Corinne; Or, Italy. Volume 1 (of 2)

by Madame de Staël

The Seven Hills are infinitely less elevated than formerly when they deserved the name of the Steep Mountains. Modern Rome is raised forty feet above the ancient city. The valleys which separated the hills are almost filled up by time with the ruins of edifices; but what is more singular yet, a heap of broken vases has raised two new hills;[14] and we almost discover an image of modern times, in this progress, or rather this wreck of civilisation, levelling mountains with valleys, effacing in the moral as well as the physical world all those beautiful inequalities produced by nature.

Three other hills,[15] not comprised in the seven famous ones, give something picturesque to the city of Rome, which perhaps is the only city that of itself, and in its own boundaries, offers the most magnificent points of observation. It presents such a remarkable mixture of ruins, edifices, fields and deserts, that we may contemplate Rome on all sides, and always find a striking picture in the opposite perspective.

Oswald could never feel tired of viewing the traces of ancient Rome from the elevated point of the Capitol to which Corinne had conducted him. The reading of history, and the reflections which it excites, produce a less powerful effect upon the soul than those heaps of stones, those ruins mingled with new habitations. So strongly do our eyes carry conviction to the mind, that after having beheld these ruins of Rome we believe the history of the ancient Romans as if we had been cotemporary with them. The recollections of the mind are acquired by study; the recollections of the imagination are born of a more immediate and intimate impression, which gives body to thought, and renders us, if I may so express it, witnesses of what we have learnt. Undoubtedly one is vexed sometimes at those modern buildings which intrude themselves among the venerable spoils of antiquity. But a portico by the side of a humble cottage, pillars, between which appear the little windows of a church, a tomb affording an asylum to a whole rustic family, produce an indescribable mixture of great and simple ideas, a newly-discovered pleasure which inspires a continual interest. The greater part of our European cities have externally a common and prosaic appearance; and Rome, oftener than any other, presents the melancholy aspect of misery and degradation; but all of a sudden a broken column, a bas-relief half-destroyed, stones knit together in the indestructible manner of the ancient architects, remind us that there is in man an eternal power, a divine spark, which he must never cease to excite in himself and revive in others.

This Forum, whose enclosure is so narrow in compass, and which has witnessed so many astonishing things, is a striking proof of the moral greatness of man. When the universe, in the latter times of Rome, was subjected to inglorious masters, we find whole centuries, of which history has scarcely preserved any events; and this Forum, this little space in the centre of a city, at that time very circumscribed, whose inhabitants were fighting all around them for their territory, has it not occupied by the memories which it recalls, the most sublime geniuses of every age! Honour then, eternal honour, to nations, courageous and free, since they thus captivate the admiration of posterity!

Corinne observed to Lord Nelville that there were very few remains of the Republican age to be found at Rome. The aqueducts, the canals formed under ground, for the distribution of water, were the only luxury of the Republic and the kings who preceded it. They have only left us useful edifices: tombs raised to the memory of their great men, and some temples of brick, which still subsist. It was not until after the conquest of Sicily that the Romans for the first time made use of marble for their monuments; but it is sufficient to behold places where great actions have occurred, to experience an indefinable emotion. It is to this disposition of the soul that we must attribute the religious power of pilgrimages. Celebrated countries of every kind, even when stripped of their great men and of their monuments, preserve their effect upon the imagination. What struck our sight no longer exists, but the charm of recollection remains.

This Forum no longer presents us with any trace of that famous Tribune, from which the Roman people were governed by eloquence. Three pillars remain of a temple, raised by Augustus in honour of Jupiter Tonans, when the thunderbolt fell at his feet without striking him, and an arch which the senate raised to Septimus Severus in reward of his exploits. The names of his two sons, Caracalla and Geta, were inscribed on the fronton of the arch; but when Caracalla had assassinated Geta he caused his name to be erased, and some traces of the cancelled letters are still to be seen. At some distance is a temple to Faustina, a monument of the blind weakness of Marcus Aurelius; a temple to Venus which, in the time of the republic, was consecrated to Pallas—and farther on, the ruins of a temple dedicated to the Sun and Moon, built by the Emperor Adrian, who was jealous of Apollodorus, the famous Grecian architect, and put him to death for having found fault with the proportions of his edifice.

On the other side of the square we behold the ruins of some monuments consecrated to nobler and purer aims. The pillars of a temple which is believed to have been that of Jupiter Stator, who prevented the Romans from ever flying before their enemies. A pillar remaining of the Temple of Jupiter Guardian, placed, we are told, not far from the abyss into which Curtius precipitated himself. Pillars also of a temple, raised, some say, to Concord, others to Victory. Perhaps these two ideas are confounded by conquering nations, who probably think no real peace can exist till they have subdued the universe! At the extremity of Mount Palatine is a beautiful triumphal arch, dedicated to Titus, for the conquest of Jerusalem. We are informed that the Jews who are at Rome never pass under this arch, and a little path is shewn which they take to avoid it. It is to be wished, for the honour of the Jews, that this anecdote may be true; long recollections suit long misfortunes.

Not far from thence is the arch of Constantine, embellished with some bas-reliefs taken away from the forum of Trajan, by the Christians, who wished to adorn the monument consecrated to the founder of repose; so they called Constantine. The arts at this epoch were already on the decline, and they stripped the past to honour new exploits. These triumphal gates, which are seen at Rome, give perpetuity as much as man can give it, to the honours paid to glory. There was a place upon their summits destined for flute and trumpet players, in order that the victor when passing might be intoxicated at the same time by music and praise, and taste at the same moment all the most exalted emotions.

Facing these triumphal arches are the ruins of the temple of Peace built by Vespasian; it was so decorated with brass and with gold, internally, that when consumed by fire, the streams of burning metal that flowed from it extended even to the Forum. Lastly, the Coliseum, the most beautiful ruin of Rome, terminates this noble enclosure, which embraces all history in its compass. This superb edifice, of which only the stones remain, stript of the gold and the marble, served as an amphitheatre for the combats of the gladiators, with wild beasts. It was thus that the Roman people were amused and deceived by strong emotions, when natural sentiments could no longer soar. The entrance to the Coliseum is by two doors, one consecrated to the victors, and by the other were carried out the dead: strange contempt for the human race, which made the life or death of man dependent upon the pastime of a public spectacle! Titus, the best of emperors, dedicated the Coliseum to the Roman people,—and these admirable ruins bear such fine traits of magnificence and genius, that we are led into an illusion on the subject of true greatness, and tempted to grant that admiration to the masterpieces of art, which is only the due of monuments consecrated to generous institutions.

Oswald did not indulge in that admiration which Corinne felt in contemplating these four galleries; these four edifices, rising one upon another; this medley of pomp and barbarism, which at once inspires respect and compassion. He beheld in these scenes nothing but the luxury of the master, and the blood of the slaves, and felt indignant at the arts which, regardless of their aim, lavish their gifts upon whatever object they may be destined for. Corinne endeavoured to combat this disposition:—"Do not," said she, to Lord Nelville, "carry the rigour of your principles of morality and justice into the contemplation of the Italian monuments; they, for the most part, recall, as I have told you, rather the splendour, the elegance of taste of ancient forms, than the glorious epoch of Roman virtue. But do you not find some traces of the moral greatness possessed by the first ages, in the gigantic luxury of the monuments which have succeeded them? Even the degradation of the Roman people still commands respect: the mourning of her liberty covers the world with wonders, and the genius of ideal beauty seeks to console man for the true and real dignity which he has lost. Behold those immense baths, open to all those who were willing to taste oriental voluptuousness—those circuses destined for the elephants which were brought there to combat with tigers, and those aqueducts which in a moment converted the amphitheatre into a lake, where galleys too fought in their turn, and crocodiles appeared where lions were seen before:—such was the luxury of the Romans when luxury was their pride! Those obelisks which were brought from Egypt, stolen from African shades, in order to adorn the Roman sepulchres; that population of statues which formerly existed in Rome cannot be looked upon in the same light as the useless pageantry of the Asiatic despots: it is the Roman genius which conquered the world, and to which the arts have given an external form. There is something supernatural in this magnificence, and its poetical splendour makes us forget its origin and its aim."