第 26 页

and nothing remained but the vague, fading roundness of the dome of St.

Peter's amidst the all-invading night.

And, by some subtle connection of ideas, Pierre at that moment once again

saw rising before him the lofty, sad, declining figures of Cardinal

Boccanera and old Orlando. On the evening of that day when he had learnt

to know them, one after the other, both so great in the obstinacy of

their hope, they seemed to be there, erect on the horizon above their

annihilated city, on the fringe of the heavens which death apparently was

about to seize. Was everything then to crumble with them? was everything

to fade away and disappear in the falling night following upon

accomplished Time?

V.

ON the following day Narcisse Habert came in great worry to tell Pierre

that Monsignor Gamba del Zoppo complained of being unwell, and asked for

a delay of two or three days before receiving the young priest and

considering the matter of his audience. Pierre was thus reduced to

inaction, for he dared not make any attempt elsewhere in view of seeing

the Pope. He had been so frightened by Nani and others that he feared he

might jeopardise everything by inconsiderate endeavours. And so he began

to visit Rome in order to occupy his leisure.

His first visit was for the ruins of the Palatine. Going out alone one

clear morning at eight o'clock, he presented himself at the entrance in

the Via San Teodoro, an iron gateway flanked by the lodges of the

keepers. One of the latter at once offered his services, and though

Pierre would have preferred to roam at will, following the bent of his

dream, he somehow did not like to refuse the offer of this man, who spoke

French very distinctly, and smiled in a very good-natured way. He was a

squatly built little man, a former soldier, some sixty years of age, and

his square-cut, ruddy face was barred by thick white moustaches.

"Then will you please follow me, Monsieur l'Abbe," said he. "I can see

that you are French, Monsieur l'Abbe. I'm a Piedmontese myself, but I

know the French well enough; I was with them at Solferino. Yes, yes,

whatever people may say, one can't forget old friendships. Here, this

way, please, to the right."

Raising his eyes, Pierre had just perceived the line of cypresses edging

the plateau of the Palatine on the side of the Tiber; and in the delicate

blue atmosphere the intense greenery of these trees showed like a black

fringe. They alone attracted the eye; the slope, of a dusty, dirty grey,

stretched out bare and devastated, dotted by a few bushes, among which

peeped fragments of ancient walls. All was instinct with the ravaged,

leprous sadness of a spot handed over to excavation, and where only men

of learning could wax enthusiastic.

"The palaces of Tiberius, Caligula, and the Flavians are up above,"

resumed the guide. "We must keep then for the end and go round."

Nevertheless he took a few steps to the left, and pausing before an

excavation, a sort of grotto in the hillside, exclaimed: "This is the

Lupercal den where the wolf suckled Romulus and Remus. Just here at the

entry used to stand the Ruminal fig-tree which sheltered the twins."

Pierre could not restrain a smile, so convinced was the tone in which the

old soldier gave these explanations, proud as he was of all the ancient

glory, and wont to regard the wildest legends as indisputable facts.

However, when the worthy man pointed out some vestiges of Roma

Quadrata--remnants of walls which really seemed to date from the

foundation of the city--Pierre began to feel interested, and a first

touch of emotion made his heart beat. This emotion was certainly not due

to any beauty of scene, for he merely beheld a few courses of tufa

blocks, placed one upon the other and uncemented. But a past which had

been dead for seven and twenty centuries seemed to rise up before him,

and those crumbling, blackened blocks, the foundation of such a mighty

eclipse of power and splendour, acquired extraordinary majesty.

Continuing their inspection, they went on, skirting the hillside. The

outbuildings of the palaces must have descended to this point; fragments

of porticoes, fallen beams, columns and friezes set up afresh, edged the

rugged path which wound through wild weeds, suggesting a neglected

cemetery; and the guide repeated the words which he had used day by day

for ten years past, continuing to enunciate suppositions as facts, and

giving a name, a destination, a history, to every one of the fragments.

"The house of Augustus," he said at last, pointing towards some masses of

earth and rubbish.

Thereupon Pierre, unable to distinguish anything, ventured to inquire:

"Where do you mean?"

"Oh!" said the man, "it seems that the walls were still to be seen at the

end of the last century. But it was entered from the other side, from the

Sacred Way. On this side there was a huge balcony which overlooked the

Circus Maximus so that one could view the sports. However, as you can

see, the greater part of the palace is still buried under that big garden

up above, the garden of the Villa Mills. When there's money for fresh

excavations it will be found again, together with the temple of Apollo

and the shrine of Vesta which accompanied it."

Turning to the left, he next entered the Stadium, the arena erected for

foot-racing, which stretched beside the palace of Augustus; and the

priest's interest was now once more awakened. It was not that he found

himself in presence of well-preserved and monumental remains, for not a

column had remained erect, and only the right-hand walls were still

standing. But the entire plan of the building had been traced, with the

goals at either end, the porticus round the course, and the colossal

imperial tribune which, after being on the left, annexed to the house of

Augustus, had afterwards opened on the right, fitting into the palace of

Septimius Severus. And while Pierre looked on all the scattered remnants,

his guide went on chattering, furnishing the most copious and precise

information, and declaring that the gentlemen who directed the

excavations had mentally reconstructed the Stadium in each and every

particular, and were even preparing a most exact plan of it, showing all

the columns in their proper order and the statues in their niches, and

even specifying the divers sorts of marble which had covered the walls.

"Oh! the directors are quite at ease," the old soldier eventually added

with an air of infinite satisfaction. "There will be nothing for the

Germans to pounce on here. They won't be allowed to set things

topsy-turvy as they did at the Forum, where everybody's at sea since they

came along with their wonderful science!"

Pierre--a Frenchman--smiled, and his interest increased when, by broken

steps and wooden bridges thrown over gaps, he followed the guide into the

great ruins of the palace of Severus. Rising on the southern point of the

Palatine, this palace had overlooked the Appian Way and the Campagna as

far as the eye could reach. Nowadays, almost the only remains are the

substructures, the subterranean halls contrived under the arches of the

terraces, by which the plateau of the hill was enlarged; and yet these

dismantled substructures suffice to give some idea of the triumphant

palace which they once upheld, so huge and powerful have they remained in

their indestructible massiveness. Near by arose the famous Septizonium,

the tower with the seven tiers of arcades, which only finally disappeared

in the sixteenth century. One of the palace terraces yet juts out upon

cyclopean arches and from it the view is splendid. But all the rest is a

commingling of massive yet crumbling walls, gaping depths whose ceilings

have fallen, endless corridors and vast halls of doubtful destination.

Well cared for by the new administration, swept and cleansed of weeds,

the ruins have lost their romantic wildness and assumed an aspect of bare

and mournful grandeur. However, flashes of living sunlight often gild the

ancient walls, penetrate by their breaches into the black halls, and

animate with their dazzlement the mute melancholy of all this dead

splendour now exhumed from the earth in which it slumbered for centuries.

Over the old ruddy masonry, stripped of its pompous marble covering, is

the purple mantle of the sunlight, draping the whole with imperial glory

once more.

For more than two hours already Pierre had been walking on, and yet he

still had to visit all the earlier palaces on the north and east of the

plateau. "We must go back," said the guide, "the gardens of the Villa

Mills and the convent of San Bonaventura stop the way. We shall only be

able to pass on this side when the excavations have made a clearance. Ah!

Monsieur l'Abbe, if you had walked over the Palatine merely some fifty

years ago! I've seen some plans of that time. There were only some

vineyards and little gardens with hedges then, a real campagna, where not

a soul was to be met. And to think that all these palaces were sleeping

underneath!"

Pierre followed him, and after again passing the house of Augustus, they

ascended the slope and reached the vast Flavian palace,* still half

buried by the neighbouring villa, and composed of a great number of halls

large and small, on the nature of which scholars are still arguing. The

aula regia, or throne-room, the basilica, or hall of justice, the

triclinium, or dining-room, and the peristylium seem certainties; but for

all the rest, and especially the small chambers of the private part of

the structure, only more or less fanciful conjectures can be offered.

Moreover, not a wall is entire; merely foundations peep out of the

ground, mutilated bases describing the plan of the edifice. The only ruin

preserved, as if by miracle, is the house on a lower level which some

assert to have been that of Livia,* a house which seems very small beside

all the huge palaces, and where are three halls comparatively intact,

with mural paintings of mythological scenes, flowers, and fruits, still

wonderfully fresh. As for the palace of Tiberius, not one of its stones

can be seen; its remains lie buried beneath a lovely public garden;

whilst of the neighbouring palace of Caligula, overhanging the Forum,

there are only some huge substructures, akin to those of the house of

Severus--buttresses, lofty arcades, which upheld the palace, vast

basements, so to say, where the praetorians were posted and gorged

themselves with continual junketings. And thus this lofty plateau

dominating the city merely offered some scarcely recognisable vestiges to

the view, stretches of grey, bare soil turned up by the pick, and dotted

with fragments of old walls; and it needed a real effort of scholarly

imagination to conjure up the ancient imperial splendour which once had

triumphed there.

* Begun by Vespasian and finished by Domitian.--Trans.

** Others assert it to have been the house of Germanicus,

father of Caligula.--Trans.

Nevertheless Pierre's guide, with quiet conviction, persisted in his

explanations, pointing to empty space as though the edifices still rose

before him. "Here," said he, "we are in the Area Palatina. Yonder, you

see, is the facade of Domitian's palace, and there you have that of

Caligula's palace, while on turning round the temple of Jupiter Stator is

in front of you. The Sacred Way came up as far as here, and passed under

the Porta Mugonia, one of the three gates of primitive Rome."

He paused and pointed to the northwest portion of the height. "You will

have noticed," he resumed, "that the Caesars didn't build yonder. And

that was evidently because they had to respect some very ancient

monuments dating from before the foundation of the city and greatly

venerated by the people. There stood the temple of Victory built by

Evander and his Arcadians, the Lupercal grotto which I showed you, and

the humble hut of Romulus constructed of reeds and clay. Oh! everything

has been found again, Monsieur l'Abbe; and, in spite of all that the

Germans say there isn't the slightest doubt of it."

Then, quite abruptly, like a man suddenly remembering the most

interesting thing of all, he exclaimed: "Ah! to wind up we'll just go to

see the subterranean gallery where Caligula was murdered."

Thereupon they descended into a long crypto-porticus, through the

breaches of which the sun now casts bright rays. Some ornaments of stucco

and fragments of mosaic-work are yet to be seen. Still the spot remains

mournful and desolate, well fitted for tragic horror. The old soldier's

voice had become graver as he related how Caligula, on returning from the

Palatine games, had been minded to descend all alone into this gallery to

witness certain sacred dances which some youths from Asia were practising

there. And then it was that the gloom gave Cassius Chaereas, the chief of

the conspirators, an opportunity to deal him the first thrust in the

abdomen. Howling with pain, the emperor sought to flee; but the

assassins, his creatures, his dearest friends, rushed upon him, threw him

down, and dealt him blow after blow, whilst he, mad with rage and fright,

filled the dim, deaf gallery with the howling of a slaughtered beast.

When he had expired, silence fell once more, and the frightened murderers

fled.

The classical visit to the Palatine was now over, and when Pierre came up

into the light again, he wished to rid himself of his guide and remain

alone in the pleasant, dreamy garden on the summit of the height. For

three hours he had been tramping about with the guide's voice buzzing in

his ears. The worthy man was now talking of his friendship for France and

relating the battle of Magenta in great detail. He smiled as he took the

piece of silver which Pierre offered him, and then started on the battle

of Solferino. Indeed, it seemed impossible to stop him, when fortunately

a lady came up to ask for some information. And, thereupon, he went off