Cities New and Old

I am back home, now. But here are some of my reflections from my time in Rome.

For my first long weekend away from Rome, some friends and I went to Naples to visit it and the surrounding area.  After class we rushed to the bus stop and made our way to the train station. The train ride took the better part of the afternoon and we arrived in Naples in time for a late dinner. After spending the night in Naples we arose early and we took the ferry to the Island of Capri.

(Coast of Capri)

The Island of Carpi is perhaps one of the most beautiful places in the world. It has mountains, the sea, and a pleasant little town all wrapped together in a neat little island. The town is nice and relatively clean, not as though it has been scrubbed to the point of sterility, but as though the townspeople liked to keep it tidy. Capri did not have much, but what it had was kept bright and smiling by all the bright and smiling people. Even the stray dogs wandering through the streets seemed friendly.

(Lively Little Town of Capri)

 One dog was particularly welcoming. He was small with brown and black coloring and had a little bandana tied around his neck. Whether he had a family which allowed him to wander the streets, or whether he was simply a town favorite who everyone loved and cared for I cannot say with any certainty. This second option might sound somewhat unrealistic, but if you had seen him, you would understand that this doesn’t feel implausible at all. He seemed just as much a part of the town and scenery as the houses and trees. He strolled around sniffing every table and wagging his tail at the sight of every passerby. He didn’t prance around as though he owned Capri, he was just a little piece of it.

After saying hello to the dog, and petting him and making much of him, we went on to explore the island. There were happy little alleyways with cute shops nestled into them, and short buildings and broad plazas. Occasionally we would see the little dog walking about and doing whatever dogs do when they are just being dogs.

We decided to enter a small church and the little dog came in after us. This was a bit of a surprise to us. We were about to put him back outside when a friendly old man approached us.

“No, no, it’s OK,” He said, “Here we say, ‘the dog, he does no harm.’ He is welcome anywhere he goes. God’s house is open to all. The dogs they can go anywhere. ”

With his assurance we left the dog to wander the aisles and sit in the chapels while we explored the church. It was a pleasant church with white walls and lovely decorations. My favorite part was a little chapel dedicated to St. Monica, the Mother of St. Augustine. I think they might have had a relic buried there.

Afterward we hiked up to the top of the hill on Capri to visit the remains of Tiberius’s villa. We arrived at the top of the hill only to find the fence gate was closed. We began to discuss what we should do next. Soon a man came and explained to us that the villa was closed that day. Seeing our disappointment the man opened the gate for us anyway and let us in.

(Tiberius's Villa)

Tiberius’s villa was actually smaller than I expected.  For the last few years of his reign Tiberius grew tired of running the Roman Empire. He closed all his offices in Rome and spent the rest of his life relaxing at Capri. Thus Rome was without good government for a time, and great harm was done. Meanwhile Tiberius no doubt enjoyed himself on this lovey island.

At the highest point of the villa I was surprised to find a statue of Mary with a crown, and Christ the King in her arms. Apparently a church was constructed long after the villa had fallen into disrepair. Unfortunately, the Church was not open that day so we could not go in.

(Satue of Crowned Madonna)

At last we returned down the hill to the coast. As we waited in a restaurant for the ferry to show up, the dog we had met earlier came wandering in. We decided to start calling it The Ghost Dog, because it mysteriously appeared wherever we went. At last the ferry arrived and we departed from the island.

(View of Sunset from Ferry)

We spent the next day in Naples. The word Naples comes from the Greek for ‘New City.’ This area was the first place the Greeks came to when they sent colonies to Italy. Today, the City of Naples is perhaps one of the most dreary places I have seen. It has bad government, lack of respect for law, and a strong mafia presence all rolled up into one dying city. Naples is a large, dirty city, as though no one had bothered to sweep the streets or wipe the walls of the buildings in the past six months. It had lots of wonderful things, churches, plazas and museums. The city might have been very nice if the people had taken the time to nurse it back to health. There were dogs here as well darting around the edges like shadows or disappearing into the crowds.

The metro was rather confusing, not because there were too many lines or too few maps but because there was no way of knowing how to enter.  We could find no place to purchase tickets, and most of the Italians were simply walking through without scanning anything. At last we decided that if there wasn’t anywhere to buy tickets, and if the Italians didn’t seem to use them either, then it must be alright for us to just use the metro. Thus we walked through the open gates with no one to prevent us. But whether the Metro was a service offered to the public free of charge, or whether the Rule of Law had so broken down in Naples that even the citizens ceased to care for it, I cannot say.

The city had several crowded plazas and many narrow streets and alleys. As we passed through we saw garbage heaped up on the side of some roads, and graffiti scrawled upon every surface in reach. It was so dense that there seemed to be no room for any more. Most of the street art was scribbled pictures, scrawled profanities and pornography.  Some, however awful they were, looked as though they required more skill. One picture was of a small helpless deer, similar in appearance to Bambi. The fawn was lying upside-down with bright red drops running down the wall from its bleeding carcass. I may be misremembering, but I think red tears were dripping from her frightened eyes. The sight of such a noble and gentle creature held in such contempt as to be shown in such a way struck me as one of the most horrifying images I had ever seen. It was as though the maker of the drawing was unable to comprehend the beauty of purity and innocence.

After visiting various churches we went to a museum which had once been a chapel. After crossing the street to purchase tickets we returned and entered into the building. It was not a large building, but it had several fascinating sculptures. In the center was a representation of Christ after his death. It showed him wrapped in a shroud. The artist was able to convey the sense of several different kinds of cloth with the stone he was working with. The wrinkled shroud which barely seemed to hide the figure beneath did not provide a sense of peace or calm, but only served to heighten the memory of the intense suffering which had begun with His tears in the garden.

(I got this picture online)

In the evening after the sun had set we spent some time exploring the nearby area. We stopped to get some gelato from a shop in an open mall. The mall was like an enormous hallway intersecting another enormous hallway lined with stores and shops. There were no doors to bar entry, only a high ceiling and bright welcoming lights. There were statues and figures carved into the building itself, while real people walked about the marble floor doing whatever personal business people have to do when they are out and about.

That night we also saw a castle in the middle of the city. Unfortunately it was closed for the evening, but as my literature professor has said, castles look more impressive from the outside.  So it is just as well.

The last thing we saw was a magnificent church. From the outside it looked like it was modeled off of the Pantheon in Rome. We peered into the door way. Inside it was brightly lit with statues of saints around the curved walls. Red velvet drapery hung accented by golden lining. I was looking forward to entering in but Mass was just ending and some in our group were still finishing their gelato. So we waited for a bit. Right when we were ready to enter, the doors were closed and the church shut up for the night.

The following day we set out for Pompeii. We took a train and eventually arrived at the gates of the ancient city. Pompeii was once a busy Roman city on the Bay of Naples near Mt. Vesuvius. Unfortunately, this mountain turned out to be a volcano. It erupted and buried the city under a pile of ash. This killed everyone in the city, but preserved the buildings until they could be uncovered. The vast extent of row upon row of ancient houses spread out before us. We wandered through the barren streets, now full of tourists. We were totally surrounded and immersed in the dusty surroundings of the dead city.

(Street in Pompeii with Mt. Vesuvius)

Occasionally we saw the signs of former life to the city. In the street we saw the deep, empty ruts of wagons and chariots which, having gone over the road for years, wore down the stone. Here and there were olive trees, replanted by archeologists endeavoring to make the city feel as it once had. As we waked down the street we saw ancient graffiti on the buildings. These writings, found in Pompeii, included advertisements, political campaigns, personal marks and other random scribbles. These writings are very important to historians, and give us an insight into the life (and spelling) of the common Roman.

Many of the houses were closed off, preventing us from going inside. We could only stand in the door-less openings and peer into the buildings. There we saw mosaics, frescos, and other scattered bits of ruins in the empty rooms. We walked down the street with these abandoned buildings on either side until we came, at last, to the Amphitheater.  Most of the entrances were sealed, but we eventually found one which allowed us inside. Here games were held and public spectacles were shown for the entertainment of the entire city. Now the inside is nothing but a patch of mud and grass surrounded by empty seats.

 (Inside)

(Outside)

The same was true of all the other buildings we passed. The houses were vacant, the theater remained motionless, the temples sat barren, and the altars stood unused. All were lifeless and empty, completely closed for business. Only the tourists wandered around the dusty streets taking tours, listening to audio guides, snapping photos, and engaging in all manner of touristy activities.

We saw one place which I like to think of as an ancient Roman fast food restaurant. Romans would stop by to grab some food to go, or send a slave to pick up a quick snack for them while they relaxed at the bath. The counter had several empty holes for pots which would hold nuts or olives or some other snack food. The customer would scoop what they wanted in a bag and pay at the counter.  This was possibly the first trail mix.

(I call it, McMarcus)

Outside the open gates of the city were several tombs. There were larger tombs and smaller tombs and all sorts of tombs to show the grandeur and status of those who were buried there.  These may be the only houses to retain their original occupants.

(These tombs frequently had statues set up in them.)

(Displaced Statues)

Heading to the Capitoline Museum

I am back home, now.  But here are some of my reflections from my time in Rome.
The Capitoline Museum was one of my favorite places to visit

At the top of the stairs leading to the Capitoline hill are two statues of Castor and Pollux. These two were twin heroes, who helped the people of Rome in battle when they were founding the city. The statues are very old, with the exception of one of the heads which was lost, and later replaced by Michelangelo. This hill was a very important to the Romans. Although the root Latin word Caput means head, the Capitoline hill was also considered the exact center, or belly button, of the Eternal City.

Castor and Pollux

After some waiting, we entered into the Capitoline museum. The first thing we saw was a giant head, part of the remnants of a colossal statue of Constantine. He built two such statues after he moved the capitol to Constantinople. These statues look over the entire city of Rome giving Constantine a strong presence in the city, even though he had moved to the far reaches of the empire.

The second statue was made of bronze and its remains are kept in a separate room. In his hand Constantine held a globe, symbolizing his world dominance. With it is kept the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, the only bronze statue of a man on horseback which remains from antiquity.

Most bronze statues were melted down to provide building materials. This particular statue is thought to have survived because people during the medieval period mistook Marcus Aurelius for Constantine, the first Christian emperor. This is a strange mistake to make given that they have such different heads. As you can see from the photographs one has a beard while the other does not. Despite their differences, however, both are generally considered to be decent emperors. This cannot be said of Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius who was exceedingly proud. 

 In his pride, Commodus thought himself to be the god Hercules. This bust has Commodus adorned in the lion skin of Hercules, and bearing the Club and golden apples of this Hero. At the base there is a kneeling Amazon, who seems to have lost her head. The curly design above her in the center is thought to be a representation of the shields which the Amazons used. The subjugation of the Amazons represents the triumph of human reason over the bodily passions.  

Commodus not only portrayed himself as Hercules in art, but actually believed that he was the reincarnation of this minor god and would frequently dress up in a lion skin. His pride swelled him up to such an extent that he even demanded that the Senate refer to him as Hercules. This was too much for the senators, so they bribed Commodus's wrestling partner slave named Narcissus to strangle thim in his bath.  Thus Commodus was killed by Narcissus. 

While Commodus portrayed himself as a relaxed Hercules complete with all the trappings of lion skin, club and golden apples, the true Hercules was nothing like him. This is a depiction of the actual Hercules.

His naked and unadorned body is tensed and in action as he fights some monster. If I recall correctly, he is in deadly battle with the Hydra. The Hydra was a many-headed beast. If you were to cut off one of its heads then two more would spring up in its place. Unable to kill it by strength, Hercules had to overcome the Hydra through his wit. He tricked it into a cave and sealed the entrance, thereby trapping the heads beneath the stone mountains. 

One of my favorite pieces of art at the museum was a depiction of another monster, Medusa. This bust, with the twisting snakes above her contorted brow, captivated my attention. Medusa was once the most lovely of women, until she let the beauty of her body go to her head. She began to boast that she was even more beautiful than Athena. Hearing this, Athena, punished Medusa by turning her into a hideous monster with snakes for hair. Indeed, she was so hideous that anyone who looked upon her would be turned to stone. Thus, Medusa was shunned as an outcast, cut off from the vast body of human society. The expression in the stone looked so lonely, so painful, that I could not help but feel a deep sympathy for Medusa.

Apparently, this Bust was made by Bernnini

Eventually Perseus set out to kill Medusa. Since he could not look upon her for fear of being turned to stone, he instead polished his shield until he could see reflected in it the world behind him. In this way he was able to see the reflection of Medusa in his shield. After a long and perhaps slightly awkward flight, Perseus succeeded in severing the head of Medusa from her body. He then gave it to Athena who put it onto her shield, thereby beginning the practice of the Greeks and Romans of painting Medusa’s head on their shields to frighten their enemies. Below the sculpture there was this inscription...

“The head of Medusa, in ancient times used as ornamentation on the shields of the Romans to terrorize their enemies, today shines brightly in the Capitol in glory of the renowned sculptor.”

After leaving Medusa, behind I eventually came across someone whose face was far more beautiful than the snaky Medusa.  

It is hard to tell without the body, but this is actually not a girl. It is Dionysius. He just looks like a girl. As my friends and I walked through the museum we consistently mistook Dionysus’s face for that of a female. Even in the Greek tragedy, The Bacchae, Pentheus makes fun of the god for his feminine appearance.

The story goes that Pentheus, the king of Thebes, was severely punished for his irreverence. Dionysus used his power to drive all the women in the kingdom into a mindless frenzy and drove them from the city into the woods. He then tricked Pentheus into going after them. The women, in their maddened state, mistake Pentheus for a lion and proceed to tear him limb from limb. Pentheus’s mother, Agave, tore his head from his body and paraded it through the streets thinking herself to be a mighty lion hunter. But soon she is brought to realize what she has done, and is overwhelmed with sorrow. I think that this might be a representation of this scene.

It is smaller than it looks

In ancient Greek tragedy the actors would hide their heads behind great masks. When they had to change characters, they would simply change masks. It is most likely that the Head Agave carried onto stage was the mask which Pentheus previously wore. While at the Capitoline museum I saw a representation of one of these hollow faces.

Nearby there were several rooms full of the busts of famous people, including the busts of poets and tragedians. There I saw a bust of Sophocles, perhaps the greatest tragedian of all. There were no fewer than three busts of Homer, the author of both the Iliad and Odyssey.

Another bust I happened to see was that of Alcibiades. Alcibiades was an Athenian leader who betrayed his people to the Spartans, betrayed the Spartans and ran away to the Persians, betrayed the Persians to gain favor with the Athenians, was kicked out of Athens, and returned to Persia where he died. Somewhere along the way he became the leader of some northern barbaric tribes. He was, in short, a two-faced smooth-talking trickster, whom no one seemed able to resist.

Alcibiades even appears in some of Plato’s writings about Socrates. In the Symposium Alcibiades shows up at the end of the evening, dressed like the wild god, Dionysus. He then gives a speech about how much he loves Socrates, and how Socrates does not love him, but only loves philosophy and reason. He is very upset at this.

We continued down a section that had all the busts. I was quite excited to see my favorite philosopher Plato. Plato believed in a strong separation between body and soul. The body being physical dealt with changing things, while the mind stood above the body, contemplating true reality. His ideal life would be to be separated from the body, forever thinking eternal thoughts undistracted by bodily passions. I am sure he is very happy as a bust.

At last we left the museum and headed back.

Battles, Buildings and Birds

Immediately upon arriving to our rooms, a dispute arose over who would sleep in which bed during our temporary pilgrimage. Three beds were lined up together against one wall, and the fourth lay along the opposite wall at the foot of the others. In all other respects the beds were identical. But because the fourth was set apart from the others, by its position it became the territory for which one waged war against another.

Besides this conflict, the building turned out to be a very nice hotel. What I liked most was the fact that when you opened the window you would hear a sudden flapping and fluttering of wings as birds burst forth and flew away. I had often seen this depicted in various ways, but had never experienced the thrill of the sound of rushing wings.

(Pigeons!)

We arose the next morning to explore the town of Assisi. Assisi is a small, old town with narrow, winding, cobblestone streets and old pleasant buildings, dirty more with age than with city grime. The city has been relatively well-preserved through the ages. Wars usually bring the destruction of buildings, but Assisi was fortunate and even escaped great damage during the bombings of World War II. During that time the city became a place of hiding for many Jews. After the first bombing, a Christian general, knowing of this secret, quickly used his influence to have the town declared a hospital town. This prevented the allies from further bombing and saved the city’s buildings from destruction.  One such building was the Church of St. Francis.  This building was built over the burial place of St. Francis so that it rested upon his grave.

 (The door on the lower left of the last picture)

The church was full of paintings which depicted scenes from the life of St. Francis. Francis was far from being a saint when he was young. As the son of a wealthy cloth merchant, he began by pursuing earthly glory through victory in war. He volunteered to be a soldier in a military campaign and his wealthy father bought him the most expensive armor and sent him off to war. In the army he met a poor knight with old battered armor. Seeing the man’s wrenched condition Francis insisted that they exchange armor, for the knight who had fought in many wars was more worthy of honor than he. And so he gave up the defense which wealth affords to wear the protection of a better man. But others thought him foolish, for he had traded armor worth 100 hides for armor worth only 9.

(Francis exchanging clothing with a knight)

On their way to war, St. Francis had a dream. In this dream he heard a voice asking him “Is it better to serve the Master or the servant?”

“The master,” he replied

The voice then said, “Choose whom you will serve this day."

Considering his vision, Francis determined that it was a warning not to go to war, so the following morning Francis road back to Assisi alone. He returned with nothing; he had received no honor, no plunder, no glory nor any of the benefits of war. Furthermore, his father and the townspeople perceived his return as a sign of fear and cowardice. And so St. Francis became poorer in the eyes of his countrymen.

(Statue outside the Church: I love how dejected it looks, and how he is moving towards the church)

After this, Francis turned to more spiritual matters, and the luxuries and revelries of his friends became less attractive. One night he received a message in a dream, where he was told by a voice from heaven, “Build My church.” Interpreting this to mean that he should rebuild the abandoned chapel near the outskirts of Assisi, he set to work. To raise the necessary funds, he sold some of his father’s cloth, for his father was a cloth merchant. Taking what was left over, he freely gave to the poor and needy. Hearing of his son's doings, his father dragged him before the Bishop.

“Look here what a wastrel lies within my house. For rather than choose a profession, such as a doctor or a lawyer as is the custom among men, he rather chooses to fritter away his time in whatever flight of fancy should sparkle in his eye, as though he were some song bird making sweet melody for no gain. He has no eye for business but makes light of gleaming gold and shining silver. Who will provide for him if he should fall? Who will clothe him with solemn splendor? I am ashamed to say his mother bore him, for such a child brings naught but shame. But do I not have a claim on him? Do I not possess a share in this boy? Look not upon him, for to own that were a shame; but look upon all he has around him. This cloth is mine, the money from its sale is mine; the food he had for lunch was mine, the food he will have for dinner will have been mine, his bed is my bed, his house is my house. Indeed, the very clothes with which he covers his shame before you are mine. Therefore, bid him not repay me with injury but to do as custom prescribes and obey the dictates of an older man. ”

(Francis being covered by the Bishop)

The Bishop, unable to deny the justice of the father’s plea, bade Francis return his father’s cloth. Francis, obeying, took the rolls of cloth and cast them before his father, and then he removed his clothes saying, “you may have your cloth, henceforth I will accept nothing that belongs to you.” At this he left the town square naked as the flowers of nature. But the Bishop, not wishing to offend against the customs of men, took his own cloak and spread it around St. Francis. And so the Bishop took St. Francis in as a son. On that day St. Francis left his father and cleaved unto poverty.

Francis eventually decided that he should start a religious order. He traveled to Rome to ask the Pope's permission. Now some years before, another man had come with a similar request. When he was denied he was upset and began to form his own sect, where he taught heresy. This experience made the Pope suspicious of St. Francis. However, one night as he slept  he had a dream in which he saw St. Francis holding up a Church.  He took this to mean that God was working through him to strengthen the church. With this assurance the Pope willingly supported the Franciscan order.

(Look at the roundness of the left figure's knee. This is just before the beginning of the Renaissance)

After the tour, I had the option of going on an optional hike to the place where St. Francis would retire to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, or visiting a nearby castle and wandering the streets and tourist shops of Assisi. I chose the hike. St. Francis is said to have frequently made the trip barefoot. Many decided to follow his example and walk all the way without shoes as a way to mortify the flesh. With or without shoes, our flesh was certainly mortified or at least soaked by the continual drizzle. Despite the downpour, the walk was pleasant enough and the view was very nice.

There are a succession of several little tunnels, caves and rooms. I was very surprised at how small and bare they were. It was a simple building that looked as if it had been built and extended and added to in an a haphazard way, depending on the conditions of time and circumstance. It seemed more like something which naturally collected and built up in a gap in the mountain side over time, rather than something which an artisan decided to construct one day.

 (It's smaller and humbler than it looks)

It is said that in this place, St. Francis was walking along when he was suddenly filled, by the Holy Spirit, with a strong urge to preach. Since there was no one else nearby, he began to speak to the birds.

Sing harmony to God, you birds, and raise your voices to proclaim His great provision; for He fitted you with wings and fashioned them with flying feathers. He taught you how to build your nests, and in His kingdom you have refuge. Nor will He suffer you to go without the things you need. When Elijah was in the wilderness, the Lord sent him bread by ravens. If the Lord uses birds to bring His servant food, then will He forget to feed the flocks who are waiters?  Therefore, do not contend with one another, waging war for food. But rather, live in harmonious love, trusting Him who disposes all things.

It is said that the birds stopped going about their business and looked on Francis with attentive eyes. Furthermore, all other animals passing by paused to listen, and the wolf and the hare declared peace between themselves to lie down and hear what Francis spoke. They made neither sound nor motion until after the sermon had come to a conclusion and they had received his parting blessing. I am sure St. Francis found the birds a far more attentive audience than most.

(The tree the birds were in when he preached to them)

By the time we returned, it was getting late.  The rain forbade us from desiring to venture out any further. We ate dinner and went to bed with the cooing of the pigeons outside our window.  Early the next morning, we packed our bags and I bid the birds a final farewell.

(From Subiaco: Portrait of St. Francis made during his life.)



To Assisi

Today we left Rome. We haven’t stayed there too long but it has already become a kind of home, away from home, as far as anyone could be at home in a foreign land. We each went out into our respective buses and began our journey. We passed pleasant pastures and antique towns. These towns were full of squat little colored buildings mixed together in a crowded collage. And there, in the center of it all a dome, or a steeple, or the bell tower of some tall church rising above the clustered shelters and stretching upward towards heaven. It is really quite remarkable how in all or nearly all the towns we passed the church is the highest building, built at the highest point.

I couldn't get a good picture in the car, so here is the view from Assisi. It's close enough.

We continued on some way when I saw something that made me jump and my soul sing one word, “Mountains!”  I live in a place where there are many mountains and going to school in Dallas where I don’t have an opportunity to admire their majesty. Seeing them standing high pointing to the celestial heavens made me feel more at home.  

Halfway through our journey, we came across a foggy forest, dense with leafless trees and grey mist. I cannot help but think that Dante had seen something like this when he wrote in his first canto of a tangled wood. Dante is lost in a wood of error trying desperately to climb the side of a hill. However he is unable to make any progress by his own power. He is so badly off that Virgil is sent to guide him along another path, for he must descend before he can ascend.

 I really wish I had a good picture

It was a most enchanting wood of error. But if it did have any power, then it did not cast the same spell over my companion as it did on me. For when he saw Dante’s wood, he sighed and said “It’s a shame this space isn’t being used for something useful! Chop down the trees, put up buildings, and do something productive on the land.”  At this my roommate Luke remarked he could not even imagine what kind of a world he would live in. At this point the bus entered the mouth of a cave-like tunnel through the mountain. The dim orange tinted likes glowed in the dark concrete cave casting dull half-dead shadows in every direction.

“Never mind,” Luke said. “I can imagine.”

At last we reached our first stop at Subiaco, the monastery where St. Benedict began his ministry. It was built in a high place on the top of a mountain.  St. Benedict was an important figure in the development of monasticism. He is the first person to lay down a set of rules and regulations for monks.

When Christianity was legalized in Rome, and was accepted in every household, it became no longer possible to prove your dedication by a martyr’s death. Hence they sought other ways, for in those days, there were many people who in their pride competed with each other to be considered the most holy.

They outdid each other in fasting and undid each other in praying loudly. Whoever could put out the more outrageous display of self-denial and self-sacrifice could consider themselves the most outstanding in holiness. One person erected a pillar in the city far above the busy street. He lived atop this pillar for many years, removing himself from the world by placing himself above it, and having his friends pass him up food from below. Those who came after him, wishing to be set apart like him, erected larger pillars that they might be closer to heaven and further from the world. St. Benedict helped to correct these abuses and bring order to the chaos.

We began our tour in the Lower church. It was literally built into the mountain, so some of the walls were actually the mountain stones. Every surface was painted; mostly green with scenes from St. Benedict's life depicted all around. Sr. Catherine told us about each episode. Benedict was once a student who left his home in northern Italy and came to study in Rome. When Benedict saw the decadence of Rome and how each person laid up pleasures and treasures and made their home in the world, he disgusted departed from that city to return to his home.

As he traveled through the mountains he met a hermit named Romano who encouraged him to devote himself to God through the religious life. Inspired by the worlds of Romano, Benedict decided to dwell in the top of the mountain and descended into a cave where he prayed all day. He made this small cramped space his abode, and remained there an entire year. No one knew he was there save Romano who carried him food and drink to sustain him during his stay.

The Cave. With satue of Benedict.

We descended down a flight of stairs called the eternal staircase. On the right there was a depiction of triumphant death riding on a horse cutting down all for none escape him. On the left there was a priest speaking to the rich and affluent, those who love material goods and build great homes from themselves on earth, reminding them that they too will one day die like the beggar.

At the bottom of the staircase there was another cave known as the cave of the shepherds.  After St. Benedict had been in his cave for a long time some shepherds discovered him. They spoke with him and he taught them many things. As his original cave was too small for all of them, it became their custom to meet in this larger cave. Here St. Benedict began his ministry by instructing these poor shepherds whose home was the mountainside and whose possessions were small.  The cave of the shepherds contains one of our oldest Christian paintings. This image cast upon the cave of the wall served to turn men’s minds towards the light of heaven above, rather than on things below.

 The Shepherd's cave.

Painting in the Byzantine Style. About 5th centry AD.

We returned up the eternal staircase, for stares run up as well as down, and proceeded into the upper church. As word spread from the shepherds of this holy man, more and more people came by to visit him. At last, a delegation of monks came to request that he become their new Abbot, thinking that to have such a well-reputed man would exalt their monastery above others. Benedict initially declined, warning them that he would be too strict and austere a master for them. But they insisted, and so Benedict became their abbot. Soon the Monks became disgruntled at him, for they were not merely denied their earthly luxuries, but also failed to obtain the public honors as compensation. Thus they conspired to get rid of St. Benedict. And so they offered him a cup of poison. But St. Benedict, knowing what they were doing, blessed the cup, and it split in two. This is one of the many miracles which he performed.

Painting in the Upper Church



St. Benedict would eventually write down his regulations into what became known as the rule of St. Benedict. In this rule he specified that since humans live in their bodies, it was important not to neglect the temple of the Lord through over-fasting and abuse. Thus he required his monks to eat, drink, and sleep a minimum amount of time. By giving a strict rule for each to follow he created an equality of sorts, and reduced the opportunity for monks to compete with each other for holiness.

At last we left the monastery. On the way down the mountain we passed by the ruins of one of Nero’s summer homes. Nero built many mansions which he would stay in for a time before moving on. Nothing remained of this once great house except a pile of broken bricks hardly worth noticing, for when the king who dwells there departs, the exterior slowly becomes nothing.

At last we reached the hotel we would be staying in during our journey.