CHAPTER 3.
ROME.
The perusal of the title to this chapter will, we fear, excite emotionsof apprehension, rather than of curiosity, in the breasts ofexperienced readers. They will doubtless imagine that it is portentousof long rhapsodies on those wonders of antiquity, the description ofwhich has long become absolutely nauseous to them by incessantiteration. They will foresee wailings over the Palace of the Caesars,and meditations among the arches of the Colosseum, loading a longseries of weary paragraphs to the very chapter's end; and,considerately anxious to spare their attention a task from which itrecoils, they will unanimously hurry past the dreaded desert ofconventional reflection, to alight on the first oasis that may presentitself, whether it be formed by a new division of the story, orsuddenly indicated by the appearance of a dialogue. Animated,therefore, by apprehensions such as these, we hasten to assure themthat in no instance will the localities of our story trench upon thelimits of the well-worn Forum, or mount the arches of the exhaustedColosseum. It is with the beings, and not the buildings of old Rome,that their attention is to be occupied. We desire to present them witha picture of the inmost emotions of the times--of the living, breathingactions and passions of the people of the doomed Empire. Antiquariantopography and classical architecture we leave to abler pens, andresign to other readers.
It is, however, necessary that the sphere in which the personages ofour story are about to act should be in some measure indicated, inorder to facilitate the comprehension of their respective movements.That portion of the extinct city which we design to revive has left fewtraces of its existence in the modern town. Its sites aretraditionary--its buildings are dust. The church rises where the templeonce stood, and the wine-shop now lures the passing idler where thebath invited his ancestor of old.
The walls of Rome are in extent, at the present day, the same as theywere at the period of which we now write. But here all analogy betweenthe ancient and modern city ends. The houses that those walls wereonce scarcely wide enough to enclose have long since vanished, andtheir modern successors occupy but a third of the space once allottedto the capital of the Empire.
Beyond the walls immense suburbs stretched forth in the days of old.Gorgeous villas, luxurious groves, temples, theatres,baths--interspersed by colonies of dwellings belonging to the lowerorders of the people--surrounded the mighty city. Of these innumerableabodes hardly a trace remains. The modern traveller, as he looks forthover the site of the famous suburbs, beholds, here and there, a ruinedaqueduct, or a crumbling tomb, tottering on the surface of apestilential marsh.
The present entrance to Rome by the Porta del Popolo occupies the samesite as the ancient Flaminian Gate. Three great streets now lead fromit towards the southern extremity of the city, and form with theirtributaries the principal portion of modern Rome. On one side they arebounded by the Pincian Hill, on the other by the Tiber. Of thesestreets, those nearest the river occupy the position of the famousCampus Martius; those on the other side, the ancient approaches to thegardens of Sallust and Lucullus, on the Pincian Mount.
On the opposite bank of the Tiber (gained by the Ponte St. Angelo,formerly the Pons Elius), two streets pierced through an irregular andpopulous neighbourhood, conduct to the modern Church of St. Peter. Atthe period of our story this part of the city was of much greaterconsequence, both in size and appearance, than it is at present, andled directly to the ancient Basilica of St. Peter, which stood on thesame site as that now occupied by the modern edifice.
The events about to be narrated occur entirely in the parts of the cityjust described. From the Pincian Hill, across the Campus Martius, overthe Pons Elius, and on to the Basilica of St. Peter, the reader may beoften invited to accompany us, but he will be spared all necessity ofpenetrating familiar ruins, or mourning over the sepulchres of departedpatriots.
Ere, however, we revert to former actors or proceed to new characters,it will be requisite to people the streets that we here attempt torebuild. By this process it is hoped that the reader will gain thatfamiliarity with the manners and customs of the Romans of the fifthcentury on which the influence of this story mainly depends, and whichwe despair of being able to instil by a philosophical disquisition onthe features of the age. A few pages of illustration will serve ourpurpose better, perhaps, than volumes of historical description. Thereis no more unerring index to the character of a people than the streetsof their cities.
It is near evening. In the widest part of the Campus Martius crowds ofpeople are assembled before the gates of a palace. They arecongregated to receive several baskets of provisions, distributed withostentatious charity by the owner of the mansion. The incessantclamour and agitation of the impatient multitude form a strangecontrast to the stately serenity of the natural and artificial objectsby which they are enclosed on all sides.
The space they occupy is oblong in shape and of great extent in size.Part of it is formed by a turf walk shaded with trees, part by thepaved approaches to the palace and the public baths which stand in itsimmediate neighbourhood. These two edifices are remarkable by theirmagnificent outward adornments of statues, and the elegance and numberof the flights of steps by which they are respectively entered. Withthe inferior buildings, the market-places and the gardens attached tothem, they are sufficiently extensive to form the boundary of one sideof the immediate view. The appearance of monotony which might at othertimes be remarked in the vastness and regularity of their white fronts,is at this moment agreeably broken by several gaily-coloured awningsstretched over their doors and balconies. The sun is now shining onthem with overpowering brightness; the metallic ornaments on theirwindows glitter like gems of fire; even the trees which form theirgroves partake of the universal flow of light, and fail, like theobjects around them, to offer to the weary eye either refreshment orrepose.
Towards the north, the Mausoleum of Augustus, towering proudly up intothe brilliant sky, at once attracts the attention. From its position,parts of this noble building are already in shade. Not a human being isvisible on any part of its mighty galleries--it stands solitary andsublime, an impressive embodiment of the emotions which it was raisedto represent.
On the side opposite the palace and the baths is the turf walk alreadymentioned. Trees, thickly planted and interlaced by vines, cast aluxurious shade over this spot. In their interstices, viewed from adistance, appear glimpses of gay dresses, groups of figures in repose,stands loaded with fruit and flowers, and innumerable white marblestatues of fauns and wood-nymphs. From this delicious retreat therippling of fountains is to be heard, occasionally interrupted by therustling of leaves, or the plaintive cadences of the Roman flute.
Southward two pagan temples stand in lonely grandeur among a host ofmonuments and trophies. The symmetry of their first construction stillremains unimpaired, their white marble pillars shine in the sunlightbrightly as of old, yet they now present to the eye an aspect ofstrange desolation, of unnatural mysterious gloom. Although the lawsforbid the worship for which they were built, the hand of reform has asyet not ventured to doom them to ruin or adapt them to Christianpurposes. None venture to tread their once-crowded colonnades. Nopriest appears to give the oracles from their doors; no sacrifices reekupon their naked altars. Under their roofs, visited only by the lightthat steals through their narrow entrances, stand unnoticed,unworshipped, unmoved, the mighty idols of old Rome. Human emotion,which made them Omnipotence once, has left them but stone now. The'Star in the East' has already dimmed the fearful halo which thedevotion of bloodshed once wreathed round their forms. Forsaken andalone, they stand but as the gloomy monuments of the greatest delusionever organised by the ingenuity of man.
We have now, so to express it, exhibited the frame surrounding themoving picture, which we shall next attempt to present to the reader bymixing with the multitude before the palace gates.
This assembly resolved itself into three divisions: that collectedbefore the palace steps, that loitering about the public baths, andthat r
eposing in the shade of the groves. The first was of the mostconsequence in numbers, and of the greatest variety in appearance.Composed of rogues of the worst order from every quarter of the world,it might be said to present, in its general aspect of numericalimportance, the very sublime of degradation. Confident in their rudeunion of common avidity, these worthy citizens vented their insolenceon all objects, and in every direction, with a careless impartialitywhich would have shamed the most victorious efforts of modern mobs.The hubbub of voices was perfectly fearful. The coarse execrations ofdrunken Gauls, the licentious witticisms of effeminate Greeks, thenoisy satisfaction of native Romans, the clamorous indignation ofirritable Jews--all sounded together in one incessant chorus ofdiscordant noises. Nor were the senses of sight and smell moreagreeably assailed than the faculty of hearing, by this anomalouscongregation. Immodest youth and irreverent age; woman savage, mancowardly; the swarthy Ethiopian beslabbered with stinking oil; thestolid Briton begrimed with dirt--these, and a hundred other varyingcombinations, to be imagined rather than expressed, met the attentionin every direction. To describe the odours exhaled by the heat fromthis seething mixture of many pollutions, would be to force the readerto close the book; we prefer to return to the distribution which wasthe cause of this degrading tumult, and which consisted of smallbaskets of roasted meat packed with common fruits and vegetables, andhanded, or rather flung down, to the mob by the servants of thenobleman who gave the feast. The people revelled in the abundance thuspresented to them. They threw themselves upon it like wild beasts; theydevoured it like hogs, or bore it off like plunderers; while, secure inthe eminence on which they were placed, the purveyors of this publicbanquet expressed their contempt for its noisy recipients, by holdingtheir noses, stopping their ears, turning their backs, and otherpantomimic demonstrations of lofty and excessive disgust. Theseactions did not escape the attention of those members of the assemblywho, having eaten their fill, were at leisure to make use of theirtongues, and who showered an incessant storm of abuse on the heads oftheir benefactor's retainers.
'See those fellows!' cried one; 'they are the waiters at our feast, andthey mock us to our faces! Down with the filthy kitchen thieves!'
'Excellently well said, Davus!--but who is to approach them? Theystink at this distance!'
'The rotten-bodied knaves have the noses of dogs and the carcases ofgoats.'
Then came a chorus of voices--'Down with them! Down with them!' Inthe midst of which an indignant freedman advanced to rebuke the mob,receiving, as the reward of his temerity, a shower of missiles and avolley of curses; after which he was thus addressed by a huge, greasybutcher, hoisted on his companions' shoulders:--
'By the soul of the emperor, could I get near you, you rogue, I wouldquarter you with my fingers alone!--A grinning scoundrel that jeers atothers! A filthy flatterer that dirts the very ground he walks on! Bythe blood of the martyrs, should I fling the sweepings of theslaughter-house at him, he knows not where to get himself dried!'
'Thou rag of a man,' roared a neighbour of the indignant butcher's,'dost thou frown upon the guests of thy master, the very scrapings ofwhose skin are worth more than thy whole carcase! It is easier to makea drinking-vessel of the skull of a flea than to make an honest man ofsuch a villainous night-walker as thou art!'
'Health and prosperity to our noble entertainer!' shouted one sectionof the grateful crowd as the last speaker paused for breath.
'Death to all knaves of parasites!' chimed in another.
'Honour to the citizens of Rome!' roared a third party with modestenthusiasm.
'Give that freedman our bones to pick!' screamed an urchin from theoutskirts of the crowd.
This ingenious piece of advice was immediately followed; and thepopulace gave vent to a shout of triumph as the unfortunate freedman,scared by a new volley of missiles, retreated with ignominiousexpedition to the shelter of his patron's halls.
In the slight and purified specimen of the 'table talk' of a Roman mobwhich we have here ventured to exhibit, the reader will perceive thatextraordinary mixture of servility and insolence which characterisednot only the conversation but the actions of the lower orders ofsociety at the period of which we write. Oppressed and degraded, onthe one hand, to a point of misery scarcely conceivable to the publicof the present day, the poorer classes in Rome were, on the other,invested with such a degree of moral license, and permitted such anextent of political privilege, as flattered their vanity into blindingtheir sense of indignation. Slaves in their season of servitude,masters in their hours of recreation, they presented, as a class, oneof the most amazing social anomalies ever existing in any nation; andformed, in their dangerous and artificial position, one of the mostimportant of the internal causes of the downfall of Rome.
The steps of the public baths were almost as crowded as the spacebefore the neighbouring building. Incessant streams of people, eitherentering or departing, poured over the broad flagstones of its marblecolonnades. This concourse, although composed in some parts of the sameclass of people as that assembled before the palace, presented acertain appearance of respectability. Here and there--chequering thedusky monotony of masses of dirty tunics--might be discerned therefreshing vision of a clean robe, or the grateful indication of ahandsome person. Little groups, removed as far as possible from theneighbourhood of the noisy plebeians, were scattered about, eitherengaged in animated conversation, or listlessly succumbing to thelassitude induced by a recent bath. An instant's attention to thesubject of discourse among the more active of these individuals willaid us in pursuing our social revelations.
The loudest voice among the speakers at this particular momentproceeded from a tall, thin, sinister-looking man, who was haranguing alittle group of listeners with great vehemence and fluency.
'I tell you, Socius,' said he, turning suddenly upon one of hiscompanions, 'that, unless new slave-laws are made, my calling is at anend. My patron's estate requires incessant supplies of these wretches.I do my best to satisfy the demand, and the only result of my labouris, that the miscreants either endanger my life, or fly with impunityto join the gangs of robbers infesting our woods.'
'Truly I am sorry for you; but what alteration would you have made inthe slave-laws?'
'I would empower bailiffs to slay upon the spot all slaves whom theythought disorderly, as an example to the rest!'
'What would such a permission avail you? These creatures arenecessary, and such a law would exterminate them in a few months. Canyou not break their spirit with labour, bind their strength withchains, and vanquish their obstinacy with dungeons?'
'All this I have done, but they die under the discipline, or escapefrom their prisons. I have now three hundred slaves on my patron'sestates. Against those born on our lands I have little to urge. Manyof them, it is true, begin the day with weeping and end it with death;but for the most part, thanks to their diurnal allowance of stripes,they are tolerably submissive. It is with the wretches that I havebeen obliged to purchase from prisoners of war and the people ofrevolted towns that I am so dissatisfied. Punishments have no effecton them, they are incessantly indolent, sulky, desperate. It was butthe other day that ten of them poisoned themselves while at work in thefields, and fifty more, after setting fire to a farm-house while myback was turned, escaped to join a gang of their companions, who arenow robbers in the woods. These fellows, however, are the last of thetroop who will perpetrate such offences. With the concurrence of mypatron, I have adopted a plan that will henceforth tame themefficiently!'
'Are you at liberty to communicate it?'
'By the keys of St. Peter, I wish I could see it practised on everyestate in the land! It is this:--Near a sulphur lake at some distancefrom my farm-house is a tract of marshy ground, overspread here andthere by the ruins of an ancient slaughter-house. I propose to dig inthis place several subterranean caverns, each of which shall be capableof holding twenty men. Here my mutinous slaves shall sleep after theirday's labour. The entrances shall be clo
sed until morning with a largestone, on which I will have engraven this inscription: 'These are thedormitories invented by Gordian, bailiff of Saturninus, a nobleman, forthe reception of refractory slaves.'
'Your plan is ingenious; but I suspect your slaves (so insensible tohardships are the brutal herd) will sleep as unconcernedly in their newdormitories as in their old.'
'Sleep! It will be a most original species of repose that they willtaste there! The stench of the sulphur lake will breathe Sabian odoursfor them over a couch of mud! Their anointing oil will be the slime ofattendant reptiles! Their liquid perfumes will be the stagnant oozingsfrom their chamber roof! Their music will be the croaking of frogs andthe humming of gnats; and as for their adornments, why, they will bedecked forth with head-garlands of twining worms, and movable broochesof cockchafers and toads! Tell me now, most sagacious Socius, do youstill think that amidst such luxuries as these my slaves will sleep?'
'No; they will die.'
'You are again wrong. They will curse and rave perhaps, but that is ofno consequence. They will work the longer above ground to shorten theterm of their repose beneath. They will wake at an instant's notice,and come forth at a moment's signal. I have no fear of their dying!'
'Do you leave Rome soon?'
'I go this evening, taking with me such a supply of trustworthyassistants as will enable me to execute my plan without delay.Farewell, Socius!'
'Most ingenious of bailiffs, I bid you farewell!'
As the worthy Gordian stalked off, big with the dignity of his newprojects, the gestures and tones of a man who formed one of a littlegroup collected in a remote part of the portico he was about to quitattracted his attention. Curiosity formed as conspicuous an ingredientin this man's character as cruelty. He stole behind the base of aneighbouring pillar; and, as the frequent repetition of the word'Goths' struck his ear (the report of that nation's impending invasionhaving by this time reached Rome), he carefully disposed himself tolisten with the most implicit attention to the speaker's voice.
'Goths!' cried the man, in the stern, concentrated accents of despair.'Is there one among us to whom this report of their advance upon Romedoes not speak of hope rather than of dread? Have we a chance of risingfrom the degradation forced on us by our superiors until this den ofheartless triflers and shameless cowards is swept from the very earththat it pollutes!'
'Your sentiments on the evils of our condition are undoubtedly mostjust,' observed a fat, pompous man, to whom the preceding remarks hadbeen addressed, 'but I cannot desire the reform you so ardently hopefor. Think of the degradation of being conquered by barbarians!'
'I am the exile of my country's privileges. What interest have I inupholding her honour--if honour she really has!' replied the firstspeaker.
'Nay! Your expressions are too severe. You are too discontented to bejust.'
'Am I! Hear me for a moment, and you will change your opinion. Yousee me now by my bearing and appearance superior to yonder plebeianherd. You doubtless think that I live at my ease in the world, that Ican feel no anxiety for the future about my bodily necessities. Whatwould you say were I to tell you that if I want another meal, a lodgingfor to-night, a fresh robe for tomorrow, I must rob or flatter somegreat man to gain them? Yet so it is. I am hopeless, friendless,destitute. In the whole of the Empire there is not an honest callingin which I can take refuge. I must become a pander or a parasite--ahired tyrant over slaves, or a chartered groveller beneath nobles--if Iwould not starve miserably in the streets, or rob openly in the woods!This is what I am. Now listen to what I was. I was born free. Iinherited from my father a farm which he had successfully defended fromthe encroachments of the rich, at the expense of his comfort, hishealth, and his life. When I succeeded to his lands, I determined toprotect them in my time as studiously as he had defended them in his.I worked unintermittingly: I enlarged my house, I improved my fields,I increased my flocks. One after another I despised the threats anddefeated the wiles of my noble neighbours, who desired possession of myestate to swell their own territorial grandeur. In process of time Imarried and had a child. I believed that I was picked out from my raceas a fortunate man--when one night I was attacked by robbers: slavesmade desperate by the cruelty of their wealthy masters. They ravagedmy cornfields, they deprived me of my flocks. When I demanded redress,I was told to sell my lands to those who could defend them--to thoserich nobles whose tyranny had organised the band of wretches who hadspoiled me of my possessions, and to whose fraud-gotten treasures thegovernment were well pleased to grant that protection which they haddenied to my honest hoards. In my pride I determined that I wouldstill be independent. I planted new crops. With the little remnant ofmy money I hired fresh servants and bought more flocks. I had justrecovered from my first disaster when I became the victim of a second.I was again attacked. This time we had arms, and we attempted todefend ourselves. My wife was slain before my eyes; my house was burntto the ground; I myself only escaped, mutilated with wounds; my childsoon afterwards pined and died. I had no wife, no offspring, no house,no money. My fields still stretched round me, but I had none tocultivate them. My walls still tottered at my feet, but I had none torear them again, none to inhabit them if they were reared. My father'slands were now become a wilderness to me. I was too proud to sell themto my rich neighbour; I preferred to leave them before I saw them theprey of a tyrant, whose rank had triumphed over my industry, and who isnow able to boast that he can travel over ten leagues of senatorialproperty untainted by the propinquity of a husbandman's farm.Houseless, homeless, friendless, I have come to Rome alone in myaffliction, helpless in my degradation! Do you wonder now that I amcareless about the honour of my country? I would have served her withmy life and my possessions when she was worthy of my service; but shehas cast me off, and I care not who conquers her. I say to theGoths--with thousands who suffer the same tribulation that I nowundergo--"Enter our gates! Level our palaces to the ground! Confound,if you will, in one common slaughter, we that are victims with thosethat are tyrants! Your invasion will bring new lords to the land.They cannot crush it more--they may oppress it less. Our posterity maygain their rights by the sacrifice of lives that our country has madeworthless. Romans though we are, we are ready to suffer and submit!"'
He stopped; for by this time he had lashed himself into fury. His eyesglared, his cheeks flushed, his voice rose. Could he then have seenthe faintest vision of the destiny that future ages had in store forthe posterity of the race that now suffered throughout civilisedEurope, like him--could he have imagined how, in after years, the'middle class', despised in his day, was to rise to privilege andpower; to hold in its just hands the balance of the prosperity ofnations; to crush oppression and regulate rule; to soar in its mightyflight above thrones and principalities, and rank and riches,apparently obedient, but really commanding;--could he but haveforeboded this, what a light must have burst upon his gloom, what ahope must have soothed him in his despair!
To what further extremities his anger might have carried him, to whatproceedings the indignant Gordian, who still listened from hisconcealment, might have had recourse, it is difficult to say; for thecomplaints of the ill-fated landholder and the cogitations of theauthoritative bailiff were alike suddenly suspended by an uproar ragingat this moment round a carriage which had just emerged from the palacewe have elsewhere described.
This vehicle looked one mass of silver. Embroidered silk curtainsfluttered all around it, gold ornaments studded its polished sides, andit held no less a person than the nobleman who had feasted the peoplewith baskets of meat. This fact had become known to the rabble beforethe palace gates. Such an opportunity of showing their exultation intheir bondage, their real servility in their imaginary independence,was not to be lost; and accordingly they let loose such a torrent ofclamorous gratitude on their entertainer's appearance, that a strangerin Rome would have thought the city in revolt. They leapt, they ran,they danced round the prancing horses, they flung thei
r empty basketsinto the air, and patted approvingly their 'fair round bellies'. Fromevery side, as the carriage moved on, they gained fresh recruits andacquired new importance. The timid fled before them, the noisy shoutedwith them, the bold plunged into their ranks; and the constant burdenof their rejoicing chorus was--'Health to the noble Pomponius!Prosperity to the senators of Rome, who feast us with their food andgive us the freedom of their theatres! Glory to Pomponius! Glory tothe senators!'
Fate seemed on this day to take pleasure in pampering the insatiablecuriosity of Gordian, the bailiff. The cries of the multitude hadscarcely died away in the distance, as they followed the departingcarriage, when the voices of two men, pitched to a low, confidentialtone, reached his ear from the opposite side of the pillar. He peepedcautiously round, and saw that they were priests.
'What an eternal jester is that Pomponius!' said one voice. 'He isgoing to receive absolution, and he journeys in his chariot of state,as if he were preparing to celebrate his triumph, instead of to confesshis sins!'
'Has he committed, then, a fresh imprudence?'
'Alas, yes! For a senator he is dreadfully wanting in caution! A fewdays since, in a fit of passion, he flung a drinking-cup at one of hisfemale slaves. The girl died on the spot, and her brother, who is alsoin his service, threatened immediate vengeance. To preventdisagreeable consequences to his body, Pomponius has sent the fellow tohis estates in Egypt; and now, from the same precaution for the welfareof his soul, he goes to demand absolution from our holy and beneficentChurch.'
'I am afraid these incessant absolutions, granted to men who are toocareless even to make a show of repentance for their crimes, willprejudice us with the people at large.'
'Of what consequence are the sentiments of the people while we havetheir rulers on our side! Absolution is the sorcery that binds theselibertines of Rome to our will. We know what convertedConstantine--politic flattery and ready absolution; the people willtell you it was the sign of the Cross.'
'It is true this Pomponius is rich, and may increase our revenues, butstill I fear the indignation of the people.'
'Fear nothing: think how long their old institutions imposed on them,and then doubt, if you can, that we may shape them to our wishes as wewill. Any deceptions will be successful with a mob, if the instrumentemployed to forward them be a religion.'
The voices ceased. Gordian, who still cherished a vague intention ofdenouncing the fugitive landholder to the senatorial authorities,employed the liberty afforded to his attention by the silence of thepriests in turning to look after his intended victim. To his surprisehe saw that the man had left the auditors to whom he had beforeaddressed himself, and was engaged in earnest conversation in anotherpart of the portico, with an individual who seemed to have recentlyjoined him, and whose appearance was so remarkable that the bailiff hadmoved a few steps forwards to gain a nearer view of him, when he wasonce more arrested by the voices of the priests.
Irresolute for an instant to which party to devote his unscrupulousattention, he returned mechanically to his old position. Ere long,however, his anxiety to hear the mysterious communications proceedingbetween the landholder and his friend overbalanced his delight inpenetrating the theological secrets of the priests. He turned oncemore, but to his astonishment the objects of his curiosity haddisappeared. He stepped to the outside of the portico and looked forthem in every direction, but they were nowhere to be seen. Peevish anddisappointed, he returned as a last resource to the pillar where he hadleft the priests, but the time consumed in his investigations after oneparty had been fatal to his reunion with the other. The churchmen weregone.
Sufficiently punished for his curiosity by his disappointment, thebailiff walked doggedly off towards the Pincian Hill. Had he turned inthe contrary direction, towards the Basilica of St. Peter, he wouldhave found himself once more in the neighbourhood of the landholder andhis remarkable friend, and would have gained that acquaintance with thesubjects of their conversation, which we intend that the reader shallacquire in the course of the next chapter.