Morning ride round the City.—Egyptian Obelisk.—The Pincian
Hill.—Raphael.—Villa Borghese.—Muro Torto.—Invasions on this side
the town.—Pretorian Camp.—A Basilica.—The Campagna.—Fine breed of
Horses.—Temples of the god of Return, and of Bacchus.—Fountain of
Egeria.—Tomb of Cæcilia Metella.—The Circus ascribed to Caracella
erected by Maxentius.—Rome never materially larger than at
present.—Tomb of Caius Cestius.—Protestant Cemetery.—Monte
Testaceo.—The old system of Patron and Client.—Anecdote of
Ferdinando King of Naples.
In order to effect the purpose just mentioned, we will mount at the door
of our lodgings, in the Via Ripetta, and quit the town by the nearest
gate, which is that of “the people,” or the Porta del Popolo. The
obelisk in the centre of the area that we pass is Egyptian, as you may
see by the hieroglyphics. It formerly stood before the Temple of the
sun, at Heliopolis, and was transported to Rome by order of Augustus, as
an ornament to the Circus Maximus. It has now stood near three
centuries, or longer than America has been settled, where it is.
The carriage road that winds up the ascent on the right, by inclined
planes, leads to the Pincian Hill, the site of Domitian’s gardens, which
are now used as a promenade for all classes, on foot, on horseback, or
in carriages. I shall say nothing of the colossal statues, for they are
modern. The three streets that, separated by twin churches, diverge from
this square, penetrate the city, forming so many of its principal
arteries; that in the centre, which was the ancient Flaminian Way, leads
to the foot of the Capitol Hill, and is called the Corso.
When without the walls, we find a little suburb stretched along the road
which leads to the Ponte Molle, the ancient Milvian Bridge. This is the
road to Upper Italy, or Cis-Alpine Gaul, and follows, in the main, the
course of the Flaminian Way. We will quit the suburb, by turning short
under the walls.
The vineyard or garden on our left is that in which Raphael used to
amuse himself, and the plain stone dwelling is both ornamented and
defiled by the caprices of his pencil. He is any thing but divine in
that house. The grounds a little farther beyond, and which show
factitious ruins, statues, walks, avenues, and plantations, are the
celebrated Villa Borghese, which, by the liberality of the owner, are
converted into a Hyde Park, or a Bois de Boulogne, for Rome and her
visitors. It is said the public has used them so long, that it now
claims them as its own; the public in Rome being just as soulless,
ungrateful, and rapacious as the public in America. God help the man (if
honest) who depends on the public any where!
You will not be alarmed at the appearance of the walls, after what you
have heard, for it is the celebrated Muro Torto that once propped the
terraces of Domitian, and which, you already know, has seemed just as
ready to fall these fourteen hundred years as it is to-day. This wall is
said to be twenty-five feet thick, and it seems at least forty feet
high. This height, however, rather exceeds that of the wall in general,
which varies, perhaps, from twenty to thirty feet.
We are next passing by that part of the city wall where the Villa
Ludovisi Buon Compagni lies, _within_ the _enceinte_ of the city; and
the gate just passed, and which is not used, is the Pincian. There is a
tradition that Belisarius asked alms at this gate; but it is more
probable that he caused it to be rebuilt. The little Gothic-looking
tower that appears on the wall is in the garden of the Villa Paolina, so
called from Pauline, the sister of Napoleon. This garden and its very
handsome pavilion are now the property of the Prince of Musignano, her
nephew, the eldest son of Lucien, a gentleman well known in America for
his work on its birds. The gate beyond is the Porta Salara. Alaric
entered the city at this point; and the Gauls, more remotely, penetrated
by the Porta Collina, which was the counterpart of the present gate in
the wall of Servius, though necessarily less advanced than this.
Hannibal is also said to have manifested an intention to attack the town
on this side, whence it is inferred it was the weak quarter. It is not
probable the walls were less strong here than elsewhere; but the
military advantages of attacking the place on this side are sufficiently
apparent to the eye.
The land both within and without the walls of Rome is higher here than
any where else on this side of the Tiber. It is consequently drier and
more healthy as an encampment, and, while equally easy to enter as any
other quarter, offers great facilities to the assailant when gained. The
gardens of Sallust lay just within this gate, and traces of the walls
are still seen. The _agger_ of Servius Tullius, beneath which the vestal
virgins who violated their vows were interred, was also within this
gate. Traces of the former are still seen. This additional wall would
seem to imply the danger the city ran on this particular side. The
Pretorian Camp lay outside of this agger, but within a wall of its own.
The country on our left is now getting to be more open, and is assuming
the appearance of the Campagna; though gardens and a sort of meagre
suburbs are still met with. After passing the Porta Pia, which is near
the ancient Porta Nomentana, we come to a line of wall that is evidently
different from the rest in construction, and even in elevation. It forms
three sides of a square, or nearly so, projecting in that form beyond
the regular walls of the town, of which, however, it forms a part. This
is the enclosure of the Pretorian Camp, though now composing part of the
defences of the town. All this part of Rome, within the walls, is in
gardens or vineyards, though one can find his way among them on
horseback, by means of paths, lanes and breaches.
We next approach the gate of San Lorenzo, which leads to Tivoli and the
Sabine Hills. Here, half a mile from the walls, stands one of the
basilicæ of Rome. It is an ancient church, and is remarkable for the
variety and richness of its columns, many of which are of precious
African marbles, or of porphyry, and all of which, I believe, are taken
from the ruins of ancient Rome. One of the old writers, it is said,
speaks of two columns that were made by certain artists, who marked them
by a frog and a lizard, animals whose Latin or Greek appellations
corresponded with their own, (at least this is the tradition,) and these
columns still exist in this church. I can vouch for the columns, but not
for the story, which may, nevertheless, be true.
The country now opens still more, and just before we reach the gate of
Naples, and after passing under the arches of an aqueduct, we will turn
upon the Campagna, and gallop across the swells, which are but little
enclosed. After proceeding a mile or two, sometimes following roads, and
at others coursing over fields that seem as deserted as the ruins with
which they are dotted, we reach a small brick edifice, that is said to
have been erected on the spot where Coriolanus was met by his mother.
There are other accounts of this edifice, which is evidently ancient,
though so diminutive and frail-looking; but the brickwork of Rome seems
to have a power of endurance that the stone-work of other countries does
not possess.
Seeing the line of ruined tombs which mark the course of the Appian Way
on our right, we will now gallop in that direction. The paths across the
fields, the runs of water, and the wildness of scenery, harmonize well
with the pictures of antiquity, and our spirits rise with the speed of
the horses,—animals, by the way, of great powers of endurance, as well
as foot and fire. These horses are derived from barbs, the breed of the
Chigi, so called from the princes of that name, is of the best repute;
and the horse I ride is noted for his courage, though he has seen near
twenty years. This fine beast is as white as snow, and has long been a
favourite with the strangers.
After crossing several low swells of land, we come to a place of more
pastoral beauty than is common on the Campagna, in which the swales get
to be almost diminutive valleys, through one of which trickles a run of
water. Here we find another tiny brick temple, one not larger than the
Catholic Chapels that so frequently occur by the way-side, and which, at
need, might contain thirty or forty devotees. It is called the temple of
the God of Return,[6] a deity of whom you probably never heard before.
Footnote 6:
_Fanum Rediculi._
It is said that this tiny temple, which is very prettily placed, was
erected to celebrate the retreat of Hannibal from before the walls of
Rome, and some go so far as to say that his determination was made in
this precise spot; a conceit, by the way, not poetically fine, since
there is scarcely a place in the vicinity so likely to tempt one to
remain. The term _ridiculous_, which is universally applied to the
building, would imply the idea of derision, and that the temple was
erected in mockery. Allowing the history to be true, it may be
considered a very extraordinary relic; but I believe the antiquaries
ascribe it to a much later period, by the brickwork, which is a little
peculiar, or to the reign of Nero. Admitting even this, it is near
eighteen hundred years old.
Turning up the rivulet, we will ride on a knoll, about half a mile from
this _Fanum Ridiculi_, where we find the ruins of another temple, though
it is roofed and is even converted into a sort of chapel. This is
called, and perhaps justly, a temple of Bacchus. It passed a long time
for another edifice, but recent discoveries in a vault leave little
doubt that it was erected in honour of Bacchus. It was of more
pretension than either of the other small brick edifices, though very
little larger, and not of a very pure taste. It had a portico of four
columns, evidently taken from some other edifice, and which are now
built into the front wall, probably with a view to enlarge it as a
church. This building has a _staggering_ and _propped_ look, which,
while it may not be classically just, suggests the idea of drunkenness,
very eloquently.
Taking into view the beauty of the spot, the distance from the walls
(about two miles,) and the neighbourhood, which, from remote antiquity,
has been used for festivals, it is probable this temple was erected as a
sort of religious memorial of merry-makings; a union of the profane and
the sacred, that the ancients were addicted to, as well as the moderns.
It may have been a drinking pavilion of some pious debauchee, who had
the notion to sanctify his cups by the emblems, and even the services of
the altar! Why not?—men are still found committing as flagrant acts of
blasphemy, under the show of religion, every day—ay, and even every hour
of the day.
Quitting this, and descending into the valley again, if valley it may be
called, we find a sort of grotto, in the hill side, with a recumbent
statue, a spring of pure water, the source of the rivulet, and the
appearance of former decorations that are now wanting, particularly of
statues. This place is popularly called the fountain of the nymph
Egeria, so celebrated for the artifice of Numa. It is, however, pretty
certain that this is not the true spot; and, considering the proximity
of the temple of Bacchus, the grotto is probably the remains of some
Roman expedient to cool wine, and to drink it luxuriously. Religion may
have been mixed up of old with these debauches, as we know politics and
dinners go together in our own times. The recumbent statue is clearly no
statue of a nymph. The work is thought by even the sceptics to be as old
as the time of Vespasian. This grotto and the temple of Bacchus,
probably, had some allegorical connexion, the one being a place to
carouse in, the other a temple to sanctify the rites; and if we add the
other fane to the whole, as an emblem of the manner in which drunkards
render themselves _ridiculous_, we may be quite as near the truth as the
antiquaries.
We will quit these pleasant dales, and ride across the fields, a short
mile, to the line of ruined tombs that marks the remains of the Appian
Way. An extensive pile of ruins will naturally first attract our
attention; and we will spur our horses up the sharp acclivity on which
it stands, though by making a small _détour_, and getting into the rough
road, that still leads out on the old route for a few miles, we might
reach the summit more easily. On reaching this spot, we find the remains
of a castle of the middle ages, with courts, walls, and towers,
scattered about the fields, all built in the usual rude and inartificial
manner of those structures, with a keep, however, that has the grace and
finish of the Roman architecture. This keep is round, well preserved,
much better, in short, than the rest of the edifice, which is crumbling
around it. It is about eighty feet in diameter, and is constructed of
vast hewn blocks of travertine; while the other parts of the work appear
to be made of stones gathered in the fields, or taken from the
foundations of the tombs. The latter was most probably the fact. The
walls of this keep are thirty feet thick, the interior being little more
than a small vaulted room. It formerly contained the sarcophagus that is
still seen in the court of the Farnese Palace; for, in brief, this keep
was merely one of the tombs of the Appian Way.
An inscription puts the name of the person in whose honour this
extraordinary mausoleum was erected out of all doubt. It is the tomb of
Cæcilia Metella, the wife of a mere triumvir, a _millionnaire_ of his
day. This tomb is, therefore, the Demidoff of the Via Appia. It is
probably the noblest mausoleum now standing in Europe. There is no
uncertainty about its history; and yet, while one looks at it with
wonder as a specimen of Roman luxury and magnificence, it fails to
excite one half the interest that is felt when we linger around a spot
that is celebrated, by even questionable tradition, for any other sort
of greatness. As I gaze at it, my mind compares this specimen of art
with the civilisation of Rome, endeavours to form a general picture from
the particular object, and, certainly, it finds food for useful, as well
as for agreeable reflection; but it scarcely turns to the wife of the
triumvir at all: and when it does, it is rather to distrust her merits:
for pure virtue is seldom so obtrusive or pretending as may be inferred
from this tomb. Insignificance is ill advised in perpetuating itself in
this manner. The rest of those ruins are said to be a fortress of the
Popes, about five hundred years old; the tomb itself dating from the
close of the republic.
We might follow the Appian Way with great interest; but, as our ride has
already extended to nearly ten miles, it may be well to turn towards the
city. The ruins of a temple, and some extensive remains of a very
unusual and irregular character, attract our attention near the large
tomb. A part of these ruins are thought to belong to a villa erected at
the end of the third century; and it is probable that the remainder were
incorporated in its ornaments, as we include ruins in the landscape
gardening of our own time. There is clearly a temple which, it is
conjectured, also, answered the purpose of a mausoleum. Attached to this
temple, was a circus, the only one, I believe, that still preserves
enough of its ancient form to give us ocular proof of the real
construction of these celebrated places of amusement.
By the popular account, the circus is ascribed to Caracalla, and the
temple is called the _stables_ of the circus; but, discoveries as recent
as 1825, show that the latter is a temple, or mausoleum, and even in
whose honour it was erected. Vasi disposes of the claims of Caracalla
satisfactorily; and, to say the truth, they were not very great. He was
fond of the amusements of the circus; a circus is seen on the reverse of
his medals; and a statue of himself and his mother were found at no
great distance from this particular circus, though not in it. On this
authority, it was thought he had caused this particular circus to be
built. The two first reasons amount to nothing, especially as the circus
of the medals is clearly the Circus Maximus, which Caracalla caused to
be repaired. The statues may have even belonged to this circus, and been
placed there in honour of so great a patron of the sports; for we
certainly should not deem it any great proof that Napoleon erected a
military hospital because we found his statue in it, or that Nelson
erected Greenwich if a picture of him should be discovered in its ruins.
This reasoning is made all the stronger by the fact that this circus is
of a workmanship much later than the time of Caracalla, who has left
memorials enough of his age in his baths. But inscriptions have set the
matter finally at rest; and it is now known that this circus was erected
by Maxentius, about the year 311 of our era, who caused it to be
consecrated to his son Romulus, who was _deified_. This _deification_,
at so late a period, must mean something like the canonization of the
Catholic saints in our own time. It was a declaration of peculiar
sanctity. The lesser gods of antiquity were probably no more than the
good men of modern days.
As the temple is but a temple, of which there are hundreds still
standing, we will ride round through the fields, and enter the circus by
the great gate, which has been recently opened. Within the area, we find
a long narrow space, surrounded by low walls, with, here and there, a
tower. It is divided into two parts by a sort of dwarf wall, which was
called the _spina_. The sides are straight, but the two ends are
circular. At that opposite to the gate, are the traces of the
_carceres_, or the cells in which the chariots were stationed previously
to starting; the circular form giving each a pretty nearly equal chance.
In these cells or stalls the competitors were ranged, and at the signal,
which it is thought was given from a particular tower about the centre
of one of the walls, they dashed out towards the side of the circus that
had the most room between it and the dwarf wall; for the greatest space
was required at the commencement of the race, when the chariots were
nearly abreast of each other. Space was also left to pass round the ends
of this dwarf wall, on which statues and obelisks were commonly placed,
and the chariots came in as they could. The side walls contained seats,
like an amphitheatre, it is said, for 18,000 people.
The length of this circus is 1560 Roman feet, or rather more than a
quarter of a mile; which, doubled, gives a course of more than half a
mile long; but as many turns might be made as were desired. Judging from
what I saw at Florence, the nicety of the sport must have very much
depended on the skill of the charioteer in turning. The width is 210
feet. The dwarf wall is not quite 900 feet long, and it varies in height
from two to five feet. The remains of pedestals show that there were
many statues, besides those on the _spina_. There were thirteen stalls.
The granite obelisk of the Piazza Navona was taken from this place,
about two centuries since; an Egyptian obelisk appearing to be an
ornament _d’usage_, for a Roman circus. The dwarf wall is not quite
parallel to the side walls: an arrangement that was probably made with a
view to facilitate the mode of starting. There is a tomb in this circus,
that appears to be much older than the circus itself, and which was
probably included in it, for want of space. The general direction is at
right angles to the Appian Way, on which the circus stands. It was a
place of amusement without the walls, and gives another blow to the
theory of the extraordinary extent of the town.
It is fortunate that this circus, though an inferior specimen of its
kind, did stand without the walls, for it would probably have shared the
fate of the others had it been within them. As it is, it is very
curious, for the reason just given, and because it is one of the best
preserved ruins near Rome. The wall of Aurelian must have not only
enclosed this circus, but it must have extended far beyond it, to have
been fifty miles in circuit. I find sufficient evidence that, on which
ever side of Rome I ride, the _enceinte_ was probably never materially
larger than it is at this moment.
We will now leave the circus and ride towards the city. As we pass along
the narrow road, we see several rude dwellings constructed on the tops
of ruined tombs, the living having dispossessed the dead. After passing
through a species of suburb, leaving many ancient objects unvisited, we
reach the walls again, and turn along beneath them towards the river. On
reaching the last gate, having now made the entire circuit of the city
proper, we enter, and find ourselves in an open space, or in one little
intercepted by walls, and near the celebrated tomb of Caius Cestius.
This tomb is a pyramid a hundred of our feet high, and sixty square at
the base. Its walls are very thick, and it is faced with blocks of hewn
marble. The summit is still a fine point, though it looks modern, which
is probably the fact, as the tomb has been repaired. This pyramid is
another proof that the Romans built for time, since it is of the date of
Agrippa, and is astonishingly well preserved, the restorations having
been little more than renewing the apex. It was also buried at the base
a few feet, and the earth has been removed.
Near this monument is the cemetery of the Protestants. We can see on a
modern stone, near the wall of the city, this inscription—“_Cor
Cordium_.” It marks the grave of Shelley; though I do not understand how
his ashes came here, as his body was burned on the shore of Pisa. The
inscription was written by his wife, the daughter of Godwin.
Across the open space, is a low isolated mount, perhaps a hundred and
fifty feet high, and some four or five hundred feet in circumference,
with vineyards clustering around its base, and with its summit and sides
gay with the young grasses of March. Galloping to its foot, we follow a
winding path, and ride to the top, where we are rewarded with a
beautiful view, more particularly of the heights on the opposite side of
the river. This little mountain is called Testaceo, from the
circumstance of its having been entirely formed of broken pottery,[7]
brought out of the town and deposited here. By kicking the grass, you
still see the fragments beneath, the soil being scarcely two inches
deep. Its history is not very well established; but that such is its
origin, the eye sees for itself. An order of the police may have
rendered this accumulation of broken pottery necessary.
Footnote 7:
Testa.
Near this mount, the port is seen; vessels ascending the Tiber, from the
sea, as far as this. But for the bridges, they might go even higher;
though it would be without a sufficient object.
We will now descend, and pursue our way homeward, along the foot of the
Aventine Hill. In the portico of the convent church which we pass, you
may see the arms and name of the patron cardinal, or the dignitary under
whose protection the establishment has placed itself. This is the old
system of patron and client continued to the present day; a system which
belongs to aristocracy, and must exist, in some shape or other, wherever
the strong and the weak are found in contact. I have heard of countries
in modern Europe in which the tribute of the clients forms no small
portion of the revenue of the patrons. In England itself, we have seen
Indian Rajahs returning members to parliament by means of their gold; in
France, the king’s mistresses, for a long time, had a monopoly of this
species of power; and in several of the other great powers that have
dependencies, I hear it whispered that the system still prevails to a
great extent. In America, the clients are the nation; and the patrons
the demagogues, under the name of patriots. If, however, our
discontented, the salt of the earth in their own imagination, had a
taste of the abuses of this hemisphere, they would gladly return to
their own, bad as they are.
When at Naples, I was told an anecdote of the good old King Ferdinando,
which is in point. His generals were deliberating on a new uniform for
the army, when the honest old prince, tired of the delay, and anxious to
get at his game again, exclaimed—“Ah, Signori, dress them as you please,
they will run away.” I do not repeat this because I believe the
Neapolitans are cowards, for I think them traduced in this respect, but
because it is with politics as in war, “dress men as you will, they are
still that godlike-devil man.”
Objects crowd upon us in too great numbers now, and we will ride into
the Via Ripetta and dismount, leaving the rest for another excursion.