gentleman, from Egypt to London. So it fell out, nevertheless. Belzoni penetrated into one of the pyramids of Ghizeh; he obtained free access to the tombs of the Egyptian kings, at Beban-el-Malook; and brought to England the sarcophagus of Psamatticus, exquisitely wrought of the finest Oriental alabaster. Verily kings have a slender chance, between the worms and the lovers of vertu. “Here lie the remains of G. Belzoni”—these brief words mark the grave of Belzoni himself, at Gato, near Benin in Africa, where he died, in December, 1823, safer in his traveller’s robes, than if surrounded with aught to tempt the hand of avarice or curiosity. The best account of the Egyptian catacombs may be found in Belzoni’s narrative, published in 1820.
The catacombs of Italy are vast caverns, in the via Appia, about three miles from Rome. They were supposed to be the sepulchres of martyrs, and have furnished more capital to priestcraft, for the traffic in relics, than would have accrued, for the purposes of agriculture, to the fortunate discoverer of a whole island of guano. The common opinion is, that they were heathen sepulchres—the puticuli of the ancients. The catacombs of Naples, according to Bishop Burnet, are more magnificent than those of Rome. Catacombs have been found in Syracuse and Catanea, in Sicily, and in Malta.
Jahn, in his Archæologia, sec. 206, speaks of extensive sepulchres, among the Hebrews, otherwise called the everlasting houses; a term of peculiar inapplicability, if we may judge from Maundrell’s account of the shattered and untenantable state, in which they are found. They are all located beyond the cities and villages, to which they belong, that is, beyond their more inhabited parts. The sepulchres of the Hebrew kings were upon Mount Zion. Extensive caverns, natural or artificial, were the common burying-places or catacombs. Gardens and the shade of spreading trees were preferred, by some; these are objectionable, on the ground, suggested in a former number: to alienate the estate and leave the dead, without the right of removal, reserved, is, virtually, a transfer of one’s ancestors—and to remove them may be unpleasant. For this contingency the Greeks and Romans provided, by reducing them to such a portable compass, that a man might carry his grandfather in a quart bottle, and ten generations, in the right line, in a wheelbarrow. Numerous catacombs are to be found in Syria and Palestine. The most beautiful are on the north part of Jerusalem. The entrance into these was down many steps. Some of them consisted of seven apartments, with niches in the walls, for the reception of the dead.
Maundrell, in his travels, page 76, writing of the “grots,” as they were styled, which have been considered the sepulchres of kings, denies that any of the kings of Israel or Judah were buried there. He describes these catacombs, as having necessarily cost an immense amount of money and labor. The approach is through the solid rock, into an area forty paces wide, cut down square, with exquisite precision, out of the solid mass. On the south is a portico, nine paces long, and four broad, also cut from the solid rock. This has an architrave, sculptured in the stone, of fruits and flowers, running along its front. At the end of the portico, on the left, you descend into the passage to the sepulchres. After creeping through stones and rubbish, Maundrell arrived at a large room, seven or eight yards square, cut also from the natural rock. His words are these:—“Its sides and ceiling are so exactly square, and its angles so just, that no architect, with levels and plummets, could build a room more regular.” From this room you pass into six more, of the same fabric; the two innermost being deepest. All these apartments, excepting the first, are filled around with stone coffins. They had been covered with handsome lids, and carved with garlands; but, at the period of this visit, the covers were mostly broken to pieces, by sacrilegious hands. Here is a specimen of the “everlasting houses,” and a solemn satire upon the best of all human efforts—impotent and vain—to perpetuate that, which God Almighty has destined to perish. But of this I shall have more to say, when I come to sum up; and endeavor, from these dry bones, to extract such wisdom as I can, touching the best mode, in which the living may dispose of the dead, whose memories they are bound to embalm, and whose bodies are entitled to a decent burial.
The catacombs of the Hottentots are the wildest clefts and caverns of their mountains. The Greenlanders, after wrapping the dead, in the skins of wild animals, bear them to some far distant Golgotha. In Siberia and Kamtschatka, they are deposited in remote caverns, with mantles of snow, for their winding sheets. It is the valued privilege of the civilized and refined to snuff up corruption, and swear it is a rose—to bury their dead, in the very midst of the living—in the very tenements, in which they breathe, the larger part of every seventh day—in the vaults of churches, into which the mourners are expected to descend, and poke their noses into the tombs, to prove the full measure of their respect for the defunct. But the tombs are faithfully sealed; and, when again opened, after several months, perhaps, the olfactory nerves are not absolutely staggered—possibly a dull smeller may honestly aver, that he perceives nothing—what then? The work of corruption has gone forward—the gases have escaped—how and whither? Subtle as the lightning, they have percolated, through the meshes of brick and mortar; and the passages or gashes, purposely left open in the walls, have given them free egress to the outward air.
Very probably neither the eye nor the nose gave notice of their escape. Doubtless, it was gradual. The yellow fever, I believe, has never been seen nor smelt, during its most terrible ravages. I do remember—not an apothecary—but a greenhorn, who, in 1795, heard old Dr. Lloyd say the yellow fever was in the air, and who went upon the house top, next morning early, to look for it—but he saw it not; and, ever after, said he did not think much of Dr. Lloyd. I have something more to say of burials under churches, and in the midst of a dense population.
No. XI.
A few more words on the subject of burying the dead under churches, and in the midst of a dense population. If men would adopt the language of the prologue to Addison’s Cato—“dare to have sense yourselves”—the folly and madness of this practice would be sufficiently apparent. Upon some simple subjects, one grain of common sense is better, than any quantity of the uncommon kind. But it is hard to make men think so. They prefer walking by faith—they must consult the savans—the doctors. Now I think very well of a good, old-fashioned doctor—one doctor I mean—but, when they get to be gregarious, my observation tells me, no good can possibly come of it. At post mortems, and upon other occasions, I have, in my vocation, seen them assembled, by half dozens and dozens, and I have come to the conclusion, that no body of men ever look half so wise, or feel half so foolish.
Some of the faculty were consulted, in this city, about thirty years ago, upon the question of burying under churches; and, on the strength of the opinion given, a large church, not then finished, was provided with tombs, and the dead have been buried therein, ever since. Now I think the public good would have been advanced, had those doctors set their faces against the selfish proposition. That it is a nuisance, I entertain not the slightest doubt. The practice of burying in their own houses, among the ancients, gave place to burying without the city, or to cremation. The unhealthiness, consequent upon such congregations of the dead, was experienced at Rome. The inconvenience was so severely felt, in a certain quarter, that Augustus gave a large part of one of the cemeteries to Mæcenas, who so completely purified it, and changed its character, that it became one of the healthiest sites in Rome, and there he built a splendid villa, to which Augustus frequently resorted, for fresh air and repose. Horace alludes to this transformation, Sat. 8, lib. 1, v. 10, and the passage reminds one of the change, which occurred in Philadelphia, when the Potter’s field was beautifully planted, and transformed into Washington Square.
Hoc miseræ plebi stabat commune sepulchrum,
Pantolabo scurræ; Nomentanoque nepoti.
Mille pedes in fronte, trecentos cippus in agrum
Hic dabat, heredes monumentum ne sequeretur.
Nunc licet Esquiliis habitare salubribus, atque
