " ut alta 
 stet nive candidum Soracte ; " and wandering at Tivoli in 
 the summer, you quote his lines : 
 
 ' ' Dorans Albuneae resonant is, 
 Et prseceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda 
 Mobilibus pomaria rivis,"
 
 CHRISTMAS HISTORICAL FIGURES. 81 
 
 and feel they are as true and fresh as if they were written 
 yesterday. Could one better his compliment to any Ro- 
 man Lalage of to-day than to call her " dulce ridentem " ? 
 In all its losses, Rome has not lost the sweet smiling of 
 its people. Would you like to know the modern rules for 
 agriculture in Rome, read the " Georgics ; " there is so 
 little to alter, that it is not worth mentioning. So, too, at 
 Rome, the Emperors become as familiar as the Popes. 
 AVho does not know the curly-headed Marcus Aurelius, 
 with his lifted brow and projecting eyes from the full, 
 round beauty of his youth to the more haggard look of 
 his latest years ? Are there any modern portraits more 
 familiar than the severe, wedge-like head of Augustus, 
 with his sharp-cut lips and nose, or the dull phiz of 
 Hadrian, with his hair combed down over his low fore- 
 head, or the vain, perking face of Lucius Verus, with 
 his thin nose, low brow, and profusion of curls, or the 
 brutal bull head of Caracalla, or the bestial, bloated 
 features of Vitellius ? 
 
 These men, who were but lay-figures to us at school, 
 mere pegs of names to hang historic robes upon, thus in- 
 terpreted by the living history of their portraits, the inci- 
 dental illustrations of the places where they lived and 
 moved and died, and the buildings and monuments they 
 erected, become like the men of yesterday. Art has 
 made them our contemporaries. They are as near to us 
 as Pius VII. and Napoleon. I never drive out of the old 
 Nomentan Gate without remembering the ghastly flight of 
 Nero, his recognition there by an old centurion, his 
 damp, drear hiding-place underground, where, shuddering 
 and quoting Greek, he waited for his executioners, and 
 his subsequent miserable and cowardly death, as narrated 
 by Dion Cassius and Suetonius ; and it seems nearer to 
 me, more vivid, and more actual, than the death of Rossi 
 in the court of the Cancelleria. I never drive by the 
 Caesars' palaces without recalling the ghastly jest of Domi- 
 tian, who sent for some fifteen of the Senators at dead of 
 night and commanded their presence ; and when they, 
 trembling with fear, and expecting nothing less than that 
 their heads were all to fall, had been kept waiting for an
 
 82 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hour, the door opened, and he, nearly naked, appeared with 
 a fiddle in his hand, and, after fiddling and dancing to his 
 quaking audience for an hour, dismissed them to their 
 homes uninjured. The air seems to keep a sort of spirit- 
 ual scent or trail of these old deeds, and to make them 
 more real here than elsewhere. The ghosts of history 
 haunt their ancient habitations. Invisible companions 
 walk with us through the silent, deserted streets of Pom- 
 peii. Vague voices call to us from the shattered tombs 
 along the Via Appia ; and looking out over the blue sea, 
 through the columns of that noble villa, lately unearthed 
 at Ostia, one almost seems to hear the robes of ancient 
 senators sweeping along its rich mosaic floors. The Past 
 hovers like a subtle aura around the Present. Places, 
 as well as persons, have lives and influences ; touching our 
 natures to mysterious issues. Haunted by its crimes, op- 
 pressed and debilitated by the fierce excesses of its empire, 
 Rome, silent, grave, and meditative, sighs over its past, 
 wrapped in the penitent robes of the Church. 
 
 Besides, here one feels that the modern Romans are 
 only the children of their ancient fathers, with the same 
 characteristics, softened, indeed, and worn down by 
 time, just as the sharp traits of the old marbles have worn 
 away ; but still the same people proud, passionate, lazy, 
 jealous, vindictive, easy, patient, and able. The Popes 
 are but Church pictures of the Emperors a different 
 robe, but the same nature beneath. Alexander VI. was 
 but a second Tiberius ; Pius VII., a modern Augustus. 
 "When I speak of the Roman people, I do not mean the 
 class of hangers-on upon the foreigners, but the Traste- 
 verini and the inhabitants of the provinces and mountains. 
 No one can go through the Trastevere, when the people 
 are roused, without feeling that they are the same as those 
 who listened to Marcus Antonius and Brutus, when the 
 bier of Caesar was brought into the streets, and as those 
 who fought with the Colonna and stabbed Rienzi at the 
 foot of the Capitol steps. The Ciceruacchio of 1848 was 
 but an ancient Tribune of the People, in the primitive sense 
 of that title. I like, too, to parallel the anecdote of Caius 
 Marius, when, after his ruin, he concealed himself in the
 
 CHRISTMAS THE SANT1SSLMO BAMBINO. 83 
 
 marshes, and astonished his captors, who expected to find 
 him weak of heart, by the magnificent self-assertion of " I 
 am Caius Marius," with the story which is told of Stefano 
 Colonna. One day at Aries he fell into the hands of his 
 enemies, and they, not recognizing him, cried out, " Who 
 are you ? " " Stefano Colonna, citizen of Rome," was his 
 dauntless reply ; and, struck by his heroic bearing, they 
 suffered him to go free. Again, after this great captain 
 met with his sad reverses, and, deprived of all his posses- 
 sions, fled from Rome, an attendant asked him, " What 
 fortress have you now ? " He placed his hand on his 
 heart, and answered, " Eccola ! " The same blood evi- 
 dently ran in the veins of both these men ; and well might 
 Petrarca call Colonna " a phoenix risen from the ashes of 
 the ancient Romans." 
 
 But, somehow or other, I have wandered strangely from 
 my subject. I beg pardon but how can one help it in 
 Rome ? 
 
 The Santissimo Bambino is a wooden image, carved, as 
 the legend goes, from a tree on the Mount of Olives, by a 
 Franciscan pilgrim, and painted by St. Luke while the 
 pilgrim slept. The carving of this figure gives us by no 
 means a high notion of the skill of the pilgrim as a sculp- 
 tor, and the painting is on a par with the carving. But 
 whatever be its merit as a work of art, the Bambino is, 
 according to the popular belief, invested with wonderful 
 powers in curing the sick ; and his practice is as lucrative 
 as any physician's in Rome. His aid is in constant requi- 
 sition in severe cases, and certain it is that a cure not un- 
 f requently follows upon his visit ; but as the regular phy- 
 sicians always cease their attendance upon his entrance, 
 and blood-letting and calomel are consequently intermitted, 
 perhaps the cure is not so miraculous as it might at first 
 seem. He is always borne in state to his patients ; and 
 during the Triumvirate of 1849, the Pope's carriage was 
 given to him and his attendants. Ordinarily he goes in a 
 great tan-colored coach, outside of which waves a vermilion 
 flag, while within are two Frati minori ; one with the 
 stola, and the other with a lighted torch. As he passes 
 through the streets the people kneel or cross themselves ;
 
 84 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the women covering their head with their apron or hand- 
 kerchief, as they always do when entering a consecrated 
 place, and the more superstitious crying out, " Oh, Santo 
 Bambino, give us thy blessing ! oh, Santo Bambino, cure 
 our diseases ! lower the water of the Tiber ; heal Lisa's 
 leg ; send us a good carnival ; gives us a winning terno in 
 the lottery ; " or anything else they want. 
 
 I was assured by the priest who exhibited him to me at 
 the church, that, on one occasion, having been stolen by 
 some irreverent hand from his ordinary abiding-place in 
 one of the side chapels, he returned alone, by himself, at 
 night, to console his guardians and to resume his functions. 
 Great honors are paid to him. He wears jewels which a 
 Colonna might envy, and not a square inch of his body is 
 without a splendid gem. On festival occasions, like Christ- 
 mas, he bears a coronet as brilliant as the triple crown of 
 the Pope, and, lying in the Madonna's arms in the repre- 
 sentation of the Nativity, he is adored by the people until 
 Epiphany. Then, after the performance of Mass, a pro- 
 cession of priests, accompanied by a band of music, makes 
 the tour of the church and proceeds to the chapel of the 
 Presepio, where the bishop, with great solemnity, removes 
 him from his mother's arms. At this moment the music 
 bursts forth into a triumphant march, a jubilant strain 
 over the birth of Christ, and he is borne through the doors 
 of the church to the great steps. There the bishop ele- 
 vates the Holy Bambino before the crowds who throng the 
 steps, and they fall upon their knees. This is thrice re- 
 peated, and the wonderful image is then conveyed to its 
 original chapel, and the ceremony is over. 
 
 It is curious to note in Rome how many a modern su- 
 perstition has its root in an ancient one, and how tena- 
 ciously customs still cling to their old localities. On the 
 Capitoline Hill the bronze she-wolf was once worshipped 1 
 
 1 "Romuli nutrix lupa honoribus est affecta divinis," says Lac- 
 tantius, De Falsa Religione, lib. i. cap. 20, p. 101, edit. var. 1660. 
 According to Dionysius, a wolf in brass, of ancient workmanship, 
 was in the temple of Romulus in the Palatine .Antiq. Rom. lib. i.). 
 Livy also speaks of one as standing under the Ruminal fig-tree 
 (Hist. lib. x. cap. 59). Cicero speaks of one as existing on the 
 Capitol, " quern inauratum in Capitolio parvum et lactantem uberi-
 
 CHRISTMAS LA BEFANA. 85 
 
 as the wooden Bambino is now. It stood in the Temple 
 of Romulus, and there the ancient Romans used to carry 
 children to be cured of their diseases by touching it. On 
 the supposed site of this temple now stands the church ded- 
 icated to St. Theodoro, or Santo Toto as he is called in 
 Rome. Though names have changed, and the temple has 
 vanished, and church after church has here decayed and 
 been rebuilt, the old superstition remains, and the common 
 people at certain periods still bring their sick children to 
 Santo Toto, that he may heal them with his touch. 
 
 The Eve of Epiphany, or Twelfth-Night, is to the 
 children of Rome what Christmas Eve is to us. It is 
 then that the Befana (a corruption, undoubtedly, of Epi- 
 fania) comes with her presents. This personage is neither 
 merry and male, like Santa Claus, nor beautiful and 
 childlike, like Christ-kindchen, but is described as a very 
 tall, dark woman, ugly, and rather terrible, " (T una fisio- 
 nomia piuttosto imponente" who comes down the chim- 
 ney, on the Eve of Epiphany, armed with a long canna 
 and shaking a bell, to put playthings into the stockings of 
 the good children, and bags of ashes into those of the bad. 
 It is a night of fearful joy to all the little ones. When 
 they hear her bell ring they shake in their sheets ; for the 
 Befana is used as a threat to the wilful, and their hope is 
 tempered by a wholesome apprehension ; and well they 
 may, if she is like what Berni paints her, 
 
 ' ' Ha gli occhi rossi ed il viso f uribondo, 
 I labbri grossi, e par la Bef ania. ' ' 
 
 Benedetto Buommattei, in an amusing Idyll, gives her, 
 
 buslupinis inhiantem fuisse." (In Catilinam, iii. 3) ; see also Cicero, 
 De Divin. ii. 20. Dion Cassius also speaks of the same wolf on the 
 Capitol (lib. 37) ; see also Montfaucon, Diarium Italicum, t. i. p. 
 174, to the same effect. Which of these wolves it is that is now 
 preserved in the museum of the Capitol has afforded a " very pretty 
 quarrel ' ' to archaeologists. Winckelmann declares it to have been 
 found in the church of St. Theodorus, on the site, or close by the 
 site, of the Temple of Romulus, and therefore the wolf described 
 by Dionysius; but the authority he cites (Faunus) scarcely bears 
 him out in this assertion. One thing seems to be quite clear, that 
 one of the brazen wolves was on the Capitol, and received divine 
 honors.
 
 86 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 however, a much better character than her appearance 
 would seem to suggest : 
 
 " Io son colei, che al cominciar dell' erta 
 Abito del Castalio in certe grotte, 
 Onde non parto mai, che in qnesta notte. 
 Avete inteso ancora, 
 Donne ? Io son la Bef ana. 
 Di che vi spaurite ? 
 Che credete, ch' io sia 
 Come si dice, qualche mala cosa ? 
 Non abbiate paura, moccicone, 
 Ch' io non f o mal ne a bestia ne a persone. 
 Io giovo sempre a tutti, e piu alle Donne, 
 Che mi per sempre amiche. 
 Non venne qua da quelle amene baize 
 Per altro che per empiervi le calze 
 De' miei ricchi presenti. 
 So pur, che voi sapete la possanza 
 Ch' io ho sopra i mortali 
 Sin di cangiar il sesso e la figura. 
 Per questo ognun all' opra mia ricorre, 
 Uomini, donne, bestie ed animal i." 
 
 The celebration of Epiphany is of very ancient date, 
 and is stated by Domenico Manni, who has written a little 
 treatise on this subject, to have been instituted about the 
 year 350 by Julius 1. Previous to this time, it seems 
 not to have been a separate festival, but to have been 
 mixed up with other festivals, probably of pagan origin. 
 It is now generally supposed only to celebrate the visit 
 of the Magian kings to the cradle of Christ ; but the office 
 of the day still performed in the Roman Church clearly 
 proves that it also celebrates the Baptism of Christ and 
 the first miracle of changing water into wine at the 
 marriage in Cana. " Trttnis miraculis ornatnm diem 
 sanctum colimus. Hodie stella magos duxit ad Prcese- 
 pium ; hodie vinum ex aqua factum est ad nuptias ; ho- 
 die in Jordano a Johanne Christiis baptizari voluit" 
 
 It is curious to trace in the Befana of Italy and in the 
 popular superstitious notions and usages of this country at 
 Epiphany the distorted reflections not only of the Chris- 
 tian history, but also of the pagan mythology and festivals 
 which took place at this time. The gifts which it is the 
 universal practice of Christendom to present to children at
 
 CHRISTMAS MYSTERIES. 87 
 
 Christmas or Twelfth-Night, are but symbols of the treas- 
 ures brought to the infant Christ by the wise men. The 
 baptism has left its trace in the canna of St. John, which 
 is always borne by the Befana. In some parts of Italy it 
 is also a superstition that at midnight of the eve of Epiph- 
 any sheep have the power of speech " le pecore la notte 
 di Befana favellano." Sant' Epifanio, who lived in the 
 fourth century, declares that in his time, on this night the 
 water of a certain river was changed into wine. And it is 
 still a popular superstition, derived undoubtedly from the 
 miracle at Cana, that then also extraordinary transforma- 
 tions of things take place such as that the walls are 
 changed into cheese, the bed sheets into a kind of paste 
 called Lasagne, and water into exquisite wine. Mixed up 
 with these, also, are reminiscences of the Murder of the 
 Innocents ; for on this night it is said that the Befana 
 goes wandering about, not only with presents, but also 
 to stab and prick the bodies of bad children. The best 
 way to avoid this punishment is to eat beans, which form, 
 therefore, a common dish on Twelfth-Night ; but another 
 mode of avoiding these persecutions is to place a mortar on 
 the body, and to offer up for good luck a certain prayer 
 composed expressly for this occasion, and called the Ave- 
 maria della Befana. 
 
 It is curious, too, to note how the physiognomy of this im- 
 aginary character varies among different nations and under 
 different influences. The Christ-kindchen of Germany is 
 an image of the infant Christ himself. The Santa Claus 
 is a clumsier impersonation, in which the figures of the 
 ancient Teutonic legend are scarcely hidden under the 
 Christian garb of the Church ; while the Befana of Italy 
 is a bizarre creature made up of fragments and spoils from 
 various scriptural figures. In Venice, Girolamo Tartarotti 
 informs us that this figure is called Rad6dese, which is 
 probably a corruption of the name of Herod, or Erode. 
 
 As far back as the twelfth century, mysteries and pia 
 spectavula were given, representing the visit of the kings 
 to Christ, and the flight into Egypt. Galvano della Fi- 
 amma, the Milanese historian tells us that it was the cus- 
 tom in Milan, in the year 1326, for three persons crowned,
 
 88 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 dressed as kings, mounted on large horses, and followed 
 by a great concourse of people, to go through the streets 
 at Epiphany, with a golden star carried before them. 
 This procession went to the square of San Lorenzo, where 
 was seated a person representing King Herod, and sur- 
 rounded by the scribes and wise men, when a long dialogue 
 took place between them. In other places, a beautiful girl 
 was put upon an ass, carrying an infant in her arms, and 
 followed by an old man on foot, which was intended, of 
 course, to represent the flight into Egypt. In later times 
 these celebrations were travestied by the Befana, who went 
 through the streets accompanied by persons carrying burn- 
 ing brooms or sheaves of straw, ringing bells, and blowing 
 horns and whistles ; and even to the present day, in some 
 places, a figure stuffed with straw, and dressed grotesquely, 
 is carried in procession through the streets, and followed 
 by a cheering and hooting crowd. 
 
 The burning broom which was carried in the procession 
 of the Befana was not without significance ; for according 
 to some legend she is said to have been an old woman, who 
 was engaged in cleaning the house when the three kings 
 passed carrying their presents to the infant Christ. She 
 was called to the window to see them ; but being too intent 
 on the worldly matters of the household, she declined to 
 intermit her sweeping, saying, " I will see them as they 
 return." Unfortunately the kings did not return by the 
 same road, and the old woman is represented as waiting 
 and watching for them eternally. She is, in fact, a sort of 
 female Wandering Jew, who never lays aside her broom. 
 
 On Epiphany eve, there may be seen in many of the 
 houses and shops in Rome boys disguised as women, who 
 with blackened faces, fantastic cap on their heads, a long 
 canna in one hand, and a lantern in the other, represent 
 the Befana. At their feet are baskets of sweetmeats, 
 apples and fruit, and hanging from their necks are stock- 
 ings filled with various presents. Some of these contain 
 fruit and toys for the good children, and are accompanied 
 with letters of congratulation and good wishes ; others 
 having nothing in them but bags of ashes for the bad 
 children, and letters containing threats and reproofs.
 
 CHRISTMAS LA BEFANA. 89 
 
 But the great festival of the Befana takes place in Rome 
 on the eve of Twelfth-Night, in the Piazza di Sant' 
 Eustachio, 1 and a curious spectacle it is. The Piazza 
 itself -(which is situated in the centre of the city, just 
 beyond the Pantheon), and all the adjacent streets, are 
 lined with booths covered with every kind of plaything for 
 children. Most of these are of Roman make, very rudely 
 fashioned, and veiy cheap ; but for those who have longer 
 purses there are not wanting heaps of German and French 
 toys. These booths are gayly illuminated with rows of 
 candles and the three-wick'd brass lamps of Rome ; and, 
 at intervals, painted posts are set into the pavement, 
 crowned with pans of grease, with a wisp of tow for wick, 
 from which flames blaze and flare about. Besides these, 
 numbers of torches carried about by hand lend a wavering 
 and picturesque light to the scene. By eight o'clock in 
 the evening, crowds begin to fill the Piazza and the ad- 
 jacent streets. Long before one arrives, the squeak of 
 penny-trumpets is heard at intervals ; but in the Piazza 
 itself the mirth is wild and furious, and the din that 
 salutes one's ears oa entering is almost deafening. The 
 object of every one is to make as much noise as possible, 
 and every kind of instrument for this purpose is sold at 
 the booths. There are drums beating, tambourines thump- 
 ing and jingling, pipes squeaking, watchmen's rattles 
 clacking, penny-trumpets and tin horns slmlling, the 
 sharpest whistles shrieking and mingling with these is 
 heard the din of voices, screams of laughter, and the con- 
 fused burr and buzz of a great crowd. On all sides you 
 are saluted by the strangest noises. Instead of being 
 spoken to, you are whistled at. Companies of people are 
 marching together in platoons, or piercing through the 
 crowd in long files, and dancing and blowing like mad on 
 their instruments. It is a perfect witches' sabbath. Here, 
 huge dolls dressed as Pulcinella or Pantaloon are borne 
 about for sale, or over the heads of the crowd great 
 black-faced jumping-jacks, lifted on a stick, twitch them- 
 selves in fantastic fits, or, what is more Roman than all, 
 
 1 This festival is now celebrated in the Piazza Agonale, formerly 
 called the Piazza Navona.
 
 90 ROBA DI ROMA- 
 
 long poles are carried about strung with rings of hundreds 
 of ciambelle (a light cake, called jumble in English), which 
 are screamed for sale at a mezzo baiocco each. There is 
 no alternative but to get a drum, whistle, or trumpet 
 join in the racket and fill one's pocket with toys for the 
 children and absurd presents for older friends. The mo- 
 ment you are once in for it, and making as much noise as 
 you can, you begin to relish the jest. The toys are very 
 odd particularly the Roman whistles; some of these 
 are made of pewter, with a little wheel that whirls as you 
 blow ; others are of terra-cotta, very rudely modelled into 
 every shape of bird, beast, and human deformity, each 
 with a whistle in its head, breast, or tail, which it is no 
 joke to hear, when blown close to your ears by a stout pair 
 of lungs. The scene is extremely picturesque. Above, 
 the dark vault of night, with its far stars, the blazing and 
 flaring of lights below, and the great, dark walls of the 
 Sapienza and church looking grimly down upon the mirth. 
 Every where in the crowd are the glistening helmets of 
 soldiers, who are mixing in the sport, and the chapeaux 
 of white-strapped gendarmes, standing at intervals to keep 
 the peace. At about half-past eleven o'clock the theatres 
 are emptied, and the upper classes flock to the Piazza. I 
 have never been there later than half-past twelve, but the 
 riotous fun still continued at that hour ; and for a week 
 afterwards the squeak of whistles may be heard at inter- 
 vals in the streets. 
 
 The whole month of December was formerly dedicated 
 to Saturn, and was given up to the wild festivities of the 
 Saturnalia, of which Carnival and Twelfth-Night retain 
 many striking features. The Moccoletti, for instance, is 
 manifestly a reproduction of the Saturnalian Cerei ; and 
 the ancient custom of electing a mock king at this season 
 is still a characteristic ceremony of Twelfth-Night. Under 
 Augustus, the Saturnalia proper only occupied three days, 
 the 17th, 18th, and 19th of December ; but two days were 
 afterwards added under the name of the Opalia ; and, 
 still later, the Sigillaria increased the number of days to 
 seven. This last festival received its name from the 
 sigilla, which were then exposed for sale and given as
 
 CHRISTMAS RETIREMENT TO CONVENTS. 91 
 
 toys to children ; and these sigilla were neither more nor 
 less than little earthenware figures, similar to those which 
 form so striking a peculiarity in the modern celebration of 
 Epiphany in the Piazza Sant' Eustachio. 
 
 The custom of giving and receiving presents at Epiphany 
 is by nj> means confined to children. It is universal, ex- 
 tending even to the Pope and College of Cardinals, and 
 assuming the form of a religious and symbolical ceremony. 
 On Epiphany morning, the Cardinal Prodatorio, who is 
 head of the College of ninety-nine apostolic writers, used, 
 by ancient custom, formally to present the members of the 
 College to the Pope, upon which one of the members, after 
 pronouncing a Latin address, placed in his hands a Tribute, 
 or Befana as it was called, consisting of a hundred ducats 
 in gold placed in a cup or chalice of silver which was 
 valued at thirty-five scudi. This chalice was, however, 
 sometimes of gold, and together with the ducats made up 
 the sum of two hundred scudi. The Pope in accepting it 
 made a reply in Latin, and graciously allowed the writers 
 to kiss his foot. This ceremony has been omitted since 
 the year 1802 ; but the Befana tribute of the value of two 
 hundred scudi is still presented to the Pope by the Car- 
 dinal Prodatorio in behalf of the college and still gra- 
 ciously accepted. 
 
 At the two periods of Christmas and Easter, the young 
 Roman girls take their first communion. The former, 
 however, is generally preferred, as it is a season of re- * 
 joicing in the Church, and the ceremonies are not so sad \ 
 as at Piaster. In entering upon this religious phase of 
 their life, it is their custom to retire to a convent and pass 
 a week in prayer and reciting the offices of the Church. 
 During this period, no friend, not even their parents, is 
 allowed to visit them, and information as to their health 
 and condition is very reluctantly and sparingly given at 
 the door. In case of illness, the physician of the convent 
 is called ; and even then neither parent is allowed to see 
 them, except, perhaps, in very severe cases. Of course, 
 during their stay in the convent, every exertion is made 
 by the sisters to render a monastic life agreeable, and to 
 stimulate tjie religious sensibilities of the young commnni-
 
 92 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 cant. The pleasures of society and the world are decried, 
 and the charms of peace, devotion, and spiritual exercises 
 eulogized, until sometimes, the excited imagination of the 
 communicant leaves her no rest, before she has returned 
 to the convent, and taken the veil as a nun. The happi- 
 ness of families is thus sometimes destroyed ; and I knew 
 one very united and pleasant Roman family which in this 
 way was sadly broken up. Two of three sisters were so 
 worked upon at their first communion that the prayers of 
 family and friends proved unavailing to retain them in 
 their home. The more they were urged to remain, the 
 more they desired to go, and the parents, brothers, and 
 remaining sister were forced to yield a most reluctant 
 consent. They retired into the convent and became nuns. 
 It was almost as if they had died. From that time for- 
 ward, the home was no longer a home. I saw them when 
 they took the veil, and a sadder spectacle was not easily 
 to be seen. The girls were happy, but the parents and 
 family wretched, and the parting was tearful and sad. 
 They do not seem since to have regretted the step they 
 then took ; but regret would be unavailing, and even if 
 they felt it, they could scarcely show it. The occupation 
 of the sisters in the monastery they have joined is prayers, 
 the offices of the Church, and, I believe, a little instruction 
 of poor children. But gossip among themselves, of the 
 pettiest kind, must make up for the want of wider worldly 
 interests. In such limited relations, little jealousies en- 
 gender great hypocrisies ; a restricted horizon enlarges 
 small objects. The repressed heart and introverted mind, 
 deprived of their natural scope, consume themselves in 
 self-consciousness, and duties easily degenerate into routine. 
 We are not all in all to ourselves ; the world has claims 
 upon us, which it is cowardice to shrink from, and folly 
 to deny. Self-forgetfulness is a great virtue, and selfish- 
 ness a great vice. After all, the best religious service is 
 honest labor. Large interests keep the heart sound ; and 
 the best of prayers is the doing of a good act with a pure 
 purpose. 
 
 "He prayeth best who loveth best 
 
 All things, both great and small; 
 For the dear God -who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all."
 
 LENT. 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LENT. 
 
 THE gay confusion of Carnival is over, with its mad 
 tossing of flowers and bonbons, its showering of confetti, 
 its brilliantly draped balconies running over with happy 
 faces, its barbaric races, its rows of joyous contadine, its 
 quaint masquerading, and all the glad folly of its Satur- 
 nalia. For Saturnalia it is, in most respects just like the 
 festa of the Ancient Romans, with its Saturni septem 
 dies, its uproar of "/o Saturnalia!" in the streets, and 
 all its mad frolic. In one point it materially differs, how- 
 ever ; for on the ancient festa no criminal could be pun- 
 ished ; but in modern times it is this gay occasion that the 
 government selects to execute (giustiziare /) any poor 
 wretch who may have been condemned to death, so as to 
 strike a wholesome terror into the crowd ! 1 But all is 
 over now. The last moccoletti are extinguished, that 
 flashed and danced like myriads of fire-flies from win- 
 dow and balcony and over the heads of the roaring tide 
 of people that ebbed and flowed in hurrying eddies of 
 wild laughter through the streets. The Corso has become 
 sober and staid, and taken in its draperies. The fun is 
 finished. The masked balls, with their belle maschere, 
 are over. The theatres are all closed. Lent has come, 
 bringing its season of sadness ; and the gay world of 
 strangers is flocking down to Naples. 
 
 Eh, Signore ! Finito il nostro carnevale. Adesso e 
 il carnevale dei preti. (" Our carnival is over, and that 
 of the priests has come.") All thefmti are going round 
 
 1 Under the present government of Italy, there are no longer cap- 
 ital punishments. Sentences of death are indeed pronounced by the 
 courts, but no execution of them ever takes place, unless occasion- 
 ally in the army for the grossest of crimes accompanied by no ex- 
 tenuating circumstances. Under the Papal government sentences 
 of death were strictly executed with the guillotine ; and were not a 
 mere form as at present. A sentence of death means now in Italy 
 imprisonment for life, with the chance of evasion or pardon.
 
 94 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 to every Roman family, high and low, from the prince in 
 his palace to the boy in the caffe, demanding " una santa 
 elemosina, un abbondante santa elemosina, ma ab- 
 bondante," and willingly pocketing any sum, from a half- 
 baiocco upwards. The parish priest is now making his 
 visits in every ward of the city, to register the names of 
 the Catholics in all the houses, so as to insure a confession 
 from each during this season of penance. And woe to 
 any wight who fails to do his duty! he will soon be 
 brought to his marrow-bones. His name will be pla- 
 carded in the church, and he will be punished according 
 to circumstances, perhaps by a mortification to the 
 pocket, perhaps by the penance of the convent; and per- 
 haps his fate will be worse, if he be obstinate. So nobody 
 is obstinate, and all go to confession like good Christians, 
 and confess what they please, for the sake of peace, if not 
 of absolution. The Francescani march more solemnly up 
 and down the alleys of their cabbage-garden, studiously, 
 with books in their hands, which they pretend to read ; 
 now and then taking out their snuff-stained bandanna and 
 measuring it from corner to corner in search of a feasible 
 spot for its appropriate function ; they are, however, really 
 only feeling by the hem for the inside, for an Italian looks 
 upon a handkerchief as a bag, the outside of which is 
 never to be used, so that he may safely roll it up again 
 into a little round ball, and polish off his nose with it, be- 
 fore returning it to his pocket. Whatever penance they 
 do is not to Father Tiber or Santo Acquedotto, excepting 
 by internal ablutions, the exterior things of this world 
 being ignored. There is no meat-eating now, save on cer- 
 tain festivals, when a supply is laid in for the week. But 
 opposites cure opposites (contrary to the homoeopathic 
 rule), and their inagro makes them grasso. Two days of 
 festival, however, there are in the little church of San 
 Patrizio and Isidoro, when the streets are covered with 
 sand, and sprigs of box and red and yellow hangings 
 flaunt before the portico, and scores of young boy-priests . 
 invade their garden, and, tucking up their long skirts, run 
 and scream among the cabbages ; for boyhood is an irre- 
 pressible thing, even under the extinguisher of a priest's 
 black dress.
 
 LENT' PEPPINO' S CREDO. 95 
 
 Daily you will hear the tinkle of a bell and the chant 
 of high child-voices in the street, and, looking out, you 
 will see two little boys clad in some refuse of the Church's 
 wardrobes, one of whom carries a crucifix or a big black 
 cross, while the other rings a bell and chants as he loiters 
 along ; now stopping to chaff with other boys of a similar 
 age, nay, even at times laying down his cross to dis- 
 pute or struggle with them, and now renewing the ap- 
 peal of the bell. This is to call together the children of 
 the parish to learn their Catechism, or to exercise them 
 in their Latin responses ; and these latter they will rat- 
 tle off generally with an amazing volubility, and for the 
 most part without an idea of what they mean. 
 
 I was one day at work in my studio, when I heard the 
 murmur of a boy's treble in the next room, broken in upon 
 by sudden explosions of laughter ; then recommencing, 
 and again interrupted in the same way. On opening the 
 door to inquire the cause of this merriment, I saw my 
 studio boy standing in the centre of a group of workmen, 
 and reciting something to them. " Venga, signore," they 
 cried out to me, " and hear Peppino say his ' Credo.' " 
 Peppino smiled, and was quite ready to repeat his lesson. 
 Of course the Credo was in Latin, not one word of which 
 he understood, and he poured it forth as if it was a series 
 of long cabalistic phrases, making, as he hurried through 
 it, such ridiculous mistakes and contortions of the words, 
 that it was impossible to keep one's gravity, and I freely 
 joined in the chorus of laughter that again rang through 
 my studio. 
 
 Meantime the snow is gradually disappearing from 
 Monte Gennaro and the Sabine Mountains. Picnic par- 
 ties are spreading their tables under the Pamfili Doria 
 pines, and drawing St. Peter's from the old wall near by 
 the ilex avenue, or making excursions to Frascati, Tus- 
 culum. and Albano, or spending a day in wandering 
 among the ruins of the Etruscan city of Veii, lost to the 
 world so long ago that even the site of it was unknown to 
 the Caesars, or strolling by the shore at Ostia, or under 
 the magnificent pineta at Castel Fusano, whose lofty trees 
 repeat, as in a dream, the sound of the blue Mediterra-
 
 96 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 nean that washes the coast at half a mile distant. There 
 is no lack of places that Time has shattered and strewn 
 with relics, leaving Nature to festoon her ruins and heal 
 her wounds with tenderest vines and flowers, where one 
 may spend a charming day, and dream of the old times. 
 Spring has come. The nightingales already begin to 
 bubble into song under the Ludovisi ilexes 1 and in the 
 Barberini Gardens. Daisies have snowed all over the 
 Campagna, periwinkles star the grass, crocuses and 
 anemones impurple the spaces between the rows of 
 springing grain along the still brown slopes. At every 
 turn in the streets basketsful of sweet-scented Parma vio- 
 lets are offered you by little girls and boys ; and at the 
 corner of the Condotti and Corso is a splendid show of 
 camellias, set into beds of double violets, and sold for a 
 song. Now and then one meets huge baskets filled with 
 these delicious violets, on their way to the confectioners 
 and caffes, where they will be made into sirup ; for the 
 Italians are very fond of this bibita, and prize it not only 
 for its flavor but for its medicinal qualities. Violets seem 
 to rain over the villas in spring, acres are purple with 
 them, and the air all around is sweet with their fragrance. 
 Every day, scores of carriages are driving about the Bor- 
 ghese grounds, which are open to the public, and hun- 
 dreds of children are running about, plucking flowers and 
 playing on the lovely slopes and in the shadows of the no- 
 ble trees, while their parents stroll at a distance and wait 
 for them in the shady avenues. There, too, you will see 
 the young priests of the various seminaries, with their 
 robes tucked up, playing at ball, and amusing themselves 
 at various sports. At the Pamfili Doria villa, at times the 
 English play their national game of cricket, on the flower- 
 enamelled green, which is covered with the most wondrous 
 anemones ; and there is a matinee of friends who come 
 to chat and look on. This game is rather " slow " at 
 Rome, however, and does not rhyme with the Campagna. 
 The Italians lift their hands and wonder what there is in 
 
 1 These beautiful gardens have now disappeared, and its delight- 
 ful alleys of ilexes haunted by nightingales have been ruthlessly cut 
 down to make room for new streets and buildings.
 
 LENT SPRING OUTSIDE THE GATES. 97 
 
 it to fascinate the English ; and the English in turn call 
 them a lazy, stupid set, hecause they do not admire it. 
 But those who have seen pallone will not, perhaps, so 
 much wonder at the Italians, nor condemn them for not 
 playing their own game, when they remember that the 
 French have turned them out of their only amphitheatre 
 adapted for it, and left them only pazienza. 1 
 
 If one drives out at any of the gates he will see that 
 spring is come. The hedges are putting forth their leaves, 
 the almond-trees are in full blossom, and in the vineyards 
 the contadini are setting cane-poles, and trimming the 
 vines to run upon them. Here and there along the slopes 
 the rude antique plough, dragged heavily along by great 
 gray oxen, turns up the rich loam, that needs only to be 
 tickled to laugh out in flowers and grain. Here and there, 
 the smoke of distant bonfires, burning heaps of useless 
 stubble, shows against the dreamy purple hills like the pil- 
 lar of cloud that led the Israelites. One smells the sharp 
 odor of these fires everywhere, and hears them crackle in 
 the fields : 
 
 " Atque levem stipulam crepitantibus urere flammis." 
 
 The olive orchards have been already blessed by the 
 Church, to preserve them from destruction by tempest and 
 lightning, and to this precaution has been added insurance 
 against hail at the various offices ; and everywhere on the 
 hillsides farmers may be seen carefully pruning away the 
 dead branches, and loosening the soil about their " old 
 fantastic roots." 
 
 On festa-days the wayside osterias (con cucina) are 
 crowded by parties who come out to sit under the green 
 arbors of vines, drink wine grown on the very spot, and 
 regale themselves with a fry of eggs and chopped sausages, 
 or a slice of lamb, and enjoy the delicious air that breathes 
 from the mountains. The old cardinals descend from their 
 gilded carriages, and, accompanied by one of their house- 
 
 1 Since the French left Rome (1876), pallone is again played in 
 the Sf eristerio, of which they were robbed by the French engineers, 
 and now (1886) the Sferisterio itself has disappeared, and the long 
 wall beyond, with its alleys of oranges that glowed above and filled 
 the air with perfume, has given place to a row of new houses.
 
 98 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hold and followed by their ever-present lackeys in harle- 
 quin liveries, totter along on foot with swollen ankles, 
 lifting their broad red hats to the passers-by who salute 
 them, and pausing constantly in their discourse to enforce 
 a phrase or take a pinch of snuff. 1 Files of scholars from 
 the Propaganda stream along, now and then, two by two, 
 their leading strings swinging behind them, and in their 
 ranks all shades of physiognomy, from African and 
 Egyptian to Irish and American. Youths from the Eng- 
 lish College, and Germans, in red, go by in companies. All 
 the minor schools, too, will be out, little boys, in black 
 hats, following the lead of their priest-master, (for all 
 masters are priests,) orphan girls in white, convoyed by 
 Sisters of Charity, and the deaf and dumb with their mas- 
 ters. Scores of ciociari, also, may be seen in faded scarlets, 
 with their wardrobes of wretched clothes, and sometimes a 
 basket with a baby in it on their heads. The contadini 
 who have been to Rome to be hired for the week to labor 
 on the Campagna, come tramping along, one of them often 
 mounted on a donkey, and followed by a group carrying 
 their implements with them ; while hundreds of the mid- 
 dle classes, husbands and wives with their children, and 
 paini and paine with all their jewelry on, are out to take 
 their holiday stroll, and to see and be seen. 
 
 Once in a while the sadness of Lent is broken by a 
 Church festival, when all the fasters eat prodigiously, and 
 make up for their usual Lenten fare. One of the principal 
 days is that of the 19th of March, dedicated to San 
 Giuseppe, (the most ill-used of all the saints.) when the 
 little church in Capo le Case, dedicated to him, is hung 
 with brilliant draperies, and the pious flock thither in 
 crowds to say their prayers. The great curtain is swaying 
 to and fro constantly as they come and go, and a file of 
 beggars is on the steps to relieve you of baiocchi. Beside 
 them stands a fellow who sells a print of the Angel appear- 
 ing to San Giuseppe in a dream, and warning him against 
 .the sin of jealousy. Four curious lines beneath the print 
 thus explain it : 
 
 1 There are no more gilded carriages (1886) and harlequin liv- 
 eried lackeys mounted behind them, or accompanying the cardinals 
 in their walks. This is of the past.
 
 LENT FRITTELLE DI S. GIUSEPPE. 99 
 
 " Qual sinistro pensier 1' alma ti scuote ? 
 Se il sen fecondo di Maria tu vedi, 
 Giuseppe, non terner ; calmati, e credi 
 Ch' opra e sol di colui che tutto puote." 
 
 Whether Joseph is satisfied or not with this explanation, 
 it would be difficult to determine from his expression. He 
 looks rather haggard and bored than persuaded, and cer- 
 tainly has not that cheerful acquiescence of countenance 
 which one is taught to expect. 
 
 During all Lent, a sort of bun called maritozze, which is 
 filled with the edible kernels of the pine-cone, made light 
 with oil, and thinly crusted with sugar, is eaten by the 
 faithful, and a very good Catholic " institution " it is. 
 But in the festival days of San Giuseppe, gayly ornamented 
 booths are built at the corner of many of the streets, 
 especially near the church in Capo le Case, in the Borgo, 
 and at Sant' Eustachio, which are adorned with great green 
 branches as large as young trees, and hung with red and 
 gold draperies, where the " Frittelle di San Giuseppe'" 
 are fried in huge caldrons of boiling oil and lard, and 
 served out to the common people. These fritters, which 
 are a delicate batter mixed sometimes with rice, are eaten 
 by all good Catholics, though one need not be a Catholic 
 to find them excellent eating. In front of the principal 
 booths are swung " Sonetti " in praise of the Saint, of the 
 cook, and of the doughnuts some of them declaring 
 that Mercury has already descended from Olympus at the 
 command of the gods to secure a large supply of the frit- 
 ters, and praying all believers to make haste, or there will 
 be no more left. 1 The latter alternative seems little prob- 
 
 1 Here is one of these sonnets, literally copied from a booth in 
 the Piazza BarLerini : 
 
 " Cerere, dea della Sicania Vasta, 
 Grano me die che f buona farina, 
 L' acqua con cui si lavoro tal pasta 
 Zampill6 dalla rupe Gabbalina 
 La Dea, che ha 1' elmo in testa, in mano 1' asta 
 L' oglio delle sue olive mi destina 
 Vulcano, che con i Ciclopi contrasta 
 Fuoco mi die della siia fucina 
 Ercole mi dest6 forza e vigore 
 Ingegno ed arte ne desto maniera 
 Por superare ogn' altro f riggitore 
 Giove tonante di giu Etra impera 
 Mi sped'i Mercuric ambasciatore 
 Che vuole le mie frittelle innanzi sera."
 
 100 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 able when one sees the quantity of provision laid in by 
 the venders. Their prayer, however, is heeded by all ; 
 and a gay scene enough it is, especially at night, when 
 the great cups filled with lard are lighted, and the shadows 
 dance on the crowd, and the light flashes on the tinsel- 
 covered festoons that sway with the wind, and illuminates 
 the booth, while the smoke rises from the great caldrons 
 which flank it on either side, and the cooks, all in white, 
 ladle out the dripping fritters into large polished platters, 
 and laugh and joke, and laud their work, and shout at the 
 top of their lungs, " Ecco le belle, ma belle frittelle ! " For 
 weeks this frying continues in the streets ; but after the 
 day of San Giuseppe, not only the sacred fritters are made, 
 but thousands of minute fishes, fragments of cauliflower, 
 broccoli, cabbage, and artichokes go into the hissing oil, and 
 are heaped upon 'the platters and vases. For all sorts of 
 fries the Romans are justly celebrated. The sweet olive- 
 oil, which takes the place of our butter and lard, makes the 
 fry light, delicate, and of a beautiful golden color ; and 
 spread upon the snowy tables of these booths, their odor is 
 so appetizing and their look so inviting, that I have often 
 been tempted to join the crowds who fill their plates and 
 often their pocket-handkerchiefs (con rispetto) with these 
 golden fry, "fritti dorati," as they are called, and thus 
 do honor to the Saint, and comfort their stomachs with 
 holy food, which quells the devil of hunger within. 
 
 This festival of San Giuseppe, which takes place on the 
 19th of March, bears a curious resemblance to the Libera- 
 lia of the ancient Romans, a festival in honor of Bacchus, 
 which was celebrated every year on the 17th of March, 
 when priests and priestesses, adorned with garlands of 
 ivy, carried through the city wine, honey, cakes, and sweet- 
 meats, together with a portable altar, in the middle of 
 which was a small fire-pan (focuhis), in which, from 
 time to time, sacrifices were burnt. The altar has now 
 become a booth, thefoculus a caldron, the sacrifices are of 
 little fishes as well as of cakes, and San Giuseppe has 
 taken the place of Bacchus, Liber Pater ; but the festivals, 
 despite these differences, have such grotesque points of 
 resemblance that the latter looks like the former, just as
 
 LENT FESTA DI GROTTA-FE1UIATA. 101 
 
 one's face is still one's face, however distortedly reflected 
 in the bowl of a spoon ; and, perhaps, if one remembers 
 the third day of the Anthesteria, when cooked vegetables 
 were offered in honor of Bacchus, by putting it together 
 with the Liberalia, we shall easily get the modern festa of 
 San Giuseppe. 
 
 But not only at this time and at these booths are good 
 fritti to be found. It is a favorite mode of cooking in 
 Rome ; and a mixed fry (fritta mista) of bits of liver, 
 brains, cauliflower, and artichokes is a staple dish, always 
 ready at every restaurant. At any osteria con cuclna on 
 the Campagna one is also sure of a good omelet and salad ; 
 and, sitting under the vines, after a long walk, I have 
 made as savory a lunch on these two articles as ever I 
 found in the most glittering restaurant in the Palais Royal. 
 If one add the background of exquisite mountains, the 
 middle distance of flowery slopes, where herds of long- 
 haired goats, sheep, and gray oxen are feeding among the 
 skeletons of broken aqueducts, ruined tombs, and shattered 
 mediaeval towers, and the foreground made up of pictur- 
 esque groups of peasants, who lounge about the door, and 
 come and go, and men from the Campagna, on horseback, 
 with their dark, capacious cloaks and long ironed staff, 
 who have come from counting their oxen and superintend- 
 ing the farming, and carrettieri, stopping in their hooded 
 wine-carts or ringing along the road, there is, perhaps, 
 as much to charm the artist as is to be seen while sipping 
 beer or eau gazeuse on the hot Parisian asphalte, where 
 the yrisette studiously shows her clean ankles, and the 
 dandy struts in his patent-leather boots. 
 
 One great festa there is during Lent at the little town 
 of Grotta-Ferrata, about fourteen miles from Rome. It 
 takes place on the 25th of March, and sometimes is very 
 gay and picturesque, and always charming to one who has 
 eyes to see and has shed some of his national prejudices. 
 By eight o'clock in the morning open carriages begin to 
 stream out of the Porta San Giovanni, and in about two 
 hours in :y be seen the old castellated monastery, at whose 
 foot the little village of Grotta-Ferrata stands. As we 
 advance through noble elms and plane-trees, crowds of
 
 102 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 peasants line the way, beggars scream from the banks, 
 donkeys bray, carrette rattle along, until at last we arrive 
 at a long meadow which seems alive and crumbling with 
 gayly dressed figures that are moving to and fro as thick as 
 ants upon an ant-hill. Here are gathered peasants from 
 all the country villages within ten miles, all in their festal 
 costumes ; along the lane which skirts the meadow and 
 leads through the great gate of the old fortress, donkeys 
 are crowded together, and keeping up a constant and out- 
 rageous concert ; mountebanks, in harlequin suits, are 
 making faces or haranguing from a platform, and inviting 
 everybody into their penny - show. From inside their 
 booths is heard the sound of the invariable pipes and 
 drum, and from the lifted curtain now and then peers 
 forth a comic face, and disappears with a sudden scream 
 and wild gesticulation. Meantime the closely -packed 
 crowd moves slowly along in both directions, and on we 
 go through the archway into the great court-yard. Here, 
 under the shadow of the monastery, booths and benches 
 stand in rows, arrayed with the produce of the country 
 villages, shoes, rude implements of husbandry, the 
 coarse woven fabrics of the country people, hats with 
 cockades and rosettes, feather brooms and brushes, and 
 household things, with here and there the tawny pinch- 
 beck ware of a peddler of jewelry, and little framed pic- 
 tures of the Madonna and saints. Extricating ourselves 
 from the crowd, we ascend by a stone stairway to the 
 walk around the parapets of the walls, and look down upon 
 the scene. How gay it is ! Around the fountain, which 
 is spilling in the centre of the court, a constantly vary- 
 ing group is gathered, washing, drinking, and filling their 
 flasks and vases. Near by a charlatan, mounted on a 
 table, with a canvas behind him painted all over with odd 
 cabalistic figures, is screaming in loud and voluble tones, 
 the virtues of his medicines and unguents, and his skill in 
 extracting teeth. One need never have a pang in tooth, 
 ear, head, or stomach, if one will but trust to his wonder- 
 ful promises. In one little bottle he has the famous water 
 which renews youth ; in another the lotion which awakens 
 love, or cures jealousy, or changes the fright into the
 
 LENT THE CHARLATAN. 103 
 
 beauty. All the while he plays with his tame serpents, 
 and chatters as if his tongue went of itself, while the 
 crowd of peasants below gape at him, laugh with him, and 
 buy from him. Listen to him, all who have ears ! 
 
 Udite, udite, O rustic! ! 
 Attenti, non fiatate ! 
 lo gia suppongo e immagino 
 Che al par di me sappiate 
 Che io son quel gran medico 
 Dottore Enciclopedieo 
 Chiamato Dulcamara, 
 La cui virtu preclara 
 E i portenti infiniti 
 Son noti in tutto il mondo e in altri siti. 
 
 Benefattor degli uomini, 
 Reparator dei niali, 
 In pochi giorni io sgomhrerfc. 
 Io spazzo gli spedali, 
 E la salute a vendere 
 Per tutto il mondo io vo, 
 Compratela, compratela, 
 Per poco io ve la do. 
 
 E questo 1' odontalgico, 
 Mirabile liquore, 
 De' topi e dei cimici 
 Possente distruttore, 
 I cui certificati 
 Autentici, bollati, 
 Toccar, vedere, e leggere, 
 A ciaschedun farb. 
 Per questo mio specifico 
 Simpatieo, prolifico, 
 Un uom settuagenario 
 E valetudinario 
 Nonno di dieci bamholi 
 Ancora divento. 
 
 voi matrone rigide, 
 Ringiovanir bramate ? 
 Le vostre rughe incomode 
 Con esso cancellate. 
 Volete, voi donzelle, 
 Ben liscia aver la pelle ? 
 Voi giovani galanti, 
 Per sempre avere amanti, 
 Comprate il mio specifico, 
 Per poco io ve lo do.
 
 104 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 Ei muove i paralitici, 
 Spedisce gli apopletici, 
 Gli asmatici, gli artritici, 
 Gli isterici, e diabetic! ; 
 Guarisce timpanitidi 
 E scrof oli e rachitidi ; 
 E fino il mal di fegato, 
 Che in moda divento. 
 Comprate il mio specifieo, 
 Per poco io ve lo do. 
 
 And so on and on and on. There is never an end of that 
 voluble gabble. Nothing is more amusing than the Italian 
 ciarlatano, wherever you meet him ; but, like many other 
 national characters, he is vanishing, and is seen more and 
 more rarely every year. 
 
 But to return to the fair and our station on the parapets 
 at Grotta-Ferrata. Opposite us is a penthouse (where no- 
 body peaks and pines), covered with green boughs, whose 
 jutting eaves and posts are adorned with gay draperies ; 
 and under the shadow of this is seated a motley set of 
 peasants at their lunch and dinner. Smoking plates come 
 in and out of the dark hole of a door that opens into 
 kitchen and cellar, and the waiters flourish their napkins 
 and cry constantly, " Vengo subito," " Eccomi qua," 
 whether they come or not. Big-bellied flasks of rich 
 Grotta - Ferrata wine are filled and emptied ; bargains 
 are struck for cattle, donkeys, and clothes ; healths are 
 pledged ; and toasts are given, and passatella is played. 
 But there is no riot and no quarrelling. If we lift our 
 eyes from this swarm below, we see the exquisite Cam- 
 pagna with its silent, purple distances stretching off to 
 Rome, and hear the rush of a wild torrent scolding in the 
 gorge below among the stones and olives. 
 
 But while we are lingering here, a crowd is pushing 
 through into the inner court, where mass is going in the 
 curious old church. One has now to elbow his way to 
 enter, and all around the door, even out into the middle 
 court, contadini are kneeling. Besides this, the whole 
 place reeks intolerably with garlic, which, mixed with 
 whiffs of incense from the church within and other un- 
 mentionable smells, make such a compound that only a
 
 LI:NT ONIONS AND GARLIC. 105 
 
 brave nose" can stand it. But stand it we must, if we 
 would see Domeniehino's frescoes in the chapel within ; 
 and as they are among the best products of his cold and 
 clever talent, we gasp, and push on, the most resolute 
 alone getting through. Here in this old monastery, as the 
 story goes, he sought refuge from the fierce Salvator Rosa, 
 by whom his life was threatened, and here he painted 
 some of his best works, shaking in his shoes with fear. 
 When we have examined these frescoes, we have done the 
 fair of Grotta-Ferrata ; and those of us who are wise and 
 have brought with us a well-packed hamper, stick in our 
 hat one of the red artificial roses which everybody wears, 
 take a charming drive to the Villa Conti, Muti, or Fal- 
 conieri, and there, under the ilexes, forget the garlic, fin- 
 ish the day with a picnic, and return to Rome when the 
 western sun is painting the Alban Hill. 
 
 And here, in passing, one word on the onions and garlic, 
 whose odor issues from the mouths of every Italian crowd, 
 like the fumes from the maw of Fridolin's dragon. 
 Everybody eats them in Italy ; the upper classes show 
 them to their dishes to give them a flavor, and the lower 
 use them not only as a flavor but as a food. When only 
 a formal introduction of them is made to a dish, I confess 
 that the result is far from disagreeable ; but that close, 
 intimate, and absorbing relation existing between them 
 and the lowest classes is frightful. Senza complimenti, it 
 is " tolerable and not to be endured." When a poor man 
 can procure a raw onion and a hunch of black bread, he 
 does not want a dinner ; and towards noon many and 
 many a one may be seen sitting like a king upon a door- 
 step, or making a statuesque finish to a palace portone, 
 cheerfully munching this spare meal, and taking his siesta 
 after it, full length upon the bare pavement, as calmly as 
 if he were in the perfumed chambers of the great : 
 
 "Under the canopies of costly state, 
 And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody." 
 
 And, indeed, so he is ; for the canopy of the soft blue sky 
 is above him, and the plashing fountains lull him to his 
 dreams. Nor is he without ancient authority for his devo-
 
 106 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 tion to those twin saints, Cipollo and Aglio. There is an 
 " odor of sanctity " about them, turn up our noses as we 
 may. The ancient Egyptians offered them as first-fruits 
 upon the altars of their gods, and employed them also in 
 the services of the dead ; and such was their attachment to 
 them, that the followers of Moses hankered after them de- 
 spite the manna, and longed for " the leeks and the onions 
 and the garlic which they did eat in Egypt freely." Nay, 
 even the fastidious Greeks not only used them as a charm 
 against the Evil Eye, but ate them with delight. In the 
 "Banquet" of Xenophon, Socrates specially recommends 
 them, and Galen discourses wisely and at length on their 
 admirable qualities. On this occasion, several curious 
 reasons for their use are adduced, of which we who de- 
 spise them should not be ignorant. Niceratus says that 
 they relish well with wine, citing Homer in confirmation 
 of his opinion ; Callias affirms that they inspire courage in 
 battle ; and Charmidas clenches the matter by declaring 
 that they are most useful in " deceiving a jealous wife, 
 who, finding her husband returned with his breath smelling 
 of onions, would be induced to believe he had not saluted 
 any one while from home." Despise them not, therefore, 
 O Saxon ! for their pedigree is long, and they are sacred 
 plants. Happily for you if these reasons do not persuade 
 you against your will, there is a certain specific against 
 them, Eat them yourself, and you will smell them no 
 longer. 
 
 The time of the church processions is now coming, and 
 one good specimen takes place on the 29th of March, from 
 the Santa Maria in Via, which may stand with little varia- 
 tions for all the others. These processions, which are 
 given by every church once a year, are in honor of the 
 Madonna, or some saint specially reverenced in the par- 
 ticular church. They make the circuit of the parish limits, 
 passing through all its principal streets, and every window 
 and balcony is decorated with yellow and crimson hang- 
 ings, and with crowds of dark eyes. The front of the 
 church, the steps, and the street leading to it are spread 
 with yellow sand, over which are scattered sprigs of box. 
 After the procession has been organized in the church,
 
 LENT PILGRIMS IN HOLY WEEK. 107 
 
 they " come unto these yellow sands," preceded by a band 
 of music, which plays rather jubilant, and what the unco 
 pious would call profane music, of polkas and marches, 
 and airs from the operas. Next follow great lanterns of 
 strung glass drops, accompanied by soldiers ; then an im- 
 mense gonfalon representing the Virgin at the Cross, which 
 swings backwards and forwards, borne by the confraternity 
 of the parish, with blue capes over their white dresses, and 
 all holding torches. Then follows a huge wooden cross, 
 garlanded with golden ivy-leaves, and also upheld by the 
 confraternity who stagger under its weight. Next come 
 two crucifixes, covered, as the body of Christ always is 
 during Lent and until Resurrection day, with cloth of 
 purple (the color of passion), and followed by the frati of 
 the church in black, carrying candles and dolorously chant- 
 ing a hymn. Then comes the bishop in his mitre, his yel- 
 low stole upheld by two principal priests (the curate and 
 sub-curate), and to him his acolytes waft incense, as well 
 as to the huge figure of the Madonna which follows. This 
 figure is of life-size, carved in wood, surrounded by gilt 
 angels, and so heavy that sixteen stout porters, whose 
 shabby trousers show under their improvised costume, are 
 required to bear it along. With this the procession comes 
 to its climax. Immediately after follow the guards, and 
 a great concourse of the populace closes the train. 
 
 As Holy Week approaches, pilgrims begin to flock to 
 Rome with their oil-cloth capes, their scallop-shell, their 
 long staffs, their rosaries, and their dirty hands held 
 out constantly for " una santa elemosina pel povero pelle- 
 grino." Let none of my fair friends imagine that she 
 will find a Romeo among them, or she will be most griev- 
 ously disappointed. There is something to touch your 
 pity in their appearance, though not the pity akin to love. 
 They are, for the most part, old, shabby, soiled, and in- 
 veterate mendicants, and though, some time or other, 
 some one or other may have known one of them for her 
 true love "by his cockle hat and staff, and his sandal 
 shoon," that time has been long forbye, unless they are 
 wondrously disguised. Besides these pilgrims, and often 
 in company with them, bands of peasants, with their long
 
 108 ROB A DI ROMA. 
 
 staffs, may be met on the road, making a pilgrimage to 
 Rome for the Holy Week, clad in splendid ciociari dresses, 
 carrying their clothes on their heads, and chanting a 
 psalm as they go. Among these may be found many a 
 handsome youth and beautiful maid, whose faces will 
 break into the most charming of smiles as you salute them 
 and wish them a happy pilgrimage. And of all smiles, 
 none is so sudden, open, and enchanting as a Roman girl's : 
 breaking out over their dark, passionate faces, black eyes, 
 and level brows, like a burst of sunlight from behind a 
 cloud. There must be noble possibilities in any nation 
 which, through all its oppression and degradation, has 
 preserved the childlike frankness of an Italian smile. 
 
 Still another indication of the approach of Holy Week 
 is the Easter egg, which now makes its appearance, and 
 warns us of the solemnities to come. Sometimes it is 
 stained yellow, purple, red, green, or striped with various 
 colors ; sometimes it is crowned with paste-work repre- 
 senting, in a most primitive way, a hen, her body being 
 the egg, and her pastry head adorned with a dispropor- 
 tionately tall feather. These eggs are exposed for sale at 
 the corners of the streets and bought by everybody, and 
 every sort of ingenious device is resorted to to attract cus- 
 tomers and render them attractive. This custom is prob- 
 ably derived from the East, where the egg is the symbol 
 of the primitive state of the world and of the creation 
 of things. The new year formerly began at the spring 
 equinox, about Easter ; and at that period of the renewal 
 of Nature, a festival was celebrated in the new moon of 
 the month Phamenoth, in honor of Osiris, when painted 
 and gilded eggs were exchanged as presents, in reference 
 to the beginning of all things. The transference of the 
 commencement of the year to January deprived the Pas- 
 chal egg of its significance. Formerly in France, and still 
 in Russia as in Italy, it had a religious significance, and 
 was never distributed until it had received a solemn bene- 
 diction. On Good Friday, a priest in his robes, with an 
 attendant, may be seen going into every door in the street 
 to bless the house, the inhabitants, and the eggs. The 
 last, colored and arranged according to the taste of the
 
 LENT THE BLESSING OF EGGS. 109 
 
 individual, are spread upon a table, which is decorated 
 with box, flowers, and whatever ornamental dishes the 
 family possesses. The priest is received with bows at the 
 door ; and when he has sprinkled holy water around, and 
 given his benediction, he is rewarded with the gratuity of 
 a paid or a scudo, according to the piety and purse of the 
 proprietor ; while into the basket of his attendant is always 
 dropped a loaf of bread, a couple of eggs, a baiocco, or 
 some such trifle. 
 
 The egg plays a prominent part in the religions of the 
 ancient world, and serious discussions are to be found in 
 Plutarch and Macrobius, whether the egg or the hen was 
 first produced : philosophers and learned men declare that 
 the egg contained in itself all four elements, and was there- 
 fore a microcosm. It was used in auguries, and was placed 
 by the ancient Romans on the table at the beginning of 
 their repasts ; and at the feasts in honor of the dead it 
 also had a prominent place. The ancient Jews at Pasqua, 
 after purifying and cleansing the house, placed hard eggs 
 on the table as a symbol ; as well as cakes, dates, and 
 dried figs. The Greeks and Romans also used the egg in 
 expiations, and when they blessed the houses and temples, 
 and sprinkled them with lustral water, they carried an 
 egg with them. The account of the blessing of a ship by 
 Apuleius might almost stand for a description of the mod- 
 ern ceremony at Pasqua. " The high-priest," he says, 
 " carrying a lighted torch and an egg, and some sulphur, 
 made the most solemn prayers with his chaste lips, com- 
 pletely purified it, and consecrated it to the goddess." 
 
 Beside the blessing of the eggs and house, it is the 
 custom in some parts of Italy, (and I have particularly ob- 
 served it in Siena,) for the priest, at Easter, to affix to 
 the door of the chief palaces and villas a waxen cross, or 
 the letter M in wax, so as to guard the house from evil 
 spirits. But only the houses of the rich are thus pro- 
 tected ; for the priests bestow favors only " for a con- 
 sideration," which the poor cannot so easily give. 
 
 Among the celebrations which take place throughout 
 Italy at this period, is one which, though not peculiar to 
 Rome, deserves record here for its singularity. On Good
 
 110 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 Friday it is the custom of the people of Prato (a little 
 town near Florence) to celebrate the occasion by a pro- 
 cession, which takes place after nightfall, and is intended 
 to represent the procession to the Cross. The persons 
 composing it are mounted on horseback and dressed in 
 fantastic costumes, borrowed from the theatrical wardrobe, 
 representing Pontius Pilate, the centurions, guards, execu- 
 tioners, apostles, and even Judas himself. Each one 
 carries in one hand a flaring torch, and in the other some 
 emblem of the Crucifixion, such as the hammer, pincers, 
 spear, sponge, cross, and so on. The horses are all un- 
 shod, so that their hoofs may not clatter on the pavement ; 
 and, with a sort of mysterious noiselessness, this singular 
 procession passes through all the principal streets, illumi- 
 nated by torches that gleam picturesquely on their tinsel- 
 covered robes, helmets, and trappings. This celebration 
 only takes place once in three years ; and on the last oc- 
 casion but one, a tremendous thunderstoim broke over 
 the town as the procession was passing alcng. The crowd 
 thereupon incontinently dispersed, and the unfortunate per- 
 son who represented Judas, trembling with superstitious 
 fear, fell upon his knees, and, after the fashion of Snug the 
 joiner, who relieved the Duke Theseus by declaring that he 
 was only a lion's fell and not a veritable lion, cried out to 
 the Madonna, " Misericordia per me ! Have mercy on 
 me ! I am not really Judas, but only the cobbler at the 
 corner, who is representing him all for the glory of the 
 blessed Bambino." And in consideration of this infor- 
 mation the Madonna graciously extended him her potent 
 aid, and saved his valued life but he has henceforth re- 
 joiced in the popular nickname of Judas. 
 
 It is on this day, too, that the customary Jew is con- 
 verted, recants, and is baptized ; and there are not want- 
 ing evil tongues which declare that there is a wonderful 
 similarity in his physiognomy every year. However this 
 may be, there is no doubt that someone is annually dug out 
 of the Ghetto, which is the pit of Judaism here in Rome ; 
 and if he fall back again, after receiving the temporal re- 
 ward, and without waiting for the spiritual, he probably 
 finds it worth his while to do so, in view of the zeal of the
 
 LENT ILLUMINATED PIZZICHER1A SHOPS. Ill 
 
 Church, and in remembrance of the fifteenth verse of the 
 twenty-third chapter of Matthew, if he ever reads that por- 
 tion of the Bible. It is in the great basaltic vase in the 
 baptistery of St. John Lateran, the same in which Rienzi 
 bathed in 1347 before receiving the insignia of knight- 
 hood, that the converted Jew, and any other infidel who 
 can be brought over, receives his baptism when he is taken 
 into the arms of the Church. 
 
 It is at this season, too, that fae pix&icheria shops are 
 gayly dressed in the manner so graphically described by 
 Hans Andersen in his " Improvisatore." No wonder, 
 that, to little Antonio, the interior of one of these shops 
 looked like a realization of Paradise ; for they are really 
 splendid ; and when glittering with candles and lamps at 
 nio-ht, the effect is very striking. Great sides of bacon 
 and lard are ranged endwise in regular bars all round the 
 interior, and adorned with stripes of various colors, mixed 
 with golden spangles and flashing tinsel ; while over and 
 under them, in reticulated work, are piled scores upon 
 scores of brown cheeses in the form of pyramids, columns, 
 towers, with eggs set into their interstices. From the 
 ceiling, and around the doorway, hang wreaths and neck- 
 laces of sausages, or groups of long gourd-like cheeses, 
 twined about with box, or netted wire baskets filled 
 with Easter eggs, or great bunches of white candles 
 gathered together at the wicks. Seen through these, at 
 the bottom of the shop, is a picture of the Madonna, with 
 scores of candles burning about it, and gleaming upon 
 the tinsel hangings and spangles with which it is deco- 
 rated. Underneath this, there is often represented an 
 elaborate presepio, or, when this is not the case, the ani- 
 mals may be seen mounted here and there on the cheeses. 
 Candelabri of eggs, curiously bound together, so as to re- 
 semble bunches of gigantic white grapes, are swung from 
 the centre of the ceiling, and cups of colored glass, with 
 a taper in them, or red paper lanterns, and terra-cotta 
 lamps, of the antique form, show here and there their 
 little flames among the flitches of bacon and cheeses ; 
 while, in the midst of all this splendor, the figure of the 
 pizzicagnolo moves to and fro, like a high-priest at a cere-
 
 112 RODA DI ROMA. 
 
 mony. Nor is this illumination exclusive. The doors, 
 often of the full width of the shop, are thrown wide open, 
 and the glory shines upon all passers-by. It is the apoth- 
 eosis of ham and cheese, at which only the Hebraic nose, 
 doing violence to its natural curve, turns up in scorn ; 
 while true Christians crowd around it to wonder and ad- 
 mire, and sometimes to venture in upon the almost en- 
 chanted ground. May it be long before this custom dies 
 out! 
 
 At last comes Holy Week, with its pilgrims that flock 
 from every part of the world. Every hotel and furnished 
 apartment is crowded, every carriage is hired at double 
 and treble its ordinary fare, every door, where a Papal 
 ceremony is to take place, is besieged by figures in black 
 with black veils. The streets are filled with Germans, 
 English, French, Americans, all on the move, coming and 
 going, and anxiously inquiring about the ceremonies, and 
 when they are to take place, and where, for everything 
 is kept in a charming condition of perfect uncertainty, 
 from the want of any public newspaper or journal, or other 
 accurate means of information. So everybody asks every- 
 body, and everybody tells everybody, until nobody knows 
 anything, and everything is guesswork. But, neverthe- 
 less, despite impatient words, and muttered curses, and all 
 kinds of awkward mistakes, the battle goes bravely on. 
 There is terrible fighting by the crowd of strangers at the 
 door of the Sistine Chapel to hear the Miserere, which is 
 sure to be Baini's when it is said to be Allegri's, as well as 
 at the railing of the Chapel, where the washing of the feet 
 takes place, and at the Supper-table, where twelve peasants 
 represent the Apostolic company, and are waited on by 
 the Pope. The air is close to suffocation in this last 
 place. Men and women faint and are carried out. Some 
 fall and are trodden down. Sometimes, as at the table a 
 few years ago, some unfortunate pays for her curiosity 
 with her life. It is " Devil take the hindmost ! " and if 
 anyone is down, he is leaped over by men and women 
 indiscriminately, for there is no time to be lost. In the 
 Chapel, when once they are in, all want to get out 
 Shrieks are heard as the jammed mass sways backward
 
 LENT STRANGERS IN CHURCHES. 113 
 
 and forward, veils and dresses are torn in the struggle, 
 women are praying for help. Meantime the Swiss 
 guard keep to their orders with a literalness which knows 
 no parallel ; and all this time, the Pope, who has come in 
 by a private door, is handing round beef and mustard and 
 bread and potatoes to the gormandizing Apostles, who put 
 into their pockets what their stomachs cannot hold, and 
 improve their opportunities in every way. At last those 
 who have been through the fight return at nightfall, hag- 
 gard and ghastly with fear, hunger, and fatigue ; and, 
 after agreeing that they could never counsel any one to 
 such an attempt, set off the next morning to attack again 
 some shut door behind which a " function" is to take place. 
 
 All this, however, is done by the strangers. The Ro- 
 mans, on these high festivals, do not go to St. Peter's, 
 but perform their religious services at their parish churches 
 calmly and peacefully ; for in St. Peter's all is a spectacle. 
 " How shall I, a true son of the Holy Church," asks Pas- 
 quin, " obtain admittance to her services ? " And Marfo- 
 rio answers, " Declare you are an Englishman, and swear 
 you are a heretic." 
 
 The one thing our friends will not believe or under- 
 stand is that these ceremonies of the church are religious 
 ceremonies, on the contrary, they insist on regarding 
 them as spectacles got up for foreigners and heretics to 
 stare at, and they count it no shame to be guilty of con- 
 duct in the Catholic church which they would resent, if 
 it should be ti'ied in their own. They go to see the crowd, 
 to meet their friends, to look jeeringly or at least critically 
 on all that takes place. They chat with each other while 
 mass is going on, without taking the trouble to move 
 away from among those who seriously wish to hear if not 
 to perform a religious duty, in a word, they behave as 
 if they were at a spectacle. The same course was tried a 
 short time since at the English chapel outside the Porta 
 del Popolo, by a young Frenchman. He had no inten- 
 tion of offending any one, but observing that the English 
 all acted in this manner in his own churches, he thought 
 he was justified in following their example in their church. 
 " Where can one see all the pretty English girls of which
 
 114 ROD A Dl ROMA. 
 
 one hears so much ? " said he, one day, to a friend. " At 
 their chapel, of course," said his friend. " You will see 
 them all there." So he went one Sunday to the English 
 chapel. He was a little late. Service ha'd already com- 
 menced ; but no matter. In he walked ; all were seated 
 and solemnly joining in the prayers. So he sauntered up 
 the aisle, begged pardon of those against whose dresses 
 he tripped stopped half-way, turned round, put up his 
 glass, and began to make a general study of all the assem- 
 bly and particularly cff the younger and fairer portion 
 of it. While thus engaged, what was his surprise to see 
 a man he did not know beckon him and point to a seat. 
 He declined, he did not want a seat. But at last the Ver- 
 ger approached him, and with stern persistence put him 
 into a seat in the innermost corner of the church, where 
 he was forced to stay out the services. He recounted the 
 fact, and added ' Mais ils sont droles, ces Anglais ! " 
 
 Belli has written an amusing sonnet on the " Miserere 
 de la Sittimana Santa," in the Roman dialect, which may 
 here have a place : 
 
 Tutti 1' Ingres! de Piazza de Spaggna 
 
 Nun nanno antro che ddi'ssi cche ppiascere 
 
 E di senti a Ssan Pietro er miserere 
 
 Chi g-gnisun' istrumente 1' accompagna. 
 
 De fatti dico in ne la Gran Bertaggna 
 
 E in nell' antre capelle furistiere 
 
 Chi ssa ddi, ccom' a Roma in ste tre ssere ; 
 
 Miserere mei Deo secunnum maggna ? 
 
 Oggi sur maggna see so' stati un' ora 
 
 E ccantata accusi, ssangue dell' na ! 
 
 Quer maggna e una parola che innamora. 
 
 Prima 1' ha ddetta un musico, poi dua 
 
 Poi tre, ppoi quattro ; e ttutt' er coro allora 
 
 I' ha <lf lat i > ggiii ; mmisericordiam tua. 1 
 
 1 All the English of the Piazza di Spagna 
 
 Have nothing to say but what a pleasure 
 
 It is to hear the Miserere in St. Peter's, 
 
 Which every kind of instrument accompanies. 
 
 In fact I ask, in their Great Britain 
 
 And in all their other foreign chapels, 
 
 Can any one say, as in Rome on these three evenings, 
 " Miserere mei Deosecunnum maggna " ? 
 
 To-day upon moggna they were at least an hour 
 
 And sang in that fashion, blood of an egg 
 
 That mugijna is a word to enamor you ; 
 
 First it was said by one musico, then two, 
 
 Then three, then four ; and then the whole chorus 
 
 Came down upon the mmitfricordiam tuft.
 
 LENT BENEDICTION AT EASTER. 115 
 
 The Piazza is crowded with carriages during all these 
 days, and a hackman will look at nothing under a scudo 
 for the smallest distance, and to your remonstrances he 
 shrugs his shoulders and says, " Eh signore, bisogna vi- 
 vere ; adesso e la nostra settimana, e poi niente." (" Next 
 week I will take you anywhere for two pauls, now for 
 fifteen.") l Meluccio (the little old apple), the aged boy 
 in the Piazza San Pietro, whose sole occupation it has been 
 for years to open and shut the doors of carriages and hold 
 out his hand for a mezzo-baiocco, is in great glee. He 
 runs backwards and forwards all day long, hails car- 
 riages, identifies to the bewildered coachmen their lost 
 fares, whom he never fails to remember, points out to 
 bewildered strangers the coach they are hopelessly striv- 
 ing to identify, having entirely foi-gotten coachman and 
 carriage in the struggle they have gone through. He is 
 everywhere, screaming, laughing, and helping everybody. 
 It is his high festival as well as the Pope's, and grateful 
 strangers drop into his hand the frequent baiocco or half- 
 paul, and thank God and Meluccio as they sink back in 
 their carriages and cry, "A casa." 
 
 Finally comes Easter Sunday, the day of the Resur- 
 rection. At twelve on the Saturday previous all the bells 
 are rung, the crucifixes uncovered, and the Pope, cardi- 
 nals, and priests change their mourning-vestments for 
 those of rejoicing. Easter has come. You may know it 
 by the ringing bells, the sound of trumpets in the street, 
 the firing of guns from the windows, the explosions of 
 mortars planted in the pavement ; and of late years, 
 under the dispensation of French generals, who are in 
 chronic fear of a revolution on all festal days, by the 
 jar of long trains of cannon going down to the Piazza 
 San Pietro, to guard the place and join in the dance, in 
 case of a rising among the populace. 
 
 By twelve o'clock Mass in St. Peter's is over, and the 
 Piazza is crowded with people to see the Benediction, 
 and a grand, imposing spectacle it is ! Out over the great 
 
 1 The government, since this was written, has established a very 
 fair tariff for hackney coaches ; but, in recognition of old customs, 
 allows a double fare to be charged at this season.
 
 116 RO'BA DI ROMA. 
 
 4 
 
 balcony stretches a white awning, where priests and at- 
 tendants are collected, and where the Pope will soon be 
 seen. Below, the Piazza is alive with moving masses. In 
 the centre are drawn up long lines of soldiery, with yel- 
 low and red pompons and glittering helmets and bayonets. 
 These are surrounded by crowds on foot, and at the outer 
 rim are packed carriages filled and overrun with people 
 mounted on the seats and boxes. There is a half -hour's 
 waiting while we can look about, a steady stream of car- 
 riages all the while pouring in, and, if one could see it, 
 stretching out a mile behind, and adding thousands of im- 
 patient spectators to those already there. What a sight 
 it is ! Above us the great dome of St. Peter's, and be- 
 low, the grand embracing colonnade, and the vast space, 
 in the centre of which rises the solemn obelisk, thronged 
 with masses of living beings. Peasants from the Cam- 
 pagna and the mountains are moving about everywhere. 
 Pilgrims in oil-cloth cape and with iron staff demand 
 charity. On the steps are rows of purple, blue, and 
 brown umbrellas ; for there the sun blazes fiercely. 
 Everywhere crop forth the white hoods of Sisters of Char- 
 ity, collected in groups, and showing, among the parti- 
 colored dresses, like beds of chrysanthemums in a gar- 
 den. One side of the massive colonnade casts a grateful 
 shadow over the crowd beneath, that fills up the intervals 
 of its columns ; but elsewhere the sun burns down and 
 flashes everywhere. Mounted on the colonnade are crowds 
 of people leaning over, beside the colossal statues. Through 
 all the heat is heard the constant plash of the two sun-lit 
 fountains, that wave to and fro their veils of white spray. 
 At last the clock strikes. In the far balcony, beneath the 
 projecting awning that casts a patch of soft transparent 
 shadow along the golden sunlit facade, and surrounded by 
 a group of brilliant figures, are seen two huge fans of 
 snowy peacock plumes, and between them a figure clad in 
 white rises from a golden chair, and spreads his great 
 sleeves like wings as he raises his arms in benediction. 
 That is the Pope, Pius the Ninth. All is dead silence, 
 and a musical voice, sweet and penetrating, is heard 
 chanting from the balcony ; the people bend and kneel ;
 
 ^ LENT ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER'S. 117 
 
 with a cold gray flash the forest of bayonets gleams as 
 the soldiers drop to their knees, and rise to salute as the 
 voice dies away, and the two white wings are again waved ; 
 
 then thunder the cannon, the bells clash and peal 
 joyously, and a few white papers, like huge snowflakes, 
 drop wavering from the balcony ; these are Indul- 
 gences, and there is an eager struggle for them below ; 
 
 then the Pope again rises, again gives his benediction, 
 waving to and fro his right hand, three fingers open, and 
 making the sign of the cross, and the peacock fans re- 
 tire, and he between them is borne away, and Lent is 
 over. 
 
 As Lent is ushered in by the dancing lights of the moc- 
 coletti, so it is ushered out by the splendid illumination of 
 St. Peter's, which is one of the grandest spectacles in 
 Rome. The first illumination is by means of paper lan- 
 terns, distributed everywhere along the architectural lines 
 of the church, from the steps beneath its portico to the 
 cross above its dome. These are lighted before sunset, 
 and against the blaze of the western light are for some 
 time completely invisible ; but as twilight thickens, and 
 the shadows deepen, and a gray pearly veil is drawn over 
 the sky, the distant basilica begins to show against it with 
 a dull furnace-glow, as of a monstrous coal fanned by a 
 constant wind, looking not so much lighted from without 
 as reddening from an interior fire. Slowly this splendor 
 grows, and the mighty building at last stands outlined 
 against the dying twilight as if etched there with a fiery 
 burin. As the sky darkens into intense blue behind it, 
 the material part of the basilica seems to vanish, until 
 nothing is left to the eye but a wondrous, magical, vision- 
 ary structure of fire. This is the silver illumination : 
 watch it well, for it does not last long. At the first hour 
 of night, when the bells sound all over Rome, a sudden 
 change takes place. From the lofty cross a burst of flame 
 is seen, and instantly a flash of light whirls over the dome 
 and drum, climbs the smaller cupolas, descends like a rain 
 of fire down the columns of the facade, and before the 
 great bell of St. Peter's has ceased to toll twelve peals,
 
 118 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the golden illumination has succeeded to the silver. For 
 my own part, I prefer the first illumination ; it is more 
 delicate, airy, and refined, though the second is more bril- 
 liant and dazzling. One is like the Bride of the Church, 
 the other like the Empress of the World. In the second 
 lighting, the church becomes more material ; the flames 
 are like jewels, and the dome seems a gigantic triple 
 crown of St. Peter's. One effect, however, is very strik- 
 ing. The outline of fire, which before was firm and mo- 
 tionless, now wavers and shakes as if it would pass away, 
 as the wind blows the flames back and forth from the 
 great cups by which it is lighted. From near and far the 
 world looks on, from the Piazza beneath, where car- 
 riages drive to and fro in its splendor, and the band plays 
 and the bells toll, from the windows and loggias of the 
 city, wherever a view can be caught of this superb spec- 
 tacle, and from the Campagna and mountain towns, 
 where, far away, alone and towering above everything, 
 the dome is seen to blaze. Everywhere are ejaculations 
 of delight, and thousands of groups are playing the game 
 of " What is it like ? " One says, it is like a hive covered 
 by a swarm of burning bees ; others, that it is the en- 
 chanted palace in the gardens of Gul in the depths of the 
 Arabian nights, like a gigantic tiara set with wonderful 
 diamonds, larger than those which Sindbad found in the 
 roc's valley, like the palace of the fairies in the dreams 
 of childhood, like the stately pleasure-dome of Kubla 
 Khan in Xanadu, and twenty other whimsical things. 
 At nearly midnight, ere we go to bed, we take a last look 
 at it. It is a ruin, like the Colosseum, great gaps of 
 darkness are there, with broken rows of splendor. The 
 lights are gone on one side the dome, they straggle fit- 
 fully here and there down the otber and over the facade, 
 fading even as we look. It is melancholy enough. It is 
 a bankrupt heiress, an old and wrinkled beauty, that tells 
 strange tales of its former wealth and charms, when the 
 world was at its feet. It is the broken-down poet of the 
 madhouse, with flashes of wild fancies still glaring here 
 and there amid the sad ruin of his thoughts. It is the
 
 GAMES MORRA. 119 
 
 once mighty Catholic Church, crumbling away with the 
 passage of the night, and when morning and light 
 come, it will be no more. 1 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 GAMES IX ROME. 
 
 WALKING, during pleasant weather, almost anywhere 
 in Rome, but especially in passing through the enormous 
 arches of the Temple of Peace, or along by the Colosseum, 
 or some wayside osteria outside the city- walls, the ear of 
 the traveller is often saluted by the loud, explosive tones of 
 two voices going off together, at little intervals, like a brace 
 of pistol-shots ; and turning round to seek the cause o 
 these strange sounds, he will see two men, in a very ex- 
 cited state, shouting, as they fling out their hands at each 
 other with violent gesticulation. Ten to one he will say 
 to himself, if he be a stranger in Rome, " How quarrel- 
 some and passionate these Italians are ! " If he be an 
 Englishman or an American, he will be sure to congratu- 
 late himself on the superiority of his own countrymen, and 
 wonder why these fellows stand there shaking their fists 
 at each other, and screaming, instead of fighting it out like 
 men, and muttering, u A cowardly pack too! " will pass 
 on, perfectly satisfied with his facts and his philosophy. 
 But what he has seen was really not a quarrel. It is sim- 
 ply the game of Morra, as old as the Pyramids, and for- 
 merly played among the hosts of Pharaoh and the armies 
 of Csesar as now by the subjects of Pius IX. It is thus 
 played : 
 
 Two persons place themselves opposite each other, hold- 
 ing their right hands closed before them. They then si- 
 multaneously and with a sudden gesture throw out their 
 
 1 Neither of these magnificent spectaclea is now to be seen. 
 There is no longer the Benediction in the Piazza of St. Peter's, nor 
 the illumination of the church.
 
 120 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hands, some of the fingers being extended, and others shut 
 up on the palm, each calling out in a loud voice, at the 
 same moment, the number he guesses the fingers extended 
 by himself and his adversary to make. If neither ciy out 
 aright, or if both cry out aright, nothing is gained or lost ; 
 but if only one guess the true number, he wins a point. 
 Thus, if one throw out four fingers and the other two, he 
 who cries out six makes a point, unless the other cry out 
 the same number. The points are generally five, though 
 sometimes they are doubled ; and as they are made, they 
 are marked by the left hand, which during the whole 
 game is held stiffly in the air at about the shoulders' 
 height, one finger being extended for every point. When 
 the partita is won, the winner cries out " Fatto ! " or 
 " Guadagnato ! " or " Vinto ! " or else strikes his hands 
 across each other in sign of triumph. This last sign is 
 also used when Double Morra is played, to indicate that 
 five points are made. 
 
 So universal is this game in Rome that the very beggars 
 play away their earnings at it. It was only yesterday, as 
 I came out of the gallery of the Capitol, that I saw two 
 who had stopped screaming for " laiocchi per amor di 
 D'w" to play pauls against each other at Morra. One, a 
 cripple, supported himself against a column, and the other, 
 with his ragged cloak slung on his shoulder, stood opposite 
 him. They staked a paul each time with the utmost non- 
 chalance, and played with an earnestness and rapidity 
 which showed that they were old hands at it. while the 
 coachmen from their boxes cracked their whips, and 
 jeered and joked them, and the shabby circle around 
 them cheered them on. I stopped to see the result, and 
 found that the cripple won two successive games. But 
 his cloaked antagonist bore his losses like a hero ; and 
 when all was over he did his best with the strangers issu- 
 ing from the Capitol to line his pockets for a new chance. 
 
 Nothing is more simple and apparently easy than Morra, 
 yet to play it well requires quickness of perception and 
 readiness in the calculation of chances. As each player, 
 of course, knows how many fingers he himself throws out, 
 the main point is to guess the number of fingers thrown
 
 GAMES MORRA. 121 
 
 by his opponent, and to add the two instantaneously to- 
 gether. A player of skill will soon detect the favorite 
 numbers of his antagonist; and it is curious to see how 
 remarkably clever some of them are in divining, from the 
 movement of the hand, the number to be thrown. The 
 game is always played with great vivacity, the hands being 
 flung out with vehemence, and the numbers shouted at the 
 full pitch of the voice, so as to be heard at a considerable 
 distance. It is from the sudden opening of the fingers, 
 while the hands are in the air, that the old Roman phrase, 
 micare digitis, " to flash with the fingers," is derived. 
 
 A bottle of wine is generally the stake ; and round the 
 osterias, of afesta-d&y, when the game is played after the 
 blood has been heated and the nerves strained by previous 
 potations, the regular volleyed explosions of " Tre ! 
 Cinque ! Otto ! Tutti ! " are often interrupted by hot dis- 
 cussions. But these are generally settled peacefully by 
 the bystanders, who act as umpires, and the excitement 
 goes off in talk. The question arises almost invariably 
 upon the number of fingers flashed out ; for an unscrupu- 
 lous player has great opportunities of cheating, by holding 
 a finger half extended, so as to be able to close or open 
 it afterwards according to circumstances ; but sometimes 
 the losing party will dispute as to the number called out. 
 The thumb is the father of all evil at Morra, it being 
 often impossible to say whether it was intended to be 
 closed or not, and an unskilful player is easily deceived in 
 this matter by a clever one. When " Tutti " is called, all 
 the fingers, thumb and all, must be extended, and then it 
 is an even chance that a discussion will take place as to 
 whether the thumb was out. Sometimes, when the blood 
 is hot, and one of the parties has been losing, violent 
 quarrels will arise, which the umpires cannot decide ; and, 
 in very rare cases, knives are drawn and blood is spilled. 
 Generally these disputes end in nothing ; and, often as I 
 have seen this game, I have never been a spectator of any 
 quarrel, though discussions numberless I have heard. But, 
 beyond vague stories by foreigners, in which I put no con- 
 fidence, the vivacity of the Italians easily leading persons 
 unacquainted with their characters to mistake a very peace-
 
 122 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 able talk for a violent quarrel, I know of only one case 
 that ended tragically. There a savage quarrel, begun at 
 Morra, was with difficulty pacified by the bystanders, and 
 one of the parties withdrew to an osteria to drink witli his 
 companions. But while he was there, the rage which had 
 been smothered, but not extinguished, in the breast of his 
 antagonist, blazed out anew. Rushing at the other, as he 
 sat by the table of the osteria, he attacked him fiercely 
 with his knife. The friends of both started at once to their 
 feet, to interpose and tear them apart ; but before they 
 could reach them, one of the combatants dropped bleeding 
 and dying on the floor, and the other fled like a maniac 
 from the room. 
 
 This readiness of the Italians to use the knife, for the 
 settlement of every dispute, is generally attributed by 
 foreigners to the passionateness of their nature ; but I am 
 inclined to believe that in some measure it results from 
 their entire distrust of the possibility of legal redress in the 
 courts. "Where courts are organized as they were in 
 Naples, who but a fool would trust to them ? Open tri- 
 bunals, where justice is impartially administered, would 
 soon check private assassinations ; and were there more 
 honest and efficient police-courts, there would be far fewer 
 knives drawn. The Englishman invokes the aid of the 
 law, knowing, that he can count upon prompt justice ; take 
 that belief from him, he, too, like Harry Gow, would 
 " fight for his own hand," In the half organized society 
 of the less civilized parts of the United States, the pistol 
 and bowie-knife are as frequent arbiters of disputes as the 
 stiletto is among the Italians. But it would be a gross 
 error to argue from this, that the Americans are violent 
 and passionate by nature ; for among the same people in 
 the older States, where justice is cheaply and strictly ad- 
 ministered, the pistol and bowie-knife are almost unknown. 
 Despotism and slavery nurse the passions of men ; and 
 wherever law is loose, or courts are venal, public justice 
 assumes the shape of private vengeance. 
 
 The farther south one goes in Italy, the more frequent 
 is violence and the more unrepressed are the passions. 
 Compare Piedmont with Naples and Sicily, and the differ-
 
 GAMES ANTIQUITY OF MORRA. 123 
 
 ence is immense. The dregs of vice and violence settle to 
 the south. 1 
 
 But to return to Morra. As I was walking out heyond 
 the Porta San Giovanni the other day, I heard the most 
 ingenious and consolatory periphrasis for a defeat that it 
 was ever my good fortune to hear ; and as it shows the 
 peculiar humor of the Romans, it may here have a place. 
 Two of a party of contadini had been playing at Morra, 
 the stakes heing, as usual, a hottle of wine, and each, in 
 turn, had lost and won. A lively and jocose discussion now 
 arose between the friends on the one side, and the players 
 on the other, the former claiming that each of the latter 
 was to pay his bottle of wine for the game he lost (to be 
 drunk of course by all), and the latter insisting that, as 
 one loss offset the other, nothing was to be paid by either. 
 As I passed, one of the players was speaking. " Ilprimo 
 partito," he said, " ho guadagnato io; e poi, -nelsecondo," 
 here a pause, " ho per so la vittoria." (" The first 
 game I won ; the second, I lost the victory.") And 
 with this happy periphrasis, our friend admitted his defeat. 
 I could not but think how much better it would have been 
 for the French, if this ingenious mode of adjusting with 
 the English the Battle of Waterloo had ever occurred to 
 them. To admit that they were defeated was of course 
 impossible ; but to acknowledge that they " lost the victory " 
 would by no means have been humiliating. This would 
 have soothed their irritable national vanity, prevented many 
 heart-burnings, saved long and idle arguments and terrible 
 " kicking against the pricks," and rendered a friendly 
 alliance possible. 
 
 No game has a better pedigree than Morra. It was 
 played by the Egyptians more than two thousand years 
 before the Christian era. In the paintings at Thebes, and 
 in the temples of Beni-Hassan, seated figures may be seen 
 playing it, some keeping their reckoning with the left 
 hand uplifted, some striking off the game with both 
 
 1 (1886. ) Still, after sixteen years of " Union and Liberty," the 
 knife is as much as ever the arbiter of quarrels in Rome. Old habits 
 are a second nature, and it will take many a year and many a change 
 in the administration of the law before they can be eradicated.
 
 124 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hands, to show that it was won, and, in a word, using 
 the same gestures as the modern Romans. From Egypt 
 it was introduced into Greece. The Romans brought it 
 from Greece at an early period, and it has existed among 
 them ever since, having suffered apparently no alteration. 
 Its ancient Roman name was Micatio, and to play it was 
 called micare diaitis, (to flash with the fingers,) the 
 modern name Morra heing merely a corruption of the 
 verb micare. Varro describes it precisely as it is now 
 played ; and Cicero, in the first book of his treatise " De 
 Divinatione," thus alludes to it : " Quid enim est sors ? 
 Idem propemodum quod micare, quod talos jacere, quod 
 tesseras ; quibus in rebus temeritas et casus, non ratio et 
 concilium valent." So common was it, that it became the 
 basis of an admirable proverb, to denote the honesty of a 
 person : " Dignus est quicum in tenebris mices." (" So 
 trustworthy, that one may play Morra with him in the 
 dark.") At one period they carried their love of it so far 
 that they used to settle by micatio the sales of merchan- 
 dise and meat in the Forum, until Apronius, prefect of the 
 city, prohibited the practice in the following terms, as ap- 
 pears by an old inscription, which is particularly interest- 
 ing as containing an admirable pun : "Sub exagio potius 
 pecora vender e quam digitis concludentibus trader e." 
 ('' Sell your sheep by the balance, and do not bargain or 
 deceive " [tradere having both these meanings] " by open- 
 ing and shutting your fingers at Morra.'") 
 
 One of the various kinds of the old Roman game of Pila 
 still survives under the modern name of Pallone. It is 
 played between two sides, each numbering from five to 
 eight persons. Each of the players is armed with a brac- 
 ciale, or gauntlet of wood, covering the hand and extend- 
 ing nearly up to the elbow, with which a heavy ball is 
 beaten backwards and forwards, high into the air, from 
 one side to the other. The object of the game is to keep 
 the ball in constant flight, and whoever suffers it to fall 
 dead within his bounds loses. It may, however, be struck 
 in its first rebound, though the best strokes are before it 
 touches the ground. The gauntlets are hollow tubes of
 
 GA MES PALL ONE. 125 
 
 wood, thickly studded outside with pointed bosses, project- 
 ing an inch and a half, and having inside, across the end, 
 a transverse bar, which is grasped by the hand, so as to 
 render them manageable to the wearer. The balls, which 
 are of the size of a large cricket-ball, are made of leather, 
 and so heavy, that, when well played, they are capable of 
 breaking the arm unless properly received on the gauntlet. 
 They are inflated with air, which is pumped into them 
 with a long syringe, through a small aperture closed by a 
 valve inside. The game is played on an oblong figure 
 marked out on the ground, or designated by the wall 
 around the sunken platform on which it is played ; and 
 across the centre is drawn a transverse line, dividing 
 equally the two sides. Whenever a ball either falls out- 
 side the lateral boundary, or is not struck over the central 
 line, it counts against the party playing it. When it flies 
 over the extreme limits, it is called a volata, and is reck- 
 oned the best stroke that can be made. At the end of 
 the lists is a spring-board, on which the principal player 
 stands. The best batter is always selected for this post ; 
 the others are distributed about. Near him stands the 
 pallonaio, whose office is to keep the balls well inflated 
 with air, and he is busy nearly all the time. Facing him, 
 at a short distance, is the mandarino, who gives ball. As 
 soon as the ball leaves the mandarino' s hand, the chief 
 batter runs forward to meet it, and strikes it as far and 
 high as he can, with the gauntlet. Four times in succes- 
 sion have I seen a good player strike a volata, with the 
 loud applause of the spectators. When this does not 
 occur, the two sides bat the ball backwards and forwards, 
 from one to the other, sometimes fifteen or twenty times 
 before the point is won ; and as it falls here and there, 
 now flying high in the air and caught at once on the gaunt- 
 let before touching the ground, now glancing back from 
 the wall which generally forms one side of the lists, the 
 players rush eagerly to hit it, calling loudly to each other, 
 and often displaying great agility, skill, and strength. The 
 interest now becomes very exciting ; the bystanders shout 
 when a good stroke is made, and groan and hiss at a miss, 
 until finally the ball is struck over the lists, or lost within
 
 126 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 them. The points of the game are fifty, the first two 
 strokes counting fifteen each, and the others ten each. 
 When one side makes the fifty before the other has made 
 anything, it is called a marcio, and counts double. "When 
 both parties count forty, the caller cries out " alle due" 
 and the count is carried back on both sides to thirty, so 
 that two successive counts must be made by one to win the 
 game. As each point is made, it is shouted by the caller, 
 who stands in the middle and keeps the count, and pro- 
 claims the bets of the spectators ; and after each game " si 
 passa '' or an " over " is taken, the two sides changing 
 position. 
 
 The game is as national to the Italians as cricket to the 
 English; it is not only, as it seems to me, much more in- 
 teresting than the latter, but requires vastly more strength, 
 agility, and dexterity, to play it well. The Italians give 
 themselves to it with all the enthusiasm of their nature, 
 and many a young fellow injures himself for life by the 
 fierceness of his batting. After the excitement and stir 
 of this game, which only the young and athletic can play 
 well, cricket seems a dull affair. 
 
 The game of Pallone has always been a favorite in 
 Rome ; and near the summit of the Quattro Fontane, in 
 the Barberini grounds, is a circus, which was built specially 
 for public exhibitions of it during the summer afternoons. 1 
 At these representations, the most renowned players were 
 engaged by an impresario. The audience was generally 
 large, and the entrance fee was one paul. Wonderful 
 feats were sometimes performed here ; and on the wall 
 are marked the heights of some remarkable volate. The 
 players wore a loose jacket with ruffles, and light breeches 
 and stockings, the two sides wearing different colors. The 
 contests, generally, were fiercely disputed, the spectators 
 betting heavily, and shouting, as good or bad strokes were 
 made. Sometimes a line was extended across the amphi- 
 theatre, from wall to wall, over which it was necessary to 
 strike the ball, a point being lost in case it passed below. 
 But this is a variation from the game as ordinarily played, 
 and can be ventured on only by the most skilful players. 
 1 See page 96.
 
 GAMES PALLONE. 127 
 
 During the occupation by the French, the games here were 
 suspended, for the foreign garrison not only seized the 
 post-office, to convert it into a club-room, and the piano 
 nobile of some of the richest palaces, to serve as barracks 
 for their soldiers, but also drove the Romans from their 
 amphitheatre, where Pallone was played, to make it into 
 ateliers de genie. But since their departure Prince Bar- 
 berini has again fitted up this arena admirably, and the 
 game is now to be seen daily in the afternoon, after the 
 middle of May, through the summer. There are boxes 
 at each end, covered with strong iron network, to protect 
 the occupants against the balls, which are often driven 
 against them with great force. Along the arena chairs 
 are placed, also behind a network, and above them a 
 loyrjia, where one may sit under the green shade of the 
 overhanging trees and enjoy the game, and sip a sherbet 
 or a glass of wine. 
 
 One may also see the game played by ordinary players 
 but not strictly according to that " rigor of the game " 
 which Sarah Battle, of Elian fame, so strongly insisted 
 upon towards the twilight of any summer day, in the 
 Piazza di Termini, or near the Tempio della Pace, or the 
 Colosseo. The boys from the studios and shops also play 
 in the streets a sort of mongrel game called Pillotta, beat- 
 ing a small ball back and forth, with a round bat, shaped 
 like a small tamburello and covered with parchment. But 
 the real game, played by skilful players, may be seen 
 almost every summer night outside the Porta a Pinti, in 
 Florence ; and I have also seen it admirably played under 
 the fortress wall at Siena, the players being dressed entirely 
 in white, with loose ruffled jackets, breeches, long stock- 
 ings, and shoes of undressed leather, and the spectators 
 sitting round on the stone benches, or leaning over the 
 lofty wall, cheering on the game, while they ate the cher- 
 ries or zucca-seeds which were hawked about among them 
 by itinerant pedlars. Here, towards twilight, one could 
 lounge away an hour pleasantly under the shadow of the 
 fortress, looking now at the game and now at the rolling 
 country beyond, where olives and long battalions of vines 
 marched knee-deep through the golden grain, until the
 
 128 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 purple splendors of sunset had ceased to transfigure the 
 distant hills, and the crickets chirped louder under the 
 deepening gray of the sky. 
 
 In the walls of the amphitheatre at Florence is a hust 
 in colored marble of one of the most famous players of his 
 day, whose hattered face seems still to preside over the 
 game, getting now and then a smart blow from the Pallone 
 itself, which, in its inflation, is no respecter of persons. 
 The honorable inscription beneath the bust, celebrating 
 the powers of this champion, who rejoiced in the surname 
 of Earthquake, is as follows : 
 
 " Josephus Barnius, Petiolensis, vir in jactando reper- 
 cutiendoque folle singularis, qui ob robur ingens maxi- 
 mamque artis peritiam, et collusores ubique devictos, 
 Terrcemotus formidabili cognomento dictus est." 
 
 Poets, also, have celebrated this manly game ; and who- 
 ever would read a noble poem will find it in the spirited 
 Ode, " To a Player at Pallone," by Leopardi ; while who- 
 ever prefers a biting satire will find it in the poem by 
 Belli, in Romanesco dialect, entitled " Er giucator de 
 Pallone." 
 
 Another favorite game of ball among the Romans is 
 Bocce or Boccette. It is played between two sides, con- 
 sisting of any number of persons, each of whom has two 
 large wooden balls of about the size of an average Ameri- 
 can nine-pin ball. Besides these, there is a little ball 
 called the lecco. This is rolled first by one of the winning 
 party to any distance he pleases, and the object is to roll 
 or pitch the boccette or large balls so as to place them beside 
 the lecco. Every ball of one side nearer to the lecco than 
 any ball of the other counts one point in the game the 
 number of points depending on the agreement of the par- 
 ties. The game is played on the ground, and not upon 
 any smooth or prepared plane ; and as the lecco often 
 runs into hollows, or poises itself on some uneven declivity, 
 it is sometimes a matter of no small difficulty to play the 
 other balls near to it. The great skill of the game con- 
 sists, however, in displacing the balls of the adverse party 
 so as to make the balls of the playing party count, and a
 
 GAMES RUZZOLA AND DOM1NOS. 129 
 
 clever player will often change the whole aspect of affairs 
 by one well directed throw. The balls are thrown alter- 
 nately, first by a player on one side, and then by a player 
 on the other. As the game advances, the interest increases, 
 and there is a constant variety. However good a throw 
 is made, it may be ruined by the next. Sometimes the 
 ball is pitched with great accuracy, so as to strike a close- 
 counting ball far into the distance, while the new ball 
 takes its place. Sometimes the lecco itself is suddenly 
 transplanted into a new position, which entirely reverses 
 all the previous counting. It is the last ball which decides 
 the game, and of course it is eagerly watched. Jn the 
 Piazza delle Terme numerous parties may be seen every 
 bright day in summer or spring playing this game under 
 the locust-trees, surrounded by idlers, who stand by to 
 approve or condemn, and to give their advice. The 
 French soldiers, free from drill or guard, or from prac- 
 tising trumpet-calls on the old Agger of Servius Tullius 
 near by, are sure to be rolling balls in this fascinating 
 game. Having heated their blood sufficiently at it, they 
 adjourn to a little osteria in the Piazza to refresh them- 
 selves with a glass of asciutto wine, after which they sit 
 on a bench outside the door, or stretch themselves under 
 the trees, and take a siesta, with their handkerchiefs over 
 their eyes, while other parties take their turn at the bocce. 
 Meanwhile, from the Agger beyond are heard the distress- 
 ing trumpets struggling with false notes and wheezing and 
 shrieking in ludicrous discord, while now and then the 
 solemn bell of Santa Maria Maggiore tolls from the 
 neighboring hill. 
 
 Another favorite game in Rome and Tuscany is Ruz- 
 zola, so called from the circular disk of wood with which it 
 is played. Round this the player winds tightly a cord, 
 which, by a sudden cast and backward jerk of the hand, 
 he uncoils so as to send the disk whirling along the road. 
 Outside the walls, and along all the principal avenues lead- 
 ing to the city, parties are constantly to be met playing at 
 this game ; and oftentimes before the players are visible 
 the disk is seen bounding round some curve, to the great 
 9
 
 130 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 danger of one's legs. He whose disk whirls the farthest 
 wins a point. It is an excellent walking game, and it re- 
 quires some knack to play the disk evenly along the road. 
 Often the swiftest disks, when not well directed, bound 
 over the hedges, knock themselves down against the walls, 
 or bury themselves in the tangled ditches ; and when well 
 played, if they chance to hit a stone in the road, they will 
 leap wildly into the air, at the risk of serious injury to any 
 unfortunate passer. In the country, instead of wooden 
 disks, the contadini often use cacio di capra, a kind of 
 hard goat's cheese, whose rind will resist the roughest 
 play. What, then, must be the digestive powers of those 
 who eat it may be imagined. Like the peptic country- 
 man, they probably do not know they have a stomach, not 
 having ever felt it ; and certainly they can say with Tony 
 Lumpkin, " It never hurts me, and I sleep like a hound 
 after it." 
 
 In common with the French, the Romans have a passion 
 for the game of Dominos. Every caffe is supplied with a 
 number of boxes, and, in the evening especially, it is 
 played by young and old, with a seriousness which strikes 
 us Saxons with surprise. We generally have a contempt 
 for this game, and look upon it as childish. But I know not 
 why. It is by no means easy to play well, and requires a 
 careful memory and quick powers of combination and cal- 
 culation. No caffe in Rome or Marseilles would be com- 
 plete without its little black and white counters ; and as it 
 interests at once the most mercurial and fidgety of people 
 and the laziest and languidest, it must have some hidden 
 charm as yet unrevealed to the Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 Beside Dominos, Chess (Scacchi) is often played in pub- 
 lic in the caffes ; and there is one caffb named Dei Scac- 
 chi, because it is frequented by the best chess-players in 
 Rome. Here matches are often made, and admirable 
 games are played. 
 
 Among the Roman boys the game of Campana is also 
 common. A parallelogram is drawn upon the ground and 
 subdivided into four squares, which are numbered. At 
 the top and bottom are two small semicircles, or bells, 
 thus :
 
 GAMES LOTTER Y. 
 
 131 
 
 G 
 
 l 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 Each of the players, having deposited his stake in the 
 semicircle (&) at the farthest end, takes his station at a 
 short distance, and endeavors to pitch some object, either 
 a disk or a bit of terra-cotta, or more generally a bawcco, 
 into one of the compartments. If he lodge it in the near- 
 est bell (a), he pays a new stake into the pool; if into the 
 farthest bell (b) , he takes the whole pool ; if into either of 
 the other compartments, he takes one, two, three, or four 
 of the stakes, according to the number of the compartment. 
 If he lodge on a line, he is abbrucciato, as it is termed, and 
 his play goes for nothing. Among the boys the pool is fre- 
 quently filled with buttons, among the men, with baioc- 
 chi ; but buttons or baiocchi are all the same to the play- 
 ers, they are the representatives of luck or skill. 
 
 Still another and very common game in Rome, which is 
 worthy of notice here simply because of its ancient pedi- 
 gree, is a game played with walnuts. Four or five of 
 these are piled pyramidally together, when the players, 
 withdrawing to a short distance, pitch another walnut at 
 them, and he who succeeds in striking and dispersing the 
 heap wins. Tliis is manifestly the game played by the 
 little boys of ancient Rome, and alluded to by the author 
 of the u Nux Elegia " : 
 
 ' ' Quatuor in nucibus, non amplius, alea tota est ' 
 Cum tibi suppositis additur una tribus." 
 
 But the game of games in Rome is the Lottery. This 
 is under the direction of the government, which has organ- 
 ized it into a means of raising revenue. The financial ob- 
 jection to this method of taxation is, that its hardest press- 
 ure is upon the poorest classes ; but the moral and politi- 
 cal objections are still stronger. The habit of gambling 
 engendered by it ruins the temper, depraves the morals, 
 and keeps up a constant state of excitement at variance 
 
 1 In stakes of nuts the gambling boys agree, 
 Three placed below, a fourth to crown the three.
 
 132 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 with any settled and serious occupation. The temptations 
 to laziness which it offers are too great for any people 
 luxurious or idle hy temperament ; and the demon of Luck 
 is set upon the altar which should be dedicated to Industry. 
 If one happy chance can bring a fortune, who will spend 
 laborious days to gain a competence ? The common classes 
 in Rome are those who are most corrupted by the lottery ; 
 and when they can neither earn nor borrow baiocchi to 
 play, they strive to obtain them by beggary, cheating, and 
 sometimes by theft. The fallacious hope that their ticket 
 will some day bring a prize leads them from step to step, 
 until, having emptied their purses, they are tempted to 
 raise .the necessary funds by any justifiable means. When 
 you pay them their wages or throw them a bnona-mano, 
 they instantly run to the lottery-office to play it. Loss 
 after loss does not discourage them. It is always the next 
 time they are to win, there was a slight mistake in their 
 calculation before. Some good reason or other is always 
 at hand. If by chance one of them does happen to win 
 a large sum, it is ten to one that it will cost him his life, 
 that he will fall into a fit, or drop in an apoplexy, on 
 hearing the news. There is a most melancholy instance 
 of this in the very next house, of a Jew made suddenly 
 and unexpectedly rich, who instantly became insane in 
 consequence, and is now the most wretched and melan- 
 choly spectacle that man can ever become, starving in 
 the midst of abundance, and moving like a beast about his 
 house. But of all ill-luck that can happen to the lottery- 
 gambler, the worst is to win a small prize. It is all over 
 with him from that time forward ; into the great pit of the 
 lottery everything that he can lay his hands on is sure to go. 
 There has been some difference of opinion as to whether 
 the lottery was of later Italian invention, or dated back to 
 the Roman Empire some even contending that it was in 
 existence in Egypt long before that period ; and several 
 ingenious discussions may be found on this subject in the 
 journals and annals of the French savans. A strong claim 
 has been put forward for the ancient Romans, on the 
 ground that Nero, Titus, and Heliogabalus were in the 
 habit of writing on bits of wood and shells the names of
 
 GAMES LOTTERY. 133 
 
 various articles which they intended to distribute, and then 
 casting them to the crowd to be scrambled for. 1 On 
 some of these shells and billets were inscribed the names 
 of slaves, precious vases, costly dresses, articles of silver 
 and gold, valuable beasts, etc., which became the prop- 
 erty of the fortunate persons who secured the billets and 
 shells. On others were written absurd and useless articles, 
 which turned the laugh against the unfortunate finder. 
 Some, for instance, had inscribed upon them ten pieces of 
 gold, and some ten cabbages. Some were for one hun- 
 dred bears, and some for one egg. Some for five camels, 
 and some for ten flies. In one sense, these were lotteries, 
 and the emperors deserve all due credit for their inven- 
 tion. But the lottery according to its modern signification 
 is of Italian origin, and had its birth in Upper Italy as 
 early as the fourteenth or fifteenth century. Here it was 
 principally practised by the Venetians and Genoese, under 
 the name of Borsa di Ventura, the prizes consisting 
 originally, not of money, but of merchandise of every kind, 
 precious stones, pictures, gold and silver work, and 
 similar articles. The great difference between them and 
 the ancient lotteries of Heliogabalus and Nero was, that 
 tickets were bought and prizes drawn. The lottery soon 
 came to be played, however, for money, and was consid- 
 ered so admirable an invention that it was early imported 
 into France, where Francis L, in 1539, granted letters- 
 patent for the establishment of one. In the seventeenth 
 century this " infezione," as an old Italian writer calls it, 
 was introduced into Holland and England, and at a still 
 later date into Germany. Those who invented it still re- 
 tain it ; but those who adopted it have rejected it. After 
 nearly three centuries' existence in France, it was abol- 
 ished on the 31st of December, 1835. The last draw- 
 ing was at Paris, on the 27th of the same month, when the 
 number of players was so great that it became necessary to 
 close the offices before the appointed time, and one Eng- 
 lishman is said to have gained a quaterno of the sum of 
 one million two hundred thousand francs. When abol- 
 ished in France, the government was drawing from it a 
 net revenue of twenty millions of francs. 
 
 1 See Dessault,Trcu'fe' de fa Passion du Jeu.
 
 134 ROBA DI ROMA, 
 
 In Italy the lottery was proscribed by Innocent XII., 
 Benedict XIII., and Clement XII. But it was soon re- 
 vived. It was not without vehement opposers then as now, 
 as may be seen by a little work published at Pisa in the 
 early part of the last century, entitled, " L' Inganno non 
 conosciuto, oppure non voluto concscere, nell' Estrazione 
 de Lotto." Muratori, in 1696, calls it, in " Annals of 
 Italy," " Inventione dell' amara malizia per succiare il 
 sangue dei malaccorti giuocatori." In a late number of 
 the " Civilta Cattolica," published at Rome by the Jesuits 
 (the motto of which is " Beatiis Populus cujus Domimis 
 Deus est"), there is, on the other hand, an elaborate and 
 most Jesuitical article, in which the lottery is defended 
 with amusing skill. What Christendom in general has 
 agreed to consider immoral and pernicious in its effects on 
 a people seems, on the contrary, to the writer of this article, 
 to be highly moral and commendable. 
 
 The numbers which can be played are from one to 
 ninety. Of these only five are now drawn. Originally 
 the numbers drawn were eight (otto) ; and it is said that 
 the Italian name of this game, lotto, was derived from this 
 circumstance. The player may stake upon one, two, three, 
 four, or five numbers, but no ticket can be taken for 
 more than five ; and he may stake upon his ticket any sum, 
 from one baiocco up to five scudi, but the latter sum 
 only in case he play upon several chances on the same 
 ticket. If he play one number, he may either play it al 
 posto assegnato, according to its place in the drawing, as 
 first, second, third, etc. , or he may play it senza posto, 
 without place, in which case he wins, if the number come 
 anywhere among the five drawn. In the latter case, how- 
 ever, the prize is much less in proportion to the sum staked. 
 Thus, for one baiocco staked al posto assegnato, a scudo 
 may be won ; but to gain a scudo on a number senza posto, 
 seven baiocchi must be played. A sum staked upon two 
 numbers is called an ambo, on three, a terno, on four, 
 a (juaterno, and on five, a cinquino ; and of course the 
 prizes increase in rapid proportion to the numbers played, 
 the sum gained multiplying very largely on each addi- 
 tional number. For instance, if two baiocchi be staked
 
 GAMES NUMBERS IN THE LOTTERY. 135 
 
 on an ambo, the prize is one scudo ; but if the sum be 
 staked on a terno, the prize is a hundred scudi. When an 
 ambo is played for, the same two numbers may be played 
 as single numbers, either al posto or senza posto, and in 
 such case one of the numbers alone may win. So, also, a 
 terno may be played so as to include an ambo, and a qua- 
 terno so as to include a terno and ambo, and a dnquino so 
 as to include all. But whenever more than one chance is 
 played for, the price is proportionately increased. For a 
 simple terno the limit of price is thirty-five pauls. The 
 ordinary rule is to play for every chance within the num- 
 bers taken ; but the common people rarely attempt more 
 than a terno. If four numbers are played with all their 
 chances, they are reckoned as four terni, and paid for 
 accordingly. If five numbers are taken, the price is for 
 five terni. 
 
 Where two numbers are played there is always an aug- 
 ment to the nominal prize of twenty per cent. ; where 
 three numbers are played, the augment is of eighty per 
 cent. ; and from every prize is deducted ten per cent., to 
 be devoted to the hospitals and the poor. The rule creat- 
 ing the augments was decreed by Innocent XIII. Such is 
 the rage for the lottery in Rome, as well as in all the 
 Italian States, and so great is the number of tickets bought 
 within the year, that this tax on the prizes brings in a very 
 considerable revenue for the eleemosynary pui-poses. To 
 each number is assigned 25,000 scudi to cover its losses. 
 
 The lottery is a branch of the department of finance, 
 and is under the direction of a Monsignore. The tickets 
 originally issue from one grand central office in the Palazzo 
 Madama ; but there is scarcely a street in Rome without 
 some subsidiary and distributing office, which is easily rec- 
 ognized, not only by the great sign of " Prenditoria di 
 Lotti " over the door, but by scores of boards set round 
 the windows and doorway, on which are displayed, in 
 large figures, hundreds of combinations of numbers for 
 sale. The large show of placards would to a stranger 
 indicate a very considerable investment ; yet, in point of 
 fact, as the tickets rarely cost more than a few baiocchi, 
 the amount risked is small. No ticket is available for a
 
 136 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 prize, unless it bear the stamp and signature of the central 
 office, as well as of the distributing shop, if bought in the 
 latter. 
 
 Every Saturday, at noon, the lottery is drawn in Rome, 
 in the Piazza Madama. Half an hour before the ap- 
 pointed time, the Piazza begins to be thronged with ticket- 
 holders, who eagerly watch a large balcony of the sombre 
 i old Palazzo Madama (built by the infamous Catherine de' 
 Medici), where the drawing is to take place. This is cov- 
 ered by an awning and colored draperies. In front, and 
 fastened to the balustrade, is a glass barrel, standing on 
 thin brass legs and turned by a handle. Five or six per- 
 sons are in the balcony, making arrangements for the 
 drawing. These are the officials, one of them being 
 the government officer, and the other persons taken at 
 random, to supervise the proceedings. The chief official 
 first takes from the table beside him a slip of paper on 
 which a number is inscribed. He names it aloud, passes 
 it to the next, who verifies and passes it on, until it has 
 been subjected to the examination of all. The last person 
 then proclaims the number in a loud voice to the populace 
 below, folds it up, and drops it into the glass barrel. This 
 operation is repeated until every number from one to 
 ninety is passed, verified by all, proclaimed, folded, and 
 dropped into the barrel. The last number is rather sung 
 than called, and with more ceremony than all the rest. 
 The crowd shout back from below. The bell strikes noon. 
 A blast of trumpets sounds from the balcony, and a boy 
 dressed in white robes advances from within, ascends the 
 steps, and stands high up before the people, facing the 
 Piazza. The barrel is then whirled rapidly round and 
 round, so as to mix in inextricable confusion all the tick- 
 ets. This over, the boy lifts high his right hand, makes 
 the sign of the cross on his breast, then, waving his open 
 hand in the air, to show that nothing is concealed, plunges 
 it into the barrel, and draws out a number. This he hands 
 to the official, who names it and passes it along the line of 
 his companions. There is dead silence below, all listen- 
 ing eagerly. Then, in a loud voice, the number is sung 
 out by the last official, " Primo estratto, numero 14," or
 
 GAMES DRAWING OF THE LOTTERY. 137 
 
 whatever the number may be. Then sound the trumpets 
 again, and there is a rustle and buzz among the crowd. 
 All the five numbers are drawn with like ceremony, and 
 then all is over. Within a surprisingly short space of 
 time, these numbers are exhibited in the long frames 
 which are to be seen over the door of every Prenditoria, 
 di Lotti in Rome, and there they remain until the next 
 drawing takes place. The boy who does the drawing be- 
 longs to a college of orphans, an admirable institution, at 
 which children who have lost both parents and are help- 
 less are lodged, cared for, and educated, and the members 
 of which are employed to perform this office in rotation, 
 receiving therefor a few scudi. 
 
 It will be seen from the manner in which the drawing 
 of the lottery is conducted, that no precaution is spared by 
 the government to assure the public of the perfect good 
 faith and fairness observed in it. This is, in fact, abso- 
 lutely necessary in order to establish that confidence with- 
 out which its very object would be frustrated. But the 
 Italians are a very suspicious arid jealous people ; and I 
 fear that there is less faith in the uprightness of the gov- 
 ernment than in their own watchfulness and the difficulty 
 of deception. There can be little doubt that no deceit is 
 practised by the government so far as the drawing is con- 
 cerned, for it would be nearly impossible to employ it; 
 Still there are not wanting stories of fortunate coincidences 
 which are singular and interesting. One case, which I 
 have every reason to believe authentic, was related to me 
 by a most trustworthy person, as being within his own 
 knowledge. A few years ago the Monsignore who was at 
 the head of the lottery had occasion to diminish his house- 
 hold, and accordingly dismissed an old servant who had 
 been long in his palace. Often the old man returned and 
 asked for relief, and as often was charitably received. 
 But his visits at last became importunate, and the Monsig- 
 nore remonstrated. The answer of the servant was, " I 
 have given my best years to your Eminence ; I am too 
 old to labor, what shall I do ? " The case was a hard 
 one. His Eminence paused and reflected ; at last he 
 said, " Why not buy a ticket in the lottery ? " " Ah 1 "
 
 138 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 was the answer, " I have not even money to supply my 
 daily needs. What you now give me is all I have. If I 
 risk it, I may lose it, and that lost, what can I do ? " 
 Still the Monsignore said, " Buy a ticket in the lottery." 
 " Since your Eminence commands me, I will," said the old 
 man ; " but what numbers ? " " Play on number so and 
 so for the first drawing," was the answer, " and God bless 
 you ! " The servant did as he was ordered, and, to his 
 surprise and joy, the first number drawn was his. He was 
 a rich man for life, and his Eminence lost a troublesome 
 dependant. 
 
 A capital story is told by the author of the article in the 
 " Civilta Cattolica," which is to the point here, and which, 
 even were it not told on such respectable authority, bears 
 its truth on the face of it. As very frequently happens, a 
 poor shopkeeper, being hard-driven by his creditors, went 
 to his priest, an uomo apostolico, and prayed him earnestly 
 to give him three numbers to play in the lottery. 
 
 "But how under heaven," says the innocent priest, 
 " has it ever got into your head that I can know the five 
 numbers which are to issue in the lottery ? " 
 
 " Eh ! padre mio ! what will it cost you ? " was the 
 answer. " Just look at me and my wretched family ; if 
 we do not pay our rent on Saturday, out we go into the 
 street. There is nothing left but the lottery, and you can 
 give us the three numbers that will set all right." 
 
 " Oh, there you are again ! I am ready to do all I can 
 to assist you, but this matter of the lottery is impossible ; 
 and I must say that your folly, in supposing I can give 
 you the three lucky numbers, does little credit to your 
 brains." 
 
 " Oh, no ! no ! do not say so, Padre mio ! Give me a 
 terno. It will be like rain in May, or cheese on my mac- 
 aroni. On my word of honor, I '11 keep it secret. Via ! 
 You, so good and charitable, cannot refuse me the three 
 numbers. Pray content me this once." 
 
 " My son, I will give you a rule for always being con- 
 tent : Avoid Sin, think often on Death, and behave so as 
 to deserve Paradise, and so " 
 
 " Basta ! basta f Padre mio I That 's enough. Thanks ! 
 thanks ! God will reward you."
 
 GAMES LUCKY NUMBERS. 139 
 
 And making a profound reverence, off the shopkeeper 
 rushes to his house. There he takes down the " Libro dei 
 Sogni," calls into consultation his wife and children, and, 
 after a long and earnest discussion and study, the three 
 numbers corresponding to the terms Sin, Death, and Para- 
 dise are settled upon, and away goes our friend to play 
 them in the lottery. Will you believe it ? the three 
 numbers are drawn, and the joy of the poor shopkeeper 
 and his family may well be imagined. But what you will 
 not imagine is the persecution of the poor uomo apostolico 
 which followed. The secret was all over town the next 
 day, and he was beset by scores of applicants for numbers. 
 Vainly he protested, declaring that he knew nothing about 
 it, and that the man's drawing the right numbers was all 
 chance. Every word he said turned into numbers, and 
 off ran his hearers to play them. He was like the girl in 
 the fairy story, who dropped pearls every time she spoke. 
 The worst of the imbroglio was, that in an hour the good 
 priest had uttered words equivalent to all the ninety num- 
 bers in the lottery, and the players were all at loggerheads 
 with each other. Nor did this persecution cease for weeks, 
 until those who had played the numbers corresponding 
 to his words found themselves, as the Italians say, with 
 only flies in their hands. 
 
 The stupidity of many of these common people in re- 
 gard to these numbers is wonderful. When the number 
 drawn is next to the number they have, they console them- 
 selves with thinking they were within one of it, as if in 
 such cases a miss were not as bad as a mile. But when 
 the number drawn is a multiple of the one they play, it is 
 a sympathetic number, and is next door to winning ; and if 
 the number come reversed, as if, having played 12, it 
 come out 21, he laughs with delight. " Eh, don't you 
 see, you stupid fellow," said the chemist of a village one 
 day to a dunce of a peasant, of whose infallible terno not 
 a single number had been drawn, "don't you see, in 
 substance all your three numbers have been drawn ? and 
 it 's shameful in you to be discontented. Here you have 
 played 8 44 26, and instead of these have been drawn 
 7 11 62. Well ! just observe ! Your 8 is within only
 
 140 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 one point of being 7 ; your 44 is in substance 11, for 4 
 times 1 1 are 44 exactly ; and your 26 is nothing more nor 
 less than precisely 62 reversed ; what would you ask 
 more?" And by his own mode of reasoning, the poor 
 peasant sees as clearly as possible that he has really won, 
 only the difficulty is that he cannot touch the prize 
 without correcting the little variations. Ma, pazienza ! 
 he came so near this time that he will be sure to win the 
 next ; and away he goes to hunt out more sympathetic 
 numbers, and to rejoice with his friends on coming so near 
 winning. 
 
 This peculiarity of the common people has been amus- 
 ingly exhibited by Belli in one of his sonnets, which is 
 evidently from life. It is entitled 
 
 Li DILETTANTI DEL LOTTO. 
 
 Come diavolo mai me so' accecato 
 
 A nun capi la gabbola del Mago ! 
 
 Ma ssenti : 1' incontrai sabbito al Lago ; 
 
 Disce : " E da iieri che nun ho maggnato." 
 
 Lo porto all' osteria ; lui maggna ; lo pago : 
 
 L' oste sparecchia ; e doppo sparecchiato 
 
 Er mago pijja un cane 111 accucciato, 
 
 E jje lega la coda co' un spago. 
 
 lo fo un am lio : tre er cane ; e coda er nove. 
 
 Ebbe ! azzeechesce un po ? ppe' pprim' astratto 
 
 Vi ffora come un razzo er trenta nove. 
 
 Ma eh ? ppoteva dammelo ppiu cchiaro ? 
 
 Nun 1' averia cap'ito puro un gatto ? 
 
 L' aveva da lega, pporco-somaro ! 1 
 
 Dreams of numbers are, of course, very frequent and 
 are justly much prized. Yet one must know how to use 
 them, and be brave and bold, or the opportunity is lost. 
 
 1 How the devil was I ever so blind 
 As not to understand the cabala of that magician 1 
 Just listen : I met him Saturday at the Lake ; 
 He said, " Since yesterday I have eaten nothing." 
 I carry him to the osteria ; he eats I pay : 
 The host clears the table ; and after having cleared it 
 The magician takes a dog that is lying there, 
 And he ties a string upon his tail. 
 I play an ambo : 3 for the dog 9 for his tail. 
 Well ! just think of it ! at the first drawing 
 Out like a spoke comes a 39. 
 Just see ! could he have told me plainer ? 
 Would not a very cat have understood him ? 
 Pig donkey that I am, I should have joined the numbers !
 
 GAMES NUMBERS IN T1IE LOTTERY. 141 
 
 I myself once dreamed of having gained a terno in the lot- 
 tery, but was fool enough not to play it, and in conse- 
 quence lost a prize, the very numbers coming up in the 
 next drawing. The next time I have such a dream, 
 of course I shall play ; but perhaps I shall be too late, 
 and only lose. And this recalls to my mind a story, 
 which may serve as a warning to the timid and an en- 
 couragement to the bold. An Englishman who had 
 lived on bad terms with a very quarrelsome and annoy- 
 ing wife (according to his own account, of course), had 
 finally the luck (I mean the misfortune) to lose her. 
 He had lived long enough in Italy, however, to say 
 " Pazienza" and buried his sorrows and his wife in the 
 same grave. But after the lapse of some time, his wife ap- 
 peared to him in a dream, and confessed her sins towards 
 him during her life, and prayed his forgiveness, and 
 added, that in token of reconciliation he must accept three 
 numbers to play in the lottery, which would certainly 
 win a great prize. But the husband was obstinate, and ab- 
 solutely refused to follow the advice of a friend to whom 
 he recounted the odd dream, and who urged him to play 
 the numbers. " Bah ! " he answered to this good counsel ; 
 " I know her too well she never meant well to me during 
 her life, and I don't believe she 's changed now that she 's 
 dead. She only means to play me a trick, and make me 
 lose. But I 'm too old a bird to be taken with her chaff." 
 " Better play them," said his friend, and they separated. 
 In the course of a week they met again. " By the way," 
 said the friend, " did you see that your three numbers 
 came up in the lottery this morning ? " " The devil they 
 did ! What a consummate fool I was not to play them ! " 
 " You did n't play them ? " " No ! " " Well, I did, and 
 won a good round sum with them too." So the obstinate 
 husband, angry at his ill-luck, cursed himself for a fool, 
 and had his curses for his pains. That very night, how- 
 ever, his wife again appeared to him, and, though she 
 reproached him a little for his want of faith in her (no 
 woman could be expected to forego such an opportunity, 
 even though she were dead), yet she forgave him, and 
 added, " Think no more about it now, for here are three
 
 142 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 more numb'ers just as good." The husband, who had 
 eaten the bitter fruit of experience, was determined at all 
 events not to let his fortune slip again through his fingers, 
 and played the highest possible terno in the lottery, and 
 waited anxiously for the next drawing. He could scarcely 
 eat his breakfast for nervousness that morning, but at 
 last mid-day sounded, and the drawing took place, but no 
 one of his numbers came up. " Too late ! taken in ! " he 
 cried. " Confound her ; she knew me better than I knew 
 myself. She gave me a prize the first time, because she 
 knew I would n't play it ; and having thus whetted my 
 passions, she then gave me a blank the second time, because 
 she knew I would play it. I might have known better." 
 
 From the moment one lottery is drawn, the mind of the 
 people is intent on selecting numbers for the next. Nor 
 is this an easy matter, all sorts of superstitions existing 
 as to figures and numbers. Some are lucky, some un- 
 lucky, in themselves, some lucky only in certain com- 
 binations, and some sympathetic with others. The 
 chances, therefore, must be carefully calculated, no num- 
 ber or combination being ever played without profound 
 consideration, and under advice of skilful friends. Al- 
 most every event of life has a numerical signification ; 
 and such is the reverence paid to dreams, that a large 
 book exists of several hundred pages, called the ' Libro 
 dei Sogni," containing, besides various cabala and mystical 
 figures and lists of numbers which are '' sympathetic," 
 with directions for their use, a dictionary of thousands of 
 objects with the numbers supposed to be represented by 
 each, as well as rules for interpreting into numbers all 
 dreams in which these objects appear and this book is 
 the constant vade mecum of a true lottery-player. As 
 Boniface lived, ate, and slept on his ale, so do the Romans 
 on their numbers. They are scrawled over the ruins, on 
 the shop-doors, on the sides of the houses, and are given 
 in the almanacs. The very children " lisp in numbers, 
 for the numbers come," and the fathers run immediately 
 to play them. Accidents, executions, deaths, apoplexies, 
 marriages, assassinations, births, anomalies of all kinds, 
 become auguries and enigmas of numbers. A lottery-
 
 GAMES LIBRO DEI SOGNL 143 
 
 gambler will count the stabs on a dead body, the drops of 
 blood from a decollated head, the passengers in an over- 
 turned coach, the wrinkles in the forehead of a new-born 
 child, the gasps of a person struck by apoplexy, the day 
 of the month and the hour and the minute of his death, 
 the scudi lost by a friend, the forks stolen by a thief, any- 
 thing and everything, to play them in the lottery. If a 
 strange dream is dreamed, as of one being in a desert 
 on a camel, which turns into a rat, and runs down into the 
 church to hide, the " Libro dei Sogni " is at once con- 
 sulted, the numbers for desert, rat, camel, and church are 
 found and combined, and the hopeful player waits in eager 
 expectation of a prize. Of coui'se, dream after dream of 
 particular numbers and combinations occurs, for the 
 inind bent to this subject plays freaks in the night, and 
 repeats contortedly the thoughts of the day, and these 
 dreams are considered of special value. Sometimes, when 
 a startling incident takes place with a special numerical 
 signification, the run upon the numbers indicated becomes 
 so great, that the government, which is always careful to 
 guard against any losses on its own part, refuses to allow 
 more than a certain amount to be played on them, cancels 
 the rest, and returns the price of the tickets. 
 
 In the church of Sant Agostino at Rome, there is a 
 celebrated Madonna, usually supposed to be the work of 
 Sansovino. It is in fact an antique group, probably rep- 
 resenting Agrippina and the young Nero, which Sanso- 
 vino with a few touches transformed into a Madonna and 
 child. But since it has been newly baptized and received 
 into the church, it has acquired great celebrity for its 
 miraculous powers and in consequence has received 
 from the devout exceedingly rich presents of precious 
 stones, valued at several thousands of dollars, which are 
 hung upon its neck. A short time since, the most valu- 
 able of these diamonds were missing ; they had been 
 stolen during the night ; and scandalous persons went so 
 far as to attribute the theft to one of the priests. How- 
 ever this may be, the loss of these jewels made a great 
 sensation in Rome, and was the chief subject of conversa- 
 tion for days, and as a matter of course, all the people
 
 144 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 rushed to the " Libro del Sogni," sought out the numbers 
 for Madonna, diamonds, and thief, and at once played 
 them in the lottery ; and, as luck would have it, these very 
 numbers were drawn, to the great delight of the people if 
 not of the government, who thus lost a large sum of money. 
 
 Another curious instance has just occurred on the occa- 
 sion of the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the 1st 
 mass by the Pope Pius IX., in the year 1869. Here evi- 
 dently was an incident of which lottery-players would not 
 fail to make use ; some of the numbers being so plainly in- 
 dicated by the actual dates, and the remainder given by 
 the " Libro dei Sogni." The number 9 of course stands 
 for Pius IX. ; 11 for April llth, the date of the anniver- 
 sary ; 69 for the year 1869 ; 50 for the half century which 
 had elapsed since the first mass ; and 26 for the word 
 " mass," of which it is the cabalistic number in the " Libro 
 dei Sogni." Upon these numbers, called " the numbers 
 of the Pope," there was a great run, and the Roman au- 
 thorities immediately closed the play upon them. But the 
 Italian government, less superstitious, or less sagacious, 
 allowed them to be played by all the world. The " Cor- 
 respondance de Rome " of the 24th of April takes the lat- 
 ter view : " Le gouvernement Italien, toujours stupide 
 quand il n'est pas de mauvaise foi, n'avait pas pris cette 
 precaution, en sorte que la plupart des joueurs avaient 
 librement place sur ' Les Numeros du Pape.' " Unfortu- 
 nately all five of the numbers were drawn, and the result 
 was a disastrous loss to the government ; or, as some of 
 the clerical journals affirmed, there was the " hand of 
 God" in the event, and it was a "justification of that 
 great word of Scripture, ' Ludit in orbe terrarum.' " Cer- 
 tain it is that an immense sum of money was won by the 
 players and lost by the Italian government. The " Cor- 
 respondance de Rome," jubilant on this result, exclaims, 
 " Voila ce que tous les bons Italiens ont compris. Dieu 
 s'est joue de 1'Italie officielle." 
 
 In these matters the modern Romans are the true de- 
 scendants of their ancient ancestors, who took auguries 
 from dreams, being of opinion that they were the messen- 
 gers of the gods, for, says Homer, dreams descend to
 
 GAMES- A UG URIES. 145 
 
 us from, Jove. They made lustrations to obtain favorable 
 dreams, with heated water taken from the river, and for 
 the same purpose they sacrificed black sheep and laid 
 themselves down to sleep upon the warm skin. Instead of 
 the popular prejudice which now exists against telling one's 
 dreams, they imagined, on the contrary, that the influence 
 of ill-omened dreams could be counteracted by repeating 
 them to the sun ; and when Iphigenia dreamed that the 
 palace in which she dwelt was to fall, she took this 
 method to avert evil consequences. They also consulted 
 old women who had acquired the reputation for divination 
 to interpret their dreams, and were cleverer at their trade, 
 let us hope, than the Jewesses of the Ghetto. The most 
 celebrated in this art were the Telmissenses ; and Lucian 
 makes mention of one of this nation, a certain Aristander, 
 who was the interpreter of dreams to Alexander the 
 Great. 
 
 Many were the ancient authors who distinguished them- 
 selves in this science, and wrote treatises upon it. Ter- 
 tullian, for instance, in his treatise " De Anima," mentions 
 among others, Antiphon, Strato, Philochorus, Serapion, 
 Cratippus, Dionysius Rhodius, and Epicharmus, the last 
 of whom seems to have had the highest reputation of all 
 as an interpreter of dreams. Besides these, Artemidorus 
 mentions Geminius, Pirius, Demetrius Phalerius, and 
 Artimon Milesius, the first of whom wrote three books on 
 this subject, the second five books, and the third twenty- 
 eight books, and to these we must add, Aristarchus, 
 and Ilermippus, who was a pupil of Philo, and wrote five 
 books on the interpretation of dreams. Of all these works, 
 however, not one has been preserved ; still we possess the 
 works of some celebrated writers on this subject, among 
 whom may be mentioned Artemidorus, Astrampsicus, 
 Sinesius, Nicephorus, and Michael Paleologus. That of 
 Artemidorus is especially curious ; it is in five books, and 
 contains an elaborate account of the general rules of inter- 
 pretation of dreams, and of the particular significance of 
 all sorts of dreams, as for instance of dancing, fighting, 
 hunting, fishing, and other active exercises ; of planets, 
 earthquakes, and physical phenomena ; of the various 
 10
 
 146 ROB A DI ROMA. 
 
 gods ; of the different parts of the body ; of birds, beasts, 
 reptiles, insects, and even of matters and things relating to 
 the toilette, and ornaments and portions of the dress. In 
 his fifth book he enumerates no less than ninety-five actual 
 dreams, with the true interpretation to be given of them, 
 as well as of the events that followed them ; and in one 
 chapter he speaks of numbers as connected with dreams, 
 though he merely alludes to this subject, and does not en- 
 ter into any details. 
 
 According to Artemidorus, the ancients divided dreams 
 into two classes somnia and insomnia the former be- 
 ing affections of the mind and indicating future events, 
 and the latter resulting from more material conditions of 
 the body, and indicative of the past or present. Macro- 
 bius, however, in his work " In Somnium Scipionis," says 
 there are five kinds of dreams, called by the Romans, som- 
 nium, visio, oraculum, insomnium, and visum (or phan- 
 tasma), the latter two being of no value in divination, as 
 they resulted from anxiety or over-labor. The somnium 
 was the oveipo? of the Greeks which descended from the 
 gods ; the visio was the appearance and return of a friend ; 
 the oraculum was the announcement of some future event 
 by a parent, a priest, or a god ; all of which forms of 
 dream were possessed by Scipio. Macrobius also gives us 
 a curious account of the symbolical meaning of numbers, 
 which should be recommended to all who play in the lot- 
 tery. 
 
 Though the Romans do not admit these distinctions, 
 and are behind their ancestors in all that relates to the 
 philosophy of dreams, they have an equal faith in their 
 value as indicative of fortune and misfortune ; and a 
 Roman of the lower class, if he have a singular dream, is 
 sure at once to tell it to his friends, consult upon it, and 
 finally play it in the lottery, they purchasing the same 
 numbers as he ; and why not, if, as Tertullian assures us, 
 " Dreams we receive from God " and there be " no man 
 so foolish as never to have known any dreams come true." 
 
 The following extract from Astrampsicus reads so like 
 an extract from one of the almanacs in popular use in 
 Rome, that it is almost impossible to believe it is not
 
 GAMES DREAMS AND AUGURIES. 147 
 
 modern. " Walking upon charcoal," he says, " presages 
 an injury by your enemy; whoever dreams he holds a bee 
 in his hand will see his hopes frustrated ; moving slowly in- 
 dicates calamitous voyages ; if you are glad in your mind, 
 it is a sign that you should dwell in a foreign country ; the 
 dream of stars is of good augury ; if you walk over earth- 
 enware vases, look out to avoid the plots your enemies are 
 devising against you (is not this thoroughly Italian ?) ; 
 the appearance of oxen threatens a misfortune ; eating 
 grapes indicates that a great fall of rain is near ; thunder 
 heard in dreams is the discourse of angels ; eating figs 
 denotes vain talk ; seeing milk is an indication of placid 
 habits, and shows that you will escape your enemies ; if 
 you dream of yourself as being old, expect honors ; if you 
 are naked, fear to lose your possessions ; a bad odor is a 
 sign of some annoyance." Whatever we may say as to 
 most of these interpretations, the last we shall all agree to. 
 In this connection, it seems to me that I cannot consci- 
 entiously omit to state to all my Roman friends who draw 
 auguries and numbers for the lottery from dreams, that a 
 possible reason why they are so often deceived in their 
 divinations may be found in the fact that they are too 
 much given to the eating of beans. Apollonius Dyscolus, 
 whose testimony on this subject can scarcely be impeached, 
 declares solemnly that beans hinder the mind from the 
 reception of true dreams, and rather open the way to those 
 which are lying and false. And Diogenes Laertius, in his 
 " Life of Pythagoras," says that this philosopher strictly 
 prohibited his disciples from the use of beans for various 
 very singular reasons. Cicero also declares that they pre- 
 vent " that tranquillity of mind which is necessary in in- 
 vestigating truth." And Aristotle, Pliny, and Dioscorides 
 agree that " whoever wishes to divine the future should 
 strictly abstain from beans." Plutarch goes further, and 
 says that the " head of polypi," as well as leeks, are 
 also to be avoided. How, then, can the modern Romans 
 expect to divine true numbers from their dreams, when 
 beans, polypi, and garlic form so common an article of 
 their food ? Nor only this, seasons and hours must be 
 observed, which are not now considered. Plutarch insists
 
 148 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 that all dreams (insomnia) which occur in the months 
 when the leaves fall are uncertain and mendacious, be- 
 cause the spirit is then disturbed and turbulent ; in like 
 manner as grapes, corn, and apples at that season are dis- 
 tended and effervescent ; and besides, only those dreams 
 which occur after midnight are to be relied upon. 
 
 Post medium noctem quum somnia vera. 
 
 This " I have thought it writ down in my duty " to let 
 my Italian friends know ; but there are many more con- 
 ditions which they are bound to observe, would they hope 
 to derive fortunes out of dreams, which it is truly shame- 
 ful in the " Libro dei Sogni " not to report. 
 
 Sometimes in dreaming of numbers it is well not to be 
 too strong in one's arithmetic. A case lately occurred in 
 the house of a friend, where an accurate knowledge of the 
 multiplication table would have been disastrous. His 
 maid-servant had the luck to win a considerable sum in 
 the lottery on the number 23. On her master's inquiry 
 why she happened to pitch on that number, she answered, 
 " You see, sir, I dreamed the number 7 three nights run- 
 ning, and I said to myself, says I, three times three is 23, 
 and so I went and bought that number, and it came up." 
 
 But it is not only by means of dreams and books of 
 dreams that the Italians seek the numbers which shall 
 bring them a prize in the lottery. Sometimes, in passing 
 through the streets, one may see a crowd collected about a 
 man mounted upon a chair or stool. Fixed to a stand at 
 his side or on the back of his chair is a glass bottle, in 
 which are two or three hollow manikins of glass, so ar- 
 ranged as to rise and sink by pressure of the confined air. 
 The neck of the bottle is cased in a tin box which sur- 
 mounts it and has a movable cover. This personage is a 
 charlatan, with an apparatus for divining lucky numbers 
 for the lottery. The " soft bastard Latin " runs off his 
 tongue in an uninterrupted stream of talk, while he offers 
 on a tray to the bystanders a number of little folded papers 
 containing a pianeta, or augury, on which are printed a 
 fortune and a terno. " Who will buy a, pianeta " he cries, 
 " with the numbers sure to bring him a prize ? He shall
 
 GAMES MASTER TOMMETTO'S NUMBERS. 149 
 
 have his fortune told him who buys. Who does not need 
 counsel must surely be wise. Here 's Master Tommetto, 
 who never tells lies. And here is his brother still smaller 
 in size. And Madama Medea Plutonia to advise. They '11 
 write you a fortune and bring a prize for a single ba- 
 iocco. No creature so wise as not to need counsel. A 
 fool I despise, who keeps his baiocco and loses his prize. 
 Who knows what a fortune he 11 get till he tries ? Time 's 
 going, Signori, who buys ? who buys ? " And so on by 
 the yard. Meantime the crowd about him gape, stare, 
 wonder, and finally put their hands to their pockets, out 
 with their baiocchi, and buy their papers. Each then 
 makes a mark on his paper to verify it, and returns it to 
 the charlatan. After several are thus collected, he opens 
 the cover of the tin box, deposits them therein with a cer- 
 tain ceremony, and commences an exhortatory discourse 
 to the manikins in the bottle, two of whom, Maestro 
 Tommetto and his brother, are made to resemble little 
 black imps, while Madama Medea Plutonia is dressed alia 
 Francese. " Fa una reverenza, Maestro Tommetto ! " 
 (" Make a bow, Master Tommetto ! ") he now begins. The 
 puppet bows. " Ancora ! " (" Again ! ") Again he bows. 
 " Lesto, S ignore, un piccolo giretto ! " ("Quick, sir, a 
 little turn ! ") And round whirls the puppet. " Now, up, 
 up, to make a registry on the ticket ! and do it conscien- 
 tiously, Master Tommetto ! " And up the imp goes, and 
 disappears through the neck of the bottle. Then comes a 
 burst of admiration at his cleverness from the charlatan. 
 Turning now to the other imp, he goes through the same 
 role with him. " And now, Madama Medea, make a rev- 
 erence, and follow your husband ! " 
 
 " Ed ora, Madama Medea, Cospetto ! 
 Fa una reverenza col tuo bel petto ! 
 E via ! su ! un piccolo giretto ! 
 Lesto, presto, su, sotto il tetto 
 Al caro marito, al bello Moretto 
 Al buono, amabile, tuo Tommetto. ' ' 
 
 And up she goes. A moment after, down they all come 
 again at his call ; he lifts the cover of the box ; cries, 
 " Oh ! quanta $ei caro, mio buono Tommetto ! " and
 
 150 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 triumphantly exhibits the papers, each with a little freshly 
 written inscription, and distributes them to the purchasers, 
 Now and then he takes from his pocket a little bottle 
 containing a mixture of the color of wine, and a paper 
 filled with some sort of powder, and, exclaiming, "Ah! 
 tu hai fame e sete, mi pare f Bisogna die ti dia da bere 
 e manyiare f " pours them into the tin cup. 
 
 It is astonishing to see how many of these little tickets a 
 clever charlatan will sell in an hour, and principally on ac- 
 count of the lottery-numbers they contain. The fortunes 
 are all the stereotype thing, and almost invariably warn 
 you to be careful lest you should be " tradito" or prom'.se 
 that you shall not be "tradito ; " for the idea of betrayal 
 is the corner-stone of every Italian's mind. 
 
 In not only permitting, but promoting the lottery, Italy 
 is certainly far behind England, France, and America. 
 This system no longer exists with us, except in the dis- 
 guised shape of gift-enterprises, art-unions, and that un- 
 pleasant institution of mendicant robbery called the raffle, 
 and employed specially by those " who have seen better 
 days." But a fair parallel to this rage of the Italians for 
 the lottery is to be found in the love of betting, which is a 
 national characteristic of the English. I do not refer to 
 the bets upon horse-flesh at Ascot, Epsom, and Goodwood, 
 by which fortunes change owners in an hour, and so many 
 men are ruined, but rather to the general habit of betting 
 upon any and every subject to settle a question, no matter 
 how trivial, for which the Englishman is everywhere re- 
 nowned on the Continent. Betting is with most other na- 
 tions a foi'm of speech, but with Englishmen it is a serious 
 fact, and no one will be long in their company without 
 finding an opinion backed up by a bet. It would not be 
 very difficult to parallel those cases where the Italians dis- 
 regard the solemnity of death in their eagerness for omens 
 of lottery numbers, with equally reprehensible and appar- 
 ently heartless cases of betting in England. Let any one 
 who doubts this examine the betting-books at White's and 
 Brooks's. In them he will find a most startling cata- 
 logue of bets, some so bad as to justify the good parson 
 in Walpole's story, who declared that they were such an
 
 GAMES BETTING IN ENGLAND. 151 
 
 impious set in this respect at White's, that, " if the last 
 trump were to sound, they would bet puppet-show against 
 judgment." Let one instance suffice. A man, happen- 
 ing to drop down at the door of White's, was lifted up 
 and carried in. He was insensible, and the question was, 
 whether he were dead or nrt. Bjts were at once given 
 and taken on both sides, and it being proposed to bleed 
 him, those who had taken odds that he was dead protested, 
 on the ground that the use of the lancet would affect the 
 fairness of the bet. In the matter of play, things have now 
 much changed since the time when Mr. Thynne left the 
 club at White's in disgust, because he had only won twelve 
 hundred guineas in two months. There is also a descrip- 
 tion of one of Fox's mornings, about the year 1783, which 
 Horace Walpole has left us, and the truth of which L:>rd 
 Holland admits, which it would be well for those to read 
 who measure out hard justice to the Italians for their love 
 of the lottery. Let us be fair. Italy is in these respects 
 behind England by half a century ; but it is as idle to 
 argue hard-heartedness in an Italian who counts the drops 
 of blood at a beheading as to suppose that the English 
 have no feeling, because in the bet we have mentioned 
 there was a protest against the use of the lancet, or to deny 
 kindliness to a surgeon who lectures on structure and 
 disease while he removes a cancer. 
 
 Vehement protests against the lottery and all gaming 
 are as often uttered in Italy as elsewhere ; and among 
 them may be cited this passage from " L'Asino" by one 
 of the most powerful of her modern writers, Guerrazzi : 
 " Is not Tuscany the garden of Italy ? So say the 
 Tuscans ; and the Florentines add, that Florence is the 
 Athens of Tuscany. Truly, both seem beautiful. Let us 
 search in Tuscany. At Barberino di Mugello, in the 
 midst of an olive-grove, is a cemetery where the vines, 
 which have taken root in the outer walls and climbed over 
 their summit, fall into the inclosed space, as if they wished 
 to garland Death with vine-leaves and make it smile ; 
 over the gate, strange guardians of the tombs, two fig-trees 
 give their shadow and fruit to recompense the piety of the 
 passers-by, giving a fig in exchange for a De Profundis ;
 
 152 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 while the ivy, stretching its wanton arms over the black 
 cross, endeavors to clothe the austere sign of the Re- 
 demption with the jocund leaves of Bacchus, and recalls to 
 your mind the mad Phryne who vainly tempted Xeno- 
 crates. A beautiful cemetery, by my faith ! a cemetery 
 to arouse in the body an intense desire to die, if only for 
 the pleasure of being buried there. Now observe. Look 
 into my magic-lantern. What figures do you see ? A 
 priest with a pick ; after him a peasant with a spade ; 
 and behind them a woman with a hatchet ; the priest 
 holds a corpse by the hair ; the peasant with one blow 
 strikes off its head ; then, all things being carefully rear- 
 ranged, priest, peasant, and woman, after thrusting the 
 head into a sack, return as they came. Attention, now, 
 for I change the picture. What figures are these that 
 now appear ? A kitchen ; a fire that has not its superior 
 even in the Inferno ; and a caldron, where the hissing and 
 boiling water sends up its bubbles. Look about, and what 
 do you see ? Enter the priest, the peasant, and the house- 
 wife, and in a moment empty a sack into the caldron. 
 Lo ! a head rolls out, dives into the water, and floats to 
 the surface, now showing its nape and now its face. The 
 Lord help us ! It is an abominable spectacle : this poor 
 head, with its ashy open lips, seems to say, Give me again 
 my Christian burial ! That is enough. Only take note 
 that in Tuscany, in the beautiful middle of the nineteentli 
 century, a sepulchre was violated, and a sacrilege com- 
 mitted, to obtain from the boiled head of a corpse good 
 numbers to play in the lottery ! And by way of corollary, 
 add this to your note, that in Rome, Caput Mundi, and 
 in Tuscany, Garden of Italy, it is prohibited, under the 
 severest penalties, to play at Faro, Zecchinetto, Banco- 
 Fallito, Rossa e Nera, and other similar games at cards, 
 where each party may lose the whole or half the stakes, 
 while the government encourage the play of the Lottery, 
 by which, out of one hundred and twenty chances of win- 
 ning, eighty are reserved for the bank, and forty or so 
 allowed to the player. Finally, take note that in Caput 
 Mundi, and in Tuscany, Garden of Italy, Faro, Zecchi- 
 netto, Rossa e Nera were prohibited, as acknowledged
 
 GAMES "IL SORTTLEGIO." 153 
 
 pests of social existence and open death to honest custom 
 as a set-off for which deprivation, the game of Lot- 
 tery is still kept on foot." 
 
 The extraordinary story here alluded to by Guerrazzi, 
 improbable as it seems, is founded upon fact, and was 
 clearly proved, on judicial investigation, a few years since. 
 It is well known in Tuscany and forms the subject of a 
 satirical narrative (" II Sortilegio ") by Giusti, a modern 
 Tuscan poet, of true fire and genius, who has lashed the 
 vices of his country in verses remarkable for point, idiom, 
 and power. According- to him, the method of divination 
 resorted to in this case was as follows : The sorcerer who 
 invented it ordered his dupes to procure, either at dawn 
 or twilight, ninety dry chick-peas, called ceci, and upon 
 each of these to write one of the ninety numbers drawn in 
 the lottery, with an ink made of pitch and lard, which 
 would not be affected by water. They were then to 
 sharpen a knife, taking care that he who did so should 
 touch no one during the operation ; and after a day of 
 fasting, they were to dig up at night a body recently 
 dead, and, having cut off the head and removed the brain, 
 they were to count the beans thrice, and to shake them 
 thrice, and then, on their knees, to put them one by one 
 into the skull. This was then to be placed in a caldron 
 of water and set on the fire to boil. As soon as the water 
 boiled violently, the head would be rolled about so that 
 some of the beans would be ejected, and the fii^st three 
 which were thus thrown to the surface would be a sure 
 terno for the lottery. The wretched dupes added yet 
 another feature of superstition to insure the success of this 
 horrible device. They selected the head of their curate, 
 who had recently died, on the ground that, as he had 
 studied algebra, he was a great cabalist, and any numbers 
 from his head would be sure to draw a prize. 
 
 Some one, I have no doubt, will here be anxious to 
 know the numbers that bubbled up to the surface ; but I 
 am very sorry to say that I cannot gratify their laudable 
 curiosity, for the interference of the police prevented the 
 completion of the sorcery. So the curious must be content 
 to consult some other cabalist,
 
 154 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 "sull' arte segreta 
 Di menar la Fortuna per il naso, 
 Pescando il certo nel gran mar del Caso." 
 
 Despite a widespread feeling among the higher classes 
 against the lottery, it still continues to exist, for it has 
 fastened itself into the habits and prejudices of many ; 
 and an institution which takes such hold of the passions of 
 the people, and has lived so long, dies hard. Nor are 
 there ever wanting specious excuses for the continuance of 
 this, as of other reprobated systems, of which the strong- 
 est is, that its abolition would not only deprive of their 
 present means of subsistence numbers of persons employed 
 in its administration, but would cut off certain charities 
 dependent upon it, amounting to no less than forty thou- 
 sand scudi annually. Among these may be mentioned 
 the dowry of forty scudi which is given out of the profits 
 received by the government at the drawing of every lottery 
 to some five or six of the poor girls of Rome. The list of 
 those who would profit by this charity is open to all, and 
 contains thousands of names. The first number drawn in 
 the lottery decides the fortunate persons ; and on the sub- 
 sequent day, each receives a draft for forty scudi on the 
 government, payable on the presentation of the certificate 
 of marriage. On the accession of the present Pope, 
 an attempt was made to abolish the lottery system ; but 
 these considerations, among others, had weight enough to 
 prevent any changes. So deeply is this system rooted in 
 the habits and thoughts of the people that it would be 
 difficult if not dangerous to decree its immediate abolition 
 even the Italian government has not as yet ventured to 
 interfere with it. 
 
 How deeply it is rooted in Italy will appear by a glance 
 at some of the statistics of the lottery. The official report 
 lately published in Florence shows that the revenue de- 
 rived therefrom by the Italian Treasury is 60,000.000 
 francs, or nearly as much as the proceeds of the tobacco 
 monopoly. In the province of Naples, which contains 
 868,000 inhabitants, the sums paid yearly for lottery 
 tickets amount to from 25,000,000 to 26,000,000 francs ; 
 and even at Turin, where the mania for the lottery is
 
 GAMES LOTTERY STATISTICS. 155 
 
 milder, many millions of francs are drawn from a popula- 
 tion of 942,000. It is also stated that the books having 
 the largest circulation in the South are those which pro- 
 fess to give lucky numbers, explain dreams, and describe 
 various modes of gaining prizes in the lottery, by consult- 
 ing cards, magic diagrams, and cabala of various kinds. 
 
 There is nothing that the Romans of the lower classes 
 would not more willingly surrender than the lottery ; it is 
 their joy and solace, day and night. Saturday, when 
 the prizes are drawn, is the day of all the week to which 
 they look forward. For a few baiocchi they buy a golden 
 dream, which is like a ray of sun in their dark chamber 
 of poverty. They never lose their hope that Fortune will 
 smile upon them at last, and every time she turns her 
 back they say, " Pazienza," " better luck another time." 
 It is not necessary to win ; they are happy if they come 
 near winning. "Just think," cries Nicolina, coming in 
 radiant after 12 o'clock, " what has happened ! " " What ! " 
 I cry, " is it a terno ? " ' No, no ; but so near ! my first 
 number, 71, came up all right, and then 16, and then 24, 
 and my other two numbers were 15 and 25. Give me 
 some more numbers to play ; I shall win next week. So 
 near ! was n't it near ? Tra la la, tra la la," and she 
 dances round the room. 
 
 Though the play is generally small, large fortunes are 
 sometimes gained. The family of the Marchese del Cinque, 
 for instance, derive their title and fortune from the luck 
 of an ancestor, who played and won the highest prize, a 
 Cinquino. With the money thus acquired he purchased 
 his marquisate, and took the title del Circle, " of the 
 Five," in reference to the lucky five numbers. The Villa 
 Quaranta Cinque in Rome derives its name from a similar 
 circumstance. A lucky Monsignore played the single 
 number of forty-five, al posto, and with his winnings built 
 the villa, to which the Romans, always addicted to nick- 
 names, gave the name of Quaranta Cinque. This love of 
 nicknames, or soprannomi, as they are called, is, by the 
 way, an odd peculiarity of the Italians, and it often occurs 
 that persons are known only thereby. Examples of these, 
 among the celebrated names of Italy, are so frequent as
 
 156 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 to form a rule in favor of the nickname rather than of the 
 real name, and in many cases the former has utterly oblit- 
 erated the latter. Thus Squint Eye (Guercino), Dirty 
 Tom (Masaccio), The Little Dyer ( Tintoretto), Great 
 George (Giorrjione), The Garland-Maker (Ghirlandftio), 
 Luke of the Madder (Luca della robbia), The Little Span- 
 iard (Spaynoletto), and The Tailor's Son (Del Sarto), 
 would scarcely be known under their real names of Bar- 
 bieri, Guido, Robusti, Barbarelli, Corradi, Ribera, and 
 Vannucchi. The list might be very much enlarged ; but 
 let it suffice to add the following well-known names, all of 
 which are nicknames derived from their places of birth : 
 Perugino, Veronese, Aretino, Pisano, Giulio, Romano, 
 Correggio, Parmegiano. 
 
 The other day a curious instance of this occurred to me 
 in taking the testimony of a Roman coachman. On being 
 called upon to give the names of some of his companions, 
 with whom he had been in daily and intimate intercourse 
 for more than two years, he could only give their nick- 
 names ; their real names he did not know, and had never 
 heard. One of his friends, to whom I wished particularly 
 to write, in order to obtain some important information, 
 he only knew under the extraordinary name of Lo Zoppo 
 di Spluca. Vainly I sought to learn his real name and 
 address, he always gave the same answer. " Eh, Signore, 
 I only know him by that name ' The lame one of the 
 Splugen,' and if you address a letter to him anywhere by 
 that name it will be sure to reach him, for everybody 
 knows him on the road." A little, gay, odd genius, whom 
 1 took into my service during a villeggiatura at Siena, 
 would not answer to his real name, Lorenzo, but remon- 
 strated on being so called, and said he was only Pipetta 
 (The little Pipe), a nickname given to him when a child, 
 from his precocity in smoking, and of which he w r as as 
 tenacious as if it were a title of honor. " You prefer, 
 then, to be called Pipetta ? " I asked. " Felicissimo ! s\" 
 was his answer. Not a foreigner comes to Rome that his 
 name does not " suffer a sea-change into something rich 
 and strange." Our break-jaw Saxon names are discarded, 
 and a new christening takes place. One friend I had who
 
 GAMES TOMBOLA. 157 
 
 was called II Malinconico, another, La Barbarossa, 
 another, II bel Signore, another, who was near-sighted, 
 Quel Cieco, and still another, II lungo Secco ; but gen- 
 erally they are called after the number of the house or 
 the name of the street in which they live, La Signorina 
 bella bionda del Palazzo Galitzin, II Signore Quatordici 
 Capo le Case, Monsieur e Madama Quindici Terzo 
 Piano, Corso, La Vecchia brutta del Corso. 
 
 But to return from this digression. At every country 
 festival may be seen a peculiar form of the lottery called 
 Tombola ; and in the notices of these festas, which are 
 placarded over the walls of Rome for weeks before they 
 take place, the eye will always be attracted first by the 
 imposing word Tombola, printed in the largest and black- 
 est of letters. This is, in fact, the characteristic feature 
 of thefesta, and attracts large numbers of contadini. As 
 in the ordinary lottery, only ninety numbers are played. 
 Every ticket contains blank spaces for fifteen numbers, 
 which are inserted by the purchaser, and registered duly 
 at the office or booth where the ticket is bought. The 
 price of tickets in any single Tombola is uniform ; but in 
 different Tombole it varies, of course, according to the 
 amount of the prizes. These are generally five, namely, 
 the Ambo, Terno, Quaterno, Cinquino, and Tombola, 
 though sometimes a second Tombola or Tomboletta is 
 added. The drawing takes place in precisely the same 
 manner as in the ordinary lottery, but with more cere- 
 mony. A large staging, with a pavilion, is erected, where 
 the officers who are to superintend the drawing stand. In 
 the centre is a glass vase, in which the numbers are placed 
 after having been separately verified and proclaimed, and 
 a boy gayly dressed draws them. All the ninety numbers 
 are drawn ; and as each issues, it is called out, and exhib- 
 ited on a large card. Near by stands a large framework, 
 elevated so as to be visible to all, with ninety divisions cor- 
 responding to the ninety numbers, and on this, also, every 
 number is shown as soon as it is drawn. The first person 
 who has upon his ticket two drawn numbers gains an 
 Ambo, which is the smallest prize. Whoever first has 
 three numbers drawn on a line gains a Terno ; and so on
 
 158 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 with the Quaterno and Cinquino. The Tombola, which 
 is the great prize, is won by whoever first has his whole 
 fifteen numbers drawn. As soon as any one finds two of 
 the drawn numbers on one line of his ticket, he cries 
 ''Ambo," at the top of his lungs. A flag is then raised on 
 the pavilion, the band plays, and the game is suspended, 
 while the claimant at once makes his way to the judges on 
 the platform to present his ticket for examination. No 
 sooner does the cry of "Ambo," " Terno" " Quaterno" 
 take place, than there is a great rustle all around. Every- 
 body looks out for the fortunate person, who is immedi- 
 ately to be seen running through the parting crowd, which 
 opens before him, cheering him as he goes, if his appear- 
 ance be poor and needy, and greeting him with sarcasms, 
 if he be apparently well to do in the world. Sometimes 
 there are two or three claimants for the same prize, in 
 which case it is divided among them. The Ambo is soon 
 taken, and there is little room for a mistake ; but when it 
 comes to the Quaterno or Cinquino, mistakes are very 
 common, and the claimant is almost always saluted with 
 chaff and jests. After his ticket has been examined, if he 
 have won, a placard is exhibited with Aml>o, Terno, Qua- 
 terno on it, as the case may be. But if be have committed 
 an error, down goes the flag, and, amidst a burst of laugh- 
 ter, jeering, whistling, screaming, and catcalls, the disap- 
 pointed claimant sneaks back and hides himself in the ex- 
 cited crowd. At a really good Tombola, where the prizes 
 are high, there is no end of fun and gayety among the peo- 
 ple. They stand with their tickets in their hands, congrat- 
 ulating each other ironically, as they fail to find the num- 
 bers on them, paying all sorts of absurd compliments to 
 each other and the drawer, offering to sell out their 
 chances at enormous prices when they are behindhand, and 
 letting off all sorts of squibs and jests, not so excellent in 
 themselves as provocative of laughter. If the wit be little, 
 the fun is great, and, in the excitement of expectation, 
 a great deal of real Italian humor is often ventilated. 
 Sometimes, at the country fairs, the fun is rather slow, 
 particularly where the prizes are small ; but, on exciting 
 occasions, there is a constant small fire of jests, which is 
 amusing.
 
 GAMES TOMBOLA. 159 
 
 These Tombole are sometimes got up with great pomp. 
 That, for instance, which sometimes takes place in the Villa 
 Borghese is one of the most striking spectacles which can 
 be seen in Rome. At one end of the great open-air amphi- 
 theatre is erected a large pavilion, flanked on either side 
 with covered logge or palchi, festooned with yellow and 
 white, the Papal colors, adorned with flags, and closed 
 round with rich old arrases pictured over with Scripture 
 stories. Beneath the central pavilion is a band. Midway 
 down the amphitheatre, on either side, are two more logge, 
 similarly draped, where two or more bands are stationed, 
 and still another at the opposite end, for the same pur- 
 pose. The logge which flank the pavilion are sold by 
 ticket, and filled with the richer classes. Three great 
 stagings show the numbers as they are drawn. The pit of 
 the amphitheatre is densely packed with a motley crowd. 
 Under the ilexes and lofty stone-pines that show their 
 dark-green foliage against the sky, the helmets and swords 
 of cavalry glitter as they move to and fro. All around on 
 the green slopes are the people, soldiers, peasants, 
 priests, mingled together, and thousands of gay dresses, 
 ribbons, and parasols enliven the mass. The four bands 
 play successively as the multitude gathers. They have al- 
 ready arrived by thousands, but the game has not yet 
 begun, and thousands are still flocking to see it. All the 
 gay equipages are on the outskirts, and through the trees 
 and up the avenues stream the crowds on foot. As we 
 stand in the centre of the amphitheatre and look up, we 
 get a faint idea of the old Roman gatherings when Rome 
 emptied itself to join in the games at the Colosseum. Row 
 upon row they stand, a mass of gay and swarming life. 
 The sunlight flashes over them, and blazes on the rich 
 colors. The tall golden-trunked pines and dark ilexes 
 overshadow them here and there ; above them is the soft 
 blue dome of the Italian sky. They are gathered round 
 the villetta, they throng the roof and balconies, they 
 crowd the stone steps, they pack the green oval of the 
 amphitheatre's pit. The ring of cymbals, the clarion of 
 trumpets, and the clash of brazen music vibrate in the air. 
 All the world is abroad to see, from the infant in arms to
 
 160 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the oldest inhabitant. Monsignori in purple stockings and 
 tricornered hats, peasants in gay reds and crimsons, car- 
 dinals in scarlet. Princes, shopkeepers, beggars, foreign- 
 ers, all mingle together ; while the screams of the venders 
 of cigars, pumpkin-seeds, cakes, and lemonade are every- 
 where heard over the suppressed sea-like roar of the crowd. 
 As you walk along the outskirts of the mass, you may ste 
 Monte Gennaro's dark peak looking over the Campagna, 
 and all the Sabine hills trembling in a purple haze, or, 
 strolling down through the green avenues, you may watch 
 the silver columns of fountains as they crumble in foam and 
 plash in their mossy basins, or gather masses of the 
 sweet Parma violet, and other beautiful wild flowers. 
 
 The only other games among the modern Romans, 
 which deserve particular notice from their peculiarity, are 
 those of Cards. In an Italian pack there are only forty 
 cards, the eight, nine, and ten of the French and Eng- 
 lish cards having no existence. The suits also have dif- 
 ferent signs and names, and, instead of hearts, spades, 
 clubs, and diamonds, they are called coppe, spade, bastoni, 
 and denari, all being of the same color, and differing 
 entirely in form from our cards. The coppe are cups or 
 vases ; the spade are swords ; the bastoni are veritable 
 clubs or bludgeons ; and the denari are coins. The games 
 are still more different from ours than the cards, and they 
 are legion in number. There are Briscola, Tresette, 
 Calabresella, Banco-FalUto, Hossa e Nera, Scaraccoccia, 
 Scopa, Spizzica, Faraone, Zecchinetto, Mercante in Fiera, 
 La Bazzica, Rnba-Monte, Uowo-Nero, La Paura, and I 
 know not how many others, but they are recorded and 
 explained in no book, and are only to be picked up orally. 
 Wherever you go on a festa-day, you will find persons 
 playing cards. At the common osterias, before the doors 
 or on the soiled tables within, on the ruins of the Caesars' 
 palaces and in the Temple of Peace, on the stone tables 
 in the vigna, on the walls along the public roads, on the 
 uncarved blocks of marble in front of the sculptors' studios, 
 in the antechambers or gateways of palaces, everywhere 
 cards are played. Every contndino has a pack in his
 
 GAMES CARDS. 161 
 
 pocket, with the flavor of the soil upon it. The playing 
 is ordinarily for very low sums, often for nothing at all. 
 But there are some games which are purely games of luck, 
 and dangerous. Some of these, as Rosso, e Nera, Banco- 
 Fallito, and Zecchinetto, though prohibited by the gov- 
 ernment, are none the less favorite games in Rome, par- 
 ticularly among those who play for money. Zecchinetto 
 may be played by any number of persons after the follow- 
 ing manner : The dealer, who plays against the whole 
 table, deals to each player one card. The next card is 
 then turned up as a trump. Each player then makes his 
 bet on the card dealt to him, and places his money on it. 
 The dealer then deals to the table the other cards in erder, 
 and any of the players may bet on them as they are thrown 
 down. If a card of the number of that bet on, issue 
 before a card corresponding to the number of the trump, 
 the dealer wins the stake on that card ; but whenever a 
 card corresponding to the trump issues, the player wins 
 on every card on which he has bet. When the banker or 
 dealer loses at once, the bank "fa toppa" and the deal 
 passes, but not otherwise. Nothing can be more simple 
 than this game, and it is just as dangerous as it is simple, 
 and as exciting as it is dangerous. A late Roman princi- 
 pessa is said to have been passionately fond of it, and to 
 have lost enormously by it. The story runs, that, while 
 passing the evening at a friend's house, she lost ten thou- 
 sand scudi at one sitting, upon which she staked her 
 horses and carriage, which were at the door waiting to take 
 her home, and lost them also. She then wrote a note to the 
 prince, her husband, saying that she had lost her carriage 
 and horses at Zecchinetto, and wished others to be sent 
 for her. To this he answered, that she might return on 
 foot, which she was obliged to do. 
 
 This will serve at least as a specimen of the games of 
 chance played by the Romans at cards. Of the more in- 
 nocent games, Briscola, Tresette, and Scaraccoccia are 
 the favorites among the common people. The first of 
 these is, perhaps, the most popular of all. It is played 
 by either two or four persons. The Fante (or knave) 
 counts as two ; the Cavallo (equal to our queen) as three ; 
 11
 
 162 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the Re (king) as four ; the three-spot as ten ; and the ace 
 as eleven. Three cards are dealt to each person, and 
 after the deal the next card is turned as trump, or Bris- 
 cola. Each plays, arid after one card all round is played, 
 its place is supplied by a new deal of one card to each. 
 Every card of the trump-suit takes any card of the other 
 suits. Each player takes as many counting-cards as he 
 can, and, at the end of the game, he who counts the most 
 wins, the account being made according to the value of 
 the cards, as stated above. 
 
 Far better games than this are Tresette and Calabre- 
 sella. These are the favorites of the Cardinals, Monsig- 
 nori, and Prelates, when they play among themselves in 
 purely Roman society ; and so persuaded am I that they 
 will also be favorites of yours, that I deem it my duty to 
 acquaint you with the rules of these two admirable games. 
 The more you play them and the more you enter into 
 their finesse, the more you will enjoy them ; for, though 
 apparently simple, they require much skill and calculation. 
 At all events, one gets tired of constantly playing whist, 
 even though " with a clean hearth and the rigor of the 
 game," demanded by all players of the order of Mrs. 
 Battle ; and certainly Calabresella, which is played by 
 three, is better than whist with a dummy. Try these 
 games, my good friend, and ever after you will thank me 
 and believe in the taste of the Prelatura of Rome. 
 
 And first as to the general rules. The Italian cards 
 being only forty in number, you must throw out the eight, 
 nine, and ten spots of the French pack. In playing, the 
 highest card in value is the three-spot, then the two, then 
 the ace, after which follow the king, queen, knave, seven, 
 six, and so on. In making up the game the ace counts 
 one point. The other enumerated cards, from the three 
 to the knave inclusive, count one-third of a point, three 
 being required to make a point. The last trick also counts 
 one point, independent of the cards composing it. No 
 card can take another unless it be a higher card of the 
 same suit, there being no trumps. The first hand in every 
 trick has the right, in playing his card, to strike it on the 
 table, and thus to indicate to his partner that he wishes
 
 GAMES CALABRESELLA. 163 
 
 him to return the lead, or to drag it along the table to in- 
 dicate the opposite. 
 
 Now as to the special rules of Tresette. This game is 
 played between four persons, who select partners as in 
 whist, and the cards are distributed, not one by one, bat 
 first by fours and then by threes, until all are dealt. 
 After examining his cards each player is bound, before the 
 game commences, to declare or claim in case he holds 
 three cards of three spots, three of two spots, or three 
 aces ; or in case he holds what is called a " Napolltana" 
 which is the three, two, and ace of one and the same suit. 
 This he does by saying " accuso," I declare or claim. 
 But he is not bound to tell what he claims until the first 
 hand is played. Then he must say whether he claims 
 three aces, three twos, three threes, or a " Napolitana" 
 At any time during the game the others have a right to. 
 demand, in case he claim anything except the " Napoli- 
 tana" what he claims ; but he may refuse to answer until 
 the last card of the trick, during which or in anticipation 
 of which the demand is made, is played down. Whoever 
 holds the " Napolltana" or three aces, three twos, or 
 three threes, counts three points on each series. If he 
 hold four threes, twos, or aces, he counts four points. The 
 game now commences. Each party endeavors to take as 
 many counting-cards as it can, and when all are played 
 each counts according to the general rules before given 
 three cards for the taking of the last trick, three cards for 
 every ace, and one for each two, three, king, queen, and 
 knave. The number thus made up is divided by three to 
 give the number of points (a card being, as before said, 
 one-third of a point), and to these are added the points 
 made by the claim. The number of the points is regu- 
 lated by agreement at twenty -one, at thirty-one, or at forty- 
 one. No card takes a trick unless it is the highest of the 
 suit which is led. 
 
 Calabresella is played by three persons. Twelve cards 
 are dealt to each by fours, and the four remaining cards 
 are placed on the table with their faces down. The first 
 player, after examining his cards, if he feels himself 
 strong enough to play against the other two, who are thus
 
 164 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 made partners, so declares. In such case he has the right 
 to demand, first, any three-spot that he wishes, and the 
 person who holds it must surrender it to him, receiving in 
 return, before the playing commences, any card the other, 
 chooses to give. He then may turn up the tour cards on 
 the table, so as to be seen by all, and take them all into 
 his hand, which he makes up at his pleasure, replacing 
 any four cards on the table with their faces down. These 
 the other players cannot examine, and they belong to the 
 hand that takes the last trick. The party which makes 
 the most points wins, and the counting is made according 
 to the general rules before stated. If the three which he 
 demands is among the four cards on the table, he cannot 
 call for another three. But in case all the threes are dealt 
 to him and not otherwise, he may call for any card of two- 
 spots. In case the first person is not sti ong enough to play 
 against the other two, he passes his right to the next, 
 and if he cannot stand, he passes it on to the third. If 
 none accept, the cards are dealt again. If the player 
 who stands against the others forgets to put four cards on 
 the table in place of those he takes up, he loses the game. 
 If he wins, he takes the stakes of each of the others ; and 
 if he loses he pays each the stakes. If he does not make 
 a single point he pays double ; if he takes the whole cards 
 they pay him double. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MAY IN ROME. 
 
 MAY has come again, "the delicate-footed May," 
 her feet hidden in flowers as she wanders over the Cam- 
 pagna, and the cool breeze of the Campagna blowing back 
 her loosened hair. She calls to us from the open fields to 
 leave the walls of damp churches and shadowy streets, 
 and to come abroad and meet her where the mountains 
 look down from the roseate heights of vanishing snow upon
 
 CARNIVAL OF THE KITCHEN-GARDEN. 165 
 
 plains of waving grain. The hedges have put on their 
 best draperies of leaves and flowers, and, girdled in at 
 their waist by double osier bands, stagger luxuriantly along 
 the road like a drunken Bacchanal procession, crowned 
 with festive ivy, and holding aloft their snowy clusters of 
 elder-blossoms like thyrsi. Among their green robes may 
 be seen thousands of beautiful wild flowers, the sweet- 
 scented laurustinas, all sorts of running vetches and wild 
 sweet-pea, the delicate vases of dewy morning-glories, 
 clusters of eglantine or sweet-brier roses, fragrant acacia- 
 blossoms covered with bees and buzzing flies, the gold of 
 glowing gorses, and scores of purple and yellow flowers, of 
 which I know not the names. On the gray walls straggle 
 and cluster creepers, grass, and the humble class of flowers 
 which go by the ignoble name of weeds ; and over them, 
 held down by the green cord of the stalk, balance the rent 
 balloons of hundreds of flaming scarlet poppies that seem 
 to have fed on fire. The undulating swell of the Cam- 
 pagna is here ablaze with them for acres, and there deep- 
 ening with glowing grain, or snowed over by myriads of 
 daisies. Music and song, too, are not wanting ; hundreds 
 of birds are in the hedges. The lark, " from its moist 
 cabinet rising," rains down his trills of incessant song 
 from some invisible heights of blue sky ; and whenever 
 one passes the wayside groves, a nightingale is sure to 
 bubble into song. The oranges, too, are in blossom, per- 
 fuming the air ; locust-trees are tasselled with odorous 
 flowers ; and over the walls of the Campana Villa bursts a 
 cascade of sprays covered with Banksia roses. 
 
 The Carnival of the kitchen-gardens is now commencing. 
 Peas are already an old story, strawberries are abundant, 
 and cherries are beginning to make their appearance, in 
 these first days of May ; old women sell them at every 
 corner, tied together in tempting bunches, as in " the 
 cherry-orchard " which Miss Edgeworth has made fairy- 
 land in our childish memories. Nor are the fresh and 
 tempting ones only offered for sale. You will sometimes 
 hear the odd and honest cry of " Chi vuol cerasi col pa- 
 drone in casa ? " (" Who wants cherries with a master 
 in the house ? ") the master, who cheapens the home and
 
 166 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 hearthstone he inhabits, being the maggot. Asparagus 
 also has long since come ; and artichokes make their daily 
 appearance on the table, sliced up and fried, or boiled 
 whole, or coming up roasted and gleaming with butter, 
 with more outside capes and coats than an ideal English 
 coachman of the olden times. Here, too, is fennel, tasting 
 like anisette, and good to mix in the salads. And great 
 beans lie about in piles, the contadini twisting them out of 
 their thick pods with their thumbs, to eat them raw. Nay, 
 even the signoria of the noble families do the same, as they 
 walk through the gardens, and think them such a luxury 
 that they eat them raw for breakfast. But over and above 
 all other vegetables are the lettuces, . which are one of the 
 great staples of food for the Roman people, and so crisp, 
 fresh, delicate, and high-flavored, that he who eats them 
 once will hold Nebuchadnezzar no longer a subject for 
 compassion, but rather of envy. Drowned in fresh olive- 
 oil and with a dash of vinegar, they are a feast for the 
 gods ; and even in their natural state, without condiments, 
 they are by no means to be despised. At the corners of 
 the streets they lie piled in green heaps, and are sold at a 
 baiocco for five heads. At noontide, the contadini and 
 laborers feed upon them without even the condiment of 
 salt, crunching their white teeth through the crisp, wet 
 leaves, and alternating a bite at a great wedge of bread ; 
 and toward nightfall, one may see carts laden high up with 
 closely-packed masses of them, coming in from the Cam- 
 pagna for the market. In a word, the Carnival of the 
 kitchen-garden has come, and the festa of the vegetables, 
 at which they do not eat, but are eaten. 
 
 But a thousand, thousand pardons, O mighty Cavolo ; 
 how have I dared to omit thy august name ? On my 
 knees, O potentest of vegetables, I crave forgiveness ! I 
 will burn at thy shrine ten waxen candles, in penance, if 
 thou wilt pardon the sin and shame of my forgetfulness ! 
 The smoke of thy altar-fires, the steam of thy incense, 
 and the odors of thy sanctity rise from every hypaethral 
 shrine in Rome. Out-doors and in-doors, wherever the 
 foot wanders, on palatial stairs or in the hut of poverty, 
 in the convent pottage and the " Lepre " soup, in the
 
 CHANGES IN ROME. 167 
 
 wooden platter of the beggar and the silver tureen of the 
 prince, thou fillest our nostrils, thou satisfiest our stomach. 
 Far away, whenever I inhale thy odor, I shall think of 
 " Roman Joys ; " a whiff from thine altar in a foreign land" 
 will hear me back to the Eternal City, " the City of the 
 Soul," the City of the Cabbage, the home of the Dioscuri, 
 Cavolo and Broccoli ! Yes, as Paris is recalled by the 
 odor of chocolate, and London by the damp steam of 
 malt, so shall Rome come back when my nostrils are filled 
 with thy penetrative fragrance ! 
 
 Saunter out at any of the city gates, or lean over the 
 wall at San Giovanni (and where will you find a more 
 charming spot?), or look down from the windows of the 
 Villa Negroni, 1 and your eye will surely fall on one of 
 the Roman kitchen-gardens, patterned out in even rows 
 and squares of green. Nothing can be prettier or more 
 tasteful in their arrangement than these variegated carpets 
 of vegetables. A great cistern of running water crowns 
 the height of the ground, which is used for the purposes of 
 irrigation ; and towards nightfall the vent is opened, and 
 you may see the gardeners unbanking the channelled rows 
 to let the inundation flow through hundreds of little lanes 
 of intersection and canals between the beds, and then 
 banking them up at the entrance when a sufficient quan- 
 tity of water has entered. In this way they fertilize and 
 refresh the soil, which else would parch under the con- 
 tinuous sun. And this, indeed, is all the fertilization it 
 needs, so strong is the soil all over the Campagna. The 
 accretions and decay of thousands of years have covered 
 it with a loam whose richness and depth are astonishing. 
 Dig where you will, for ten feet down, you do not pass 
 through its wonderfully fertile loam into gravel, and the 
 slightest labor is repaid a hundred-fold. 
 
 As one looks from the Villa Negroni windows he cannot 
 fail to be impressed by the strange changes through which 
 this wonderful city has passed. The very spot on which 
 Nero, the insane emperor artist, is absurdly supposed to 
 
 1 Alas ! the Villa Negroni and all its gardens and its alleys of 
 oranges are now gone, and have given place to the railway stations 
 and to unpicturesque streets of tall and crowded houses.
 
 168 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 have fiddled while Rome was burning, has now become a 
 vast kitchen-garden, belonging to Prince Massimo (himself 
 a descendant, as he claims, of Fabius Cunctator), where 
 men no longer, but only lettuces, asparagus, and arti- 
 chokes, are ruthlessly cut down. The inundations are not 
 for mock sea-fights among slaves, but for the peaceful 
 purposes of irrigation. And though the fiddle of Nero 
 is only traditional, and of course utterly apocryphal, the 
 trumpets of the French, murdering many an unhappy 
 strain near by, are a most melancholy fact. In the bottom 
 of the valley, a noble old villa, covered with frescoes, has 
 been turned into a manufactory of bricks, and the garden 
 of the very Villa Negroni itself is now the site of a rail- 
 way station. Yet here the princely family of Negroni 
 lived ; and the very lady at whose house Lucrezia Borgia 
 took her famous revenge may once have sauntered under 
 the walls, which still glow with ripening oranges, to feed 
 the gold-fish in the fountain, or walked with stately 
 friends through the long alleys of clipped cypresses, and 
 picnicked alia Giorgione on lawns wlu'ch are now but 
 kitchen-gardens, dedicated to San Cavolo. It pleases me, 
 also, descending in memories to a later time, to look up at 
 the summer-house built above the gateway, and recall the 
 days when Shelley and Keats came there to visit their 
 friend Severn, the artist (for that was his studio), and 
 look over the same alleys and gardens, and speak words 
 one would have been so glad to hear, and, coming still 
 later down, to recall the hearty words and brave heart of 
 one of America's best sculptors and my dear friend, 
 Thomas Crawford. 
 
 Should the ghosts of the past waken at nightfall to 
 wander through these gardens, they would be startled by 
 the wild shriek and snort of the iron steed with his fiery 
 eyes and vaporous breath, that, dragging behind him the 
 long and clattering train from Naples, comes plunging 
 through ancient walls and tombs and modern vineyards 
 and cypress-alleys, to stable himself at last within the walls 
 of Diocletian's ancient baths. 
 
 But to return to the kitchen-gardens. Pretty as they 
 are to the eye, they are not considered to be wholesome ;
 
 HEALTHFULNESS OF ROME. 169 
 
 and no Roman will live in a house near one of them, 
 especially if it lie on the southern and western side, so that 
 the Sirocco and the prevalent summer winds blow over it. 
 The daily irrigation in itself would he sufficient to 
 frighten all Italians away ; for they have a deadly fear of 
 all effluvia arising from decomposing vegetable substances, 
 and suppose, with a good deal of truth, that, wherever 
 there is water on the earth, there is decomposition. But 
 this is not the only reason ; for the same prejudice exists 
 in regard to all kinds of gardens, whether irrigated or 
 not, and even to groves of trees and clusters of bushes, or 
 vegetation of any kind around a house. This is the real 
 reason why, even in their country villas, their trees are 
 almost always planted at a distance from the house, so as 
 to expose it to the sun and to give it a free ventilation : 
 trees they do not care for ; damp is their determined foe, 
 and therefore they will not purchase the luxury of shade 
 from foliage at the risk of the damp it is supposed to en- 
 gender. On the north, however, gardens are not thought 
 to be so prejudicial as on the south and west, as the cold, 
 dry winds come from the former direction. The malaria, 
 as we call it, though the term is unknown to Romans, is 
 never so dangerous as after a slight rain, just sufficient to 
 wet the surface of the earth without deeply penetrating it ; 
 for decomposition is then stimulated, and the miasma 
 arising from the Campagna is blown abroad. So long as 
 the earth is dry, there is no danger of fever, except at 
 morning and nightfall, and then simply because of the 
 heavy d ews which the porous and baked earth then inhales 
 and expires. After the autumn has given a thorough, 
 drenching rain, Rome is healthy and free from fever. 
 
 There is no more unfounded superstition than that 
 which is generally prevalent, particularly among the Eng- 
 lish and Americans, as to the unhealthiness of Rome. The 
 statistics clearly prove that, so far from its being an un- 
 healthy city, it is in fact one of the healthiest cities on the 
 Continent. Its death-rate is lower than that of almost 
 any other large city in Europe, far lower than that of 
 many which enjoy the reputation of being highly sanitary. 
 Every year, in consequence of the improvements in drain-
 
 170 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 age and general cleanliness, the death-rate decreases. And 
 in the higher quarters it can now (1886) challenge com- 
 parison with that of any city in the world. That hugbear 
 of superstition, the so-called " Roman fever," which fright- 
 ens so many travellers from the Eternal City, has no ex- 
 istence, if the term " Roman fever " is intended to mean 
 any fever peculiar to Rome and not existing elsewhere. 
 Fevers of course there are, as everywhere, but there is no 
 fever which can fitly be called " Roman." Fever and ague 
 undoubtedly exists, and at times assumes the dangerous 
 character of what is called here Perniciosa, but fever and 
 ague are found in all countries, and, when they occur here, 
 why they should be called " Roman fever," it is difficult 
 to see. In fact, there is no disease ever caught in Rome, 
 or brought to Rome by any stranger, and no illness or 
 death ever occurs in Rome, or after leaving Rome, that is 
 not immediately stamped with the terrible title of " Roman 
 fever." Cancer and pneumonia, old age and apoplexy, 
 diabetes and scarlatina, and, in a word, u all the ills that 
 flesh is heir to," fall under the same fatal designation. 
 Months, nay, years, may elapse after the unfortunate 
 visitor has left Rome before the hand of death is laid 
 upon him ; but if he has had the imprudence to come to 
 this poisonous place, you will always hear that the seeds 
 of " Roman fever " were then planted in his constitution, 
 from which there is no escape. I have even known of 
 cases where the mere intention of coming to Rome, though 
 it has never been carried out, has produced the same fatal 
 result, at least the announcement of death has been ac- 
 companied in the newspapers by the statement that it 
 occurred from Roman fever contracted at Rome. In 
 saying this, I do not exaggerate facts within my knowl- 
 edge. Deaths, I suppose, do occur elsewhere, in Paris, in 
 "London, in New York ; and fevers exist there, I believe, 
 but I have never heard any such deaths ascribed to Paris 
 fever, or London fever, or New York fever. Nor have I 
 ever heard that it was dangerous to visit those cities because 
 deaths had occurred there. But Rome, poor Rome ! ah, 
 that is different. 
 
 Facts are strangely at variance with this almost uni-
 
 DEATH-RATE. 171 
 
 versal superstition ; but what are facts against any super- 
 stition, mere " windy suspirations of forced breath." Yet 
 it is a fact that of the thousands and thousands of stran- 
 gers that visit Rome, some, nay, many, out of health, worn- 
 out by worry, and seeking for recreation, or afflicted with 
 mortal diseases, some very young, some very old and weak, 
 the proportion of deaths among them in Rome is extraor- 
 dinarily small. The names of all Protestants of every 
 nation who die here must by the exigencies of the law be 
 registered, and the body, whatever be its final destination, 
 must within twenty-four hours be temporarily removed to 
 the receiving tomb of the Protestant cemetery. Of all 
 such deaths, therefore, a strict list is kept. What does 
 this list attest ? The largest number which has been 
 placed there in any one year within the preceding ten 
 years is ten, and the average of course is very much under 
 this number. As the number of Protestants who come to 
 Rome during the year cannot be calculated at less than 
 15,000, this at the highest number would be one in 1,500, 
 and of these it may be fairly said that not three in ten 
 die of fever of any kind. 
 
 Taking as a test the deaths occurring among the artists 
 who reside in Rome, and especially those who come from 
 other countries, the average of their lives is very long. 
 Within my own time, of the following well-known artists 
 not one has died under eighty years of age, and some of 
 them have passed from five to seven years and even more 
 beyond that limit. Tenerani, Macdonald, Bienaime, who 
 lived to near ninety ; Penry Williams, Chapman, Scoern, 
 Overbeck, and Minardi. After more than forty years' 
 residence in Rome, during which time he had scarcely 
 lost a day in his studio from illness, Gibson died of an 
 apoplectic attack at seventy-seven, and Freeman at about 
 the same age. William Howitt had passed beyond eighty 
 when he died ; and Colonel Caldwell, who had come here 
 for his health forty years before, finally succumbed at 
 ninety-four. Of all the artists whom it has been my for- 
 tune to know here, the average of life has been long, and 
 of all the names I have mentioned not one died of the so- 
 called Roman fever.
 
 172 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 But they had become acclimated, will be the answer. 
 Ay ! but how did they become acclimated ? Why did they 
 not die at once, exposed as they were to the fearful rav- 
 ages of this pestiferous climate ? Why were they not the 
 immediate victims of this famous Roman fever ? 
 
 Among the strangers visiting Rome, cases of typhoid 
 fever originating there are comparatively rare, and a 
 careful examination will show that the great proportion 
 of cases of typhoid among travellers are contracted else- 
 where, brought, in an incipient stage, to Rome, and there 
 developed. Among the foreign residents of Rome it is of 
 infrequent occurrence. Scarlet fever, that fearful scourge 
 of the North, assumes in Rome the mitigated form of scar- 
 latina, and is a comparatively light disease. Cholera has 
 never broken out there with virulence. For diseases of 
 the throat and lungs the air is in many cases almost cura- 
 tive. The common diseases of children, such as measles 
 and mumps, are ordinarily very light. The climate ia 
 equable, subject to no rapid changes of temperature or 
 sudden chilling winds, and to keep well in Rome requires 
 only a decent amount of common prudence. But that is 
 precisely what is generally lacking among travellers. They 
 exhaust their nervous energies by a constant excitement 
 of sight-seeing, and are guilty of the most dangerous im- 
 prudences. 
 
 What is peculiar here is that almost any illness is apt 
 to take on an intermittent type. The common form of 
 fever and ague, unless it assume the phase of Pernici- 
 osa, is however by no means a dangerous disease, and has 
 the additional advantage of a specific remedy. But fever 
 and ague, even its simplest form, in Rome has a very 
 limited extent, and for the greater part of the year may 
 be almost said not to exist in the city itself. Everything 
 now is called a fever in Rome, " La febbri '* is but a 
 generic term for any illness, though it be only an indiges- 
 tion or a slight cold, and this universal use of the word 
 has probably begotten to some extent in the minds of 
 foreigners the false notion of a special fever which lurks 
 for every one behind every corner of the Eternal City, to 
 leap upon the unwary. The Romans themselves of the
 
 HEALTHFULNESS OF ROME. 173 
 
 better class seldom suffer from it, and with a little pru- 
 dence it may be easily avoided. Those who are most 
 attacked by it are the laborers and contadini on the 
 Campagna ; and how can it be otherwise with them ? 
 They sleep often on the bare ground, or on a little straw 
 under a hut just large enough to admit them on all-fours. 
 Their labor is exhausting and performed in the sun, and 
 while in a violent perspiration they are often exposed to 
 sudden draughts and checks. Their food is poor, their 
 habits careless, and it would require an iron constitution 
 to resist what they endure. But despite the life they 
 lead and their various exposures, they are for the most 
 part a very strong and sturdy class. This intermittent 
 fever is undoubtedly a far from pleasant thing ; but 
 Americans who are terrified at it in Rome give it no 
 thought in Philadelphia, where it is more prevalent, 
 and while they call Rome unhealthy, live with undis- 
 turbed confidence in cities where scarlet and typhus fevers 
 annually rage. 1 If Rome be an unhealthy city, on the 
 whole, how does it happen that the people who never 
 leave it, the year round, are so robust and healthy ? Look 
 at the men and women in the streets, do they look as if 
 they suffered from the climate ? 
 
 It is a singular fact that the French soldiers who in 
 1848 made the siege of Rome suffered no inconvenience 
 or injury to their health from sleeping on the Campagna, 
 and that, despite the prophecies to the contrary, very few 
 cases of fever appeared, though the siege lasted during 
 the summer months. The reason of this is doubtless to be 
 found in the fact that they were better clothed, better fed, 
 and ill every way more careful of themselves than the 
 contadini. Foreigners, too, who visit Rome are very 
 seldom attacked by intermittent fever ; and it may truly 
 be said, that, when they are, it is, for the most part, their 
 own fault. There is generally the grossest inconsistency 
 between their theories and their practice. Believing as 
 they do that the least exposure will induce fever, they 
 
 1 Wherever fever and ague prevails, it can at once be seen by the 
 sallow, ghostly faces of the sufferers, and the appearance of the peo- 
 ple is perhaps as satisfactory a test as can be found of its presence.
 
 174 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 expose themselves with singular recklessness to the very 
 causes of fever. After hurrying through the streets and 
 getting into a violent perspiration, they plunge at once in- 
 to some damp pit-like church or chill gallery, where the 
 temperature is at least ten degrees lower than the outer 
 air. The bald-headed, rosy John Bull, steaming with 
 heat, doffs at once the hat which he wore in the street, 
 and, of course, is astounded if the result prove just what 
 it would be anywhere else, and if he take cold and get 
 a fever, charges it to the climate arid not to his own folly 
 and recklessness. Beside this, foreigners will always in- 
 sist on carrying their home habits with them wherever 
 they go ; and it is exceedingly difficult to persuade anyone 
 that he does not understand the climate better than the 
 Italians themselves, whom he puts down as a poor set of 
 timid ignoramuses. However, the longer one lives in 
 Rome, the more he learns to value the Italian rules of 
 health. There is probably no people so careful in these 
 matters as the Italians, and especially the Romans. They 
 understand their own climate, and they have a decided 
 dislike of death. In France and England suicides are 
 common ; in Italy they are almost unknown. 1 The Amer- 
 ican recklessness of life completely astounds the Italian. 
 He enjoys life, studies every method to preserve it, and 
 considers any one who risks it unnecessarily as simply a 
 fool. 
 
 What, then, are their rules of life ? In the first place, 
 in all their habits they are very regular. They eat at 
 stated times, and cannot be persuaded to partake of any- 
 thing in the intervals. If it be not their hour for eat- 
 ing, they will refuse the choicest viands, and sit at your 
 table fasting, despite every temptation you can offer. 
 They are also abstemious in their diet, and gluttony is the 
 rarest of vices. I do not believe there is another nation 
 in Europe that eats so sparingly. In the morning they 
 
 1 Alas ! this can no longer be said. Suicide is an epidemic how 
 in Rome, and scarcely a day passes that one or more is not recorded 
 in the papers. With liberty and union has come in the ghastly 
 demon of suicide. Living has become dear, taxes heavy, and death 
 easy.
 
 ITALIAN HABITS OF LIFE. 175 
 
 take a cup of coffee, generally without milk, sopping in it 
 some light brioche. Later in the day they take a slight 
 lunch of soup and macaroni, with a glass of wine. This 
 lasts them until dinner, which begins with a thin soup ; 
 after which the lesso or boiled meat comes on and is eaten 
 with one vegetable, which is less a dish than a garnish to 
 the meat ; then comes a dish of some vegetable eaten with 
 bread ; then, perhaps, a chop, and another dish of meat, 
 garnished with a vegetable ; some light dolce or fruit, and 
 a cup of black coffee, the latter for digestion's sake, 
 finish the repast. The quantity is very small, however, 
 compared to what is eaten in England. France, America, 
 or, though last, not least, Germany. Late in the evening 
 they have a supper. When dinner is taken in the middle 
 of the day, lunch is omitted. This is the rule of the 
 better classes. The workmen and middle classes, after 
 their cup of coffee and bit of bread or brioche in the morn- 
 ing, take nothing until night, except another cup of coffee 
 and bread, and their dinner finishes their meals after 
 their work is done. From my own observation, I should 
 say that an Italian certainly does not eat more than half 
 as much as a German, or two-thirds as much as an Amer- 
 ican. The climate will not allow of gormandizing, and 
 much less food is required to sustain the vital powers than 
 in America, where the atmosphere is so stimulating to the 
 brain and the digestion, or in England, where the depress- 
 ing effects of the climate must be counteracted by stimu- 
 lants. 
 
 If you wish to keep your health in Italy, follow the ex- 
 ample of the Italians. Do not drink largely or habitually 
 of brandy, porter, ale, or even Marsala, but confine your- 
 self to the lighter wines of the country or of France. 
 Do not exhaust your nervous system by too continuous 
 sight- seeing, nor by long walks or violent exercise. Do 
 not walk much in the sun ; " only Englishmen and dogs " 
 do that, as the proverb goes ; and especially take heed not 
 to expose yourself, when warm, to any sudden changes of 
 temperature. If you have heated yourself with walking 
 in the sun, be careful not to go at once, and especially to- 
 wards nightfall, into the lower and shady streets, which
 
 176 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 have begun to gather the damps, and are kept cool by the 
 high thick walls of the houses. Remember that the differ- 
 ence of temperature is very great between the narrow, 
 shaded streets, and the high, sunny Pincio. If you have 
 the misfortune to be of the male sex, and especially if you 
 suffer under the sorrow of the first great Caesar in being 
 bald, buy yourself a little skull-cap (it is as good as his 
 laurels for the purpose), and put it on your head whenever 
 you enter the churches and cold galleries. Almost every 
 fever here is the result of suddenly checked transpiration 
 of the skin ; and if you will take the precaution to cool 
 yourself before entering churches and galleries, and not to 
 expose yourself while warm to sudden changes of tempera- 
 ture, you may live twenty years in Rome without a fever. 
 And oh, my American friends ! repress your national love 
 for hot rooms and great fires, and do not make an oven 
 of your salon. Bake yourselves, kiln-dry yourselves, if 
 you choose, in your furnaced houses at home, but if you 
 value your health, " reform that altogether " in Italy. In- 
 crease your clothing and moderate your fires, and you will 
 find yourself better in health and in pocket. With your 
 great fires you will always be cold and always have 
 colds ; for the houses are not tight, and you only create 
 great draughts thereby. You will not persuade an Italian 
 to sit near them ; he will, on the contrary, ask your 
 permission to take the farthest corner away from the fire. 
 Seven winters 1 in Rome have convinced me of the cor- 
 rectness of their rule. Of course, you do not believe me 
 or them ; but it would be better for you if you did, and 
 for me, too, when I come to visit you. 
 
 But I must beg pardon for all this advice ; and as my 
 business is not to write a medical thesis here, let me return 
 to pleasanter things. 
 
 Scarcely does the sun drop behind St. Peter's on the 
 first day of May before bonfires begin to blaze from all 
 the country towns on the mountain-sides, showing like 
 great beacons. This is a custom founded in great anti- 
 quity, and common to the North and South. The first of 
 May is the Festival of the Holy Apostles in Italy ; but in 
 1 To which I must now (1886) add 20 more.
 
 FESTIVAL OF HOLY APOSTLES. 177 
 
 Germany, and still farther north, in Sweden and Nor- 
 way, it is Walpurgisnacht, when goblins, witches, hags, 
 and devils hold high holiday, mounting on their brooms for 
 the Brocken. And it was on this night that Mephis- 
 topheles carried Faust on his wondrous ride, and showed 
 him the spectre of Margaret with the red line round her 
 throat. 
 
 In the Neapolitan towns great fires are built on this 
 festival, around which the people dance, jumping through 
 the flames and flinging themselves about in every wild 
 and fantastic attitude. Similar bonfires may also be seen 
 blazing everywhere over the hills and on the Campagna 
 on the eve of the day of San Giovanni, which occurs on 
 the 24th of June ; and if you would have a medicine to 
 cure all wounds and cuts, go out before daylight and pluck 
 the little flower called pilatro (St. John's wort), and 
 make an infusion of it before the sun is up ; but at all 
 events be sure on the eve of this day to place a plate of 
 salt at the door, for it is the witches' festival, and no one 
 of the tribe can pass the salt to injure you without first 
 counting every grain, a task which will occupy the whole 
 night, and thus save you from evil. Besides this, place a 
 pitchfork, or any fork, by the door, as an additional safe- 
 guard, in case she calls in allies to help her count. 
 
 These are relics of the old pagan custom alluded to 
 by Ovid, 1 and particularly described by Varro, when the 
 peasants made huge bonfires of straw, hay, and other in- 
 flammable materials, called " Palilia" and men, women, 
 and children danced round them and leaped through them 
 in order to obtain expiation and free themselves from 
 evil influences the mothers holding out over the flames 
 those children who were too young to take an active part 
 in this rite. The canonist Balsamon in his comment on 
 the sixty-fifth canon of the Council " in Trullo," also re- 
 ports, on the authority of the Patriarch of Constantinople, 
 among other superstitious usages, that of leaping through 
 the fires, that even then it was the custom to make on the 
 eve of St. John. But this rite goes much farther back 
 
 ' ' Moxque per ardentes stipulae crepitantis acervos, 
 
 Trajicias celeri strenua membra pede." Fasti, lib. 4. 
 12
 
 178 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 into antiquity, and may be referred to the most ancient 
 oracle of Saturn, by which it was ordered that children 
 should be passed through flames, and which was after- 
 wards barbarously interpreted to mean that they should be 
 burned alive, as a sacrifice to Saturn. 
 
 The month of May is the culmination of the spring and 
 the season of seasons at Rome. No wonder that foreigners 
 who have come when winter sets in and take wing before 
 April shows her sky, sometimes growl at the weather, and 
 ask if this is the beautiful Italian clime. They have 
 simply selected the rainy season for their visit ; and one 
 cannot expect to have sun the whole year through, without 
 intermission. Where will they find more sun in the same 
 season ? where will they find milder and softer air ? Even 
 in the middle of winter, days, and sometimes weeks, de- 
 scend as it were from heaven to fill the soul with delight ; 
 and a lovely day in Rome is lovelier than under any 
 other sky on earth. But just when foreigners go away in 
 crowds, the Weather is settling into the perfection of 
 spring, and then it is that Rome is most charming. The 
 rains are over, the sun is a daily blessing, all Nature is 
 bursting into leaf and flower, and one may spend days on 
 the Campagna without fear of colds and fever. Stay in 
 Rome during May, if you wish to feel its beauty. 
 
 The best rule for a traveller who desires to enjoy the 
 charms of every clime would be to go to the North in the 
 winter and to the South in the spring and summer. Cold 
 is the specialty of the North, and all its sports and gayeties 
 take thence their tone. The houses are built to shut out 
 the demon of Frost, and to protect one from his assaults 
 of ice and snow. Let him howl about your windows and 
 scrawl his wonderful landscapes on your panes, and pile 
 his fantastic wreaths outside, while you draw round the 
 blazing hearth and enjoy the artificial heat and warmth in 
 the social converse that it provokes. Your punch is all 
 the better for his threats ; by contrast you enjoy the more. 
 Or brave him outside in a flying sledge, careering with 
 jangling bells over wide wastes of snow, while the stars, as 
 you go, fly through the naked trees that are glittering with 
 ice-jewels, and your blood tingles with excitement, and
 
 NORTH AND SOUTH. 179 
 
 your breath is blown like a white incense to the skies. 
 That is the real North. How tame he will look to you 
 when you go back in August and find a few hard apples, 
 a few tough plums, and some sour little things which are 
 apologies for grapes ! He looks sneaky enough then, with 
 his make-believe summer, and all his furs off. 
 
 No, then is the time for the South. All is simmering 
 outside, and the locust saws and shrills till he seems to 
 heat the air. You stay in the house at noon, and know 
 what a virtue there is in thick walls which keep out the 
 fierce heats, in gaping windows and doors that will not 
 shut because you need the ventilation. You will not now 
 complain of the stone and brick floors that you cursed all 
 winter long, and on which you now sprinkle water to keep 
 the air cool in your rooms. The blunders and stupidities 
 of winter are all over. The breezy loggia is no longer a 
 joke. You are glad enough to sit there and drink your 
 wine and look over the landscape. Mariuccia brings in a 
 great basket of purple and white grapes, which the wasp 
 envies you as you eat, and comes to share. And here are 
 luscious figs bursting their sugary skins, and apricots 
 rusted in the sun, and velvety peaches that break into 
 juice in your mouth, and great black-seeded water-melons. 
 Nature empties her cornucopia of fruits, flowers, and vege- 
 tables over your table. Luxuriously you enjoy them and 
 fan yourself and take your siesta, with full appreciation of 
 your dolce far niente. When the sun begins to slope 
 westward, if you are in the country, you wander through 
 the green lanes festooned with vines, and pluck grapes as 
 you go ; or, if you are in the city, you saunter the evening 
 long through the streets where all the world are strolling, 
 and you take your garnito of ice or sherbet, and talk over 
 the things of the day and the time, and pass as you go 
 home groups of singers and serenaders with guitars, flutes, 
 and violins, serenade, perhaps, sometimes yourself ; and 
 all the time the great planets and stars throb in the near 
 heavens, and the soft air full of the fragrance of orange- 
 blossoms blows against your cheek. And you can really 
 say, This is Italy ! For it is not what you do, so much as 
 what you feel, that makes Italy.
 
 180 ROB'A DI ROMA. 
 
 But pray remember that in the South every arrange- 
 ment is made for the nine hot months, and not for the 
 three cold and rainy ones you choose to spend there, and 
 perhaps your views may be somewhat modified in respect 
 of this " miserable people," who, you say, " have no idea 
 of comfort," meaning, of course, English comfort. Per- 
 haps, I say ; for it is in the nature of travellers to come to 
 sudden conclusions upon slight premises, to maintain with 
 obstinacy preconceived notions, and to quarrel with all na- 
 tional traits except their own. And being English, unless 
 you have a friend in India who has made you aware that 
 cane-bottom chairs are India-English, you will be pretty 
 sure to believe that there is no comfort without carpets and 
 coal ; or being an American, you will b^.i^.t to undervalue 
 a gallery of pictures with only a three-ply carpet on the 
 floor, and to " calculate " that, if they could see your house 
 in Washington Square, they would feel rather ashamed. 
 However, there is a great deal of human nature in man- 
 kind, wherever you go, except in Paris, perhaps, where 
 nature is rather inhuman and artificial. And when I in- 
 stance the Englishman and American as making false judg- 
 ments, let me not be misunderstood as supposing them the 
 only nations in that category. No, no ! did not my Paris- 
 ian acquaintance the other day assure me very gravely, 
 after lamenting the absurdity of the Italians not speaking 
 French instead of their own language. " Mais enfin, 
 monsieur, qu'est-ce que c'est que cet Italien f ce rCest gue 
 de mauvais Franqais" Nor is it only once that I have 
 had the fortune to hear these peculiar philological views 
 put forward gravely by one of the " grande nation" On 
 arriving at the railway station at Civita Vecchia the other 
 day, I heard a little strutting French abbe make neai-ly 
 the same proposition, adding in a contemptuous tone of 
 voice, as an illustration of the truth of his remarks 
 " Regardez, par exemple, on ne sait pas meme ecrire le 
 mot bay ages. Dans leur patois il est l bagaglie' Quels 
 ignorants ! " 
 
 But we are now in May, and life is altogether changed 
 from what it was in the winter. All the windows are 
 wide open, and there is at least one head and one pair of
 
 STREET PICTURES. 181 
 
 shoulders leaning out at every house. The poorer families 
 are all out on their doorsteps, working and chatting to- 
 gether, while their children run about them in the streets, 
 sprawling, playing, and fighting. Many a beautiful theme 
 for the artist is now to be found in these careless and 
 characteristic groups ; and curly-headed St. Johns may be 
 seen in every street, half-naked, with great black eyes and 
 rounded arms and legs. It is this which makes Rome 
 so admirable a residence for an artist. All things are 
 easy and careless in the out-of-doors life of the common 
 people, all poses unsought, all groupings accidental, all 
 action unaffected and unconscious. One meets Nature at 
 every turn, not braced up in prim forms, not conscious 
 in manners, not made up into the fashionable or the 
 proper, but impulsive, free, and simple. With the whole 
 street looking on, they are as unconscious and natural as 
 if they were where no eye could see them, ay, and more 
 natural, too, than it is possible for some people to be, 
 even in the privacy of their solitary rooms. They sing at 
 the top of their lungs, as they sit on their doorsteps, at 
 their work, and often shout from house to house across 
 the street a long conversation, and sometimes even read 
 letters from upper windows to their friends below in the 
 street. The men and women who cry their fruit, vege- 
 tables, and wares up and down the city, laden with baskets 
 or panniers, and often accompanied by a donkey, stop to 
 chat with group after group, or get into animated debates 
 about prices, or exercise their wits and lungs at once in 
 repartee in a very amusing way. Everybody is in disha- 
 bille in the morning, but towards twilight the girls put on 
 their better dresses, and comb their glossy raven hair, 
 heaping it up in great solid braids, and, hanging two long 
 golden ear-rings in their ears and necklaces round their 
 full necks, come forth conquering and to conquer, and 
 saunter bareheaded up and down the streets, or lounge 
 about the doorways and piazzas in groups, ready to give 
 back to any jeerer as good as he sends. You see them 
 marching along sometimes in a broad platoon of five or 
 six, all their brows as straight as if they had been ruled, 
 and their great dark eyes flashing out under them, ready
 
 182 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 in a moment for a laugh or a frown. What stalwart creat- 
 ures they are ! What shoulders, bosoms, and backs they 
 have ! What a chance for the lungs under those stout 
 bodices ! and what finished and elegant heads ! They are 
 certainly cast in a large mould, with nothing mean or 
 meagre about them, either in feature or figure. 
 
 Early in the morning you will see streaming through 
 the streets or gathered together in picturesque groups, 
 some standing, some crouching on the pavement, herds of 
 long-haired goats, brown, white, and black, which have 
 been driven, or rather which have followed their goatherd 
 into the city to be milked. The majestical, long-bearded, 
 patriarchal he-goats shake their bells and parade solemnly 
 about, while the silken females clatter their little hoofs as 
 they run from the hand of the milker when he has filled 
 his can. The goatherd is kept pretty busy, too, milking 
 at everybody's door ; and before the fashionable world is 
 up at nine, the milk is drained and the goats are off again 
 to the Campagna. 
 
 You may know that it is May by the orange and lemon 
 stands, which are erected in almost every piazza. These 
 are little booths covered with canvas, and fantastically 
 adorned with lemons and oranges intermixed, which, piled 
 into pyramids and disposed about everywhere, have a very 
 gay effect. They are generally placed near a fountain, the 
 water of which is conducted through a canna into the 
 centre of the booth, and there, finding its own level again, 
 makes a little spilling fountain from which the bibite are 
 diluted. Here for a baiocco one buys lemonade or orange- 
 ade and all sorts of curious little drinks or bibite, with a 
 feeble taste of anisette or some other herb to take off the 
 mawkishness of the water, or for a halt-baiocco one 
 may have the lemonade without sugar, and in this way it 
 is usually drunk. On all festa-days, little portable tables 
 are carried about the streets, hung to the neck of the limo- 
 naro, and set down at convenient spots, or whenever a 
 customer presents himself, and the cries "Acqua fresca, 
 limonaro, limonaro, chi vuol bere ? " are heard on 
 all sides ; and I can assure you, that, after standing on tip- 
 toe for an hour in the heat, and straining your neck and
 
 THE LtMONARO. 183 
 
 head to get sight of some church procession, you are glad 
 enough to go to the extravagance of even a lemonade with 
 sugar ; and smacking your lips, you bless the mission of 
 the limonaro, which must have been early founded by the 
 Good Samaritan. Listen to his own description of him- 
 self in one of the popular canzonetti sunn- about the streets 
 
 
 
 by wandering musicians to the accompaniment of a violin 
 and guitar : 
 
 ' ' Ma per altro son uomo ingegnoso 
 Non possiedo, ma sono padrone ; 
 Vendo 1' acqua con spirto e linione 
 Finche dura d 'estate il calor. 
 
 " Ho un capello di pag-lia, ma bello ! 
 Un zinale di sopra fino ; 
 Chi mi osserva al mio tavolino, 
 Gli vien sete, se sete non ha. 
 
 " Spaecio spirti, sciroppi, acquavite, 
 Fo 'ranciate di nuova invenzione ; 
 Voi vedete quante persone 
 Chiedon acqua, e rispoiido, Son qua ! " 
 
 Yet for all that I 'm a man of resources, 
 Master, at least, if no wealth I inherit ; 
 Water I sell, mixed with lemon and spirit, 
 
 Long as the heat of the summer endures. 
 
 I 've a straw hat, too, that 's not to be sneered at ! 
 
 Find me an apron as fine, if you 're able ? 
 
 Just let a man look at me and my table, 
 Thirsty he '11 be, if he was not before. 
 
 Here I sell spirits, and syrups, and brandy, 
 Make orangeades of a novel invention ; 
 You will see crowds, if you '11 just pay attention, 
 
 Asking for water, and I cry, I 'm here. 
 
 May is the month sacred to the Madonna, as it was to 
 the Bona Dea among the ancient Romans, and the Ma- 
 donna in Rome is supreme. She rules the hearts of all 
 Catholics and draws them to the bosom of the Church, as 
 the consoler and intercessor of all. To her the fisherman
 
 184 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 prays as he loosens his boat from shore, for she is " Stella 
 Maris," the star of the sea ; and in the storm he calls 
 upon her to save him : 
 
 " In mare irato, insubita procella, 
 Invoco te ! oh benigna stella ! ' ' 
 
 She stands first in all the thoughts of love and home. 
 Her image is the household Penates ; and when the day is 
 done and night comes oh, the toll of the Ave Maria re- 
 calls the mother at whose breast we were nursed and on 
 whose bosom we have slept. Nor only during the duties 
 and occupations of life is this reverence paid to the Ma- 
 donna. She stands by the bedside of the dying man, and 
 to her he recommends his soul with the last whisper that 
 hovers over his pallid lips. 
 
 Nothing can be more impressive than the bell of the 
 Ave Maria as you hear it in the country around Rome. 
 The brilliant splendors of sunset have passed away the 
 sky is soft and pale with delicate dove-like tints, and stars 
 are faintly peering out of its still deeps. Solemn shadows 
 are gathered in the brown valley, where slow gray mists 
 are rising ; the mountains are cut sharply and darkly 
 against the clear sky, and houses and belfries are printed 
 on it in black silhouettes. Far away the voices of peasants 
 may be heard, returning to their homes, and wandering 
 lights show here and there in distant meadows. As you 
 walk musingly along, breathing the earthy smell that rises 
 from the Campagna, and touched by the serious and pen- 
 sive calm that then gathers over all Nature, your ear is 
 struck by the musical clang of bells ringing for Ave Maria 
 each of which amid the silence 
 
 " Paia il giorno pianger che si muore," 
 
 and every one pauses and crosses himself, and says a little 
 prayer to the Madonna. 
 
 During this month of May special honors are paid to 
 the Virgin. The monasteries of nuns' are busy with pro- 
 cessions and celebrations in honor of " the Mother of 
 God," which are pleasantly carried on within their pre- 
 cincts and seen only by female friends. Sometimes you
 
 WORSHIP OF THE MADONNA. 185 
 
 will meet a procession of ladies outside the gates, on foot, 
 while their carriages come after in a long file. These are 
 societies which are making the pilgrimage of the seven 
 basilicas outside the walls. They set out early in the 
 morning, stopping in each basilica for a half-hour to say 
 their prayers, and return to Rome at Ave Maria. 
 
 On every festa-d&y during this month you will see at 
 the corners of the streets a little improvised shrine of the 
 rudest kind, or it may be only a little festooned print of 
 the Madonna hung against the walls of some house, or 
 against the back of a chair, and tended by two or three 
 little girls, who hold out a plate to you as you pass, and 
 beg for charity, sometimes in the most pertinacious way. 
 These are the children of ppor persons, who thus levy on 
 the public a little sum to be expended in oil for the lamps 
 before the Madonna shrines in the streets or in the house. 
 No street and almost no house or shop is without a 
 shrine erected to her, where a little light is kept constantly 
 burning, and over each is an inscription, generally in dog 
 Latin, setting forth some of her titles, and commanding 
 reverence or adoration from the passer. Here are placed 
 fresh flowers ; and here may be seen at all hours of the 
 day some poor person kneeling and saying her rosary. If 
 an accident happens in the street it is to her that safety is 
 owed, and straightway thanks must be returned to her. 
 Very commonly the person whose life has been in danger 
 hangs an offering on her shrine in memory of the event. 
 It is sometimes a rude picture representing the event itself, 
 and sometimes it is a silver hand, leg, arm, or heart, to 
 indicate that she has enabled a broken limb to mend, or as 
 a sign of gratitude. If one is stricken by disease it is her 
 aid that is invoked, and her favor is bought by promises 
 of candles to be burned at her shrine, and if the person be 
 rich, by costly offerings of diamond necklaces, crowns, and 
 brooches, which, in the event of recovery, are hung about 
 her images and pictures. Nor is this done only by the 
 ignorant and uneducated. On the road to Bello Sguardo 
 may be seen a shrine erected to the Madonna by the late 
 grand - duke of Tuscany, in grateful recognition of her 
 divine aid in saving on this spot the life of himself and
 
 186 ROBA Dl ROMA, 
 
 two of his children, who were nearly killed here by a car- 
 riage. Even during health a continuance of her favor 
 and protection is invoked by the same means just as the 
 ancient Romans implored the assistance of their gods, or 
 commemorated their gratitude for past favors by votive 
 offerings hung up in the temples. Some of the oldest ef- 
 figies of the Virgin are rich in these presents ; and gems 
 which are a fortune in themselves (unless the originals 
 have been changed for paste imitations) may be seen glit- 
 tering on their dark necks and bosoms. Indeed a mali- 
 cious story runs that a magnificent necklace of diamonds 
 worn by one of the Roman princesses once adorned the 
 neck of a Madonna, and was sold by the Church to its 
 present owner. However this may be, the universal rev- 
 erence paid by persons of all ranks to the Madonna is a 
 striking feature of every Roman Catholic country, and in 
 Rome, the head of Catholicism, it attains its height. 
 
 Among the Roman people this worship of the Madonna 
 is genuine and unaffected. Go where you will, her image 
 consecrates the place. On the walls of the stable, over 
 the garden-gate, in the wine-shop, the hovel, and the 
 palace, it is everywhere to be seen, sometimes represented 
 by a wretched colored lithograph, sometimes by a black 
 print, sometimes by a glazed tile, and sometimes by an 
 antique head or figure, which has changed its name and 
 worship. Unexpected transformations take place in Rome, 
 and the statues of the ancient gods are sometimes re- 
 ceived into the Church by a new and Christian baptism. 
 For instance, on the road from the railway station to Al- 
 bano there is a little osteria where for many a year might 
 be seen over the door a small antique figure in marble rep- 
 resenting Fortune, half-seated and resting against a wheel 
 behind it, while its eyes were blinded by a band. From 
 this figure the osteria was called La Ciechina (the Blind 
 Girl), and was known by this name to all the neighbor- 
 hood. Mac was recounting this story in his musing way 
 the other day, while walking up to Albano with a friend, 
 and as they approached the osteria he turned round to 
 point out the statue in corroboration of his story, saying, 
 " There, you will see at once that.it is an antique statue of
 
 FORTUNE AND THE MADONNA. 187 
 
 Fortune," when suddenly he stopped, for nothing of the 
 kind was visible. In its stead was a figure, manifestly 
 antique, but representing the Madonna. The laugh was 
 certainly against him at first, but he had the best of it at 
 last, for a careful examination showed how the transfor- 
 mation had taken place. The band had been chiselled from 
 Fortune's eyes, the upper circle of the wheel on which she 
 stood had been broken away so as to leave only a small arc 
 under her feet, and lo ! Fortune had changed into the 
 Madonna, standing upon the crescent, and is now wor- 
 shipped in her niche over the door by the passing peasants, 
 and has her novena played before her in December as if 
 she had always been legitimately entitled to it. 
 
 The Madonna is the special patron of the filatrici (the 
 spinners) ; and it is a pretty superstition among the peas- 
 antry in Italy that the dewy gossamers found on the grass 
 in the morning are threads and fragments blown from her 
 distaff. The swallows, too, are under her special favor, 
 and to kill them brings ill-luck. In nearly all the cities of 
 Tuscany, owing to this belief, swarms of swifts may be 
 seen hurtling to and fro with a constant sharp whistle, and 
 haunting with perfect impunity the tall campanili. In the 
 great piazza at Siena and round the Campo tower they are 
 so thick sometimes that it seems as if it was snowing swal- 
 lows ; and in the eaves and under the grotesque spouts of 
 the Duomo they make their nests and whirl through the 
 arches with a pleasant familiarity. The doves of San 
 Marco at Venice are also saved by a similar superstition. 
 They haunt that superb piazza and the glittering pinnacles 
 of the cathedral, floating to and fro in the soft blue air, 
 and alighting upon the manes of the bronze horses with 
 entire fearlessness, and thus are not only safe from the de- 
 structive hand of man, but are fed at the public expense. 
 All this is the more remarkable in Italy, where the people 
 kill and eat every little bird that they can lay their hands 
 upon. 
 
 It is also a legend that the Madonna said to the serpent, 
 " Will you be good to man ? " and the serpent answered, 
 " I will not." " Then crawl and trail on the ground for* 
 ever and be accursed," she said. And so it is. Then
 
 188 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 turning to the lizard, she said, " Will you be good to man? " 
 and the lizard answered, " I will." " Then shall you 
 have legs to run, and shall be loved and cherished. And 
 so it is. 
 
 And here I am reminded of an incident which illus- 
 trates the, reverential habit of the Italians for the Ma- 
 donna. R. was a young traveller, who on first coming to 
 Rome brought a letter to M., who gave him many a 
 glimpse into the familiar habits of the Italians, made pleas- 
 ant his sojourn in Rome, and on his leaving for Naples, 
 whispered some kindly hints and sketches of the Neapoli- 
 tans. " Never was there so polite a people," said he, 
 " and they expect you of course to be polite to them in 
 turn. For instance, they never take their seat in front of 
 you in any public place without saluting you and begging 
 your pardon. If the lady at the opposite balcony shut her 
 blind, she bows to you as if to say 'by your leave,' and to 
 show you that she does not close them against you ; and 
 when this is done take care to return the salutation, or you 
 will run the risk of being thought to be ill-bred." Filled 
 with this good counsel, off went R., carrying a letter to an 
 English chemist there. Upon presenting this letter he 
 found the chemist very busy preparing a prescription. 
 " Pray excuse me for a quarter of an hour," said he, after 
 the first salutation, " and then I am entirely at your ser- 
 vice." R. lifted his hat, begged him to take his time, 
 saying he would wait for him just outside the door, and 
 amuse himself with what was passing in the street. When- 
 ever the chemist glanced up from his work he observed R. 
 saluting somebody, a fact which struck him as very odd, 
 inasmuch as he supposed him to be a stranger in Naples. 
 He said nothing, however, for some time, but finall-y his 
 curiosity became so excited that he came to the door to 
 see what his friend was about. There, to his amazement, 
 he beheld him smiling and taking off his hat to every one 
 that passed, in so absurd a way that he cried out, ' What 
 under heavens are you about ? " " Ah," said R., wiping 
 his forehead, and freely perspiring with his exertions, 
 " what a people, what a people ! I never saw anything 
 like their politeness. Here have I been standing for
 
 THE MADONNA SHRINE. 189 
 
 nearly half an hour, and every person that passes touches 
 his hat or takes it off and bows to me, recognizing 
 me, I suppose, as a stranger and wishing to be polite to 
 me. Upon my soul, it is finally getting to be rather a 
 bore ! " " Polite to you ! " cried the chemist -, " just look 
 up behind you, my friend, and you will see that you are 
 standing under a Madonna shrine, and that all the passers- 
 by are lifting their hats or making a salutation of rever- 
 ence to that, and not of politeness to you, so you need not 
 bore yourself any longer." 
 
 The great procession of the year takes place in June on 
 Corpus Domini, and is well worth seeing, as being the 
 finest and most characteristic of all the Church festivals. 
 It was instituted in honor of the famous miracle at Bolsena, 
 when the wafer dripped blood, and is therefore in com- 
 memoration of one of the cardinal doctrines of the Roman 
 Church, Transubstantiation, and one of its most dogmatical 
 miracles. The Papal procession takes place in the morn- 
 ing, in the piazza of St. Peter's ; and if you would be 
 sure of it, you must be on the spot as soon as eight o'clock 
 at the latest. The whole circle of the piazza itself is cov- 
 ered with an awning, festooned gayly with garlands of 
 box, under which the procession passes ; and the ground is 
 covered with yellow sand, over which box and bay are 
 strewn. The celebration commences with morning mass in 
 the basilica, and that over, the procession issues from one 
 door, and making the whole circuit of the piazza, returns 
 into the church. First come the Seminaristi, or scholars 
 and attendants of the various hospitals and charity schools, 
 such as San Michele and Santo Spirito, all in white. 
 Then follow the brown-cowled, long-bearded Franciscans, 
 the white Carmelites, and the black Benedictines, bearing 
 lighted candles and chanting hoarsely as they go. You 
 may see pass before you now all the members of these dif- 
 ferent conventual orders that there are in Rome, and have 
 an admirable opportunity to study their physiognomies in 
 mass. If you are a convert to Romanism, you will per- 
 haps find in their bald heads, shaven crowns, and bearded 
 faces, a noble expression of reverence and humility ; but 
 suffering as I do under the misfortune of being a heretic.
 
 190 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 I could but remark on their heads an enormous develop- 
 ment of the two organs of reverence and firmness, and a 
 singular deficiency in the upper forehead, while there was 
 an almost universal enlargement of the lower jaw and of 
 the base of the brain. Being, unfortunately, a friend of 
 Phrenology, as well as a heretic, I drew no very auspi- 
 cious augury from these developments ; and looking into 
 their faces, the physiognomical traits were narrow-minded- 
 ness, bigotry, or cunning. The Benedictine heads showed 
 more intellect and will ; the Franciscans more dulness and 
 good-nature. 
 
 But while I am criticising them they are passing by, and 
 a picturesque set of fellows they are. Much as I dislike 
 the conventual creed, I should be sorry to see the costume 
 disappear. Directly on the heels of their poverty come the 
 three splendid triple crowns of the Pope, glittering with 
 gorgeous jewels, borne in triumph on silken embroidered 
 cushions, and preceded by the court jeweller. After 
 them follow the chapters, canons, and choirs of the seven 
 basilicas, chanting in lofty altos, solid basses, and clear 
 ringing tenors from their old church books, each basilica 
 bearing a typical tent of colored stripes and a wooden 
 campanile with a bell which is constantly rung. Next 
 come the canons of the churches and the monsignori, in 
 splendid dresses and rich capes of beautiful lace falling 
 below their waists ; the bishops clad in cloth of silver with 
 mitres on their heads ; the cardinals brilliant in gold em- 
 broidery and gleaming in the sun ; and at last the Pope 
 himself, borne on a platform splendid with silver and gold, 
 with a rich canopy over his head. Beneath this he kneels, 
 or rather, seems to kneel ; for, though his costly draperies 
 and train are skilfully arranged so as to present this sem- 
 blance, being drawn behind him over two blocks which are 
 so placed as to represent his heels, yet in fact he is seated 
 on a sunken bench or chair, as any careful eye can plainly 
 see. However, kneeling or sitting, just as you will, there 
 he is, be.fore an altar, holding up the ostia which is the cor- 
 pus Domini, "the body of God," and surrounded by offi- 
 cers of the Swiss guards in glittering armor, chamberlains 
 in their beautiful black and Spanish dresses with ruffs
 
 PAPAL PROCESSION. 191 
 
 and swords, attendants in scarlet and purple costumes, 
 and the guardie nob Hi in their red-dress uniforms. Noth- 
 ing could be more striking than this group. It is the very 
 type of the Church, pompous, rich, splendid, imposing. 
 After them follow the dragoons mounted, first a com- 
 pany on black horses, then another on bays, and then a 
 third on grays ; foot soldiers with flashing bayonets bring 
 up the rear, and close the procession. As the last soldiers 
 enter the church, there is a stir among the gilt equipages of 
 the cardinals which line one side of the piazza, the 
 horses toss their scarlet plumes, the liveried servants sway 
 as the carriages lumber on, and you may spend a half- 
 hour hunting out your own humble vehicle, if you have 
 one, or throng homeward on foot with the crowd through 
 the Borgo and over the bridge of Sant' Angelo. 1 
 
 This grand procession strikes the key-note of all the 
 others ; and in the afternoon each parish brings out its 
 banners, arrays itself in its choicest dresses, and with 
 pomp and music bears the ostia through the streets, the 
 crowd kneeling before it, and the priests chanting.' Dur- 
 ing the next ottava, or eight days, all the processions take 
 place in honor of this festival ; and the week having 
 passed, everything ends with the Papal procession in 
 St. Peter's piazza, when, without music, and with un- 
 covered heads, the Pope, cardinals, monsignori, canons, 
 and the rest of the priests and officials, make the round 
 of the piazza, bearing great church banners. 
 
 One of the most striking of their celebrations took 
 place this year at the church of San Rocco in the Ripetta, 
 when the church was made splendid with lighted candles 
 and gold bands, and a preacher held forth to a crowded 
 audience in the afternoon. At Ave Maria there was a 
 great procession, with banners, music, and torches, and all 
 the evening the people sauntered to and fro in crowds 
 before the church, where a platform was erected and 
 draped with old tapestries, from which a band played 
 constantly. Do not believe, my dear Presbyterian friend, 
 that these spectacles fail deeply to affect the common 
 
 1 Since 1870 this imposing and truly magnificent procession in the 
 Piazza San Pietro has not been seen.
 
 192 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 mind. So long as human nature remains the same, this 
 splendor and pomp of processions, these lighted torches 
 and ornamented churches, this triumphant music and glad 
 holiday of religion, will attract more than your plain con- 
 venticles, your ugly meeting-houses, and your compromise 
 with the bass-viol. For my own part, I do not believe 
 that music and painting and all the other arts really be- 
 long to the devil, or that God gave him joy and beauty 
 to deceive with, and kept only the ugly, sour, and sad for 
 himself. We are always better when we are happy ; and 
 we are about as sure of being good when we are happy 
 as of being happy when we are good. Cheerfulness and 
 happiness are, in my humble opinion, duties and habits 
 to be cultivated ; but if you don't think so, I certainly 
 would not deny you the privilege of being wretched ; don't 
 let us quarrel about it. 
 
 Rather let us turn to the Artists' Festival, which takes 
 place in this month, and is one of the great attractions of 
 the season. Formerly this festival took place at Cer- 
 bara, SRI ancient Etruscan town on the Campagna, of 
 which only certain subterranean caves remain. But dur- 
 ing the revolutionary days which followed the disasters 
 of 1848, it was suspended for two or three years by the 
 interdict of the Papal government, and when it was again 
 instituted, the place of the meeting was changed to Fidense, 
 the site of another Etruscan town, with similar subter- 
 ranean excavations, which were made the headquarters 
 of the festival. But the new railway to Bologna having 
 been laid out directly over this ground, the artists have 
 been again driven away, and this year the/esta was held 
 for the first time in the groves of Egeria, one of the most 
 beautiful spots on the whole Campagna, and here it is 
 to be hoped it will have an abiding rest. 
 
 This festival was instituted by the German artists, and 
 though the artists of all nations now join in it, the Ger- 
 mans still remain its special patrons and directors. Early 
 in the morning, the artists rendezvous at an appointed 
 o&teria outside the walls, dressed in every sort of gro- 
 tesque and ludicrous costume which can be imagined. All 
 the old dresses which can be rummaged out of the studios
 
 ARTISTS' FESTIVAL. 193 
 
 or theatres, or pieced together from masking wardrobes, 
 are now in requisition. Indians and Chinese, ancient 
 warriors and mediaeval heroes, militia-men and Punches, 
 generals in top-boots and pig-tails, doctors in gigantic 
 wigs and smallclothes, Falstaffs and justices " with fair 
 round belly with good capon lined," magnificent foolscaps, 
 wooden swords with terrible inscriptions, gigantic cha- 
 peaux with plumes made of vegetables in a word, every 
 imaginable absurdity is to be seen. Arrived at the place 
 of rendezvous, they all breakfast, and then the line of 
 march is arranged. A great wooden cart adorned with 
 quaint devices, and garlanded with laurel and bay, bears 
 the president and committee. This is drawn by great 
 white oxen, who are decorated with wreaths and flowers 
 and gay trappings, and from it floats the noble banner of 
 Cerbara or Fidenae. After this follows a strange and 
 motley train, some mounted on donkeys, some on horses, 
 and some afoot, and the line of march is taken up for 
 the grove of Egeria. What mad jests and wild fun now 
 take place it is impossible to describe ; suffice it to say, 
 that all are glad of a little rest when they reach their 
 destination. 
 
 Now begin to stream out from the city hundreds of 
 carriages, - for all the world will be abroad to-day to see, 
 - and soon the green slopes are swarming with gay 
 crowds. Some bring with them a hamper of provisions 
 and wine, and, spreading them on the grass, lunch and 
 dine when and where they will ; but those who would 
 dine with the artists must have the order of the mezzo 
 baiocco hanging to their buttonhole, which is distributed 
 previously in Rome to all the artists who purchase tickets. 
 Some few there are who also bear upon their breasts the 
 nobler medal of troppo merito, gained on previous days, 
 and these are looked upon with due reverence. 
 
 But before dinner or lunch there is a high ceremony 
 to take place the great feature of the day. It is the 
 mock-heroic play. This year (1858) it was the meeting 
 of Numa with the nymph Egeria at the grotto; and thither 
 went the festive procession ; and the priests, befilleted 
 and draped in white, burned upon the altar as a sacrifice 
 13
 
 194 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 a great toy sheep, whose wool " smelt to heaven ; " and 
 then from the niches suddenly appeared Numa, a gallant 
 German in spectacles, with Egeria, a Spanish artist with 
 white dress and fillet, who made vows over the smoking 
 sheep, and were escorted back to the sacred grove with 
 festal music by a joyous, turbulent crowd. 
 
 Last year, however, at Fidenae, it was better. We had 
 a travesty of the taking of Troy, which was eminently 
 ludicrous, and which deserves a better description than I 
 can give. Troy was a place enclosed within paper bar- 
 riers, about breast-high, painted " to present a wall," and 
 within these were the Trojans, clad in red, and all wear- 
 ing gigantic paper helmets. There was old Priam, in 
 spectacles, with his crown and robes ; Laocoon, in white, 
 with a white wool beard and wig ; Ulysses, in a long, 
 yellow beard and mantle ; and ./Eneas, with a bald head, 
 in a blue, long-tailed coat, and tall dicky, looking like 
 the traditional Englishman in the circus who comes to 
 hire the horse. The Grecians were encamped at a short 
 distance. All had round, basket-work shields, some 
 with their names painted on them in great letters, and 
 some with an odd device, such as a cat or pig. There 
 were Ulysses, Agamemnon, Ajax, Hector, Patroclus, Di- 
 omedes. Achilles, " all honorable men." The drama com- 
 menced with the issuing of Paris and Helen from the 
 walls of Troy, he in a tall, black French hat, girdled with 
 a gilt crown, and she in a white dress, with a great wig 
 dropping round her face a profusion of carroty curls. 
 Queer figures enough they were, as they stepped along to- 
 gether, caricaturing love in a pantomime, he making terri- 
 ble demonstrations of his ardent passion, and she finally 
 falling on his neck in rapture. This over, they seated 
 themselves near by two large pasteboard rocks, he sitting 
 on his shield and taking out his flute to play to her, while 
 she brought forth her knitting and ogled him as he played. 
 While they were thus engaged, came creeping up with 
 the stage stride of a double step, and dragging one foot 
 behind him, Menelaus, whom Thersites had, meantime, 
 been taunting by pointing at him two great ox-horns. He 
 walked all round the lovers, pantomiming rage and jeal-
 
 ARTISTS' FESTIVAL. 195 
 
 ousy in the accredited ballet style, and suddenly approach- 
 ing, crushed poor Paris's great black hat down over his 
 eyes. Both, very much frightened, then took to their heels 
 and rushed into .the city, while Menelaus, after shaking 
 Paris's shield in defiance at the walls, retired to the 
 Grecian camp. Then came the preparations for battle. 
 The Trojans leaned over their paper battlements, with 
 their fingers to their noses, twiddling them in scorn, while 
 the Greeks shook their fists back at them. The battle 
 now commenced on the "ringing plains of Troy," and 
 was eminently ludicrous. Paris, in hat and pantaloons 
 ( la mode de Paris), soon showed the white feather, 
 and incontinently fled. Everybody hit nowhere, fiercely 
 striking the ground or the shields, and always carefully 
 avoiding, as on the stage, to hit in the right place. At 
 last, however, Patroclus was killed, whereupon the bat- 
 tle was suspended, and a grand tableau of surprise and 
 horror took place, from which they soon recovered, and 
 the Greeks prepared to carry him off on their shoulders. 
 Terrible to behold was the grief of Achilles. Homer 
 himself would have wept to see him. He flung himself 
 on the body, and shrieked, and tore his hair, and vio- 
 lently shook the corpse, which under such demonstra- 
 tions, now and then kicked up. Finally he rises and 
 challenges Hector to single combat, and out comes the 
 valiant Trojan, and a duel ensues with wooden axes. 
 Such blows and counter-blows were never seen, only they 
 never hit, but often whirled the warrior who dealt them 
 completely round ; they tumbled over their own blows, 
 panted with feigned rage, lost their robes and great paste- 
 board helmets, and were even more absurd than any Rich- 
 mond and Richard on the country boards of a fifth-rate 
 theatre. But Hector is at last slain and borne away, and 
 a ludicrous lay figure is laid out to represent him, with 
 bunged-up eyes and a general flabbiness of body and want 
 of features charming to behold. On their necks the Tro- 
 jans bear him to their walls, and with a sudden jerk pitch 
 him over them head first, and he tumbles in a heap into 
 the city. 
 
 Ulysses then harangues the Greeks. He has brought
 
 196 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 out a quarteruola cask of wine, which, with most expres- 
 sive pantomime, he shows to be the wooden horse that 
 must be carried into Troy. His proposition is joyfully ac- 
 cepted, and accompanied by *JQ, he rolls the cask up to the 
 walls, and, flourishing a tin cup in one hand, invites the 
 Trojans to partake. At first there is confusion in the city, 
 and fingers are twiddled over the walls, but after a time 
 all go out and drink and become ludicrously drunk, and 
 stagger about, embracing each other in the most maudlin 
 style. Even Helen herself comes out, gets tipsy with the 
 rest, and dances about like the most disreputable of Mae- 
 nades. A great scena, however, takes place as they are 
 about to drink. Laocoon, got up in white wool, appears, 
 and violently endeavors to dissuade them, but in vain. In 
 the midst of his harangue long strings of blown-up sau- 
 sage-skins are dragged in for the serpents, and suddenly 
 cast about his neck. His sons and he then form a group, 
 the sausage-snakes are twisted about them, only the old 
 story is reversed, and he bites the serpents, instead of the 
 serpents biting him, and all die in agony, travestying 
 the ancient group. 
 
 All being now drunk go in, and Ulysses with them. A 
 quantity of straw is kindled, the smoke rises, the Greeks 
 approach and dash in the paper walls with clubs, and all 
 is confusion. Then ./Eneas, in his blue, long-tailed circus- 
 coat, broad white hat, and tall shirt-collar, carries oft' old 
 Anchises on his shoulders with a cigar in his mouth, and 
 bears him to a painted section of a vessel, which is rocked 
 to and fro by hand, as if violently agitated by the waves. 
 ^Eneas and Anchises enter the boat, or rather stand be- 
 hind it so as to conceal their legs, and off it sets, rocked 
 to and fro constantly, ^Eolus and Tramontana following 
 behind, with bellows to blow up a wind, and Fair Weather, 
 with his name written on his back, accompanying them. 
 The violent motion, however, soon makes ./Eneas sick, and 
 as he leans over the side in a helpless and melancholy 
 manner, and almost gives up the ghost, as well as more 
 material things, the crowd burst into laughter. How- 
 ever, at last they reach two painted rocks, and found La- 
 tium, and a general rejoicing takes place. The donkey
 
 /AT THE VILLAS. 197 
 
 who was to have ended all by dragging the body of Hec- 
 tor round the walls came too late, and this part of the pro- 
 gramme did not take place. 
 
 So much of the entertainment over, preparations are 
 made for dinner. In the grove of Egeria the plates are 
 spread in circles, while all the company sing part-songs 
 and dance. At last all is ready, the signal is given, and 
 the feast takes place after the most rustic manner. Great 
 barrels of wine covered with green branches stand at one 
 side, from which flagons are tilled and passed round, and 
 the good appetites soon make direful gaps in the beef and 
 mighty plates of lettuce. After this, and a little saunter- 
 ing about for digestion's sake, come the afternoon sports. 
 And there are donkey-races, and tilting at a ring, and 
 foot-races, and running in sacks. Nothing can be more 
 picturesque than the scene, with its motley masqueraders, 
 its crowds of spectators seated along the slopes, its little 
 tents here and there, its races in the valley, and, above all, 
 the glorious mountains looking down from the distance. 
 Not till the golden light slopes over the Campagna, gild- 
 ing the skeletons of aqueducts and drawing a delicate veil 
 of beauty over the mountains, can we tear ourselves away 
 and rattle back in our carriage to Rome. 1 
 
 The wealthy Roman families, who have villas in the im- 
 mediate vicinity of Rome, now leave the city to spend a 
 month in them and breathe the fresh air of spring. Many 
 and many a tradesman who is well to do in the world has 
 a little vineyard outside the gates, where hs raises vege- 
 tables, grapes, and other fruits ; and every festa-d&y you 
 will be sure to find him and his family out in his little vil- 
 letfa, wandering about the grounds or sitting beneath his 
 arbors, smoking and chatting with his children around him. 
 His friends who have no villas of their own here visit him, 
 and often there is a considerable company thus collected, 
 who, if one may judge from their cheerful countenances 
 and much laughter, enjoy themselves mightily. Knock 
 
 1 I am sorry to hear that this festival has of late greatly degener- 
 ated, but I cannot so affirm from personal knowledge, as it is many 
 years since I attended it.
 
 198 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 at any of these villa-gates, and, if you happen to have the 
 acquaintance of the owner, or are evidently a stranger of 
 respectability, you will be received with much hospitality, 
 invited to partake of the fruit and wine, and overwhelmed 
 with thanks for your gentilezza when you take your leave ; 
 for the Italians are a most good-natured and social peo- 
 ple, and nothing pleases them better than a stranger who 
 breaks the common round of topics by accounts of his own 
 land. Everything new is to them wonderful, just as it is 
 to a child. They are credulous of everything you tell 
 them about America, which is to them in some measure 
 what it was to the English in the days of Raleigh, Drake, 
 and Hawkins, and say " Per JBacco ! " to every new state- 
 ment. And they are so magnificently ignorant that you 
 have carte blanche for your stories. Never did I know 
 any one staggered by anything I chose to say, but once, 
 and then I stated a simple fact. I was walking with my 
 respectable old padrone Nisi about his little garden one 
 day, when an ambition to know something about America 
 inflamed his breast. 
 
 " Are there any mountains ? " he asked. 
 
 I told him " Yes," and, with a chuckle of delight, he 
 cried, 
 
 " Per Bacco ! And have you any cities ? " 
 
 "Yes, a few little ones." He was evidently pleased 
 that they were small, and, swelling with natural pride, 
 said, 
 
 " Large as Rome, of course, they could not be ; " then, 
 after a moment, he added, interrogatively, " And rivers 
 too, have you any rivers ? " 
 
 " A few," I answered. 
 
 " But not as large as our Tiber," he replied, feeling 
 assured that, if the cities were smaller than Rome, as a 
 necessary consequence, the rivers that flowed by them must 
 be in the same category. 
 
 The bait now offered was too tempting, and I was fool- 
 ish enough to say, 
 
 " We have some rivers three thousand miles long." 
 
 I had scarcely said these words when I regretted them. 
 He stood and stared at me, as if petrified, for a moment
 
 THE ITALIANS AND AMERICA. 199 
 
 Then the blood rushed into his face, and, turning on his 
 heel, he took off his hat, said suddenly, " Buona sera," 
 and carried my fact and his opinions together up into his 
 private room. I am afraid that Ser Pietro decided, on 
 consideration, that I had been taking unwarrantable liber- 
 ties with him and exceeding all proper bounds in my at- 
 tempt to impose on his good-nature. From that time 
 forward he asked me no more questions about America. 
 
 And here, by the way, I am reminded of an incident 
 which, though not exactly pertinent, may find here a paren- 
 thetical place, merely as illustrating some points of Italian 
 character. One fact and two names relating to America 
 they know universally, Columbus and his discovery of 
 America, and Washington. 
 
 "/SI, Signore" said a respectable person some time since, 
 as he was driving me to see a carriage which he wished to 
 sell me, and therefore desired to be particularly polite to 
 me and my nation, " a great man your Vashintoni ! but 
 I was sorry to hear the other day that his father had died 
 in London." 
 
 " His father dead, and in London ? " I stammered, com- 
 pletely confounded at this extraordinary news, and fearing 
 lest I had been too stupid in misunderstanding him. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it is too true that his father Vellintoni 
 is dead. I read it in the Diario di Roma" 
 
 The Italians have also a sort of personal pride in 
 America, on the ground that it was discovered by an 
 Italian, without whom, chi sa if we should ever have been 
 discovered, and also, if they happen to know the fact, 
 because Botta wrote a history of it. In going from Leg- 
 horn to Genoa, I once met a good-humored Frate, who, 
 having discovered that I was an American, fraternized 
 with me, kindly offered me snuff, and at once began, as 
 usual, a discourse on Columbus. So he informed me that 
 Columbus was an Italian, and that he had discovered 
 America, and was a remarkable man ; to all of which I 
 readily assented, as being true, if not new. But now a 
 severe abstract question began to tax my friend's powers. 
 He said, " But how could he ever have imagined that the
 
 200 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 continent of America was there? That's the question. 
 It is extraordinary indeed ! " And so he sat cogitating, 
 and saying, at intervals, " Curioso ! Straordinario ! " At 
 last " a light broke in upon his brain." His face lightened, 
 and, looking at me, he said, " Oh ! he must have read that 
 it was there in some old book, and so he went to see if it 
 were true or not." Vainly I endeavored to show him that 
 this view would deprive Columbus of his greatest distinc- 
 tion. He answered invariably, " Sif slf ma, via. But 
 without having read it, how could he ever have known 
 it ? " thus putting the earth upon the tortoise and leaving 
 the tortoise to account for his own support. 
 
 Imagine that I have told you .these stories sitting under 
 the vine and fig-tree of some little villa, while Angiolina 
 has gone to call the padrone, who will be only too glad to 
 see you. But, ecco ! at last our padrone comes. No, it is 
 not the padrone, it is the vignaruolo, who takes care of 
 his grapes and garden, and who recognizes us as friends 
 of the padrone, and tells us that we are ourselves padroni 
 of the whole place, and offers us all sorts of fruits. 
 
 One old custom, which existed in Rome some fifteen 
 years ago, has now passed away with other good old things. 
 It was the celebration of the Fravolata or Strawberry- Feast, 
 when men in gala-dress at the height of the strawberry 
 season went in procession through the streets, carrying on 
 their heads enormous wooden platters heaped with this 
 delicious fruit, accompanied by girls in costume, who, 
 beating their tamburelli, danced along at their sides and 
 sang the praises of the strawberry. After threading the 
 streets of the city, they passed singing out of the gates, 
 and at different places on the Campagna spent the day in 
 festive sports and had an out-door dinner and dance. 
 
 Though time out of mind May is not the month to 
 marry in, yet it is undoubtedly the approved month to 
 make love in. 1 Marry in June was the ancient rule, for 
 June was consecrated to Juno, who presided over mar- 
 riages ; but love in May, when the earth is breaking forth 
 into blossom, leaf, and flower, and honors are paid to the 
 Bona Dea. This beautiful month was formerly celebrated 
 1 "Mense malas Hajo nubere vulgus ait," says Ovid.
 
 FLOWER FESTIVAL. 201 
 
 by many festivals and games, not all of them of a very 
 decorous character, when Fescennine verses were recited 
 or sung in alternation by the peasants, and reminiscences 
 of some of them may still be recognized in vai-ious parts 
 of Italy ; one of them, for instance, may be seen in the 
 " Infiorata" or Flower-festival, which is celebrated every 
 May in the picturesque town of Genzano that lies over the 
 old crater now filled by the still waters of Lake Nemi. 
 It takes place on the eighth day of the Corpus Domini, 
 and is supposed to receive its name from the popular cus- 
 tom of spreading flowers upon the pavements of the streets 
 so as to represent heraldic devices, figures, arabesques, and 
 all sorts of ornamental designs ; but in fact it seems only 
 a relic of the ancient Floralia, or Ludi Florales, formerly 
 celebrated in honor of Flora during five days, beginning 
 on the 28th of April and ending on the 2d of May. The 
 ancient goddess has scarcely changed her name, and under 
 her Catholic baptism of Madonna dei Fiori she still pre- 
 sides over these rites ; but the licentiousness which for- 
 merly characterized this festival has passed away, and only 
 the fun, the flowers, and the gayety remain. On this 
 occasion the people are all dressed in their effective cos- 
 tumes, the girls in bodices and silken skirts, with all 
 their corals and jewels on, and the men with white stock- 
 ings on their legs, their velvet jackets dropping over one 
 shoulder, and flowers and rosettes in their conical hats. 
 The town is then very gay, the bells clang, the incense 
 steams from the censer in the church, where the organ 
 peals and mass is said, and a brilliant procession marches 
 over the strewn flower-mosaic, with music and crucifixes 
 and church banners. Hundreds of strangers, too, are 
 there to look on ; and on the Cesarini Piazza and under 
 the shadow of the long avenues of ilexes that lead to the 
 tower are hundreds of handsome girls, with their snowy 
 tovaglie peaked over their heads. The rub and thrum of 
 tambourines and the clicking of castanets are heard, too, 
 as twilight comes on, and the salterello is danced by many 
 a group. This is the national Roman dance, and is named 
 from the little jumping step which characterizes it. Any 
 number of couples dance it, though the dance is perfect
 
 202 ROB A DI ROMA. 
 
 with two. Some of the movements are very graceful and 
 piquant, and particularly that where one of the dancers 
 kneels and whirls her arms on high, clicking her castanets, 
 while the other circles her round and round, striking his 
 hands together, and approaching nearer and nearer, till 
 he is ready to give her a kiss, which she refuses. Of 
 course it is the old story of every national dance, love 
 arid repulse, love and repulse, until the maiden yields. 
 As one couple, panting and rosy, retires, another fresh one 
 takes its place, while the bystanders play on the accordion 
 the whirling, circling, never-ending tune of the Tarantella, 
 which would " put a spirit of youth in everything." 
 
 If you are tired of the festival, roam up a few paces out 
 of the crowd, and you stand upon the brink of Lake Nemi. 
 Over opposite, and crowning the height where the little 
 town of Nemi perches, frowns the old feudal castle of the 
 Colonna, with its tall round tower, where many a princely 
 family has dwelt, and many an unprincely act has been 
 done. There, in turn, have dwelt the Colonna, Borgia, 
 Piccolomini, Cenci, Frangipani, and Braschi, and there 
 the descendants of the last-named family still pass a few 
 weeks in the summer. On the Genzano side stands the 
 castellated villa of the Cesarini Sforza, looking peacefully 
 across the lake at the rival tower, which in the old baronial 
 days it used to challenge, and in its garden pond you 
 may see stately white swans " rowing their way with oary 
 feet " along. Below you, silent and silvery, lies the lako 
 itself ; and rising around it, like a green bowl, tower its 
 richly-wooded banks, covered with gigantic oaks, ilexes, 
 and chestnuts. This was the ancient grove dedicated to 
 Diana, which extended to L'Ariccia ; and here are still to 
 be seen the vestiges of an ancient villa built by Julius 
 Caesar. Here, too, if you trust some of the antiquaries, 
 once stood the temple of Diana Nemorensis, 1 where human 
 sacrifices were offered, and whose chief-priest, called Rex 
 Nemorensis, obtained his office by slaying his predecessor, 
 and reigned over these groves by force of his personal 
 
 1 The better opinion of late seems to be that it was on the slopes 
 of the Val d'Arriccia. Bi^ " who shall decide, when doctors 
 disagree ? "
 
 MAGGL 203 
 
 arm. Times. have, indeed, changed since the priesthood 
 was thus won and baptized by blood ; and as you stand 
 there, and look, on the one side, at the site of this ancient 
 temple, which some of the gigantic chestnut-trees may 
 almost have seen in their youth, and, on the other side, at 
 the Campanile of the Catholic church at Genzano, with its 
 flower-strewn pavements, you may have as sharp a con- 
 trast between the past and the present as can easily be 
 found. 
 
 Other relics of the ancient Floralia exist also in various 
 places, and particularly among the mountains of Pistoia, 
 where the people celebrate the return of spring on the first 
 of May, and sing a peculiar song in honor of the month of 
 flowers, called a Maggio. On the last evening of April 
 the festivities commence. Bands of young men then 
 gather together, and with singing and music make a pro- 
 cession through the villages and towns. Some carry a 
 leaf-stripped tree, adorned with flowers and lemons, called 
 the Majo, and others carry baskets filled with nosegays. 
 These, as they march along, they distribute to the matrons 
 and maids, who in return present wine, eggs, and a kind 
 of jumble cake, called JBerlingozzo, cut in rings and dec- 
 orated with red tassels. Money is also given, all of which 
 is dedicated to masses and prayers for the souls in pur- 
 gatory. The Maggl they sing have existed so long that 
 the memory of man runneth not to the contrary, and are 
 as follows : 
 
 ' ' Siam venuti a salutare 
 
 Questa casa di valore, 
 
 Che s' e f atta sempre onore ; 
 E pero vogliam cantare 
 Salutiam prima il padrone, 
 
 Poi di casa la sua sposa 
 Nol sappiam ch' egli 6 in Maremma ; 
 
 Dio lo sa, e ve lo mantenga ! " 
 
 And also this other : 
 
 " Or e di maggio, e fiorito & il limone ; 
 Noi salutiamo di casa il padrone. 
 Or e di maggio, e gli e fiorito i rami ; 
 Salutiam le ragazze co' suoi dami. 
 Or e di maggio, che fiorito e i fiori ; 
 Salutiam le ragazze co' suoi amori."
 
 204 RODA Df ROMA. 
 
 These may roughly be Englished thus : 
 
 " We come our salute to bring 
 To this brave house and good, 
 Whose honor unshaken has stood, 
 And therefore we come to sing : 
 And first we salute the master, 
 And then his excellent wife ; 
 We know he's in the Maremma ; 
 God grant them a good long life ! " 
 
 " May is come, and the lemon 's in bloom ; 
 Health to the master here in his home ! 
 May is come, and the branches swell ; 
 Health to the girls, and their lovers as well ! 
 May is come, and the flowers are in blossom ; 
 Health to the girls, with love in their bosom ! " 
 
 Sometimes in these processions of the Maggio the peas- 
 ants, accompanied by oxen gayly decorated with branches 
 of olive, silken ribbons, sheafs of grain, and silver bells, 
 went through the fields, singing and reciting verses to in- 
 voke good luck and full harvests ; and in some places a 
 band of women, preceded by one of their company richly 
 dressed, and called La Maggia, made the tour of the 
 town or village, and accepted the gifts which on all sides 
 were then presented in honor of the occasion ; or men and 
 women gayly dressed, and accompanied by music, visited 
 the palaces of the nobility, carrying banners with their 
 arms embroidered or painted on them. 
 
 Just as in the time of Athenaeus ancient Greek lovers 
 garlanded the doors of Grecian maids, so peasant lovers 
 in Italy used, on the first of May, to go early in the 
 morning to the houses of their sweethearts, and plant be- 
 fore the door a branch of laburnum or olive, or flowering 
 shrub, and sing their Maggi ; and the maidens and girls 
 with their lovers used to assemble in some grove, and 
 dance and sing together on this festival. One of these 
 Maggi, written by Angelo Poliziano, may be found in a 
 collection of songs by him and Lorenzo dei Medici, which 
 is very pretty and graceful. In the frontispiece of the 
 edition of 1568 there is an engraving representing twelve 
 damsels in a ring, holding each other's hands and singing, 
 while beside them stands La Maggia with the Mojo in 
 her hand ; and near her, another woman, who is asking 
 for the customary veil. The Maggio is as follows :
 
 MAGGIO BY POLIZIANO. 205 
 
 Ben venga Maggio 
 
 E '1 gonfalon selvaggio ; 
 
 Ben venga Primavera 
 
 Che ognun par che innamori ; 
 
 E voi Donzelle a schiera 
 
 Con vostri amadori, 
 
 Che di rose e di fiori 
 
 Ve fate belle il Maggio, 
 
 Venite alia freseura 
 Delli verdi arboscelli ; 
 Ogni bella e sicura 
 Fra tanti damigelli ; 
 Che le fiere e gli uceelli 
 Ardon d' amore il Maggio. 
 
 Chi e giovane, chi e bella, 
 Deh ! non sia punto acerba, 
 Che non si rinnovella 
 L' eta, come fa 1' erba ; 
 Nessuna stia superba 
 All' amadore il Maggio. 
 
 Ciascuna balli e canti 
 Di questa schiera nostra ; 
 Ecco e' dodiei amanti 
 Che per voi vanno in giostra ; 
 Qual dura allor si mostra 
 Fara sfiorire il Maggio. 
 
 Per prender le donzelle 
 Si son gli amanti armati ; 
 Arrendetevi, o belle, 
 A vostri innamorati ! 
 Rendete i cuor furati, 
 Non fate guerra il Maggio. 
 
 Chi 1' altrui core invola, 
 Ad altri doni il core ! 
 Ma chi e quel che vola ? 
 E' 1' angiolel d' amore 
 Che viene a far onore 
 Con voi, donzelle, il Maggio. 
 
 Amor ne vien ridendo, 
 Con rose e gigli in testa : 
 E vien a voi caendo, 
 Fategli, o belle, f esta ; 
 Qual sara la pin presta 
 A dargli il fior di Maggio ?
 
 206 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Ben venga il peregrine ! 
 Amor che ne command! ? 
 Che al suo amante il crino 
 Ogni bella ingrillandi, 
 Che le zittelle e i grand! 
 S' innamoran di Maggio. 
 
 Welcome, May, and welcome, Spring, 
 With your gonfalons of green, 
 Waking love in everything 
 Where your festive shapes are seen. 
 Maidens, here your lovers bring, 
 And with flowers and roses gay, 
 Come, adorn yourselves for May. 
 
 Come into the cool green shade, 
 To the leafy grove repair ; 
 No one need be here afraid, 
 'Mid so many maidens fair. 
 Beasts on earth, and birds in air, 
 All are filled with love by May. 
 
 Who is young, and who is fair, 
 Let her not be harsh and sour ; 
 Youth, once vanished from us, ne'er 
 Blooms again as blooms a flower: 
 And let no one at this hour 
 Nourish a hard heart in May. 
 
 Come, let all our little band 
 Join in festive song and dance ; 
 Here a dozen lovers stand, 
 Who for you would break a lance. 
 And let none with sneers or taunts 
 Spoil for us our merry May. 
 
 Here, all around you, lovers stand, 
 Ready each his maid to take ; 
 Come, surrender heart and hand, 
 Yield to them for love's sweet sake. 
 Since your hearts they've stolen, make 
 No defensive war in May. 
 
 Who has filched another's heart, 
 Let her give to him her own ; 
 So to steal, who has the art, 
 But the angel Love alone ? 
 Love, oh damsels, be it known, 
 Comes with you to honor May.
 
 GAFFES AND THEATRES. 207 
 
 Love, who smiling 1 comes and wears 
 
 Roses, lilies, on his brow. 
 
 Here in search of you repairs ; 
 
 Unto him all honor show. 
 
 Who '11 be first to give him now, 
 
 Gentle maids, the flower of May ? 
 
 Welcome, Love, oh, pilgrim dear, 
 Say what sweet command is thine ? 
 Let each maiden round the hair 
 Of her love a garland twine ; 
 Young and old, oh, maidens mine, 
 Love each other all in May. 1 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GAFFES AND THEATRES. 
 
 ITALIANS are a co^f e-frequenting and a theatre-going 
 people. No city is so small that it has not its theatre, and 
 no town so insignificant as to be without its caffe. As 
 the lion has its jackal, the shark its pilot-fish, the crab its 
 
 1 These Maggi are still represented in some of the country towns 
 and villages in Tuscany, though they seem to differ in some respects 
 from those of an earlier period. As I am writing (July, 188(5) I re- 
 ceive a letter from my daughter who has just been present at one at 
 Pietra Santa, a little sea-coast village near Serravezza. " I went to 
 the Maggio," she says, "in the Piazza, the other day, and it re- 
 minded me of old times. The men were all dressed in papier-ma- 
 che" helmets and wore Roman togas, while the women were all in the 
 modern costume. It represented a tragical and historical scene of 
 ancient days, and was chanted in recitative, the music being nearly 
 all on one note, and the orchestra consisting of one cracked fiddle ; 
 no money was asked or received. There was no stage, no scenery, 
 and not even a boarding or rope to keep back the crowd ; a simple 
 line was drawn on the dust as the limit over which no one was to 
 pass, and no one overstept it. Two white poles marked the places 
 of exit and entrance for the actors, and as each finished his part he 
 retired through them out of the circle and hovered about until the 
 cue came for his re-entrance. All the female parts were performed 
 by men, who did not take the trouble even to disguise this fact by 
 shaving off their moustaches. The audience listened in breathless 
 silence, never turning their eyes from the actors, though the play 
 lasted for four hours."
 
 208 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 pinna, so the theatre is sure to have its one caffe at least 
 stuck to it and living upon it. The caffe is the social ex- 
 change of the country towns. There every evening may 
 he seen groups of the middle classes gathered about little 
 marble-topped tables, interchanging small talk in loud 
 voices, playing dominos, smoking, sipping coffee or bibite, 
 and spelling out the little miserable sheets which are the 
 apologies of the government for newspapers, and which 
 contain nothing you wish to know and much you wish not 
 to know. The waiters are always crying out, " Venyo, 
 vengo, subito" and thrusting with a clash metal trays, 
 covered with cups and glasses, on to marble tables. The 
 visitors are as constantly crying out for the ' bottega " (for 
 so the waiter is euphuistically called), and rapping on the 
 tinkling glasses to attract his attention. In Rome the 
 number of caffes is legion ; no street is without them ; 
 and each of these has its special class of regular cus- 
 tomers. There is the Caffe dei Scacrhi, where chess- 
 players go and discuss this game theoretically and practi- 
 cally ; the Caffe of the Liberali, who show their liberal 
 views principally by going there, and speaking sotto voce ; 
 the Caffe of the Codini, where queues and tricornered 
 black hats gather, and speak in louder and more assured 
 tones ; the Caffe Nazzari, where strangers meet and pay a 
 third more than is paid elsewhere, simply because they are 
 strangers ; and the Caffe Greco, where artists meet and 
 discuss subjects of art, pictures, and statues, read the 
 French newspapers and Galignani, and fill the air of the 
 crowded little room with tobacco smoke. There you may 
 see every night representatives of art from all parts of the 
 world, in all kinds of hats, from the conical black felt, 
 with its velvet ribbon, to the stiff French stovepipe ; and 
 in every variety of coat, from the Polish and German 
 nondescript, all bef rogged and tagged, to the shabby Amer- 
 ican dress-coat, with crumpled tails ; and with every cut of 
 hair and beard, from that of Peter the Hermit, unkempt 
 and uncut, to the moustache and pointed beard of Anthony 
 Vandyck. Peeping in there, one is sometimes tempted 
 to consider philosophically what innate connection there is 
 between genius for art, and long uncombed hair and un~
 
 GAFFES AND THEATRES. 209 
 
 tidy beards. This question I have never answered satis- 
 factorily to myself, and I recommend the subject to some 
 German friend, who will go to the root of the matter. 
 
 The caffe and theatre are to the mass of Italians of the 
 present day what the logge were to their ancestors in the 
 great days of Tuscany. In the public logge the people 
 met and discussed their affairs as on a social or political 
 exchange. But times have changed, and the caffe has 
 usurped the place of those magnificent old logge, which 
 still form so striking a feature of many of the Italian 
 cities. The people who thronged under the noble arches 
 of Orgagna's " Loggia dei Lanzi," at Florence, now meet 
 at Doney's, and have surrendered the place to the Perseus 
 of Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines, by Giovanni di Bo- 
 logna, and other aged companions in marble and bronze. 
 So, too, at Siena, opposite to the " Casino Nobile," whose 
 loggia, rich with carving and statues, forms one of the 
 most imposing features of that curious mediaeval city, 
 stands the Caffe Greco of to-day, and disputes precedence 
 with it successfully. 
 
 In like manner, the box at the theatre has taken the 
 place of the private loggia, which was once attached to 
 every noble's palace, and beneath whose shade the Sig- 
 noria received their friends in summer and transacted 
 their business. Some of these logge were celebrated for 
 these social amusements and for the sharpness of their 
 epigrams, scandal, and satire. At some, gambling was 
 carried on to such excess that the government at last was 
 forced to interfere, and prohibit the practice. Others, 
 again, as the " Loggia degli Agolanti," achieved a reputa- 
 tion for match-making, so that it was said of it, " Si potea 
 star sicuro di non far casaccia fi," one may be sure of 
 not making a bad match there. Such was the number of 
 happy marriages there arranged, that the site of the house 
 received at last the name of the " Canto del Parentado " 
 the marriage corner. At the " Loggia dei Rucellai," 
 on the contrary, the leading spirits of the age met to dis- 
 cuss questions of politics and philosophy. There, too, 
 were hatched dangerous plots against the State. The 
 master-mind of all who frequented the gardens and 
 14
 
 210 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Loggia del Rucellai was Nicolo Macchiavelli, who in the 
 shadow of his own private convictions, unknown then as 
 now, discussed in the coterie there assembled the principles 
 which have given so sinister a character to his name. 
 Here also might be seen Jacopo Pitti, the senator, and au- 
 thor of the " Istoria Fiorentina," together with his fellow- 
 historian and senator, Filippo de' Nerli, to whom Macchi- 
 avelli dedicated his lines on Opportunity, and to whose 
 family Dante alludes in these lines : 
 
 " E vidi quel de' Nerli e quel del Vecchio 
 Esser content! alia pella scoverta, 
 E le sue donne al fuso ed al pennecchio." 
 
 These gardens still exist under the name of the Orti Or- 
 cellari, though the voices of the past are heard there no 
 more. And should any wandering ghost by chance revisit 
 his old haunts, he would surely be scared away by the 
 shrill whistle of the locomotive as it rattles through them 
 on its way from Florence to Pistoia. 
 
 But if those famous assemblies no longer meet at the 
 logge to talk scandal, make visits, arrange matches, and 
 discuss politics, modern society in Rome meets for similar 
 purposes in the loge of the theatre. And here the various 
 classes are distinguished and separated by different thea- 
 tres as well as different tiers in the same theatre. To the 
 Italians, not only "all the world 's a stage," but every stage 
 is a world. For high and low, rich and poor, prince and 
 peasant, there is a theatre ; and no one need deprive him- 
 self of this amusement so long as he has two baiocchi in his 
 pocket. Firjst comes the Apollo, or Tor di Nona Theatre, 
 which is exclusively devoted to the opera and the masked 
 balls of Carnival ; then follow the Valle and Costanzi, 
 where prose and music alternate, and the drama is played 
 by an excellent company ; the Argentina and Quirino, which 
 are a degree lower, and dedicated to comedy, farce, and 
 second-rate opera ; the Capranica, where melodrama raves 
 and jugglery throws its highest balls ; and the little Metas- 
 tasio, where tragedy and comedy are performed ; some- 
 times by a French and sometimes by an Italian company. 
 Besides these, there are theatres of a lower grade for the 
 people : the Vallino, where one can see tolerable acting,
 
 THEATRES. 211 
 
 in a small but clean house, for five baiocchi, and where 
 actors make their debut in Rome, and train for the higher 
 boards ; the Emiliano in the Piazza Navona, where pup- 
 pets perform ; and last, and lowest of all, the Fico, which 
 is frequented solely by the lowest classes. 
 
 The prices of a seat vary very much, and depend not 
 only on the theatre but on the season. The amusement 
 is, however, cheap ; even at the largest and most fashion- 
 able, a numbered seat in the pit only costs three pawls 
 (thirty cents), and a box, holding four or five persons 
 comfortably, may be ordinarily obtained for two or three 
 scudi the night, or for from fifty to sixty scudi the season. 
 The boxes in all the theatres are completely separated 
 from each other by partitions from floor to ceiling, and 
 must be taken entire, no single seats being sold in them, 
 as in the French and American theatres, where the tiers 
 are open. 
 
 The Apollo, or, as it is commonly called, the Tor di 
 Nona, is the most fashionable theatre in Rome, and here 
 alone, of all the Roman theatres, full dress is required. 
 The second tier of boxes, called the ordlne nobile, is occu- 
 pied exclusively by the nobility, ambassadors, and min- 
 isters, who have the right of choice, according to their 
 rank and precedency of title and appointment. The dis- 
 tribution of boxes among them is, it may well be imagined, 
 anything but easy, and the impresario is often put to his 
 wits' end to satisfy the demands of all. As the practice is 
 not to vary the opera every evening, but to give only a 
 fixed number of operas during the season, and to repeat the 
 same for many consecutive nights, a box every night is not 
 generally desired by any one, and it is the custom to take 
 only a half or quarter box. By this is intended, however, 
 not a portion of the box every night, but a whole box for 
 one or two nights out of every four. By this arrangement, 
 quarter boxes may be taken at several theatres for the same 
 price that a whole box would cost at one, and the amuse- 
 ment is in this way varied. The first and third nights are 
 generally taken by the nobility, and for these there is a 
 great struggle among those who are not originally entitled 
 to them, great diplomacy being used to obtain them, and 
 heart-burnings often following want of success.
 
 212 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Not only the ordine nobile is abonne for the season, but 
 also the principal boxes in the other tiers, and many of 
 the seats in the pit. When the company is good, and the 
 operas promised are favorites, the best boxes and seats 
 are all taken before the season commences. The abonnes 
 of the pit are young men about town artists, shopkeep- 
 ers, and generally any single person, from the guardia 
 nobile to the barber. No lady sits in the pit or parquet, 
 and if one be seen there she is at once recognized as a 
 stranger, not aware of the etiquette of a Roman theatre. 
 She will, however, be always treated with courtesy, and will 
 never imagine from the bearing of the people towards her 
 that she is out of place. Women of the lower classes in 
 Rome are constantly seen there. The great mass, how- 
 ever, are men who, in the intervals between the acts, are 
 levelling with white-gloved hands the opera-glasses they 
 have hired at the door at all the boxes from floor to ceil- 
 ing. During the performance they have a vile custom of 
 humming audibly the airs which are sung on the stage, 
 keeping about a note ahead of the singer as if they were 
 prompting, but this does not seem to annoy their neigh- 
 bors, unless the latter happen to be strangers or accidental 
 visitors. The seats here are narrow, hard, uncushioned, 
 and by no means comfortable ; but the Italians neither 
 complain of this, nor of the terrible smoke of oil-lamps, 
 which have not yet given way to gas in some of the the- 
 atres. 1 There is this odd peculiarity among Italians, that 
 though they are not sensitive to bad odors, such as the 
 smoke of an oil-lamp, the hot, thick, human odor of a 
 crowd, or the reek of garlic, yet they have a general dis- 
 like to what we call " perfumes," which they rarely use, 
 and are fastidious even about the scent of flowers, which 
 they consider to be neither agreeable nor wholesome in a 
 close room. If you have foolishly (for the Italians are 
 right in this) placed a bouquet of flowers in your sleeping- 
 room, it is nine chances to one that your chambermaid 
 will throw it at once out of the window, without even con- 
 sulting you. 
 
 1 Gas has now taken the place of oil-lamps in all the principal 
 theatres.
 
 THEATRES. 213 
 
 It is not ordinarily difficult to procure a box for a night 
 at any of the theatres, unless there be some very unusual 
 attraction, for whenever the owners of boxes have other 
 engagements for the evening, as it happens to a certain 
 number nightly, they send the key of their box to the of- 
 fice to be sold on their account ; and, on even a night of 
 special interest, the houses are so large that it is rare to 
 find all the boxes on the second and third tiers occupied. 
 
 The boxes are ill-furnished, with common straw-bot- 
 tomed chairs without arms, sometimes a mirror, and gener- 
 ally a velvet cushion in front on which to rest the elbow 
 or arm or to place the opera-glass ; no carpets are on the 
 brick floors, which in the winter season numb one's feet 
 with cold. One of the servants of the theatre, however, 
 always comes to the box to offer footstools, for the use of 
 which he asks a few baiocchi. But comfort is not an 
 Italian word, nor an Italian thing ; and if you are dissatis- 
 fied, and begin to grumble at the desolate and cold boxes, 
 and contrast it with the cushioned and carpeted ones at 
 home, please to pause and count the cost of that comfort, 
 and remember that here you pay three sixpences and there 
 a guinea to hear the same singers. I was never so struck 
 by this as once on coming from Italy into France. I had 
 just been hearing the "Trovatore" sung by the troupe, 
 in which were Beaucarde, Penco, and Goggi, for whom it 
 was written ; and when the season came on in Paris nearly 
 the same company were advertised to sing the same opera 
 there. I was inclined to hear them again, but after hav- 
 ing heard them six months before for three pauls, I ex- 
 perienced a decided sense of unwillingness to pay ten 
 francs for identically the same singing, merely because 
 my seat was an arm-chair well padded and covered with 
 velvet. So, too, after for years purchasing the privilege of 
 listening to Ristori and Salvini for two pauls and a half, 
 or a shilling English, I rebelled in London against paying 
 half a guinea for the same thing ; the chair in this case be- 
 ing scarcely more comfortable, and the house much more 
 close and stuffy. 
 
 Once in Florence, being at a loss how to amuse myself 
 for the evening, I determined to go to one of the little
 
 214 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 theatres, where I had heard that there was a good tenor 
 singer and hy no means a bad company. I found cer- 
 tainly no luxury there ; the scenery was bad, the orches- 
 tra meagre ; but I heard Beaucarde sing in the " Sonnam- 
 bula," and paid a half-paul for the entertainment. A cup 
 of coffee and a roll at Doney's and a cigar after that fin- 
 ished my evening, which I had particularly enjoyed, and 
 on counting up the cost, I found I had only expended a 
 paul for both opera and supper. I think I never had so 
 much for so little money. 
 
 With the French, English, and Americans, the opera is 
 an exotic, for which one must pay dearly. In Italy it is 
 common as oil and wine, and nearly as cheap. The dis- 
 comfort naturally goes with the cheapness, but is amply 
 compensated for by it. The scale of everything connected 
 with its expenses is low : the actors and singers have 
 small salaries, the orchestra get a few pauls apiece, and 
 nobody makes a fortune out of it ; but the people have 
 a cheap amusement, and this is an enormous gain. 
 
 All the world goes to the theatre ; it is an amusement 
 which never tires the Italians, and despite the heats of 
 summer and the cold of winter, the boxes and pit are al- 
 ways well filled. Nothing short of a revolution would 
 empty them. Once, however, during the year 1848, being 
 at Naples, I agreed with a friend to pass the evening at 
 the San Carlino, celebrated for its humorous and admira- 
 ble acting. On our arrival at the door we found a crowd 
 gathered in the piazza talking excitedly together and 
 evidently in agitated expectation of something. On in- 
 quiry, we found there had been an outbreak among the 
 lazzaroni during the afternoon ; and though it was at once 
 suppressed, there was some fear lest another disturbance 
 might arise, and the troops again fire on the people, as 
 they had done only a week before. The orchestra, actors, 
 and all the supernumeraries were collected in the piazza 
 and around the door ; and we said to each other, " There 
 will be no representation to-night, of course." Our doubts 
 were, however, speedily dispelled by the ticket-seller, who 
 answered our inquiries as to whether there was to be a 
 performance by a " Sicuro, sicuro ; favorisca. Che posto
 
 THEATRES. 215 
 
 vuole f " (Certainly, certainly ; be kind enough to come 
 in. What seats ?) So we purchased our tickets and went 
 in. The theatre was quite dark, only one or two tallow- 
 candles burning on the stage and in the orchestra seats. 
 Not a human being was to be seen. We looked at our 
 watches ; the time for the commencement of the play had 
 passed ; and, after waiting five minutes, we determined 
 that there would be no performance, and sallied forth to 
 retake our money and surrender our tickets at the door. 
 The ticket-holder, however, strenuously insisted that the 
 performance was to take place. "Non dubitino, Signori. 
 Si fara, si fara. Favor iscano." (Do not doubt. There 
 will certainly be a performance. Please walk in.) Then 
 with a loud shriek he sent his voice into the piazza to sum- 
 mon the director and the actors, who, with unwilling steps, 
 came up to the door, shrugged their shoulders, and said, 
 " Eh ! " But the director bowed in the politest manner 
 to us, assuring us that there would be a performance, and 
 favoriscad us back into our seats. It was as black as 
 ever. In a few minutes, however, the curtain dropped ; one 
 lamp after another was lighted ; the orchestra straggled 
 in, urged forward by some one in authority, who bustled 
 about and ordered right and left. In about ten minutes 
 matters were completely arranged ; the orchestra took their 
 seats and began to play. We looked round the theatre 
 and found that we constituted the entire audience. At 
 first we felt rather awkward, but expected every moment 
 to see the seats fill. No one, however, came in. At last 
 up went the curtain, and the play began to us as regularly 
 as if the theatre were thronged. Vainly we protested ; 
 the actors enjoyed the joke, played their best, and made 
 low bows in recognition of the plaudits which the whole 
 audience, consisting of Nero and myself, freely bestowed 
 upon them. Never did I see better acting. Nor did the 
 joke wear out. The curtain fell after the first act, and we 
 were still alone. We made a renewed protest, which had 
 no effect, save that a couple of boys, probably engaged 
 behind the scenes, were sent into the pit ; and thus the 
 whole play was performed. When the curtain finally 
 dropped there were only about fifteen persons in the house,
 
 216 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 and they, as far as we could judge, belonged to the theatre, 
 and came in to enjoy the joke. I doubt whether a com- 
 plete performance ever was given before or after at any 
 theatre to an audience consisting of two persons for the 
 sum of one piastre; nor do I believe that even at San 
 Carlino, renowned as it is, more humorous and spirited 
 acting was ever seen. 
 
 At the first night of the season at the opera it is a 
 point of etiquette for all the proprietors of the boxes to be 
 present ; and a brilliant spectacle it is, the house being 
 uniformly crowded, and every one in an elegant toilette. 
 On this occasion the impresario sends ices and refresh- 
 ments to all the boxes. 
 
 Instead of receiving at home, the Romans generally 
 receive in their loge at the opera. Each family of the 
 upper class takes a box, and as only two or three of the 
 chairs are occupied, there is ample accommodation for 
 visitors. No entrance fee is required except for the pit, 
 and no expense is therefore incurred in making a visit 
 from the outside. A large collection of friends and ac- 
 quaintances is always to be found in the theatre, and 
 these lounge about from one box to another to pay visits 
 and to laugh and chat together, not only between the acts, 
 but during the performance. Every palco is in itself a 
 private conversazione, the members of which are con- 
 stantly changing. Each new visitor takes a place beside 
 the lady, and yields it in turn to the next comer. Often 
 there are five or six visitors all animatedly talking to- 
 gether, and amusing themselves in a most informal way 
 the music all the while being quite disregarded and 
 serving merely as an accompaniment. The same attention 
 to the opera itself cannot of course be expected from 
 those who have heard it night after night as would be 
 given were it fresh and new. The inferior portions are 
 therefore seldom listened to ; but when the prima donna, 
 tenor e, or basso, advances to sing a favorite air, scena, or 
 concerted piece, all is hushed to attention. The husband 
 is rarely to be seen in his box when other visitors are 
 there taking then the opportunity to slip out and make 
 his round of visits.
 
 PANTOMIMES. 217 
 
 The body of the house is illuminated solely by a chan- 
 delier, the chief .light being concentrated on the stage. 
 The interior of the box is consequently so dark that one 
 may shrink back into it, so as to be entirely concealed 
 from view, and take coffee or ices (furnished from the 
 caffe close by), or press his mistress's hand, and whisper 
 love into her ear, u untalked of and unseen." Connected 
 with the private box of Prince Torlonia is an interior one, 
 handsomely furnished, where friends may lounge and 
 chat at their ease and take refreshments. All the other 
 boxes are single. 
 
 Much as the Italians like the opera, they like the bal- 
 let still more. This is often interpolated between the acts 
 of the opera, so that they who do not wish to stay to a 
 late hour may enjoy it. The moment the curtain draws 
 up and the ballet commences, all is attention ; talking 
 ceases, lorgnettes are levelled everywhere at the stage, 
 and the delight with which the mimi and the dancers are 
 watched is almost childish. The Italian ballet-dancers are 
 generally heavy and handsome ; and, though they want 
 lightness of movement and elegance of limb, they make 
 up for it by the beauty of their faces and busts. This 
 heaviness of make is, however, peculiar to the Romans. 
 In the north they are slenderer and lighter. As Italy 
 gives the world the greatest singers, so it supplies it with 
 the most fascinating dancers. Ferraris, Carlotta, Grisi, 
 Kosati, Cerito, and Fuoco, are all Italian. 
 
 They are even more remarkable as pantomimic actors, 
 or mimi as they are called here. The language of signs 
 and gestures comes to them like Dogberry's reading and 
 writing by nature. What the northern nations put 
 into words, the Italians express by gestures. Their shrugs 
 contain a history ; their action is a current commentary 
 and explanation of their speech. Oftentimes they carry 
 on conversations purely in pantomime, and it is as neces- 
 sary for a stranger to learn some of their signs as to study 
 his dictionary and grammar. The lazzaroni at Naples 
 cheat you before your face in the simplest way by this 
 language of signs, and, passing each other in their cales- 
 sino, they have made an agreement to meet, informed
 
 218 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 each other where they are going, what their fare pays, 
 given a general report of their family, and executed a 
 commission, by a few rapid gestures. No Italian ever 
 states a number without using his fingers, or refuses a 
 beggar without an unmistakable movement of the hand. 
 This natural facility in pantomime is strikingly shown at 
 the institution in Rome for the education of the deaf and 
 dumb. Comparatively little is done by the tedious pro- 
 cess of spelling ; but a whole vocabulary of gestures, sim- 
 ple, intelligible, and defined, serves these mutes as a 
 short-hand language. The rapidity with which they talk, 
 and the ready intelligence they show in their conversation, 
 are surprising. Their communications are often more 
 rapid than speech, and it is seldom that they are driven 
 to the necessity of spelling. The head of this establish- 
 ment, who is a priest, has devoted himself with much 
 zeal and skill to the education of these poor unfortunates, 
 and they seem greatly to have profited by his instruction. 
 But what struck me more than anything else was the 
 simple and ingenious system of pantomimic conversation 
 adopted, and, I believe, invented by him. 
 
 The mimetic performances on the Italian stage are re- 
 markable. The mimi seem generally to prefer tragedy 
 or melodrama, and certainly they " tear a passion to 
 rags " as none but Italians could. Nothing to them is 
 impossible. Grief, love, madness, jealousy, and anger, 
 convulse them by turns. Their hands seem wildly to 
 grasp after expression ; their bodies are convulsed with 
 emotion ; their fingers send off electric flashes of indigna- 
 tion ; their faces undergo violent contortions of passion ; 
 every nerve and muscle becomes language ; they talk all 
 over, from head to foot : 
 
 ' ' Clausis faucibus, eloquent! gestu, 
 Nutu, crure, genu, maim, rotatu." 
 
 In this love of pantomimic acting, the modern Italians 
 are the blood descendants of their Roman ancestors. 
 The ancient pantomimists were both dancers and mimics. 
 Generally, though not always, they performed to music, 
 expressing by gestures alone their meaning ; and from
 
 ORIGIN OF PANTOMIMES. 219 
 
 their universal and perfect representation of everything 
 they received their name of PantomimL 1 
 
 Their art, though of very ancient origin, attained its 
 perfection in the age of Augustus, and this emperor, out 
 of regard to " Maecenas atavis edite regibus," who was 
 a great admirer of a celebrated pantomimist named 
 Bathyllus, often honored his performances by his impe- 
 rial presence, and thus gave great vogue to this entertain- 
 ment. It is indeed contended by some writers that these 
 pantomimic dances were invented by Pylades and Bathyl- 
 lus in the reign of Augustus, there being no anterior 
 record of them discoverable. But this is at least doubtful. 2 
 Sometimes a single actor performed all the characters, as 
 it would seem from the account given by Lucian of a 
 skilful pantomimist in the time of Nero, who, to per- 
 suade a Cynical philosopher averse to these performances, 
 showed such skill in his representation as to elicit from 
 the Cynic the declaration, that " he seemed to see the 
 thing itself, and not an imitation of it, and that the man 
 spoke with his body and hands." 
 
 The people were mad for this entertainment, and often 
 fell in love with the actors, and after the performance was 
 over fell upon their necks, and not only kissed them, but 
 also their thyrsi and dresses. Galen relates a story of a 
 female patient whose sole disease was a violent passion for 
 the pantomimist Pylades, conceived only through seeing 
 him act. The public favor for these actors was partici- 
 pated in by the court to such an extent, that when the 
 Emperor Constantius drove out of the city all the phi- 
 losophers on account of the dearness of the " annonce," he 
 allowed three thousand dancers and as many pantomimists 
 to remain at which Ammianus Marcellinus cannot restrain 
 his indignation. The prices paid them were enormous, 
 and Seneca was greatly scandalized by the fact that twenty 
 thousand crowns of gold were given to one of these female 
 dancers on her marriage. Some of them were known to 
 leave fortunes of three hundred thousand crowns, after 
 
 1 Sidon. Apollin. in Narbon. Suetonius in Calig., c. 54, et 
 in Neron, ch. xvi. 54. Aristot. Poet. sub. init. 
 
 2 See Tacitus, Ann. i. 54.
 
 220 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 living in the greatest luxury all their lives. The profes- 
 sion seems to have heen as lucrative then as now ; and 
 some of the old stories show the same madness for the 
 ancient dancers that in our days we have seen and felt, 
 perhaps, for Fanny Ellsler and Cerito. 
 
 The art of the ancient pantomimists was not confined to 
 the theatre, but at dinners and festive entertainments the 
 meats were carved by actors, who, flourishing their knives, 
 performed this service with dancing and gesticulation to 
 the sound of music. To them Juvenal alludes in these 
 lines : 
 
 ' ' Structorem interea ne qua indignatio desit, 
 Saltantem species et chirouomonta volanti 
 Cultello." 
 
 Such men as Cicero raised in Rome the dignity of actors, 
 and gave repute to the genius of ./Esopus and Roscius. 
 The latter actor obtained such a hold of the Roman 
 people, and became such a favorite, that he received a 
 thousand denarii every day that he performed ; while 
 ^Esopus left his son a fortune of two hundred thousand 
 sesterces acquired solely by his profession. 
 
 Lucian has composed a treatise on pantomimes, and 
 Macrobius tells a story of two pantomimists, Hylas and 
 Pylades, which is interesting as showing the spirit which 
 they threw into their performances. When Hylas was 
 dancing a hymn which ended with the words " the great 
 Agamemnon," he drew himself up and assumed an erect 
 attitude, endeavoring thereby to express their literal mean- 
 ing, but Pylades censured this as ill-conceived, saying, 
 "You make him tall, but not great." The audience there- 
 upon called upon Pylades to dance the same hymn, and 
 when he came to this passage he assumed a posture of 
 deep meditation. 
 
 An example of the pantomimic plays is furnished by 
 Apuleius (1. 10, Miles, p. 233), in which he gives a full 
 description of a performance where the whole story of the 
 Judgment of Paris was told by dance and gesture. Not 
 only stories of this character were danced, but also tragic 
 histories and incidents ; and Appianus Alexandrinus men- 
 tions a pantomime play founded on the slaughter of Cras- 
 sus and the destruction of his army by the Parthians.
 
 ANCIENT PANTOMIMES. 221 
 
 Even the emperors did not always occupy the seats of 
 spectators, but joined in the acting. And Suetonius relates 
 that Nero, when laboring under a severe disease, made a 
 vow, in case of his recovery, to dance the story of Turnus 
 in the JEneid. 
 
 Ferrarius, who has written a learned dissertation on this 
 subject, 1 asserts that in his time (1719) vestiges of these 
 pantomimes still existed in Italy almost in their ancient 
 form ; and that certain dances performed in Lombardy 
 by the Mattaccini were merely the old pantomimic dances 
 of the Luperci. These dancers were clothed in a tight- 
 fitting dress completely showing their figures, and wore the 
 mask of an old man with a prominent chin and no beard. 
 They ran through the streets dancing, holding their hands 
 to their foreheads, and beating the persons they met with 
 " ecourgees" like the ancient Luperci. They were very 
 agile, running before carriages when at full speed, climb- 
 ing up walls of houses and entering through windows. 
 They counterfeited various trades, such as those of barber 
 and shoemaker, and performed mock combats, in which, 
 after a certain time, one would fall and pretend to be 
 dead, on which his comrade would lift him up and carry 
 him off dancing. Apropos of this, Ferrarius tells a story 
 of two young men who fell in love with the same girl. 
 One of them finally won her hand ; and on the day of his 
 wedding, while surrounded by his friends, he was visited 
 by a company of persons in masks pretending to be Mat- 
 taccini, who at once began to dance. One of these ap- 
 proached the bridegroom and whispered in his ear, when 
 he at once arose a.nd without suspicion mixed in the mas- 
 querade. After dancing with them, he engaged in a 
 feigned combat with one of the party, and finally, pretend- 
 ing to be killed, dropped down as if dead, according to 
 the usual custom of this dance. The others immediately 
 lifted him up and carried him off on their shoulders into 
 a neighboring chamber, dancing to a sad air as if they 
 were attending a funeral. The jest was admirable, and 
 all the company were much diverted. But after the dan- 
 
 1 De Mimis et Pantominiis Dissertatio, 1714. See also Nicolaus 
 Calliachus, De Ludis Scenicis.
 
 222 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 cers had all disappeared the bridegroom did not return, 
 and his guests, finally becoming alarmed, sought for him 
 in the chamber where he had been carried by the Mattac- 
 cini, and there they found him on the floor dead 
 strangled by his rival, who had been one of the dancers. 
 
 For these pantomimic performances the Italians show 
 their ancient madness. An inferior opera they will bear 
 with tolerable patience, but they know not how to put up 
 with the disappointment of a bad ballet and pantomime. 
 In both, however, they are severe but just critics, and 
 express their disapprobation at false singing or inferior 
 execution in the openest way ; sometimes by loud laughter, 
 and sometimes by remorseless hissing. Many a time have 
 I seen them stop a bad performance by strong expressions 
 of displeasure, such as crying out to the impresario, jeer- 
 ing the unfortunate actor, and at times refusing to allow 
 him to proceed in his part. This is more intelligible when 
 it is considered that the audience are for the most part 
 abonnes for the season, and cannot revenge themselves on 
 the offending person by withdrawing from all future re- 
 presentations for by so doing they would merely tbrow 
 away at once their money and their amusement. When, 
 therefore, an actor or singer does not please them, they 
 let the impresario know the fact very unmistakably, and 
 he always has the good sense to remove the offence. When 
 it is the play or the opera itself to which they object, they 
 await the falling of the curtain in the entr'acte, or at the 
 close of the piece, and then assail it with a storm of hisses 
 and groans. 
 
 With equal enthusiasm they express their satisfaction 
 at an admirable performance or with a favorite actor or 
 singer. Repetitions, however, are not generally allowed 
 in the opera, and " Bis, bis," meets with no other result 
 than renewed courtesies and bows. When the curtain 
 falls, if they are particularly pleased, loud cries of " Fuori, 
 fuori " (out, out) are heard, which the main actors or 
 singers acknowledge by making their appearance again 
 with bows and courtesies. This is sometimes repeated, 
 when they are greatly pleased, as many as six or eight 
 times. It is so constant a practice that, to save the neces-
 
 CENSORSHIP. 223 
 
 sity on such occasions of raising the whole drop scene, a 
 large opening is cut in the centre, with flying curtains on 
 either side, through which the actors enter to answer the 
 congratulations and bravos of the audience. 
 
 Nothing can be either published or performed in Rome 
 without first submitting to the censorship, and obtaining 
 the permission of the " Custodies morum et rotulorum." 
 Nor is this a mere form ; on the contrary, it is a severe 
 ordeal, out of which many a play comes so mangled as 
 scarcely to be recognizable. The pen of the censor is 
 sometimes so ruthlessly stuck through whole acts and 
 scenes that the fragments do not sufficiently hang together 
 to make the action intelligible, and sometimes permission 
 is absolutely refused to act the play at all. In these latter 
 days the wicked people are so ready to catch at any words 
 expressing liberal sentiments, and so apt to give a political 
 significance to innocent phrases, that it behooves the censor 
 to put on his best spectacles. Yet such is the perversity 
 of the audience, that his utmost care often proves unavail- 
 ing, and sometimes plays are ordered to be withdrawn 
 from the boards after they have been played by permission. 
 
 The same process goes on with the libretti of the operas ; 
 and although Rome has not yet adopted the custom first 
 introduced by that delicate-minded guardian of public 
 morals, King Ferdinand of Naples, surnamed Bomba, of 
 obliging the ballet-dancers to wear long blue drawers and 
 pantalets, yet some of its requirements recall the fable of 
 the ostrich, which, by merely hiding its head, fondly 
 imagines it can render its whole body invisible. In this 
 way, they have attempted to conceal the offence of cer- 
 tain well-known operas, with every air and word of which 
 the Romans are familiar, simply by changing the title 
 and the names of the characters, while the story remains 
 intact. Thus, certain scandalous and shameful stories 
 attached to the name of Alexander VI. and to the family 
 of the Borgia, the title of Donizetti's famous opera of 
 " Lucrezia Borgia " has been altered to that of " Elena 
 
 
 
 da Fosco." Under this name alone is it permitted to be 
 played, and in the famous bass-song of the Duke, the 
 words
 
 224 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 " Non sempre chiusa al Popolo 
 Fu la fatal laguna ' ' 
 
 are not permitted on the stage, but have been softened 
 into 
 
 ' ' Non sempre f ra le nuvole 
 Ascosa va la luna, ' ' 
 
 although there is not a gamin in Rome who does not 
 know every word of the principal songs by heart. In 
 like manner, " I Puritani " is whitewashed into " Elvira 
 Walton ; " and in the famous duo of Suoni la tromba, the 
 words gridando liberta become gridando lealta. This 
 amiable government also, unwilling to foster a belief in 
 devils, rebaptizes " Roberto il Diavolo " into " Roberto 
 in Picardia," and conceals the name of " William Tell " 
 under that of " Rodolfo di Sterlink." " Les Huguenots," 
 in the same way, becomes in Rome " Gli Anglicani," and 
 ''Norma" sinks into "La Foresta d' Trminsul." Yet, 
 notwithstanding this, the principal airs and concerted 
 pieces are publicly sold with their original names at all 
 the shops. A most absurd instance of the manner in 
 which operas are altered by the censorship occurred a 
 year or two ago, when Gounod's " Faust" was first 
 brought out on the Roman stage. Of course it was a 
 scandal to represent Mephistopheles in Rome, but the 
 difficulty was how to give the piece without him. At last, 
 however, the affair was happily arranged. Mephistoph- 
 eles was changed into a homoeopathic doctor, who, by 
 administering certain wonderful medicines to Faust, ef- 
 fected in him a sudden and amazing transformation from 
 age to youth. The first difficulty being overcome, it was 
 comparatively easy to obliterate all the other diabolical 
 features, though the Romans very naively asked at first 
 why the maestro should have given such a peculiar style 
 of music to the homoeopathic doctor. 
 
 Nor does the censor only undertake to alter the words 
 and characters of an opera. It even rewrites the verses 
 of Dante, and lately the Signora Vitaliani, having asked 
 permission to recite at the Theatre Valle the famous epi- 
 sode of " Ugolino " from the " Inferno," every word of 
 which is as " familiar as his garter " to every Roman, it 
 was granted, but the line
 
 ITALIAN ACTING. 225 
 
 " E questo F arcivescovo Ruggieri," 
 was altered by the censor to 
 
 " Quest' e degli Ubaldin 1' empio Ruggieri," 
 
 so that the fact of his being an archbishop might be con- 
 cealed. But the audience, who knew the real line, broke 
 into such a storm of hisses and cries that it was impos- 
 sible for the Signora Vitaliani to proceed with her recita- 
 tion. 1 
 
 Of the theatres for the drama the best is the Valle, 
 where there is generally an admirable company. The 
 Italians are good actors, and entirely without that self- 
 consciousness and inflated affectation which are the bane 
 of the English stage. Everything with us is exaggerated 
 and pompous. We cannot even say u How do you do ? " 
 without mouthing. There is no vice against which Ham- 
 let warns the players that is not rampant in our theatres. 
 The Italians, on the contrary, are simple and natural. 
 Their life, which is public, out of doors, and gregarious, 
 gives them confidence, and by nature they are free from 
 self-consciousness. The same absence of artificiality that 
 marks their manners in life is visible on their stage. One 
 should, however, understand the Italian character, and 
 know their habits and peculiarities, in order fitly to relish 
 their acting. It is as different from the French acting as 
 their character is different from that of the French. 
 While at the Theatre Francjais, in Paris, one sees the 
 most perfect representation of artificial life, society, man- 
 ners, and dress, on the Italian stage there is more pas- 
 sion, tenderness, pathos, and natural simplicity. In high 
 comedy, where the scene is in the artificial sphere of 
 fashionable life, the French are decidedly superior to all 
 other people ; but where the interest of the piece is 
 wholly apart from toilette, etiquette, and mode (three 
 very French words and things), the Italians are more 
 natural and affecting. They generally seem quite uncon- 
 
 1 It is scarcely necessary to say, that all this, as well as much 
 more that is written in this book is of the past, when Rome was un- 
 der the Papal dominion. 
 15
 
 226 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 scious of their audience, and one, at times, might easily 
 imagine himself to be looking into a room, of which, with- 
 out the knowledge of the occupant, one wall is broken 
 down. There is none of that constant advancing to the 
 footlights, and playing to the pit, which is so unpleasant 
 a characteristic of the English stage. The tone of the 
 dialogue is conversational, the actors talk to each other 
 and not to the house, and in their movements and man- 
 ners they are as easy and nonchalant as if they were in 
 the privacy of their own home. In tragedy their best 
 actors are very powerful ; but ordinarily speaking, their 
 playing is best in affecting drama of common life, where 
 scope is given to passion and tenderness. In character- 
 parts, comedy and farce, too, they are admirable ; and 
 out of Italy the real buffo does not exist. Their imper- 
 sonations, without overstepping the truth of natural oddity, 
 exhibit a humor of character and a genial susceptibility 
 to the absurd which could scarcely be excelled. Their 
 farce is not dry, witty, and sarcastic, like the French, but 
 rich, and humorous, and droll. The brillante, who is 
 always rushing from one scrape to another, is so full of 
 chatter and blunder, ingenuity and good-nature, that it is 
 impossible not to laugh with him and wish him well ; 
 while the heavy father or irascible old uncle, in the midst 
 of the most grotesque and absurdly natural imitation, 
 without altering in the least his character, will often 
 move you by sudden touches of pathos when you are least 
 prepared. The old man is particularly well represented 
 on the Italian stage. In moments of excitement and 
 emotion, despite his red bandanna handkerchief, his spas- 
 modic taking of snuff, and his blowing of his nose, all of 
 which are given with a truth which at first, to a stranger, 
 trenches not slightly on the bounds of the ludicrous, 
 look out by an unexpected and exquisitely natural turn 
 he will bring the tears at once into your eyes. I know- 
 nothing so like this suddenness and unexpectedness of 
 pathos in Italian acting as certain passages in " Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin," which catch you quite unprepared, and, 
 expecting to laugh, you find yourself ciying. 
 
 The system of starring, so destructive to the interests of
 
 RISTORI AND RACHEL. 227 
 
 the drama, is unknown in Italy. The actors are enrolled 
 into dramatic companies by the various impresarii, and 
 instead of being changed every season, are engaged for 
 years at annual salaries, with an agreement to travel 
 abroad at their will on certain established conditions. 
 The different actors in a troupe thus become habituated 
 to each other's playing, and an effect is produced which 
 could result from no other system. As each one has his 
 own special class of characters, his role in every play 
 naturally determines itself, and jealousies and heart-burn- 
 ings are thereby to a great extent avoided. In this way 
 Ristori and Salvini were engaged, and for years made the 
 circuit of the principal cities in Italy with the company to 
 which they belonged. Season after season the same com- 
 pany returned to the Teatro Valle at Rome ; and here 
 Ristori made herself a warm favorite among the Romans 
 long before she left Italy to win a European fame. Many 
 and many a time in '48 and '49 have I seen her act on the 
 boards of this theatre. Her role then was principally in 
 comedy, in which she was more admirable than in tragedy, 
 and in such parts as the Locandiera of Goldoni she had no 
 equal. At this period, too, I remember with special de- 
 light her acting in the character of Elmire, in Moliere's 
 " Tartuffe." Indeed, the company to which she was at- 
 tached performed this play with a perfection I never again 
 expect to see ; and after which, the traditional acting of it 
 at the Theatre Francjais, good as it was, was a disappoint- 
 ment. Tartuffe is essentially an Italian part. He cannot 
 be understood in Paris as in Rome, where he daily walks 
 the street ; and the Tartuffe of the Roman interregnum of 
 '48 was not only a terrible satire on the priestcraft, but 
 perfectly true to nature in all its details. How the 
 audience and the actors relished it ! what enthusiasm there 
 was in those days ! Since the return of the Pope from 
 Gaeta, Tartuffe is banished from the stage, if not from 
 Rome. 
 
 Ristori was at this time in the very flower of her youth, 
 and a more beautiful person one could not easily see, even 
 in Italy. It was not until she had become a little passee 
 for La Locandiera that she took to tragedy and made her
 
 228 ROBA Dl ROMA, 
 
 l 
 
 visit to France. Since then her whole style has changed, 
 and she does not please the Romans so much as in her 
 earlier days. She is now more stately, elaborate, and 
 calculated in her art ; then she was more simple, natural, 
 ard impulsive. She has been within the circle of Rachel 
 and has felt her influence, though she is in no wise her 
 imitator. Comedy she rarely plays ; but in tragedy she 
 has achieved great distinction. One is always tempted to 
 compare her with Rachel ; but they are very different in 
 their powers. Rachel was a Lamia a serpent woman, 
 and her greatness was in the representation of wicked and 
 devilish passions. Love and tenderness were beyond her 
 faculties ; but rage, revenge, and all demoniac emotions 
 she expressed with unequalled power. In scenes of great 
 excitement that pale slender figure writhed like a serpent ; 
 and the thin arm and hand seemed to crawl along her rich 
 draperies, and almost, hiss, so subtle and wonderfully ex- 
 pressive was its movement. "What a face and figure she 
 had, capable of expressing all the venom of the characters 
 she loved to play ! Ristori, on the contrary, excels in the 
 representation of the more womanly and gentle qualities. 
 Her acting is more of the heart love, sorrow, noble 
 indignation, passionate desire, heroic fortitude, she ex- 
 presses admirably. The terrible parts of Myrra and 
 Medea she softens by the constant presence of a deep sor^ 
 row and longing. The horror of the deed is obscured by 
 the pathos of the acting and the exigencies of the circum- 
 stances. Rachel seemed to joy in the doing of horrible 
 acts ; Ristori to be driven to them by violent impulses 
 beyond her power to control. Her Medea is as affecting 
 as it is terrible ; her Judith, so heroic and inspired that 
 you forget her deed in the self-sacrifice and love of country 
 which prompted it. Bravely as she carries herself, there 
 is always apparent an undercurrent of womanly repulsion 
 which she is forced to overcome by great resolution. The 
 objection to her acting is that it is too formal and self- 
 conscious. She is never carried away herself, and there- 
 fore fails to carry away her audience. Admirable as 
 she is, she lacks the last highest quality of genius in an 
 actor she acts, she gives a little too much stress to
 
 MODENA AND SALVINL 229 
 
 unimportant details ; and as she grows older grows more 
 mannered. The influence of the foreign stage has been 
 injurious to her, and deprived her of that simplicity which 
 is the great charm of Italian acting. 
 
 At the Valle, also, Salvini has played for consecutive 
 years as a member of the Dondini corps, both before and 
 since his triumphs in France and England have won for 
 him an European name. Here, too, years ago, Modena 
 might be seen, before his liberalism and love of country 
 exiled him from Italy after the sad reverses of '48, and 
 deprived the stage of the greatest of Italian actors. I 
 had never the good fortune to see him but once, but then 
 he performed one of his great parts, that of Louis XI. 
 His representation of this wicked, suspicious, sensual, and 
 decrepit old king was terrible for its power and truth to 
 nature. Though a young man, his "make up" was so 
 artistic, that, even by the aid of a strong opera-glass, it was 
 impossible to believe that he was painted. There were 
 the seamy parchment forehead, the deeply-channelled 
 cheeks, the dropping jaw, rheumy eyes, and silvery blotched 
 complexion of eighty ; his back was curved, one shoulder 
 higher than the other, and the whole frame marked with 
 infirmity ; his walk was stiff and cramped, his gesture 
 spasmodic, his hands trembling and clutching constantly 
 at his dress ; his voice was weak and harsh, and in violent 
 paroxysms of passion, when most actors, forgetting their 
 feigned weakness, raise their voice, his tones became ex- 
 tinguished and convulsive, bursting only now and then into 
 a wiry scream. Never for a moment did he forget the 
 character he was acting ; or rather, so completely had he 
 fused himself into it, that he himself seemed no longer 
 to exist. So ghastly a picture of blasted, passionate, 
 and sensual old age, where empty desires had outlived 
 their physical satisfaction, and the violence of internal 
 passions, paralyzing the impotent body, ended in con- 
 vulsion, I never saw before or after. 
 
 Salvini, who is of the same school of acting as Modena, 
 has almost an equal genius. His Saul is a wonderful per- 
 formance, worthy to stand beside the Louis XI. of Modena. 
 The mixture of rage and insanity in this tormented spirit
 
 230 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 his trances when the facts of the world around him 
 disappear before the terrible visions conjured up by his 
 brain the subsequent intervals of painful weakness and 
 senile sorrow are expressed as only an actor of great 
 imagination could express them. So, too, his Othello, in 
 another way, is quite as remarkable. The tragedy moves 
 on with an even and constantly accelerating pace from 
 beginning to end. The quiet dignity of the first scenes, 
 where he shows the gentle manliness of his love, and 
 pleads his cause the turbulent changes of passion, when, 
 stung by the poisonous insinuations of lago, he tortures 
 himself by doubts, and writhes at last in the toils of 
 jealousy and madness the plaintive sorrow and pathos 
 of his suffering the fierce savageness of his attack on 
 lago, when, in a moment of revulsion, he seizes him by 
 the throat, and, flinging him to the ground, towers over 
 him in a tempest of frightful rage his cruel, bitter taunt- 
 ing of Desdemona, when, wrought upon by lago, he be- 
 lieves her guilty and the last fearful scene before the 
 murder, where he bids her confess her sins and pray, are 
 given with a gradation and power, compared with which 
 all English representations seem cold and artificial. Noth- 
 ing is European in his embodiment of Othello ; it is the 
 inflammatory passion of the East bursting forth like fire, 
 and consuming a noble and tortured nature it is the 
 Moor himself, as Shakespeare drew him. 
 
 In the last interview with Desdemona, Salvini is won- 
 derful. Like a tiger weaving across his cage, he ranges 
 to and fro along the farthest limits of the stage, now steal- 
 ing away from her with long strides and avoiding her 
 approaches, and now turning fiercely round upon her and 
 rolling his black eyes, by turns agitated by irresolution, 
 touched by tenderness, or goading himself into rage, until 
 at last, like a storm, he seizes her and bears her away to 
 her death. In all this Salvini never forgets that the Moor, 
 though maddened by jealousy, acts on a false notion of 
 justice and not of revenge : 
 
 " Oh I were damned beneath all depth in hell 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity."
 
 ITALIAN AUDIENCES. 231 
 
 After the deed has been accomplished, what can exceed 
 the horror of his ghastly face as he looks out between the 
 curtains he gathers about him when he hears Emilia's 
 knock or the anguish and remorse of that wild, terrible 
 cry as he leans over her dead body, after he knows her 
 innocence or the savage rage of that sudden scream 
 with which he leaps upon Jago ? But this is the last out- 
 burst of passion. Henceforward to the end nothing can 
 be more imposing than Salvini's representation of the 
 broken-hearted Moor. He resumes his original bearing. 
 He is calm in his resolution and dignified in his despair. 
 Nothing remains but death, and he will die as becomes 
 his great nature. His last speech is grand, simple, and 
 calm. After these words 
 
 " I took by the throat the circumcised dog 
 And smote him ' ' 
 
 he pauses, raises himself to his full height, and looks 
 proudly around ; then hissing out " Thus," he suddenly 
 draws his curved knife across his throat and falls back- 
 ward dead. 
 
 The Italians at the theatre are like children. The scene 
 represented on the stage is real to them. They sympathize 
 with the hero and heroine, detest the villain, and identify 
 the actor with the character he plays. They applaud the 
 noble sentiments and murmur at the bad. When Othello 
 calls lago " honest" there is a groan over the whole house, 
 and whenever lago makes his entrance a movement of 
 detestation is perceptible among the audience. Scarcely 
 will they sit quietly in their seats when he kneels with 
 Othello to vow his " wit, hands, heart to wronged Othello's 
 service," but openly cry out against him. I have even 
 heard them in a minor theatre hiss an actor who repre- 
 sented a melodramatic Barbarossa who maltreated the 
 Italians, giving vent to their indignation by such loud 
 vociferation, that the poor actor was forced to apologize 
 by deprecatory gestures, and to recall to their minds the 
 fact that he was acting a part. So openly is the sympathy 
 of the audience expressed that it is sometimes difficult to 
 induce an actor to take the villain's role.
 
 232 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 On one occasion I was present at the Cocomero Theatre 
 in Florence, when a French play was performed, founded 
 on the murder of the Duchess de Praslin. Strong disap- 
 probation was exhibited during the first acts ; but when 
 finally the assassin issues from behind the curtain after 
 committing the fatal act, with a bloody dagger in his hand 
 and his clothes stained with blood, the whole audience rose 
 as a single man, and, with a loud groan of disgust, drove 
 the actor from the stage and refused to allow the perform- 
 ance to continue. 
 
 The other afternoon, in the Mausoleum of Augustus, I 
 was listening to a play in which one of the characters was 
 a heartless, hypocritical money-lender, without bowels of 
 compassion for his poor debtors, and who was privately 
 endeavoring to ruin a poor woman, for whom he publicly 
 expressed his sympathy. On his declaring, in one of the 
 scenes, that he was ready to assist her in every way, for 
 his heart was too tender to deny anything to the poor and 
 suffering, my neighbor suddenly broke out in a loud voice 
 with startling protest, " Brutto pagliaccio, che ti piglia 
 un accidente" (Rascally harlequin, may an apoplexy take 
 you ! ) " JSh, davvero," was the sympathetic reply of all 
 around. 
 
 It is not three months ago that a new play was brought 
 out at the Correa. The story was one of seduction, drawn 
 from a French plot, but the people would not hear it. 
 " E infame. E pur troppo questo. E indegno," was 
 heard on all sides. Men who might perhaps have secretly 
 followed the course of the seducer in real life were indig- 
 nant at its representation on the stage. They would not 
 permit art to be dragged down into the filthy kennels of 
 sensual vice. Nor is this solely the case with the stage. 
 Their poetry, their romance, their literature is opposed at 
 all points to that of the French. It may be dull, but it is 
 always decent, always moral. Whatever life may be, art 
 is a sanctuary, and not, as in many French novels of the 
 present day, a neutral ground of assignation and seduc- 
 tion.
 
 MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 233 
 
 are theatrical representations in the open air at the Mau- 
 soleum of Augustus, or, as it is more popularly called, the 
 Correa, beginning at five and ending at half-past eight 
 o'clock. The theatre itself is built into the circular walls 
 of the ancient mausoleum of Augustus, that fire, siege, and 
 the efforts of barbarians have failed to demolish ; and its 
 popular name is founded on the fact that the entrance is 
 through the cortile of the Palazzo Correa, on the ground 
 floor of which the tickets of admission are sold. You 
 pass through the gloomy archway of this palace, which 
 stands at the lower part of the Via del Pontefici, near the 
 Tiber, picking your way over a dirty pavement, which, 
 nevertheless, if you examine, you will find to be composed 
 of beautiful fragments of serpentine grimed with filth and 
 age, which once were trodden by the imperial feet of the 
 Caesars ; thence issuing into a shabby, irregular cortile, you 
 see before you the outer shell of the old mausoleum, with 
 its reticulated brick-work and drapery of vines ; and pass- 
 ing on through a doorway over which are inscribed the 
 words " Mausoleo d' Augusto" you ascend two flights of 
 stairs to a landing on a level with the arena, where you 
 give up your ticket. Here your eyes are arrested by a 
 number of marble slabs let into the wall, on which are 
 celebrated, not the visits of emperors and kings, as you 
 expected, but the famous feats of circus-riders and actors 
 who have delighted the modern Romans in the arena, and 
 the wonderful intelligence of the far-famed " Elefantessa, 
 Miss Babb" One of these is worth copying for magnilo- 
 quence : 
 
 " Cessa la loquace tromba della fama ove non giunga 
 il name di Giovanni Guillaume, superbo frenatore del 
 destrieri, cui straordinariamente plaudiva la Citta del 
 Tebro net autunni 1851 e 1852." 
 
 From this landing we enter at once the circular arena, 
 enclosed within lofty walls and open above to the sky. 
 Five tiers of brick steps, receding all around to an arcade 
 of sixty-one arches, over which is an open terrace guarded 
 by an iron railing, constitute the permanent seats ; and 
 one-half the arcade is divided into private boxes, which 
 are sold to the gentry. On one side is erected a covered
 
 234 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 stage, with curtain, drop-scene, and coulisses, and in front 
 of this a portion of the open space of the arena is tempo- 
 rarily railed off and filled with numbered chairs, where 
 the great mass of the audience sit. The price of a seat 
 within this enclosure is fifteen baiocchi, but outside the 
 railing and on the brick steps the price is only one paul. 
 The boxes in the arcades cost a few baiocchi more ; but 
 as they are distant from the stage they are but little occu- 
 pied, except when the arena is used for circus perform- 
 ances, in which case the stage and the railed-off enclos- 
 ures are removed, and they become the chief places. The 
 outer walls are so high that by five o'clock the arena is 
 quite in shadow, and there one may pass an hour or two 
 most agreeably in the summer afternoon, smoking a cigar 
 and listening often to admirable acting. The air is cool 
 and fresh ; there is no vile smell of steaming lamps ; the 
 smoke from the cigars ascends into the open sky and 
 disturbs no one ; great white clouds drift now and then 
 over you ; swallows hurtle above, darting to and fro inces- 
 santly in curving flight, and the place is in all respects 
 most enjoyable. If you do not choose to listen, you may 
 stroll outside the railings in the arena, or ascend into the 
 open arcade and chat with your friends. Are you thirsty, 
 you find a subterranean caffe beneath the brick steps, with 
 tables spread out before it, where you may order to bo 
 brought to you beer, wine, bibite of oranges, lemons, 
 syrups of strawberries, cherries, violet, all sorts of rosolj, 
 and, if your taste is more craving of excitement, aqua- 
 vitCK and rhum. Cigar venders are also wandering about ; 
 and between the acts you hear on all sides the cry of " Si- 
 gari, sigari scelti" The scenery is very poor, and with- 
 out the illusion of lamplight everything looks tawdry ; 
 but when the acting is good, the imagination supplies the 
 material deficiencies. It is only when the acting is bad 
 that the scenery becomes ludicrous. Given Shakespeare, 
 a blanket will suffice ; but Charles Kean requires all the 
 splendor and pomp of scenic effect as a background. A 
 barrel is a throne for a king ; but Christopher Sly is not 
 a lord even in " the fairest chamber hung round with wan- 
 ton pictures."
 
 MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 235 
 
 Now and then a very odd effect takes place. In a scene 
 of passionate emotion, when the lover is on his knees ; 
 when the father is lifting his hands to curse his child ; 
 when the mother is just about to clasp her new-found 
 daughter ; when two rivals are crossing swords, clang, 
 clang, clang, suddenly peal the bells of the neighborhood, 
 and the actors, whose voices are drowned in the din, are 
 forced to stop and walk about the stage, and wait until the 
 noise ceases. The audience growls and laughs, the actors 
 smile and drop into their real characters, everybody shrugs 
 his shoulders, and not a few say, " accidente." But the 
 grievance is soon over, and the scene goes on. 
 
 Sometimes a cloud draws darkening over the sky, and 
 a sudden clap of thunder with a few large preliminary 
 drops brings all the audience to their feet, and a general 
 scramble takes place for the covered logyie. The play still 
 continues, however ; and queer enough is sometimes the 
 aspect of the place. A few venturous spirits, determined 
 to hear as well as to see, and knowing that the pit is the 
 only really good spot, still bravely keep their places under 
 the green, purple, and brown domes of their umbrellas ; 
 others, braver than they, who have not had the foresight 
 to bring umbrellas, seize a chair, and turning it upside 
 down, and holding it by one leg, improvise an umbrella. 
 The last spectacle of this kind at which I was present, 
 showed pluck beyond this : at the first drops the greater 
 part of the audience fled to the loggie, and there jeered 
 the few who resolutely remained under their umbrellas. 
 But the rain came heavier and heavier, and threatened to 
 outlast the play, and one by one all left the pit, except a 
 sturdy Englishman of middle age, in gold spectacles, and 
 an Italian woman. They had made up their minds never 
 to give it up ; and there they stayed alone, and side by 
 side, despite the shouts and laughter of the audience. 
 The woman, after the fashion of her sex, was in crinoline, 
 which was freely exposed as she turned up her skirts to 
 keep them dry. Her feet were planted on the upper rungs 
 of a chair, in front of her, with her knees on a level with 
 her bosom, an inverted chair was spread over her dress, 
 on either side of her, and in her lap was a third, through
 
 236 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the rungs of which she had thrust her arms so as to sup- 
 port still a fourth chair above her head, and crouched be- 
 neath this, she listened with the greatest calm to the play. 
 At her side, and unwilling to be outdone, sat the English- 
 man, with his trousers rolled up, and similarly arranged 
 in all respects, save that he had a great green umbrella in- 
 stead of a chair over his head. The pit swam with water, 
 the thunder pealed, the rain poured in torrents ; but there, 
 with the utmost sang fr 'old , they sat, neither turning aside 
 to encourage each other, but both looking steadfastly before 
 them at the stage. At last the cloud broke up, the shower 
 passed over, and the audience began to pour back. The 
 Englishman never moved, until an Italian got before him, 
 and upon the falling of a few supplementary drops seized a 
 chair and held it over his head, so as to impede the Eng- 
 lishman's view of the stage. This human patience could 
 endure no longer. He dropped his great umbrella and 
 gave the Italian obstacle a punch with the great brass fer- 
 ule in the middle of the back, making signs that he was 
 in his way ; whereupon the obstacle shrugged his shoul- 
 ders and laughed, and moved aside. 
 
 Often before the play is over, the shadows of twilight 
 deepen in the arena, and the stars begin to twinkle over- 
 head. Then lamps are lighted on the stage and around 
 the theatre, and the contrast of the yellow lights below 
 and the silvery star-points above, in the deep abyss of the 
 sky, is very striking. 1 
 
 As one looks around, in the intervals of the acting, the 
 old reminiscences of the place will sometimes very forc- 
 ibly strike the mind ; and the imagination, running down 
 the line of history with an electric thrill, will revive the 
 ghosts of the old days, and people the place with the 
 shapes of the Caesars, whose bodies were here laid in sol- 
 emn burial eighteen hundred years ago. Why should not 
 their spirits walk here after the shadows have begun to 
 fall, and the mists from the river to steal over their tomb ? 
 
 1 All this is entirely changed now. The theatre has been cov- 
 ered with a roof, much embellished and decorated, and at times is 
 used as a circus, and at times as a theatre. It has even changed its 
 name, and is now the Teatro Amberto.
 
 MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 237 
 
 The place is creepy after twilight ; but let us linger a few 
 moments and give a glimpse into the past, or, if you wish 
 to have a sensation, let us walk into one of these damp, 
 subterranean passages, and raise a spirit or two. 
 
 Strabo tells us that this mausoleum, which was built by 
 Augustus to be the last resting-place for the ashes of his 
 family, originally consisted of a huge tumulus of earth, 
 raised on a lofty basement of white marble, and covered 
 to the summit with evergreen plantations in the manner 
 of a hanging garden. On the summit was a bronze 
 statue of Augustus himself, and beneath the tumulus was 
 a large central hall, round which ran a range of fourteen 
 sepulchral chambers, opening into this common vestibule. 
 At the entrance were two Egyptian obelisks, fifty feet in 
 height. One of these obelisks now stands on the Quirinal 
 beside the Dioscuri, attributed with little foundation to 
 Phidias and Praxiteles. It was placed there by Pius VI. 
 All around was an extensive grove, divided into walks 
 and terraces. In the centre of the plain, opposite to the 
 mausoleum, was the bustum, or funeral pile, where the 
 bodies were burnt. This was also built of white marble, 
 surrounded by balustrades, and planted inside with pop- 
 lars. Its site has been recently ascertained to be close by 
 the church of St. Carlo, in Corso. The young Marcellus, 
 whose fate was bewailed by Virgil in lines that all the 
 world knows, was its first occupant, and after him a long 
 Caesarian procession laid their ashes in this marble cham- 
 ber. Here was placed Octavia, the mother of Marcellus, 
 the neglected wife of Antony, whom Cleopatra caught in 
 her " strong toil of grace." Here lay Agrippa, the builder 
 of the Pantheon and husband of the profligate Julia ; 
 Caius and Lucius, the emperor's nephews ; Livia, his well- 
 beloved wife ; and beside them, Augustus himself. Here, 
 too, the poisoned ashes of the noble Germanicus were 
 borne from Syria by Agrippina, while crowds of mourn- 
 ing Romans followed her, invoking the gods to spare to 
 them his children. Here the young first Drusus, the pride 
 of the Claudian family, and at his side the second Drusus r 
 the son of Tiberius, were laid. Here the dust of Agrip- 
 pina, after years of exile and persecution, was at last per-
 
 238 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 mitted to repose beside that of her husband Germanicus. 
 Here Nero, and his mother Agrippina, and his victim 
 Britannicus ; here Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and all 
 the other Caesars down to Nerva, found their burial-place ; 
 and then the marble door was closed, for the sepulchral 
 cells were full. The next Caesar, Trajan, found his 
 burial-place in his Forum ; then Hadrian built his colossal 
 mausoleum, where were placed all the subsequent emperors 
 down to Marcus Aurelius ; and subsequently with Sep- 
 timius Severus begins the list of those who found their 
 last resting-place in the tombs on the Via Appia and near 
 the Porta Capena. 
 
 A long blank space now occurs in the history of the 
 mausoleum. Centuries went by, while the ashes of the 
 Caesars reposed undisturbed in their marble sepulchres. 
 Then came a thunder over their heads ; when Alaric, in 
 the fifth century, overwhelmed Rome with his hordes of 
 Visigoths, broke down the gate of the mausoleum, plun- 
 dered the tombs of the Csesars, and scattered their ashes 
 to the winds. Wild weeds and ivy then covered with 
 green the ruins of their ravage. Centuries again went by 
 without a change save that of time, and lizards and ser- 
 pents slid in and out unmolested. At last the Colonna 
 took possession of it, and rebuilt it into a foi'tress. But, 
 enraged with their treachery after the repulse of the 
 Romans at Tusculum, the populace destroyed all that was 
 destructible of this great mausoleum. It was too strong 
 for them, however. The mortar and cement of centuries 
 had hardened to stone. Its massive walls resisted their 
 attacks ; and Montfaucon tells us, in his pilgrimage to 
 Rome in the thirteenth century, that he saw over one of 
 the arches of the mausoleum the funeral inscription of 
 Nerva : "Hcec sunt ossa et cinis Nervae Imperatoris." l 
 Again the Colonna occupied them, rebuilt them into a 
 foi'tress, and there withstood the assaults of Gregory IX. 
 
 Then came a day when a new burial took place here. 
 It was of Rome's last Tribune. Murdered at the foot of 
 the Capitol, his dead body was dragged thence by the 
 
 1 Liber de Mirab. Bom. Ap. Montfaucon. Diarium Italicum, 
 p. 692.
 
 MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS. 239 
 
 Jews, under the orders of Jugurtha and Sciaretta Colonna, 
 and on the ruins of the mausoleum was seen the first 
 funeral pyre since that of Nerva. Every Jew in Rome 
 was there, feeding with dry thistles the fire that consumed 
 Rienzi's body, and his ashes were blown about by the 
 wind. " Cos\ qnel corpo fa arso, fa ridotto in polvere e 
 non ne rimase cica." 1 
 
 But Caesars and Tribune are alike vanished, and not a 
 memorial of them remains. The sarcophagus which con- 
 tained the ashes of Agrippina, daughter of Marcus 
 Agrippa and wife of Germanicus, is one of the few relics 
 which now remain of the pomp of this splendid mausoleum. 
 The very stone on which the inscription was graven to her 
 memory was afterwards used as the measure for three 
 hundred-weight of corn ; and it may still be seen in the 
 court of the Conservators' Palace, on the Capitoline Hill, 
 with the arms of the modern senate sculptured on its side, 
 and beneath an inscription setting forth its " base modern 
 uses." 
 
 This resting-place of Caesars, this fortress of mediaeval 
 princes, was afterwards hollowed out into a vineyard, and 
 Santi Bartoli, in his work on Gli Antichi Sepolchri, gives 
 us a picture of it in this state. It was then made into a 
 circus for bull-fights, which were only abolished a few 
 years ago ; and now it is devoted to the alternate uses of 
 a circus and a day theatre. Where the grand imperial 
 processions of death once paused, the particolored clown 
 tumbles in the dust, and flinging out both his arms, cries, 
 " Eccomi qua.'" In the chambers where once were ranged 
 the urns of Augustus and Germanicus, stand rows of 
 bottles containing beer, liquors, and bibite ; and the only 
 funeral pyres we burn there now are the cigars we smoke 
 as we look at the play of Julius Caesar. Tempora 
 mutantur. 
 
 1 " Biography of Rienzi," by Tommaso Fortifiocca.
 
 240 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 
 
 OF all the ruins in Rome none is at once so beautiful, so 
 imposing, and so characteristic as the Colosseum. Here 
 throbbed the Roman heart in its fullest pulses. Over its 
 benches swarmed the mighty population of the central city 
 of the world. In its arena, gazed at by a hundred thousand 
 eager eyes, the gladiator fell, while the vast velarium trem- 
 bled as the air was shaken by savage shouts of " Habet," 
 and myriads of cruel hands, with upturned thumbs, sealed 
 his unhappy fate. The sand of the arena drank the blood 
 of African elephants, lions, and tigers, of Mirmillones, 
 Laqueatores, Retiarii, and Andabatce, and of Christian 
 martyrs and virgins. Here emperor, senators, knights, 
 and soldiers, the lowest populace and the proudest citizens, 
 gazed together on the bloody games shouted together as 
 the favorite won, groaned together fiercely as the favor- 
 ite fell, and startled the eagles sailing over the blue vault 
 above with their wild cries of triumph. Here might be 
 heard the trumpeting of the enraged elephant, the savage 
 roar of the tiger, the peevish shriek of the grave-rifling 
 hyena, while the human beasts above, looking on the 
 slaughter of the lower beasts beneath, uttered a wilder and 
 more awful yell. Rome brutal, powerful, bloodthirsty, 
 imperial Rome built in her days of pride this mighty 
 amphitheatre, and, outlasting all her works, it still stands, 
 the best type of her grandeur and brutality. What St. 
 Peter's is to the Rome of to-day was the Colosseum to 
 the Rome of the Caesars. The Baths of Caracalla, grand 
 as they are, must yield precedence to it. The Caesars' 
 Palaces are almost level with the earth. Over the pave- 
 ment where once swept the imperial robes now slips the 
 gleaming lizard, and in the indiscriminate ruins of these 
 splendid halls the contadino plants his potatoes and sells 
 for a paul the oxidized coin which once may have paid 
 the entrance fee to the great amphitheatre. The golden 
 house of Nero is gone. The very Forum where Cicero
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 241 
 
 delivered his immortal orations is almost obliterated, and 
 antiquarians quarrel over the few columns that remain. 
 But the Colosseum still stands : despite the assault of time 
 and the work of barbarians, it still stands, noble and beau- 
 tiful in its decay yes, more beautiful than ever. 
 
 But what a change has come over it since the bloody 
 scenes of the Caesars were enacted ! A supreme peace 
 now reigns there. Thousands of beautiful flowers bloom 
 in its ruined arches, tall plants and shrubs wave across 
 the open spaces, and Nature has healed over the wounds 
 of time with delicate grasses and weeds. Where, through 
 the podium doors, wild beasts once rushed into the arena 
 to tear the Christian martyrs, now stand the altars and 
 stations that are dedicated to Christ. In the summer af- 
 ternoon the air above is thronged with twittering swal- 
 lows ; and sometimes, like a reminiscence of imperial 
 times, far up in the blue height, an eagle, planing over it 
 on widespread, motionless wings, sails silently along. 
 
 Here, as you lie towards twilight, dreaming of the past, 
 upon some broken block of travertine, you will see a pro- 
 cession wending its way between the arches, preceded by 
 a cross-bearer and two acolytes. It is composed of a 
 Franciscan friar in his brown serge and cowl, accompanied 
 by the religious confraternity of the " Lovers of Jesus and 
 Maria," and followed by a group of women in black, and 
 veiled. They chant together a hymn as they slowly ap- 
 proach the cross planted in the centre of the arena. There 
 they kneel and cry, " Adoramus te, Christe, et benedici- 
 mus te," with the response, " Quia per sanctam crucem 
 tuam redemisti mundum." Then the monk ascends the 
 platform before one of the altars, plants his crucifix beside 
 him, and preaches a sermon. This finished, the proces- 
 sion makes the round of the stations, and again passes out 
 of the arena. As he advances to the first station he 
 chants 
 
 ' ' L' orme sanguigne 
 
 Del mio Signore, 
 
 Tutto dolore 
 
 Seguiter6." 
 
 And the people respond 
 16
 
 242 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 ' ' Vi prego, o Gesu buono, 
 Per la vostra passione 
 Danni il perdono ! ' ' 
 
 It is strange to hear this chant and sermon in a place 
 once dedicated to blood strange to hear the doctrine of 
 love and forgiveness on the spot where the gladiator fell, 
 and the martyr suffered for his faith. 1 
 
 As you dream over this change, the splendor of sunset 
 blazes against the lofty walls, and transfigures its blocks 
 of travertine to brown and massive gold; the quivering 
 stalks and weeds seem on fire ; the flowers drink in a glory 
 of color, and show like gems against the rough crust of 
 their setting ; rosy clouds hang in the open vault above, 
 under which swift birds flash incessantly, and through the 
 shadowed arches you see long molten bars of crimson 
 drawn against a gorgeous sky beyond. Slowly the great 
 shadow of the western wall creeps along the arena ; the 
 cross in the centre blazes no longer in the sun ; it reaches the 
 eastern benches, climbs rapidly up the wall, and the glory of 
 sunset is gone. Twilight now swiftly draws its veil across 
 the sky, the molten clouds grow cool and gray, the orange 
 refines into citron and pales away to tenderest opaline light, 
 and stars begin to peer through the dim veil of twilight. 
 Shadows deepen in the open arena, block up the arches and 
 
 1 This you will see and hear no longer. The arena, once so peace- 
 ful and smoothed over with low grass, has been excavated to exhibit 
 the foundations, and the cavernous cells and compartments which 
 underlie it. From a purely archaeological point of view, this may be 
 interesting, but all the charm of the place has been destroyed. It no 
 longer represents the surface of the arena as it was in the ancient 
 days, when the fierce gladiatorial games were represented ; nor of 
 the later days, when it was grassed over, and one might wander 
 there, and re-create in imagination the bloody scenes of the past. 
 All the stations have been removed ; the cross of Christianity no 
 longer stands in the centre. The processions of monks and confra- 
 ternities make no more their rounds at twilight, to chant their 
 hymns and preach their sermons ; but you may, if that satisfies you, 
 gaze down into ugly pits and trenches below, and wonder for what 
 purpose they were constructed. The walls, too, have been stripped 
 of the flora which once. adorned them, and are now bare. Nature, 
 however, will have its way, and despite of all efforts, at inaccessible 
 points, and in crumbling crevices, it still plants its weeds and 
 flowers to gladden and drape the ravages of time.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 243 
 
 galleries, confuse the lines of the benches, and shroud its 
 decay. You rise and walk musingly into the centre of 
 the arena, and, looking around its dim, vast circumference, 
 you suddenly behold the benches as of old thronged with 
 their myriads of human forms the ghosts of those who 
 once sat there. That terrible circle of eyes is shining at 
 you with a ghastly expression of cruel excitement. You 
 hear the strange, exciting hum of confused voices, and the 
 roar of wild beasts in the caverns below. You are your- 
 self the gladiator, who must die to make a Roman holiday, 
 or the martyr who waits at the stake for the savage beasts 
 that are to rend him. A shudder comes over you, for the 
 place has magnetized you with its old life ; you look 
 hurriedly round to seek flight, when suddenly you hear a 
 soprano voice saying, " Francois, where did the Vestal 
 Virgins sit ? " and you wake from your dream. 
 
 Later still the moon shines through the arches, and soft- 
 ens and hallows the ruins of the old amphitheatre ; an 
 owl plaintively hoots from the upper cornice, and from the 
 grove near by you hear the nightingale's heart throbbing 
 into song ; voices are talking under the galleries, and far 
 up a torch wanders and glimmers along the wall, where 
 some enterprising English party is exploring the ruins. 
 The sentinel paces to and fro in the shadowy entrance, 
 and parties of strangers come in to see the " Colosseum by 
 moonlight." They march backward and forward, and 
 their " guide, philosopher, and friend," the courier, in 
 broken English answers their questions. They are very 
 much interested to know how long, and how broad, and 
 how high the amphitheatre is, and how many persons it 
 would hohi, and where the beasts were kept, and, above 
 all, where the Vestal Virgins sat ; and every Englishman 
 quotes the passage from " Manfred," in which Lord Byron 
 describes the Colosseum, and listens with special atten- 
 tion for the owls and the watch-dog, and is rather inclined 
 to think he has been cheated unless he docs happen to 
 hear them ; and every truly sentimental young lady agrees 
 with the poet, when he says that the moonlight makes 
 
 " The place 
 
 Become religion, and the heart run o'er 
 With silent worship of the great of old,"
 
 244 ROBA tH ROMA. 
 
 who played such pretty pranks here some eighteen hun- 
 dred years ago. 
 
 .Such is the Colosseum at the present day. Let us go 
 back into the past, and endeavor to reconstruct it. 
 
 We are in the beginning of the reign of the great Julius, 
 and the stormy populace of Rome has no amphitheatre 
 for its gladiatorial games and combats with wild beasts. 
 When they take place, they are exhibited in the Forum, 
 and there the people throng and crowd the temporary seats 
 by which a small arena is enclosed. But this is soon felt 
 to be insufficient and inconvenient, and Julius for the first 
 time now erects in the Campus Martius a great wooden 
 structure, to which is given the name of amphitheatrum. 
 Before this we have only had theatres, which were invari- 
 ably semicircular in form, the seats of the spectators front- 
 ing the stage, which occupied the line of the diameter. 
 We have now, for the first time, an amphitheatre in the 
 form of an ellipse, in which the arena is entirely enclosed 
 with tiers of seats, and this is the shape which hencefor- 
 ward all amphitheatres are destined to take. 
 
 This wooden amphitheatre, however, in the reign of 
 Augustus gives way to an amphitheatre of stone, which at 
 the instance of the emperor is built in the Campus Martius 
 by Statilius Taurus. It was too small, however, to satisfy 
 the wishes of the people, and Augustus seems to have 
 entertained at one time a prospect of building one still 
 larger on the very spot now occupied by the Colosseum ; 
 but among his various schemes of embellishing the city, 
 this was abandoned. Tiberius seems to have done nothing 
 in this respect. Caligula, however, began to build a large 
 stone amphitheatre, but he died before it had made much 
 progress, and it was not continued by his successor. Still 
 later, Nero built a temporary amphitheatre of wood in the 
 Campus Martius, where were represented those remark- 
 able games at which he was not only a spectator but an 
 actor. Here at times he might be seen lounging on the 
 suggestus in imperial robes of delicate purple, that flowed 
 loosely and luxuriously about him, his head crowned with 
 a garland of flowers, and looking so like a woman in his 
 dress, that you might easily be deceived as to his sex, were
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 245 
 
 it not for that cruel face with his hawk nose and small 
 fierce eyes, that looks out under the flowers. Here, at 
 other times, half naked and armed like a gladiator, he 
 fights in the arena, and woe be to him who dares to draw 
 the imperial blood ! If we could look in at one of the 
 games given in this amphitheatre, we should see not only 
 the emperor playing the gladiator's part on the arena, but 
 at his side, and fighting against each other, at. times no 
 less than four hundred senators and six hundred Roman 
 knights. Here, too, this mad artist played his harp, 
 made recitations from the poets, and acted, mixing with 
 the populace, and winning their golden opinions. Scorned 
 and hated by the upper classes, he was certainly loved by 
 many in the lower ranks, 1 and for many a year upon his 
 tomb was daily found the offering of fresh flowers. 
 
 Meanwhile, Nero has built his golden house on the Pal- 
 atine Hill, with its gorgeous halls, theatres, and corridors, 
 thronged with marble statues ; and at its base is an arti- 
 ficial lake, fed by pure waters brought from the mountains, 
 in which at times he celebrates his naumachise. This 
 occupies the very spot on which the Colosseum is after- 
 wards to be built, but it is only a lake during the reigns of 
 Galba, Otho, and Vitellius. When Nero set the torch to 
 Rome, among the many buildings which were consumed 
 was the old amphitheatre of Statilius Taurus, and Rome 
 had only that of the Campus Martins, in which the brutal 
 and gluttonous Vitellius could carry on those gladiatorial 
 games which were necessary for the popularity of the 
 emperor and the peace of the people. 
 
 But when Titus and Vespasian return after the conquest 
 of Jerusalem enriched with spoils, a great change takes 
 place. The populace cries out for " Panem et Circenses" 
 and there is no amphitheatre in which they can fitly be 
 given. Then it is that the Lake of Nero is drained, and 
 out of the Jewish captives who have been brought to 
 Rome to grace the imperial triumph, twelve thousand of 
 those unhappy slaves whose descendants still burrow in 
 the Ghetto, are driven, in the year 72 A. D., under the 
 smack of the whip, to lay the first stones of the Amphi- 
 theatrum Flavium, which now goes by the name of the
 
 246 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Colosseum. For long years these poor wretches toiled at 
 their work ; but when they had reached the third tier of 
 seats Vespasian died. Titus then continued the construc- 
 tion, and dedicated the amphitheatre in the year 80 A. D., 
 but it was not completely finished until the reign of Dona- 
 tion. At the dedication by Titus there was a magnificent 
 spectacle. The games lasted for one hundred days. Fifty 
 wild beasts were killed every day, and no less than 5000 
 were slaughtered in the arena. According to the tradition 
 of the Church, the design of the amphitheatre was made 
 by Gaudentius, a Christian architect, who afterwards suf- 
 fered martyrdom within its walls. 
 
 The building is at last finished, and a magnificent struc- 
 ture it is. Looking at it from the outside, we behold a 
 grand elevation of four stories, built of enormous blocks 
 of travertine, that glow like rough gold in the sunlight. 
 The lower story is Doric, the second Ionic, the third 
 Corinthian, and the fourth Composite ; the lower three 
 being composed of arches with engaged columns, and the 
 upper being a solid wall pierced with square openings, and 
 faced by pilasters. High up against the blue sky is drawn 
 the curved cornice of its summit, with huge projecting 
 brackets on which the poles supporting the velarium, or 
 awning, are fixed. 1 The two middle rows of arches are 
 thronged with marble statues, and over the principal en- 
 trance is a great triumphal car drawn by horses. Just 
 before it is the " meta sudans," over whose simple cone, 
 fixed upon a square base, the water oozes through a thou- 
 sand perforated holes, and streams into a basin below. 9 
 Above, on the Palatine, are the splendid porticoes and pil- 
 lars of the golden house, with its green hanging gardens, 
 and beyond, on the Via Sacra, is the grand triumphal 
 arch of Titus, and afterwards of Trajan. 
 
 It is a holiday, and games are to be given in the amphi- 
 
 1 The velarium with -which Julius covered the Forum was reputed 
 to be of silk, says Dion, and possibly this was of the same material ; 
 though, when we remember that silk, according 1 to Vopiscus, was 
 then worth its weight in gold, it would seem very improbable. 
 
 2 It is thus represented in two medals struck by Titus and 
 Domitian.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 247 
 
 theatre. The world of Rome is flocking to it from all 
 quarters. Senators and knights with their body-guards of 
 slaves and gladiators, soldiers, glittering with silver and 
 gold, youths with their pedagogues, women, artisans, and 
 priests, companies of gladiators marshalled by Lanistce, 
 cohorts with flashing bucklers and swords, and masses of 
 freedmen, slaves, and the common populace of the city, 
 are pouring down the Via Sacra, and filling the air with a 
 confused noise and uproar, in which shouts of laughter 
 and cheering are mingled with the screams of women and 
 the clash of swords. At times the clear piercing shriek of 
 a trumpet or the brazen clash of music rises above this 
 simmering caldron of noise, and here and there, looking 
 up the human river that pours down the slope of the Via 
 Sacra, you see gray sheaves of bristling spears lifted high 
 above the crowd, or here and there a golden eagle that 
 gleams and wavers in the sun, where some Roman legion 
 sharply marches through the loitering mass of people. We 
 push along with the crowd, and soon we arrive at the 
 amphitheatre, where we pause and struggle vainly to read 
 the libelhim or programme, which the " editor " or ex- 
 hibitor has affixed to the walls, to inform the public of the 
 names of the gladiators, and the different games and com- 
 bats of the day. The majestic porticoes which surround 
 the whole building are filled with swarms of people, some 
 lingering and lounging there till the time shall come for 
 the games to begin, or looking at the exquisite designs in 
 stucco with which they are adorned, 1 and some crowding 
 up the " vomitorice" which at regular distances lead up to 
 the seats. Here we procure our tickets for a numbered 
 seat, and soon push up the steps and come into the interior 
 circle of the mighty amphitheatre, glad enough at last to 
 be jostled no longer, and under the direction of a locarius, 
 to get our seat. Already the lofty ranges of benches are 
 
 1 These still remained in the fifteenth century, and were copied 
 and engraved by Giovanni da Udine, in the time of Leo X. This 
 painter, who was the first to revive the use of stucco, after the 
 manner of the ancient Romans, in decoration and arabesque, was 
 employed by Raffaelle to make the stucco of the Logge, in the 
 Vatican, the designs of which were taken, in a great measure, from 
 those which were found in the Baths of Titus and in the Colosseum.
 
 248 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 beginning to be filled, and at a rough guess there must be 
 even now some 50,000 persons there. But many a range 
 is still empty, and we know that 87,000 persons can be 
 seated, while there is standing room for 22,000 more. 
 The huge velarium is bellying, sagging, and swaying above 
 our heads, veined with cords, and throwing a transparent 
 shadow over the whole building. How it is supported, 
 who can tell? But we may congratulate ourselves that 
 we are on the shady side, where the sun does not beat ; 
 for the mad emperor, when the games have not been fierce 
 and bloody enough to please him, has many a time ordered 
 a portion of the velarium to be removed, so as to let the 
 burning sun in upon those who were unlucky enough to be 
 opposite to it, and then prohibited any one from leaving 
 his place under penalty of instant death. 
 
 Looking down, we see surrounding the arena a wall 
 about fifteen feet in height, faced with rich marbles, and 
 intended to guard the audience against the wild beasts. 
 This is sometimes called the podium, though the term is 
 more appropriately applied to the terrace on the top of 
 the wall, which extends in front of the benches, and is 
 railed round by a trellis-work. This, in the amphitheatre 
 of Nero, was made of bronze, but Carinus afterwards sub- 
 stituted golden cords, which were knotted together at their 
 intersections with amber. There is the seat of honor, and 
 three or four ranges of chairs are set apart for persons 
 entitled to the distinction of the curule chair. Those, 
 taking their seats in them now, are, or have been, some of 
 them, praetors, and some consuls, curules, sediles, or cen- 
 sors. There, too, is the Flamen Dialis. Opposite to the 
 praetors, that group of white-robed women, also in the 
 podium, is the Vestal Virgins ; and there, on the raised 
 tribune, is the seat of the editor who exhibits the games. 
 
 Above the podium are three tiers, called the mceniana, 
 which are separated from each other by long platforms 
 running round the whole building and called prcecino 
 tiones. The first of these, consisting of fourteen rows 
 of stone and marble seats, is for the senators and 
 equestrian orders, and they have the luxury of a cushion 
 to sit upon. The second tier is for the populus, and the
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 249 
 
 third, where there are only wooden henches, is occupied 
 by the pidlat.i, or common people of the lower classes. 
 Above these is a colonnade or long gallery set apart for 
 women, who are admitted when there is to be no naked 
 fighting among the gladiators. But as yet the seats are 
 empty, for the women are not admitted before the fifth 
 hour. On the middle seats where the plebeians sit there 
 is not a single person in black, for this was prohibited by 
 Octavius Caesar, and it was he also who ordered that the 
 ambassadors should not stand, as they used to do, in the 
 orchestra or podium, and that the young nobles should 
 always be accompanied by their pedagogues. 
 
 While we are looking round we can hear the roar of 
 the wild beasts, which are kept in great caves under the 
 pavement of the arena; and sometimes we see their fierce 
 glaring faces through the arched doors with which the 
 walls of the podium were pierced. They are now pro- 
 tected by poi'tcullises, which later will be drawn up by 
 cords to let the beasts into the arena, and these, which 
 may be seen raging and roaring behind them now, will 
 have to fight for their lives to-day. 
 
 The arena where the combats will take place is sunken 
 from 13 to 15 feet below the lowest range of seats, and is 
 fenced around with wooden rollers turning in their sock- 
 ets, and placed horizontally against the wall, S3 as to 
 revolve under any wild beast, in case he should attempt 
 to reach the audience by leaping over the boundary wall. 
 For public security, all around the arena are the euripi, 
 or ditches, built by Caesar, and flooded, so as to protect 
 the spectators against the attacks of elephants, which are 
 supposed to be afraid of water. The floor of the arena 
 originally was strewn with yellow sand (and from this its 
 name was derived), so as to afford a sure footing to the 
 gladiators ; but Caligula afterwards substituted borax, and 
 Nero added to the borax the splendid red of Cinabar, 
 with which it now is covered. Underneath this is a solid 
 pavement of stones closely cemented so as to hold water ; 
 and when the naumachice or naval battles are given, there 
 are pipes to flood it, so as to form an artificial lake on 
 which galleys may float. Near the northern entrance
 
 250 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 you will see a flight of broad stairs, tlirough which great 
 machines are sometimes introduced into the arena. 
 
 The air is filled with perfumes of saffron infused in 
 wine, and balsams, and costly tinctures, and essences, 
 which are carried over the building in concealed conduits, 
 and ooze out over the statues through minute orifices, or 
 scatter their spray into the air. Lucan, you remember, 
 describes this 
 
 " When mighty Rome's spectators meet 
 In the full theatre's capacious seat, 
 At once by secret pipes and channels fed, 
 Rich tinctures gush from every antique head 
 At once ten thousand saffron currents flow, 
 And rain their odours on the crowd below." 1 
 
 There is now a sudden stir among the people, and the 
 amphitheatre resounds with the cry of " Ave Imperator" 
 as the emperor in his purple robes, surrounded by his 
 lictors and imperial guard, enters and takes his seat on 
 the elevated chair called the suggestus or cubiculum, 
 opposite to the main entrance. Then sound the trumpets, 
 and the gladiators who are to fight to-day enter the arena 
 in a long procession, and make the tour of the whole 
 amphitheatre. They are then matched in pairs, and their 
 swords are examined by the editor, and even by the 
 emperor, to see if they are sharp and in good condition. 
 After this comes a prcelusio or sham battle with modern 
 swords and spears. There is the Retiarius clothed in a 
 short tunic, his head, breast, and legs uncovered, and a 
 net upon his arm with which he will strive to entangle his 
 adversary ere he dispatches him with that sharp trident 
 at his side. Near him is his usual adversary, the Myr- 
 millo, armed with his oblong curving shield and long 
 dagger, and wearing on his head the helmet with the 
 sign of the fish (/lop/Avpo?), from which he derives his 
 name. There, too, is the Laqueator with his noose ; the 
 Andabata with his close helmet, through which there are 
 no eyeholes, and who will fight blindfold ; and all the 
 other gladiators, with the Lanistce who accompany them 
 to see that all is fair, and to excite their spirit in the com- 
 1 Rowe's translation, Lucan, Book ix.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 251 
 
 bat. They are now matched and ready. The praihisio is 
 over ; the trumpet again sounds, and the first on the list 
 advance to salute the emperor before engaging in their 
 desperate contest. 
 
 In the museum of San Giovanni in Laterano is a large 
 mosaic pavement, taken from the Baths of Caracalla, on 
 which are represented colossal heads and figures of some 
 of the most celebrated gladiators of the day. Their 
 brutal and bestial physiognomies, their huge, over-devel- 
 oped muscles and Atlantean shoulders, their low, flat 
 foreheads and noses, are hideous to behold, and give one 
 a more fearful and living notion of the horror of those 
 bloody games to which they were trained, than any 
 description in words could convey. They make one 
 believe that of all animals none can be made so brutal as 
 man. It is very probable that some of these were the 
 favorite gladiators of Caracalla, and made a part of the 
 imperial retinue. They completely throw into the shade 
 all our modern prize-fighters. Deaf Burke, Heenan, and 
 Tom Sayers could not hold a candle to any of them. 
 
 The famous picture of Gerome, the French artist, gives 
 one a vivid notion of what the spectacle in the Colosseum 
 was at this moment. The fat, brutal, overfed figure of 
 Domitian is seen above in the imperial chair, and in the 
 arena below a little group of gladiators is pausing before 
 him to salute him with their accustomed speech, "A ve, 
 Imperator, morituri te salutant ! " The benches are 
 crowded row above row with spectators, eager for the 
 struggle that is to take place between the new combatants. 
 They have already forgotten the last, and heed not the 
 dead bodies of man and beast, that slaves are now drag- 
 ging out of the arena with grappling-irons. A soft light, 
 filtering through the huge tent-like velarium overhead, 
 illumines the vast circle of the amphitheatre. Thousands 
 of eager eyes are fixed on the little band, who now only 
 wait the imperial nod to join battle, and a murmurous war 
 of impatience and delight seems to be sounding like the 
 sea over the vast assembly. Looking at this picture, one 
 can easily imagine the terrible excitement of a gladiatorial 
 show, when 100,000 hearts were beating with the comba-
 
 252 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 tants, and screams of rage or triumph saluted the blows 
 that drank blood, or yelled his fate to the wretched victim 
 as he sank in the arena, and the bencbes swam before 
 him. Or take, to aid the imagination, the graphic and 
 vigorous description of this scene given by Amphilochius, 
 in an epistle in verse, to Seleucus, and thus admirably 
 translated by Mrs. Browning : 
 
 " They sit, unknowing of these agonies, 
 Spectators at a show. When a man flies 
 From a beast's jaw, they groan, as if at least 
 They missed the ravenous pleasure, like the beast, 
 And sat there vainly. When in the next spring 
 The victim is attained, and, uttering 
 The deep roar or quick shriek between the fangs, 
 Beats on the dust the passion of his pangs, 
 All pity dieth in that glaring look. 
 They clap to see the blood run like a brook ; 
 They stare with hungry eyes, which tears should fill, 
 And cheer the beasts on with their soul's goodwill; 
 And wish more victims to their maw, and urge 
 And lash their fury, as they shared the surge, 
 Gnashing their teeth, like beasts, on flesh of men." 
 
 The accounts of the venationes or battles with wild 
 beasts, and of the gladiatorial shows, exhibited in the Col- 
 osseum and elsewhere by the ancient Romans, are so 
 amazing as to be scarcely credible. The people seem to 
 have been insatiable in their thirst for these bloody games. 
 They were introduced originally by Lucius Metellus, in 
 the year 251 B. c., when he brought into the circus 142 
 elephants taken by him in his victory over the Carthagin- 
 ians. This, however, was scarcely a venatio in the sense 
 of later days, for the elephants were killed, as it would 
 seem, only to get rid of them. In the year 186 B. c., 
 however, a real venatio was introduced by M. Fabius, 
 when lions and panthers were exhibited. The taste once 
 formed, grew apace, and at a venatio given by Pompey, 
 in the year 55 B. c., upon the dedication of the temple 
 of Venus Victrix, an immense number of animals were 
 slaughtered, among which were six hundred lions and eigh- 
 teen or twenty elephants. Gaetulians fought with the lat- 
 ter, and drove them to such fury with their javelins, that 
 the enraged beasts strove to break down the railings of
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 253 
 
 the arena and revenge themselves on the audience. Julius 
 Caesar also distinguished himself by his magnificent vena- 
 tiones, one of which lasted for five days. In the course of 
 these he introduced giraffes, then for the first time seen in 
 Europe. Titus, as we have seen, on the dedication of the 
 Colosseum, exhibited for slaughter no less than the almost 
 incredible number of 5000 beasts ; * and in the latter days 
 of Probus there is an account of one of these spectacles, 
 where 1000 ostriches, 1000 stags, 1000 boars, besides great 
 numbers of wild goats, wild sheep, and other animals, 
 were destroyed in the circus, for the satisfaction of the 
 Roman people. 2 So excited and fascinated did the audi- 
 ence sometimes become, that they were allowed to rush 
 into the arena among the animals and slay as they chose. 
 On some occasions the arena was planted with large trees 
 so thickly as to resemble a forest, and among them the 
 animals were turned loose, to be hunted down by the peo- 
 ple. At another show, Probus exhibited 700 wild beasts, 
 and 600 gladiators. These numbers seem monstrous, and 
 almost lead one to suppose that these beasts could not have 
 been all introduced at once ; yet Suetonius directly tells 
 us that Titus exhibited 5000 beasts " uno die" on one day. 
 Indeed, it has been calculated that no less than 10,779 
 wild beasts might stand together in the arena. 3 
 
 The slaughter of animals at these venationes was not so 
 terrible as that which took place at the gladiatorial shows, 
 where human life was brutally wasted for the amusement 
 of the people. These games are said to have originated 
 in an ancient Etruscan custom of slaying captives and 
 slaves on the funeral pyres of the dead. They were first 
 introduced into Rome by Marcus and Decimus Brutus, at 
 the funeral of their father in the year 264 B. c. ; and on 
 the death of P. Lucinius Crassus, Pontifex Maximus, one 
 hundred and twenty gladiators fought for three days, and 
 raw meat was distributed among the people. These games 
 
 1 Suetonius, Life of Titus. 
 
 2 These are the numbers stated by Vopiscus, in the Life of Pro- 
 bus, p. 233. Hist. Aug. edit. 1519. 
 
 y T. P. Nolli, et Maraugoni delle Memorie Sac. et Prof, del Am- 
 phit. Flav., pp. 33, 34.
 
 254 ROBA DI ROUA. 
 
 at first were restricted to funerals, but they soon began to 
 be exhibited in the amphitheatre ; and under the empire 
 the taste for them had grown to such madness, that no 
 family of wealth was without its gladiators, and no festi- 
 val took place without deadly contests between them. 
 Even while the Romans were at their banquets, gladiators 
 were introduced to fight with each other, the guests look- 
 ing on and applauding, as they sipped their wine, the skil- 
 ful blows that were followed by blood. Blood was the 
 only stimulant that roused the jaded apretites of a Ro- 
 man, and gave a zest to his pleasures. In the amphithea- 
 tres the numbers that fought together almost surpass be- 
 lief. At the triumph of Trajan o\ er the Dacians more 
 than ten thousand were exhibited, and to such an enor- 
 mous number had the gladiators k creased under the Cae- 
 sars, that sixty thousand of them are said to have fallen 
 under Spartacus. At last the rage for these games became 
 so great, that not only freemen, but dwaifs, knights, sen- 
 ators, the emperor himself, and even women, fought as 
 gladiators, and esteemed it no dishonor. 1 And such was 
 the terrible loss of life in the arena that Justus Lipsius 
 affirms that no war was ever so destructive cf the l:uman 
 race. " Credo, immo scio, nullum helium tantam dadem 
 vastitiemque generi humano intulis.se quam h<>s ad vo- 
 Itiptatem ludos." ' 2 
 
 At times the arena of the Colosseum was flooded with 
 water deep enough to float vessels, and engagements took 
 place where two miniature fleets, laden with gladiators, 
 fought together to represent a naval battle. These nau- 
 machice were attended with an enormous loss of life, and 
 were exhibited on a scale of great grandeur and magnifi- 
 cence. In one of the sea-fights exhibited by Nero, sea 
 monsters were to be seen swimming round the artificial 
 
 1 Suetonius, in his Life of Domitian, says, " Venationes gladiato- 
 resque et noctibus ad Lychnuchos dedit ; nee vironun modo pug- 
 nas, sed et foeminarum ; " and Tacitus, in his 12th Book, says, 
 "Foeminarum senatorumque illustrium plures per areiiam fcedati 
 srant." 
 
 2 Just. Lips. Saturn. Sermon, lib. ii. cap. 3. Any one who is de- 
 sirous to know more of the gladiators will find an interesting ac- 
 count of them in this curious and learned essay.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 255 
 
 lake ; in another, by Titus, some 3000 men fought ; and 
 in another, exhibited by Domitian, the ships engaged were 
 almost equal in number to two real fleets. One of the 
 most famous of these naumachice took place in the reio-ii 
 of Claudius, on the occasion of the draining of Lake Fu- 
 cinus. In this spectacle the contest was between vessels 
 representing the Rhodian and Sicilian fleets, each consist- 
 ing of twelve triremes, and having, as Tacitus tells us, 
 10,000 combatants. These were for the greater part com- 
 pulsory gladiators (sontes), composed of slaves and cap- 
 tives of war. As they passed the spot where the emperor 
 sat, before engaging, they hailed him with the cry of 
 " Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant ! " (" Hail, Cae- 
 sar, those who are to die salute thee ! ") To which he 
 responded, "Avete vos," ("Health to you,") a phrase 
 which they interpreted as an absolution by the emperor 
 from the necessity of exposing their lives for his amuse- 
 ment, and refused to engage. When a message to this 
 effect was brought to Claudius, he sat for a time, as Sue- 
 tonius tells us, in deep meditation, pondering whether he 
 should destroy them all by setting fire to the vessels and 
 burning them alive, or should allow them to kill each other 
 by the sword. At last he decided upon the latter course, 
 and descending from his seat, he ran with a vacillating 
 graceless gait (non sine fceda vacillations disciirrens), 
 around the borders of the lake, and, partly by persuasion, 
 partly by threats, induced them to fight. 
 
 A circle of beams was built around a vast inclosure, so 
 as to prevent any of these wretched victims from flight, 
 and not only all the ground was guarded by large num- 
 bers of horse and infantry, but on the lake itself were 
 covered vessels laden with armed soldiers to keep order. 
 The spectacle must have been magnificent. The banks of 
 the lake, the hillsides, and mountain-tops were thronged 
 by an enormous crowd, which had flocked from Rome 
 and from all the adjacent country to see the battle. The 
 emperor, robed in imperial purple, presided over the 
 games, and at his side sat Agrippina, in a golden mantle. 
 In the midst of the lake rose from the water, by machin- 
 ery, a silver triton, who blew a trumpet to sound the at-
 
 256 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 tack. The combatants fought with great bravery, and it 
 was not until a large number had been slain that the sig- 
 nal for separation was given. 
 
 Constantino, and his son Constans, first issued edicts 
 prohibiting these gladiatorial shows ; but the appetite for 
 them had become too craving to be denied gratification, 
 and notwithstanding these prohibitions, they continued to 
 flourish, and survived the ancient religion more than sev- 
 enty years. St. Augustine relates in his *' Confessions," * 
 that about the year 390 a certain Alipius, one of his fel- 
 low-students, who had been baptized into the Christian 
 religion at Milan, came to Rome. Here he was strongly 
 urged by his friends to go and see the gladiatorial shows 
 in the Colosseum. At first he refused, but finally yielded 
 to their persuasions, and agreed to accompany them, re- 
 solving internally, at the same time, to keep his eyes shut, 
 so as not to see the atrocities which he knew were com- 
 mitted there. This resolution he kept for some time, but 
 at last, startled by a great shout of the people on the 
 occasion of some remarkable feat of skill, poor Alipius, 
 overcome by curiosity, opened his eyes. It was then all 
 over with him ; he could not shut them again ; but from 
 moment to moment his excitement grew fiercer and fiercer, 
 until at last his voice was heard shouting madly with the 
 rest. From that time forward, these games became a sort 
 of insanity in him, and he not only returned to them con- 
 stantly, but exhorted everybody he knew to accompany 
 him. " Clamavit, exarsit, abstulit secum insaniam qua 
 stimularetur redire et alias trahens." This story, related 
 by St. Augustine, clearly shows that the gladiatorial games 
 continued in his time ; and the verses of Prudentius, 
 written against Symmachus, the prefect of Rome, also 
 prove that they existed in the time of the emperors Va- 
 lentianus, Theodosius, and Arcadius. 
 
 On the Kalends of January, in the year 404, a remark- 
 able incident occurred in the Colosseum on the occasion 
 of a gladiatorial show, which is recorded by Theodoret 
 and Cassiodorus. 2 While, in the presence of an immense 
 
 1 Ch. viii. lib. 6. 
 
 2 Theod. Hist. Eccles., cap. xxiv. lib. 5. Cassiod. Ix. c. 11. See
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 257 
 
 crowd of spectators, the gladiators were fighting in the 
 arena, a monkish figure, clothed in the dress of his order, 
 was suddenly seen to rush into the midst of the comba- 
 tants, and with loud prayer and excited gesture endeavor 
 to separate them. This was an Eastern monk, named 
 Teleinachus or Almachius (for such is the chance of fame, 
 that his name is not accurately recorded), who had trav- 
 elled from the East with the express design of bearing his 
 testimony against these unchristian games, and sacrificing 
 his life, if necessary, to obtain their abolition. The Prae- 
 tor Alybius, however, who was passionately attached to 
 them, indignant at the interruption, and excited by the 
 wild cries of the audience, instantly ordered the gladiators 
 to cut the intruder down, and Telemachus paid the forfeit 
 of his life for his heroic courage. But the crown and the 
 palm of martyrdom were given him, and he was not only 
 raised to a place in the calendar among the saints, but ac- 
 complished in a measure the great object for which he had 
 sacrificed himself ; for, struck with the grandeur and just- 
 ness of the courageous protest which he had sealed with 
 his blood, the emperor Honorius abolished the gladiato- 
 rial games, and from that time forward no gladiator has 
 fought in the Colosseum against another gladiator. 
 
 Combats with wild beasts still however continued, as is 
 plain from rescripts of Honorius and Theodosius, ordain- 
 ing that no one not specially appointed by the imperial 
 ministers should have the right to hunt wild beasts to se- 
 cure them for the public games, but should only be al- 
 lowed to kill them in self-defence or in defence of the 
 country. Those venationes in the Colosseum continued 
 down to the death of Theodoric, in 526, when they fell 
 into disuse, and the edict of Justinian absolutely abolished 
 them. 
 
 Up to this period there is every reason to suppose that 
 the Colosseum was in perfect preservation. Cassiodorus, 
 who describes the games held there in the time of Theo- 
 doric, makes no mention of any injury, as he certainly 
 
 also Justus Lipsins, Saturn. Serm., lib. ii. cap. til. Baronius ad 
 Ann., et in Notis ad Martyrol. Rom., 1 Jan. Augustin. Confess., 
 lib. vi. cap. 8 ; lib. i. cap. 12. 
 17
 
 258 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 would have done had there been any of importance. 1 
 Heretofore it had been kept in repair to serve for the ex- 
 hibition of gladiatorial shows, but the edict of Justinian, 
 prohibiting all games therein, rendered it useless as an 
 amphitheatre and sealed its fate. Thenceforward it was 
 abandoned to the assaults of time and weather, and to the 
 caprice of man ; and their injuries were never repaired. 
 The earthquakes and floods of the seventh century un- 
 doubtedly shook it and destroyed it partially. Barbarians 
 at home and from abroad preyed upon it, boring it for its 
 metal clamps, plundering it of every article of value, de- 
 facing its architecture, and despoiling it of its ornaments 
 of silver and gold as well as of its poorer metals. In al- 
 most every one of its blocks of travertine is now to be seen 
 a rudely excavated hole, by which the ingenuity of anti- 
 quarians has been greatly exercised ; but it now seems to 
 be agreed on all sides that these holes were made for the 
 purpose of extracting the iron bolts with which the stones 
 were originally clamped together. Still, it would seem to 
 have been entire, or nearly so, as late as the beginning of 
 the eighth century, when the Anglo-Saxons visited Rome, 
 and, gazing at it with feelings of awe and admiration, broke 
 forth into the enthusiastic speech recorded by the vener- 
 able Bede : " Quamdiu stabit Colysceus, stab it et Roma. 
 Quando cadet Colysceus, cadet et Roma. Quando cadet 
 Roma, cadet et mundus." Thus Englished by Byron : 
 
 "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand! 
 When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ! 
 And when Rome falls the -world ! " 
 
 From this time forward exposed to tumult, battle, and 
 changes of ownership, now occupied as a fortress by the 
 Frangipani, now by the Annibaldi, and wrested from both 
 in turn by pope and emperor, it fell rapidly into ruin, and 
 its walls began to crumble and fall into decay. As early 
 as the year 1362, the Bishop of Orvieto, legate to Pope 
 Urban V., wrote to inform the Pontiff that the stones of 
 
 1 Cassiod., lib. v. Var. Ep. 24. See also Pietro Angelo Barges, 
 in his learned Epistola de Privatorum .<Edif. Urbis. Everaoribus. 
 Graevius, Antiq. Rom., torn. 4.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM, 259 
 
 the Colosseum had been offered for sale, but no one had 
 proposed to purchase them save the Frangipani family, 
 who wanted them to build a palace. The government at 
 this period, not placing any value on the Colosseum as a 
 memorial of antiquity, but regarding it merely as a quarry 
 of stone, were in the habit of granting permissions to ex- 
 cavate travertine therefrom to any princely family who 
 could afford to pay for them. Donatus tells us that Paul 
 II. (1464-1471) used the blocks of travertine taken from 
 the ruins of the Colosseum to build his palace of San 
 Marco ; and a monstrous hole was made in it when the 
 great Farnese Palace was built out of its spoils. 1 
 
 Nor was this the worst treatment which this noble struc- 
 ture was to suffer. Not only were blocks of travertine re- 
 moved, but all the marble was torn down and burnt into 
 lime ; 2 and to such an extent were the spoliations of this 
 period carried on, as to render it only surprising that any- 
 thing now remains. This was not the only building thus 
 barbarously served. Poggius relates that, when he first 
 went to Rome, the Temple of Concord was perfect " opere 
 marmoreo admodum specioso" but that soon after, the 
 whole building, with its splendid marble portico, was pulled 
 down and burnt for lime. The marble of the tomb of 
 Cecilia Metella met the same sad fate ; and Eneas Sylvius, 
 who afterwards became Pope under the title of Pius II., 
 in an epigram written by him, and preserved by Mabillon, 
 expresses a fear that these barbarous practices will finally 
 lead to the destruction of all the ancient monuments : 
 
 " Oblectat me Roma tuas spectare ruinas 
 
 Ex cu jus lapsa gloria prisca patet 
 Sed tuus hie populus muris defossa vetustis 
 
 Calceo in obsequium marmora dura coquit. 
 Impia tercentum si sic gens egerit annos 
 
 Nullum hie indicium nobilitatis erit." 
 
 Sadly enough, the mausoleum of the great Carian king, 
 
 1 " Per fabbricare il Palazzo Farnese gran guasto diede al Anfi- 
 teatro di Tito," says Muratori, in his Annals ad An. 1549, torn. x. 
 p. 335. See also Me"moires de 1'Acad. des Inscrip., torn, xxviii. 
 p. 585. 
 
 2 "Ob stultitiam Romanorum majori ex parte ad calcem redac- 
 tam," says Poggius, in his Essay De Variet. Fortun.
 
 260 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 Mausolus, one of the wonders of the ancient world, suf- 
 fered the same fate. Not only the marble of the archi- 
 tecture, the massive stairs, the splendid columns, but the 
 masterpieces of Greek sculpture, wrought by Scopas and 
 his scholars, were broken to pieces and burnt into lime by 
 the Knights of St. John, to build the castle of Budrum. 1 
 
 Marangoni tells us that there was a sale of the stones of 
 the Colosseum in 1531, and a century afterwards some of 
 them were used in the building of the Campidoglio. Even 
 at the very period of the revival of the arts it would thus 
 seem that no regard was paid to the preservation of the 
 ancient temples. With the blocks of these ruins Michael 
 Angelo built the Farnese Palace and the Campidoglio, and 
 even he seems not to have protested against this barbarity. 
 Urban VIII. also built, out of the quarry of the Colosseum, 
 the facade of the Barberini Palace, tore the brass plates 
 from the Pantheon to build the hideous baldacchino of St. 
 Peter's, and threatened to serve the remains of the tomb 
 of Cecilia Metella in like manner. But the sins of Urban 
 VIII. were small in comparison to those of the Farnese 
 Pope. He spared nothing, levying his exactions not only 
 upon the Colosseum, but also upon the arch of Titus, the 
 baths of Constantine and Caracalla, the forum of Trajan, 
 the temple of Antoninus and Faustina, the theatre of Mar- 
 cellus, and other buildings, stripping them ruthlessly of 
 their precious marbles and splendid columns. The ac- 
 counts of the apostolic chamber show a sum of no less 
 than 7,317,888 scudi expended between 1541 and 1549 on 
 the Palazzo del Campo dei Fiori. Truly, as Gibbon says, 
 " every traveller who views the Farnese Palace may curse 
 the sacrilege and luxury of these upstart princes." 
 
 To check these abuses, Eugenius IV. is said to have sur- 
 rounded the Colosseum with a wall, and by a charter long 
 
 1 That the last fragments of these noble works have been saved 
 is due to the energy and spirit of Mr. Charles T. Newton, who has 
 thus rendered a valuable service, not only to his own country, but 
 to the universal republic of art. Mr. Newton has recently pub- 
 lished a history of his discoveries at Halicarnassus, Cnidus, and 
 Branchidae, with extensive illustrations, which is most interesting 
 and instructive.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. '261 
 
 extant, to have granted the grounds and edifice to the 
 monks of a neighboring convent. But if this wall ever 
 existed, which seems rather doubtful, it was overthrown 
 after his death in a tumult of the populace, and no traces 
 of it now remain. 1 
 
 In 1585, Sextus V. endeavored at once to check this 
 barbarism of destruction and to utilize the Colosseum by 
 establishing in it a woollen manufactory. For many years 
 it had served as the arena for all sorts of fairs, and pos- 
 sibly this fact suggested the notion of making it subser- 
 vient to some practical use. But after spending on the 
 project 15,000 scudi, he abandoned it as impracticable. 
 Let us not grieve ; for from all that can be collected of 
 the plan from the designs of the architect, Fontana, it was 
 the Pope's intention to wall up the arches and arcades, 
 which would simply have ruined the building. A century 
 later, Clement XI. revived the project, and went so far as 
 to inclose the lower arcades and establish a manufactory 
 of saltpetre. But this scheme, also, fell through. 
 
 But better days were now coming. In the year of the 
 Jubilee, 1675, Clement X. set apart the whole building to 
 the worship of the martyrs. And on the llth February, 
 1742, Benedict XIV. again consecrated the Colosseum to 
 the memory of the Christian martyrs who had suffered 
 there, and made it a church in 1744. He then erected 
 the cross in the centre of the arena, repaired the altars 
 established by Clement XI., and cleared the place of the 
 robbers and prostitutes by which it had previously been 
 haunted. This act was the salvation of the Colosseum. 
 Taken into the fold of the Church, it was now cared for, 
 and from this time forward every pains was used to pre- 
 serve it, and the injuries of time have been constantly re- 
 paired. Parts of it, however, were in a very dangerous 
 condition, and in the year 1813 one of the arches fell to 
 the ground. To prevent the tottering fragments around 
 
 1 Gibbon, who makes this statement, founds it upon Montf ac,on, 
 who received it from Flaminius Vacca, who lived a century after 
 Eug-enius, and reported the fact on the testimony of the Olivetan 
 monks of Sta. Maria Nuova. But Marangoni states that, on exam- 
 ining their archives, he found in them no record of such a fact.
 
 262 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 it from falling, the wall supporting the northwest angle 
 was built by Pius VII., and his successors have faithfully 
 lent their aid to the preservation of the building. It is 
 said that the trembling stones were so threatening that 
 convicts under sentence of death and imprisonment for 
 life were employed to build up this wall, with the promise 
 of pardon if they succeeded ; but whether this statement 
 be actually true I cannot affirm. 
 
 Pius IX. has also made very material restorations, and 
 perhaps in some cases carried them too far, thus detract- 
 ing from the antique character of the ruins. He has con- 
 structed a gigantic buttress at the southern end, to support 
 the lofty wall which threatened to fall ; and some of the 
 arches and interior walls he has entirely rebuilt. 
 
 Since the French have taken possession of Rome they 
 have placed a nightly guard at the Colosseum with the 
 object of keeping it clear of robbers and thieves, who are 
 said to infest it, and no one now is allowed to pass without 
 a special permission. To ensure safety in the Colosseum 
 by a police is praiseworthy, but strictly to require of all 
 strangers and under all circumstances a special permit, is 
 annoying and unnecessary. Tempted by the beauty of 
 the full moon, if you stroll down to the Colosseum forget- 
 ful of this regulation, and thinking to pass a pleasant half- 
 hour in its arena, you are suddenly stopped at the entrance 
 by the French sentinel, and all your romantic hopes are 
 dashed by three interrogative words : " Votre permis, 
 Monsieur ? " Vainly you protest that you are strangers 
 and not robbers, that your objects are most peaceful, and 
 that such rules cannot apply to you. You have only the 
 short irritating rejoinder, " On tie peut pas passer, sans 
 un permis," and to this the sentinel will stick with sul- 
 len obstinacy. No offers of money or cigars, no bland 
 words, no expressions of disappointment, no reasonings 
 avail to move him. He gives you no sympathy, curtly 
 prohibits your coming in, and leaves you to console your- 
 self as you can while he marches up and down under 
 the dark arches. Of course you go away irritated and 
 vexed, and in a mood crossly to criticise the French and 
 their occupation of Rome. You become very unreason-
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 263 
 
 able, and do not perceive that, without this occupation, the 
 " legitimate influence of France," whatever that may hap- 
 pen to be, could not be sustained in the Eternal City 
 that it is better to have an annoying police than to run the 
 risk of being assaulted and robbed in the Colosseum, 
 that among so bloodthirsty and violent a people, as the 
 Romans are said to be, it would be impossible for your life 
 and property to be safe in the hands only of a Roman 
 police, and that the Romans are very unreasonable in 
 their dislike of the French, who have done so much for 
 their civilization by introducing plate-glass in some of the 
 shops in the Condotti and Corso, importing their hats, 
 bonnets, and crinoline to take the place of the foolish old 
 costumes which used to be seen in the streets, opening a 
 number of little wine shops, and new cafes ; amusing the 
 promenaders on the Pincio by their bands, enlivening the 
 streets by their soldiers, playing incessantly on that charm- 
 ing instrument, the drum, along the Via Sacra and around 
 the Palace of the CaBsars, and more than this, by keeping 
 the city safe with their nightly patrol of soldiers. If the 
 Emperor have not fulfilled the pledges contained in the 
 famous letter to Edgar Ney, the French commandant has 
 given many receptions and balls, where one could have the 
 privilege of meeting a number of French officers, whom 
 one might not otherwise have met in society. The French, 
 it is true, have not learned to speak Italian, but is it no 
 advantage that they have taught the Italians to speak 
 very bad French ? Surely the Romans are no longer open 
 to the reproach made to them by a French officer a few 
 years ago, who said, " Comme ils sont betes, ces Italiens, 
 il y a dix ans que nous sommes ici, et Us ne savent pas 
 encore parler Frangais." l 
 
 After the edict of Justinian, prohibiting the celebration 
 of any games, either of gladiators or of wild beasts, these 
 exhibitions fell into discredit, and for a long period the 
 Colosseum was entirely abandoned. But from time to 
 time, in succeeding centuries, efforts were made to revive 
 the exhibitions of wild beasts in the arena, and bull-fights 
 
 1 The French have now gone (1870), but the passage may stand 
 as a record of the past.
 
 264 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 were not unfrequent. The last of these seems to have 
 taken place in the year 1332, and Ludovico di Bonconte 
 Monaldeschi has quaintly described it in his annals of the 
 period, printed in the appendix to the great work of 
 Muratori. 1 Though his narrative is probably taken from 
 the account of others rather than from his own memory, 
 he having been only five years of age when the exhibition 
 took place, yet it bears the stamp of truth deeply impressed 
 on it in every part. 
 
 " This festival took place," he says, " on the 3d of 
 November. All the matrons of Rome were present stand- 
 ing in the balconies, which were lined with scai-let. There 
 was the beautiful Savella Orsini and two others of her 
 family ; and there was the Donne Colonnesi, though La 
 Giovane could not be present because she had broken her 
 foot in the garden of the tower of Nero ; and there was 
 also there the beautiful Jacova di Vico, or Rovere ; and 
 these ladies led all the beautiful women of Rome : the 
 Rovere leading the Trasteverine women, the Orsini those 
 of Piazza Navona and San Pietro, and the Colonnesi all 
 the rest. All the noble ladies were in one circle, all the 
 ladies of lower rank in another, and the combatants in a 
 third ; and the huntings were by lot, drawn by old Pietro 
 Jacovo Rossi, from St. Angelo in Pescheria. The first 
 cacciatore was a foreigner from Rimini, named Galeotto 
 Malatesta, who was dressed in green, with a rapier in his 
 hand, and on his iron helmet was inscribed this motto, 
 ' Solo io com-e Oratio,' (I alone like Horatius ;) and he 
 rushed forward to meet the bull, and wounded him in the 
 left eye, so that the bull took to flight. He then gave the 
 beast a blow behind, and received therefor a kick on his 
 knee, which knocked him over, but the bull continued to 
 flee and did not attack him. Then, greatly excited (tutto 
 infierito), Cicco della Valle rushed forth, dressed in half 
 black and half white, and the motto he carried on his 
 helmet was, ' Io son Enea per Lavinia,' (I am JEneas for 
 Lavinia ;) and this he did because the daughter of Messer 
 Jovinale, of whom he was desperately enamored, was 
 named Lavinia. While he was fighting valiantly with the 
 1 Muratori Script. Rerum. Ital., torn. xii. pp. 535, 536.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 265 
 
 bull, another was let in, which was attacked by Mezzo 
 Stallo, a stout youth dressed as a negro ; his wife being 
 dead, he bore the motto ' Cost sconsolato vivo,' 1 (Thus, dis- 
 consolate I live ;) and he bore himself bravely against the 
 bull." A crowd of other nobles also were there with 
 various emblems and escutcheons, a number of which are 
 given by this old author, " besides many," he continues, 
 " whom I should weary to enumerate. Each assaulted 
 his bull, and eighteen of the combatants were killed and 
 nine wounded, while only eleven bulls were killed. Great 
 honors were paid to the bodies of the dead, which were 
 carried to Sta. Maria Maggiore and San Giovanni in La- 
 terano to be buried. The nephew of Camillo Cencio hav- 
 ing been thrown down in the crowd, through the fault of 
 the son of Count Anguillara's sister, Cencio gave him a 
 blow on the head, which instantly killed him, and a great 
 tumult ensued. There was a great crowd at St. Giovanni 
 to see the burial of those who were killed at the games." 
 
 During the fifteenth century it was the custom from 
 time to time to represent passion plays or mysteries on a 
 broad platform over the Colosseum steps, just above the 
 site where, a century later, the chapel was founded. 
 Every Good Friday the death and burial of our Saviour 
 was performed to an audience as large, if we may credit 
 the words of Pancirolus, 1 as that which formerly attended 
 the antique games. This " mystery " was in ottava rima, 
 rudely composed in the commonest dialect of the people, 
 with an intermezzo of various little airs which were prob- 
 ably sung. Two examples of these are to be found, says 
 Marangoni, in the library of the Marchese Alessandro 
 Capponi. The " sacra farsa " the Holy Farce of the 
 Resurrection (for so Tiraboschi calls it.) 2 written by 
 Julian Dati, a Florentine was also performed here. 
 These plays continued until the reign of Paul III., who 
 prohibited them, apparently for no other reason than that 
 they impeded him in robbing the Colosseum of marble 
 and stones for building. 
 
 1 Tesori Nascosti. See Marangoni, Mem. Sac. etProf., p. 59. 
 
 2 Storia dell. Litt. Ital. vol. vi. p. 3 ; Lib. iii. p. 814.
 
 266 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 After this, for more than a century, there was no public 
 amusement in the Colosseum, saving for those who em- 
 ployed that time in plundering it. But in 1671 permis- 
 sion was granted by the senate and Cardinal Altieri to 
 represent bull-fights in the arena for six years. This 
 raised a great outcry, and Carlo Tommassi wrote a tract 
 to prove the sanctity of the spot, and to urge the impro- 
 priety of reinstating such barbarous usages ; which so 
 affected the mind of the pope, Clement X., that he pro- 
 hibited them, and took measures to prevent them by 
 blocking up the lower arches and consecrating the place. 
 In 1714 Clement XI. established the altars of the Pas- 
 sion, and shortly after were painted the pictures of Jeru- 
 salem and the Crucifixion that are now seen over the 
 southern entrance. 
 
 I have hitherto not spoken of the martyrs who perished 
 for their faith in the Colosseum. These are generally 
 supposed to have amounted to thousands ; but Marangoni, 
 who is a careful man and not disposed to exaggerate 
 facts, puts the number of martyrs known, and not merely 
 conjectured, to have suffered in this arena at only twenty- 
 four. Of these, eighteen were men, beginning with St. 
 Ignatius and ending with Telemachus ; and six were 
 women. Of the latter, three Sta. Martina, Sta. Italiana, 
 and Sta. Prisca were exposed to lions, who, instead of 
 devouring them, licked their feet. And one, Sta. Daria, 
 wife of St. Crisanto, according to Marangoni, " was under 
 the vaults (sotte le volte) of the Amphitheatre, where her 
 chastity was defended by a lion." Da un leonefu difesa 
 la sua castita} 
 
 Besides these, there were two hundred and sixty anony- 
 mous soldiers under Claudius, who, after digging an arena 
 
 1 Leones, as Lord Broughton suggests, may, perhaps, be better 
 read lenones, for it is well established that " sotte le volte'" was a 
 place devoted to brothels, where a woman was more in danger of 
 panders (lenones) than of lions (leones) ; and in fact the very word 
 " f ornicators " is derived from "fornices, " the places under the 
 vaults. Her chastity needed not the defence of any one in the 
 arena, however it might below the vaults ; and the old well-known 
 proverb Christiani ad leones, virgines ad lenones seems to favor 
 this view of the martyrdom of Sta. Daria.
 
 THE COLOSSEUM. 267 
 
 outside the Porta Salara, were killed, and placed among 
 the records of the Christians as martyrs. Doubtless, 
 however, says Marangoni, there were many others besides 
 those mentioned, whose names we do not know, who were 
 exposed to death under the cruel orders of Diocletian, as 
 is evident from the testimony of Tertullian. 1 
 
 The manner in which Christian martyrs were exposed 
 to the wild beasts is shown by some small rilievi in bronze 
 found in the Catacombs, where the lions are represented 
 as chained to a pilaster, and the martyrs lie naked and 
 unarmed at their feet. It seems also that the sacrifice of 
 the Christians generally ended the day's sport. When 
 the other shows were over, the condemned Christians 
 were brought into the arena through files of the hunters 
 of the wild beasts, who beat them with rods as they 
 passed. Some of the women were stripped and exposed 
 in nets, and some were tortured because they would not 
 assume the ceremonial robes worn in the worship of 
 the pagan divinities. Every refinement of cruelty was 
 undoubtedly practised upon a sect who were supposed to 
 worship an ass, and who were thought to plot against the 
 state. It would seem, however, that the Christians, so 
 long as they did not meddle with political questions, but 
 confined themselves to their religious doctrines and duties, 
 were left unmolested. In Rome all creeds were free 
 and any one might with complete impunity worship Isis, 
 Bacchus, Moses, Apollonius, Mythras, Simon of Gitton, 
 or any other divinity or prophet. But the Christians did 
 not confine themselves within their sphere of worship and 
 faith they were aggressive, and sought to turn into 
 ridicule and contempt the religion of the state, if not the 
 state itself. It was this that led to their persecution. 
 They deemed it to be their duty to overthrow this religion 
 and to defame it, believing it to be degrading and wicked. 
 But it should always be borne in mind that their martyr- 
 dom in these ancient days resulted from their aggressive- 
 ness and not from the intolerance and bigotry of the Ro- 
 mans. Undoubtedly many were falsely accused, and many 
 
 1 Cap. 42, Apologia. See also Arringhi Roma Setter, lib. ii. cap. 
 1 ; torn. i. p. 197, edit. 1651.
 
 268 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 who were innocent suffered ; but the accusation was of 
 treason against the state, and so many Christians had at- 
 tempted its overthrow, that, at last, to be a Christian was 
 to be a suspected traitor. 
 
 When we speak with horror of that ferocious spirit 
 which dragged to torture and death the innocent and vir- 
 tuous, merely because they differed from the religious 
 dogma of the day, and refused to bow down before the 
 pagan gods, we speak without book. This was not the 
 ground of accusation, but the test of loyalty, and let us 
 also remember that the Catholic Church in later days, 
 when it had attained a power as extensive as that exer- 
 cised by Imperial Rome, was guilty of fouler wrong and 
 more infamous cruelty, and that the numbers of victims 
 that were sacrificed by the Inquisition in the single reign 
 of Philip II. outnumber by thousands those who perished 
 under the Roman emperors. Nor let us plume ourselves 
 too much on our religious tolerance, even at the present 
 day. The horrors of the past would not, thank God ! be 
 now within the bounds of possibility ; but bigotry and 
 persecution have by no means ceased, and infidel and 
 atheist are words which are widely and generally thrown 
 against those who differ in their creed from the estab- 
 lished Church. 
 
 Pius V. used to say that whoever desired to obtain a 
 Christian or Catholic relic, should take some earth from 
 the arena of the Colosseum, where it had been cemented 
 by so much holy blood ; and whenever the Cardinal 
 Ulderico Carpegna passed the spot, says Marangoni, this 
 pious gentleman always stopped his carriage, gratefully to 
 commemorate the names of the holy martyrs who had 
 suffered there. 
 
 Such are some of the memories which haunt the crum- 
 bled shell of the Colosseum. After all the bloodshed, and 
 murder, and battle, and martyrdom, how peaceful and 
 tranquil it seems ! Above us wheel the swallows, that 
 build their " procreant cradles " far up upon the jutting 
 frieze and buttress of the lofty walls, where the air is 
 delicate. There sound the clanging crows, flying blackly
 
 MIMES AND MASKS. 269 
 
 along when "night thickens." There flocks of doves 
 build and breed among the ruins and sail out into the blue 
 deeps. All the benches are draped with weeds and 
 grasses, and festooned with creepers and flowers. Many 
 a strange and curious plant may here be seen, peculiar to 
 the place, and these have been recorded in a little volume 
 by Dr. Deakin on the " Flora of the Colosseum." The 
 place remembers not its ancient horrors, as it sleeps in the 
 full sunlight of an Italian day, but when the shadows 
 of night come on, and the clouds blacken above, and the 
 wind howls through the empty galleries and arches, and 
 the storm comes down over the Colosseum, the clash of the 
 gladiators may still be heard, the roar of the multitudi- 
 nous voices crying for blood rise on the gale, and those 
 broken benches are thronged with a fearful audience of 
 ghosts. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MIMES, MASKS, AND PUPPETS. 
 
 "Andad con Dios, buena Gente, y hazad vuestra fiesta, porque 
 desde muchacho fui ajicionado a la Caratula, y en mi mocedad se 
 ne ivan los ojos tras la Farandula." Don Quixote. 
 
 FROM the earliest times the Romans distinguished them- 
 selves as Mimi and Pantomimi. These were divided 
 into two distinct classes : the Mimi being farcers who 
 declaimed, while the Pantomimi, as we have seen, only 
 gesticulated. Some of these characters still remain in 
 Italy. The Sanniones are clearly our modern clowns of 
 the circus, with their somewhat doubtful jokes, their ex- 
 aggerated grimacing, and the ears on their caps. The 
 Planipedes in many respects resemble Harlequin, and 
 particularly in their long dresses, shaved heads, painted 
 faces, and coats of various colors. The Ithyphalli and 
 Phallophori, thank heaven ! have utterly disappeared. 
 But Pulcinella is a direct descendant of the old and 
 famous family of the Atellance. If you may trust Cap-
 
 270 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 poni, and other learned Italians who have investigated his 
 origin, his pedigree may he clearly traced to these farcers, 
 who were the Ciarlatani of Rome in the early days of 
 Tarquin. They were Oscans, and came from the town of 
 Atella, now St. Elpido, only five or six miles from Naples, 
 and the veiy headquarters of the real Pulcinella. Thus, 
 for more than twenty-four hundred years, he has clung to 
 his native soil and followed in the footsteps of his famous 
 ancestor, Maccus. If you disbelieve this pedigree, Pulci- 
 nella will show you his ancestral statues in bronze dug out 
 of Herculaneum, and his ancestral portraits on the walls 
 of Pompeii ; and Capponi, pointing out to you their beaked 
 or chicken nose, a family peculiarity which their de- 
 scendant still retains in his mask, will explain that the 
 modern name is merely a nickname derived therefrom 
 pullus being a chicken, and pullicinus a little chicken, 
 and Pullicinellus or Pulcinella, a little chicken-nosed 
 fellow. In like manner, the word Ciarlatani may be a 
 mere corruption of Atellance. 
 
 These Atellance Fabulce, or Ludi Osci, were plays per- 
 formed by the Oscans on planks and trestles, before the 
 invention of the regular theatres ; and Maccus, then primo 
 comico, great ancestor to our Pulcinella, from under his 
 mask amused the ancient Romans with his wit and satire. 
 When these two mimes spoke, they grimaced like modern 
 buffoons, and jested to the delight of Livy and Cicero. 
 Their parts were often woven into dramas, to which they 
 did not properly belong, as Livy tells us ; and in this 
 respect, also, they performed precisely the part of Pulci- 
 nella, who is a constant interloper in plays, in which his 
 character is entirely interpolated. Such was their repute, 
 that even Sylla, the bloody dictator, is said to have writ- 
 ten plays for them ; and it is quite clear that they were 
 favorites during the days of the Caesars. 
 
 The well-spring of fun in Pulcinella is Artesian and 
 inexhaustible. He will never die, never till fools are no 
 more and we are all wise and wretched. In Rome, as 
 well as in Naples, he is a great favorite ; though to be 
 seen to advantage he should be visited in his native coun- 
 try. In his long, loose, white jacket and pantaloons, hia
 
 MIMES AND MASKS. 271 
 
 beaked mask covering the upper portion of his whitened 
 face, Pulcinella is forever intriguing, doctoring, bringing 
 lovers together, creating imbrogli, and laughing at his 
 victims with the utmost impertinence. He Is always mar- 
 ried, his wife and mother-in-law are in a chronic state 
 of quarrel, and his house is a constant battlefield of 
 humor and absurdity. 
 
 In one of the plays of Pulcinella he has a struggle with 
 the devil, whom he catches at last by the tail. This he 
 pulls at fiercely, when, to his great astonishment, it comes 
 off, and the father of evil vanishes, leaving it in his hands. 
 At first he is dumb and confounded with amazement, all 
 of which is expressed by the most extraordinary grimace. 
 Finally, he smells at the end of it, and a grin of satisfac- 
 tion widens his mouth. Again he smells, indicating by 
 expressive pantomime that the odor is uncommonly good. 
 At last an idea seizes him ; he pulls out his knife, and, 
 slicing off a piece as if it were a sausage, puts it into his 
 mouth. Now his delight knows no bounds, but with ab- 
 surd expressions of satisfaction, he continues to cut off 
 slice after slice, offering them first to the audience, and 
 then, repenting of his generosity, slipping it into his own 
 mouth, until he has eaten up the whole tail. 
 
 Stenterello, the Tuscan type of humor, is also a favorite 
 on the Roman stage, and he, together with Pulvinella, 
 hold their high quarters at the Capranica Theatre, alter- 
 nating with music and juggling, ballet and pantomime, 
 and sometimes with serious opera, tragedy, and high 
 comedy, in delighting the crowd of Romans. StentereUo 
 is of the illustrious family of the queues. His face is 
 painted in streaks, one front tooth is wanting in his mouth, 
 and he wears the old tricornered hat and long-tailed coat 
 and breeches. He is an embodiment in caricature of the 
 worst defects of the Tuscan character, and derives his 
 name probably from his excessive parsimony. The lower 
 Florentines live meanly, are given to saving, deny them- 
 selves in the quantity and quality of their food, and exist, 
 according to the Tuscan idiom, "a stento" and hence, 
 probably, the name of StentereUo. This trait is so well 
 established that the almanacs of Florence, circulated
 
 272 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 among the common people, contain advice not to be thrifty 
 and saving, but to live more liberally. Stenterello, there- 
 fore, on the stage, carries this vice to its extreme, and by 
 his ludicrous efforts at saving, convulses the audience. 
 Another of his characteristics is low cunning. He is 
 always wishing to many for the sake of money, but 
 laughs at the notion of love, is penny- wise and pound- 
 foolish, will not spend a paul in hand for the hope 
 of a thousand in the bush, and says to his mistress, " I 
 would not leave you and lose the marriage for for 
 for ' sette crazie ' " (seven farthings). He stirs the laughter 
 of the people, too, by his filthy habits ; puts his comb 
 and shoe-brush into his pocket with his cheese, and when 
 he hears his bride is coming (for he is always on the 
 point of marriage) he wipes his shoes with his sleeve, 
 and then polishes off his mouth and whiskers with it. Be- 
 sides this he is a great coward, and it is a common jest 
 to make a soldier of him. Nothing will rouse his cour- 
 age but an attempt upon his money. Yet he likes to set 
 other persons by the ears and see them fight, at which 
 he laughs uproariously, but is seized with a ludicrous 
 terror when his own turn comes. He often has a servant, 
 " Stoppino" whom he keeps at the starving point, and 
 whose name signifies a meagre thin taper. In the quality 
 of cowardice he resembles Pulcinella ; but our Nea- 
 politan friend does not deny his stomach its gratification, 
 for the Lazzarone is a gourmand, while the Florentine 
 is not. 
 
 One of the most celebrated of the actors of Stenterello 
 is, or rather was, Lorenzo Cannelli ; but he is now past 
 the time of acting. When the Austrians took possession 
 of Tuscany he was so bitter in his sarcasms that he often 
 paid for them by bastonate. Nothing, however, would 
 rule his tongue. The audience, just before the last act, 
 used to call him out to improvise " ottave" and after 
 walking up and down the stage for a few minutes, he 
 would pour forth with volubility verses full of spirit and 
 humor. 
 
 The old Fiano Theatre, which was to Rome what the 
 San Carlino is to Naples, exists no more, and the once
 
 MIMES AND MASKS. 273 
 
 famous Cassandrino and Rugantino have disappeared 
 with it. Cassandrino was to the Romans what Pulcinella 
 is to the Neapolitans and Stenterello to the Tuscans. He 
 was dressed " alia Spagnuola," in black, was pretentious 
 and boastful, thought the women were all in love with 
 him, and was constantly vaunting his great exploits, that 
 had no existence out of his imagination. But it was for 
 his satire that he was particularly noted, for the Koman 
 is by nature a satirist. His constant lampoons against 
 the government and the priests bit so deeply that he was 
 suppressed by Gregory XVI. After Pius IX. came to 
 the Papal throne he was again permitted to act ; but the 
 French finally suppressed him when they brought back 
 the Pope from Gaeta. 
 
 The Teatro Fiano was at the corner of the Piazza San 
 Lorenzo in Lucina and the Corso, in the old Fiano Pal- 
 ace. Before the porfone, every night, stood a fellow with 
 a trumpet, who sounded a call, and cried out to the pass- 
 ers-by to come and buy their tickets. " Venite, venite 
 tutti," he cried, " a sentire Cassandrino. Se comprate 
 biglietti grazie se non " here a pause, and " acci- 
 dente" was added in a low voice. 
 
 Cassandrino was a superior or noble Rugantino, with 
 more bombast and swell of pretension, but less menacing 
 and defiant. One was a satire on the nobility, and the 
 other the buffoon of the people. Rugantino (the growler) 
 was so called because he was always complaining of his 
 fate, always maltreated, always threatening revolt, and 
 always bearing any amount of oppression with dogged 
 patience. He was a short, swaggering fellow, in a long 
 dress-coat, tricornered hat and wig, carried a great sword 
 with which he was always threatening to do great ex- 
 ploits, all alone, talked in big words, to give an idea 
 of bloodthirstiness and courage, but in moments of dan- 
 ger took to his heels in the most abject manner. Each 
 of these characters speaks in the lowest popular dialect of 
 his country Stenterello in pure Tuscan patois, Pulci- 
 nella in the Lazzaroni Neapolitan, and Cassandrino in 
 the Trastevere dialect. These dialects of Italy are very 
 different. The Venetian is soft and whispering ; one of 
 18
 
 274 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 its chief peculiarities being in the constant use of the x, s, 
 or z, which have usurped the place of the harder conso- 
 nants. The Genoese is peculiarly harsh and unpleasant, 
 abounding in the nasal tones of the French. The Nea- 
 politan mumbles his truncated words, while the letters m 
 and n seem to be constantly running about and getting 
 between their legs. The Florentine and Sienese are in 
 the same sad case with the letter h ; it is omnipresent, 
 forcing itself headlong into the body of words where it 
 has no business, and usurping the place of c, ch, and qu. 
 The pronunciation of the Sienese is, however, far more 
 agreeable than that of the Florentines ; and even among 
 the common people a purity and richness of language are 
 preserved which is quite remarkable. 
 
 The Roman patois is different from all, but its features 
 are not so strongly marked. Dante, in his book " De 
 Vulgari Eloquentia," calls it the most unpleasant of all 
 Italian dialects ; but I fear there was a little Tuscan jeal- 
 ousy in this judgment. The Florentines were always 
 violent upon the subject of their own dialect, and their 
 judgment may fairly be questioned when we recall the 
 persecution to which Girolamo Gigli was subjected by the 
 Academia della Crusca, because he dared in his cele- 
 brated " Vocabolario Cateriniano " to put forward the 
 claims of his native Siena in opposition to those of Flor- 
 ence. For this offence he was not only expelled from the 
 Academy, but a suit was instituted against him, and he 
 was prohibited from continuing to print his vocabolario 
 when he had reached the letter R. Nor were the 
 Academicians satisfied with this they went so far as to 
 induce the Grand Duke to order all the copies of his book 
 to be burnt by the public executioner, and to exile the 
 author, until he was driven by the pressure of poverty 
 and threats of further persecution to make a forced re- 
 tractation. We may, therefore, take the judgment of 
 Dante, perhaps, as not free from a certain prejudice in 
 favor of his own Florence. In its vocabulary, the Tus- 
 can is undoubtedly richer than the Roman, but the slow, 
 open utterance of the Romans is so universally admitted 
 to be the most agreeable in Italy as to have passed into
 
 ITALIAN DIALECTS. 275 
 
 the saying, Lingua Toscana in bocca Romana. No one 
 passing directly from Naples, Genoa, or Florence to Rome 
 can fail to experience a certain relief in the change from 
 the thick confused utterance of the one to the clear enun- 
 ciation of the other. Nor are there wanting those who 
 affirm that the Roman dialect retains more of the Latin 
 than is to be found in the Tuscan, which, though fuller 
 in its vocabulary, is more of a patois. If you would hear 
 the Trastevere dialect, go to the Teatro Emiliano, where 
 there are theatrical performances every night, and you 
 will hear it as it is spoken by the lowest classes in Rome. 
 
 The peculiar characteristic of the Roman dialect, as of 
 the Roman humor, is its satire. It abounds in prover- 
 bial utterances, in transferred phrases, in odd similes and 
 metaphors, in vivid impersonations, and satirical nick- 
 names of persons and things. Consonants are misplaced, 
 grammar upset, and words are often ludicrously mispro- 
 nounced, but there is a sharpness and wit in their idio- 
 matic speech which stings and tickles. Nothing can ex- 
 ceed their picturesqueness of utterance. Let any one offer 
 for anything an inadequate price, the answer will as likely 
 as not be " non pozzumus; " ripped and gaping shoes they 
 call " Le scarpe die rideno ; " a footman in livery, be- 
 hind a carriage, is " un uditor di Rota ; " the back of the 
 head is " la memoria / " a turnkey, " un servo di Pi- 
 lato ; " a princely or papal palace, " un miracolo di S. 
 Pietro ; " one's children, " er sangue mio ; " a soldier is 
 " er zor tajja-calli ; " a chatterer is a " capo d' abisse." 
 To spit blood is "Fare il cardinali in petto" Their 
 phrases to denote astonishment are of the oddest char- 
 acter, as " Bacconnaccio ! Capperi ! Christo-gesu- 
 maria ! " Their " spropositi " are equally absurd di- 
 gestion becomes " V indigestione ; " a lawyer is " er leg- 
 gabile ; " the pax tecum is " er pasteco ; " any great 
 painter is Raffaelle Bonaroto. II and del are changed to 
 er and der, and I constantly becomes r, as " concrusione " 
 for conclusione. The infinitive is always truncated, with 
 the accent thrown forward, as benedi for benedire, canta 
 for cantare. 
 
 Whoever would study the dialect of the common people
 
 276 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 may find it admirably given in the humorous and sa- 
 tirical poems of Giuseppe Belli, which not only are won- 
 derfully true to the utterance of the Romans, but also to 
 their spirit ; of course, it must always be borne in mind 
 that this dialect is of the lower and most ignorant classes. 
 The following sonnets by Belli will give a notion of his 
 humor and of the Roman dialect. I have taken the 
 liberty of simplifying the spelling a little, in order to make 
 them more intelligible to my readers. In the first the 
 nurse is showing off the baby : 
 
 " Er Pupo. 
 
 " Che ber truttru ! oh dio mio ! che ciammelldna I 
 No, prima fate servo a nonno e zio 
 Fateje servo, via, sciumaco mio 
 E poi sc' e la bella e la buona 
 
 Bravo Pietruccio ! E come fa er Giudio ? 
 Fa aeo ? Bravo Pietruccio ! E la misciona ? 
 Fa ggnao ? Bravo Pietruccio ! E quanno sona ? 
 Fa ddindi ? Bravo ! e mo dove sta Iddio ? 
 
 Sta lassu ? Bravo ! Ebbe ? E la Pecorella ? 
 Fate la pecorella a zio e nonno 
 E pio sc' e la buona e la bella. 
 
 Oh, zitto, zitto ! via : noo, nu la vonno 
 Eccolo er cavalluccio e la sciammella .... 
 Eh, si stranisce un po', me e tutto sonno." 
 
 " Le Fatiche der Papa. 
 
 " Ah I non fa ggnente er Papa ? ah non fa ggniente ! 
 Ah non fa ggnente, lui, brutte marmotte ? 
 Accusi vi pijasse un accidente ! 
 Come er Papa f atica, giorno e notte ! 
 Chi parla co Dio Padre oranipotente ? 
 Chi assorve tanti fiji de mignotte ? 
 Chi va in carozza a benedl la ggente, 
 Chi manna fora 1' indulgenze a botte ? 
 E chi je conta li cotrini sui ? 
 Non e lui che ci fa li cardinal! ? 
 Le gabelle, per Dio, non le fa lui ? 
 E qnel ant ra f atica da f acchino 
 Li strappa tutto er giorno memoriali 
 E butta Hi a pezzetti in der cestino."
 
 PUPPET PLAYS. 277 
 
 If one would see the characteristic theatres of the basso 
 popolo and study their manners, he should go to the Tea- 
 tro Emiliano in the Piazza Navona, or the Fico, so called 
 from the street in which it is situated. At the former the 
 acting is by respectable puppets ; at the latter the plays 
 are performed by actors, or "personaffgf)" as they are 
 called. The love for the acting of burattini, or puppets, 
 is universal among the lower classes throughout Italy, and 
 in some cities, especially in Genoa, no pains are spared in 
 their costume, construction, and movement to render them 
 lifelike. They are made of wood, are generally from two 
 to three feet in height, with very large heads, and super- 
 natural glaring eyes that never wink, and are clad in all 
 the splendors of tinsel, velvet, and steel. Their joints are 
 so flexible that the least weight or strain upon them effects 
 a dislocation, and they are moved by wires attached to 
 their heads and extremities. Though the largest are only 
 about half the height of a man, yet, as the stage and all 
 the appointments and scenery are upon the same scale of 
 proportion, the eye is soon deceived and accepts them as 
 of life-size. But if by accident a hand or arm of one of 
 the wire-pullers appears from behind the scenes or de- 
 scends below the hangings, it startles you by its porten- 
 tous size ; and the audience in the stage-boxes, instead of 
 reducing the burattinl to Liliputians, by contrast, as they 
 lean forward, become themselves Brobdingnaggians, with 
 elephantine hands and heads. 
 
 Do not allow yourself to suppose that there is anything 
 ludicrous to the audience in the performances of these 
 wooden burattini. Nothing, on the contrary, is more seri- 
 ous. No human being could be so serious. Their counte- 
 nances are solemn as death, and more unchanging than the 
 face of a clock. Their terrible gravity when, with drop- 
 ping heads and collapsed arms, they fix on you their great 
 goggle eyes, is at times ghastly. They never descend into 
 the regions of conscious farce. The plays they perform 
 are mostly heroic, romantic, and historical. They stoop 
 to nothing which is not startling in incident, imposing in 
 style, and grandiose in movement. The wars of the Pal- 
 adins, the heroic adventures of knights and ladies of ro-
 
 278 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 mance, the tragedies of the middle ages, the prodigies of 
 the melodramatic world, are within their special province. 
 The heroes that tread the fantoccini stage are doughty 
 warriors, who perform impossible feats of prowess, slay 
 armies with a single arm, rescue injured damsels, express 
 themselves in loud and boastful language, utter exalted 
 sentiments, and are equally admirable in love and war. 
 No worthy fantoccino shrinks before an army, or leaves 
 the boards of battle till it is covered with the corpses of 
 his enemies. 
 
 The audience listen with grave and profound interest. 
 To them the actors are not fantoccini, but heroes. Their 
 inflated and extravagant discourse is simply grand and 
 noble. They are the mighty x which represents the un- 
 known quantity of boasting which potentially exists in the 
 bosom of every one. Do not laugh when you enter, or 
 the general look of surprise and annoyance will at once 
 recall you to the proprieties of the occasion. You might 
 as well laugh in a church. 
 
 I know no better way of giving an idea of the ordinary 
 performances at the Teatro Emiliano, and the Teatro della 
 Muse, as the Fico magniloquently calls itself on the bills, 
 than by an account of an evening I passed at them last 
 June. 
 
 At each theatre there are two performances, or came- 
 rate, every evening; one commencing at Ave Maria, and 
 the other at ten o'clock. We arrive at the Teatro Emil- 
 iano just too late for the first, as we learned at the ticket- 
 office. " What is that great noise of drums inside ? " 
 asked we. " Battaglie" said the ticket-seller. " Shall 
 we see a battle in the next piece ? " " Eh ! sempre bat- 
 taglie" always battle, was the reproving answer. 
 
 Outside were two hand-carts ; one with refreshments of 
 sherbets, or "pappine " as they are called in Trastevere 
 dialect, sold at one baiocco the little glass ; and the other 
 filled with oblong slabs of hard, stony gingerbread and 
 " bruscolini," or pumpkin seeds salted and cooked in a 
 furnace ; which are the favorite picking of the Roman 
 populace on all festal occasions. 
 
 The bill pasted outside informed us that the burattini
 
 AT THE TEATRO FICO. 279 
 
 were to play to-night, " La Grandiosa opera intitolata il 
 Helisario, ossia le aventure di Oreste, JErsilia, Falsierone, 
 Sellnguerro ed il terribil Gobbo." (" The grandiose opera 
 entitled Belisarius, or the adventures of Orestes, Ersilia, 
 Falsierone, Selinguerro, and the terrible Hunchback") 
 In the names themselves there was a sound of horror and 
 fear. Prices in the platea, two baiocchi ; in the loggiata, 
 three baiocchi. Private boxes are also to be obtained for 
 five baiocchi the seat ; and some of my female friends 
 having taken a box one night, were received by the au- 
 dience on their entrance with loud cheers. We, however, 
 only allowed ourselves the luxury of a loggiata seat. 
 
 But there are three-quarters of an hour to wait before 
 the performance begins how shall we pass them ? " At 
 the Fico," suggested the ticket-seller. " There you may 
 pass the time tolerably ; though," he added contemptu- 
 ously, "there are no ' fantoccini' there, nothing but ' per- 
 sonaggi^ " Acknowledging the inferiority of mere human 
 acting, as compared with that of the puppets, we accepted 
 the advice, which seemed good, and off we set through 
 the narrow damp streets and squares, where great blocks 
 of moonlight and shadow lay cut out on the pavement, 
 and finally arrived before a shabby house, which we rec- 
 ognized as the theatre by the two lanterns hung outside. 
 Some few persons were standing near the door ; and from 
 the open windows of the theatre itself, others, leaning out, 
 cried across the street to the venders of bruscolini to toss 
 them up a cornetto of seeds. The evening was warm out- 
 side, but the air within the loggiata was thick, slab, and 
 steamy with perspiration. The curtain was down. The 
 audience, in a state of extreme dishabille, were, some of 
 them, sprawling on the benches ; some leaning over the 
 front of the loggiata, and conversing with friends in the 
 pit below. Here were men with by no means immaculate 
 linen, many of them in their shirt-sleeves and bare feet 
 as they had come from their work. Mothers with only 
 a chemise from the waist up, drawn round the neck, and 
 soothing the fretful babies they held in their arms by 
 the simple and efficacious method of giving them the 
 breast. Nothing at all improper was thought or done, but
 
 280 ROBA DI ROMA, 
 
 the audience was simply different from what one sees at 
 the Apollo, and less attention had been paid to show 
 decidedly. In the centre was a three-armed brass chan- 
 delier for illumination ; all three lights turned up high and 
 in full smoke. 
 
 In a moment the bell tinkled, and out came an actor be- 
 fore the curtain, nearly touching with his head the top of 
 the stage. He announced, to what he denominated " il 
 culto publico" that the next week was to appear " una 
 bella baciochetta" and who, having too much " vergogna " 
 to demand the favor of their company herself, had dele- 
 gated " il gentil invito " to him. The culto publico mani- 
 fested its interest in this announcement by a series of in- 
 quiries as to who she was, and when she would appear, 
 and what was her name, and other similar questions ; all 
 of which being answered to their satisfaction, they prom- 
 ised to come ; and the actor, bowing addio, bumped out 
 of sight through the curtain, rather ignominiousljj. 
 
 Then the play began. The bill of fare was a panto- 
 mime entitled " La Zingarella" and a comedy, " in dia- 
 letto Romanesco" called " Peppo er Chiavaro e Pepe er 
 muratore, ovvero er primo giorno della sposalizio alle 
 quattro Fontane." This was unfortunately over, it having 
 been performed at the first camerata : for here, as at the 
 Emiliano, are two performances nightly ; one, the " Lung/a" 
 at five baiocchi the seat, and the second, the " Corta," at 
 two baiocchi. We were forced, therefore, to content our- 
 selves with " La Zingarella," which now began. 
 
 Two " reali personaggi," the king and the queen, first 
 make their appearance, accompanied by a courtier and a 
 little girl, their daughter. They have come to walk in a 
 garden. There is much gesticulation of pleasure and af- 
 fection, pressure of both hands on the bosom, and wrig- 
 gling of shoulders, pointing at the child, and making the 
 circuit of their faces with their thumb and fingers, and 
 floating out and waving of hands. This over, the " reali 
 personaggi" motion addio, and leave the child alone 
 with the courtier, who at once prays her to dance. She 
 is not only "prima ballerina," but the whole " corps de 
 ballet " in her one little person, though she is evidently
 
 AT THE TEATRO FICO. 281 
 
 not more than eight years of age. Nevertheless, the au- 
 dience, which is far from critical, is charmed, and loudly 
 upplauds as she finishes a shawl dance with not the fresh- 
 ost gauze mantle, nor, shall I dare to say it (con rispetto) 
 the cleanest or best-gartered stockings. However, that is 
 to he pardoned they are probably her mother's. The 
 courtier now leaves her alone for a moment, with no other 
 apparent object than to enable two or three Contraban- 
 distas (for of course the scene is in Spain, we knew that 
 from the title of the pantomime) to rush in, seize the lit- 
 tle princess, tear off her flower-wreath, and away with 
 her. Immediately on their exit the courtier appears, fol- 
 lowed by her royal parents, who, on finding her gone, 
 make terrible pantomimes of despair beating their fore- 
 heads and rushing up and down the stage. The courtier 
 then madly plunges through the coulisses, and reappears 
 with the wreath, when a great tableau of horror takes 
 place, and the curtain falls. 
 
 When the second act opens ten years have elapsed, as 
 a little gamin at our side assiduously explains, and the 
 little girl has grown into a Zingarella, a fortune-teller. 
 She now comes with the Contrabandistas, and meets the 
 courtier and the courtier's son, who, naturally, is to be the 
 Deus ex machind. Ah ! it is a case of love at first sight. 
 She tells his fortune he gives her a bouquet and then 
 she is carried away by those cruel Contrabandistas. It 
 is evidently all over with him. How he presses his breast, 
 and wriggles, and passes his thumb and finger round the 
 outline of his face, and looks up to heaven deprecatingly ! 
 But the courtier is a hard father he sternly commands 
 him not to see her. But he escapes and flees to find her. 
 In the next scene the tired Contrabandistas come in and 
 sleep; she only wakes to kiss her bouquet, and press 
 her bosom, and wriggles. Ah ! who is this ? it is ah ! 
 no ! it is not yes ! it is the courtier's son. They meet 
 
 what rapture ! he kneels to her when suddenly the 
 fierce Contrabandistas awake. There are passionate threats 
 
 he protests swears he loves points to the third 
 finger of the left hand implores heaven will marry. 
 All is agitation when suddenly the reali personaggi and
 
 282 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 the courtier, escorted by two troops, rush in to find the 
 lover. There are no fire-arms or swords used, but a 
 violent wrestling and slinging about takes place, on a stage 
 ten feet square, until the Contrabandistas give in, and the 
 curtain falls. 
 
 The audience is now getting excited ; already during 
 this act they have cried loudly for cakes and bruscolini 
 and shot their husks right and left in their excitement, 
 and thrown the empty cornetti on the stage ; now they 
 scream for the limonaro and he, as he carries round on 
 his tray glasses of sugarless lemonade, with a lump of the 
 lemon floating about in them, cries loudly, " Qui si beve e 
 si mangia per un baiocco." By that he means that one 
 can drink the sour warm water and eat the lemon. Mean- 
 time, the babies, getting hot, begin to fret and whine, when 
 tinkle goes the bell behind the stage, open goes the chemise 
 front for the baby's comfort, and up goes the curtain. It 
 is a new scene the royal apartment. One very dirty 
 and rickety straw-bottomed chair constitutes its sole actual 
 furniture its throne ; the rest is supplied by the im- 
 agination. Hung on the lintel of the door is a portrait of 
 a child and such a portrait ! shades of Vandyke and 
 Titian ! The king enters and sits in the one chair ; for 
 obvious reasons the queen cannot follow his example. 
 There is great sorrow, and weeping and gesticulating at 
 the portrait, in the midst of which the Contrabandistas 
 are brought in with the Zingarella. Aha ! what a wonder- 
 ful resemblance is this between the portrait and the Zin- 
 garella ? It is difficult for the audience to perceive, but 
 how astounding it seems to the king, queen, and courtier! 
 There is violent gesticulation and pointing from her to the 
 portrait. Ah ! yes, it is ah ! no, it is not. " If she be 
 my child, a strawberry mark will be found on her right 
 arm." Agitated unbuttoning of the sleeve. There is the 
 strawberry mark ! and everybody falls into everybody's 
 arms she is found at last ! The courtier's son and 
 Zingarella kneel and, " My blessing on you, my chil- 
 dren," is given. Then, with a fierce gesture, the Contra- 
 bandistas are ordered to execution. But ah ! the Zin- 
 garella is at the royal feet, and the royal clemency is
 
 AT THE TEATRO FICO. 283 
 
 shown at which there is loud applause by the audience, 
 and the curtain goes down. 
 
 " Stop a moment, gentlemen," says the gamin at our 
 side " it is not yet finished. Now comes the betrothal." 
 The curtain rises again. There is a great, a magnificent 
 illumination, consisting of five paper lanterns pinned to a 
 curtain, spattered and splashed with green, to imitate 
 foliage, I suppose it is in honor of the marriage. The 
 king and queen, two courtiers, the bride and the bride- 
 groom, are all the company. The music is a fiddle and 
 mandolin. And here a great difference was perceptible 
 between the performances at the Fico and those at the 
 Apollo. The reali personaggi did not sit in the left corner 
 in chairs of state, sadly and stiffly looking on at the prima 
 ballerina and the corps de ballet. No ! they and the 
 courtiers did the dancing themselves, and polked and 
 waltzed all together round the little stage ; the king with 
 one courtier, the queen with the other, and the Zingarella 
 with her lover. This over, there came a grand tableau, 
 with red Bengal lights blazing and smoking behind the 
 side-scenes and casting a Der Freischiitz glare over the 
 happy party, and all was over. 
 
 Here, by the way, I am reminded of an incident which 
 occurred one night to a friend of mine at the Fico. The 
 abandoned lover came forward to the foot-lights, clasped 
 his hands, and exclaimed pathetically, " Dove sel tu, o bell 1 
 angelo della mia vita ? " " A San Michele" responded 
 a voice from the pit, " a San Michele." Now at San 
 Michele are the prisons for loose women, who are " aban- 
 doned " in another sense ; and the personaggio on the 
 stage, enraged at this interruption, paused in his part, 
 stopped short, shook his fingers into the pit at the auda- 
 cious individual, and cried out fiercely, with a racy and 
 opprobrious epithet which 1 am forced to omit, " Colla 
 tua sorella colla tua sorella. " Having thus d isburd en ed 
 himself of his emotions, he continued his sentimental invo- 
 cation of his " bell' angelo del mio cor." 
 
 Delighted with this pantomime, we now retraced our 
 steps to the Emiliano. The second camerata had not 
 begun, and we strolled about the piazza. The great foun-
 
 284 ROB A Dl ROMA. 
 
 tain of Bernini rose in the centre, its dark figures crouch- 
 ing under the obelisk that pointed silently its finger to the 
 sky. The moonlight flooded the square and shone on the 
 palaces and the church, and the plashing water sounded 
 soothingly as it fell in the marble basin. At a caffe 
 close by we heard a thrumming guitar and a tinkling man- 
 dolin, played by two men sitting on a table outside the 
 door ; several of the Trasteverini were gathered about, 
 men and women, dancing the sa.ltarello on the rough stones. 
 In the intervals, a sturdy fellow, a little top-heavy with 
 wine, was congratulating himself and his audience on the 
 successes of Garibaldi, news of the taking of Como having 
 just arrived. Then, accompanied by the mandolin and 
 guitar, he began in the intervals of the saltarello to scream 
 out a Neapolitan song, with all the jars and sudden breaks 
 of voice which are so characteristic of their singing, until 
 the piazza echoed. 
 
 We had listened to him so long that the play had al- 
 ready commenced when we entered the Emiliano. The 
 audience was small, but the theatre, though devoted to the 
 burattini, was larger, better, and cleaner than the Fico. 
 The " grandiosa opera" of Belisario did not belie the 
 general character of Fantoccini plays. It was " sempre 
 battaglie." The scene when we entered was between two 
 puppets, both dressed in armor, speaking in tremendous 
 voices and flourishing gigantic swords. One was a child- 
 Fantoccino the other probably Selinguerra. No attempt 
 was made to conceal the agency by which the figures and 
 their weapons were moved. Stout perpendicular wires, 
 piercing the head and passing out of sight above the hang- 
 ings, sustained the figures, and the hands and swords were 
 moved by the same grossly apparent means. Each Fan-, 
 toccino when it spoke went into a sudden convulsion, as if 
 it were attacked by a fit of St. Vitus's dance, while the 
 sword seemed animated with spasmodic life, and thrashed 
 to and fro in the air with utter disregard to the warrior's 
 anatomy, which it constantly and painfully dislocated with 
 every movement. But no sooner had he ceased speaking 
 than his arms fell into a helpless collapse, his head dropped 
 drunkenly forward, or remained fixed in a dislocation
 
 AT THE TEATRO EMILIANO. 285 
 
 glaring at nothing, and with liis sword stiffly pointing up 
 to the ceiling, and his legs hang-ing in the air or huddled 
 under him, so as to leave him quite out of balance, he 
 awaited impotently the answer of his opponent. It was a 
 violent dispute that was taking place between the youth 
 and Selinguerra and his lieutenant, who were threatening 
 to destroy the castle of the " terribil Gobbo." All these 
 doughty warriors were a couple of inches at least above 
 the floor, which they never descended to or condescended 
 to touch, save .by way of emphasis, when down they came 
 on their heels, with a sharp wooden rap, and then jerked 
 suddenly up again. The dispute was tremendous. They 
 launched at each other, in loud voices, terrible threats and 
 challenges. Selinguerra was especially ferocious, and 
 " Chi sei tu che osi ! " he cried to the youth ; but the 
 latter, not to be outdone in boasting and fury, with a wild 
 spasm of sword and dangling about of his arms, exclaimed, 
 ' Trema ! che son il figlio del terribil Gobbo" and then 
 collapsed in silence. " Ah, ah," with a roar responded 
 his opponent, " male haifatto apalesarlo nonpossopiu 
 contenere il mio immenso furor. Preparati a morir ! " 
 and with a galvanic twitch and a thundering rap of his 
 heels on the floor, he shook defiance at the bold youth. 
 But the youth now showed himself the true son of the 
 terrible Gobbo. He roused from the collapse in which he 
 had fallen, and coming down with his heels too (as if, 
 Antaeus -like, to acquire new strength by touching the 
 ground), he jerked his head and limbs, flung out widely 
 one leg, and waved a challenge in the name of St. Vitus. 
 Now ensued a terrible encounter. Selinguerra, backed 
 by his lieutenant, attacked the heroic son of the Gobbo, 
 and all three, rising higher from the floor in their excite- 
 ment, dashed promiscuously together, clashing their swords 
 furiously, and swinging backwards and forwards half the 
 length of the stage, while their helpless legs beat to and 
 fro in the air. All the while a drum behind the scenes 
 was " rolling rapidly." It was encouraging, however, to 
 see how bravely the son of the Gobbo held his own. 
 Despite the terrible blows he received on his head, each 
 of which would have done forever for a mere " perso-
 
 286 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 naggio," and the excited efforts he made with his arms 
 and legs, he never for a moment lost his courage or wind. 
 His expression never changed, but on his countenance 
 might still be seen the same calm, supernatural glare, the 
 same unwinking eyes. At last, however, he was brought 
 to his knees, or rather, to be accurate, he was brought 
 half-way down backward, with his legs at an angle of 
 forty-five degrees, sitting on nothing at all, and still shaking 
 the " fragments of his blade " above him. He was now 
 so weak that his endeavors to sit entirely down seemed 
 vain, and in one of his attempts to do so a gigantic appari- 
 tion of a superhuman fist appeared like a portent above 
 his head between the slips. " Preparati a morir ! " now 
 thundered Selinguerra^ and all seemed over with him, 
 when suddenly the aspect of things was changed. In 
 burst the " terribil Gobbo " himself, " in complete steel," 
 and, striking the floor with a succession of bold knocks, and 
 waving with convulsive jerks his sword, while he sidled dis- 
 locatedly along towards Selinguerra with little drifting 
 hops, brought help at the most opportune moment. Well did 
 he sustain in the ensuing conflict his terrible reputation. 
 " Alone, alone he did it." At first it was Selinguerra and 
 his lieutenant who opposed him, but he soon made minced 
 meat of them ; and then the whole army, spasmodically 
 hopping and staggering in sideways to the rescue of their 
 captain, attacked the Gobbo all together. In the rage of 
 the conflict, both he and the army madly swung the whole 
 length of the stage, suspended in the air, smashing against 
 each other right and left in the utmost confusion, and cut- 
 ting each other promiscuously in their attempts to hit him, 
 as if it were a " free fight " in Arkansas. But one by one, 
 and platoon by platoon, they fell before the terrible Gobbo, 
 until at last he hovered above the heaps of slain, sound as 
 ever in wind and limb, and had a spasm of satisfaction 
 over them as they lay there covering the stage, some of 
 them with their legs straight up in the air. But a mes- 
 senger now arrived. Where is the Gobbo's spouse ? Oh 
 Dio ! and messenger and Gobbo drifted out together, 
 bumping each other recklessly on the way, and disappeared 
 between the slips.
 
 PLAYS OF THE FANTOCCINI. 287 
 
 It is useless further to follow the doings on this occa- 
 sion. Suffice it to say, that there was the " serpent-man," 
 ending in a long green tail ; and a terrible giant, with a 
 huge head and pock-marked face, each of which was a 
 " Deus ex machind," descending at opportune moments 
 to assist one or the other side, the " uomo serpente " on 
 one occasion crushing a warrior who was engaged in an 
 encounter with Ersilia by flinging a great tower on him. 
 What Belisario had to do with this "grandiosa opera" 
 besides giving it his name, I did not plainly see, as he 
 never made his appearance on the stage. However, the 
 audience seemed greatly delighted with the performance. 
 They ate voraciously of bruscolini and cakes, partook 
 largely of lemonade, and, when I left, the stage was 
 strewn with cornetti, or paper horns, which they had 
 emptied of their seeds. 
 
 The Fantoccini do not, however, confine themselves to 
 the recitation of plays founded on incidents in romance 
 and profane history they also devote their powers to 
 the representation of religious moralities, or mysteries, in 
 which they " present " scenes from Scripture history. 
 These " motions," as Ben Jonson calls them, are for the 
 most part performed by Fantoccini ; but sometimes they 
 are represented by living persons, and there is a species 
 of public plays, called Giostre, or Maggi, which are still 
 performed by the peasants of some of the Tuscan towns. 
 Giuseppe Tigri, in his preface to the "Canti Popolari 
 Toscani," says : " Some of these I have myself seen, a 
 few years ago, at Campiglio di Cereglio and at Gavinana. 
 The best known, and those which are played nearly every 
 year, are the story of Joseph ; the sacrifice of Abraham ; 
 the passion of our Lord, which, in many respects, resem- 
 ble the ancient mysteries. Besides these, there are Egisto 
 de' Greci ; Bradamante and Ruggero, taken from Ariosto ; 
 Ircano, King of Thrace ; Costantino and Buonafede, or 
 the Triumph of Friendship ; the conversion of St. Giovanni 
 Bocca d'Oro ; Arbino and Micrene, or the persecution of 
 the Christians by a Turkish king of Algeria ; the martyr- 
 dom of Sta. Filomena ; the Empress Flavia ; Rosana, the 
 beautiful pagan who is converted to Christianity; Sant'
 
 288 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 Alessio ; the glorious conquest of Jerusalem by the Chris- 
 tians ; Cleonte and Isabella and Stillacore ; the taking of 
 Paris described by Ariosto ; and the death of Louis XVI. 
 Their theatre is in the open air, or in the chief piazza 
 of the town, or under the shadow of the chestnut-trees in 
 some wooded valley. On the day of the festival, after 
 vespers, the people of the surrounding towns meet to- 
 gether and form a great circle of men and women. 
 Before the play begins there is a messenger (called also 
 an interpreter or page, as in the mysteries, dressed like an 
 angel, with a flower in his hand) who, after the custom 
 of the ancient Greek tragedies, sings a prologue, and 
 salutes the audience, demanding their favor. The heroes 
 of the drama then make their entrance, and with them 
 comes the buffoon, who represents some one of the Italian 
 masks just as in the antique tragi-comedies they were 
 present to temper with their jests the excess of horror 
 or compassion among the spectators. The men play the 
 women's parts, and are dressed in great mantles, or, as 
 they call it, 'all' eroica,' and as much as possible in cos- 
 tume. Whenever the dress of the ancient Paladins is 
 required, they have flags and old swords, and carry beau- 
 tiful lances and halberds in their hands, with which they 
 joust very skilfully, and which are (as I was told at 
 Gavinana) of the period of Ferruccio. They weave to- 
 gether dialogues without divisions of acts, chanting them 
 to a regular monotonous song in strophes of eight, re- 
 peating the first line of each, and moving from one part 
 of the circle to another. The action is exceedingly 
 simple, without intricacy or any attempt to keep the in- 
 terest of the hearers in suspense, and the messenger 
 informs them at first what is to be represented. Certain 
 ariettes in sevens, interpolated into the drama, play the 
 part of the chorus in the Greek tragedy, and are sung 
 with the accompaniment of the violin. The character of 
 this drama is always chaste and moral, and serves admi- 
 rably to keep alive among the people who delight in them 
 the old chivalric sentiment for the lady of one's love, and 
 for every sacred and magnanimous enterprise." 
 
 During Easter I have also seen, at Santo Spirito, a
 
 MYSTERY PLAYS. 289 
 
 mystery play performed by the scholars, and founded 
 upon the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, 
 who would not bow down and worship the golden image 
 that Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up. It was per- 
 formed in the afternoon, within the hospital, and the 
 Cardinal Tosti presided over it. 
 
 Ordinarily, however, these mysteries are performed by 
 puppets, who are more dignified and less expensive than 
 " personaggi" In England the early plays of this kind 
 were pageants performed in the church, in French or 
 Latin. English, however, soon took the place of all 
 foreign tongues, and they began to be played at the 
 corners of the streets or in the public squares. They 
 were generally in the early days exhibited on carts con- 
 structed for the purpose, with different floors : one for the 
 pater ccelestis and the angels, another for the saints, and 
 a third for man. One corner of man's stage was called 
 " hell's mouth," and here burnt a fire, up and down which 
 demons came and went. An old account for repairs done 
 to one of these pageants runs thus : " Payd for mending 
 hell mought ij d . Item, payd for keepng of fyer at hell 
 mothe iiij d . payd for setting the world on fire v d ." In 
 the time of Steele, miracle plays were performed by 
 puppets under the arcade of Covent Garden ; and Powell 
 on one occasion promises his audience that his " opera of 
 Susannah, or Innocence betrayed," will be exhibited next 
 week with a pair of new elders. A traveller has not long 
 since described an entertainment of this kind at Lisbon, 
 where, after the expulsion of Eve from Paradise, the 
 Eternal Father came down in great wrath, called for 
 Noah, and told him he was sorry to have created such a 
 set of ungrateful scoundrels, and that he was resolved to 
 drown them altogether. "Here Noah interceded for 
 them, and at last it was agreed that he should build an 
 ark, and he was ordered to go to the king's dockyard in 
 Lisbon, and there he would see John Gonsalvez, for lie 
 preferred him to either the French or English builders. 
 (This produced great applause.)" Ben Jonson, in his 
 " Bartholomew Fair," makes one of his puppet showmen 
 say, " Oh ! the motions that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, 
 have given light to in my time, since my master Pod died !
 
 290 ROBA Dl ROMA. 
 
 Jerusalem was a stately thing, and so was Nineveh, and 
 the City of Norwich ; but the Gunpowder Plot, that was 
 a get-penny." And in "Every Man out of his Humor" 
 he speaks also of " a new motion of the City of Nineveh, 
 with Jonas and the whale." 
 
 In Germany, also, these mysteries continue to be 
 played, and every ten years there is a great celebration at 
 Ammergau, in Bavaria, where the passion of Christ is 
 represented with great elaboration of dresses and scenery. 
 Of late this play has become celebrated throughout 
 Europe, and crowds flock to see it from all quarters. 
 
 In Italy the principal motions that are now played by 
 the Fantoccini are passages from the life of Christ. One 
 of these, the story of Judas Iscariot, I remember seeing 
 several years ago in a little town on the main road to 
 Naples. We had just left our vettura, and were straying 
 through the streets towards sundown, when a large booth 
 attracted our attention before which were coarse pictures 
 representing scenes from the life of Judas, with placards 
 underneath announcing that the well-known and famous 
 company of puppets, so greatly and deservedly admired 
 throughout Italy, would this evening perform the grand 
 scriptural play of Judas Iscariot, for the small entrance 
 fee of two baiocchi. At the door was a man in a thick 
 black beard, who in stentorian tones was crying out to the 
 people of the town to be quick, or they would lose the 
 chance of seeing this justly celebrated, grand, and won- 
 derful exhibition. Prompted by curiosity, we paid our 
 baiocchi and went in. The representation had already 
 begun to an audience of about twenty persons of tbe 
 lower classes ; but the moment our party entered the per- 
 formance was suspended, the curtain was dropped, and the 
 padrone appeared, cleared for us the front seats, and 
 announced that in consequence of the arrival of this most 
 distinguished and cultivated company, which he had tiie 
 honor of seeing before him, he should recommence the 
 play from the very first scene. So, in fact, he did ; and 
 nothing more ludicrous and incorrect could easily be 
 imagined. The kiss of Judas, when, after sliding along 
 the stage, he suddenly turned with a sidelong jerk and 
 rapped the other puppet's wooden head with his own, as
 
 FANTOCCINI IN THE BALLET. 291 
 
 well as the subsequent scene in which he goes out and 
 hangs himself, beggars description. The audience, how- 
 ever, looked and listened with great gravity, seemed to be 
 highly edified, and certainly showed no signs of seeing 
 anything ludicrous in the performance ; though their 
 attention, I must confess, was at times somewhat divided 
 between us and the puppets. When we arose to go, the 
 manager again appeared, though the play was not quite 
 over, and warmly thanked us for having honored him 
 with our presence. 
 
 At Siena this year there was a similar exhibition, to 
 which the country people flocked from all the adjacent 
 country, and which had such success that it was repeated 
 every day for weeks. Sometimes, also, stories from the 
 Old Testament are played, such as the afflictions of Job ; 
 the sacrifice of Isaac ; the story of Susannah and the 
 Elders ; and the Prodigal Son. A short time since there 
 was a representation of the Life of Samson, in which the 
 puppet covered the stage with the bodies of the Philis- 
 tines, literally according to the scripture, " heaps upon 
 heaps." But while making a long speech preparatory to 
 quenching his thirst from the jawbone of an ass, he un- 
 fortunately forgot that it was filled with water, and in 
 his spasmodic gesticulations he sprinkled and spattered it 
 recklessly over the stage and into the face of the orchestra 
 to such effect, that finally there was not a drop left when 
 the time came to drink. To do him justice, however, he 
 never lost his countenance or self-possession at this trying 
 moment. 
 
 But of all the feats of the Fantoccini, nothing can be 
 compared to their acting in the ballet. If the pantomime 
 by actual " personaggi " be extraordinary, imagine what it 
 is when performed by puppets, whose every motion is 
 effected by wires, who imitate the gestures of despair with 
 hands that cannot shut, and, with a wooden- gravity of 
 countenance, throw their bodies into terrible contortions to 
 make up for the lack of expression in the face. But, if 
 possible, their dancing is even superior to their pantomime. 
 When the wooden-headed court, almost as solemn and 
 stiff as a real one, have seated themselves on one side of 
 the stage, and the corps de ballet has advanced and re-
 
 292 ROBA DI ROMA. 
 
 treated in steady platoons, and retired and opened just 
 like the real thing, in, with a tremendous leap, suddenly 
 drops the prima ballerina, knocks her wooden knees to- 
 gether, and jerking her head about, salutes the audience 
 with a smile quite as artificial as we could see in the best 
 trained of her fleshly rivals. Then, with a masterly ease, 
 after describing air-circles with her toes far higher than 
 her head, and poising herself in impossible positions, she 
 bounds, or rather flies forward with superhuman lightness, 
 performs feats of choreography to awaken envy in Cerito 
 and drive Ellsler to despair, and pausing on her pointed 
 toe, that disdains to touch the floor, turns never-ending 
 pirouettes on nothing at all, till at last, throwing both her 
 wooden hands forward, she suddenly comes to a stiff stop 
 to receive your applause. This is the very apotheosis of 
 ballet-dancing. This is that perfection "which we are 
 seeking all our lives to find." Unhampered with the dif- 
 ficulties that encumber her mortal sister, she performs 
 what the living creature can only attempt, and surpasses 
 her as the ideal surpasses the actual. When we see her 
 with her permanent smile and breast that never pants, we 
 are not haunted by the notion of those sad hours of prac- 
 tising in the gloomy theatrical day, when the splendid 
 clouds of tulle and the stereotyped smile give way to shabby 
 petticoats and twitching face, and her ear is saluted by the 
 criticism of the master instead of the applause of the audi- 
 ence. Ah, no ! the Fantoccina leaps perfect into her art 
 from the hands of her maker, dreams her day away smil- 
 ing just the same in her box as on the stage, is never har- 
 assed by want of food and family cares, disdains to eke 
 out her insufficient salary by prostitution, is troubled by 
 no jealousies, pricked by no vain ambition, haunted by no 
 remorses, ruined by no failures, but without envy, sorrow, 
 hunger, or the fear of old age, keeps a perennial youth 
 and a perpetual smile. How much better to be a wooden 
 Fantoccina than a living Ballerina! Better on all sides 
 not only for her, but for her maestro, who pays her 
 nothing, hears from her no complaints, and is subject to 
 no caprices. How miserable an apology, how wretched a 
 mask Life seems beside Art ! Who would not be a Fan* 
 toccino a painted blockhead, if he could ?
 
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