lery which conducts from the Vatican to the Castle. This is a secret passage, through which, in times of peril, the Pope can flee from his papal palace to the safety of the citadel, and has served its office well. If I mistake not, the present venerable Pontiff has sought safety through its winding passages. It was in the year 1825, that during the excavations then in progress, great and interesting disc veries were made. The entrance to the mausoleum opposite the bridge, and which opened into the spiral corridor conducting to the sepulchral chamber, was exhumed, and thus, after the lapse of centuries, this receptacle of the illustrious dead was again entered by living men. Since the troubles of 1849, Pius IX. has been rather chary of admitting visitors to the fortress; but happily a friend at court, Monseignor N, of the Pope's private household, furnished the necessary permit, and a bright winter's morning found our small party standing before the ponderous gates, waiting for the "open sesame" which would admit us within the walls. It came, in the guise of a pleasantfaced officer, who, reading our permit, courteously welcomed us. We passed from the cheerful sunlight of the outer, to the gloomy precincts of an inner court, where this sudden invasion of "womankind" created seemingly quite a sensation among the Zouaves herein collected. As two of my young friends were bewitchingly pretty, probably their presence was not at all disagreeable to these stalwart soldiers of Pius IX. It did not appear to be. Stacks of glittering arms occupied the four angles of the court, sentinels were slowly pacing up and down before the entrance, while upon long, low benches, reclined some dozen dusty, tired-looking men. Here we were politely handed over, with a few words of introduction, to a tall Zouave, a German, who, receiving a bunch of keys from one of the guards, motioned us, with grave demeanor, to follow him. a key from the ponderous bunch, unlocked a huge arched iron door and held it wide for us to pass through, which done, it clanged behind us with a dismal echo, and we stood in total darkness within the spiral corridor leading to the sepulchral chamber of Hadrian. A moment more, and a torch of some resinous wood was lighted, and we began the descent of that dark, winding plane. It was a horrible, gloomy place, indeed, with that peculiar musty odor belonging only to old ruins, (I might almost say, exclusively to the ruins of Rome,) and made even more dismal by the shadows which the flickering torchlight threw upon the walls. The German proved himself a valuable guide, and frequently drew our attention to the marble incrustations, which are yet plainly visible at intervals, upon the old blackened walls; and then trailing the torch along the ground, he would point out the mosaics which formed the pavement to this once majestic highway of emperors; every minute stone inserted by hands which eighteen hundred years ago were folded in the stillness of death. Then, as if the darkness and the grim old stones were not sufficient to impress our minds with that reverence due this sepulchre of the great Hadrian, the guide, stooping down, lifted a cannon ball, and with a sign to our little group, bade us listen to the reverberations which would follow its course through this labyrinth, giving us thereby a better idea of its extent. Poising it high above his head, and then stooping to the effort, he sent the ball rolling before him. Hark to the echo! now it bowls along with a pleasant sound, on and on; then follows a deeper intonation as of distant thunder-a lull-haik again to the heavy thud, thud, as the ball leaps and achieves some obstruction to its course; then all is still, when suddenly afar off we hear the rolling sound, it dies away-the ball has surely reached the goal-we whisper our conclusions; when lo! again and again We now walked up an inclined plane, we hear the dull reverberations echoing consisting of marble slabs more than a through the dismal corridor, until finally yard in width, and each one raised about they are lost in the oppressive silence! three inches above the other. Arrived The Zouave keenly watched our counteat the second landing, our guide selecting | nances meanwhile, with all the unction of having created a surprise for the foresteiri. Upon the spot from which the ball took its passage we remained standing until the last faint echoes died away. and then, with a rapid whirl of the torch, to revive its dying flame, the guide waved us on. We now met with heavy iron gratings, placed here and there over open vaults in the pavement. We shuddered as our feet touched them, and it needed not the light of the torch which the German held over them, to assure us that we were passing above those dark dungeons, hewn deep down within the moat, like those infernal prisons of Venice, where the moans of wretched beings answered to the ceaseless moaning of the sluggish waters, as they rose and fell against their dungeon walls. At length we reached the level plane. There lay the cannon ball by the side of cthers, which had probably been sent on the same harmless errand. Crossing what may be termed the vestibule, faintly lighted by loopholes cut in the solid peperino rock, we entered the supulchral chamber. In form, a Greek cross-with niches at each extremity. These held the funeral urns. The largest, fronting the entrance, is supposed to have contained the superb porphyry urn wherein the “shrunken ashes" of the Emperor Hadrian were placed. This was removed, it is said, by Pope Innocent II. to the basilica of St. John Lateran, for his own tomb. Others affirm that the large granite sarcophagus, now in the baptistry of St. Peter's, contained the dust of Hadrian. It matters little. The niche is now occupied by a poor statue of the Emperor. Every trace of the rich incrustations of marble and bronze, which covered the walls; the mosaic pavement, the elaborate ornamentations of the frieze, the columns which in the deep niches framed the statues-all disappeared long centuries ago. Only the rough peperino, showing the marks left by the rivets which secured the bronze or marble casings, (for even the baser metal has been despoiled from the imperial sepulchre.) only this remains to point the end of all earthly ambition. We gave but little time to these gloomy precincts, but gladly turned away to retrace our steps through the winding corridor. Once more passing through the heavy door, we found ourselves in the cheerful light of day. We now ascended to the first parapet, bright and sunny, each side commanding a charming view. Here many of the garrison were assembled; some leisurely pacing to and fro the broad terrace; some reclining upon the low benches, with their knapsacks under their heads, either sleeping or reading; while others were busily engaged cleaning their muskets. Up a narrower, steeper flight of steps our guide preceded us, pointing out by the way the cell in which Benvenuto Cellini so long languished a prisoner; and whose remarkable escape and thrilling adventures, as written by himself, rival even the versatile pen of Swift. It was indeed a wretched receptacle for the living body. Reaching the landing, we were ushered into a large saloon, containing some fine frescos by Pierini del Vaga. Spirited battle scenes and mythological subjects cover the walls. The arabesques are perfectly lovely in their graceful designs. The ceiling is handsomely ornamented with gilded stucco, divided off into square medallions, in which are paintings, though much faded. Opposite the entrance is a life-sized portrait of P. del Vaga-so natural in appearance, painted upon the panel of a door, that at the first glance you are almost inclined to bow to the polite stranger advancing so pleasantly to meet you. Another ascent, surrounded by prison cells, which are said to be well tenanted, not only by those political offenders who have fallen under the displeasure of the Holy Father of the Vatican, but also by brigands, galley slaves and others, confined for less venial of fences, such as street brawlers, and for disorderly conduct at public places, brought us to a second and larger saloon, now used as a barrack room, and which we found well filled with Zouaves and French soldiers. It seems a pity that a place so beautifully decorated by the hand of Giulio Romano, should be used for such a purpose. Some of the men, however, appeared proud of their sur For this refusal our guide next began roundings, and came forward to point out to us the designs, many of which were nearly obliterated. They represent seanymphs and goddesses, with a grace and beauty of outline perfectly charming; but, unfortunately, most sadly despoiled of their once rich coloring by time and neglect. The stucco bas-reliefs, forming the cornices, are very fine. The guide drew our attention to a square block of marble inserted in the pavement, upon which a cross was deeply cut. This stone marked the spot where Pope Benedict VI. was strangled! to offer many reasons; first, the key was lost; secondly, the place was too dark to be seen; thirdly and fourthly, a jargon of untranslatable German; and as even the tempting offer of silver failed to find the missing key or throw light upon the scene, the conclusion in our minds was, that some other hapless individual was here confined. Of late years, in the overthrow of nearly all our preconceived ideas, some doubts have been expressed whether the unfortunate Beatrice was ever within the walls of the "Castle St. Angelo;" that the brothers Cenci only were here incarcerated. Accepting the benefit of the doubt, we complacently toiled up some dozen steep, narrow stairs to the summit of the castle, where stands the colossal figure of St. Michael. We passed from the saloon into an oval apartment, lined with cypress wood, each panel forming the door of a closet, over which were emblazoned the armorial bearings of different papal sovereigns. This was the treasury of the popes, where, in times of warfare, the valuables of the Vatican were secured. Here were immense chests of solid oak, clasped and banded with iron, with locks and double locks of ponderous size, which had held the rich treasures. But now their covers are off the rusty hinges, the iron bands broken, the wood chipped and wormeaten. The chests were for the gold and silver; the closets contained the archives of the government. The marble floor is inlaid with curious devices; each one is numbered, corresponding to the secret hiding-places wherein the keys to all of these treasures were concealed-a talismanic figure, known only to the parties concerned. These chests have more than once been borne through the secret gallery, the safety valve of the popes, stretchlery from the Vatican. Still another steep and winding ascent, around which is a second circle of gloomy cells, formed in the massive peperino. In one of these, our guide informed us, the lovely, ill-fated Beatrice Cenci was immured. The iron door was closed. We asked to be admitted. "O nein!" quoth he, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "Is the cell never shown to visitors?" "O yaw!" "Then, will you not allow us the privilege?" "Onein!" was the only answer. Here we were upon the broad battlements, with a view before us which was perfectly entrancing. Turn which way we would, still the landscape of transcendent loveliness was ours! Rome lay mapped out below us; her beautiful domes, her palaces, her obelisks, and picturesque bell-towers; and in the golden flash of sunlight, the Tiber betrayed its graceful windings in and out the city of the Seven Hills; and then, afar off, we catch the gleam of the old classic river, flowing on and on toward the distant sea. From no point of view does the grandeur of St. Peter's and the beautiful symmetry of the Vatican colonnades appear to more advantage than when seen from this height; and here, too, we traced the secret gal ing its sinuous length from the Vatican * Monte Testaccio-a singular mound at the foot of the Aventine, of which the origin is unknown-supposed to date from the days of Tarquinius Priscus. It is formed entirely of broken pottery, covered with a sparse verdure. The interior is hewn into galleries and grottos, used as wine vaults. of Caius Cestius overlooks the dark cy- the noble piazza of St. Peter's, the obepress groves of the Protestant cemetery. lisk, the ever-lovely fountains, the graceYonder the church of St. Paul's fuori le ful colonnades, and the façade of this mura, set in a poisonous plain of ver- mighty structure be seen, as the visitor dure; and there we look upon the lovely draws near the Leonine city. Let us Monte Mario, with the pine of the poet hope that some day the plans of NapoShelley cut clear against the blue hori- leon I. may be carried out. What a zon; while all around, encircling this magnificent coup d'oeil would then be acmost lovely, captivating old city, spreads complished! Embracing, as one emerges the vast Campagna, crossed by the pic- from the "Via di Tordinona," or the turesque chain of acqueducts, and dotted" Via Julia," the whole grand scene, over with sepulchral tombs; the round tower of Cecilia Metella, standing solitary and alone, like some gigantic fortress guarding this waste of death and desolation. From this charming and varied landscape we were loth to turn away. Our guide, bless his honest heart, had compassion upon us, and instead of hurrying us away, left us for an hour to our own musings. We sat upon the parapets; we mounted to the pedestal on which St. Michael stands, still in the act of sheathing that formidable sword. We looked down upon the spacious courts and extensive fortifications which extend beyond them, and again and again we made the circuit of the battlements. But the time for leaving this enchanting spot came at last. Slowly we followed our guide back to the outer world, and the gates of the Castle St. Angelo closed forever upon us! Would that the unsightly buildings, which now so materially deteriorate from the approach to St. Peter's as the visitor crosses the Ponte St. Angelo and the broad esplanade which overlooks the windings of the Tiber, could be swept away with the same ease as our wheels accomplished the distance a few mornings subsequent to our visit to the tomb of Hadrian, leaving us standing before that temple wherein are "Power, strength, glory, and beauty, aisled In its eternal ark of worship." Approaching Rome from any point, that superb dome, the bridge and Castle of St. Angelo, the THE ASCENT TO THE DOME, commenced by passing through a door near the sacristry, under the overshadowing wings of those angels which guard the solemn aisles. A broad inclined plane leads to the roof of the basilica, so gradual and so easy that horses, and even carriages may make the ascent with perfect safety,-a necessity often required in conveying to the roof the materials needed for the almost constant repairs of so im mense a structure. The walls of this winding passage form what may be termed a chronological data of events connected with St. Peter's. As for instance, the "year of jubilee," which occurs every twenty-five years, when the Pope, with a silver hammer in hand, breaks down the "Porta Santa," which for a quarter of a century no impious hand has dared assail. But more especially do they record, upon mural tablets of marble, inscribed, many of them, in letters of gold, the names of those illustrious persons who have accomplished the ascent of the dome. Here we find that upon such a day, His August Highness Nicholas I., Emperor of all Russia, passed up the "winding stair;" that the Emperor and Empress of Austria trod this marble floor; and again, and the still more wretched Empress that the most unfortunate Maximilian, Carlotta, made the ascent,-no higher perhaps, than their own sanguine aspirations, for moral power and goodness, over the people they were called to rule. The Prince De Joinville, too, and the Duc D'Aumale; and later, we read in deep cut letters of gold, that on the 10th of February, 1859, His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, mounted to the very summit of the dome, and entered the ball which bears the cross! At length we accomplished our somewhat protracted ascent, and stepped out upon the roof, one hundred and fifty feet from the ground. The roof, did I say? Why we seemed to be passing over the broad piazza of some lofty town, with hills and valleys far down below us, from which the sweet-toned bells sent up their matin jubilee. Here are dwellings, with children playing about the doors; a fountain too, shimmers in the sunbeams, and its waters fall with delicious cadence into its moss-grown basin draped with trailing maiden-hair. Would we have temples of worship? They are here, in those two beautiful domes, more than one hundred feet high, which flank the façade; then there are the five lesser ones to call forth our admiration. Here we can walk about in broad alleys, and wind in and out these domed terraces. But oh, how can I speak of that stupendous dome, the centre of this wonderful plain? The nearer you approach it, the more your soul is awed with its sublimity You realize more than ever before the majesty of this-the work of man and the glory of the Eternal Father, to whose worship it was reared. Thirteen colossal statues-our Saviour and the twelve apostles-crown the façade, and below them are arranged marble seats, that visitors may find rest. nave, with its array of marble saints? Where the immense transepts? Where the wide isles and vaulted chapels, which can swallow up their fifty thousand spectators, and yet find room for ten thousand more? Can that narrow corridor, those tiny ante-rooms, be identical with the immensity of a building which forms the wonder of the world? And yonder little room, like a child's play-house, can that be the great council hall, where sat the eight hundred bishops convened by Pius IX., with cardinals and grave canons of the Roman Church, kings and princes, senate and nobles, on that memorable 6th of September, 1869, which marked the opening of the Ecumenical Council; and again, on that stormy day, when heaven itself protested with terrific thunder and blinding flashes of light, against that impious decree of Infallibility? Those four tiny columns, are they the superb bronze pillars which support the baldacchino? And the baldacchino? what, that mere cradle cover? Look at the bronze statue of St. Peter; why it is no larger than those miniature copies we see at the shop windows. Are those ants which crawl about him, and which we can trace also around the confessional, where the never-failing lamps now shine no bigger than the glow-worm's light? Look through your opera-glass, and you will see those ants are human beings. Our own insignificance, and the insignificance of all earthly grandeur, as viewed by the Eternal Eye, is a lesson which can here be read. In looking up into this cupola where we are now standing, how often, in walking slowly over the marble floor, now so far below us, have we admired the beautiful mosaics, which in such delicate proportions and splendor of coloring, adorn its inner surface. But nearly as we decrease in size from this lofty standpoint, so do these mosaics of saints and angels become colossal, yet lose not their beauty, although their cunning handicraft is so plainly seen. The four Evangelists upon the triangles of the dome are particularly imposing. The pen which St. Luke holds in his hand, as seen from But where is that grand beautiful | below, is but a goose quill; by accurate The dome of St. Peter's is double, and we pass from the roof into a narrow passage, from which the ascent may be said really to commence. By winding steps and through narrow galleries, preceded by a guide, we moved slowly on in single file. We reached a broad level, and the guide opening a door, motioned us to advance. Wonderful was the sight which we now beheld. We were standing within the outer gallery, which runs around the interior of the dome and looking down into the church below. |