The Sight Of These Limbs Dangling In The Wind Is Not A Very
Comfortable One Towards The Close Of The Evening.
We left the Sepolero di Nerone, an ancient tomb so called, on the right
of our road and half a mile beyond it crossed the Tiber at the Ponte Molle
(Pons Milvius), where there is a gate, bridge and military post.
From this
post to the Porta del Popolo, the entrance into the city for those coming
from the North, the distance is one mile; there is a white wall on each
side of the road the whole way, and some farm houses and villas. Near the
Ponte Molle is the field of battle where Maxentius was defeated by
Constantine.
We entered the Porta del Popolo, crossed the Piazza of the same name,
where three streets present themselves to view. In the centre is the street
called the Corso, running in a direct line from the Porta across the
Piazza. We drove along the Corso till we arrived at a Piazza on our
right hand, which Piazza is called della Colonna from the Column of
Antoninus, which stands on it. We then crossed the Piazza which is very
large and soon reached the Dogana or Custom house, formerly the temple of
Antoninus Pius, where vile modern walls are built to fill up the intervals
between eleven columns of Grecian marble. Here our baggage underwent a
rigorous research; this rigour is not so much directed against the
fraudulent introduction of contraband or duty-bearing merchandise, as
against books, which undergo a severe scrutiny. Against Voltaire and
Rousseau implacable war is waged, and their works are immediately
confiscated. Other authors too are sometimes examined, to see whether they
contain anything against Mother Church. As the people employed in
inspecting books are not much versed in any litterature or language but
their own, except perhaps a little French, it is not easy for them to find
out the contents of books in other languages. I had Schiller's works with
me, a volume of which one of the douaniers took up and looked at; on
seeing the Gothic letter he seemed as much astonished as if he had got hold
of a book of Cabbala or Magic. He detained the whole work, but it was
sent to me the next day, on my declaring that there was nothing damnable or
heretical in it; for there was no person belonging to the department who
could read German. When the douaniers proceeded to the examination of the
books belonging to one of my fellow travellers, the Neapolitan lady, she
expressed great repugnance to the procedure; the douaniers however
insisted and, behold! there were several livres galants with plates
somewhat lubriques, the discovery of which excited blushes on her part
and considerable laughter on the part of the byestanders. These books,
however, not being contraband, were immediately returned to her, as was an
edition of Baffo, belonging to my other fellow traveller, returned to him.
Now this Baffo was a Venetian poet and his works are the most profligate
that ever were penned or imagined by mortal man.
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