the pope, Clement X., that he prohibited them, and took measures to prevent them by blocking up the lower arches and consecrating the place. In 1714 Clement XI. established the altars of the Passion, and shortly after were painted the pictures of Jerusalem and the Crucifixion that are now seen over the southern entrance. I have hitherto not spoken of the martyrs who perished for their faith in the Colosseum. These are generally supposed to have amounted to thousands; but Marangoni, who is a careful man and not disposed to exaggerate facts, puts the number of martyrs known, and not merely conjectured, to have suffered in this arena at only twenty-four. Of these, eighteen were men, beginning with St. Ignatius and ending with Telemachus; and six were women. Of the latter, three-St. Martina, St. Italiana and St. Prisca-were exposed to lions, who, instead of devouring them, licked their feet. And one, St. Daria, wife of St. Crisanto, according to Marangoni, "was under the vaults (sotte le volte) of the Amphitheatre, where her chastity was defended by a lion." Da un leone fù difesa la sua castità.* Besides these, there were two hundred and sixty anonymous soldiers under Claudius, who, after digging an arena outside the Porta Salara, were killed, and placed among the records of the Christians as martyrs. Doubtless, however, says Marangoni, there were many others besides those mentioned, whose names we do not know, who were exposed to death under the cruel orders of Diocletian, as is evident from the testimony of Tertullian.† The manner in which the Christian martyrs were exposed to the wild beasts is shown by some small rilievi in bronze found in the catacombs, where the lions are represented as chained to a pilaster, and the martyrs lie naked and unarmed at their feet. It seems also that the sacrifice of the Christians generally ended the day's sport. When the other shows were over, the condemned Christians were brought into the arena through files of the hunters of the wild beasts, who beat them with rods as they passed. Some of the women were stripped and exposed in nets, and some were tortured because they would not assume the ceremonial robes worn in the worship of the pagan divinities. Every refinement of cruelty was undoubtedly * Leones, as Lord Broughton suggests, may, perhaps, be better read lenones, for it is well established that "sotte le volte " was a place devoted to brothels, where a woman was more in danger of panders (lenones) than of lions (leones); and in fact the very word "fornicators" is derived from "fornices," the places under the vaults. Her chastity needed not the defence of any one in the arena, however it might below the vaults; and the old well-known proverb-Christiani ad leones, virgines ad lenones-seems to favour this view of the martyrdom of St. Daria. † Cap. 42, Apologia. See also Arringhi Roma Sotter. lib. ii cap. 1; tom. i. p. 197, edit, 1651. practised upon a sect who were supposed to worship an ass, and who were thought to plot against the state. While we speak with horror of that ferocious spirit which dragged to torture and death the innocent and virtuous, merely because they differed from the religious dogma of the day, and refused to bow down before the pagan gods, let us also remember that the Catholic Church in later days, when it had attained a power as extensive as that exercised by Imperial Rome, was guilty of fouler wrong and more infamous cruelty, and that the numbers of victims that were sacrificed by the Inquisition in the single reign of Philip II. outnumber by thousands those who perished under the Roman Emperors. Nor let us plume ourselves too much on our religious tolerance even at the present day. The horrors of the past would not, thank God! be now within the bounds of possibility; but bigotry and persecution have by no means ceased, and infidel and atheist are words which are widely and generally thrown against those who differ in their creed from the established church. Pius V. used to say that whoever desired to obtain a Christian or Catholic relic, should take some earth from the arena of the Colosseum, where it had been cemented by so much holy blood; and whenever the Cardinal Ulderico Carpegna passed the spot, says Marangoni, this pious gentleman always stopped his carriage, gratefully to commemorate the names of the holy martyrs who had suffered there. Such are some of the memories which haunt the crumbled shell of the Colosseum. After all the bloodshed, and murder, and battle, and martyrdom, how peaceful and tranquil it seems! Above us wheel the swallows, that build their "procreant cradles" far up upon the jutting frieze and buttress of the lofty walls, where the air is delicate. There sound the clanging crows, flying blackly along when "night thickens." There flocks of doves build and breed among the ruins and sail out into the blue deeps. All the benches are draped with weeds and grasses, and festooned with creepers and flowers. Many a strange and curious plant may here be seen, peculiar to the place, and these have been recorded in a little volume by Dr. Deakin on the "Flora of the Colosseum." The place remembers not its ancient horrors, as it sleeps in the full sunlight of an Italian day,—but when the shadows of night come on, and the clouds blacken above, and the wind howls through the empty galleries and arches, and the storm comes down over the Colosseum, the clash of the gladiators may still be heard, the roar of the multitudinous voices crying for blood rise on the gale, and those broken benches are thronged with a fearful audience of ghosts. ROM the earliest times the Romans distinguished themselves as Mimi and Pantomimi. These were divided into two distinct classes; the Mimi being farcers who declaimed, while the Pantomimi, as we have seen, only gesticulated. Some of these characters still remain in Italy. The Sanniones are clearly our modern clowns of the circus, with their somewhat doubtful jokes, their exaggerated grimacing, and the ears on their caps. The Planipedes in many respects resemble the pantaloon, and particularly in their long dresses and their shaved heads. The Ithyphalli and Phallophori, thank heaven! have utterly disappeared. But Pulcinella is a direct descendant of the old and famous family of the Atellance. If you may trust Capponi, and other learned Italians who have investigated his origin, his pedigree may be clearly traced to these farcers, who were the Ciarlatani of Rome in the early days of Tarquin. They were Oscans, and came from the town of Atella, now St. Elpidio, only five or six miles from Naples, and the very head-quarters of the real Pulcinella. Thus, for more than twenty-four hundred years, he has clung to his native soil and followed in the footsteps of his famous ancestor Maccus. If you disbelieve this pedigree, Pulcinella will show you his ancestral statues in bronze dug out of Herculaneum, and his ancestral portraits on the walls of Pompeii; and Capponi, pointing out to you their beaked or chicken nose,-a family peculiarity which their descendant still retains in his mask,-will explain that the modern name is merely a nickname derived therefrom-pullus being a chicken, and pullicinus a little chicken, and Pullicinellus or Pulcinella, a little chicken-nosed fellow. In like manner, the word Ciarlatini may be a mere corruption of Atellana. These Atellance Fabule, or Ludi Osci, were plays performed by the Oscans on planks and trestles, before the invention of the regular theatres; and Maccus, then primo comico, great ancestor to our Pulcinella, from under his mask amused the ancient Romans with his wit and satire. When they spoke, they grimaced like modern buffoons, and jested to the delight of Livy and Cicero. Their parts were often woven into dramas, to which they did not properly belong, as Livy tells us; and in this respect, also, they performed precisely the part of Pulcinella, who is a constant interloper in plays, in which his character is entirely interpolated. Such was their repute, that even Sylla, the bloody dictator, is said to have written plays for them; and it is quite clear that they were favourites during the days of the Cæsars. The well-spring of fun in Pulcinella is Artesian and inexhaustible. He will never die,-never till fools are no more and we are all wise aud wretched. In Rome, as well as in Naples, he is a great favourite; though to be seen to advantage he should be visited in his native country. In his long loose white jacket and pantaloons, his beaked mask covering the upper portion of his whitened face, Pulcinella is for ever intriguing, doctoring, bringing lovers together, creating imbroglios, and laughing at his victims with the utmost impertinence. He is always married,—his wife and mother-in-law are in a chronic state of quarrel, -and his house is a constant battle-field of humour and absurdity. In one of the plays of Pulcinella he has a struggle with the devil, whom he catches at last by the tail. This he pulls at fiercely, when, to his great astonishment, it comes off, and the father of evil vanishes, leaving it in his hands. At first he is dumb and confounded with amazement, all of which is expressed by the most extraordinary grimace. Finally, he smells at the end of it, and a grin of satisfaction widens his mouth. Again he smells, indicating by expressive pantomime that the odour is uncommonly good. At last an idea seizes him, he pulls out his knife, and, slicing off a piece as if it were a sausage, puts it into his mouth. Now his delight knows no bounds, but, with absurd expressions of satisfaction, he continues to cut off slice after slice, offering them first to the audience, and then, repenting of his generosity, slipping it into his own mouth, until he has eaten up the whole tail. Stenterello, the Tuscan type of humour, is also a favourite on the Roman stage, and he, together with Pulcinella, hold their high quarters at the Capranica Theatre, alternating with music and juggling, ballet and pantomime, and sometimes with serious opera, tragedy, and high comedy, in delighting the crowd of Romans. Stenterello is of the illustrious family of the queues. His face is painted in streaks, one front tooth is wanting in his mouth, and he wears the old tricornered hat and long-tailed coat and breeches. He is an embodiment in caricature of the worst defects of the Tuscan character, and derives his name probably from his excessive parsimony. The lower Florentines live meanly, are given to saving, deny themselves in the quantity and quality of their food, and exist, according to the Tuscan idiom, "a stento”—and hence, probably, the name of Stenterello. This trait is so well established that the almanacs of Florence, circulated among the common people, contain advice not to be thrifty and saving, but to live more liberally. Stenterello, therefore, on the stage, carries this vice to its extreme, and, by his ludicrous efforts at saving, convulses the audience. Another of his characteristics is low cunning. He is always wishing to marry for the sake of money, but laughs at the notion of love,―is penny wise and pound foolish,—will not spend a paul in hand for the hope of a thousand in the bush, and says to his mistress, "I would not leave you and lose the marriage for-for-for-' sette crazie.' He stirs the laughter of the people too by his filthy habits, puts his comb and shoe-brush into his pocket with his cheese, and when he hears his bride is coming (for he is always on the point of marriage) he wipes his shoes with his sleeve, and then polishes off his mouth and whiskers with it. Besides this, he is a great coward, and it is a common jest to make a soldier of him. Nothing will rouse his courage but an attempt upon his money. Yet he likes to set other persons by the ears and see them fight, at which he laughs uproariously, but is seized with a ludicrous terror when his own turn comes. He often has a servant, "Stoppino," whom he keeps at the starving point, and whose name signifies a meagre thin taper. In the quality of cowardice he resembles Pulcinella; but our Neapolitan friend does not deny his stomach its gratification, for the Lazzarone is gourmand, while the Florentine is not. One of the most celebrated of the actors of Stenterello is, or rather was, Lorenzo Cannelli; but he is now past the time of acting. When the Austrians took possession of Tuscany he was so bitter in his sarcasms that he often paid for them by bastonate. Nothing, however, would rule his tongue. The audience, just before the last act, used to call him out to improvise "ottave," and, after walking up and down the stage for a few minutes, he would pour forth with volubility verses full of spirit and humour. The old Fiano Theatre, which was to Rome what the San Carlino is to Naples, exists no more, and the once famous Cassandrino and Rugantino have disappeared with it. Cassandrino was to the Romans what Pulcinella is to the Neapolitans and Stenterello to the Tuscans. He was dressed, "alla Spagnuola," in black, was pretentious and boastful, thought the women were all in love with him, and was constantly vaunting his great exploits, that had no existence out of his imagination. But it was for his satire that he was particularly noted, for the Roman is by nature a satirist. His constant lampoons against the government and the priests bit so deeply that he was suppressed by Gregory XVI. After Pius IX. came to the |