RECOLLECTIONS OF ROME.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume I, Issue 42, 14 February 1874, Page 9

RECOLLECTIONS OF ROME.

NO. VI. To.-pAT we can start from the Piazza di Spagna where we rested in our last attempt to reach St. Peter's. Our way now lies through the Via Cohdotti, and a very pleasant way it is, as this street contains the principal shops for cameos, mosaics, bronzes, Roman pearls, scarfs, &c. In many of the windows of the Palais Royale, in Paris, there are placards declaring that the public have an entree libre, which announcement is tue to the extent that you may enter without payiug anything (a boon which is not so rare as to need special advertising), but once in, you find that the tortie is far from being libre, and that you are expebted to provide yourself with a passe-porte in the shape of a bracelet, fan, or other article of bijouterie. Roman tradespeople, on the contrary, seem bettor pleased if you only admire their pretty things and do not purchase ; they never, by any chance, enquire " What else can I tempt you with to-day, Signora." But if they do not care to sell, we are very eager to buy, and hare always calculated among our travelling expenses, a little sum to be expended on presents in Rome. We feel as if we who are fortunate enough to see the Coliseum by moonlight, and the picture of Beatrice Cenci in the Boiberini Palace, ought, at least, to bring our less lucky friends a cameo Coliseum, and a Mosaic Beatrice, and do we not remember a dear little girl who would be made very happy by a string of pretty pearls P and would not that bronze crucifix be the exact thing to take to our pious collegian P If the reserved sum is not all spent by this time we must certainly have a rosary beads for our nun, and a bright scarf for our spoiled coquette. But though the polite shopkeepers wish to show us everything they have got, we must not be tempted to stay too late, for we are to lunch at Spillman'e, the famous pastry cook's whose ices are of a more attractive pink and white than the rarest of coral and pearl, and whose golden orvieto sparkles in its flash with a brightness which rivals'the dull dead gold of the jeweller's treasures. The Via Condotti leads us to the Via della Fontenella, in which stands the splendid palace of the Borguese, rich in pictures of Raphael, Michel Angelo, Domenichino, Andrea del Sarto, and many other great masters ; but whose most precious possession is the memory of the beautiful Gwendaline Talbot, who was married to Prince Borghese, and whose charity and sweetness made her foreign name as beloved by the Romans as that of their own St. Agnes. There is a legend told of hsr in Rome, whether it is true I cannot say, but it is very characteristic of her goodness to the poor. Some months after her death a woman whose children were almost starving went to pray close to the tomb of the Princess, in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. For some time she prayed very fervently, and begged of God to send her help or else she and her children must die. When she rose from her knees she saw standing beside her a lovely lady, who offered her a ring, saying : " My friend I kuow that you are in great distress, and I have no money to give you ; here, however, is a ring which you can sell, that your children may have bread." The poor woman was full of gratitude for this instant answer to her prayer, and hurried away to sell the ring. It happened that the jeweller to whom she took it recognised it as one he had made for the Princess Borghese, and as it was of great value he was not satisfied with the story the woman told him, but insisted on taking her to the Prince, who would know if what she said was true. On seeing the ring Prince Borghese wae greatly enraged. " Wretch," said he, " you haverobbed the dead ! I, with my own hand, put that ring on the finger of my wife ns she lay in her coffin." The poor woman protested with many tears that she had robbed no one, neither, she felt sure, had the lady who gave her the Ting, fo? she looked like an angel from heaven. The Prince went to the church, had the tomb examined, and saw that it had not been meddled with ; he then had it opened, and the body of the Princess was found looking just like as if she had fallen asleep, but there was no gem on her finger. Ag the Prince still felt quite certain that the ring had been buried with her, he believed that God had really allowed the pious Gwendaline (who, during her life, had always chosen to relieve the wants of the poor rather than to wear precious stones) to return from the grave and give in charity the precious stone with which her husband had adorned her dead hand. A. pension was granted to the good woman, who now knew she had received alms from a saint, and many suppliants prayed al the tomb of the holy Princess, who, although she had no more rings to bestow, could intercede with God for the poor whom she loved so well. Passing the Palazzo Borghese we go on through one or two streets until we reach the bridge of St. Angelo, which is one of the ancieat bridges of Rome (Pons JSlius) . If we have not looked on Father Tiber before, we shall now discover that he is a very muddy old stream that the yellow waters which sound so well in poetry, are, in reality, very uninviting. The angels with which the bridge is ornamented, are, of course, Christian additions, and the fortress of St. Angelo to which it leads, was the Mansoleum of Hadrian, centuries before it was dedicated to St. Michael. Once over the bridge we are in the Leonine city, and a few Bteps will bring us to St. Peter's. On our last vtsit we hardly saw the sepulchral monuments, which are all well worth examining. But perhaps the most interesting one to us is the tomb of the Stuarts, who are here called James the third, Charles the third, and Henry the ninth of England. Many of the great pictures from various galleries are reproduced in St. Peter's in mosaic, which does not lose its colours by age, and will last and show the world masterpieces of great painters, when the originals from which they have been copied shall have entirely faded away. One of the never to be forgotten wonders of St. Peter's is the singing of the Pope's choir. It is almost entirely composed of the fresh joyous voices of hundreds of young boys chosen from the various public institutions and schools for their musical talent. These glorious strains rising up to heaven from the tombs of pontiffs aud kings ong passed away, are like angel hymns breathing hope and peace and charity. •' Hosanna in the highest ! Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to men of good will. S.Q.D.