MONDRAGONE, 
FRASCATI. 
HEN the western sun sets the 374 
windows of the Mondragone facade 
ablaze, they can be seen even from 
Rome. Not one of all the villas of Fras- 
cati stands so boldly as this one. None other has 
such a noble fountain, with basins tossed aloft, four, 
one above another, though, alas, the jets of water, 
which once rose high into the air, are reduced to 
a mere trickle. The villa was erected by Cardinal 
Marco d’Altemps in honour of Gregory XIIL., 
and called after the dragon which was the Pope’s 
crest. At Este, another Cardinal was causing a 
dragon fountain to burst out, to gratify the Pope, 
and a Cardinal of Frascati must not be outdone. 
They had grand ideas of giving in those days, for 
the Villa Borghese, which lies at the foot of the 
Mondragone grounds, to which it descends through 
a whole army of black cypresses, was given to 
Paul V. by its owner, Count Ferdinand Taverna, 
Governor of Rome. The Pontiff intended to throw 
the two villas into one, and proposed to make a 
new road, leading straight from St. John Lateran 
to the door, and so lightly did they reckon of 
vast undertakings, that we are surprised that these 
modest projects were abandoned. 
Giovanni Fiammingo and a Lombard, Flaminio 
Ponzio, were the architects. So stately is the 
garden loggia that the credit for it has been given 
to the great Vignola; it is true that he died in 
1573, one year after the building was commenced, 
but it is very possible that he may have furnished 
designs, for he died at the height of his fame, 
when they were eagerly sought for. Another 
celebrated artist, Giovanni Fontana, is the architect 
of the superb fountain and of the ample balustrade 
from which we lean and look over the dense 
cypresses towards Rome on the far horizon, At the 
end of the balustrade stand the two giant columns, 
known as “the Pope’s Chimneys.” These two, 
shown on the north end of the great terrace, 
135 
correspend to other two, on the south end. The 
huge kitchens and domestic offices of the villa are 
built underneath this vast artificial terrace, and those 
on the north-east are chimneys proper. The others 
are dummies, and merely intended to secure a 
balanced effect. Between these two pairs of 
columns on the great terrace, is placed the fountain, 
“My Dragon.” 
The glories of Mondragone have passed away. 
Tt was laid waste in 1821 by the Austrian occupa- 
tion, when marching towards Naples. The beautiful 
English princess, Gwendoline Borghese, had made 
plans for its restoration, but her sudden death put 
a stop to them. The huge old house is now a 
religious college, the principal of which shows 
the kindest hospitality in allowing sightseers and 
artists to wander over the grounds. 
Lean and look in the evening sunlight, 
drinking in the sweet mountain air, and, as 
Gregorovius says, ‘Think of it all—these plains, 
these mountains, on which are set towns and 
villages, most of them rich in memories and 
associations of the past—of the Middle Ages, of 
the Empire. Call it all up before your imagina- 
tion. Think of Umbria—of Sabrina—of Latinum— 
of the land of the Etruscans—the Volscians’ 
(* Latian Summers,” by F. Gregorovius). To our 
right, on a sudden hill, is lifted up the town of 
Colonna, which in the Middle Ages was the cradle 
of that great race. Beyond it Tivoli gleams against 
the blue hillside, and at our feet are the shim- 
mering olive groves, the maize fields, the rich 
vineyards, where so often desolation has passed. 
> 
“We travelled in the print of ancient wars, 
Yet all the land was green, 
And love we found and peace 
Where fire and war had been. 
They pass and smile, the children of the sword, 
No more the sword they wield, 
And oh, how deep the corn, 
Along the battlefield!” 
