lence, or typical of the secrecy of a trusted friend. The Anthologia Latina contains an epigram18 regarding the "Intercourse of Persons in Love," and it is said that a custom "sometimes" prevailed of suspending a rose above the company. This action was intended to show that what was uttered there must not pass outside; hence "sub rosa." At Baiæ, when people went out on water-parties, they used even to sprinkle the sea with roses, as if it were the path of the God of Love. But the adoration of the rose did not end here! It was used by the maîtres de cuisine with quinces as an essence for delicate dishes. Apicius even made rose-soufflées and rose-salads. The globules of dew were swept off roses with a bird's feather and mixed with wines and liqueurs. Pliny gives a recipe for rosewine, and baths of rose wine and absinthe were a vicious novelty introduced by the Syrian Heliogabalus. 19 But from the interesting literature of the rose I must cut myself adrift here to return but briefly to the sumptuous and ever more sumptuous gardens which grew it, and let it breathe softly through their dark avenues of ilex and along their white marble colonnades and pergulæ; gardens that far surpass anything of the kind now to be found here or elsewhere. (1) For in these, dropping, terrace by terrace, down the slopes of the Capo-le-Case, the Gregoriana, and Sistina, for example, there occurred in the gardens of Lucullus (as perfected later by Valerius Asiaticus) magnificent avenues of carefully cropped ilex, box, cypress, and bay, overshadowing marvellous fountains, and interrupted here and there by graceful temples, shrines, and porticoes, along which the roses and jasmine twined and garlanded themselves, and where the swallows and 18 v. 127, tom. ii. 471. VOL. XXI. 1117 swifts coursed up and down in the dazzling Roman sunlight. There, too, stood that marvellous Hall of Apollo, wherein Lucullus once feasted Cicero and Pompey at the cost of 50,000 drachmæ. There also, later, Messalina desperately took refuge with her mother, Lepida, and presently heard the garden-gates behind her being beaten and broken open by the centurion, Euodus, who had come to make an end of her. Some of the mosaic floors that have felt the feet and been swept by the garments of the great people of those days, are still lying in situ, obscured beneath No. 57 in the Via Sistina and No. 46 in the Via Gregoriana. From one of its multitude of pedestals or niches came forth the well-known "Slave sharpening his blade," in the Uffizi at Florence. The head of Ulys ses in the Vatican was likewise found when digging the foundation for the cipollino column that now stands in the Piazza di Spagna. (2) Trinità dei Monti, the Villa Medici, and the Pincian were included in gardens of similar splendid character belonging to the Achilii; and here, in 1868, besides nymphea, porticoes, and hemicycles, was found a votive tablet dedicated to "Sylvanus" by Tychicus, freedman of Manius Acilius Glabrio, the keeper of his gardens.20 (3) Below these, towards the Piazza del Popolo, succeeded the gardens of the Domitii, wherein was buried Nero. That Emperor's demon, it is well known, was supposed to haunt that spot, even as late as the twelfth century; and the crows which then roosted in a walnut-tree over his tomb were regarded by Pope Paschal the Second as creatures connected but too intimately with the certain abode of the first persecutor of the Church, and he cut it down. (4) Across the city, on the Esquiline 20 Cf. Ersilla Caetani, 'Il Monte Pincio,' Miscellanea Archæologica, 1891, p. 211. were spread the Lamian Gardens, through which the Via Merulana now runs, adjoining those of Mecenas, which became, as had most of those splendid homes of tragedy, Imperial property by means of successive confiscations. There crazy Caligula received the Jewish embassy headed by Philo of Alexandria, and thither his body, covered with the red wounds made by Chærea's dagger, was brought in January A.D. 41 from the cryptoporticus on the Palatine, where he had bled to death, shrieking maniacally on the pavement. (5) Adjoining those were spread out the rival gardens of the rich Statilii, which in the fourth century were owned in part by the famous Vettius Agorius Pretextatus, as his inscribed leaden pipes have revealed. In earlier days Agrippina coveted these gardens from the son of that Statilius who built the amphitheatre in Rome, and so effectually did she calumniate him that he satisfied her cupidity by conveniently suiciding. (6) Again, in Regio VI., at that portion of the city towards the Porta Pia (now occupied by the Via Boncompagni and Via Salustiana) were spread out the favorite Imperial gardens of the Flavian Emperors, once those of the millionaire historian, Sallust. There the excellent Emperor Nerva ended his too brief reign. Their beautiful situation and the fine air prevailing there during the summer, as well as the magnificent arena, the Porticus Milliarensis and circus (to which belonged the obelisk now adorning Trinità dei Monti), recommended these gardens to numbers of the later Emperors. Vopiscus (in his account of Aurelian, the builder of the walls) says that Emperor preferred living there to residing on the Palatine, and that, although not enjoying very good health, Aurelian took daily the exercise of horse-riding. Their splendor, however, was doomed to sur vive but little more than one hundred years later. For, albeit walled in, it so happened that Alaric, the Gothic conqueror, encamped with his army just outside the Porta Salaria; and certain traitors within the city taking the gate by a sudden assault, the Gothic army was let in, and fire was set immediately to all the houses and buildings near it, including the villa of Sallust. Procopius says, "The greater part of these buildings remain half-burnt, even now, in my time." So the beauty of those famous gardens perished in 409-10 A.D. But were one to pass in procession, jewel by jewel, along all the splendid girdle of luxurious gardens that encompassed Imperial Rome, it would not only occupy more space than would be proper, but readers would at the same time be constrained, I think, to come to the conclusion, to which I am my. self driven, that with all their grandeur and beauty combined there prevailed also considerable monotony and repetition of forms; that one garden with porticoes much imitated another, though on a different scale, all around Rome, the same architectural mouldings being repeated in various marbles; that there was in fact a notable poverty of invention, which (to the Roman mind), however, was sufficiently atoned for by excessive expense and ostentation. We should surely have been wearied with the oppressive costliness, by the bewildering wealth, and by the deadly want of contrast! For, apart from the eternal colonnades and fishponds, fountains and marble seats and statues, monotony, if not vulgarity, must have tyrannized over us in the over-prized achievements of the "topiarius" or "arborator," that highly salaried pleacher, who cut and tortured trees of divers kinds into various deformities then most prized or fashionable. For his duty was not confined to interminable neat box-edging and pruning, but he imitated in the living materials furnished by the garden the forms of sculpture and of architecture. He literally grew colonnades, he fashioned obelisks of box, cypress, or ilex. He not only flattered his lord and master by inscribing his name in odoriferous herbs, or gorgeous flowers, that startled the garden with occasional tours de force, but he actually trimmed trees into family portraits, or even those of historical characters; he transformed bushes and thick-foliaged shrubs into the fantastic likeness of ships, lions, bears, and birds. And these rather degenerate "conceits" and extravagances met with profound appreciation and were rewarded with increase of wages by the same individuals who, having tired of mere gladiatorial fights with wild beasts in the Coliseum, only derived real thrills from such uncanny performances as fights between women and dwarfs, or women with each other. Pliny says the gardeners were the bestpaid of all workers. But, not to dwell too much upon this less attractive aspect of the wondrous gardens of Imperial Rome, let me draw to a close by referring to one of their more important features, namely the nature and variety of the trees grown in them, the trees which after all formed the beautiful relieving background to those statues, those crystal fountains, and the colored marble buildings! And, in passing, let me remark how inordinate an influence the ancients ascribed in garden operations to the moon! For just as Epicurus had attributed a finer flavor to oysters fished up under a waning moon, so the Roman gardener and his master considered that apples and other fruits acquired a far finer color and relish when plucked at that season. They also considered that unless the cypress and pine tree they felled for building 21 This much-prized shrub was one of the attractions of the Palatine house of Lucius Crassus, whom Cicero nicknamed the "Palatine Venus." The orator, however, purchased the house himself later on. In the peristylium flourished six lotus-trees which survived many purposes or for other needs were cut beneath a cadent moon, the timber was liable to rot. And, vice versa, all planting, all sowing of cereals and vegetables, had to be done while the moon increased. They also calculated very carefully as to north and south aspects, winter and summer suns, light or shade, for the bettering of their plants. Moreover, they took extraordinary pains with irrigation, pruning, and the dressing of beds; they carried on continual war with ants, snails, and earthworms, by means of sulphur fumigations, sootscatterings, ashes, and oil-dregs. Around infected vines or other fruittrees they burned pitch, galbanum, roots of lilies, and stag horn; and planting a fresh plot of ground, they rooted up the too aggressive "asphodels," just as the farm folk still do on the Campagna, for two years running, placing the bulbs in great heaps and consuming them entirely. The frescoes in the Villa of Livia at Prima Porta, at the house on the Palatine, and many of those found at Pompeii, have supplemented for us the not too abundant information contained in passages up and down the classical poets and littérateurs; writings, therefore, have been illustrated by recaptured paintings. More than three score ornamental trees, shrubs, and flowers represented in these wall pictures have been already identified and catalogued; and many, let us hope, will still be added to the file. Suffice to mention that they used hedges as well as lattice work. The latter was made of reeds or canes, and the best kinds of the former were of cornel and pomegranate interwoven with roses or thorn. Above the hedges, juniper, cypress, cedar, stone-pines, bay-laurels, planes, chestnuts, lotus diospyros, 21 masters. We hear of Cecina Largus proudly showing them to his friends in A.D. 42. The plant is still known around Naples as "Legno Santo" or "Holy-wood." A more famous specimen was for generations the sacred tree of the Vestal Convent. walnuts, acacias, and figs lifted themselves; while beyond them ran even alleys of trimmed ilex and cork trees, along which the insinuating zephyrs travelled, mingling the breath of myrtle, narcissus, and rose. And all these timber-trees were employed by the growers for many various and special purposes. But I must content myself with one or two of those purposes. For the ancients seem to have counted good pine and cypress wood the equal of cedar and ebony. For strength, for odor, for beauty, for durability, these were held to be beyond praise. One is reminded that Plato wished the laws and statutes of Athens to be inscribed on tables of sacred cypress-wood, which he considered was longer-lived than bronze. The doors of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus were of this wood, and were said to have lasted four hundred years. The other day an architectural fragment was found in the Forum by Commendatore Boni which may be called a document in stone, although it contains not a single letter of any inscription. It, however, spoke volumes. It is a portion of the marble jamb of the door of the Temple of Vesta, containing, besides the typical Corinthian mouldings, the semi-circular groove in turned the hinge. The Nineteenth Century and After. which In examining it, I noticed that there is no metal staining of any kind on the marble. From this it is legitimate to deduce that the door itself was probably not made of bronze in this instance, but, like many ancient doors, of wood. This wood will have been cedar or cypress, as being woods both sacred and resisting insect depredation better than any other. More probably it was of the latter. We have several splendid specimens still remaining in Rome of Roman bronze doors. They occur at the west front of the Lateran, at the Lateran Baptistry, and at SS. Cosma and Damiano in the Forum; but, as far as I know, we have but one example of truly ancient wooden doors, and they it is just possible, are the very oldest wooden doors in the world. I refer to those of Santa Sabina on the Aventine, which, though restored in later times, belong to the fifth century. They are made of cypress wood, probably from trees two or three hundred years old, at least, when felled at that period. Hence, in their oldest portions, these doors take us back at least to the date of Aurelian and the walls around Rome. Moreover, they may have been made from specially prized trees in the villa garden of some wealthy patron of the early Church. St. Clair Baddeley. "RACHEL." "They are so dreadfully far away," she murmured plaintively-"ever so much further away than they used to be." Her words the expression of a thought which almost without her volition had framed itself in speech-fell t upon the heavy quiet of the veranda softly as a sigh. The man in the long canechair at her side started, dropped the book which he had been reading upon his knee, keeping a finger on the page to mark his place, and gazed at her vaguely His through absorbed, half-seeing eyes under a knitted brow. He was trying, with obvious effort, to make the words which had filtered into his ears stamp some actual impression upon a brain deeply engaged in other things. was a gnarled and rugged face, furrowed by hard lines such as care, responsibility, and thought are wont to trace. During the slight pause which supervened before he spoke the world without, under the luminous darkness of the tropic night, seemed to pant through the hot, still, scent-laden air, as though spent with travail. The insistent notes of insects were blent in a rumor of sound, faint yet restless. Somewhere in the distance savage drums pulsed and throbbed. "Who is further from what?" he asked. "Oh, nothing, dear," said the woman with a half-sigh. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I was only thinking aloud." "But what was it you said?" he insisted. "Oh, nothing, nothing. I was only being stupid." "I wish you would tell me," he urged, laying the book aside with a reluctance which his masculine clumsiness had not the wit to conceal. "I want to know." "I was only saying what I have said a thousand times-that they are so dreadfully far away; that they are so much further off than they used to be." "The children?" he queried, and his voice fell at the word. "The children," she assented with a sort of yearning tenderness, her hands knotted about her knee, her eyes gazing out unseeingly into the darkness of the night. There was again a slight pause before he spoke, and a little puff of exhausted breeze, hot and empty to the lungs as the draught from a furnace, brought the thrumming of the drums nearer for an instant, the savage rhythm rising in menacing clamor to sink again into a far-away pulse-beat. "I don't understand," he said. "They have always been at the other end of the earth." In his voice there was the bitterness of pain. "It isn't the distance," she said. "It is that they are growing away from us. They aren't now the children we parted from three years ago. We don't even know what they are like." The man winced. "I wish you would go Home, darling," he said. "I should get on all right, and-and I should see them through your eyes." "Yes, and you would work twelve hours a day, and read all meal-time, or forget that there is such a thing as food, and the servants would maltreat you, and you would never notice it, and then you would get ill, and Oh, it is all impossible! Don't ask me to leave you. I can't do it. Anything is better than that." She rose from her chair, walked to his side, seated herself upon a stool, and rested her head against his knee, holding his strong, sensitive hands in her soft fingers. "God bless you, sweetheart," he said gruffly. "I'm not worth it all, andOh, you ought to go Home! I wish you would go Home!" He had an inconsequent feeling that if she and the little ones were together in the pleasant English country, while he remained out there in the sun-glare to toil for them, all the pain, all the burden, would be his alone. Endur'ance would be easy, he thought, if he could take the whole suffering upon himself if he could be spared the sight of her agony, of all that she bore so bravely, so uncomplainingly, so patiently. He could never quite realize that to her separation from the children, bad as it was, would be outweighed |