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level against the dark green of the lofty cypresses, which line the main avenue of the garden, and which also, interspersed with the verdure of acacia and Judas-trees, snowy or crimson with flowers, stand in groups on the hill-side, with the old churches of Tivoli and the heights of Monte Catillo seen between and beyond them. The fountains at the sides of the garden are colossal, like everything else here, and overgrown with maidenhair fern. Water glitters everywhere along stone channels running through the dark arcades of foliage. Flowers there are few, except the masses of roses, guelder roses, and violets, which grow and blossom where they will. The villa now belongs to the Austrian descendants of its founder.
Here for many years lived Cardinal Hohenlohe who, until his suspicious death, used to draw around him such delightful guests as the Abbe Liszt, whose music has resounded over the terracegardens, summer after summer; Ezekiel, the sculptor, and Giacomo Boni.
In Via del Trevio (75, on left) will be seen a very lovely biforate French-gotbic window between renaissance pilaster-jambs. In the crown of it are seen the Colonna arms.
Outside the Porta S. Croce are the old Jesuits' College, with its charming terrace called La Veduta, and the Villa Braschi, passing through the cellar of which, the aqueduct of the Anio Novus may be seen. Some disappointment will be felt at the extreme uncertainty which hangs over the homes of the poets at Tivoli, especially over that of Horace, which rose near a grove of Tiburnus; but although the actual ruins pointed out to us by the craft and subtlety of Ciceroni may not have belonged to them, there is so much of which they tell us that remains unchanged, the luxuriant woods, the resounding Anio, the thymy uplands, that the very atmosphere is alive with their verses; and amid such soul-inspiring loveliness, one cannot wonder that Tibur was beloved by them.
'Mibi jam uon regia Roma, Sed vacunm Tibur placet.'
—Horace, * Ep.' i. 7. 44. But the poet nowhere says that he had a house here.
'Vester, Camoenae, vester in arduos
—Carm. iii. 4, 21.
*. . . Ego, apis Matiuae
—Carm. iv. 2, 27.
'Sed quae Tibur aqme fertile praeflunnt, Kt spissae nemorum comae,
Fingent Aeolio carmine nobilem.'
—Carm. iv. 3, 10.
Catullus had a villa here on the boundary between the Sabine and Tiburtine territories, but which he chose to consider in the latter, while his friends, if they wished to tease him, said it was Sabine:—
* O funde noster, sen Sabine, seu Tiburs
—Carm. xliv. 1.
It cured him of gastric catarrh.
Here also was born and lived 'Cynthia,' whose real name was Hostia, the beloved of Propertius, who did not hesitate to test his devotion by summoning him to face the dangers of the road from Rome to Tibur at midnight.
'Nox media, et dominae mihi venit epistola nostrae,
Tibure me missa lussit adesse mora;
—Prop. iii. 16.
And here she died snd was buried, and her spirit, appearing to her lover, besought him to take care of her grave.
* Pelle hederam tumulo, mihi quae pugnante corymbo
Mollia contortis alligat ossa comis,
Et nunquam Herculco numine pallet ebur.
Sed breve, quod currens vector ab urbe legat:
Accessit ripae laus, Aniene, tuae.'
- iv. 7.
Beyond the Porta S. Croce is the suburb Carciano, a corruption perhaps, from Cassianum, its name in the tenth century from the villa of the gens Cassia, of which there are considerable remains in the olive woods below the Greek College. From the excavations made here in the reign of Pius VI. many of the finest statues in the Vatican were obtained, especially those in the Hall of the Muses.
Painters, and all who stay long enough at Tivoli, should not fail to visit the picturesque ruins of the Marcian and Claudian aqueducts up the valley beyond the Porta S. Giovanni. Delightful excursions may also be made to Subiaco, to S. Cosimato and Licenza, to Monte Gennaro, Monticelli, and Palombara. A pleasant road leads by the old castle of Passerano (8 kilos.) and Zagarolo to Palestrina.
Passerano (ancient Scaptia ?) crowns a ridge of wood abounding in wild-flowers (anemone Apennina, &c.), and besides a few cottages, has the ruins of a XV. cent, castle built on to the fortress or acropolis of the first (opus reticulatum). On the N. side may be found opus quadratum. It belonged to the Colonnesi, whose arms are seen upon the western tower. The famous Senator Brancaleone, who defied the nobles of Rome and threw down one hundred and forty of their towers, was imprisoned here, and badly treated (1255), though he survived.
'Perhaps we shall have to pay more heavily than we anticipated for the privileges allowed us by the weather both during January and ever since then! The last month of the ancient Roman year, however, in Italy is apt to behave like our own native "Fill-dyke." And this reminds us that in the region to which to-day's excursion should take us in olden times we should upon this particular day have found the country-folk celebrating their festival of the God Terminus—him who presided over the landmarks ; and we should have seen some of the boundary-stones standing up among the vivid green wheat, sprinkled with the bright blood of a fresh-slain sacrificial lamb, and a little farther on would have heard strange hymns of praise and not too quiet feastings in honour of that divinity. Such casual musings have come upon us, however, sitting in the train which is to take us out to Bagni in the direction of those ever-beautiful hills so beloved of Horace, Mecamas, and Hadrian. The elaborate Italian precautions for starting a mere train have just sounded in rapid succession; "Pronto," at the top of the voice, followed by a virile blast on a cow's horn, and finally a wild scream from the engine whistle and presently we are off, gliding past the graceful nympheum of Gallienus (called "Minerva Medica") that once adorned his family (Liciniani) gardens, past the mighty Porta Maggiore, and so out again to the Campagna by the great colony of ever-increasing white tombs in the Campo Verano, beneath its forest of mourning cypresses and the tower of San Lorenzo; and, so, from afar off, we obtain a free view of lofty Monte Gennaro sweeping boldly down to the foot-hills crowned with the dirty but picturesque villages of S. Angelo and Monticelio on the left; and on the right by many a rocky ridge of treeless limestone, towards ancient Tivoli, throned like a hoary monarch above a prosperous realm of patriarchal olives.'
After leaving Ponte Lucano walkers, not bound for Villa Hadriana, are recommended to turn off sharp to the left just before the Tramway Station of Villa Hadriana is reached, in order to visit the terraces of the great and picturesque Villa of Quintilius Varus. The walk dull at first for half a mile, then becomes fascinating. No guides needed.
'The "roar of waters from the headlong height" now becomes majestic; for, though the falls are at some distance, and are not actually visible to us, owing to the contour of the cliffs, we have turned into the ascending vale of the Anio, which we shall again cross presently by the Ponte Acquoria; while below us, at some fifty feet, that river rushes along down its many-winding channels to find its way out to the broad Campagna. On both sides of it, the rich olive woods, rising steeply, seem to enjoy the music of its motion, and display to us the silvery undersides of their leaves—an effect of beauty in this tree which no Roman can appreciate. A slight incline now carries us on, still by the ancient road, to the above-mentioned bridge—thought to be named "Acquoria " from the limpid golden gleam of the waters that flow beneath it. The main stream of the Anio, however, has forsaken its early bed and the ancient travertine bridge, and consequently has, all to itself, an iron one, over which we have just crossed. And at this point we have to take refuge in a salad garden beside the streamlet, in order to let a small herd of longhorned iron-grey cattle pass the old bridge on their way to drink in the new river-bed beyond. They are quite gentle beasts: but their horns have an imposing spread not intended for this somewhat narrow crossing. Truly, with the golden light now pouring into this beautiful and widening vale, with the winding stream, the wooded cliffs—with the azure sky above it streaked with long scarves of transparent cirrus, and out beyond the lonely