last century, concealed under the ruins of its own massive roof. The
pillars of _verde antico_ that supported its vaults, the statues that
ornamented its niches, and the rich marbles that formed its pavements,
were found buried in rubbish, and were immediately carried away by the
Farnesian family, the proprietors of the soil, to adorn their palaces
and furnish their galleries. This hall is now cleared of its
encumbrances, and presents to the eye a vast length of naked wall, and
an area covered with weeds. “As we stood contemplating its extent and
proportion,” continues Mr. Eustace, “a fox started from an aperture,
once a window, at one end, and crossing the open space, scrambled up the
ruins at the other, and disappeared in the rubbish. This scene of
desolation reminded me of Ossian’s beautiful description:—‘The thistle
shook there its lonely head; the moss whistled to the gale; the fox
looked out from the windows; the rank grass waved round his head.’”
There are twelve obelisks at Rome still standing erect, the oldest of
which is that brought by Augustus, which is eighty feet in height,
decorating the fine square called Piazza del Popolo.
Roman conquerors had successively enriched the capital of the world with
the monuments of subdued nations, and with the spirit of art from
Sicily, Greece, and Egypt. Among these, the emperor Augustus ordered two
Egyptian obelisks to be carried to Rome. To this end, an immense vessel
of a peculiar structure was built, and when, after a tedious and
difficult voyage, it reached the Tiber with its freight, one of the
columns was placed in the Grand Circus, and the other in the Campus
Martius. Caligula adorned Rome with a third Egyptian obelisk, obtained
in the like manner.
A fourth was added afterwards. The emperor Constantine, equally
ambitious of these costly foreign ornaments, resolved to decorate his
newly-founded capital of Constantinople with the largest of all the
obelisks that stood on the ruins of Thebes. He succeeded in having it
conveyed as far as Alexandria, but, dying at the time, its destination
was changed, and an enormous raft, managed by three hundred rowers,
transported the granite obelisk from Alexandria to Rome.
The Circi were places set apart for the celebration of several sorts of
games. They were generally oblong, or almost in the shape of a bow,
having a wall quite round, with ranges of seats for the convenience of
the spectators. At the entrance of the circus stood the Carceres, or
lists, whence they started, and just by them one of the Metæ, or marks,
the other standing at the further end to conclude the race. “There were
several of these Circi at Rome, as those of Flaminius, Nero, Caracalla,
and Severus; but the most remarkable, as the very name imports, was
Circus Maximus, first built by Tarquinius Priscus. The length of it was
four furlongs, the breadth the like number of acres, with a trench of
ten feet deep, and as many broad, to receive the water; and seats enough
for one hundred and fifty thousand men. It was beautified and adorned by
succeeding princes, particularly by Julius Cæsar, Augustus, Caligula,
Domitian, Trajan, and Heliogabalus; and enlarged to such a prodigious
extent as to be able to contain, in their proper seats, two hundred and
sixty thousand spectators. In the time of Constantine it would hold
three hundred and eighty-five thousand persons to view the combats,
chariot races, &c.[170]” The Circus Maximus stands on the spot where the
games were celebrated when the Romans seized the Sabine women; and it
was here also that the interesting scene took place between Androcles
and the lion.
The number of beasts exhibited in the circus is wonderful; and were it
not well attested, would be incredible. In the days of imperial
splendour, nearly every rare animal that Western Asia or Northern Africa
could produce, was commonly exhibited to the Roman people. In the year
252 B. C. one hundred and forty-two elephants, brought from Sicily,
were exhibited in the circus. Cæsar, in his third dictatorship, showed
a vast number of wild beasts, among which were four hundred lions, and
a camelopard. The emperor Gordian devised a novel kind of spectacle;
he converted the Circus into a temporary kind of wood, and turned into
it two hundred stags, thirty wild horses, one hundred wild sheep, ten
elks, one hundred Cyprian bulls, three hundred ostriches, thirty wild
asses, one hundred and fifty wild boars, two hundred ibices, and two
hundred deer. He then allowed the people to enter the wood, and to
take what they pleased. Forty years afterwards the emperor Probus[171]
imitated his example. “Large trees were pulled up by the roots,”
says an ancient writer, “and fastened to beams, which were laid down
crossing each other. Soil was then thrown upon them, and the whole
Circus planted like a wood. One thousand ostriches, one thousand stags,
one thousand ibices, wild sheep, and other grazing animals, as many
as could be fed or found, were turned in, and the people admitted as
before.”
Of the trouble which was taken in the republican times to procure rare
animals for exhibition in Rome, we have a curious illustration in the
letters of Cicero. The orator went out in the year 52 B. C., as governor
of a province of Asia Minor; and while there, he was thus addressed by
his friend Cœlius:—“I have spoken to you, in almost all my letters,
about the panthers. It will be disgraceful to you, that Patiscus has
sent ten panthers to Curio, while you have scarcely sent a greater
number to me. Curio has made me a present of these, and ten others from
Africa. If you will only keep it in mind, and employ the people of
Cybira, and also send letters into Pamphylia (for I understand that the
greatest number are taken there), you will gain your object.” To this
the proconsul replies:—“I have given particular orders about the
panthers to those who are in the habit of hunting them; but they are
surprisingly scarce; and it is said, that those which are there, make a
great complaint that there are no snares laid against any one in my
province but themselves. It is accordingly supposed, that they are
determined to quit my province. I go into Caria. However, I shall use
all diligence.”
The avidity[172] with which the amusements of the Circus were sought,
increased with the decline of the empire and the corruption of morals.
Ammianus Marcellinus, who wrote in the fourth century of the Christian
era, gives us the following description:—“The people spend all their
evenings in drinking and gaming, in spectacles, amusements, and shows.
The Circus Maximus is their temple, their dwelling-house, their public
meeting, and all their hopes. In the Forum, the streets, and squares,
multitudes assemble together, and dispute, some defending one thing, and
some another. The oldest take the privilege of age, and cry out in the
temples and Forum, that the republic must fall, if in the approaching
games the person whom they support does not win the prize and first pass
the goal. When the wished-for day of the equestrian games arrives,
before sunrise all run headlong to the spot, passing in swiftness the
chariots that are to run; upon the success of which their wishes are so
divided, that many pass the night without sleep.” Lactantius confirms
this account, and says that the people, from their great eagerness,
often quarrelled and fought.
Fortunately there still exists, about two miles from the walls of Rome,
an ancient circus in a high state of preservation; and from this we are
enabled to acquire a very good notion of the form and arrangement of
such structures. The chief entrance was an opening at the straight end;
and on each side of it were six carceres, or starting-places. At the
rounded end, or that opposite to the carceres, was the Porta
Triumphalis, or Triumphal Gate, by which the victor left the circus; the
rest of the enclosed space were the seats for the spectators, raised in
rows one above the other. Down the middle of the area, or more properly
speaking, rather nearer to one side than the other, ran a raised
division,—a sort of thick dwarf wall, called the Spina; equal in length
to about two-thirds of the area itself. At each end of this spina was a
small meta, or goal, formed of three cones. The meta which approached
the triumphal gate was much nearer to it than the other meta was to the
carceres. The course which the chariots ran was by the side of the
spina, and round the metæ. All these different parts of the circus were
variously ornamented; the spina especially was highly decorated, having
sometimes in the middle one of those lofty Egyptian obelisks, of which
there are more to be seen at this day in Rome, than are assembled
anywhere else[173].
Besides the Mamertine prisons and the Cloaca Maxima, there are other
antiquities at Rome which belong to the early period. Among these are
the foundations and great fragments of the ancient buildings of the
CAPITOL. The Capitol-hill is said to form a link between the ancient
city and the modern one.—“From an elevated station, about two hundred
and fifty feet above the Forum,” says Simond, “the voice of Cicero might
have been heard, revealing to the people, assembled before the Temple of
Concord, (to which the ruins nearest to us probably belonged,)
Catiline’s conspiracy. He might even have been heard in the Tribune of
Harangues, situated on the other side of the Forum, and next to the
Temple of Jupiter Stator,—of which there are three columns still
standing,—taking the oath _that he had saved his country_, and all the
people taking the same oath after him. But the gory head and hand of
this saviour of his country might have been seen from our station soon
after, nailed to the side of this same tribune, and the same people
tamely looking on! Instead of the contending crowds of patriots,
conspirators, orators, heroes, and fools, each acting his part, we now
saw only a few cows quietly picking up blades of grass among the ruins;
beggars, and monks, and asses loaded with bags of puzzolana, and a gang
of galley-slaves lazily digging away for antiquities, under the lash of
their task-masters.”
The hill of the Capitol derived its name from the head of Tolus[174],
and the prediction of universal empire to those who held it. It was
famous for a temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, which was the effect of a
vow made by Tarquinius Priscus in the Sabine war. But he had scarcely
laid the foundations before his death. His nephew, Tarquinius the Proud,
finished it with the spoils taken from the neighbouring nations. But
upon the expulsion of the kings, the consecration was performed by
Horatius the consul. The structure stood on a high ridge, taking in four
acres of ground. The front was adorned with three rows of pillars, the
other side with two. Its ascent from the ground was by one hundred
steps. The prodigious gifts and ornaments, with which it was several
times endowed, almost exceed belief. Suetonius tells us that Augustus
gave at one time two thousand pounds weight of gold; and a precious
stone to the value of five hundred sestertia. Livy and Pliny surprise us
with accounts of the brazen thresholds, the noble pillars, that Sylla
removed hither from Athens out of the temple of Jupiter Olympius; the
gilded roof, the gilded shields, and those of solid silver; the huge
vessels of silver, holding three measures; the golden chariot, &c. This
temple was first consumed by fire in the Marian war, and then rebuilt by
Sylla, who, dying before the dedication, left that honour to Quintus
Catulus. This too was demolished in the Vitellian sedition. Vespasian
undertook a third, which was burnt down about the time of his death.
Domitian raised the last and most glorious of all; in which the very
gilding amounted to twelve thousand talents (£2,250,000). He adorned it
with some columns of Pentelic marble brought from Athens. Indeed, his
extravagance in this and other public works led to that exceeding
severity which accompanied the exaction of the capitation tax from the
Jewish people. It was the opinion of contemporaries of the emperor, that
if he were to reclaim from the gods the sums which he now expended upon
them, even Jupiter himself, though he were to hold a general auction in
Olympus, would be unable to pay a twelfth of his debts, or, as we should
say, one shilling and eightpence in the pound.
If, Cæsar, all thou to the powers hast lent,
Thou should’st reclaim, a creditor content,
Should a fair auction vend Olympus’ hall,
And the just gods be fain to sell their all;
The bankrupt Atlas not a twelfth could sound:—
Who bade the Sire of Gods with man compound?
For Capitolian fanes what to the chief?
What can he pay for the Tarpeian leaf?
What for her double towers the Thunderer’s queen?
Pallas I pass, thy manager serene.
Alcides why, or Phœbus, should I name,
Or the twin Lacons, of fraternal fame?
Or the substructure (who can sum the whole?)
Of Flavian temples to the Latian pole?
Augustus, pious, then, and patient stay:
The chest of Jove possesses not to pay.
Of all the ancient glory of the Capitol,[175] nothing now remains but
the solid foundation and vast substructions raised on the rock. Not only
is the Capitol fallen, but its very name, expressive of dominion, and
once fondly considered as an omen of empire, is now almost lost in the
semi-barbarous appellation of Campi-doglio. “This place,” says a
celebrated French traveller, “which gave law to the universe, where
Jupiter had his temple and Rome her senate; from whence of old the Roman
eagles were continually flying into every quarter of the globe, and from
every quarter of the globe continually winging their way back with
victories; whence a single word from the mouth of Scipio, of Pompey, or
of Cæsar, quickly reached the most distant nations, menacing their
liberty, and deciding on the fate of kings; where the greatest men of
the republic, in short, still continued to live after their death in
statues, and still to govern the world with the authority of Romans:
this place so renowned has lost its statues, its senate, its citadel,
its temples; it has retained nothing but its name, so cemented by the
blood and tears of nations, that time has not yet been able to disjoin
the immortal syllables of which it is composed. It is still called the
Capitol. At the Capitol we perceive, in the strongest light, the
insignificance of all human things, and the power of fortune.”
The Pantheon is the most perfect of all the remains of ancient Rome, and
the only one of the Pagan temples that retains any thing of its original
appearance. It was dedicated[176] either to Jupiter Ultor, or to Mars
and Venus, or, more probably, to all the gods in general. The structure,
according to Fabricius, is one hundred and forty feet high, and about
the same in breadth; but a later author has increased the number to one
hundred and fifty-eight. The roof is curiously vaulted, void places
being left here and there for the greater strength.
The statues of all the gods were in this temple; and these, according to
their degrees, were of gold, silver, bronze, or marble. The portico is
one hundred and ten feet long[177], by forty-four in depth, and is
supported by sixteen columns of the Corinthian order. Each of the shafts
of these columns is of one piece of oriental granite, and forty-two feet
in height; the bases and capitals are of white marble. The whole height
of the columns is forty-six feet five inches; the diameter, just above
the base, is four feet ten inches; and, just beneath the capital, four
feet three inches. The interior of the rotunda has a diameter of nearly
one hundred and fifty feet.
This building has been generally attributed wholly to Agrippa; but from
careful research, Desgodetz asserts that the body of the edifice is of
much earlier origin; and that Agrippa only newly modelled and
embellished the inside, and added the magnificent portico. The building
is circular, with a noble dome, and a fine portico of sixteen pillars of
oriental granite. There are no windows, the light being admitted by a
circular aperture in the dome. The fine marble with which the walls were
encrusted, and the brass which covered the roof, have long since
disappeared; the bare bricks alone are left.
As St. Peter’s affords the best sample of modern art in Rome[178], so
does the Pantheon exhibit the most satisfactory and best-preserved
specimen of ancient art; for, notwithstanding the injuries it has
sustained by the hands of barbarians of all ages, no signs of natural
decay are yet visible; and with this magnificent model before their
eyes, it appears strange, that the architects of St. Peter’s should not
have accomplished their task more worthily. The Pantheon seems to be
the hemispherical summit of a modern temple, taken off and placed on the
ground; so it appears to us, at least, accustomed to see cupolas in the
former situation only.
“It is built in the dirtiest part of modern Rome,” says the author of
Rome in the Nineteenth Century; “and the unfortunate spectator, who
comes with a mind filled with enthusiasm, to gaze upon this monument of
the taste and magnificence of antiquity, finds himself surrounded by all
that is most revolting to the senses, distracted by incessant uproar,
pestered by the crowd of clamorous beggars, and stuck fast in the
congregated filth of every description that covers the slippery
pavement; so that the time he forces himself to spend in admiring its
noble portico, generally proves a penance from which he is glad to be
liberated, instead of an enjoyment he wishes to protract. We escaped
none of these nuisances, except the mud, by sitting in an open carriage
to survey it. The smells of the beggars were equally annoying. You may
perhaps form some idea of the situation of the Pantheon at Rome, by
imagining what Westminster Abbey would be in Covent Garden Market.”
This does not appear, however, to have damped the enthusiasm of
Dupaty:—“I first directed my steps,” says he, “towards the Pantheon,
dedicated by Agrippa to all the gods, and since, I know not by what
pope, to all the saints[179]. This consecration has preserved the
Pantheon from the general pillage and destruction which the other
temples have undergone. It has been despoiled of every thing that made
it rich; but they have left all that made it great. It has lost its
marbles, its porphyry, its alabaster, but it has preserved its dome, its
peristyle, and its columns. How magnificent is this peristyle! The eyes
are just attracted by eight Corinthian columns, on which rests the
pediment of this immortal monument. These columns are beautiful from the
harmony of the most perfect workmanship, and the lapse of twenty
centuries, which adds to their grandeur, and the awe they inspire. The
eye can never tire with mounting with them in the air, and following
their descent. They present I know not what appearance of animated life,
that creates a pleasing illusion, an elegant shape, a noble stature, and
a majestic head, round which the acanthus, with leaves at once so
flexible and so superb, forms a crown; which, like that of kings, serves
the double purpose of decorating the august head to which it gives a
splendour, and disguising the immense weight that loads it. How richly
does architecture, which creates such monuments, merit a place among the
fine arts!”
The light, as we have before observed, is admitted only by a circular
opening in the dome, which is twenty-eight feet in diameter[180].
Through this aperture a flood of light diffuses itself over the whole
edifice, producing a sublime effect, but only showing all its beauties
by permitting every passing shower to deluge its gorgeous pavement. The
rain is carried off by a drain to the Tiber; but from the low situation
of the building in the Campus Martius, the waters of the Tiber, when it
is swollen, find their way up the drain, and flood the interior. Myriads
of beetles, scorpions, worms, rats and mice, may then be seen retreating
before the waters, as they gradually rise from the circumference to the
centre of the area, which is a little elevated above the rest of it. “A
beautiful effect,” says Dr. Burton, “is produced by visiting the
building on these occasions at night, when the moon is reflected upon
the water, through the aperture of the dome.”
“The Pantheon retains its majestic portico,” says Mr. Eustace, “and
presents its graceful dome uninjured; the pavement, laid by Agrippa, and
trodden by Augustus, still forms its floor; the compartments and fluted
pillars of the richest marble, that originally lined its walls, still
adorn its inward circumference; the deep tints that age has thrown over
it, only contribute to raise its dignity, and augment our veneration;
and the traveller enters its portal, through which twice twenty
generations have flowed in succession, with a mixture of awe and
religious veneration. Yet the Pantheon itself has been ‘shorn of its
beams,’ and looks eclipsed through the ‘disastrous twilight of eighteen
centuries.’”
Augustus dwelt at first[181] near the Roman Forum, in a house which had
belonged to the orator Calvus; afterwards on the Palatine, but in the
moderate house of Hortensius, which was not conspicuous, either for
extent or ornament; it had some porticoes of Alban columns, and rooms
without any marble or remarkable pavement. For more than forty years he
occupied the same chamber, in winter and in summer; and although he
found the city by no means favourable to his health in the winter, yet
he constantly passed the winter in it. After the palace had been
accidentally destroyed by fire, Augustus had it rebuilt, as we are told,
and ordered it to be entirely opened to the public. This edifice was
called Palatium, from the name of the hill on which it stood; and that
being afterwards applied to the residence of the Roman emperors, it has
passed into most of the languages of Europe, as the common appellation
of a princely mansion.
It was under the immediate successors of Augustus that the Palatine rose
in splendour, till it eclipsed all that we read of magnificence in the
history of the ancient world. The imperial possessors of this proud
eminence seem to have regarded it as a theatre for their amusement; and
upon it their “gorgeous tyranny” was amply displayed, in the vast and
costly structures which they erected for the gratification of their
personal pleasure or caprice.