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CHAPTER XIII.

Monte Pincio-Prisoners-View of Rome-Monks and Priests-Scholars of the Seminario Romano-and Members of the Propaganda fide-Church of La Trinità-the Wall of Aurelius-Gardens of the Villa Borghese-Sunset.

THE Piazza di Spagna is situated at the foot of the Pincian hill, to which you ascend by a remarkably noble flight of steps leading to the "Chiesa della Trinità;" you are here assailed by the lame, the sick, and the blind. One poor lame man was always cheerful, and when we had nothing to give, he would say, "Cara Signora, domane." About noon, the steps were frequently covered with the prisoners from Saint Angelo, who were resting, or eating, and chatting with their friends; but the clanking of their leg-irons, and their striped trowsers, told their tale! They were employed in mending the old wall of Aurelius, which extends outside the mount.

We delighted in a walk on this hill from four till sunset, on a winter's day. The tints of the sky are then such as we dare not expect in our northern climes; spread over a vast celestial dome, with Rome beneath; against the clear circle of the horizon, lit up by the brilliant departing beams of day, St. Peter's reposes its magnificent dark cupola, and St. Angelo its mighty angel; and the gloomy and black pines of the Pamfili stand darkly visible; and, beneath, a long line of towers and temples lay purple on the liquid

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cypress; and

light. Monte Mario is to the east, crowned with to the south, on a crystalline sky, is the large solitary pine of the Capitol in the Colonna garden. At the moment of sunset arise the delicious sounds of the vesper bells—more sweet than I can describe. As you proceed in your walk, freshened by the breeze and gazing with a raptured eye on the inimitable tints now dying away, you reach the spot that overlooks the villa Borghese; Soracte now lies on the horizon to the left; the Tiburtine range is thrown into dark blue shade; the Sabine hills are seen in deepest purple, contrasting with the snowy tops of the rough Apennines; at your feet are the arches and aqueducts of the Borghese garden; lofty pines cover the plain with their dark breadth of shade, and their fine outline is sketched on the deepest, clearest azure.

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and on their heads a black Camaldolese" trotting on

To add to the interest, scattered over the hill, are monks and priests of every order. "Trinitari del Riscatto Spagnuoli," in white kerseymere dresses, a cross, marked on their breast, blue and red; hat turned up on each side; with a staff, all in white, and a very large white hat, turned up on each side, and with most respectable beards. "Minori Osservanti di S. Francesco," with plain dark brown dresses; a white cord; chaplet and cross hanging by their sides, sandalled feet; their hair all shaved, excepting a lock over each ear and one in front; deeply musing on their books; sometimes with sacks over their shoulders, going to collect provision for the convent. And then, at a corner of a walk, you meet a frightful " Fratello della Compagnia dei Sacconi" demanding charity in a stern voice, with feet bare. These Frati are sometimes dressed in white, sometimes in grey, with brown sacks over the shoulders;

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in their hand is a square tin box for bajocchi, with bones and a death's head painted in the centre; long cords and chaplet, and cross, are indispensable; and upon their heads they place a peaked sack hanging over backwards, with eye-holes, and coming down in front with a corner -hideous creatures! You will often see a Laico Cappuccino" hastening on with his sandalled feet, basket over his arm, sack over his shoulder, cord chaplet, cross, and stick, rough head of hair, short bushy beard, and vulgar, gross visage; no sign of fasting; and in a retired part of the garden, slowly pacing with book in hand, and eyes cast down, a solemn, priestly Augostiniano, covered with long black gown, large sleeves, black cape, and triangular hat turned up. That part of the Pincio which overlooks the Piazza del Popolo is occupied by cardinals, bishops, and English belles and beaux.

As you descend into the Piazza di Spagna, you generally see returning home the scholars of the Seminario Romano, with a long violet-blue garment and a triangular hat; and many members of the Propaganda, with a red girdle on a long black garment, with five red buttons attached to it; and mingled in the Piazza, with this solemn priestly costume, the gay dresses of the surrounding provinces. The whole is new and curious. Monte Pincio will always be remembered with interest. It was our favourite spot `for discussing all the various sentiments with which Rome had inspired us; and the effect of its setting sun, and evening bells, are amongst those impressions, snatched from the wing of Time, which are indelible. How soon all that is not deeply traced, vanishes! Dear compagnes de voyage! you will not forget our quiet solitude amidst the throng.

On leaving our abode in the Piazza di Spagna, and

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turning up the remarkably fine steps to the right, we reach the church of "La Trinitâ." Before it, is an Egyptian needle, forty-four feet high, covered with hieroglyphics. It was found in the garden of Sallust, which occupied a part of this "Collis Hortulorum." Louis the Eighteenth re-established the church and convent. "La Villa Medici," now L'Académie de France," next to the church, is in a delightful situation, commanding a view of Rome. To study at Rome is the reward of those artists who have gained a prize in Paris. We saw its "exposition;" but a residence in Rome had not cured French colouring. The subject was Antony displaying the bloody robe of Cæsar: the form of Antony was that of an Esquimaux! Is it even so, good, erudite people! Were the ancient Romans thus? The whole piece was not to be looked at in Rome. The French, during their stay here, formed a fine drive round the hill, and planted it with trees, through which is the descent to the Piazza del Popolo; and, passing the Flaminian way, through the Porto del Popolo, the old wall of Aurelius is approached. One part of it is called "Muro torto," from its extreme inclination; this inclination is mentioned by Belisarius. It is formed of diamond-shaped tufo, in reticulated workmanship, and is thirty-four feet thick, and much higher. A drive extends upon it round to the Pincian gate, originally formed by Belisarius, but now shut, and thence to the Porto Salario. The Salarian gate appears to have been substituted for that of "Collina," built by Servius. It cannot be said to have "rolled back the tide of war," for the Gauls and Alaric passed its barrier, and the power of superstition alone seems to have hindered Hannibal from doing the same in an earlier age. Conti

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nuing round the walls, you pass the Nomentano gate, and reach the "Castra Pretoria," the site of that camp where a tumultuous soldiery so often chose their military chiefs. Entering a vineyard belonging to the Jesuits, and continuing to the Porta Pia, such a trace is obtained as will furnish a good idea of a Roman camp, exhibiting deep ditches and high walls. Returning to the Muro torto, we often enjoyed a delicious walk in the gardens of the Villa Borghese. It is at this season a very refreshing place, but we are told that in summer it is deserted; its shades, its flowers, its odours, are then but the varied forms of death; the malaria invades its most delicious fountains.

I scarcely know whether the nights or days of Rome are the most beautiful. We move from our windows, looking to the west, over the domo of St. Carlos, and where we have been admiring clouds tinted with a rosy depth quite unusual in England, to our eastern window, where the sky, upon a foundation of exquisite blue, yet receives a mingled tint of red: this must be seen-it cannot be described. I sit watching the deepening azure, till the bright constellations of evening gradually rise over the church of La Trinità, and the monastery dei Minori di St. Francesco di Paoli, upon a vault of blue for which I can find no appropriate name-it is so really, deeply, beautifully blue. At length, the vast concave is covered with an universe of worlds, which my heart addresses in the language of Cowper :-

"Tell me, ye shining hosts

That navigate a sea that knows no storms,
Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,
If from your elevation, whence ye view,

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