Trinita Di Monte [pp. 144-148]

TRINITA DI MONTE.
the Coliseum; perhaps a poetical fitness
is at the bottom of this. There are few
spots that could need it more.
The Coliseum, though within the walls,
is outside the activities of the modern
city. This afternoon I chanced to be
wandering among its ruins, when I heard
the chant of a procession coming down
the old Via Sacra. So I climbed up to
the second or third story of its broken
arches, where I found a seat well shaded
by a bush above, and well cushioned with
moss. A little bird, perched near by,
made my orchestra; and a score of pretty flowers unfolding at either hand, made a
double fountain of perfume. Cxesar, in his
days of power, could not have had a more
delightful seat in this his great theatre.
They came in presently, a score of
men in brown gowns, with the hoods
drawn over the face so that only eyes
and hands were visible. Two by two
they marched, the cross and flambeaux
on the head; behind them the widows,
all in black, fluttered hither and thither,
a turbulent crowd that reminded one irresistibly of a flock of crows. First, they
proceeded with slow solemnity to the
great cross that stands in the centre of
this three-acred area. Here they kneeled a moment before repairing to the
rude pulpit on the eastern side, where a
tonsured monk droned at them for ten
minutes or more. Then they made the
circuit of the area, kneeling before each
of fourteen stations, repeating at each a
Pater-Noster and an Ave.
There was one old man with them, an
ungowned accessory to their devotions.
He is always on hand at the Via Crucis.
and is doubtless a well paid supernumerary. With uncovered head, long white
locks, and patriarchal beard, he keeps
close by the priest, at the amen of every
Ave bowing clear to the ground and
kissing the earth. I have seen the old
man peddling mosaics, and am sorry to
say that in any transaction involving half
a franc his piety is not so conspicuous.
As they passed from shrine to shrine
their numbers were augmented by soldiers in gay uniforms, peasants in varied
costumes, and lazzaroni in all odds and
ends of dress. The sun meanwhile was
sinking lower and lower, until it poured
in through an arch here and there, lighting up a part of the worshiping group,
and throwing the rest into deeper shade.
The little birds now ceased their songs,
the wind sank to less than a whisper, the
chant and prayer rose unbroken in the
gathering shadows.
The changing light, the contrasting
costumes, the song and silence, gave
picturesqueness and artistic effect to the
scene. They were gone some time before I woke from my abstraction and
thought to turn my steps homeward.
Even then, though the evening was falling, I went first to "my study" on the
terrace of Trinita di Monte.
No day seems complete until I have
been up here and smoked a philosophic
cigar in quiet. To-night, as I took my
seat upon the wide balustrade, saying in
my heart, "This also is vanity," a long,
dirge-like moan came booming up from
the streets below. It was the last vanity
of Roman mummery-the mourners going about the streets. They came into
the piazza from the Via Condotti, a long,
double line of gowned and hooded men,
three score at least, carrying candles,
that set all the shadows in the street
reeling. The coffin, borne upon men's
shoulders, was covered with a pall of
black velvet, embroidered with skull and
cross-bones in silver; while before it
proceeded a banner of the same stuff
and design. Behind this, six priests in
white chasubles; before all, the cross.
They turned through the piazza to the
left, going toward the Porta del Popolo.
It was weird enough, looked upon from
above.
I watched them until the last torch
disappeared in the Via del Babuino. Silence so profound followed that when
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I46
[AUGUST,