Ch. 5 - Antonina

Who that has been at Rome does not remember with delight the attractions
of the Pincian Hill? Who, after toiling through the wonders of the
dark, melancholy city, has not been revived by a visit to its shady
walks, and by breathing its fragrant breezes? Amid the solemn
mournfulness that reigns over declining Rome, this delightful elevation
rises light, airy, and inviting, at once a refreshment to the body and a
solace to the spirit. From its smooth summit the city is seen in its
utmost majesty, and the surrounding country in its brightest aspect.
The crimes and miseries of Rome seem deterred from approaching its
favoured soil; it impresses the mind as a place set apart by common
consent for the presence of the innocent and the joyful--as a scene that
rest and recreation keep sacred from the intrusion of tumult and toil.

Its appearance in modern days is the picture of its character for ages
past. Successive wars might dull its beauties for a time, but peace
invariably restored them in all their pristine loveliness. The old
Romans called it 'The Mount of Gardens'. Throughout the disasters of
the Empire and the convulsions of the Middle Ages, it continued to merit
its ancient appellation, and a 'Mount of Gardens' it still triumphantly
remains to the present day.

At the commencement of the fifth century the magnificence of the Pincian
Hill was at its zenith. Were it consistent with the conduct of our story
to dwell upon the glories of its palaces and its groves, its temples and
its theatres, such a glowing prospect of artificial splendour, aided by
natural beauty, might be spread before the reader as would tax his
credulity, while it excited his astonishment. This task, however, it is
here unnecessary to attempt. It is not for the wonders of ancient
luxury and taste, but for the abode of the zealous and religious
Numerian, that we find it now requisite to arouse interest and engage
attention.

At the back of the Flaminian extremity of the Pincian Hill, and
immediately overlooking the city wall, stood, at the period of which we
write, a small but elegantly built house, surrounded by a little garden
of its own, and protected at the back by the lofty groves and
outbuildings of the palace of Vetranio the senator. This abode had been
at one time a sort of summer-house belonging to the former proprietor of
a neighbouring mansion.

Profligate necessities, however, had obliged the owner to part with this
portion of his possessions, which was purchased by a merchant well known
to Numerian, who received it as a legacy at his friend's death.
Disgusted, as soon as his reforming projects took possession of his
mind, at the bare idea of propinquity to the ennobled libertines of
Rome, the austere