The Connecticut Observer, And New York Congregationalist

LETTER FROM ROME.

We are permitted by the kindness of Pardon Brown Esq., of Glastenbury, to publish the following interesting letter from his brother, W. Brown Esq., of New York, who was formerly a clergyman, in this state, and is now in advanced life making the tour of Europe with his family.

Rome, February 17th, 1840.

Pardon Brown, Esq

Dear Brother,—I now date from the Imperial City of the Cæsars—the former mistress of the world, and the present seat of his Holiness, the Pope—whose influence is almost as extensive as that of the old Roman Empire in its glory. We have here a perfect sample of a Union of Church and State—and a sad exhibition of its tremendous evils. We have here a complete despotism, civil and ecclesiastical—and consequently a miserable, degraded, ignorant and superstitious people. We have splendid churches and palaces, and innumerable beggars swarming in the streets. Priestcraft and Priests multiply, flourish and are fat—while agriculture and trade wither and die. Millions of acres in the environs of Rome lie waste and desolate, without an inhabitant, which by ordinary cultivation and industry might become the comfortable homes of a dense and happy population. Indeed, the patrimony of St. Peter is as badly managed in State, as in Church. But as the seat of Roman power, and of splendid and magnificent antiquities, this city is pre-eminently interesting. I have stood upon the Palatine Hill, once covered with the proud Palaces of the Emperors,—now with their ruins. Upon the very ground on which once stood the “Golden House” of Nero, now grow cabbages and artichokes. Eight splendid columns of the Senate House, where Cicero convened the Senate of Rome, and denounced Cataline, are still standing. Sitting between these columns you may still hear him, (if you please) breaking forth upon that Conspirator with “Quousque tandem, Catalina, abutere patientia nostra?” I have repeatedly examined the Great Amphitheatre or Colisseum of Vespasian, built on his return from the conquest of Judea. You can form no adequate idea of its vastness, it is more than 1600 feet in circumference and 150 high—it would accommodate from 80 to 100 thousand spectators. It still stands in all its vastness and proportions, except that the modern Romans have demolished a part of the outer walls, for the purpose of building out of the materials, several palaces. It is still grand and imposing; especially when you consider how many years it has survived, and what scenes it has witnessed within its walls. It is supposed that thousands of Christians were sacrificed upon its Arena (on which we stood last evening by moonlight) to wild beasts. We have repeatedly passed under the Triumphal Arches of Septimius Severus, of Titus, and of Constantine. These all stand in their original grandeur; although battered and worn by time. Parts of the “sacra via,” which passed under these arches, still exist; and you may see upon the ancient pavement, the marks of the Roman Chariot wheels. But modern Rome, is also interesting as the depot of the works of ancient Artists. An immense variety of these have been disinterred and collected in their palaces and Museums. The Vatican Museum itself, is a world of wonders, both for its own vastness, and its splendid rooms and galleries, almost without number, filled with paintings and statues, and vases, and sarcophagi which it would take a volume to describe. We have visited several of the Palaces and Villas in the environs of Rome. You can have no idea of the number and beauty of the paintings and statues and vases and marble columns, with which some dozen large, vaulted rooms in succession are filled—nor of the number and beauty of their graveled walks, edged on each side, with rows of box, from ten to 20 feet high: nor of the fountains and Jet-d’eaux of Water which freshen and ornament their extensive gardens and grounds. We have now spent two months in this city, in the middle of winter. I have seen ice but once in the streets. I have seen no snow, but on the distant tops of the Appenines—and the weather here is as mild now as October in New York. With religion and a good government, this would be the finest country in the world. But when our time comes, I shall leave it with great pleasure.

But I suppose you would like to know something about our long journey from New York to this city. We had an ordinary passage, in a fine ship, belonging to the London line—but we encountered one severe gale. The Ocean was in all its grandeur—it exhibited a spectacle of terror and sublimity. But under the management of a skillful Captain and a good gang of hands, our bark moved upon the mountain waves like a thing of life. I was never more animated and interested in my life. Instead of being sea sick, I enjoyed the scene. We stopped in at Portsmouth, in England, and stayed one night; and thence took passage in a steam boat for Havre. Thence we went up the Seine to the ancient city of Rouen, and staid over the Sabbath. On Tuesday we took the diligence for Paris, and arrived there on the 18th Sept. After spending a month in Paris, we took stage for Chalons. Thence we proceeded down the river to Marseilles, one of the finest towns we saw in France. Here we remained some four or five days, waiting for the steam boat to go to Naples. Our passage was somewhat roundabout, but not on that account objectionable to us. We visited on our way, the famous and ancient city of Genoa, and spent a day in visiting its churches and palaces. We next touched at Leghorn and spent the day; next at Civita Vecchia, the seaport of the Roman States, but a filthy place, filled with beggars and blacklegs; thence, the next day, to Naples, where we arrived on the 10th of Nov. This is a beautiful place, if you regard its location, its climate, and its buildings—but if you regard its government and population; it is most horrible; altogether more so I think, than that of Rome. A considerable proportion of the people live, work and sleep in the streets. At a shop where twenty shoemakers are employed, fifteen will have their benches and work in the street. Indeed, the women sit, and wash and spin in the streets. The streets are the general receptacle of every species of filth and of insects. No man’s pockets are safe. I lost three pocket handkerchiefs in three weeks. And yet the king of Naples has four or five splendid palaces, one of which we visited, some fifteen miles from Naples, and it was really worth the time and expense incurred in visiting it. But our greatest pleasure was in visiting Mount Vesuvius, Pompeii and Herculaneum: and the immense ruins of Baia and Pozzuoli, which was the ancient Puteoli, where St. Paul landed, when he first went to Rome. Here at Puteoli, the principal ruin is the great Temple of Jupiter. It had been overwhelmed and covered by some natural convulsion. It is now exhumed; and exhibits a meager skeleton of what it was. Several of its magnificent columns are still standing. Its ground floor is now covered with sea water, from eighteen to twenty inches deep. But this temple is but an item in the grand scene of ruins spread all around. This populous town and the neighboring cities of Baia and Cuma, were overwhelmed, while they were the seats of Roman wealth and luxury; so that their houses and temples are thrown into every possible position being now partly in the sea, and partly on land—partly sunken and covered, and partly lifted on high and jutting out of the side of a precipice; showing the indignation of Heaven against a nation of luxurious and voluptuous idolaters. Here we visited the Lake of “Avernus” and the Lucrine lake. the Lake of Acheron and the Grotto of the Cumæan Sybil, and began the “descensus Averni” some twenty or thirty rods, till we came to the river Styx, under the convoy of ruffian-looking guides, with flambeaux. This subterranean stream is small and shallow—but we did not choose to mount their backs and pass it. When we ascended Mount Vesuvius, its top was covered with smoke. We looked down its immense crater, now perfectly quiet, while sundry small openings in its sides emit a hot smoke, into which we thrust a stick, which ignited in a minute. In Pompeii, you see a city laid open to the sun, which had been buried nearly 1800 years, and get a correct idea of the ancients, of their dwellings, and of their mode of living.

W. Brown.