Part 26

Of these, the one which predominates, and by its imposing mass generally claims the first examination, is the Colosseum. It stands nearly free from other buildings, in all the sublimity of age and magnitude. But not far from it are the Arches of Titus and Constantine, the ruins of the Temple of Venus, of the Basilica of Constantine, of the palace of the Cæsars on the Palatine Hill, of the Forum Romanum, and of many other ancient buildings and places, familiar to all who have read about Rome, and which one could not see for the first time without being profoundly stirred. There are gentlemen—I suppose they may be called clinical lecturers—who give descriptions on the spot of these interesting old places, and the information so afforded is useful, because the results of study are imparted by the living voice in a familiar way, and special attention is called to the historical associations, which otherwise to most people might remain unknown. One of these gentlemen, Mr. Forbes (charge, 3 fr. each), makes up two parties per day, one before and one after lunch—regularity in taking which, in Rome, is always recommended as essential to health. I had an opportunity on one occasion of accompanying him, and there was certainly an advantage in hearing his explanations. There is so much, however, to see in Rome, and that of a diversified character, that this was the only time I managed to do so. Mr. Shakespeare Wood is another who occasionally goes out in this way, but I was apprised that he would not form a party during the time we were in Rome. He is said to be remarkably well informed, and is usually engaged by Mr. Cook for his special excursions. To those who would study old Rome, great assistance might be found in a series of instructive papers, evincing great literary research, and evidently of minute exactness of statement, printed in the _Transactions of the Architectural Institute of Scotland_, written by the late Mr. Alexander Thomson of Banchory. It would be well if these scholarly papers could be collected and published by themselves, for, as they stand, they are not within the reach of the general public. Some of the statements I shall hereafter make on Old Rome will be on his authority.

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It would not be possible, according to the plan I have adopted of a rapid survey of what is to be seen in Rome, to give any detailed description of the various ancient buildings, which, besides, are by means of photographs and engravings so familiar even to those who never have visited Italy.

The Colosseum[30] is an immense mass of building, notwithstanding not only that it was long occupied as a fortress, and subjected to the injury resulting from attack and defence, but that it was, like so many others, used for centuries as a quarry for its stones, its marble, and even its iron. Happily this species of destruction was stopped by the French, and steps have also been taken for its preservation by building strong and lofty supports. The Colosseum is at least twice as large as the arena at Nismes, and even as it now remains it is twice as high,[31] but that at Nismes is in much better preservation. The outer walls, galleries, and arches of the Colosseum are built of massive blocks of stone, bound together with iron; but brick composed what was below. Brick, evidently of a hardy quality, cemented by a very strong, durable mortar, appears, indeed, to have been very largely used by the Romans for the carcases or substantial and concealed portions of their buildings. These brick carcases, however, were either built over with substantial stone–work, or faced with slabs of marble, sometimes both; and in a building of this magnitude, even the outer deceptive covering of stone or marble would be of immense mass. By the removal of vast quantities of the large stones forming the casing, a great deal of this brick carcase or underwork has been laid bare, so that the interior of the building has a very ruinous look. Externally, also, the removal of courses of stone, in some parts combined with the ravages of time, impart to it the aspect of a huge ruin. There is free entrance to the public to the arena or central area. We seldom passed the Colosseum without going in to take a glance at it. One could hardly, however, forget what deadly scenes had been enacted there, what agonies had been endured, what cries of pain had been uttered, what savage shouts had once filled its walls, or help feeling thankful that the barbarous and brutalizing spectacles which were then found necessary ‘to make a Roman holiday,’ were now happily things of a long–past age.

I was so fortunate as to be in the city on Saturday, 21st April 1877, which was held as the birthday of Rome (the 2630th, I believe), and beheld a spectacle in the Colosseum which never had greeted the eyes of the old Romans. Nearly the whole population was, in the evening of that day, drawn to the great amphitheatre and its neighbourhood. Joining a party of ladies from our house, with considerable difficulty we drove through the crowded streets, and, dismissing the carriage, we succeeded in getting inside the Colosseum along with a large but orderly mass of people. After waiting long, we were at last rewarded. All of a sudden, the various galleries, which I suppose had been lined with soldiers, were illumined with coloured lights. On one half of the huge building red lights were burned; on the other half, green. When the powders were burned down, others were substituted, the colours being reversed. The effect was magnificent. Every figure in the place was bathed in coloured light, while the walls were one mass of a glowing hue, disclosing the colossal proportions in all their ruinous irregularity, and, where red was burned, looking as if it were a huge lump of burning lava or molten iron. This over, with some trouble we managed to edge away from the crowd to the outside, to see the further operations elsewhere. The Colosseum itself was first lighted on the exterior, which, fine as the effect was, I think could hardly be compared with the interior view. Lights were then successively burned to illuminate the Arches of Constantine and Titus and the Basilica of Constantine—the figures of the persons running about in charge appearing at a little distance, wrapped in the carmine colour, like so many incarnate demons. Last of all, the Forum, the Capitoline Hill, and the surrounding buildings and ruins, were several times similarly illuminated, while a display of fireworks from the Capitol terminated this very imposing spectacle.

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The grand dimensions of the Colosseum drew us often there. It seemed at every visit more and more imposing. Leaving it, and proceeding by the Via Sacra to the Capitoline Hill, which lies about half a mile distant, one passes upon the left the Arch of Constantine, standing at the entrance to a broad wooded roadway, called the Via di Gregorio, running between the Palatine Hill (on which are the ruined palaces of the Cæsars) on the right side, and the Church of San Gregorio Magno and other buildings on the left side, and leading out towards the Appian Way. The fine sculptures upon the arch are well preserved, and give a richer appearance to it than to any other arches now standing; but have been taken from buildings of an earlier age than that of Constantine, and thought to be of the time of Trajan, whose life they illustrate.

About 200 yards farther on we pass under the Arch of Titus. The bas–relief, exhibiting the triumphal procession and captive Jews, is of itself sufficient to confer a lasting interest upon this arch. It forms a grand contemporaneous record of the siege of Jerusalem, and of the forms of some of the sacred furnishings of the temple.

Here we find and drive over a portion of the veritable paving–stones of an old Roman road, the Via Sacra. Considering how frequently our roads and streets require to be re–paved, re–laid, or re–macadamized, it seems little short of a miracle that any portion of the old Roman paving should have remained for so many centuries. But the Roman roads were constructed in a special manner, with the great object in view of ensuring their being solid, dry, level, and direct. The under foundation was of three courses of broken stones of different given sizes for each course, and altogether 3 feet deep, with a top course of closely–jointed stone, generally basalt, a foot thick. The roads were narrow, sometimes only 12 feet wide, and had a rise of 3 inches in the centre to allow the rain to run off. The making of roads was considered a matter of prime importance and a most laudable undertaking, so that enormous sums were spent on them. In Britain alone there were 2500 miles of Roman roads. The roads of Rome were the more durable, inasmuch as they were not subjected to the heavy traffic of our streets, the carriages being small and light; while, as no gas and water pipes underlay them, there was no everlasting turning of them up to get at things below, and as little were there tramway lines to shake the foundations or injure the surface.

The space of ground on which the Forum Romanum stands lies on the Colosseum side of the Capitol. It is sunk many feet below the level of the roads which now surround it, and which, no doubt, have been so raised above it by the accumulation of rubbish during centuries. Little is left entire in this open or excavated space but the Arch of Severus; the remainder, inclusive _inter alia_ of the once splendid Basilica Julia, and the temples of Saturn and Vespasian, are in ruins, only a few pillars remaining to testify to what they were, and in some cases not even so much. But enough remains to show how very elegant these buildings must have been, although one would think, judging from their present appearance, they were rather too much crowded together for effect. The whole of the space, however, between the Capitoline Hill and the Colosseum was at one time a scene of great magnificence, and all glistening in white marble. Classic temples and other buildings apart from the Forum were ranged upon one side, with the Quirinal and Esquiline Hills, and Trajan’s Forum and Column in the background; while the other side was bordered by the Palatine Hill (118 feet above the valley), crowned by the grand palace of the Cæsars. This is now almost a mass of ruins, but much excavation has of late years been made, rendering a visit to it exceedingly interesting. We spent some hours one day exploring the ground, admission to which is by payment of one franc each.

The Capitoline Hill, attained from the Forum by two roads, and covering an area of 16 English acres, is crowned, as seen from the direction of the Colosseum, with a building which has little but some age to recommend it, and from which a square tower rises. It turns its back on the Forum below. The hill, however, in the time of the old Romans, was undoubtedly decorated with imposing buildings worthy of its situation. The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus is now ascertained to have stood upon the highest part of the hill, on the site of the present Church of St. Maria in Ara Cœli, reached by a very ladder of steps (124 in number) from the level plateau on the main crown of the hill, formerly the valley of the Intermontium, now called the Piazza del Campidoglio. This church dates from the tenth century, and is the oldest extant in Rome. It is large, but, though curious, cannot be said to equal many others, and, I suppose, derives its chief importance from its association with the miracle–working Bambino, which marvellous doll finds its abode there. The Capitoline Museum stands on one side of the Piazza, and the Palace of the Conservatori on the other. These are modern buildings, but they contain a large collection of sculptures found in or about Rome, and a large picture gallery comprehending many fine paintings by the old masters. One of the sculpture rooms is devoted to busts of the Roman emperors, and is considered to be the best collection of them. It is strange and deeply interesting to look at these marble representations, executed from the living person, of men who existed so long ago, and whose actions are so noted in history. Where there are more than one of the same man, they invite comparison to notice their accordances or their dissimilarities. The galleries also comprise many other objects of great attraction; for example, what is commonly called ‘The Dying Gladiator,’ which, thus seen in the original, far excels any copy. Indeed, it is seldom that copies approach originals. They want the delicate shades and lines, and other evidences of masterly power denoting that marked superiority which raises the great creations of genius above the works of the common herd. In another room we saw the famous Capitoline Venus.

In a side street we were shown the place which is held to have been the site of the Tarpeian Rock, from which malefactors were hurled; but if this be the true site, the ground below has been much filled up, as the height seems little enough for producing so violent a death. Near to it the spot is also pointed out where Tarpeia opened the gate of the citadel to the Sabines, and received the reward of her treachery.

In the centre of the Piazza the noble equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius arrests the eye. There is a vigorous power about horse and rider to which no other similar statue rises. I have felt it impossible to compare with it the equestrian statue of Charles I. at Charing Cross, in London, or even that of Charles II. in the Parliament Square, Edinburgh, although this last is considered a fine work of art. A broad, handsome flight of steps conducts to the town below. Descending a little way, there may be seen two wolves, kept within an iron–barred cage in memory of the traditional story regarding Romulus and Remus.

We found not far from the Capitoline Hill the beautiful little circular Temple of Vesta, which has been made familiar to everybody by photographs and engravings, and in its neighbourhood a small part of the Cloaca Maxima. This is a portion of the great system of drains (either for sewage or for removing stagnant marsh water) with which Rome was supplied. There it stands to this day, for everything with the Romans was not only made adequate to subserve its purpose, but built to endure, if only the destructive hand of man would let it alone.

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It would, however, be perfectly endless to attempt to enumerate, much less describe, all the ancient buildings of interest in Rome. There are now upwards of twenty temples, about a dozen triumphal and other arches, and many other buildings, more or less in a state of ruin. To describe all these would be beyond the scope of the present work. But I can hardly, in narrating our visit, omit to advert to one or two more of the features of Old Rome still remaining.

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There are scattered over the old city various prominent pillars and obelisks, which naturally attract attention. The most important of the monumental columns are those of Trajan and of Marcus Aurelius, and there is also in the Forum Romanum a small pillar of a different character, that of Phocas.

The pillar of Trajan is familiar to all by engravings. The _bassi–relievi_ which encircle it contain no less than 2500 figures of men, besides those of animals and other objects. It was erected not merely as a monument to the man, but as a record in its height of the depth of the huge work of excavation on the Quirinal Hill, undertaken and accomplished at its site. The sculpture which adorns it is a beautiful and interesting record of events in Trajan’s history. The pillar was planted in the middle of a forum, and surrounded by buildings of such wonderful beauty, and composed of materials so rich and varied, that those who beheld them found themselves utterly at a loss for words to express their admiration; but now, so far as any remains are extant, altogether in ruins, while the rest has been built over.

The column of Marcus Aurelius in the Piazza Colonna, is a similar though less perfect structure.

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But the obelisks in Rome are more remarkable than the columns. When we think of the difficulty we have recently had in removing to London a single obelisk, and that not of the largest size, it seems incredible to hear, notwithstanding Rome is so much nearer Egypt, that at one time there were no less than forty–eight Egyptian obelisks standing in that city. Of these, only twelve now remain visible and erect, and most of them have been removed from other positions they formerly occupied in Rome. The remainder, excepting two (one taken to France, and the other to Florence), are, it is supposed, buried in the ruins of ancient Rome. The twelve now standing vary in height from a very short one, 8 feet 6 inches high, to the largest, 102 feet high, not reckoning the pedestals, which—in some cases inappropriate—add much to the height, nor the additions, equally inappropriate, made to some of them upon the apex. All have been hewn out of the syenite red granite quarries of Egypt, but three of them, including that in the Piazza of St. Peter, were extracted by the Romans themselves from these quarries, and have no hieroglyphics, the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the remainder attesting their true Egyptian origin. The obelisk now in London is 68 feet 5½ inches high, being scarcely the height of the fourth in size in Rome, which is 69 feet. But the weight of the London obelisk is only 186 tons, while the weight of the largest (also the oldest, dating back to 1740 B.C.) obelisk in Rome, that placed before the Church of St. John Lateran, is 437 tons, or considerably more than double. The removal to Rome of this last–mentioned huge and weighty block of stone, and its erection on its pedestal, was an undertaking of immense labour and cost, taxing the resources and appealing to the honour of emperors for its accomplishment. The mere erection upon its present position of that now standing in the Piazza of St. Peter’s (the second in size, and weighing 331 tons), in the time of Sextus V., cost £9000. It was on this memorable occasion, when under pain of death, certain to be inflicted, all were commanded to be silent, and the ropes were about to give way, the Italian sailor from Bordighera, at the peril of his life, called out, ‘Wet the ropes!’ and saved the obelisk from destruction. He was himself pardoned, and obtained for Bordighera as reward the privilege of supplying Rome with palm leaves at Easter.

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Outside the walls of Rome, particularly on entering or leaving by railway, long lines of lofty arches are seen, more or less ruinous (having suffered dilapidation at the hand of enemies), which supported aqueducts by which ancient Rome was supplied with water. At one time there were no less than twenty–four of these aqueducts, entering Rome from various distances. The water was brought along on the gravitation principle, the inclination being believed to have been 1 foot in 400; for although it seems the Romans were acquainted with the scientific fact of which we now avail ourselves, that water in a closed pipe will find its own level, they did not to any extent act upon their knowledge of it. The water so brought in was distributed to an immense number of small reservoirs, or wells or fountains, for the use of the inhabitants, the surplus water being scrupulously employed to flush and scour the sewers. But it was also used to supply the baths of Rome. The bath was regarded by the old Romans as a necessary of life; and many luxurious men, who had not the newspaper or the last new book to wile away the time, bathed as often as seven or eight times a day—great and small, men and women, all mingling promiscuously in the water. To provide for this voluptuous habit, the baths were numerous, and constructed on an enormous scale. There were no less than sixteen establishments throughout Rome, intended not merely for the purposes of ablution, but to supply other means of recreation, and public places where the citizens might meet each other. The Thermæ of Agrippa, of Caracalla, of Constantine, of Diocletian, and of Titus, still exist in ruins, some of them exemplifying their magnitude. Those of Diocletian, close by the railway station, were the most extensive, measuring more than a mile in circumference. Our time permitted of a visit to only one of these Thermæ, the Thermæ of Caracalla, which, enormous in extent as they were, were only half as large as those of Diocletian. They lie about three–quarters of a mile from the Arch of Constantine, and usually, in a drive to the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, are taken going or returning. The extent of the rooms is something marvellous. The building itself was an oblong enclosed by walls, and is stated to be above 700 feet in length, by nearly 400 feet wide, or nearly half a mile in circuit.[32] Little remains of the structure excepting huge walls or carcases of brick, at one time covered with plates or blocks of marble, which have been removed, and either used in churches or other buildings, or, in accordance with a very vexatious custom, burnt for lime. The rooms, as indicated by the ruins left, must have been of great magnificence, not merely from their size and their marble pillars, coating, and flooring, but from the mosaics with which they were inlaid, and the splendid statues with which they were adorned. Some of the statues have been dug out of the ruins, and among them the famous large group called the Farnese Bull, which we saw in the museum of Naples, with many others now deposited in the museums of that city and of Rome. To accommodate the bathers, there were placed around the baths polished marble chairs (cool seats for the undressed), in those of Caracalla to the number of 1600, in those of Diocletian to the number of 3200. The scene during the bathing hours was no doubt very animated, for the baths were crowded.

I may here state that the supply of water to modern Rome is both abundant and of good quality, a circumstance of great importance, and not always to be reckoned upon in other Italian cities, where the water is looked upon, perhaps justly, with great suspicion.

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The Catacombs of Rome are very numerous and of great extent, and it has been calculated that if all the passages were placed in continuous line, they would extend to 545 miles. Those of Calixtus are what are most commonly visited.