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nish a compensation for entire repose. The natural love of distinction on any terms may push us into public life; but it palsies our efforts, it mortifies our success, perpetually to feel that in such a career, although a failure is disgraceful, a victory is inglorious;

‹ Vincere inglorium—atteri sordidum.’

These are the sentiments of Agricola and the words of Tacitus, and bespeak the real value of the subordinate dignity, which is all that can be attained under a Domitian or under a Trajan, under the worst or under the best of princes." (P. 196, 197.)

We are not so inexperienced in men as to suppose that we can reform Mr. Hobhouse, who is himself a great reformer, if, indeed, anything short of revolution will content him; but, in the name of decency, religious decency! by every consideration that interests or affects the soul and eternity! we do urge Mr. Houbhouse to expunge from his book, if it arrives at a second edition, the note in p. 150, and so much of the text as that note respects.

We will now produce a few passages from the Historical Illustrations, which we think will afford entertainment to the reader, that we may not be accused of a disposition too didactical, or an unwillingness to do justice to Mr. Hobhouse's erudition, or his powers of exciting interest or imparting instruction. The approach to, and the entrance into Rome, are, in our judgment, well depicted in the following description:

"From his first view of Soracte he rapidly advances upon Rome, the approach to which soon brings him upon debateable ground. At Civita Castellana he will find himself amongst the Veians when in the market-place of Leo the Tenth, but going on to the town bridge he is told by Pius the Sixth that he is at Falerium. After he has caught the first view of St. Peter's from the height beyond Baccano, he hopes that the remaining fifteen miles may furnish him at every other step with some sign of his vicinity to Rome: he palpitates with expectation, and gazes eagerly on the open undulating dells and plains, fearful lest a fragment of an aqueduct, a column, or an arch, should escape his notice.

"Gibbets garnished with black withered limbs, and a monk in a vetturino's chaise, may remind him that he is approaching the modern capital: but he descends into alternate hollows, and winds up hill after hill with nothing to observe except the incorrectness of the last book of travels, which will have talked to him of the flat, bare, dreary waste he has to pass over before arriving at the Eternal City." (P. 45, 46.)

"The downs which the traveller has past, after leaving Monterosi, sink into green shrubby dells as he arrives within five or six miles of Rome. The Monte Mario stretches forward its high woody platform on the right. The distant plain of the Tyber and the Campagna, to the left, is closed by the Tiburtine and Alban hills. In the midst Rome herself, wide spreading from the Vatican to the pine-covered

Pincian, is seen at intervals so far apart as to appear more than a single city. Arrived at the banks of the Tyber, he does not find the muddy insignificant stream which the disappointments of overheated expectations have described it, but one of the finest rivers in Europe, now rolling through a vale of gardens, and now sweeping the base of swelling acclivities clothed with wood, and crowned with villas and their evergreen shrubberies. The gate of the city is seen immediately on crossing the river at the end of a vista two miles in length; and the suburb is not composed of mean dwellings, but a fine road with a wide pavement passes between the walls of vineyards and orchards, with here and there neat summer-houses, or arched gateways rising on either hand. and becoming more frequent with the nearer approach to the city. The Flaminian gate, although it is thought unworthy of Rome and Michael Angelo, will content those who are not fastidious. An entrance, not an arch of triumph, is sufficient for the modern capital. The stranger, when within that gate, may ascend at once by the new road winding up the Pincian mount, and enjoy from that eminence the view of a city, which, whatever may be the faults of its architectural details, is, when seen in the mass, incomparably the handsomest in the world. The pure transparent sky above him will seem made, as it were, to give brilliancy to the magnificent prospect below. The new climate will indeed add much to his delight; for, although amongst those branches of the Apennines which approach within forty miles of the city, he may have been chilled by the rigours of a Lombard sky, he is no sooner in the plain of the Tyber, than his spirits expand in an atmosphere, which, in many seasons, preserves an unsullied lustre and exhilarating warmth from the rains of autumn to the tempests of the vernal equinox. What has been said and sung of the tepid winter of Italy is not intelligible to the north of Rome; but in that divine city, for some transport may be allowed to the recollection of all its attractions, we assent to the praises of Virgil, and feel his poetry to have spoken the language of truth.

'Hic ver assiduum atque alienis mensibus æstas."

This must have been written at Rome. The banks of his frozen

Mincio would have inspired no such rapture. But not the superb structures of the modern town, nor the happy climate, have made Rome the country of every man and "the city of the soul." The education which has qualified the traveller of every nation for that citizenship which is again become, in one point of view, what it once was, the portion of the whole civilized world, prepares for him at Rome enjoyments independent of the city and inhabitants about him, and of all the allurements of site and climate. He will have already peopled the banks of the Tyber with the shades of Pompey, Constantine, and Belisarius, and the other heroes of the Milvian bridge. The first footstep within the venerable walls will have shewn him the name and the magnificence of Augustus, and the three long narrow streets branching from this obelisk, like the theatre of Palladio, will have imposed upon his fancy with an air of antiquity congenial to the soil. Even the mendicants of the country, asking alms in Latin prayers, and

the vineyard gates of the suburbs inscribed with the ancient language, may be allowed to contribute to the agreeable delusion. Of the local sanctity which belongs to Athens, Rome, and Constantinople, the two first may be thought to possess, perhaps, an equal share. The latter is attractive chiefly for that site which was chosen for the retreat, and became the grave of empire. The Greek capital may be more precious in the eyes of the artist, and, it may be, of the scholar, but yields to the magnitude, the grandeur, and variety of the Roman relics. The robe of the Orientals has spread round Athens an air of antique preservation, which the European city, and the concourse of strangers, have partially dispelled from Rome. But the required solitude may be occasionally found amongst the vaults of the Palatine, or the columns of the great Forum itself. Ancient and modern Rome are linked together like the dead and living criminals of Mezentius. The present town may be easily forgotten amidst the wrecks of the ancient metropolis; and a spectator on the tower of the capitol may turn from the carnival throngs of the Corso, to the contiguous fragments of the old city, and not behold a single human being. The general effect of such a prospect may be felt by any one; and ignorance may be consoled by hearing that a detailed examination must be made the study rather of a life than of a casual visit." (P. 46-50.)

The reader may also be entertained by a portion of Mr. Hobhouse's account of the Coliseum.

"Quandiu stabit Colysæus, stabit Roma; quando cadet Colysæus, cadet et Roma; quando cadet Roma, cadet et mundus.' These words are quoted by Mr. Gibbon * as a proof that the Coliseum was entire when seen by the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of the seventh or the beginning of the eighth century. At the same time, as they extended their admiration to Rome, which was then partially destroyed, it is not impossible that the amphitheatre may have been in some degree dilapidated even in that early period.

"The fire which, about the year 219, destroyed the upper wooden works, in which, amongst other conveniences, there were brothels, occasioned the repairs of Heliogabalus and Alexander Severus and Gordian; and the frequency of such restorations may be concluded from the different forms and materials lately discovered in the excavations of the substructures of the area. Mention is made of a fire under Decius. It was certainly in all its glory in the reign of Probus, and the seven hundred wild beasts, and the six hundred gladiators which he exhibited at once, could not occupy a twelfth part of the

* Cap. lxxi. tom. xii. oct. p. 419. One of the most picturesque descriptions of the effect of the Coliseum is given by Ammian, who calls it a solid mass of stonework, to whose summit the human eye can scarcely reach. "Amphitheatri molem solidatam lapidis Tiburtini compage, ad cujus summitatem ægre visio humana conscendit," lib. xvi. cap. x. p. 145; a structure where there was sitting-room for 87,000 spectators, besides place for more than 22,000 others, was the first amphitheatre of the kind ever raised, for that of Statilius Taurus is not to be reckoned. Pompey's theatre, a hollowed mountain, was also the first theatre made of stone. The Romans in both these works rose at once to perfection; the effect was instantly discovered to be insurpassable.

arena. The number of wild beasts which might stand together in this arena has been calculated to be ten thousand seven hundred and seventy-nine; so that it may be no exaggeration to say, that Titus showed the Roman people five thousand in one day; or that Probus, unica missione, exhibited four thousand ostriches, boars, deer, ibexes, wild sheep, and other graminivorous animals, amidst a forest which had been transplanted into the amphitheatre. Perhaps it is not to be understood that they were slain at once.

"The Coliseum was struck by lightning in the reign of Constantine, but repaired; for the laws for abolishing gladiatorial shows were not observed until the reign of Honorius; and even after that period, men fought with wild beasts, which seems to have been the original purpose of the amphitheatre, rather than the combats of gladiators. The fighting and hunting continued at least until the end of Theodoric's reign, in 526, and the seats of the principal senators were jealously preserved. Maffei had heard of an inscription mentioning a restoration by that monarch, but was not able to find such a record. As there is no notice of his repairs, and as his admiration of it is particularly specified, the dilapidation of the structure could not have been begun either by Alaric or Genseric." (P. 263-266.)

Some particulars respecting the Forum of Trajan are presented to our notice by Mr. Hobhouse, which we will lay before our readers as entitled to engage their attention.

"It may have been seen from former remarks, that at an early period, which cannot exactly be fixed, the Forum of Trajan, the noblest structure of all Rome, had partaken of the general desolation. From the moment we find a church there, we may be sure the destruction had begun. This was as early as the beginning of the twelfth century, and as that church was probably built not on the ancient flooring, the soil had already buried the ground plan of the Forum. The three churches, and the three towers raised by Boniface VIII., as well as the two hundred houses which were levelled with the ground by Paul III. in 1536, were on the modern level, and as their date must have gone back to the foundation of the churches, we may fairly pronounce that long previously to the twelfth century the base of the Quirinal had begun to assume its ancient form ere it had been cleared away by the subjects of Trajan.

"Paul III. opened the base of the column, and in the time of Flaminius Vacca, an arch was dug from under ground, perhaps in the pontificate of the same pope, and the flooring of the Forum was discovered, but immediately shut up again. The late excavation enables us at last to tread the floor of ancient Rome. The replacing the fragments of the columns on their bases, and the judicious arrangement of the other marbles, has created an effect little inferior to the wonders of Pompej. The stranger must be much struck with the massive Greek dimensions of the fragments, when compared with the space in which so many buildings were raised. Here we have a forum with its porticoes, and statues, and tribunals; a basilica, with a double internal portico on every side; a quadrangular court, or atrium, also

adorned with enormous columns; two libraries; a triumphal arch ; the great column and the portion of a temple, crowded into a space not so considerable as one of our smallest London squares. Whatever the earth covered of these magnificent structures is now exposed to view, and the remnants are sufficient to shew what must be the subterranean riches of Rome. We may find it difficult to account for there being so much or so little left. Buildings composed of columns were certain to be soon despoiled for the service of modern edifices: but the flooring and some of the many fragments are so perfect as to make the sudden burial of some parts of the city more probable than the gradual decay. The bronzed statues had, however, been previously removed, if such an accident did overwhelm the Forum, for none were found. The head of the colossal statue of Trajan was extant in the sixteenth century." (P. 221-224)

We cannot omit the account of the flagellation as a curious specimen of the permanence and vital hold of folly and superstition, where real and operative religion has no place in the heart.

"The reader may not object to a short account of this extraordinary exercise, such as it is now admininistered in the oratory of the Padre Caravita and in another church at Rome.

"The ceremony takes place at the time of vespers. It is preceded by a short exhortation, during which a bell rings, and whips, that is, strings of knotted whip-cord, are distributed quietly amongst such of the audience as are on their knees in the middle of the nave. Those resting on the benches come to edify by example only. On a second bell, the candles are extinguished, and the former sermon having ceased, a loud voice issues from the altar, which pours forth an exhortation to think of unconfessed, or unrepented, or unforgiven crimes. This continues a sufficient time to allow the kneelers to strip off their upper garments: the tone of the preacher is raised more loudly at every word, and he vehemently exhorts his hearers to recollect that Christ and the martyrs suffered much more than whipping -"Shew, then, your penitence-shew your sense of Christ's sacrifice shew it with the whip." The flagellation begins. The darkness, the tumultuous sounds of blows in every direction-" Blessed Virgin Mary, pray for us!" bursting out at intervals-the persuasion that you are surrounded by atrocious culprits and maniacs, who know of an absolution for every crime-the whole situation has the effect of witchery, and so far from exciting a smile fixes you to the spot in a trance of restless horror, prolonged beyond expectation or bearing.

"The scourging continues ten or fifteen minutes, and when it sounds as if dying away, a bell rings, which seems to invigorate the penitents, for the lashes beat about more thickly than before. Another bell rings, and the blows subside. At a third signal the candles are relighted, and the minister who has distributed the disciplines, collects them again with the same discretion; for the performers, to do them justice, appear to be too much ashamed of their transgressions to

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