Domitian raised the last and most glorious of all; in which the very gilding amounted to twelve thousand talents (£2,250,000). He adorned it with some columns of Pentelic marble brought from Athens. Indeed, his extravagance in this and other public works led to that exceeding severity which accompanied the exaction of the capitation tax from the Jewish people. It was the opinion of contemporaries of the emperor, that if he were to reclaim from the gods the sums which he now expended upon them, even Jupiter himself, though he were to hold a general auction in Olympus, would be unable to pay a twelfth of his debts, or, as we should say, one shilling and eightpence in the pound. If, Cæsar, all thou to the powers hast lent, Thou should’st reclaim, a creditor content, Should a fair auction vend Olympus’ hall, And the just gods be fain to sell their all; The bankrupt Atlas not a twelfth could sound:— Who bade the Sire of Gods with man compound? For Capitolian fanes what to the chief? What can he pay for the Tarpeian leaf? What for her double towers the Thunderer’s queen? Pallas I pass, thy manager serene. Alcides why, or Phœbus, should I name, Or the twin Lacons, of fraternal fame? Or the substructure (who can sum the whole?) Of Flavian temples to the Latian pole? Augustus, pious, then, and patient stay: The chest of Jove possesses not to pay. Of all the ancient glory of the Capitol,[175] nothing now remains but the solid foundation and vast substructions raised on the rock. Not only is the Capitol fallen, but its very name, expressive of dominion, and once fondly considered as an omen of empire, is now almost lost in the semi-barbarous appellation of Campi-doglio. “This place,” says a celebrated French traveller, “which gave law to the universe, where Jupiter had his temple and Rome her senate; from whence of old the Roman eagles were continually flying into every quarter of the globe, and from every quarter of the globe continually winging their way back with victories; whence a single word from the mouth of Scipio, of Pompey, or of Cæsar, quickly reached the most distant nations, menacing their liberty, and deciding on the fate of kings; where the greatest men of the republic, in short, still continued to live after their death in statues, and still to govern the world with the authority of Romans: this place so renowned has lost its statues, its senate, its citadel, its temples; it has retained nothing but its name, so cemented by the blood and tears of nations, that time has not yet been able to disjoin the immortal syllables of which it is composed. It is still called the Capitol. At the Capitol we perceive, in the strongest light, the insignificance of all human things, and the power of fortune.”