Set out in the dark.--The Lago di Vico.--View of the spacious
plains where the Romans reared their seat of empire.--Ancient
splendour.--Present silence and desolation.--Shepherds’
huts.--Wretched policy of the Papal Government.--Distant view of
Rome.--Sensations on entering the City.--The Pope returning from
Vespers.--St Peter’s Colonnade.--Interior of the
Church.--Reveries.--A visionary scheme.--The Pantheon.
Rome, October 29th, 1780.
We set out in the dark. Morning dawned over the Lago di Vico; its waters
of a deep ultramarine blue, and its surrounding forests catching the
rays of the rising sun. It was in vain I looked for the cupola of St.
Peter’s upon descending the mountains beyond Viterbo. Nothing but a sea
of vapours was visible.
At length they rolled away, and the spacious plains began to show
themselves, in which the most warlike of nations reared their seat of
empire. On the left, afar off, rises the rugged chain of Apennines, and
on the other side, a shining expanse of ocean terminates the view. It
was upon this vast surface so many illustrious actions were performed,
and I know not where a mighty people could have chosen a grander
theatre. Here was space for the march of armies, and verge enough for
encampments: levels for martial games, and room for that variety of
roads and causeways that led from the capital to Ostia. How many
triumphant legions have trodden these pavements! how many captive kings!
What throngs of cars and chariots once glittered on their surface!
savage animals dragged from the interior of Africa; and the ambassadors
of Indian princes, followed by their exotic train, hastening to implore
the favour of the senate!
During many ages, this eminence commanded almost every day such
illustrious scenes; but all are vanished: the splendid tumult is passed
away: silence and desolation remain. Dreary flats thinly scattered over
with ilex, and barren hillocks crowned by solitary towers, were the only
objects we perceived for several miles. Now and then we passed a few
black ill-favoured sheep straggling by the way’s side, near a ruined
sepulchre, just such animals as an ancient would have sacrificed to the
Manes. Sometimes we crossed a brook, whose ripplings were the only
sounds which broke the general stillness, and observed the shepherds’
huts on its banks, propped up with broken pedestals and marble friezes.
I entered one of them, whose owner was abroad tending his herds, and
began writing upon the sand and murmuring a melancholy song. Perhaps the
dead listened to me from their narrow cells. The living I can answer
for: they were far enough removed.
You will not be surprised at the dark tone of my musings in so sad a
scene, especially as the weather lowered; and you are well acquainted
how greatly I depend upon skies and sunshine. To-day I had no blue
firmament to revive my spirits; no genial gales, no aromatic plants to
irritate my nerves and lend at least a momentary animation. Heath and a
greyish kind of moss are the sole vegetation which covers this endless
wilderness. Every slope is strewed with the relics of a happier period;
trunks of trees, shattered columns, cedar beams, helmets of bronze,
skulls and coins, are frequently dug up together.
I cannot boast of having made any discoveries, nor of sending you any
novel intelligence. You knew before how perfectly the environs of Rome
were desolate, and how completely the Papal government contrives to make
its subjects miserable. But who knows that they were not just as
wretched in those boasted times we are so fond of celebrating? All is
doubt and conjecture in this frail existence; and I might as well
attempt proving to whom belonged the mouldering bones which lay
dispersed around me, as venture to affirm that one age is more fortunate
than another. Very likely the poor cottager, under whose roof I reposed,
is happier than the luxurious Roman upon the remains of whose palace,
perhaps, his shed is raised: and yet that Roman flourished in the purple
days of the empire, when all was wealth and splendour, triumph and
exultation.
I could have spent the whole day by the rivulet, lost in dreams and
meditations; but recollecting my vow, I ran back to the carriage and
drove on. The road not having been mended, I believe, since the days of
the Cæsars, would not allow our motions to be very precipitate. “When
you gain the summit of yonder hill, you will discover Rome,” said one of
the postilions: up we dragged; no city appeared. “From the next,” cried
out a second; and so on from height to height did they amuse my
expectations. I thought Rome fled before us, such was my impatience,
till at last we perceived a cluster of hills with green pastures on
their summits, inclosed by thickets and shaded by flourishing ilex. Here
and there a white house, built in the antique style, with open porticos,
that received a faint gleam of the evening sun, just emerged from the
clouds and tinting the meads below. Now domes and towers began to
discover themselves in the valley, and St. Peter’s to rise above the
magnificent roofs of the Vatican. Every step we advanced the scene
extended, till, winding suddenly round the hill, all Rome opened to our
view.
Shall I ever forget the sensations I experienced upon slowly descending
the hills, and crossing the bridge over the Tiber; when I entered an
avenue between terraces and ornamented gates of villas, which leads to
the Porto del Popolo, and beheld the square, the domes, the obelisk, the
long perspective of streets and palaces opening beyond, all glowing with
the vivid red of sunset? You can imagine how I enjoyed my beloved tint,
my favourite hour, surrounded by such objects. You can fancy me
ascending Monte Cavallo, leaning against the pedestal which supports
Bucephalus; then, spite of time and distance, hurrying to St. Peter’s in
performance of my vow.
I met the Holy Father in all his pomp returning from vespers. Trumpets
flourishing, and a troop of guards drawn out upon Ponte St. Angelo.
Casting a respectful glance upon the Moles Adriani, I moved on till the
full sweep of St. Peter’s colonnade opened upon me. The edifice appears
to have been raised within the year, such is its freshness and
preservation. I could hardly take my eyes from off the beautiful
symmetry of its front, contrasted with the magnificent, though irregular
courts of the Vatican towering over the colonnade, till, the sun sinking
behind the dome, I ran up the steps and entered the grand portal, which
was on the very point of being closed.
I knew not where I was, or to what scene transported. A sacred twilight
concealing the extremities of the structure, I could not distinguish any
particular ornament, but enjoyed the effect of the whole. No damp air or
fœtid exhalation offended me. The perfume of incense was not yet
entirely dissipated. No human being stirred. I heard a door close with
the sound of thunder, and thought I distinguished some faint
whisperings, but am ignorant whence they came. Several hundred lamps
twinkled round the high altar, quite lost in the immensity of the pile.
No other light disturbed my reveries but the dying glow still visible
through the western windows. Imagine how I felt upon finding myself
alone in this vast temple at so late an hour. Do you think I quitted it
without some revelation?
It was almost eight o’clock before I issued forth, and, pausing a few
minutes under the porticos, listened to the rush of the fountains: then
traversing half the town, I believe, in my way to the Villa Medici,
under which I am lodged, fell into a profound repose, which my zeal and
exercise may be allowed, I think, to have merited.
October 30th.
Immediately after breakfast I repaired again to St. Peter’s, which even
exceeded the height of my expectations. I could hardly quit it. I wish
his Holiness would allow me to erect a little tabernacle within this
glorious temple. I should desire no other prospect during the winter; no
other sky than the vast arches glowing with golden ornaments, so lofty
as to lose all glitter or gaudiness. But I cannot say I should be
perfectly contented, unless I could obtain another tabernacle for you.
Thus established, we would take our evening walks on the field of
marble; for is not the pavement vast enough for the extravagance of the
appellation? Sometimes, instead of climbing a mountain, we should ascend
the cupola, and look down on our little encampment below. At night I
should wish for a constellation of lamps dispersed about in clusters,
and so contrived as to diffuse a mild and equal light. Music should not
be wanting: at one time to breathe in the subterraneous chapels, at
another to echo through the dome.
The doors should be closed, and not a mortal admitted. No priests, no
cardinals: God forbid! We would have all the space to ourselves, and to
beings of our own visionary persuasion.
I was so absorbed in my imaginary palace, and exhausted with contriving
plans for its embellishment, as scarcely to have spirits left for the
Pantheon, which I visited late in the evening, and entered with a
reverence approaching to superstition. The whiteness of the dome
offended me, for, alas! this venerable temple has been whitewashed. I
slunk into one of the recesses, closed my eyes, transported myself into
antiquity; then opened them again, tried to persuade myself the Pagan
gods were in their niches, and the saints out of the question; was vexed
at coming to my senses, and finding them all there, St. Andrew with his
cross, and St. Agnes with her lamb, &c. Then I paced disconsolately into
the portico, which shows the name of Agrippa on its pediment. Fixed for
a few minutes against a Corinthian column, I lamented that no pontiff
arrived with victims and aruspices, of whom I might enquire, what, in
the name of birds and garbage, put me so terribly out of humour! for you
must know I was very near being disappointed, and began to think
Piranesi and Paolo Panini had been a great deal too colossal in their
representations of this venerable structure. I left the column, walked
to the centre of the temple, and there remained motionless as a statue.
Some architects have celebrated the effect of light from the opening
above, and pretended it to be distributed in such a manner as to give
those, who walk beneath, the appearance of mystic beings streaming with
radiance. If that were the case! I appeared, to be sure, a luminous
figure, and never stood I more in need of something to enliven me.
My spirits were not mended upon returning home. I had expected a heap of
Venetian letters, but could not discover one. I had received no
intelligence from England for many a tedious day; and for aught I can
tell to the contrary, you may have been dead these three weeks. I think
I shall wander soon in the Catacombs, which I try lustily to persuade
myself communicate with the lower world; and perhaps I may find some
letter there from you lying upon a broken sarcophagus, dated from the
realms of Night, and giving an account of your descent into her bosom.
Yet, I pray continually, notwithstanding my curiosity to learn what
passes in the dark regions beyond the tomb, that you will remain a few
years longer on our planet; for what would become of me should I lose
sight of you for ever? Stay, therefore, as long as you can, and let us
have the delight of dozing a little more of this poor existence away
together, and steeping ourselves in pleasant dreams.