ping-place of the modern Man of Letters. Florence is his home. He lives in Florence; he lodges here. In Florence he buys a villa, or he takes a long lease of a house; and sometimes he engages a plot in the Protestant Cemetery; in Rome he usually stays at a hotel, or he makes pension arrangements for a limited period. If he dies in Rome he sometimes leaves here only a portion of his anatomy, and he sends his heart, or his ashes, to be buried somewhere else.

There are two distinct classes of English-speaking visitors to Rome, each of whom, no doubt, are willing to learn something, and to see something of its Literary Landmarks. The first of these have read Ruskin and Mrs. Jameson. They think they know all about art; while, unlike Mr. Vedder's beasts of the fields, in too many instances, they do not even know what they like. They sit for hours in rapt enthusiasm before "The Last Judgment" or before the "Apollo Belvedere," looking at those masterpieces through little, temporary opera-glasses made of their own fingers, or holding up their right hands and wagging their right thumbs, in that peculiar manner which is supposed to denote highart appreciation, and which must be familiar to all students of the students of art. They get a great deal of satisfaction out of Rome, and they go away from it perfectly content with their own familiarity with all its rich artistic treasures. The second class of visitors skim through the galleries and the churches of Rome as

death -sick-and-tired -of-the-Old-Masters sort of way, which is as sincere as it is self-evident, and is ingenuously expressed. They are always heartily thankful when it is all over, and they utter a sigh of absolute relief when they learn that they have gone somewhere on the wrong day, and have absolutely no other day on which to go. For both these classestraditional sight-seers both, and both of them worthy of all respect-is here given some idea of what the men who made Rome did in Rome, and of how and where they did it, from Cicero and Cæsar, to Shelley and Keats, in the hope and belief that the tourist will get as much out of Horace and Hawthorne in Rome as out of Raphael and Salvator Rosa, or out of Donatello and Carlo Dolci.

It is, of course, no longer possible to point out the exact Landmarks of the Literary Romans of twenty centuries ago, when Balbus and his mysterious contemporary-a gentleman always addressed as "Thou"- -were accustomed to lift up their hands, for some unknown and seemingly utterly useless reason, and to the great confusion of our tenses, persons, and numbers in our Latin Prose Compositions. Cicero and Tacitus, and Cato and Sallust, and even Julius Cæsar, have left but few footprints on the sands of Rome; and these Darwin's obliterating earthworm and the ravages of Time have almost entirely wiped out.

Not pretending to any knowledge of antiquarian lore, the present literary pil

grim, in this portion of his narrative, must depend upon the antiquarian knowledge of Mr. Augustus J. C. Hare, of Dr. S. Russell Forbes, of the late Professor J. Henry Middleton, and of Signor Rudolfo Lanciani; only adding that he himself has seen, or has tried to see, everything which they point out, and that he sees, and has attempted to see, no reason to doubt the truth of their researches. Without their aid he would have been lost in ancient Rome; and to them he begs to extend here his most sincere thanks.

Dr. Forbes believes that Cicero's house, under the Palatine, was above that of Cæsar; that Cicero made his first oration against Catiline in the Temple of Jupiter Stator, on the Palatine Hill, and he places Cicero's Tusculan villa on the site of what is now a Greek monastery, the Grotta Ferrata. He adds that Cicero mentions statues of the Muses which stood in his library, and that these statues were actually found there many centuries later. It was here that Cicero laid the scenes of his De Divinatione and Tusculana Disputationes; and here he received the news of his proscription.

It is also recorded that Cicero was more than once entertained by Lucullus in that famous villa which stood on the southwest side of the Pincian Hill; and that upon his return from banishment, fiftyseven years before the beginning of the Christian Era, he was received in triumph by the Senate and the People of Rome (S. P. Q. R.) at the Porta Capena, on the Appian Way.

After his assassination, the head and the hands of Cicero were placed upon the Rostra, a temporary structure, which stood in the Forum, in front of the Curia, where it is recorded that Fulvia, the widow of Clodius, spat in his dead face, and added injury to insult, in a truly unfeminine way, but with a truly feminine weapon, by sticking her hair-pin through his speechless tongue.

All students will remember that Julius Cæsar announced that all Gaul was divided into three parts; each of which, with all the gall in his possession, he attached to himself. This celebrated Man of Letters, against the advice of his wife, Calpurnia, went out to meet his fate on a famous March morning, from the Regia, close to the Temple of Vesta in the Forum; and here his widow received his body, brought back with all its gaping

wounds by a few of his faithful slaves. Alas, it was too late for her to tell him that she had told him so; but no doubt, in all her great grief, she thought it!

Mr. Forbes says that Cæsar lived in the first house in the Via Sacra. He describes it as fronting towards the Temple of Vesta; while the portico and shops built at a later period over its ruins ran parallel with the Sacred Way. The house side of the atrium, he continues, is plainly marked by the fragments of columns composed of travertine coated with stucco and frescoed; and amidst the shops are remains of a beautiful black and white mosaic pavement, the fragments of the borders showing that they once belonged to the older edifice. The mansion had two entrances into the Via Sacra, one nearly touching its northeast corner.

Cæsar was not killed in the Capitol, as Shakspere said. What Hamlet called that Brute part was played in Pompey's Senate-House, or the Theatre of Pompey, the Church of S. Andrea della Valle, on the new thoroughfare called Corso Vittorio Emanuele, now standing upon its site. Mr. Forbes explains that the great star beneath the cupola marks, as near as possible, the spot upon which the autocrat fell. As the deposed Bonaparte lies under the Dome of the Invalides, in Paris, so rises, in Rome, a Dome over the place where another, if not a greater, conqueror was extinguished.

Pompey's statue, at the foot of which great Cæsar fell, a colossal, not ungainly figure of a man, is believed generally to be now standing in the Palazzo Spada alla Regola, in the Piazza di Capo di Ferro. It is placed in what is called the Council-Chamber of the Palace, and what are said to be the stains of great Cæsar's blood are, according to tradition, still visible upon the calf of Pompey's left leg. Mr. Hare quotes Suetonius as narrating that the statue "was removed from the Curia by Augustus, and placed upon a marble Janus in front of the basilica," and the same authority-Mr. Hare

adds that "it was found upon that exact spot during the pontificate of Julius III. [1550-55]." Whether this be the original figure of Pompey or not, it has been addressed by Byron as "Thou dread statue! yet existent in the austerest form of naked mystery," and it has been accepted, and apostrophized, by many other well-known writers of prose and of verse

as being authentic. And while I am will ing to accept it myself, I must put my self on record as doubting, somewhat, the stains of Cæsar's blood.

Although the art treasures of the Spada Palace are not visible to-day, except by special permission of the existing head of the Spada Family, the porter at the gate will, for a small gratuity, admit the stranger to the hall upon the second floor where the dread statue stands. And it is worth recording, as an interesting and characteristic fact, that the French in the winter of 1788-9 carried this figure to the Colosseum, where they enacted Voltaire's tragedy of Brutus, in accents unborn in Brutus's time, and where they murdered Cæsar once more at its base. This was a performance which could only have been equalled by the entertainment which Colonel William F. Cody, with his Wild West Show, wished to give, a century later, on the same spot.

"The statue is entirely nude," said Hawthorne, "except for a cloak that hangs down from the left shoulder; in the left hand is held a globe; the right arm is extended. The whole expression is such as the statue might have assumed if, during the tumult of Cæsar's murder, it had stretched forth its marble hand and motioned the conspirators to give over the attack, or to be quiet, now that their victim had fallen at its feet. On the left leg, about midway above the ankle, there is a dull red stain, said to be Cæsar's blood; but, of course, it is just such a red stain in the marble as may be seen on the statue of Antinous at the Capitol.... I am glad to have seen this statue, and glad to remember it in that gray, dim, lofty hall; glad that there were no bright frescoes on the walls, and that the ceiling was wrought with massive beams and the floor paved with ancient brick."

Mark Antony delivered his famous funeral oration on the Rostra Julia, on the east side of the Forum. The ancient writers tell us how greatly it moved the people, who immediately burned the body in that very place, and afterwards interred the ashes there; but they do not report Antony's words. That they could hardly be more moving than were the words put into Antony's mouth by Shakspere all reporters of great speeches, in the present day, must assuredly admit. The Temple of Cæsar, which was erected on his funeral pile, Signor Lanciani says, was

destroyed in 1546. It is now an unmarked mass of rough and broken stones.

The Temple of Cæsar and Cæsar's house, and the other intensely interesting features of the Forum, are not easily distinguished by the present pilgrim, even with the aid of the clearest of plans. Small tablets stating "Here Cæsar Lived" or "Here Cæsar Died," or here happened this or here happened that historical event, would be of great help to the inquiring tourist of to-day. If Keats and Scott and Goethe are so honored by the municipality of Rome, why should not the homes of the men of earlier times have some mark to distinguish their occupancy?

Very few spots in the world are more impressive than this same Roman Forum. Here one walks, by means of a few modern wooden steps, out of the End of the Nineteenth Century into a space dating back to a period when there were no centuries at all, as we count them; to a period which was old before the Middle Ages were born. And in the Forum, even more strongly than at the Pyramids themselves, is one forced to acknowledge that art is short, and that time is fleeting.

The villa and the gardens of Sallust, a literary gentleman not unknown to the students of the dead languages in the high-schools of most living countries, Professor Middleton places in the Barberini Villa gardens, in the valley between the Quirinal and the Pincian hills. It was probably destroyed, he says, in the fire of 410, but he has traced certain portions of it which are still remaining; and he describes a nobly designed hall once lined with rich marble, and decorated with statues, handsome staircases and the like. Its site is gradually being covered with the brand-new buildings which are fast making this part of Rome as modern as is modern New York or modern Paris. is approached by horse-cars, it is lighted by electricity, and it is surrounded by hotels, which look like the Fifth Avenue or the Continental, and are quite as comfortable and quite as expensive as is either of those familiar hostelries of modern times.

It

Virgil is said to have lived on the Esquiline Hill, near the gardens of Mæcenas; and Horace is known to have been a constant guest in the villa of Mæcenas, which he has frequently described. Signor Lanciani points out the very interest

ing fact that Horace bought his books of the dealers in ancient and modern literature who did business in the Argiletum, a quarter situated between the Roman Forum and the Suburra, and corresponding to the Paternoster Row or the Nassau Street of modern literary towns.

The authorities agree that Mæcenas, whose hospitality has become proverbial, entertained the poets of the Augustan Age in a house which stood upon the Esquiline Hill, where the Baths of Titus were afterwards placed, Mr. Forbes adding the interesting fact that the amiable and harmonic Nero saw the burning of Rome to the slow music of his own violin from a tower of this villa.

Pliny is supposed to have lived on the summit of the Vicus Cyprius, probably on the Via S. Maria Maggiore, in a little house previously occupied by another poet, one Pedo Albinovanus. The exact site of this house is not known now; and the majority of the authorities do not mention it at all.

Petrarch is said to have been a guest of the head of the Colonna family during at least one of his visits to Rome; but as the present palace bearing the Colonna name is a century later than the time of Petrarch, the poet naturally could not have known it. It stands not far from the site of the ancient fortress which the earlier Colonnas occupied, and perhaps Petrarch went from this fortress, in 1341, to receive the laurel crown in the great Senate Hall on the Capitol Hill. He had much to say about Rome and about what seemed to him its decadence. He found here neither repose nor content; civil and foreign wars were desolating the land; houses were sinking; walls were falling to the ground; temples and shrines were yielding to decay; laws were trampled under foot; justice was a prey to violence; and the unhappy people sighed and groaned; all because Pope Urban V. was at Avignon, and there were no good Humbert and charming Margaret, with their strong common-sense and their kindliness of heart, to make Rome what it is to-day, a city of peace, and of outward prosperity, wisely and justly governed, and occupied by a people happy and well pleased with themselves and with their rulers.

Luther came to Rome when he was twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, and he remained here but two short

weeks. No man ever hated Rome as Luther hated it, not for itself, but for its influences; and during the rest of his life he wrote and spoke of Rome in the strongest terms of disgust and condemnation. Rome thoroughly weaned him from Rome, and made him the Pope of the Heretics of his time. And out of Rome he carried nothing that was comforting, except the feeling that if he had not had his fortnight in Rome he never would have believed that Rome and the Romans could be half so bad as he was now convinced they were. His thoughts and reflections upon the Eternal City, therefore, can hardly be recommended as sympathetic reading-matter to the enthusiastic pilgrims of the present time.

Luther while here was an inhabitant of the Augustine Convent, adjoining the Church of S. Maria del Popolo; and he is said to have occupied the rooms which are now the offices of the Director of the Parks and Gardens of Rome. They are, of course, entirely changed, in furniture and in appearance, since Luther's day.

Mr. Hare, who always quotes so happily, quotes the author of The SchönbergCotta Chronicles as describing how Luther, on his knees, as is the invariable rule, climbed, painfully, up the Holy Staircase, or the "Scala Santa," "when he suddenly stood erect, lifted his face heavenward, and in another instant turned and walked slowly and deliberately down again." This was a way of Luther's throughout life; and if the story be true it seems to be founded on fact-Luther's are the only feet which have touched those holy steps since the days of Pontius Pilate, when, tradition says, they were trod-in Pilate's house at Jerusalem-by the sacred feet of the Messiah Himself. They are now covered with boards, beneath which, however, the original marble-said to be Italian marbleis still visible; and at all hours of the day, and on every day of the week, pilgrims of all ages, of both sexes, and of every condition of life, babies and aged persons, beggars and princes, side by side, may be seen toiling painfully on their knees from the bottom to the top, saying a prayer on every one of the twenty-eight steps. Concerning their divine association tradition only can be relied upon, but millions of earnest Christians, Luther among them, have made their ascent during the hundreds of years in which they

have been where they are; and they are of great interest now for Luther's sake, if for no other.

The register of the Albergo dell' Orso, if that once famous Bear Hotel ever had a register, would not only be of enormous value, as a collection of autographs, but of great help to the Literary Pilgrim in Rome to-day. The inn stood for centuries on the same spot, in the Via dell' Orso; it was always in the hotel business, central, commanding, fashionable, and comfortable, as the advertisements would say; and, in the height of its glory and prosperity, it entertained guests of the greatest dis

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tinction in all the walks of life, and from all parts of the globe. Montaigne slept under its roof, and it is even claimed for it that Dante made it his home when he came-if he ever did come-as the Ambassador of Florence to the Pope of Rome, at the beginning of the Fourteenth Century; although this is mere conjecture. building condemned to demolition still stood, in its shabby old age, frequented by peasants, when I last saw it; but it was entirely unnoticed by the hundreds of thousands of tourists who passed it on their way to and from St. Peter's. Its massive vaults and fine old columns were once