The avidity[172] with which the amusements of the Circus were sought, increased with the decline of the empire and the corruption of morals. Ammianus Marcellinus, who wrote in the fourth century of the Christian era, gives us the following description:—“The people spend all their evenings in drinking and gaming, in spectacles, amusements, and shows. The Circus Maximus is their temple, their dwelling-house, their public meeting, and all their hopes. In the Forum, the streets, and squares, multitudes assemble together, and dispute, some defending one thing, and some another. The oldest take the privilege of age, and cry out in the temples and Forum, that the republic must fall, if in the approaching games the person whom they support does not win the prize and first pass the goal. When the wished-for day of the equestrian games arrives, before sunrise all run headlong to the spot, passing in swiftness the chariots that are to run; upon the success of which their wishes are so divided, that many pass the night without sleep.” Lactantius confirms this account, and says that the people, from their great eagerness, often quarrelled and fought.
Fortunately there still exists, about two miles from the walls of Rome, an ancient circus in a high state of preservation; and from this we are enabled to acquire a very good notion of the form and arrangement of such structures. The chief entrance was an opening at the straight end; and on each side of it were six carceres, or starting-places. At the rounded end, or that opposite to the carceres, was the Porta Triumphalis, or Triumphal Gate, by which the victor left the circus; the rest of the enclosed space were the seats for the spectators, raised in rows one above the other. Down the middle of the area, or more properly speaking, rather nearer to one side than the other, ran a raised division,—a sort of thick dwarf wall, called the Spina; equal in length to about two-thirds of the area itself. At each end of this spina was a small meta, or goal, formed of three cones. The meta which approached the triumphal gate was much nearer to it than the other meta was to the carceres. The course which the chariots ran was by the side of the spina, and round the metæ. All these different parts of the circus were variously ornamented; the spina especially was highly decorated, having sometimes in the middle one of those lofty Egyptian obelisks, of which there are more to be seen at this day in Rome, than are assembled anywhere else[173].
Besides the Mamertine prisons and the Cloaca Maxima, there are other antiquities at Rome which belong to the early period. Among these are the foundations and great fragments of the ancient buildings of the Capitol. The Capitol-hill is said to form a link between the ancient city and the modern one.—“From an elevated station, about two hundred and fifty feet above the Forum,” says Simond, “the voice of Cicero might have been heard, revealing to the people, assembled before the Temple of Concord, (to which the ruins nearest to us probably belonged,) Catiline’s conspiracy. He might even have been heard in the Tribune of Harangues, situated on the other side of the Forum, and next to the Temple of Jupiter Stator,—of which there are three columns still standing,—taking the oath that he had saved his country, and all the people taking the same oath after him. But the gory head and hand of this saviour of his country might have been seen from our station soon after, nailed to the side of this same tribune, and the same people tamely looking on! Instead of the contending crowds of patriots, conspirators, orators, heroes, and fools, each acting his part, we now saw only a few cows quietly picking up blades of grass among the ruins; beggars, and monks, and asses loaded with bags of puzzolana, and a gang of galley-slaves lazily digging away for antiquities, under the lash of their taskmasters.”
The hill of the Capitol derived its name from the head of Tolus[174], and the prediction of universal empire to those who held it. It was famous for a temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, which was the effect of a vow made by Tarquinius Priscus in the Sabine war. But he had scarcely laid the foundations before his death. His nephew, Tarquinius the Proud, finished it with the spoils taken from the neighbouring nations. But upon the expulsion of the kings, the consecration was performed by Horatius the consul. The structure stood on a high ridge, taking in four acres of ground. The front was adorned with three rows of pillars, the other side with two. Its ascent from the ground was by one hundred steps. The prodigious gifts and ornaments, with which it was several times endowed, almost exceed belief. Suetonius tells us that Augustus gave at one time two thousand pounds weight of gold; and a precious stone to the value of five hundred sestertia. Livy and Pliny surprise us with accounts of the brazen thresholds, the noble pillars, that Sylla removed hither from Athens out of the temple of Jupiter Olympius; the gilded roof, the gilded shields, and those of solid silver; the huge vessels of silver, holding three measures; the golden chariot, &c. This temple was first consumed by fire in the Marian war, and then rebuilt by Sylla, who, dying before the dedication, left that honour to Quintus Catulus. This too was demolished in the Vitellian sedition. Vespasian undertook a third, which was burnt down about the time of his death. Domitian raised the last and most glorious of all; in which the very gilding amounted to twelve thousand talents (£2,250,000). He adorned it with some columns of Pentelic marble brought from Athens. Indeed, his extravagance in this and other public works led to that exceeding severity which accompanied the exaction of the capitation tax from the Jewish people. It was the opinion of contemporaries of the emperor, that if he were to reclaim from the gods the sums which he now expended upon them, even Jupiter himself, though he were to hold a general auction in Olympus, would be unable to pay a twelfth of his debts, or, as we should say, one shilling and eightpence in the pound.
If, Cæsar, all thou to the powers hast lent, Thou should’st reclaim, a creditor content, Should a fair auction vend Olympus’ hall, And the just gods be fain to sell their all; The bankrupt Atlas not a twelfth could sound:— Who bade the Sire of Gods with man compound? For Capitolian fanes what to the chief? What can he pay for the Tarpeian leaf? What for her double towers the Thunderer’s queen? Pallas I pass, thy manager serene. Alcides why, or Phœbus, should I name, Or the twin Lacons, of fraternal fame? Or the substructure (who can sum the whole?) Of Flavian temples to the Latian pole? Augustus, pious, then, and patient stay: The chest of Jove possesses not to pay.
Of all the ancient glory of the Capitol,[175] nothing now remains but the solid foundation and vast substructions raised on the rock. Not only is the Capitol fallen, but its very name, expressive of dominion, and once fondly considered as an omen of empire, is now almost lost in the semi-barbarous appellation of Campi-doglio. “This place,” says a celebrated French traveller, “which gave law to the universe, where Jupiter had his temple and Rome her senate; from whence of old the Roman eagles were continually flying into every quarter of the globe, and from every quarter of the globe continually winging their way back with victories; whence a single word from the mouth of Scipio, of Pompey, or of Cæsar, quickly reached the most distant nations, menacing their liberty, and deciding on the fate of kings; where the greatest men of the republic, in short, still continued to live after their death in statues, and still to govern the world with the authority of Romans: this place so renowned has lost its statues, its senate, its citadel, its temples; it has retained nothing but its name, so cemented by the blood and tears of nations, that time has not yet been able to disjoin the immortal syllables of which it is composed. It is still called the Capitol. At the Capitol we perceive, in the strongest light, the insignificance of all human things, and the power of fortune.”
The Pantheon is the most perfect of all the remains of ancient Rome, and the only one of the Pagan temples that retains any thing of its original appearance. It was dedicated[176] either to Jupiter Ultor, or to Mars and Venus, or, more probably, to all the gods in general. The structure, according to Fabricius, is one hundred and forty feet high, and about the same in breadth; but a later author has increased the number to one hundred and fifty-eight. The roof is curiously vaulted, void places being left here and there for the greater strength.
The statues of all the gods were in this temple; and these, according to their degrees, were of gold, silver, bronze, or marble. The portico is one hundred and ten feet long[177], by forty-four in depth, and is supported by sixteen columns of the Corinthian order. Each of the shafts of these columns is of one piece of oriental granite, and forty-two feet in height; the bases and capitals are of white marble. The whole height of the columns is forty-six feet five inches; the diameter, just above the base, is four feet ten inches; and, just beneath the capital, four feet three inches. The interior of the rotunda has a diameter of nearly one hundred and fifty feet.
This building has been generally attributed wholly to Agrippa; but from careful research, Desgodetz asserts that the body of the edifice is of much earlier origin; and that Agrippa only newly modelled and embellished the inside, and added the magnificent portico. The building is circular, with a noble dome, and a fine portico of sixteen pillars of oriental granite. There are no windows, the light being admitted by a circular aperture in the dome. The fine marble with which the walls were encrusted, and the brass which covered the roof, have long since disappeared; the bare bricks alone are left.