Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 -- Travel -- Italy; Italy -- Description and travel; Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Biography
And this reminds me that some Roman altars of peculiar sanctity, bear the
inscription, ‘Every Mass performed at this altar frees a soul from
Purgatory.’ I have never been able to find out the charge for one of
these services, but they should needs be expensive. There are several
Crosses in Rome too, the kissing of which, confers indulgences for
varying terms. That in the centre of the Coliseum, is worth a hundred
days; and people may be seen kissing it from morning to night. It is
curious that some of these crosses seem to acquire an arbitrary
popularity: this very one among them. In another part of the Coliseum
there is a cross upon a marble slab, with the inscription, ‘Who kisses
this cross shall be entitled to Two hundred and forty days’ indulgence.’
But I saw no one person kiss it, though, day after day, I sat in the
arena, and saw scores upon scores of peasants pass it, on their way to
kiss the other.
To single out details from the great dream of Roman Churches, would be
the wildest occupation in the world. But St. Stefano Rotondo, a damp,
mildewed vault of an old church in the outskirts of Rome, will always
struggle uppermost in my mind, by reason of the hideous paintings with
which its walls are covered. These represent the martyrdoms of saints
and early Christians; and such a panorama of horror and butchery no man
could imagine in his sleep, though he were to eat a whole pig raw, for
supper. Grey-bearded men being boiled, fried, grilled, crimped, singed,
eaten by wild beasts, worried by dogs, buried alive, torn asunder by
horses, chopped up small with hatchets: women having their breasts torn
with iron pinchers, their tongues cut out, their ears screwed off, their
jaws broken, their bodies stretched upon the rack, or skinned upon the
stake, or crackled up and melted in the fire: these are among the mildest
subjects. So insisted on, and laboured at, besides, that every sufferer
gives you the same occasion for wonder as poor old Duncan awoke, in Lady
Macbeth, when she marvelled at his having so much blood in him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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