transpierced his head, he sunk into abject despair, and fled weeping to the inner chambers, from whence he was let down by a sheet before the windows of the prison. Desittute of aid or hope, he was besieged till the evening: the doors of the Capitol were destroyed with axes and fire; and while the senator attempted to escape in a plebeian habit, he was discovered, and dragged to the platform of the palace, the fatal scene of his judgments and executions. A whole hour, without voice or motion, he stood amidst the multitude half-naked, and half-dead; their rage was hushed into curiosity and wonder; the last feelings of reverence and compassion yet struggled in his favour; and they might have prevailed, if a bold assassin had not plunged a dagger in his breast. He fell senseless with the first stroke; the impotent revenge of his enemies inflicted a thousand wounds; and the senator's body was abandoned to the dogs and to the flames."

Fifty years after Rienzi's fall, the Capitol seems again to have lost all appearance of a fortress. Of its condition in the middle of the fifteenth century, we have the following sketch from the pen of a Roman writer, who, after describing its ancient glories, exclaims: "But now, besides the brick house built for the use of the senator and his assessors by Boniface the Ninth, itself raised upon ruins, and such as an old Roman citizen of moderate fortune would have despised, besides the church of Araceli belonging to the brothers of the blessed Francis, constructed upon the foundation of the temple of the Feretrian Jupiter,-there is nothing to be seen on this Capitoline or Tarpeian mount, once adorned with so many noble edifices." To this period, also, must be referred the melancholy picture which the Florentine Poggio has left us of the scene which he beheld when he sat himself down with a friend "among the very ruins of the Tarpeian citadel, behind the huge marble threshold of the gate of some temple, (as he supposed,) with broken columns on all sides around him." He introduces it into an elegant lecture "On the Variety of Fortune," and applies it with a happy effect to the illustration of his subject, by recurring to the picture of Virgil, and— The changes from that hour, when he from Troy Went up the Tiber.

"This Tarpeian rock was then a savage and solitary thicket: in the time of the poet it was crowned with the golden roofs of a temple; the temple is overthrown, the gold has been pillaged, the wheel of fortune has accomplished her revolution, and the sacred ground is again disfigured with thorns and brambles. The hill of the Capitol on which we sit, was formerly the head of the Roman Empire, the citadel of the earth, the terror of kings; illustrated by the footsteps of so many triumphs, enriched with the spoils and tributes of so many nations. This spectacle of the world, how is it fallen! how changed! how defaced! The path of victory is obliterated by vines, and the benches of the senators are concealed by a dunghill."

Into these pictures of desolation must be introduced the cottages which served as shops to the artisans who frequented the Wednesday market which was held in the Capitol till transferred, in 1477, to the Piazza Navona, an open place in the heart of the more thickly-inhabited district of the Campus Martius, still preserving the form of the ancient Circus Agonalis, whose site it occupies, and whose name, indeed, is still to be traced in the modern appellation of Navona, or Nagona, as it used to be written.

THE MODERN CAPITOL.

"RUIN and restoration," says Sir John Hobhouse, "have entirely effaced every vestige of the domicile of all the gods. The greatest uncertainty hangs over this hill. On which side stood the Capitol-on which the temple of the Capitol-and did the temple stand in the citadel? Read everything that has been written on the topography of a spot 400 yards in length and 200 in breadth, and you will know nothing. Four temples, fifteen chapels, three altars, the great rock, a fortress, a library, an athenæum, an area covered with statues, the enrolment office, all these are to be arranged in the above space; and of these the last only can be with precision assigned to the double row of vaults corroded with salt, where the inscription of Catulus was discovered."

The present state of the Capitol dates from the pontificate of Paul the Third, who occupied the papal chair from 1534 till 1550; the English reader will mark the period more readily by recollecting that he was the Pope who excommunicated king Henry the Eighth His predecessors had His predecessors had

established an absolute dominion over the city; the strong castle of St. Angelo was to be the only fortress, and it was resolved to render the ancient citadel not only accessible but inviting. The genius of Michel Angelo was employed to accomplish this object; and, in admiring his successful efforts, a spectator may remark how little they accord with his own preconceptions of the Roman Capitol. The area has been partially levelled, but the principal eminence is, in all probability, as high as that of the ancient summit; the atter was ascended by the "Hundred Steps," which could hardly rise to a greater height than the 124 steps now leading to the former. The whole surface of the hill still preserves the general characteristics of its ancient figure; the two summits which formed the northern and southern ends may be distinguished at the present day, with the little plain of the Intermontium occupying a lower level between them. To this ancient name of Intermontium has succeeded the modern appeilation of Campidoglio, which is supposed to be a corruption of Capitolium; the open place called the Piazza del Campidoglio, with the buildings on three sides of it, and the flight of steps leading up to it from the Campus Martius, may be considered as occupying the whole of this plain, though it is difficult to say where the plain ends, and the two summits on either side begin to rise. The northern of these summits is remarkable for the church and monastery of Araceli; the southern contains the Caffarelli Palace, and a mass of houses among which the supposed Tarpeian Rock may be discovered. We shall speak of these three divisions of the hill singly.

As in ancient times there were three ascents to the Capitol, so now also are there three; but they have changed their positions, and as the city itself has moved from the eastern side of the hill to the western, so have they moved likewise. Thus, instead of having three ascents upon the eastern and none upon the western side, it has now two ascents upon the western and only one upon the eastern. The western side, so long as it continued to be the back of the Capitol, had no ascents; but having now become the front of the Capitol, it retains but one. Of this solitary eastern ascent we have given a partial view in a former engraving of the Forum (see p. 33 of the present volume); it may be seen leading up by the side of the Senatorial Palace. There is, indeed, a passage running up from the Forum by the other side of the Palace, beyond the limits of lar artificial ascent. that engraving to the left; but we can hardly call it a regu

The two western ascents both start from the same point, at about the middle of the turn of the hill; a little open Via di Araceli, leads at once from the very heart of modern space has been formed there, into which the street called Rome. One of them runs up directly into the Piazza, or into the little plain between the two summits of the hill; the other slants off to the left, and runs up by 124 marble steps to the church of Araceli upon the northern summit. The former is more especially the ascent to the modern Capitol; we gave a view of it in a former number. In the in the distance; it leads only to the church of Araceli. The same view the line of the latter ascent may also be observed stranger who enters Rome on the Florence side-the most common approach-has to pass through nearly the heart of the modern city before he can reach the Capitol; one of the principal streets-the Strada del Corso, runs straight from the Porta del Popolo, or ancient Flaminian Gate, to within a short distance of the northern summit. "After walking along the Corso," says Mr. Woods, "and keeping in his eye the confused pile of buildings at the end, which he is told cover a part of the Capitoline Hill, he is lost in a labyrinth of narrow dirty streets. At length, if he is fortunate enough to take the right direction, he will find himself in a small square at the foot of two lofty flights of steps.

THE TARPEIAN ROCK

THE southern summit of the Capitoline hill possesses no remains of any ancient edifices, but it is pretty well covered with the Caffarelli Palace, and other modern buildings. It is remarkable, however, for its Tarpeian precipice, down which state-criminals were hurled in former times. "A lofty and precipitous mass rises up," says an ancient writer, "rugged with many rocks, which either bruise the body to death, or hurry it down still more violently. The points projecting from the sides, and the gloomy prospect of its vast height, are truly horrid. place is chosen in particular, that the criminals may not

This

require to be thrown down more than once." The same author tells us, that "it would be terrific even to those who looked down it in safety."

Like the modern Tiber, the modern Tarpeian is unable to bear the weight of its ancient reputation; and it is regularly visited with the sneers or the abuse of travellers, because it fails to realize the formidable conceptions which their classical recollections have engendered. Mr. Mathews, after alluding to the description which we have quoted from Seneca, says, "There is absolutely nothing at all of all this-the only precipice that remains, is one of about thirty feet from the point of a wall, where you might leap down on the dung-mixen in the fold below, without any fear of broken bones." Bishop Burnet, who expected to find a death-place worthy of a Roman, expresses his disappointment in the remark, that "the Tarpeian Rock is now so small, that a man would think it no great matter, for his diversion, to leap over it." We are not aware that the experiment has ever been tried; perhaps the Tarpeian might still prove entitled to some share of its ancient reputation, if the attempt were fairly made, in the old style. It is evident, however, from what Seneca says, that a fall was fatal, not merely on account of the height of the precipice, but because the body was battered on its rugged rocky side. Yet the height itself has been considerably reduced by various causes; the soil at the foot of the rock has been greatly raised by the accumulation of ruins and rubbish, the rock itself has been sloped down, and houses have been built against it. We know, moreover, that a large piece of it," as big as a house of ample magnitude," fell down in the middle of the fifteenth century

It happens unfortunately, that as the Capitoline hill presents two angles to the south, it presents, likewise, two precipices; and it is quite uncertain which of these two we must take to be the veritable Tarpeian rock:The promontory whence the traitor's leap Cured all ambition.

One of them is the more abrupt, and the other the more lofty. The latter belongs to a part of the summit, called the Monte Casino, which is almost choked up with paltry cottages. "We were led into a narrow and dirty courtyard," says Simond, "preceded and followed by a crowd of beggars, treading barefooted in all sorts of filth, and closing round wherever we stopped. The rock, a reddish and soft tufa,is hollowed into a spacious cave, occupied as a wine-cellar. The perpendicular front may be four-andtwenty feet high; and the abrupt slope above, on the summit of which the Palazzo Caffarelli stands, seems to be about as much more." The greatest height of this precipice, according to actual admeasurement, is eighty Roman palms, or rather more than fifty-eight and a half English feet; of course this includes the slope as well as the perpendicular part, but the whole rise is such as to deserve the epithet of abrupt. If we add twenty feet,-a moderate estimate, for the depth of the soil accumulated at the base, we shall have a very respectable precipice.

THE Engraving below gives a view of the Tarpeian rock in its present state. That in p. 201, represents the Pan theon, the most perfect of the remains of ancient Rome, we shall describe it particularly hereafter.

VOL. X.

316

ALBY, IN FRANCE.

chiefly for its solidity and regularity. It is wholly destitute of those delicate ornaments which generally

REFORMERS.

ALBY, or Albi, is a town in the south of France, situate about 350 miles from Paris, and in very nearly the same longitude as that metropolis. It stands upon the left or south bank of the river Tarn, which is one of the affluents of the Garonne, and is the capital of the department which derives the name of Tarn from that river. It is an ancient town: under the dominion of the Romans it bore the name of Albiga, or Albia; but it was of small importance then, as it lay at a distance from the great roads which traversed the country. Previous to the French revolution, it was comprised within the province of Languedoc; and the neighbouring country to a short distance around the town was called Albigeois. The surrounding district is now the arrondissement of Albi, which comprises more than 550 square miles, and has a population of nearly 80,000 inhabitants. The town itself has between 11,000 and 12,000 inhabitants, who are engaged in some trifling manufactures. It is the seat of an archbishopric; but notwithstanding its civil and ecclesiastical rank, it is one of the most uninteresting and ill-built towns of its size in France, possessing scarcely any object worthy of notice, with the exception of a fine promenade, which is raised upon a terrace on the outside of the town, and the ancient cathedral which forms the subject of our engraving in the preceding page.

The see of Alby is of great antiquity. We are told that when Christianity was introduced into this part of Gaul, the Albienses or Albigenses embraced it with enthusiasm, and that a bishopric, which was established in their town, became in a short space of time very celebrated. A cathedral church was soon erected, and dedicated to the Holy Cross. The remains of this primitive edifice are still to be seen near the present palace of the archbishop, close to the bank of the Tarn. The existing cathedral was commenced in the year 1282, by the then Bishop Bernard de Castanet, who assigned for its construction the twentieth part of his annual revenues, for the space of twenty years, and induced the chapter to follow his example. Yet in spite of his liberality, seconded as it was by the efforts of some of his successors, the work went on, as was too often the case with other cathedrals, in a slow and lingering manner: it was not completed till 1512; that is to say, till after the lapse of 230 years from the period of its foundation. During the frenzy of the French Revolution, this edifice was about to be sacrificed to the spirit of economy and atheism.

In those disastrous times, (says a French writer,) when France was under the yoke imposed by the Committee of Public Safety, the cathedral of Albi was placed in the number of national domains, the property of which was to be alienated. The authorities seemed even in haste to mark

the day for the sale of this edifice, and announced that those who became the purchasers should within a specified period pull down its walls. But a savant (M. Mariès), worthy of commendation for his talents and his labours, watched in some manner over this fine monument. Alarmed at the resolution taken by the Directory of the Department of Tarn, he wrote to those who composed it: he pointed out the impropriety of the projected sale; he spoke like a skilful architect of the beauty of the edifice, and showed that the national glory was going to be compromised by ignorant or ill-intentioned men. This generous proceeding, which in those days of mourning and of terror might have marked out a new victim for the executioner, was crowned with unhoped-for success.

Our engraving will convey an idea of the external appearance of this cathedral, which is remarkable

fourteenth centuries,-except upon the southern side, on which is to be seen a very beautiful portal. The tower rises to the height of more than 400 feet above the level of the river Tarn, whose waters wash the little hill upon which the church stands. The interior of the edifice has nothing worthy of especial notice, except some old paintings, and a fine organ.

On the whole, the town of Alby possesses within itself so few objects of interest, that it would have little to recommend it to our notice, were its name not inseparably associated in our minds with those ardent and ill-fated reformers who, as early as the twelfth century of the Christian era, obtained the distinction of being persecuted by the Church of Rome. The appellation of Albigenses is generally said to have been formed from Albiga, the Latin name of Alby; but some derive it from Albigesium, which was the general denomination of Narbonese Gaul in the middle ages. The reason for which the town should have given a name to these people is variously stated: some say that it was from the prevalence of their opinions in its vicinity,-others, that it was because those opinions were condemned at a council held in Alby in 1176,—and others again, because the first of the Provençal lords against whom the army of the persecutors marched, was Raymond Roger, Viscount of Alby, &c.

When the persecution of the Albigenses commenced, France was not as it now is, an entire monarchy subject to one king; on the contrary, it was then, as it had long previously been during the feudal period, subject to the influence of four kings, to each of whom several grand vassals were subordinate. Philip Augustus reigned in the north, or was king of France proper; that is to say, it was his descendants who afterwards became sovereigns of the whole French territory. Towards the west was an English France; on the east a German France; and in the south a Spanish or Aragonese France. Until the reign of Philip Augustus, the first of these divisions was the least extensive, the least rich, and the least powerful; but that monarch, by a concourse of fortunate circumstances, rather than by his talents, as Sismondi says, greatly exalted the splendour of his crown, and extended his dominion over a portion of France much more important than that which he had inherited from his predecessors. These acquisitions were made at the expense of the King of England; and at the beginning of the thirteenth century, Philip Augustus had conquered more than half of the English France. But the German and the Aragonese France still retained their limits; the former had become even more attached to the empire, and the latter formed a part of the independent dominions of the King of Aragon.

sovereign lord, not only of the territory which he Nominally, however, Philip Augustus was the actually ruled, but likewise of English France and of Aragonese France. Like the King of England, the King of Aragon was regarded as a French prince. The greater part of his states, even beyond the Pyrenees, and as far as the river Ebro,-had belonged to the ancient monarchy of Charlemagne; and thus he, as the holder of them, was considered to owe homage to the crown of France, of which Philip Augustus was the possessor. Like the King of England, too, the King of Aragon had acquired, either by marriages, or by grants of fief, or by treaties of protection, dominion over a great number of French lords; some of whom did homage to the King of