Walks in Rome

by Augustus J. C. Hare

"The dedication of the Coliseum afforded to Titus an opportunity for a display of magnificence hitherto unrivalled, A battle of cranes with dwarfs representing the pigmies was a fanciful novelty, and might afford diversion for a moment; there were combats of gladiators, among whom women were included, though no noble matron was allowed to mingle in the fray; and the capacity of the vast edifice was tested by the slaughter of five thousand animals in its circuit. The show was crowned with the immission of water into the arena, and with a sea-fight representing the contests of the Corinthians and Corcyreans, related by Thucydides.... When all was over, Titus himself was seen to weep, perhaps from fatigue, possibly from vexation and disgust; but his tears were interpreted as a presentiment of his death, which was now impending, and it is probable that he was already suffering from a decline of bodily strength.... He lamented effeminately the premature decease he too surely anticipated, and, looking wistfully at the heavens, exclaimed that he did not deserve to die. He expired on the 13th September, 81, not having quite completed his fortieth year."—Merivale, ch. Ix.

"Hadrian gave a series of entertainments in honour of his birth-day, with the slaughter of a thousand beasts, including a hundred lions and as many lionesses. One magical scene was the representation of forests, when the whole arena became planted with living trees, shrubs, and flowers; to complete which illusion the ground was made to open, and send forth wild animals from yawning clefts, instantly re-covered with bushes.

"One may imagine the frantic excess to which the taste for gladiatorial combats was carried in Rome, from the preventive law of Augustus that gladiators should no more combat without permission of the senate; that prætors should not give these spectacles more than twice a year; that more than sixty couples should not engage at the same time; and that neither knights nor senators should ever contend in the arena. The gladiators were classified according to the national manner of fighting which they imitated. Thus were distinguished the Gothic, Dacian, Thracian, and Samnite combatants; the Retiarii, who entangled their opponents in nets thrown with the left hand, defending themselves with tridents in the right; the Secutores, whose special skill was in pursuit; the Laqueatores, who threw slings against their adversaries; the Dimachæ, armed with a short sword in each hand; the Hoplomachi, armed at all points; the Myrmillones, so called from the figure of a fish at the crest of the Gallic helmet they wore; the Bustuarii, who fought at funeral games; the Bestiarii, who only assailed animals; other classes who fought on horseback, called Andabates; and those combating in chariots drawn by two horses, Essedarii. Gladiators were originally slaves, or prisoners of war; but the armies who contended on the Roman arena in later epochs, were divided into compulsory and voluntary combatants, the former alone composed of slaves, or condemned criminals. The latter went through a laborious education in their art, supported at the public cost, and instructed by masters called Lanistæ, resident in colleges, called Ludi. To the eternal disgrace of the morals of Imperial Rome, it is recorded that women sometimes fought in the arena, without more modesty than hired gladiators. The exhibition of himself in this character by Commodus, was a degradation of the imperial dignity, perhaps more infamous, according to ancient Roman notions, than the theatrical performances of Nero."—Hemans' Story of Monuments in Rome.

The Emperor Commodus (A.D. 180-182), frequently fought in the Coliseum himself, and killed both gladiators and wild beasts, calling himself Hercules, dressed in a lion's-skin, with his hair sprinkled with gold-dust.

The gladiatorial combats came to an end, when, in A.D. 403, an oriental monk named Telemachus, was so horrified at them, that he rushed into the midst of the arena and besought the spectators to renounce them: instead of listening to him, they stoned him to death. The first martyrdom here was that of St Ignatius, said to have been the child especially blessed by our Saviour—the disciple of John—and the companion of Polycarp—who was sent here from Antioch, where he was bishop. When brought into the arena, he knelt down, and exclaimed, "Romans who are present, know that I have not been brought into this place for any crime, but in order that by this means I may merit the fruition of the glory of God, for love of whom I have been made prisoner. I am as the grain of the field, and must be ground by the teeth of the lions, that I may become bread fit for His table." The lions were then let loose, and devoured him, except the larger bones, which the Christians collected during the night.

"It is related of Ignatius that he grew up in such innocence of heart and purity of life, that to him it was granted to hear the angels sing; hence, when he became bishop of Antioch, he introduced into the service of his church the practice of singing the praises of God in responses, as he had heard the choirs of angels answering each other.... His story and fate are so well attested, and so sublimely affecting, that it has always been to me a cause of surprise as well as regret to find so few representations of him."—Jameson's Sacred Art, 693.

Soon after the death of Ignatius, 115 Christians were shot down here with arrows. Under Hadrian, A.D. 218, a patrician named Placidus, his wife Theophista, and his two sons, were first exposed here to the wild beasts, but when these refused to touch them were shut up in a brazen bull, and roasted by a fire lighted beneath. In 253, Abdon and Sennen, two rich citizens of Babylon, were exposed here to two lions and four bears, but on their refusing to attack them, were killed by the swords of the gladiators. In A.D. 259, Sempronius, Olympius, Theodulus, and Exuperia, were burnt at the entrance of the Coliseum, before the statue of the Sun. In A.D. 272, Sta. Prisca was vainly exposed here to a lion, then starved for three days, then stretched on a rack to have her flesh torn by iron hooks, then put into a furnace, and—having survived all these torments—was finally beheaded. In A.D. 277, Sta. Martina, another noble Roman lady, was exposed in vain to the beasts and afterwards beheaded in the Coliseum. St. Alexander under Antoninus; St. Potitus, 168; St. Eleutherius, bishop of Illyria, under Hadrian; St Maximus, son of a senator, 284; and Vitus, Crescentia, and Modesta, under Domitian, were also martyred here.[71]

"It is no fiction, but plain, sober, honest truth, to say: so suggestive and distinct is it at this hour: that, for a moment—actually in passing in—they who will, may have the whole great pile before them, as it used to be, with thousands of eager faces staring down into the arena, and such a whirl of strife, and blood, and dust going on there, as no language can describe. Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desolation, strike upon the stranger, the next moment, like a softened sorrow; and never in his life, perhaps, will he be so moved and overcome by any sight, not immediately connected with his own affections and afflictions.

"To see it crumbling there, an inch a year; its walls and arches overgrown with green, its corridors open to the day; the long grass growing in its porches; young trees of yesterday springing up on its ragged parapets, and bearing fruit—chance produce of the seeds dropped there by the birds who build their nests within its chinks and crannies; to see its pit of fight filled up with earth, and the peaceful cross planted in the centre; to climb into its upper halls, and look down on ruin, ruin, ruin, all about it; the triumphal arches of Constantine, Septimius Severus, and Titus, the Roman Forum, the Palace of the Cæsars, the temples of the old religion, fallen down and gone; is to see the ghost of old Rome, wicked, wonderful old city, haunting the very ground on which its people trod. It is the most impressive, the most stately, the most solemn, grand, majestic, mournful sight conceivable. Never, in its bloodiest prime, can the sight of the gigantic Coliseum, full and running over with the lustiest life, have moved one heart, as it must move all who look upon it now, a ruin. God be thanked: a ruin!

"As it tops all other ruins: standing there, a mountain among graves: so do its ancient influences outlive all other remnants of the old mythology and old butchery of Rome, in the nature of the fierce and cruel Roman people. The Italian face changes as the visitor approaches the city; its beauty becomes devilish; and there is scarcely one countenance in a hundred, among the common people in the streets, that would not be at home and happy in a renovated Coliseum to-morrow."—Dickens.