Part 44 (1/2)
One couldn't understand a thing like this except in a town which had a mania for the gigantic, the t.i.tanic.
They left the baths and started along. They followed the Via di Porta San Sebastiano, between two walls. They left behind the imposing ruins of the Baths of Caracalla and various establishments for archeological reconstructions, and the carriage stopped at the gate of the Catacombs.
They went in, guided by the abbe, and arrived at a sort of office.
They each paid a lira for a taper which a friar was handing out, and they joined a group of other people, without quite knowing what they expected next. In the group there were two German Dominicans, a tall one whose fiery red beard hung to his waist, and a slim one, with a nose like a knife.
_IRREVERENT CICERONE_
It was not long before another numerous group of tourists came out of a hole in the floor, and among them was a Trappist brother who came over to where Don Calixto and Caesar were. The Trappist carried a stick, and a taper twisted in the end of the stick. He asked if everybody understood French; any one that didn't could wait for another group.
”I don't understand it,” said the Canon.
”I will translate what he says, to you,” replied Caesar.
”All right,” answered the Canon.
”_En avant, messieurs_,” said the Trappist, lighting his taper, and requesting them all to do the same.
They went around giving one another a light, and with their little candles aflame they began to descend into the Catacombs.
They went in by a gallery as narrow as one in a mine, which once in a while broadened into bigger s.p.a.ces.
In certain spots there were openings in the roof.
Caesar had never thought about what the celebrated Catacombs would be like, but he had not expected them so poor and so sinister.
The sensation they caused was disagreeable, a sensation of choking, of suffocation, without one's really getting any impression of grandeur.
The place seemed like an abandoned ant-hill. The wide s.p.a.ces that opened out at the sides of the pa.s.sage were chapels, the monk said.
The Trappist cicerone contributed to removing any serious feelings with his chatter and his jokes. Being familiar with these tombs, he had lost respect for them, as sacristans lose it for the saints they brush the dust off of with a feather-duster. Moreover, he judged everything by an esthetic criterion, completely devoid of respect; for him there were only sepulchres with artistic character, or without it; of a good or a poor period; and the latter sort he struck contemptuously with his stick.
The marine Breton was irritated, and asked Caesar several times:
”Why is that permitted?” ”I don't know,” answered Caesar.
The monk made extraordinary remarks.
Explaining the life of the Christians in the earliest eras of Christianity, he said:
”In this century the habits of the pontiffs were so lax that the Pope had to go out accompanied by two persons to insure his modest behaviour.”
”Oh, oh!” said a young Frenchman, in a tone of vexation.
_”Ah! C'est L'histoire,”_ replied the monk.
Caesar translated what the Trappist had said, to Don Calixto and the Canon, and they were both really perplexed.
They followed the long, narrow galleries. It was a strange effect, seeing the procession of tourists with their burning candles. One didn't notice the modern clothes and the ladies' hats, and from a distance the procession lighted by the little flames of the candles, had a mysterious look.