FOOTNOTE:
"Viximus insignes inter utramque facem."
Propertius.
Chapter ii.
Not far from the Appian way, Oswald and Corinne visited the Columbarium, where slaves are united with their masters; where are seen in the same tomb, all who lived under the protection of one man or one woman. The women of Livia, for example, they who, appointed to the care of her beauty, struggled for its preservation against the power of time and disputed with the years some one of her charms, are placed by her side in little urns. We fancy that we see an assemblage of the obscure dead round one of the illustrious departed, not less silent than his train. At a little distance from here, is perceived the field where vestals, unfaithful to their vows, were buried alive; a singular instance of fanaticism in a religion naturally tolerant.
"I will not conduct you to the catacombs," said Corinne to Lord Nelville, "though, by a singular chance, they are under this Appian way; tombs thus having their abode beneath tombs; but this asylum of the persecuted Christians has something so gloomy, and so terrible in it, that I cannot find resolution to return thither. It does not inspire the same affecting melancholy as more open situations; it is like a dungeon adjoining a sepulchre; the torment of life accompanied with the horrors of death. Undoubtedly, we feel penetrated with admiration of men who, by the power of enthusiasm alone, have been able to support this subterraneous existence; separating themselves from the sun and from nature; but the mind is so ill at ease in this abode that it is incapable of receiving any improvement. Man is a part of the creation; he must find his moral harmony in the whole system of the universe, in the usual order of destiny, and certain violent and formidable exceptions may astonish the mind; but they are so terrifying to the imagination that the habitual disposition of the soul cannot benefit by them. Let us rather," continued Corinne, "go and see the pyramid of Cestius: the Protestants who die here are all buried around this pyramid, which affords them a mild, tolerant, and liberal asylum." "Yes," answered Oswald, "it is there that several of my fellow-countrymen have found their last retreat. Let us go thither; and thus, at least, it may happen that I shall never quit you."—Corinne shuddered at these words, and her hand trembled as she supported herself upon the arm of Lord Nelville—"I am better, much better," said he, "since I have known you."—The countenance of Corinne was lighted up anew with that sweet and tender joy which it was accustomed to express.
Cestius presided over the Roman games. His name is not to be found in history; but it is rendered illustrious by his tomb. The massive pyramid which encloses his ashes, defends his death from that oblivion which has entirely effaced his life. Aurelian, fearing that this pyramid might be employed as a fortress to attack Rome, has caused it to be enclosed within the walls which are yet standing, not as useless ruins, but as the actual enclosure of the modern city. It is said that the form of the pyramid is in imitation of the flame which ascends from a funeral pyre. It is certain that this mysterious form attracts the eye and gives a picturesque aspect to every perspective of which it forms a part. Opposite this pyramid is Mount Testaceo, under which there are extremely cool grottos where feasts are given in summer. The festivals of Rome are not disturbed at the sight of tombs. The pines and the cypresses which are perceived at various distances in the smiling country of Italy, are also pregnant with solemn remembrances; and this contrast produces the same effect as the verses of Horace,
—————————moriture Delli
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Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens
Uxor,[18]
in the midst of poetry consecrated to every enjoyment upon earth. The ancients have always felt that the idea of death has its pleasures: it is recalled by love and by festivals, and the most lively emotion of joy seems to increase even from the idea of the shortness of life.
Corinne and Nelville returned from the walk among the tombs, along the banks of the Tiber.—Once it was covered with vessels and bordered with palaces; once even its inundations were regarded as presages; it was the prophetic river, the tutelary Deity of Rome[19]. At present, one would say that it rolled its tide through a land of shadows; so solitary does it seem, so livid do its waters appear. The finest monuments of the arts, the most admirable statues have been thrown into the Tiber, and are concealed beneath its waves. Who knows whether, in order to find them, the river will not one day be turned from its bed? But when we think that the masterpieces of human genius are perhaps there before us, and that a more piercing eye would behold them through the waves—we feel that indescribable emotion which incessantly arises at Rome, under various forms, and creates a society for the mind in physical objects which every where else are dumb.