A

VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS,

OR

First Christian Cemeteries at Rome:

AND A

MIDNIGHT VISIT TO MOUNT VESUVIUS.

BY

SELINA BUNBURY,

AUTHOR OF "PROTESTANTISM IN FRANCE," &c. &c.

THE following simple account of a Visit to the Catacombs was written at Rome in the earlier part of the eventful year of 1848. Since then Infidelity appears likely to supersede Superstition, at least in the Church of Rome. Such, by some thoughtful minds, had long been considered the probable successor of the Papacy. That it has been the lever which has now overturned that enormous anomaly called St. Peter's throne, there can be little doubt.

We may not, henceforth, have much cause to quarrel with the superstition of Roman Catholic Christendom, but we must see and would that the church of which we speak could see-that superstition has produced its natural results, and given birth to the spirit that has already almost destroyed its parent. Strange, yet true it is, that infidelity should be the offspring of superstition. One striking example of the fact rises before us in the once pure Church of Rome. What man of reflecting and enlightened mind can contemplate the spectacle of a tawdry doll, decked in faded robes and artificial flowers, sparkling in false jewellery, and surrounded with little votive candles-and submit to the astounding dogma that he is to honour that as "THE MOTHER OF GOD?" Not only has the worship of the blessed mother of our Lord's human nature led to scepticism in the Church of Rome, but the degraded manner of that worship, the poor and paltry forms under which a divine mystery is represented, have been the grand source of that foul stream of Deism which has overspread France, is prevalent among all persons of talent in Italy, and abounds wherever the system is maintained.

Would that now, at least, in this her day, the Church of Rome would remember from whence she has fallen, and repent, and do the first works.'

By the will of the Roman people the Papacy has been abolished; like the great Roman empire it succeeded, it had attained a height of power, an extent of dominion, which could not be maintained; it declined, and fell; dwindled into the mere spectre of itself, and now, even if by force of arms it be nominally replaced, has virtually ceased to exist.

When the writer of these pages first arrived in Rome, Pope Pius IX. was literally adored, as a liberal sovereign, an enlightened reformer, a good, benevolent, religious man. He had recalled the banished conspirators who now have banished him; he had opened the prison doors to State criminals who, owing to the extraordinary badness of the Roman laws, had lain in prison, even as murderers and robbers do, for long and dreary years, untried, unsentenced, and supported at the public expense. He had organised the civic guard, putting arms in the hands of the people, which were, in the end, to be used against himself. Wherever he went, acclamations followed him; flowerwreaths descended from windows upon his carriage; shouts of "Viva Pio Nono!" filled the streets; immense crowds followed him to his palace, and at last these vast assemblages were prohibited.

In the splendid Church of Santa Maria Maggiore he appeared in state to bless the people. The great piazza, or place surrounding it, was filled both with military and finely-dressed people; the splendid church within was thronged by an orderly, quiet multitude, standing as closely as possible over all the immense aisle of the beautiful edifice, leaving a passage only, lined by the Papal guards, for the Pope and cardinals to pass. A flourish of trumpets was heard, and the carriage of Pius IX. came dashing down at full speed from the Quirinal Hill, drawn by six coalblack, long-tailed horses. The trumpeters galloped before, it, blowing their instruments as they rode. The guards galloped on each side and behind the carriage. In an instant it stopped, checked at full speed. The temporal sovereign had arrived at the door of the church; but the spiritual potentate was to appear within it.

In a few moments the princes and nobles of Rome, who formed his body-guard, were ranged along the aisle, their swords turned downwards, and a long train of ancient

cardinals came slowly moving on to the altar; and then, enveloped in a cloud of incense, and partly screened by two immense fans made of ostrich feathers, came the Pope, in the Papal chair, borne on men's shoulders, to be set in his place; his eyelids, as is customary, closely cast down; his fingers making the sacred sign. A god of man's device appeared to me revealed in the spectacle-one of the ancient gods of old Rome in real human flesh!

When the pompous ceremony was ended, the window of the balcony outside the Church was opened, the velvet carpet was rolled out, and forth came the Pope to bless the multitude who poured forth beneath, and that also which was formed by those who could not get admittance to the service. The troops of the line bent one knee, all other people, except a few English, fell on both; the cavalry reversed_their naked sabres; a roar of cannon announced to all Rome that Pius IX. had given his blessing; and from the top of the high tower, impelled by machinery, a light cloud of incense flew up against the blue and otherwise cloudless sky, as if to announce the same fact to heaven.

I witnessed all this, and I thought of the fisherman of Galilee. But a few months passed away, and I heard that Pope Pius IX., the former idol of his people, meanly disguised, meanly carried off, had fled from their fury. The circumstances are too well known to be repeated here. We may lament that moral courage deserted a man who meant to act consistently with his own convictions of right. We may lament that, hearkening to ill-advice, he failed to show the spirit of a martyr in what he deemed to be the course of truth and of Christianity. But still more we do lament that he could not, consistently with what he believed to be due to his church, descend with dignity from the paradoxical position he held, and suffer his name to go down with honour to posterity, as that of the man who willingly dissevered the spiritual and temporal governments of Rome.

At the coronation of Pio Nono, as at that of all other popes, the master of the gorgeous ceremonies carried on a pole an open cushion, stuffed with tow, and, stopping before the Sovereign Pontiff, another officer set fire to the tow, while, as it blazed, the man who held it said—“ Sancte Pater, sic transit gloria mundi.” 'Holy Father, so passes the glory of the world!"

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The moral lesson was soon verified to poor Pope Pius IX. His glory, indeed, was as the blaze of the tow. A deceased