ROME.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume V, Issue 214, 1 June 1877, Page 1

ROME.

We, however, are disciples, in this matter, of the " great lexicographer," and such, we trust, are the greater number of those who will look at the illustration with which we, this week, present them. The Castle of St. Angelo, the Dome of St. Peter's, the Vatican, the Tiber and its bridge. Here is food for thought without end, and the names evoke a long procession moving out of distant ages, and embracing men of might and beings superhuman. From Eomulus to his name-sake, the last Emperor of the West ; ! from St. Peter to Pius IX., from Brennus to Victor Emmanuel — all manner of men have appeared in the midst of these scenes, or on their sites; and as they are suggestive to us of the holiness of the

f^E. JOHNSON said that the man would be unenviable S? who could look upon the plain of Marathon without a )) throb of patriotism, or behold the ruins of lona without { % a stimulus being added to his piety. But this sentence *i was pronounced in days before the world was thrown " open to tourists, so to speak ; and the discovery of loco- ' *" motion, by means of steam, had not then made it easy ■ for every frivolous body, in search of a sensation that | might dispel ennui, to run to and fro, and chatter von- ]

sense, or scribble inanities with respect to places hallowed by association with a venerable past, or by present usages. Had the grave doctor survived to our times, his contempt would doubtless have been frequently excited, and he would have perceived that of those persons, " mostly fools," who inhabit Great Britain, a large number who travel make little account of Marathon or lona — figuratively speaking; the more especially of the latter, where their imaginations are pleased to locate the ponderous shades of " lazy monks," and to conjure up a Baruiticide'w feast of faiwiod daintiness aud fat living,

saint — nay, of tlie very glory of the angels of God itself, for did not St. Michael stand on the summit of yonder castle to stay the pestilence in days of yore ? — they also remind us of the uncleanness of heathen worship, and the impiety of modern rebellion against the truth ; as they speak to us of conquest and splendour, so do they recall to us loss and ruin — and lastly they present to us visions of the grandeur of the intellect. In St. Peter's we look upon the fruits of Michael Angelo's genius; the Vatican Hill brings to our memory the strains of Horace ; and in the immortal song of Dante the Dridge here represented lias a place. la the first Bolgia the

order of procession of the souls tormented was that appointed for the passage of pilgrims, those coming on one side, those going on the other, with a barrier between — Even as the Romans, for the mighty host, The year of jubilee, upon the bridge, Have choßen a road to pass the people over ;♦ But now again, even while we write, the scenes wo speak of are filled with a dense multitude gathered to Borne to celebrate another fMilee, that of the Holy Father's " Golden Wedding," his condKration fifty years ago as Archbishop of Spoleto. And he is worthy of all the homage that can be shown to him, not only as Pope and Vicar of Christ, which titles render him worthy of all homage, but also as the man and servant of God that he is. To this let the following anecdote, told by Maguire, testify, while it adds fresh interest to the fortress seen in our illustration : — A few days after the battle of Mentana, the door of a great hall in the Castle of St. Angelo, in which some two hundred prisoners were assembled was thrown open, and the Pope suddenly stood in the presence of his enemies. His silver hair, venerable aspect, and sweet benignity of expression, added to his august dignity as Chief Pastor of the Christian Church. " Behold me, my friends," said the Holy Father, in a voice of deep emotion, '• You see before you the • Vampire of Italy,' of whom your General has spoken. What ! All of you have taken up arms to rush against me, and you find only a poor old man !" There was no resisting the influence of these words, combined with a presence so sweet and so paternal. The two hundred men, who a few days before had probably loaded his name with every foul term of reproach, yielded to an involuntary influence, and fell ' on their knees in an impulse of humility and reverence. The j Holy Father went amongst them, and blessed them. " You, my friend, said he, 'want garments — you shoes — you linen. Well, it will be your Pope, against whom you inarched so often, who will think of clothing you, and sending you back to your families, to whom you will bear his benediction. One thing, before setting out. you will do, as Catholics — you will make a spiritual retreat for my Bake. It is the Pope who asks this of you.' The response was what might might have been pxpected. Overcome with emotion, they grasped at his robe, kissed his hands and feet, and promised, with tears and sobs, to comply with a request so touchingly urged. His was a victory more glorious than Mentana — he conquered their hearts, even though only for a time.