August 29, 1865. ] 



JOUENAL OF HOETICULTUBE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 



175 



flowers ; ninety-three lamps burned there night and day, and 

 its immortclh'e are the prayers of thousands of burdened hearts 

 which arise daily and for ever from loieeljug multitudes up to 

 the great white throne of God. 



If St. Peter's is, as it were, the centre of Home, this shrino 

 is the centre of St. Peter's. From thence you can glance 

 upwards to the incomparable dome, the immense magnitudo of 

 which the straining eye fails to realise, while its beautiful 

 details are partially lost in the far distance ; and from the dome 

 downwards to the pavement of rich marbles, and along the vast 

 nave to the great western doors, which, if you are fortunate, 

 may bo opening to admit a jirocessiou of Pope, cardinals, 

 bishops, and clergy, who wiU pass through a filo of Swiss 

 guards m their strange amber red and black imiform, and fall 

 on their linees to worship before tho altar of the Blessed Sa- 

 crament. Or, it may be, you wUl hear iu the distance the 

 blending of many voices in a loud sonorous chaunt, and a pro- 

 cession of some confraternity wUl enter, headed by a cardinal, 

 while some of tho members bear a crucifix, others huge wax 

 tapers, and all arc covered by a loose white, black, or grey 

 robe, with girdle and rosary round the waist, and a hood over 

 the face, with holes cut lor the eyes. Or the confi-atemity 

 may be one of noble ladies, with attendants bearing kneehng- 

 cushions, and every few minutes helping them to bear the 

 weight of the huge tapers or crucifix. In Lent, procession after 

 procession files in ; at the door the chant ceases, and in sOeuce 

 they pass towards the altar of the Blessed Sacrament, and 

 there fall down on their knees in lowly worship. After a while 

 they rise and pass on, while another confraternity takes their 

 place. Or, it may be, that you will hear soft music steaUng on 

 the air, and the echo of tutored voices rising and fall in g in 

 measured harmony. Wandering away in the line of these 

 vibrating chords — past many a noble statue, in marble or iu 

 bronze, of Popes long dead and gone — you will find yourself in 

 the Capella del Coro, where you may listen to music of the 

 sweetest from what is said to be one of the finest choirs in the 

 world. 



But what may you not see iu this magnificent temple ? At 

 one time crowds will be worshipping a bit of the true cross, 

 placed on high, surrounded by a hundred dazzling tapers ; at 

 another. Pope, cardinals, kings, and beggars will be kneeling 

 before a handkerchief, said to have wiped away the sweat from 

 the Lord's brow on His way to Calvary, and to have retained 

 the impress of His features. At yet another time crowds will 

 be marching up the magnificent Scala Eegia to the Capella 

 Paolina, to worship the Host, laid in a tomb, with many hun- 

 dreds of tapers burning around, some of them hanging from 

 the very roof of the chapel, which is draped in mourning. 

 The whole ceremony has the appearance of the lying in state 

 of some great person. None are forbidden entrance ; and the 

 motley crowd pass in and out in sUence, kueeUng and adoring, 

 and then returning back to St. Peter's for other sights and 

 ceremonies. 



But the supreme moment in the annual life of St. Peter's 

 is when the Pope, on Easter day, comes out on the balcony to 

 proclaim to the world that Christ is risen, and to bless the 

 assembled people in His great name. Then the tiny wayside 

 flower, which lifts up its head from the masonry of the steps 

 leading to St. Peter's, is crushed beneath the feet of a countless 

 multitude of men and women, soldiers, horses, and artillery — 

 every street leading to the piazza of St. Peter's is filled to over- 

 flowing by the crowd of people who can find no place in the 

 piazza itself. The tumult and the buzz made by this concourse 

 is so great, that even the roar of the caimou proclaiming the 

 horn- of noon seems to be in part stifled by it ; but the instant 

 the Pope, wearing his triple crown and borne on the shoulders 

 cf men, appears, every sound is hushed, every knee is bent, 

 and nothing is heard save the distant barking of a dog or the 

 neighing of a horse, while the Pope's magnificent voice rings 

 over the enormous mitltitudes, calling dowTi from on high the 

 blessing of the Lord. And yet from most of these bustling 

 spectacles of St. Peter's how refresliiug it was to turn to the 

 pure earth and sky ! the one clothed in a carpet of many 

 colours, the other wearing such hues of azure softness as I 

 have never seen elsewhere. 



One day, after a morning at St. Peter's, we drove to the 'Villa 

 Pamfili-Doria, and had a lovely scramble after Anemones, 

 ■Violets, and other wild flowers. This ViUa is the Hyde Park 

 of Eome on Fridays and Mondays, when it is most generously 

 thrown open to the pubUc, and its beautiful woods resound 

 with the merry laugh of many a pretty English girl wandering 

 amidst them, gathering bunches of dark blue Violets, much 



darker and finer than our English ones. The grass was fra- 

 grant with the breath of Thyme ; and here and there, amidst 

 a jjrofusion of 'Violets, I foimd the Cyclamen latifolium vrith 

 its broad leaves so darkly and beautifully marked. The flowers 

 had all been gathered, but I brought away the leaves to place 

 in a bouyuet of Anemones of many colours that I found grow- 

 ing iu profusion. In places the ground was (pute rose-coloured 

 with the Anemone hortensis. The only Fern I saw was tho 

 Adiantum capillus-'Veneris. It waved its tender fronds from 

 many a stone of the rustic bridge placed over a piece of water, 

 where stately swans were gUding about, persecuted by some 

 Italian boys who were trying to rouse their anger, while two 

 monks, vei-y dirty and very slightly clad in brown serge robes 

 with girdles of rope, looked on and laughed approval. These 

 monks are to be met with everywhere — in the streets with a 

 wallet on their back, in which they put the food they beg for 

 theii- daily sustenance — on the stairs of the hotel, shaking a 

 money-box in your face, and praying you to help souls cut of 

 purgatory — in pictiure-galleries, silent and observing, yet utterly 

 apart from the busy world around them. I did not meet them, 

 where, too, they may be seen, at the bed.sides of the_ poor, 

 consoling the dying, feeding the hungry, and ministering to 

 the sick. Idle the many may be, but Italy without her monkB 

 would be in a worse state than England without her poor- 

 house. 



But to return to the Villa Pamfili-Doria with its nntidy 

 luxuriance of beauty, where Natiire, left very much to her own 

 caprices, riots and revels in superb indifference to aU rules of 

 horticultm-e, beautiful flowers and scarcely less beautiful weeds 

 contending for pre-eminence ; and amidst it aU EngUsh lads 

 were playing cricket, and EngUsb fair-haired maidens were 

 having their croquet-match, near to the vei-y spot where, in 

 1841), Garibaldi fought for what he deemed was Italy, and brave 

 hearts bit the dust and ceased to beat for ever. There is a 

 pretty orangery in the gardens ; but Oranges in Home are not 

 like what they are in the Cornice — they seem to require care 

 and looking after, and even with that many are sick and 

 fruitless. In the garden of the Palazzo EospigUosi I found 

 some Orange trees almost without leaves on one side of the 

 garden, while those planted on the sunny side were fiUl of 

 fi-uit and flowers. I asked the gardener about them, and he 

 told me his Orange trees lost their leaves about every two 

 years ; but the situation was dry and not good for them, and 

 the old man appeared to be thinking a great deal more of the 

 expected pauls than of the neglected gai-den. 



In the Eospigliosi Palace is the " Aurora " of Guido, a fresco 

 painting that to my taste stands out immeasurably apart in its 

 superiority from any profane picture I have ever seen. It tells 

 its own story in a maimer as bright as its colouring. ApoUo 

 drives through the air, his chariot surrounded by nymphs_ of 

 surpassing loveliness. Aiirora precedes the chariot, scattering 

 flowers on the earth. The dark blue waters of a distant sea, 

 bordered by hUls, lie beneath, while over the entire scene there 

 is the unmistakeable look of natiu-e just awakening from night 

 to dawn. I wondered if the old gardener spent his time in 

 peeping through the window at this incomparable work of art 

 rather than in studying the indifferent page of nature that was 

 his province. 



One of the chief pleasures of modem Eome is its palaces, 

 each containing some treasure, some glorious painting or choice 

 piece of sculpture, that gives individuality to the building, and 

 clothes it with a glory not its own. Who is there that, hearing 

 of the Palazzo Barberini, does not instantly see before him 

 the touching, chUdlike, pleading face of Beatrice Cenci ? The 

 glories of the Barberini famUy, Pope, and Cardinal, are alike 

 forgotten, whUe the pictured story of innocence stai-tled with 

 crime haunts him, with its tender claim for .sj-mpathy, for 

 ever. No copy of this most wonderful picture bears any com- 

 parison with the original. The white turban is there indeed, 

 the white robe, the chestmtt hair, the brown eyes ; but they 

 are as the clay figure of Prometheus — they laek the fire of life, 

 the magic touch of the master's hand. — FiLix-FffiinNA. 



PORTRAITS OF PL.YNTS, FLO'WTiRS, AND 



FRUITS. 



Bektolonh guttata (Spotted -leaved Bertolonia). Nat. ord.y 

 Melastomaceffi. Linn., Decandria Monogynia. — Eeceived by 

 Mr. Veitch, of Chelsea, in May last, as a native of Madagascar, 

 but beUeved to be peculiar to Brazil. The foUage is most 

 beautiful, being marked between the five pai-aUel veins with 



