The epilogue explains why he is still fascinated although, unsurprisingly, today's city drowning in mass tourism and its "fortress wall of blinking, clicking cameras ... whose function ... is to commemorate the fact that the camera's owner was once in some kind of proximity to the insanely desired icon" is not to his taste, to put it mildly. But still "there is always a level of delight on which Rome can be enjoyed - unashamedly, sensuously, openly".
The secret of this magic is the past and Hughes gives some idea of its scope although this does not set out to be a comprehensive history.
The skeleton of the book is chronological but enthusiasts for ancient Rome will find many of their favourite emperors missing or just mentioned in passing. Caligula, Nero and other villains do appear and are sometimes given pass marks for their contributions to the wonder of Rome, if not for their lamentable lifestyles. But once the Roman empire slid into its decline, much more protracted than popular belief might assume, the primacy of the city rested on religion. The first of the Christian emperors, Constantine, is treated generously from a space point of view although it is clear that Hughes does not hold that Christianity itself, in some of its forms at least, has been of much benefit either to Rome or to humanity in general. The popes, ranging from the corrupt to the fringe bonkers, and their legacies make enthralling, almost unbelievable reading.
But as Hughes chronicles the rulers from Romulus to Mussolini he never strays too far from the artists and builders whose work built "the grandeur that was Rome".
Here again the cast list is a rich seam to be mined. Here we have Caravaggio, a brawling murdering drunk, and the cowl-wearing ascetics of the so-called Nazarenes whose leader, Friedrich Overbeck, refused to paint or even look at a female nude. The socially inept Reni thought all women were witches but was so successful that he employed 200 assistants. Velazquez was a crushing snob and title-chaser.
He makes it clear Rome was more than a place, it was an idea that influenced the whole of western Europe. It was the unchallenged centre of the art world and artists from everywhere felt obliged to pay allegiance. Modern readers are so conditioned by our exposure to French art that it is unimaginable that Poussin, the great French classicist, could write of Paris from Rome: "We are indeed the laughing stock of everybody and none will take pity on us."
In providing the background to this cultural history Hughes takes us down many a fascinating sidetrack. There are, for example, pages devoted to the Jesuits. If you want to know how the ancient Roman army was organised, this book will tell you. The Crusades are explained and there is a clear account of the theology of the Albigensian heresy.
Some of the material is inevitably well-known but there are some lesser-known delights. Who would have believed that an Italian, the futurist Marinetti, wanted to ban pasta on the grounds it made Italians lazy, complacent and unfit for war. Hughes records that it seems likely that the adoption of red as the revolutionary colour came from Garibaldi's adoption of red shirts made in cloth which came from Montevideo, where it was intended for slaughterhouse workers.
But these are incidental pleasures. His main aim is to explore what has gone into the making of a great, living city and if it is a history, the contemporary is never far away.
In his rough Australian way Hughes whacks many a passing target. Writing of the extravagances of ancient Rome, he adds "unpleasantly reminiscent of the super-rich today". The inaccessibility of the treasures of the National Roman Museum is ascribed to "the administrative and fiscal chaos into which so much of the administration of Italian museums has fallen".
But it's not only the elite who get caned, or even just the Romans. "Most Italians are artistic illiterates. Most people anywhere are: why should Italians be any different?" he asks.
And yet for all of his disenchantment the fascination remains. "The Rome we have today is an enormous concretion of human glory and human error" and this book is grand testimony to that persisting allure.
John Gardner is an Auckland reviewer.
