But mingled with every crowding, every classical idea, comes to one's
recollection an old picture painted by R. Wilson about thirty years ago,
which I am now sure must have been a very excellent representation.
Well, then! here we are, admirably lodged at Strofani's in the Piazza di
Spagna, and have only to chuse what we will see and talk on first among
this galaxy of rarities which dazzles, diverts, confounds, and nearly
fatigues one. I will speak of the oldest things first, as I was earnest
to see something of Rome in its very early days, if possible; for
example the Sublician Bridge, defended by Cocles when the infant
republic, like their favourite Hercules in his cradle, strangled the
serpent despotism: and of this bridge some portion may yet be seen when
the water is very low.
The prison is more ancient still however; it was built by the kings; and
by the solidity of its walls, and depth of its dungeon, seems built for
eternity. Was it not this place to which Juvenal alludes, when he says,
Felicia dicas
Tempora quæ quondam sub regibus atque tribunis
Viderunt uno contentam carcere Romam.
And it is in this horrible spot they shew you the miraculous mark of St.
Peter's head struck against the wall in going down, with the fountain
which burst out of the ground for his refreshment. Antiquaries, however,
assure us, that he could not have ever been confined there, as it was a
place for state prisoners only, and those of the highest rank: they
likewise tell us that Jugurtha passed seven months there, which is as
difficult to believe as any miracle ever wrought; for the world was at
least somewhat civilized in those days, and how it should be contented
with looking quietly on whilst a Prince of Jugurtha's consequence
should be so kept, appears incredible at the distance of 1900 years.
That Christians should be treated still worse, if worse could be found
for them, is less strange, when every step one treads is upon the bones
of martyrs; and who dares say that the surrounding campagna, so often
drenched in innocent blood, may not have been cursed with pestilence and
sterility to all succeeding ages? I have examined the place where Sylla
massacred 8000 fellow-citizens at once, and find that it produces no
herb but thistles, a weed almost unknown in any other part of Italy; and
one of the first punishments bestowed on sinful man.
Marcellus's Theatre, an old fountain erected by Camillus when Dictator,
and the Tarpeian rock, attract attention powerfully: the last
particularly,
Where brave Manlius stood,
And hurl'd indignant decads down,
And redden'd Tyber's flood.