. The style of the Empire outlived its sway, and doubtless
symbolized to the inhabitants their traditions of a higher standard of
civilization. The Porta Nigra, for instance--called Simeon's Gate at
present--dates really from the days of the first Merovingian kings, but it
_looks_ like a piece of the Coliseum, with its rows of arches in massive
red sandstone, the stones held together by iron clamps, and its low,
immensely strong double gateway, reminding one of the triumphal arches in
the Forum at Rome. The history of the transformations of this gateway is
curious. First a fortified city gate, standing in a correspondingly
fortified wall, it became a dilapidated granary and storehouse in the
Middle Ages, when one of the archbishops gave leave to Simeon, a wandering
hermit from Syracuse in Sicily, to take up his abode there; and another
turned it into a church dedicated to this saint, though of this change few
traces remain. Finally, it has become a national museum of antiquities.
The amphitheatre is a genuine Roman work, wonderfully well preserved; and
genuine enough were the Roman games it has witnessed, for, if we are to
believe tradition, a thousand Frankish prisoners of war were here given in
one day to the wild beasts by the emperor Constantine. Christian emperors
beautified the basilica that stood where the cathedral now is, and the
latter itself has some basilica-like points about it, though, being the
work of fifteen centuries, it bears the stamp of successive styles upon
its face. To the neighborhood, and also to strangers, one of its great
attractions lies in its treasury of relics, the gift of Constantine's
mother, Saint Helena, for many hundred years objects of pilgrimage, and
even to the incredulous objects of curiosity and interest, for the robe of
a yellowish brown--supposed to have been once purple--which is shown as
Our Lord's seamless garment, has been pronounced by learned men to be of
very high antiquity. But what possesses the Rhine tourist to moralize? He
is a restless creature in general, more occupied in staring than in
seeing--a gregarious creature too, who enjoys the evening table d'hote,
the day-old _Times_ and the British or American gossip as a reward for his
having conscientiously _done_ whatever Murray or Baedeker bade him. Cook
has only transformed the tourist's mental docility into a bodily one: the
guidebook had long drilled his mind before the tour-contractor thought of
drilling his body