What a people this, which converted its debtors into slaves and turned its poets into beasts of burden!
The Greek sauntered back through the Forum munching his loaf of bread. He was waiting for the Senate to assemble, and to pass away the time he climbed to the crest of the Palatine Hill, the sacred ground which was the cradle of Rome. He visited the Lupercal Grotto where Romulus and Remus had been suckled by the she-wolf. At the entrance to the narrow cave, denuded by the winter, the Ruminal fig tree extended its naked branches, the famous tree in the shade of which the twin founders of the city had frolicked. Near it on a granite pedestal stood the wolf, in dark and lustrous bronze, the work of an Etruscan artist, with the hideous half-open fauces, and her belly bristling with a double row of gleaming teats to which two naked children clung, sprawling on the ground.
From this height Actæon looked down upon the broad city, a wave of roofs between the seven hills, invading the heights and dispersing through the deep valleys. Almost at the side of the Palatine rose the Capitolium, the great fortress of Rome, on the naked crags of the Tarpeian rock, and the Greek passed from the summit of one to that of the other to examine the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, more famous than beautiful.
He turned his back on the rude temple of Mars, which occupied the highest point of the Palatine, and following a path between abrupt rocks he crossed to the Capitoline. On his way he met the priests of Jupiter, walking with sacerdotal rigidity as if ever offering sacrifices to their god. He saw the vestals wrapped in their flowing white veils, marching with a sturdy tread. Some milites were climbing up to the temple of Mars, their broad breasts encased in overlapping bands of copper, their bare thighs covered by strips of wool hanging from the waist; one hand resting on the pommel of their short swords while they talked with enthusiasm of the coming Illyrian campaign, without thought of the situation of their allies in Iberia.
Actæon entered the sacred precincts of the Capitoline, surrounded by frowning ramparts. It was the ancient mount Tarpeius, with its two summits united by an extensive flat. The higher part which lay toward the north was occupied by the Arx or citadel of Rome; on the south was the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, surrounded by massive columns.
The Greek entered the citadel, famous for its resistance during the invasion of the Gauls. On the margin of a pool before the temples huddled within the strong enclosure he saw the sacred birds—the geese which with their cackling in the silence of the night had protected Rome from the surprise of the invaders. Then he crossed the depression which divides the hill into two parts, and approached the great fane of Rome.
A stairway of a hundred steps led to the temple, constructed in the time of the last Tarquin in honor of the three divinities of Rome—Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. The building consisted of three cellæ or parallel sanctuaries, with three doors opening beneath the same pediment. The one in the centre was sacred to Jupiter, and the smaller ones on either side to the two goddesses. A triple row of columns sustained the pediment, which was decorated with prancing horses coarsely sculptured. Two rows of columns ran down the sides of the temple forming a portico, in the shade of which the eldest Roman citizens strolled, discussing the affairs of the city.
The temple had been built by artists called from Etruria, and under the colonnade were statues acquired by the expeditions to Sicily and as a result of the many wars carried on by Rome. This rude nation was incapable of producing artists, but it had soldiers to supply it with art by means of war and loot.
The Athenian entered the sanctuary in the centre dedicated to Jupiter, and he saw the image of the god in terra cotta, holding a golden lance in his right hand. Before him continually smoked the Altar of Sacrifices. On leaving the temple he glanced at the gnomon or sundial, which at that height marked the time for all Rome.
It was now the hour to go to the Senaculum, the ancient building at the foot of the Tarpeian peak between the Capitolium and the Forum, which many years later was converted into the temple of Concord. On the steps which gave access to the temple Actæon met the two legates sent by Saguntum before the siege began; two old farmers who had gone away from home for the first time, and who seemed to be dazed by their long months of waiting in Rome, with their audiences which never terminated, and with their interviews and resultless supplications. The two perturbed Saguntines, impotent before a city which never responded definitely to their words, followed like automata the self-confident Greek who went everywhere as if he were in his own house, and who spoke many languages as if the entire world were his country.