# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 1/Number 7/The Catacombs of Rome

[Continued.]
Custodit Dominus emnia ossa eorum. Ps. xxxiii. 20
III.
Not quite two miles from the city-gate known as the Porta Pia, there stands, on the left hand of the Nomentan Way, the ancient, and, until lately, beautiful, Church of St. Agnes outside the Walls. The chief entrance to it descends by a flight of wide steps; for its pavement is below the level of the ground, in order to afford easy access to the catacombs known as those of St. Agnes, which opened out from it and stretched away in interlacing passages under the neighboring fields. It was a quiet, retired place, with the sacredness that invests every ancient sanctuary, in which the prayers and hymns of many generations have risen. The city was not near enough to disturb the stillness within its walls; little vineyards, and plots of market-garden, divided from each other by hedges of reeds and brambly roses, with wider open fields in the distance, lay around it; a deserted convent stood at its side; its precious marble columns were dulled and the gold ground of its mosaics was dimmed by the dust of centuries; its pavement was deeply worn; and its whole aspect was that of seclusion and venerable age, without desertion and without decay.
The story of St. Agnes is one of those which at the beginning of the fourth century became popular among the Christians and in the Church of Rome. The martyrdom, under most cruel tortures and terrors, of a young girl, who chose to die rather than yield her purity or her faith, and who died with entire serenity and peace, supported by divine consolations, caused her memory to be cherished with an affection and veneration similar to that in which the memory of St. Cecilia was already held,--and very soon after her death, which is said to have taken place in the year 304, she was honored as one of the holiest of the disciples of the Lord. Her story has been a favorite one through all later ages; poetry and painting have illustrated it; and wherever the Roman faith has spread, Saint Agnes has been one of the most beloved saints both of the rich and the poor, of the great and of the humble.
In her Acts[A] it is related that she was buried by her parents in a meadow on the Nomentan Way. Here, it is probable, a cemetery had already for some time existed; and it is most likely that the body of the Saint was laid in one of the common tombs of the catacombs. The Acts go on to tell, that her father and mother constantly watched at night by her grave, and once, while watching, "they saw, in the mid silence of the night, an army of virgins, clothed in woven garments of gold, passing by with a great light. And in the midst of them they beheld the most blessed virgin Agnes, shining in a like dress, and at her right hand a lamb whiter than snow. At this sight, great amazement took possession of her parents and of those who were with them. But the blessed Agnes asked the holy virgins to stay their advance for a moment, when she said to her parents, 'Behold, weep not for me as for one dead, but rejoice with me and wish me joy; for with all these I have received a shining seat, and I am united in heaven to Him whom while on earth I loved with all my heart.' And with these words she passed on." The report of this vision was spread among the Christians of Rome. The pleasing story was received into willing hearts; and the memory of the virgin was so cherished, that her name was soon given to the cemetery where she had been buried, and, becoming a favorite resting-place of the dead, its streets were lengthened by the addition of many graves.
[Footnote A: This is the name given to the accounts of the saints and martyrs composed in early times for the use of the Church.]
Not many years afterwards, Constantia, the daughter of the Emperor Constantine, suffering from a long and painful disease, for which she found no relief, heard of the marvellous vision, and was told of many wonderful cures that had been wrought at the tomb and by the intercession of the youthful Saint. She determined, although a pagan, to seek the aid of which such great things were told; and going to the grave of Agnes at night, she prayed for relief. Falling suddenly into a sweet sleep, the Saint appeared to her, and promised her that she should be made well, if she would believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. She awoke, as the story relates, full of faith, and found herself well. Moved with gratitude, she besought her father to build a church on the spot in honor of Saint Agnes, and in compliance with her wish, and in accordance with his own disposition to erect suitable temples for the services of his new faith, Constantine built the church, which a few centuries later was rebuilt in its present form and adorned with the mosaics that still exist.
Nearly about the same time a circular building was erected hard by the church, designed as a mausoleum for Constantia and other members of the imperial family. The Mausoleum of Hadrian was occupied by the bodies of heathen emperors and empresses, and filled with heathen associations. New tombs were needed for the bodies of those who professed to have revolted from heathenism. The marble pillars of the Mausoleum of Constantia were taken from more ancient and nobler buildings, its walls were lined with mosaics, and her body was laid in a splendid sarcophagus of porphyry. In the thirteenth century, after Constantia had been received into the liberal community of Roman saints, her mausoleum was consecrated as a church and dedicated to her honor. A narrow, unworn path leads to it from the Church of St. Agnes; it has been long left uncared-for and unfrequented, and, stripped of its movable ornaments, it is now in a half-ruinous condition. But its decay is more impressive than the gaudy brightness of more admired and renovated buildings. The weeds that grow in the crevices of its pavement and hang over the capitals of its ancient pillars, the green mould on its walls, the cracks in its mosaics, are better and fuller of suggestion to the imagination than the shiny surface and the elaborate finish of modern restorations. Restoration in these days always implies irreverence and bad taste. But the architecture of this old building and the purpose for which it was originally designed present a marked example of the rapidity of the change in the character of the Christians with the change of their condition at Rome, during the reign of Constantine. The worldliness that follows close on prosperity undermined the spirit of faith; the pomp and luxury of the court and the palace were carried into the forms of worship, into the construction of churches, into the manner of burial. Social distinctions overcame the brotherhood in Christ. Riches paved an easy way into the next world, and power set up guards around it. Imperial remains were not to mingle with common dust, and the mausoleum of the princess rose above the rock-hewn and narrow grave of the martyr and saint.
The present descent into the catacombs that lie near the churches of St. Agnes and St. Constantia is by an entrance in a neighboring field, made, after the time of persecution, to accommodate those who might desire to visit the underground chapels and holy graves. A vast labyrinth of streets spreads in every direction from it. Many chambers have been cut in the rock at the side of the passages,--some for family burial-places, some for chapels, some for places of instruction for those not yet fully entered into the knowledge of the faith. It is one of the most populous of the subterranean cemeteries, and one of the most interesting, from the great variety in its examples of underground architectural construction, and from the number of the paintings that are found upon its walls. But its peculiar interest is, that it affords at one point a marked example of the connection of an _arenarium_, or pit from which _pozzolana_ was extracted, with the streets of the cemetery itself. At this point, the bed of compact _tufa_, in which the graves are dug, degenerates into friable and loosely compacted volcanic sand,--and it was here, very probably, that the cemetery was begun, at a time when every precaution had to be used by the Christians to prevent the discovery of their burial-places. No other of the catacombs gives a clearer exhibition of the differences in construction resulting from the different objects of excavation. In the Acts known as those of St. Valentine it is related, that in the time of Claudius many Christians were condemned to work in certain sand-pits. Under cover of such opportunities, occasions might be found in which hidden graves could be formed in the neighboring harder soil. In digging out the sand, the object was to take out the greatest quantity consistent with safety, leaving only such supports as were necessary to hold up the superincumbent earth. There are few regular paths, but wide spaces with occasional piers,--the passages being of sufficient width to admit of the entrance of beasts of burden, and even of carts. The soil crumbles so easily, that no row of excavations one above another could be made in it; for the stroke of the pick-axe brings it down in loose masses. The whole aspect of the sand-pit contrasts strikingly with that of the catacombs, with their three-feet wide galleries, their perpendicular walls, and their tier on tier of graves.
The stratum of pozzolana at the Catacombs of St. Agnes overlies a portion of the more solid stratum of tufa, and the entrance to the sand-pit from the cemetery is by steps leading up from the end of a long gallery. Such an entrance could have been easily concealed; and the tufa cut out for the graves, after having been reduced to the condition of pozzolana, might easily at night have been brought up to the floor of the pit. In many of the Acts of the Martyrs it is said that they were buried _in Arenario_, "in the sand-pit,"--an expression which, there seems no good reason for doubting, meant in the catacombs whose entrance was at the sand-pit, they not having yet received a distinctive name.
It is difficult to convey to a distant reader even a small share of the interest with which one sees on the spot evidences of the reality of the precautions with which, in those early centuries, the Christians of Rome were forced to guard themselves against a persecution which extended to their very burial-places,--or even of the interest with which one walks through the unchanged paths dug out of the rock by this _tenebrosa et lucifugax natio_. In the midst of the obscurity of history and the fog of fable, here is the solid earth giving evidence of truth. Here one sees where, by the light of his dim candle, the solitary digger hollowed out the grave of one of the near followers of the apostles; and here one reads in hasty and ill-spelt inscriptions something of the affection and of the faith of those who buried their dead in the sepulchre dug in the rock. The Christian Rome underground is a rebuke to the Papal Rome above it; and, from the worldly pomp, the tedious forms, the trickeries, the mistakes, the false claims and falser assertions, the empty architecture that reveals the infidelity of its builders, the gross materialism, and the crass superstition of the Roman Church, one turns with relief of heart and eyes to the poverty and bareness of the dark and narrow catacombs, and to the simple piety of the words found upon their graves. In them is at once the exhibition and the promise of a purer Christianity. In them, indeed, one may see only too plainly the evidences of ignorance, the beginnings of superstitions, the first, traces of the corruption of the truth, the proofs of false zeal and of foolish martyrdoms,--but with these are also to be plainly seen the purity and the spirituality of elevated Christian faith.
In the service of the Roman Church used at the removal of the bodies of the holy martyrs from their graves in the catacombs is a prayer in which are the words,--"Thou hast set the bodies of thy soldiers as guards around the walls of this thy beloved Jerusalem";--and as one passes from catacomb to catacomb, it is, indeed, as if he passed from station to station of the encircling camp of the great army of the martyrs. Leaving the burial-place of St. Agnes, we continue along the Nomentan Way to the seventh milestone from Rome. Here the Campagna stretches on either side in broad, unsheltered sweeps. Now and then a rough wall crosses the fields, marking the boundaries of one of the great farms into which the land is divided. On the left stands a low farm-house, with its outlying buildings, and at a distance on each side the eye falls on low square brick towers of the Middle Ages, and on the ruinous heaps of more ancient tombs. The Sabine mountains push their feet far down upon the plain, covered with a gray-green garment of olive-woods. Few scenes in the Campagna are more striking, from the mingling of barrenness and beauty, from the absence of imposing monumental ruins and the presence of old associations. The turf of the wide fields was cropped in the winter by the herds driven down at that season from the recesses of the Neapolitan mountains, and the irregular surface of the soil afforded no special indications of treasures buried beneath it. But the Campagna is full of hidden graves and secreted buildings.
In the Acts of the Martyrdom of St. Alexander, who, according to the story of the Church, was the sixth successor of St. Peter, and who was put to death in the persecution of Trajan, in the year 117, it was said that his body was buried by a Roman lady, Severina, "on her farm, at the seventh milestone from Rome on the Nomentan Way." These Acts, however, were regarded as apocryphal, and their statement had drawn but little attention to the locality. In the spring of 1855, a Roman archaeologist, Signore Guidi, obtained permission from the Propaganda, by whom the land was now held, as a legacy from the last of the Stuarts, the Cardinal York, to make excavations upon it. Beginning at a short distance from the road, on the right hand, and proceeding carefully, he soon struck upon a flight of steps formed of pieces of broken marble, which, at about fifteen feet below the surface of the ground, ended upon a floor paved with bits of marble, tombstones, and mosaics. As the work proceeded, it disclosed the walls of an irregular church, that had been constructed, like that of St. Agnes, partially beneath the soil, for the purpose of affording an entrance into adjoining catacombs. Remains of the altar were found, and portions of the open-work marble screen which had stood before it over the crypt in which the bodies of St. Alexander and one of his fellow-martyrs had been placed. A part of the inscription on its border was preserved, and read as follows: ET ALEXANDRO DEDICATUS VOTUM POSUIT CONSECRANTE URSO EPISCOPO,--"Dedicatus placed this in fulfilment of a vow to ---- and Alexander, the Bishop Ursus consecrating it." The Acts supply the missing name of Eventius,--an aged priest, who, it was said, had conversed with some of the apostles themselves. His greater age had at that early and simple time given him the place of honor in the inscription and in men's memory before the youthful, so-called, Pope Alexander. Probably this little church had been built in the fourth century, and here a bishop had been appointed to perform the rites within it.
It was a strange and touching discovery, that of this long-buried, rude country-church,--the very existence of which had been forgotten for more than a thousand years. On the 3d of May, 1855, the day set apart in the calendar to the honor of the saints to whom it was consecrated, the holy services were once more performed upon the ancient altar of the roofless sanctuary. The voices of priest and choir sounded through the long silent chapels, while the larks sang their hymns of gladness over the fields above. On the rough floor, inscriptions, upon which, in the early centuries, the faithful had knelt, were again read by kneeling worshippers. On one broken slab of marble was the word MARTYR; on another, the two words, SPARAGINA FIDELIS; on another, POST VARIAS CURAS, POST LONGE MONITA VITAE.
The catacombs opening from the church have not been entered to a great distance, and though more rudely excavated than most of those nearer the city, as if intended for the burial-places of a poorer population, they are of peculiar interest because many of their graves remain in their original state, and here and there, in the mortar that fastens their tiled fronts, portions of the vessel of glass or pottery that held the collected blood of the martyr laid within are still undisturbed. No pictures of any size or beauty adorn the uneven walls, and no chapels are hollowed out within them. Most of the few inscriptions are scratched upon the mortar,--_Spiritus tuus in bono quiescat_,--but now and then a bit of marble, once used for a heathen inscription, bears on its other side some Christian words. None of the inscriptions within the church which bear a date are later than the end of the fifth century, and it seems likely that shortly after this time this church of the Campagna was deserted, and its roof falling in, it was soon concealed under a mass of rubbish and of earth, and the grass closed it with its soft and growing protection.
During two years, the uncovered church, with its broken pillars, its cracked altar, its imperfect mosaics, its worn pavement, remained open to the sky, in the midst of solitude. But how could anything with such simple and solemn associations long escape desecration at Rome? How could such an opportunity for _restoration_ be passed over? How could so sacred and venerable a locality be protected from modern superstition and ecclesiastical zeal? In the spring of 1837, preparations were being made for building upon the ground, and a Carthusian convent, it was said, was to be erected, which would enclose within its lifeless walls the remains of the ancient church. Once more, then, it is to be shut out of the sky; and now it is not Nature that asserts her predominance, protecting while she conceals, and throwing her mantle over the martyrs' graves to keep them from sacrilege,--but she is driven away by the builders of the papal court, and all precious old associations are incongruous with those of modern Roman architecture and Roman conventual discipline.
One morning, in the spring of 1855, shortly after the discovery had been made, the Pope went out to visit the Church of St. Alexander. On his return, he stopped to rest in the unoccupied convent adjoining the Church of St. Agnes. Here there was a considerable assemblage of those who had accompanied him, and others who were admitted at this place to join his suite. They were in the second story of the building, and the Pope was in the act of addressing them, when suddenly the old floor, unable to support the unaccustomed weight, gave way, and most of the company fell with it to the floor below. The Pope was thrown down, but did not fall through. The moment was one of great confusion and alarm, the etiquette of the court was disturbed, but no person was killed and no one dangerously hurt. In common language and in Roman belief, it was a miraculous escape. The Pope, attributing his safety to the protection of the Virgin and of St. Agnes, determined at once that the convent should be rebuilt and reoccupied, and the church restored. The work is now complete, and all the ancient charm of time and use, all the venerable look of age and quiet, have been laboriously destroyed, and gaudy, inharmonious color, gilding and polish have been substituted in their place.
The debased taste and the unfeeling ignorance of restorers have been employed, as so often in Italy, to spoil and desecrate the memorials of the past; and the munificence of Pius, _Munificentia Pii IX._, is placarded on the inner walls. One is too frequently reminded at Rome of the old and new lamps in the story of Aladdin.
We turn reluctantly from the Nomentan Way, and passing through Rome, we go out of the gate which opens on the Appian. About a mile from the present wall, just where the road divides before coming to the Catacombs of St. Callixtus, a little, ugly, white church, of the deformed architecture of the seventeenth century, recalls, by its name of _Domine quo vadis?_ "O Lord, whither goest thou?" one of the most impressive, one of the earliest and simplest, of the many legends of the legendary religious annals of Rome. It relates, that, at the time of the persecution of Nero, St. Peter, being then in Rome, was persuaded to fly secretly from the city, in the hope of escaping from the near peril. Just as he reached this place, trembling, we may well believe, not more with fear than with doubt, while past scenes rose vividly before him, and the last words heard from his Master's lips came with a flood of self-reproach into his heart,--as he hurried silently along, with head bowed down, in the gray twilight, he became suddenly aware of a presence before him, and, looking up, beheld the form of that beloved Master whom he was now a second time denying. He beheld him, moreover, in the act of bearing his cross. Peter, with his old ardor, did not wait to be addressed, but said, _Domine, quo vadis?_--"O Lord, whither goest thou?" The Saviour, looking at him as he had looked but once before, replied, _Venio Romam iterum crucifigi_,--"I come to Rome to be crucified a second time"; and thereupon disappeared. Peter turned, reëntered the gate, and shortly after was crucified for his Lord's sake. His body, it is said, was laid away in a grave on the Vatican Hill, where his great church was afterwards built.
And here we come upon another legend, which takes us out again on the Appian Way, to the place where now stands the Church of St. Sebastian. St. Gregory the Great relates in one of his letters, that, not long after St. Peter and St. Paul had suffered martyrdom, some Christians came from the East to Rome to find the bodies of these their countrymen, which they desired to carry back with them to their own land. They so far succeeded as to gain possession of the bodies, and to carry them as far as the second milestone on the Appian Way. Here they paused, and when they attempted to carry the bodies farther, so great a storm of thunder and lightning arose, that they were terrified, and did not venture to repeat their attempt. By this time, also, the Romans had become aware of the carrying off of the sacred bodies, and, coming out from the city, recovered possession of them. One of the old pictures on the wall of the portico of the ancient basilica of St. Peter's preserved a somewhat different version of the legend, representing the Romans as falling violently upon the Oriental robbers, and compelling them, with a storm of blows, to yield up the possession of the relics they were carrying away by stealth.
But the legend went on further to state, that, on the spot where they thus had regained the bodies of their saints, the Romans made a deep hole in the ground, and laid them away within it very secretly. Here for some time they rested, but at length were restored to their original tombs, the one on the Ostian Way, the other on the Vatican. But St. Peter was again to be laid in this secret chamber in the earth on the Appian Way. In the episcopate of the saint and scoundrel Callixtus, the Emperor Elagabalus, with characteristic extravagance and caprice, resolved to make a circus on the Vatican, wide enough for courses of chariots drawn by four elephants abreast. All the older buildings in the way were to be destroyed, to gratify this imperial whim; and Callixtus, fearing lest the Christian cemetery, and especially the tomb of the prince of the apostles might be discovered and profaned, removed the body of St. Peter once more to the Appian Way. Here it lay for forty years, and round it and near it an underground cemetery was gradually formed; and it was to this burial-place, first of all, that the name Catacomb,[B] now used to denote all the underground cemeteries, was applied.
[Footnote B: A word, the derivation of which is not yet determined. The first instance of its use is in the letter of Gregory from which we derive the legend. This letter was written A.D. 594.]
Though at length St. Peter was restored to the Vatican, from which he has never since been removed, and where his grave is now hidden by his church, the place where he had lain so long was still esteemed sacred. The story of St. Sebastian relates how, after his martyred body had been thrown into the Cloaca Maxima, that his friends might not have the last satisfaction of giving it burial, he appeared in a vision to Lucina, a Roman lady, told her where his body might be found, and bade her lay it in a grave near that in which the apostles had rested. This was done, and less than a century afterward a church rose to mark the place of his burial, and connected with it, Pope Damasus, the first great restorer and adorner of the catacombs, [A.D. 266-285,] caused the chamber that was formed below the surface of the ground around the grave of the apostles to be lined with wide slabs of marble, and to be consecrated as a subterranean chapel. It is curious enough that this pious work should have been performed, as is learned from an inscription set up here by Damasus himself, in fulfilment of a vow, on the extinction among the Roman clergy of the party of Ursicinus, his rival. This custom of propitiating the favor of the saints by fair promises was thus early established. It was soon found out that it was well to have a friend at court with whom a bargain could be struck. If the adorning of this chapel was all that Damasus had to pay for the getting rid of his rival's party, the bargain was an easy one for him. There had been terrible and bloody fights in the Roman streets between the parties of the contending aspirants for the papal seat. Ursicinus had been driven from Rome, but Damasus had had trouble with the priests of his faction. Some of them had been rescued, as he was hurrying them off to prison, and had taken refuge with their followers in the Basilica of St. Maria Maggiore. Damasus, with a mob of charioteers, gladiators, and others of the scum of Rome, broke into the church, and slew a hundred and sixty men and women who had been shut up within it. Ursicinus, however, returned to the city; there were fresh disturbances, and a new massacre, on this occasion, in the Church of St. Agnes; and years passed before Damasus was established as undisputed ruler of the Church.
It was then, in fulfilment of the vow he had made during his troubles, that _Saint_ Damasus (for he became a saint long since, success being a great sanctifier) adorned the underground chapel of the apostles. The entrance to it is through the modern basilica of St. Sebastian. It is a low, semicircular chamber, with irregular walls, in which a row of arched graves (_arcosolia_) has been formed, which once were occupied, probably, by bodies of saints or martyrs. Near the middle of the chapel is the well, about seven feet square, within which are the two graves, lined with marble, where the bodies of the apostles are said to have lain hid. Fragments of painting still remain on the walls of this pit, and three faint and shadowy figures may be traced, which seem to represent the Saviour between St. Peter and St. Paul. Over the mouth of the well stands an ancient altar. However little credence may be given to the old legends concerning the place, it is impossible not to look with interest upon it. For fifteen hundred years worshippers have knelt there as upon ground made holy by the presence of the two apostles. The memory of their lives and of their teachings has, indeed, consecrated the place; and though superstition has often turned the light of that memory into darkness, yet here, too, has faith been strengthened, and courage become steadfast, and penitence been confirmed into holiness, by the remembrance of the zeal, the denial of Peter, and the forgiveness of his Master, by the remembrance of the conversion, the long service, the exhortations, and the death of Paul.
The catacombs proper, to which entrance may be had from the Basilica of St. Sebastian, are of little importance in themselves, and have lost, by frequent alteration and by the erection of works of masonry for their support, much that was characteristic of their original construction. During a long period, while most of the other subterranean cemeteries were abandoned, this remained open, and was visited by numerous pilgrims. It led visitors to the church, and the guardians of the church found it for their interest to keep it in good repair. Thus, though its value as one of the early burial-places of the Christians was diminished, another interest attached to it through the character of some of those visitors who were accustomed to frequent its dark paths. Saint Bridget found some of that wild mixture of materialism and mysticism, (a not uncommon mingling,) which passes under the name of her Revelations, in the solitude of these streets of the dead. Here St. Philip Neri, the Apostle of Rome, the wise and liberal founder of the Oratorians, the still beloved saint of the Romans, was accustomed to spend whole nights in prayer and meditation. Demons, say his biographers, and evil spirits assailed him on his way, trying to terrify him and turn him back; but he overcame them all. Year after year he kept up this practice, and gained strength, in the solitude and darkness, and in the presence of the dead, to resist fiercer demons than any that had power to attack him from without. And it is related, that, when St. Charles Borromeo, his friend, the narrow, but pure-minded reformer of the Church, came to Rome, from time to time, he, too, used to go at night to this cemetery, and watch through the long hours in penitence and prayer. Such associations as these give interest to the cemetery of St. Sebastian's Church.
The preëminence which the Appian Way, _regina viarum_, held among the great streets leading from Rome,--not only as the road to the South and to the fairest provinces, but also because it was bordered along its course by the monumental tombs of the greatest Roman families,--was retained by it, as we have seen, as the street on which lay the chief Christian cemeteries. The tombs of the Horatii, the Metelli, the Scipios, were succeeded by the graves of a new, less famous, but not less noble race of heroes. On the edge of the height that rises just beyond the Church of St. Sebastian stand the familiar and beautiful ruins of the tomb of Cecilia Metella. Of her who was buried in this splendid mausoleum nothing is known but what the three lines of the inscription still remaining on it tell us,--
CAECILIAE Q. CRETICI F. METELLAE CRASSI.
She was the daughter of Quintus, surnamed the Cretan, and the wife of Crassus. But her tomb overlooks the ground beneath which, in a narrow grave, was buried a more glorious Cecilia.[C] The contrast between the ostentation and the pride of the tombs of the heathen Romans, and the poor graves, hollowed out in the rock, of the Christians, is full of impressive suggestions. The very closeness of their neighborhood to each other brings out with vivid effect the broad gulf of separation that lay between them in association, in affection, and in hopes.
[Footnote C: Guéranger, _Histoire de St. Cécile_. p. 45.]
Coming out from the dark passages of the Catacombs of St. Callixtus, in the clear twilight of a winter's evening, one sees rising against the red glow of the sky the broken masses of the ancient tombs. One city of the dead lies beneath the feet, another stretches before the eyes far out of sight. The crowded history of Rome is condensed into one mighty spectacle. The ambitions, the hates, the valor, the passions, the religions, the life and death of a thousand years are there; and, in the dimness of the dusky evening, troops of the dead rise before the imagination and advance in slow procession by opposite ways along the silent road.
[To be continued]