The temple of Venus is entered from the neighboring street which we have already traversed.  The ruin is a fine one—­the finest, perhaps, in Pompeii; a spacious inclosure, or peribolus, framing a portico of forty-eight columns, of which many are still standing, and the portico itself surrounding the podium, where rose the temple—­properly speaking, the house of the goddess.  In front of the entrance, at the foot of the steps that ascend to the podium, rises the altar, poorly calculated for living sacrifices and seemingly destined for simple offerings of fruit, cakes, and incense, which were consecrated to Venus.  Besides the form of the altar, an inscription found there and a statue of the goddess, whose modest attitude recalls the masterpiece of Florence, sufficiently authorize the name, in the absence of more exact information, that has been given to this edifice.  Others, however, have attributed it to the worship of Bacchus; others again to that of Diana, and the question has not yet been settled by the savans; but Venus being the patroness of Pompeii, deserved the handsomest temple in the little city.

The columns of the peribolus or inclosure bear the traces of some bungling repairs made between the earthquake of 63 and the eruption of 79.  They were Doric, but the attempt was to render them Corinthian, and, to this end, they were covered with stucco and topped with capitals that are not becoming to them.  Against one of these columns still leans a statue in the form of a Hermes.  Around the court is cut a small kennel to carry off the rain water, which was then caught in reservoirs.  The wall along the Forum was gaily decorated with handsome paintings; one of these, probably on wood, was burned in the eruption, and the vacant place where it belonged is visible.  Behind the temple open rooms formerly intended for the priests; handsome paintings were found there, also—–­ among them a Bacchus, resting his elbow on the shoulder of old Silenus, who is playing the lyre.  Absorbed in this music, he forgets the wine in his goblet, and lets it fall out upon a panther crouching at his feet.

We now have only to visit the temple itself, the house of the goddess.  The steps that scaled the basement story were thirteen—­an odd number—­so that in ascending the first step with the right foot, the level of the sanctuary was also reached with the right foot.  The temple was peripterous, that is to say, entirely surrounded with open columns with Corinthian capitals.  The portico opened broadly, and a mosaic of marbles, pleasingly adjusted, formed the pavement of the cella, of which the painted walls represented simple panels, separated here and there by plain pilasters.  Our Lady of Pompeii dwelt there.