Rome.
You are surprised that I have hitherto said nothing of the Capitol,
and the Forum Romanum, which is by far the most interesting scene of
antiquities in Rome. The objects worthy of attention are so numerous,
and appear so confused, that it was a considerable time before I could
form a tolerable distinct idea of their situation with respect to each
other, though I have paid many more visits to this than any other spot
since I have been in this city. Before we entered a church or palace, we
ran thither with as much impatience as if the Capitol had been in danger
of falling before our arrival. The approach to the modern Campidoglio
is very noble, and worthy of the genius of Michael Angelo. The building
itself is also the work of that great artist; it is raised on part of
the ruins of the ancient Capitol, and fronts St. Peter’s church, with
its back to the Forum and old Rome. Ascending this celebrated hill, the
heart beats quick, and the mind warms with a thousand interesting ideas.
You are carried back, at once, to the famous robber who first founded
it. Without thinking of the waste of time which must have effaced what
you are looking for, you cast about your eyes in search of the path by
which the Gauls climbed up, and where they were opposed and overthrown by
Manlius. You withdraw your eyes, with disdain, from every modern object,
and are even displeased with the elegant structure you see before you,
and contemplate, with more respect, the ruins on which it is founded;
because they are more truly Roman.
The two Sphynxes of basalte, at the bottom of the ascent, though
excellent specimens of Egyptian sculpture, engage little of your
attention. Warm with the glory of Rome, you cannot bestow a thought on
the hieroglyphics of Egypt. At sight of the trophies erected in honour of
C. Marius, all those bloody scenes acted by the fury of party and demon
of revenge, during the most calamitous period of the republic, rush upon
the memory; and you regret that Time, who has spared the monuments of
this fierce soldier, has destroyed the numerous trophies raised to the
Fabii, the Scipio’s, and other heroes, distinguished for the virtues of
humanity, as well as the talents of Generals. You are struck with the
colossal statues of Castor and Pollux, and, in the heat of enthusiasm,
confounding the fictions of poetry with historical truth, your heart
applauds their fraternal affection, and thanks them for the timely
assistance they afforded the Romans in a battle with the Volsci. You
rejoice at their good fortune, which, on earth, has procured them a place
in the Capitol, and, in heaven, a seat by Hercules. Horace informs us,
that Augustus drinks his nectar, reclined between them and that demigod—
Quos inter Augustus recumbens
Purpureo bibit ore nectar.
From them you move forward, and your admiration is fixed by the animated
equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, which naturally brings to your
memory that happy period, when the Roman empire was governed by a Prince
who, during a long reign, made the good of his subjects the chief object
of his government. You proceed to the upper end of the area; your eye
is caught by a majestic female figure, in a sitting attitude; you are
told it is a Roma Triumphans; you view her with all the warmth of fond
enthusiasm, but you recollect that she is no longer Triumphans; you cast
an indignant eye on St. Peter’s church, to which she also seems to look
with indignation. Is there such another instance of the vicissitude of
human things; the proud Mistress of the World under the dominion of a
priest? Horace was probably accused of vanity when he wrote these lines:
————Usque ego postera
Crescam laude recens, dum Capitolium
Scandet cum tacita virgine Pontifex.
Yet the poet’s works have already outlived this period fourteen hundred
years; and Virgil has transmitted the memory of the friendship and fame
of Nisus and Euryalus, the same space of time beyond the period which he
himself, in the ardour of poetic hope, had fixed for its limits.
Fortunati ambo si quid mea carmina possunt,
Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo:
Dum domus Æneæ Capitoli immobile saxum
Accolet, imperiumque Pater Romanus habebit.
In the two wings of the modern palace, called the Campidoglio, the
Conservators of the city have apartments; their office is analogous
to that of the ancient Ædiles. In the main body an Italian nobleman,
appointed by the Pope, has his residence, with the title of Senator of
Rome; the miserable representation of that Senate which gave laws to the
world. The most defaced ruin, the most shapeless heap of antique rubbish
in all Rome, cannot convey a feebler image of the building to which they
belonged, than this deputy of the Pope does of that august assembly. The
beautiful approach to this palace, and all the ornaments which decorate
the area before it, cannot detain you long from the back view to which
the ancient Capitol fronted. Here you behold the Forum Romanum, now
exhibiting a melancholy but interesting view of the devastation wrought
by the united force of time, avarice, and bigotry. The first objects
which meet your eye, on looking from this side of the hill, are three
fine pillars, two-thirds of them buried in the ruins of the old Capitol.
They are said to be the remains of the temple of Jupiter Tonans, built by
Augustus, in gratitude for having narrowly escaped death from a stroke of
lightning. Near these are the remains of Jupiter Stator, consisting of
three very elegant small Corinthian pillars, with their entablature; the
Temple of Concord, where Cicero assembled the Senate, on the discovery
of Catiline’s conspiracy; the Temple of Romulus and Remus, and that of
Antoninus and Faustina, just by it, both converted into modern churches;
the ruins of the magnificent Temple of Peace, built immediately after
the taking of Jerusalem, the Roman empire being then in profound peace.
This is said to have been the finest temple in old Rome; part of the
materials of Nero’s Golden House, which Vespasian pulled down, were used
in erecting this grand edifice. The only entire pillar remaining of this
temple, was placed by Paul V. before the church of Santa Maria Maggiore.
It is a most beautiful fluted Corinthian column, and gives a very high
idea of the temple to which it originally belonged. His Holiness has
crowned it with an image of the Virgin Mary; and, in the inscription on
the pedestal, he gives his reason for choosing a column belonging to the
Temple of Peace, as an ornament to a church dedicated to the Virgin.
Ex cujus visceribus Princeps veræ Pacis genitus est.
Of many triumphal arches which stood formerly in Rome, there are only
three now remaining, all of them near the Capitol, and forming entries
to the Forum; those of Titus, Septimius Severus, and Constantine. The
last is by much the finest of the three; but its chief beauties are not
genuine, nor, properly speaking, its own; they consist of some admirable
basso relievos, stolen from the Forum of Trajan, and representing that
Emperor’s victories over the Dacians. This theft might, perhaps, not have
been so notorious to posterity, if the artists of Constantine’s time had
not added some figures, which make the fraud apparent, and, by their
great inferiority, evince the degeneracy of the arts in the interval
between the reigns of these two Emperors.
The relievos of the arch of Titus represent the table of shew-bread,
the trumpets, the golden candlesticks with seven branches, and other
utensils, brought from the Temple of Jerusalem. The quarter which
is allotted for the Jews is not at a great distance from this arch.
There are about nine thousand of that unfortunate nation at present
in Rome; the lineal descendants of those brought captive, by Titus,
from Jerusalem. I have been assured that they always cautiously avoid
passing through this arch, though it lies directly in their way to the
Campo Vaccino, choosing rather to make a circuit, and enter the Forum at
another place. I was affected at hearing this instance of sensibility
in a people who, whatever other faults they may have, are certainly not
deficient in patriotism, and attachment to the religion and customs of
their forefathers. The same delicacy of sentiment is displayed by a poet
of their own country, in the 137th psalm, as it is finely translated by
Buchanan:
Dum procul a Patria mœsti Babylonis in oris,
Fluminis ad liquidas forte sedemus aquas;
Illa animum subiit species miseranda Sionis,
Et numquam Patrii tecta videnda soli.
...
O Solymæ, O adyta, et sacri penetralia templi
Ullane vos animo deleat hora meo? &c.
You may read the whole; you will perhaps find some poetical beauties
which escaped your observation when you heard it sung in churches; but
the poet’s ardour seems to glow too violently towards the end of the
psalm.