We are come here just in time to see the three last days of the carnival,
and very droll it is to walk or drive, and see the people run about the
streets, all in some gay disguise or other, and masked, and patched, and
painted to make sport. The Corso is now quite a scene of distraction; the
coachmen on the boxes pretending to be drunk, and throwing sugar-plumbs
at the women, which it grows hard to find out in the crowd and confusion,
as the evening, which shuts in early, is the festive hour: and there
is some little hazard in parading the streets, lest an accident might
happen; though a temporary rail and _trottoir_ are erected, to keep
the carriages off. Our high joke, however, seems to consist in the
men putting on girls clothes: a woman is somewhat a rarity at Rome,
and strangely superfluous as it should appear by the extraordinary
substitutes found for them on the stage: it is more than wonderful to
see great strong fellows dancing the women’s parts in these fashionable
dramas, pastoral and heroic ballets as they call them. _Soprano_ singers
did not so surprise me with their feminine appearance in the Opera; but
these clumsy _figurantes_! all stout, coarse-looking men, kicking about
in hooped petticoats, were to me irresistibly ridiculous: the gentlemen
with me however, both Italians and English, were too much disgusted
to laugh, while _la premiere danseuse_ acted the coquet beauty, or
distracted mother, with a black beard which no art could subdue, and
destroyed every illusion of the pantomime at a glance. All this struck
nobody but us foreigners after all; tumultuous and often _tender_
applauses from the pit convinced us of _their heart-felt_ approbation!
and in the parterre fat gentlemen much celebrated at Rome for their taste
and refinement.
As their exhibition did not please our party, notwithstanding its
singularity, we went but once to the theatre, except when a Festa di
Ballo was advertised to begin at eleven o’clock one night, but detained
the company waiting on its stairs for two hours at least beyond the time:
for my own part I was better amused _outside_ the doors, than _in_.
Masquerades can of themselves give very little pleasure except when they
are new things. What was most my delight and wonder to observe, was the
sight of perhaps two hundred people of different ranks, all in my mind
strangely ill-treated by a nobleman; who having a private supper in the
room, prevented their entrance who paid for admission; all mortified, all
crowded together in an inconvenient place; all suffering much from heat,
and more from disappointment; yet all in perfect good humour with each
other, and with the gentleman who detained in longing and ardent, but
not impatiently-expressed expectation, such a number of _Romans_: who,
as I could not avoid remarking, certainly deserve to rule over all the
world once more, if, as we often read in history, _command_ is to be best
learned from the practice of _obedience_.
The masquerade was carried on when we had once begun it, with more taste
and elegance here, than either at Naples or Milan; so it was at Florence,
I remember; more dresses of contrivance and fancy being produced. We had
a very pretty device last night, of a man who pretended to carry statues
about as if for sale: the gentlemen and ladies who personated the figures
were incomparable from the choice of attitudes, and skill in colouring;
but _il carnovale è morto_, as the women of quality told us last night
from their coaches, in which they carried little transparent lanthorns of
a round form, red, blue, green, &c. to help forward the shine; and these
they throw at each other as they did sugar plums in the other towns,
while the millions of small thin bougie candles held in every hand, and
stuck up at every balcony, make the _Strada del Popolo_ as light as day,
and produce a wonderfully pretty effect, gay, natural, and pleasing.
The unstudied hilarity of Italians is very rejoicing to the heart, from
one’s consciousness that it is the result of cheerfulness really felt,
not a mere incentive to happiness hoped for. The death of Carnovale, who
was carried to his grave with so many candles suddenly extinguished at
twelve o’clock last night, has restored us to a tranquil possession of
ourselves, and to an opportunity of examining the beauties of nature and
art that surround one.
St. Peter’s church is incontestably the first object in this city, so
crowded with single figures: That this church should be built in the form
of a Latin cross instead of a Greek one may be wrong for ought I know;
that columns would have done better than piers inside, I do not think;
but that whatever has been done by man might have been done better, if
that is all the critics want, I readily allow. This church is, after all
their objections, nearer to perfect than any other building in the world;
and when Michael Angelo, looking at the Pantheon, said, “Is this the best
our vaunted ancestors could do? If so, I will shew the advancement of the
art, in suspending a dome of equal size to this up in the air.” he made a
glorious boast, and was perhaps the only person ever existing who could
have performed his promise.
The figures of angels, or rather cherubims, eight feet high, which
support the vases holding holy water, as they are made after the form
of babies, do perfectly and closely represent infants of eighteen or
twenty months old; nor till one comes quite close to them indeed, is
it possible to discern that they are colossal. This is brought by some
as a proof of the exact proportions kept, and of the prodigious space
occupied, by the area of this immense edifice; and urged by others, as
a peculiarity of the _human_ body to deceive so at a distance, most
unjustly; for one is surprised exactly in the same manner by the doves,
which ornament the church in various parts of it. _They_ likewise appear
of the natural size, and completely within one’s reach upon entering
the door, but soon as approached, recede to a considerable height, and
prove their magnitude nicely proportioned to that of the angels and other
decorations.
The canopied altar, and its appurtenances, are likewise all colossal
I think, when they tell me of four hundred and fifty thousand pounds
weight of bronze brought from the Pantheon, and used to form the wreathed
pillars which support, and the torses that adorn it. Yet airy lightness
and exquisite elegance are the characteristics of the fabric, not gloomy
greatness, or heavy solidity. How immense then must be the space it
stands on! four hundred and sixty-seven of my steps carried me from the
door to the end. Warwick castle would be contained in its middle _aisle_.
Here are one hundred and twenty silver lamps, each larger than I could
lift, constantly burning round the altar; and one never sees either
them, or the light they dispense, till forced upon the observation of
them, so completely are they lost in the general grandeur of the whole.
In short, with a profusion of wealth that astonishes, and of splendour
that dazzles, as soon as you enter on an examination of its secondary
parts, every man’s _first_ impression at entering St. Peter’s church,
must be surprise at seeing it so clear of superfluous ornament. This is
the true character of innate excellence, the _simplex munditiis_, or
_freedom from decoration_; the noble simplicity to which no embellishment
can add dignity, but seems a mere appendage. Getting on the top of this
stupendous edifice, is however the readiest way to fill one’s mind with
a deserving notion of its extent, capacity, and beauty; nor is any
operation easier, so happily contrived is the ascent. Contrivance here
is an ill-chosen word too, so luminous so convenient is the walk, so
spacious the galleries beside, that all idea of danger is removed, when
you perceive that even round the undefended cornice, our king’s state
coach might be most safely driven.
The monuments, although incomparable, scarcely obtain a share of your
admiration for the first ten times of your surveying the place; Guglielmo
della Porta’s famous figure, supporting that dedicated to the memory
of Paul the Third, was found so happy an imitation of female beauty
by some madman here however, that it is said he was inflamed with a
Pigmalion-like passion for it, of which the Pontiff hearing, commanded
the statue to be draped. The steps at almost the end of this church we
have all heard were porphyry, and so they are; how many hundred feet long
I have now forgotten:--no matter; what I have not forgotten is, that I
thought as I looked at them--why so they _should_ be porphyry--and that
was all. While the vases and cisterns of the same beautiful substance
at Villa Borghese attracted my wonder; and Clement X.’s urn at St. John
de Lateran, appeared to me an urn fitter for the ashes of an Egyptian
monarch, Busiris or Sesostris, than for a Christian priest or sovereign,
since universal dominion has been abolished. Nothing, however, _can_
look very grand in St. Peter’s church; and though I saw the general
benediction given (I hope partook it) upon Easter day, my constant
impression was, that the people were below the place; no pomp, no glare,
no dove and glory on the chair of state, but what looked too little for
the area that contained them. Sublimity disdains to catch the vulgar
eye, she elevates the soul; nor can long-drawn processions, or splendid
ceremonies, suffice to content those travellers who seek for images that
never tarnish, and for truths that never can decay. Pius Sextus, in his
morning dress, paying his private devotions at the altar, without any
pageantry, and with very few attendants, struck me more a thousand and
a thousand times, than when arrayed in gold, in colours, and diamonds,
he was carried to the front of a balcony big enough to have contained
the conclave; and there, shaded by two white fans, which, though really
enormous, looked no larger than that a girl carries in her pocket,
pronounced words which on account of the height they came from were
difficult to hear.
All this is known and felt by the managers of these theatrical
exhibitions so certainly, that they judiciously confine great part of
them to the _Capella Sestini_, which being large enough to impress
the mind with its solemnity, and not spacious enough for the priests,
congregation, and all, to be lost in it, is well adapted for those
various functions that really make Rome a scene of perpetual gala during
the holy week; which an English friend here protested to me he had never
spent with so little devotion in his life before. The _miserere_ has,
however, a strong power over one’s mind--the absence of all instrumental
music, the steadiness of so many human voices, the gloom of the place,
the picture of Michael Angelo’s last judgment covering its walls, united
with the mourning dress of the spectators--is altogether calculated with
great ingenuity to give a sudden stroke to the imagination, and kindle
that temporary blaze of devotion it is wisely enough intended to excite:
but even this has much of its effect destroyed, from the admission of too
many people: crowd and bustle, and struggle for places, leave no room for
any ideas to range themselves, and least of all, serious ones: nor would
the opening of our sacred music in Westminster Abbey, when nine hundred
performers join to celebrate _Messiah_’s praises, make that impression
which it does upon the mind, were not the king, and court, and all the
audience, as still as death, when the first note is taken.
The ceremony of washing the pilgrims feet is a pleasing one: it is seen
in high perfection here at Rome; where all that the pope personally
performs is done with infinite grace, and with an air of mingled majesty
and sweetness, difficult to hit, but singularly becoming in him, who is
both priest of God, and sovereign of his people.
But how, said Cyrus, shall I make men think me more excellent than
themselves? _By being really so_, replies Xenophon, putting his words
into the mouth of Cambyses. Pius Sextus takes no deeper method I believe,
yet all acknowledge his superiour merit: No prince can less affect state,
nor no clergyman can less adopt hypocritical behaviour. The Pope powders
his hair like any other of the Cardinals, and is, it seems, the first
who has ever done so. When he takes the air it is in a fashionable
carriage, with a few, a very few guards on horseback, and is by no means
desirous of making himself a shew. Now and then an old woman begs his
blessing as he passes; but I almost remember the time when our bishops
of Bangor and St. Asaph were followed by the country people in North
Wales full as much or more, and with just the same feelings. One man
in particular we used to talk of, who came from a distant part of our
mountainous province, with much expence in proportion to his abilities,
poor fellow, and terrible fatigue; he was a tenant of my father’s, who
asked him how he ventured to undertake so troublesome a journey? It was
to get my good Lord’s blessing, replied the farmer, _I hope it will
cure my rheumatism_. Kissing the slipper at Rome will probably, in a
hundred years more, be a thing to be thus faintly recollected by a few
very old people; and it is strange to me it should have lasted so long.
No man better knows than the present learned and pious successor of St.
Peter, that St. Peter himself would permit no act of adoration to his
own person; and that he severely reproved Cornelius for kneeling to him,
charging him to rise and stand upon his feet, adding these remarkable
words, _seeing I also am a man_[13]. Surely it will at last be found out
among them that such a ceremony is inconsistent with the Pope’s character
as a Christian priest, however it may suit state matters to continue it
in the character of a sovereign. The road he is now making on every side
his capital to facilitate foreigners approach, the money he has laid out
on the conveniencies of the Vatican, the desire he feels of reforming a
police much in want of reformation, joined to an immaculate character
for private virtue and an elegant taste for the fine arts, must make
every one wish for a long continuance of his health and dignity; though
the wits and jokers, when they see his arms up, as they are often placed
in galleries, &c. about the palace, and consist of a zephyr blowing on
a flower, a pair of eagle’s wings, and a few stars, have invented this
Epigram, to say that when the Emperor has got his eagle back, the King of
France his fleurs de lys, and the stars are gone to heaven, Braschi will
have nothing left him but the _wind_:
Redde aquilam Cæsari, Francorum lilia regi,
Sydera redde polo, cætera Brasche tibi.
These verses were given me by an agreeable Benedictine Friar, member of a
convent belonging to St. Paul’s _fuor delle mura_; he was a learned man,
a native of Ragusa, had been particularly intimate with Wortley Montague,
whose variety of acquirements had impressed him exceedingly.
He shewed us the curiosities of his church, the finest in Rome next to
St. Peter’s, and had silver gates; but the plating is worn off and only
the brass remains. There is an old Egyptian candlestick above five feet
high preserved here, and many other singularities adorn the church.
The Pillars are 136 in number, all marble, and each consisting of one
unjoined and undivided piece; 40 of these are fluted, and two which did
belong to a temple of Mars are seven feet and a half each in diameter.
Here is likewise the place where Nero ran for refuge to the house of his
freed-man, and in the cloister a stone, with this inscription on it,
_Hoc specus accepit post aurea tecta Neronem_[14].
Here is an altar supported by four pillars of red porphyry, and here
are the pictures of all the popes; St. Peter first, and our present
Braschi last. It has given much occasion for chat that there should
now be no room left to hang a successor’s portrait, and that he who now
occupies the chair is painted in powdered hair and a white head-dress,
such as he wears every day, to the great affliction of his courtiers, who
recommended the usual state diadem; but “No, no,” said he, “there have
been _red cap Popes_ enough, mine shall be only white,” and _white it is_.
This beautiful edifice was built by the Emperor Theodosius, and there
is an old picture at the top, of our Saviour giving the benediction in
the form that all the Greek priests give it now. Apropos, there have
been many sects of Oriental Christians dropt into the Church of Rome
within these late years; a very venerable old Armenian says Greek mass
regularly in St. Peter’s church every day before one particular altar;
his long black dress and white beard attracted much of my notice; he
saw it did, and now whenever we meet in the street by chance he kindly
stands still to bless me. But the Syriac or Maronites have a church to
themselves just by the _Bocca della Verita_; and extremely curious we
thought it to see their ceremonies upon Palm Sunday, when their aged
patriarch, not less than ninety-three years old, and richly attired with
an inconvenient weight of drapery, and a mitre shaped like that of Aaron
in our Bibles exactly, was supported by two olive coloured orientals,
while he pronounced a benediction on the tree that stood near the altar,
and was at least ten feet high. The attendant clergy, habited after their
own eastern taste, and very superbly, had broad phylacteries bound on
their foreheads after the fashion of the Jews, and carried long strips of
parchment up and down the church, with the law written on them in Syriac
characters, while they formed themselves into a procession and led their
truly reverend principal back to his place. An exhibition so striking,
with the view of many monuments round the walls, sacred to the memory
of such, and such a bishop of Damascus, gave so strong an impression of
Asiatic manners to the mind, that one felt glad to find Europe round one
at going out again. One of the treasures much renowned in it we have seen
to-day, the transfiguration painted by Rafaelle; it was the _first_ thing
the Emperor _did_ visit when he came to Rome, and so a Franciscan Friar
who shews it, told us. He saw a gentleman walk into church it seems, and
leaving his friends at dinner, went out to converse with him. “_Pull
aside the curtain, Sir_,” said the stranger, “_for I am in haste to see
this master-piece of your immortal Raphael_.” I was as willing to be in
a hurry as he, says the Friar, and observed how fortunate it was for us
that it could not be moved, otherwise we had lost it long ago; for, Sir,
said I, they would have carried it away from poor _Monte Citoria_ to
some finer temple long ago; though, let me tell you, this is an elegant
Doric building too, and one of Bramante’s best works, much admired by
the English in particular. I hope, if it please God now that I should
live but a very little longer, I may have the honour of shewing it _the
Emperor_. “Is he expected?” enquired the gentleman. “Every day, Sir,”
replies the Friar. “And _well now_,” cries the foreigner, “what sort of
a man do you expect to see?” “Why, Sir, you seem a traveller, did _you_
ever see him?” quoth the Franciscan. “Yes, sure, my good friend, very
often indeed, he is as plain a man as myself, has good intentions, and an
honest heart; and I think you would like him if you knew him, because he
puts nobody out of their way.”
This dialogue, natural and simple, had taken such hold of our good
_religieux_’s fancy, that not a word would he say about the picture,
while his imagination was so full of the prince, and of his own
amazement at the salutation of his companions, when returning to the
refectory;--“Why, Gaetano,” cried they, “thou hast been conversing with
_Cæsar_:”--I too liked the tale, because it was artless, and because it
was true. But the picture surpasses all praise; the woman kneeling on the
fore-ground, her back to the spectators, seems a repetition of the figure
in Raphael’s famous picture of the Vatican on fire, that is shewn in the
chambers called particularly by his name; where the personifications of
Justice and Meekness, engraved by Strange, seize one’s attention very
forcibly; it is observable, that the first is every body’s favourite in
the painting, the last in the engraving.
Raphael’s Bible, as one of the long galleries is comically called by the
connoisseurs, breaks one’s neck to look at it. The stories, beginning
with Adam and Eve, are painted in small compartments; the colouring as
vivid now as if it were done last week; and the _arabesques_ so gay
and pretty, they are very often represented on fans; and we have fine
engravings in England of all, yet, though exquisitely done, they give one
somehow a false notion of the whole: so did Piranesi’s prints too, though
invaluable, when considered by themselves as proofs of the artist’s
merit. His judicious manner, however, of keeping all coarse objects
from interfering with the grand ones, though it mightily increases the
dignity, and adds to the spirit of his performance, is apt to lead him
who wishes for information, into a style of thinking that will at last
produce disappointment as to general appearances, which here at Rome is
really disproportionate to the astonishing productions of art contained
within its walls.
But I must leave this glorious Vatican, with the perpetual regret of
having seen scarcely any thing of its invaluable library, except the
prodigious size and judicious ornaments of it: neither book nor MS.
could I prevail on the librarian to shew me, except some love-letters
from Henry the Eighth of England to Anne Boleyn, which he said were
most likely to interest _me_: they were very gross and indecent ones to
be sure; so I felt offended, and went away, in a very ill humour, to
see Castle St. Angelo; where the emperor Adrian intended perpetually
to repose; but the urn containing his ashes is now kept in a garden
belonging to one of the courts in the palace, near the Apollo and other
Greek statues of peculiar excellence. From his tomb too, some of the
pillars of St. Paul’s were taken, and this splendid mausolæum converted
into a sort of citadel, where Sixtus Quintus deposited three millions
of gold, it is said; and Alexander the Sixth retired to shield himself
from Charles the Eighth of France, who entered Rome by torch-light in
1494, and forced the Pope to give him what the French historians call
_l’investiture du royaume de Naples_; after which he took Capua, and
made his conquering entry into Naples the February following, 1495;
Ferdinand, son of Alphonso, flying before him. This Pope was the father
of the famous Cæsar Borgia; and it was on this occasion, I believe, that
the French wits made the well-known distich on his notorious avarice and
rapacity:
Vendit Alexander claves, altaria, Christum,
Vendere jure potest, emerat ille prius[15].
This Castle St. Angelo went once, I believe, under the name of the
Ælian Bridge, when the emperor Adrian first fixed his mind on making a
monument for himself there. The soldiers of Belisarius are said to have
destroyed numberless statues which then adorned it, by their odd manner
of defending the place from the Gothic assaulters. It is now a sort of
tower for the confinement of state prisoners; and decorated with many
well-painted, but ill-kept pictures of Polydore and Julio Romano.
The fireworks exhibited here on Easter-day are the completest things of
their kind in the world; three thousand rockets, all sent up into the air
at once, make a wonderful burst indeed, and serve as a pretty imitation
of Vesuvius: the lighting up of the building too on a sudden with
fire-pots, had a new and beautiful effect; we all liked the entertainment
vastly.
I looked here for what some French _recueil_, _Menagiana_ if I remember
rightly, had taught me to expect; this was some brass cannon belonging to
Christina queen of Sweden, who had caused them to be cast, and added an
engraving on them with these remarkable words;
Habet sua fulmina Juno[16].
No such thing, however, could be found or heard of. Indeed a search after
truth requires such patience, such penetration, and such learning, that
it is no wonder she is so seldom got a glimpse of; whoever is diligently
desirous to find her, is so perplexed by ignorance, so retarded by
caution, so confounded by different explications of the same thing
recurring at every turn, so sickened with silly credulity on the one
hand, and so offended with pertness and pyrrhonism on the other, that it
is fairly rendered impossible for one to keep clear of prejudices, while
the steady resolution to do so becomes itself a prejudice.--But with
regard to little follies, it is better to laugh at than lament them.
We were shewn one morning lately the spot where it is supposed St.
Paul suffered decapitation; and our _Cicerone_ pointed out to us three
fountains, about the warmth of Buxton, Matlock, or Bristol water,
which were said to have burst from the ground at the moment of his
martyrization. A Dutch gentleman in company, and a steady Calvinist,
loudly ridiculed the tradition, called it an idle tale, and triumphantly
expressed his _certain conviction_, that such an event _could not
possibly_ have ever taken place. To this assertion no reply was made;
and as we drove home all together, the conversation having taken a
wide range and a different turn, he related in the course of it a long
Rousseau-like tale of a lady he once knew, who having the strongest
possible attachment to one lover, married another upon principles of
filial obedience, still retaining inviolate her passion for the object of
her choice, who, adorned with every excellence and every grace, continued
a correspondence with her across the Atlantic ocean; having instantly
changed his hemisphere, not to give the husband disturbance; who on his
part admired their letters, many of which were written in _his_ praise,
who had so cruelly interrupted their felicity. Seeing some marks of
disbelief in my countenance, he begun observing, in an altered tone of
voice, that _common_ and _vulgar_ minds might hold such events to be out
of possibility, and such sentiments to be out of nature, but it was only
because they were _above_ the _comprehension_ and beyond the reach of
people educated in large and corrupt capitals, Paris, Rome, or London,
to think true. Now was not some share of good breeding (best learned in
great capitals perhaps) necessary to prevent one from retorting upon such
an orator--that it was more likely nature should have been permitted
to deviate in favour of Paul the apostle of Jesus Christ, than of a
fat inhabitant of North Zealand, no way distinguished from the mass of
mankind?
But we have been called to pass some moments on the Cælian hill; and see
the _Chiesa di San Gregorio_, interesting above all others to travellers
who delight in the vestiges of Pagan Rome: as, having been built upon a
Patrician’s house, it still to a great degree retains the form of one;
while to the scholar who is pleased with anecdotes of ecclesiastical
history, the days recur when the stone chair they shew us, contented the
meek and venerable bishop of Rome who sate in it, while his gentle spirit
sought the welfare of every Christian, and refused to persecute even
the benighted and unbelieving Jews; opposing only the arms of piety and
prayer, to the few enemies his transcendent excellence had raised him.
His picture here is considered as a master-piece of Annibale Caracci;
and it is strange to think that the trial-pieces, as they are called,
should be erroneously treated of in the Carpenteriana: when speaking of
the contention between the two scholars, to decide which the master sent
for an old woman, Monsieur de Carpentier tells us the dispute lay between
Domenichino and Albano--a gross mistake; as it was Guido, not Albano, who
ventured to paint something in rivalry with Domenichino, relative to St.
Andrew and his martyrdom; and these trial-pieces produced from her the
same preference given by every spectator who has seen them since; for
when Caracci (unwilling to offend either of his scholars, as both were
men of the highest rank and talents) enquired of _her_ what _she_ thought
of Guido’s performance?--“Indeed,” replied the old woman, “I have never
yet looked at it, so fully has my mind been occupied by the powers shewn
in that of Domenichino.”
The _vecchia_ is here at Rome the common phrase when speaking of your
only female servant, a person not unlike an Oxford or Cambridge bed-maker
in appearance; and much amazed was I two days ago at the answer of _our_
_vecchia_, when curiosity prompted me to ask her age:--“_O, Madam, I am a
very aged woman_,” was the reply, “_and have two grandchildren married; I
am forty-two years old_, poveretta me!” I told an Italian gentleman who
dined with us what Caterina had said, and begged him to ask the _laquais
de place_, who waited on us at table, a similar question. He appeared a
large, well-looking, sturdy fellow, about thirty-eight years old; but
said he was scarce twenty-two; that he had been married six years, and
had five children. How old was your wife when you met?--“Thirteen, Sir,”
answered Carlo: so all is kept even at least; for if they end life sooner
than in colder climates, they begin it earlier it is plain.
Yet such things seem strange to _us_; so do a thousand which occur in
these warm countries in the commonest life. Brick floors, for example,
with hangings of a dirty printed cotton, affording no bad shelter for
spiders, bugs, &c.; a table in the same room, encrusted with _verd
antique_, very fine and worthy of Wilton house; with some exceeding good
copies of the finest pictures here at Rome; form the furniture of our
present lodging: and now we have got the little casement windows clean to
look at it, I pass whole hours admiring, even in the copy, our glorious
descent from the cross, by Daniel de Volterra; which to say truth loses
less than many a great performance of the same kind, because its merits
consist in composition and design; and as sentiment, not style, is
translatable, so grouping and putting figures finely together can be
easier transmitted by a copy, than the meaner excellencies of colouring
and finishing. Homer and Cervantes may be enjoyed by those who never
learned their language, at least to a great degree; while a true taste
of Gray’s Odes or Martial’s Epigrams has been hitherto found exceedingly
difficult to communicate. It would, however, be cruel to deny the merit
of colouring to Daniel de Volterra’s descent from the cross, only because
being painted in fresco it has suffered so terribly by time and want of
care, but it is now kept covered, and they remove the curtain when any
body desires to contemplate its various beauties.
The church of Santa Maria Maggiore has been too long unspoken of, rich
as it is with the first gold torn from the unfortunate aborigines of
America; a present from Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain to the Pope,
in return for that permission he had given them to exert and establish
their sanguinary sway over those luckless nations. One pillar from the
temple of Peace is an ill-adapted ornament to this edifice, built nearly
in the form of an ancient _basilica_; and with so expensive a quantity
of gilding, that it is said two hundred and fifty thousand pounds were
expended on one chapel only, which is at last inferior in fame and beauty
to _cappella Corsini_; in riches and magnificence to _cappella Borghese_,
where an amethyst frame of immense value surrounds the names, in gold
cypher, of our blessed Saviour and his Mother, the ground of which is of
transparent jasper, and cannot be matched for elegance or perfection,
being at least four feet high (the tablets I mean), and three feet wide.
But to this Borghese family, I am well persuaded, it would be a real
fatigue to count the wealth which they enjoy.
Villa Pamphili is a lovely place, or might be made so; but laying out
pleasure grounds is not the forte of Italian taste. I never saw one of
them, except Lomellino of Genoa, who had higher notions of a garden than
what an opera scene affords; and that is merely a range of trees in great
pots with gilded handles, and rows of tall cypresses planted one between
every two pots, all straight over against each other in long lines; with
an octangular marble bason to hold water in the middle, covered for the
most part with a thick green scum.
At Villa Pamphili is a picture of Sanctorius, who made the weighing
balance spoken of by Addison in the Spectator; it was originally
contrived for the Pamphili Pope. And here is an old statue of Clodius
profaning the mysteries of the Bona Dea, as we read in the Roman history.
And here are camels working in the park like horses: we found them
playing about at their leisure when we were at Pisa, and at Milan they
were shewed for a show; so little does one state of Italy connect with
another. These three cities cannot possibly be much further from each
other than London, York, and Exeter; yet the manners differ entirely,
and what is done in one place is not known at all in the other. It must
be remembered that they are all separate states.
At the Farnesini palace our amusements were of a nature very contrary
to this; but every place produces amusement when one is willing to be
pleased. After looking over the various and inestimable productions
of art contained there, we came at last to the celebrated marriage of
Alexander’s Roxana; where, say some of the books of description, the
world’s greatest hero is represented by Europe’s greatest painter. Some
French gentlemen were in our company, and looking steadily at the picture
for a while, one of them exclaimed, “_A la fin voila ce qui est vrayment
noble; cet Alexandre là; il paroit effectivement le roy de France
même_[17].”
The Spada palace boasts Guercino’s Dido, so disliked by the critics, who
say she looks spitted; but extremely esteemed by those that understand
its merit in other respects. There is also the very statue kept at this
palace, at the feet of which Cæsar fell when he was assassinated at
the capitol: those who shew it never fail to relate his care to die
gracefully; which was likewise the last desire that occupied Lucretia’s
mind: Augustus too, justly considering his life as scenical, desired the
_plaudits_ of his friends at its conclusion: and even Flavius Vespasian,
a plain man as one should think during a pretty large portion of his
existence, wished at last to _die like an emperor_. That this statue
of Pompey should have been accidentally found with the head lying in
one man’s ground and the body in another, is curious enough: a rage for
appropriation gets the better of all the love of arts; so the contending
parties (like the sisters in David Simple, with their fine-worked carpet)
fairly severed the statue, and took home each his half; the proprietor
of this palace meanwhile purchased the two pieces, stuck them once more
together, and here they are.--Pity but the sovereign had carried both off
for himself.--Pius Sextus however is not so disposed: he has had a legacy
left him within these last years, to the prejudice of some nobleman’s
heirs; who loudly lamented _their fate_, and _his tyranny_ who could take
advantage, as they expressed it, of their relation’s caprice. The Pope
did not give it them back, because they behaved so ill, he said; but
neither did he seize what was left him, by dint of despotic authority;
_he went to law_ with the family for it, which I thought a very strange
thing; _and lost his cause_, which I thought a still stranger.
We have just been to see his gardens; they are poor things enough;
and the device of representing Vulcan’s cave with the Cyclops, in
_water_-works, was more worthy of Ireland than Rome! Monte Cavallo is
however a palace of prodigious dignity; the pictures beyond measure
excellent; his collection of china-ware valuable and tasteful, and there
are two Mexican jars that can never be equalled.
Villa Albani is the most dazzling of any place yet however; and the
caryatid pillars the finest things in it, though replete with wonders,
and distracting with objects each worthy a whole day’s attention. Here
is an antique list of Euripides’s plays in marble, as those tell me who
can read the Greek inscriptions; I lose infinite pleasure every day,
for want of deeper learning. Pillars not only of _giall’ antique_, but
of _paglia_[18], which no house but this possesses, amaze and delight
_indocti doctique_ though; the Vatican itself cannot shew such: a red
marble mask here, three feet and a half in diameter, is unrivalled; they
tell you it is worth its own weight in louis d’ors: a canopus in basalt
too; and cameos by the thousand.
Mengs should have painted a more elegant Apollo for the centre of such
a gallery; but his muses make amends; the Viaggiana says they are all
portraits, but I could get nobody to tell me whose. The Abbé Winckelman,
who if I recollect aright lost his life by his passion for _virtù_,
arranged this stupendous collection, in conjunction with the cardinal,
whose taste was by all his contemporaries acknowledged the best in Rome.
We were carried this morning to a cabinet of natural history belonging to
another cardinal, but it did not answer the account given of it by our
conductors.
What has most struck me here as a real improvement upon social and civil
life, was the school of Abate Sylvester, who, upon the plan of Monsieur
L’Epée at Paris, teaches the deaf and dumb people to speak, read, write,
and cast accounts; he likewise teaches them the principles of logic,
and instructs them in the sacred mysteries of our holy religion. I am
not naturally credulous, nor apt to take payment in words for meanings;
much of my _life_ has been spent, and all my _youth_, in the tuition of
babies; I was of course less likely to be deceived; and I can safely say,
that they did appear to have learned all he taught them: that appearance
too, if it were no more, is so difficult to obtain, the patience required
from the master is so very great, and the good he is doing to mankind
so extensive, that I did not like offensively to detect the difference
between _knowing_ a syllogism and _appearing_ to know it. With regard
to morality, the pupils have certainly gained many præcognita. While
the capital scholars were shewing off to another party, I addressed a
girl who sat working in the window, and perceived that she could explain
the meaning of the commandments competently well. To prove the truth, I
pretended to pick a gentleman’s pocket who stood near me; _peccato!_ said
the wench distinctly; she was about ten years old perhaps: but a little
boy of seven was deservedly the master’s favourite; he really possessed
the most intelligent and interesting countenance I ever saw, and when to
explain the major, minor, and consequence, he put the two first together
into his hat with an air of triumph, we were enchanted with him. Some one
to teize him said he had red hair; he instantly led them to a picture of
our Saviour which hung in the room, said it was the same colour of his,
and ought to be respected.
Surely it is little to the credit of us English, that this worthy Abbé
Sylvester should have a stipend from government; that Monsieur L’Epée de
Paris should be encouraged in the same good work; that Mr. Braidwood’s
Scotch pupils should justly engage every one’s notice--while _we sleep!_
A friend in company seeing me fret at this, asked me if I, or any one
else, had ever seen or heard of a person really qualified for the common
duties of society by any of these professors;--“That a deaf and dumb man
should understand how to discourse about the hypostatic union,” added
he, “I will not desire; but was there ever known in Paris, Edinburgh, or
Rome, a deaf and dumb shoemaker, carpenter, or taylor? Or did ever any
watchmaker, fishmonger, or wheelwright, ever keep and willingly employ a
deaf and dumb journeyman?”--Nobody replied; and we went on our way to see
what was easier decided upon and understood--the tomb of Raphael at the
Pantheon.
Among the many tours that have been written, a musical tour, an
astronomical tour, &c. I wonder we have never had a sepulchral tour,
making the tombs of famous men its object of attention. That Raphael,
Caracci, with many more people of eminence, sleep at the Pantheon, is
however but a secondary consideration; few can think of the monuments in
this church, till they have often contemplated its architecture, which
is so finely proportioned that on first entering you think it smaller
than it really is: the pillars are enormous, the shafts all of one piece,
the composition Egyptian granite; these are the sixteen which support
the portico built by Agrippa; whose car, adorned with trophies and drawn
by brazen horses, once decorated the pediment, where the holes formed
by the cramps which fastened it are still visible. Genseric changed the
gate, and connoisseurs know not where he placed that which Agrippa made:
the present gate is magnificent, but does not fit the place; much of
the brass plating was removed by Urban the Eighth, and carried to St.
Peter’s: he was the Barberini pope; and of him the people said--
Barbarini faciunt barbara, &c.
He was a poet however, and could make epigrams himself; there is a very
fine edition of his poems printed at Paris under the title of _Maffei
Barberini Poemata_; and such was his knowledge of Greek literature,
that he was called the Attic bee. The drunken faun asleep at Palazzo
Barberini, by some accounted the first statue in Rome, we owe wholly to
his care in its preservation.
But the Pantheon must not be quitted till we have mentioned its pavement,
where the precious stones are not disposed, as in many churches, without
taste or care, apparently by chance; here all is inlaid, so as to
enchant the eye with its elegance, while it dazzles one with its riches:
the black porphyry, in small squares, disposed in compartments, and
inscribed as one may call it in pavonazzino perhaps; the red, bounded
by serpentine; the granites, in giall antique, have an undescribable
effect; no Florence table was ever so beautiful: nor can we here regret
the caryatid pillars said by Pliny to have graced this temple in his
time; while the four prodigious columns, two of Egyptian granite, two of
porphyry, still remain, and replace them so very well. Montiosius, who
sought for the pillars said by Pliny to have been placed by Diogenes, an
Athenian architect, as supporters of this temple, relates however, that
in the year 1580 he saw four of them buried in the ground as high as
their shoulders: but it does not seem a tale much attended to; though I
confess my own desire of digging, as he points out the place so exactly,
on the right hand side of the portico. The best modern caryatids are in
the old Louvre at Paris, done by Goujon; but those of Villa Albani are
true antiques, perfect in beauty, inestimable in value.
The church that now stands where a temple to Bacchus was built, _fuori
delle mura_, engaged our attention this morning. Nothing can be fresher
than the old decorations in honour of this jocund deity; the figures
of men and women carrying grapes, oxen drawing barrels, &c. all the
progress of a gay and plenteous vintage; a sacrifice at the end. I forget
to whom the church is now dedicated, but _it is_ a church; and from under
it has been dug up a sarcophagus, all of one piece of red porphyry, which
represents on its sides a Bacchanalian triumph; the coffin is nine feet
long, and the Pope intends removing it to the Vatican, as a companion
to that of Scipio Æmilianus, found a few months ago; his name engraven
on it, and his bones inside. Before the proper precautions could be
taken however, _they_ were flung away by mistaken zeal and prejudice;
but an Englishman, say they, who loves an unbeliever, got possession of
a _tooth_: meantime the ashes of the emperor Adrian, who, as Eusebius
tells us, set up the figure of a swine on the gates of Bethlehem, built
a temple in honour of Venus, on Mount Calvary; another to Jupiter,
upon the hill whence our Saviour ascended into heaven in sight of his
disciples;--_his_ ashes are kept in a gilt pine-apple, brought from
Castle St. Angelo, and preserved among other rarities in the Pope’s
musæum. So poor Scipio’s remains needed not to have been treated worse
than _his_, as we know not how good a Christian he might have made,
had he lived but 150 years later: we are sure that he was a wise and a
warlike man; that he fulfilled the scriptures unwittingly by burning
Carthage; and that he protected Polybius, whom he would scarcely suffer
out of his sight.
After looking often at the pictures of St. Sebastian, I have now seen
his church founded by Constantine: he lies here in white marble, done by
Bernini; and here are more marvellous columns.--I am tired of looking out
words to express their various merits.
The catacombs attract me more strongly; here, and here alone, can one
obtain a just idea of the melancholy lives, and dismal deaths, endured
by those who first dared at Rome to profess a religion inoffensive
and beneficial to all mankind. San Filippo Neri has his body somewhat
distinguished from the rest of these old pious Christians, among whom
he lived to a surprising age, making a cave his residence. Relics are
now dug up every day from these retreats, and venerated as having once
belonged to martyrs murdered for their early attachment to a belief
now happily displayed over one quarter of the world, and making daily
progress in another not discovered when those heroic mortals died to
attest its truth. There is however great danger of deception in digging
out the relics, these catacombs having been in Trajan’s time made a
burial-place for slaves; and such it continued to be during the reign
of those Roman emperors who despised rather than persecuted the new
religion in its infancy. The consciousness of this fact should cure the
passion many here shew for relics, the authenticity of which can never
be ascertained. Those shewn to the people in St. Peter’s church one
evening in the holy week, all came from here it seems; and loudly do our
Protestant travellers exclaim at their idolatry who kneel during the
exposure; though for my life I cannot see how the custom is _idolatrous_.
He who at the moment a dead martyr’s robe is shewn him, begs grace of God
to follow that great example, is certainly doing no harm, or in any wise
contradicting the rules of our Anglican church, whose collects for every
saint’s day express a like supplication for power to imitate that saint’s
good example; if once they worship the relics indeed, it were better
they were burned; and to say true, they should not be exposed without a
sermon explaining their use, lest vulgar minds might be unhappily misled
to mistake the real end of their exposure, and profanely substitute the
creature for the Creator. Meanwhile no one has a right to ridicule the
love of what once belonged to a favourite character, who has ever felt
attachment to a dead friend’s snuff-box, or desire of possessing Scipio
Æmilianus’s tooth.
But the best effort to excite temporary devotion, and commemorate sacred
seasons, was the illuminated cross upon Good Friday night, depending
from the high dome of St. Peter’s church; where its effect upon the
architecture is strangely powerful, so large are the masses both of
light and shade; whilst the sublime images raised in one’s mind by its
noble simplicity and solitary light, hover before the fancy, and lead
recollection round through a thousand gloomy and mysterious passages,
with no unsteady pace however, while she follows the rays which beam from
the Redeemer’s cross. Being obliged indeed to go with company to these
solemnities, takes off from their effect, and turns imagination into
another channel, disagreeably enough, but it must be so; where there is a
thing to be seen every one will go to see it, and that which was intended
to produce sensations of gladness, gratitude, or wonder, ends _in being
a show_. The consciousness of this fact only kept me from wishing to see
the Duomo di Milano, or the cathedral of Canterbury illuminated just so,
with lamps placed in rows upon a plain wooden cross; which surely would
have, upon those old Gothic structures, an unequalled effect as to the
forming of light and shadow.
But let us wish for any thing now rather than a _fine sight_. I am tired
with the very word _a sight_; while the Jesuits church here at Rome,
with the figure of St. Ignatius all covered with precious stones, with
bronze angels by Bernini, and every decoration that money can purchase
and industry collect, rather dazzles than delights one, I think.
The Italians seem to find out, I know not why, that it is a good thing
the Jesuits are gone; though they steadily endeavour to retain those
principles of despotism which it was their peculiar province to inspire
and confirm, and whilst all men must see that the work of education goes
on worse in other hands. Indeed nothing can be wilder than committing
youth to the tuition of monks and nuns, unless, like them, they were
intended for the cloister. Young people are but too ready to find fault
with their teachers, and these are given into the hands of those teachers
who have a fault _ready found_. Every christian, every moral instruction
driven into their tender minds, weakens with the experience that he or
she who inculcated it was a recluse; and that they who are to live in the
world forsooth, must have more enlarged notions: whereas, to a Jesuit
tutor, no such objection could be made; they were themselves men of the
world, their institution not only permitted but obliged them to mingle
with mankind, to study characters, to attend to the various transactions
passing round them, and take an active part. It was indeed this spirit
pushed too far, which undid and destroyed their order, so useful to the
church of Rome. Connections with various nations they found best obtained
by commerce, and the sweets of commerce once tasted, what body of men has
been yet able to relinquish? But the principles of trade are formed in
direct opposition to that spirit of subordination by which alone _their_
existence could continue; and it is unjust to charge any single event or
person with the dissolution of a body, incompatible with that state of
openness and freedom to which Europe is hastening. Incorporated societies
too carry, like individuals, the seeds of their own destruction in their
bosoms;
As man perhaps the moment of his breath
Receives the lurking principle of death;
The young disease, which must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.
Every warehouse opened in every part of Europe, every settlement obtained
abroad, facilitated their undoing, by loosening the band which tied them
close together. Extremes can never keep their distance from each other,
while human affairs trot but in a circle; and surely no stronger proof of
that position can be found, than the sight of Quakers in Pensylvania, and
Jesuits in Paraguay, who lived with their converted Indian neighbours,
alike in harmony, and peace, and love.
We have been led to reflections of this sort by a view of girls portioned
here at Rome once a year, some for marriage and others for a nunnery;
the last set were handsomest and fewest, and the people I converse with
say that every day makes almost visible diminution in the number of
monks and nuns. I know not, however, whether Italy will go on much the
better for having so few convents; some should surely be left, nay some
_must_ be left in a country where it is not possible for every man to
obtain a decent livelihood by labour as in England: no army, no navy,
very little commerce possible to the inland states, and very little need
of it in any; little study of the law too, where the prince or baron’s
lips pronounce on the decision of property; what must people do where
so few professions are open? Can they _all_ be physicians, priests,
or shopkeepers, where little physic is taken, and few goods bought?
There are already more clergy than can live, and I saw an _abate_ with
the _petit collet_ at Lucca, playing in the orchestra at the opera for
eighteen pence pay. Let us be all contented with the benefits received
from heaven, and let us learn better than to set up _self_, whether
nation or individual, as a standard to which all others must be reduced;
while imitation is at last but meanness, and each may in his own sphere
serve God and love his neighbours, while variety renders life more
pleasing. _Quod sis esse velis_[19], is an admirable maxim, and surely
no self-denial is necessary to its practice; while God has kindly given
to Italians a bright sky, a penetrating intellect, a genius for the
polite and liberal arts, and a soil which produces literally, as well as
figuratively, almost spontaneous fruits. He has bestowed on Englishmen a
mild and wholesome climate, a spirit of application and improvement, a
judicious manner of thinking to increase, and commerce to procure, those
few comforts their own island fails to produce. The mind of an Italian
is commonly like his country, extensive, warm, and beautiful from the
irregular diversification of its ideas; an ardent character, a glowing
landscape. That of an Englishman is cultivated, rich, and regularly
disposed; a steady character, a delicious landscape.
I must not quit Rome however without a word of Angelica Kauffman, who,
though neither English nor Italian, has contrived to charm both nations,
and shew her superior talents both here and there. Beside her paintings,
of which the world has been the judge, her conversation attracts all
people of taste to her house, which none can bear to leave without
difficulty and regret. But a sight of the Santa Croce palace, with its
disgusting _Job_, and the man in armour so visibly horror-striken, puts
all painters but Salvator Rosa for a while out of one’s head. This
master’s works are not frequent, though he painted with facility. I
suppose he is difficult to imitate or copy, so what we have of him is
_original_. There are too many living objects here in Job’s condition,
not to render walking in the streets extremely disagreeable; and though
we are told there are seventeen markets in Rome, I can find none, the
_forum boarium_ being kept alike in all parts of the city for ought I
see; butchers standing at their shop doors, which are not shut nor the
shop cleaned even on Sundays, while blood is suffered to run along the
kennels in a manner very shocking to humanity. Mr. Greatheed made me
remark that the knife they use now, is the same employed by the old
Romans in cutting up the sacrificed victim; and there are in fact
ancient figures in many bas-reliefs of this town, which represent the
inferior officers, or _popæ_, with a priest’s albe reaching from their
arms and tucked up tight, with the sacrificing knife fastened to it,
exactly as the modern butcher wears his dress. The apron was called
_limus_, and there was a purple welt sewed on it in such a manner as to
represent a serpent:
Velati limo, et verbenâ tempora vincti[20];
which Servius explains at length, but gives no reason for the serpentine
form, by some people exalted, particularly Mr. Hogarth, as nearly allied
to the perfection of all possible grace. This looks hypothetical, but
when the map of both hemispheres displayed before one, shews that the
Sun’s path forms the same line, called by pre-eminence Ecliptic, we will
pardon their predilection in its favour.
But it is time to take leave of this _Roma triumphans_, as she is
represented in one statue with a weeping province at her foot, _so_
beautiful! it reminded me of Queen Eleanor and fair Rosamond. The
Viaggiana sent me to look for many things I should not have found
without that instructive guide, particularly the singular inscription on
Gaudentius the actor’s tomb, importing that Vespasian rewarded him with
death, but that _Kristus_, for so Christ is spelt, will reward him with
a finer theatre in heaven. He was one of our early martyrs it appears,
and an altar to _him_ would surely be now more judiciously placed at a
play-house door than one to good St. Anthony, under whose protection the
theatre at Naples is built; with no great propriety it must be confessed,
when that Saint, disgusted by the levities of life, retired to finish
his existence, far from the haunts of man, among the horrors of an
unfrequented desert. So has it chanced however, that by many sects of
Christians, the player and his profession have been severely reprobated;
Calvinists forbid them their walls as destructive to morality, while
Romanists, considering them as justly excommunicated, refuse them the
common rites of sepulture. Scripture affords no ground for such severity.
Dr. Johnson once told me that St. Paul quoted in his epistles a comedy of
Menander; and I got the librarian at Venice to shew me the passage marked
as a quotation in one of the old editions: it is then a fair inference
enough that the apostle could never have prohibited to his followers
the sight of plays, when he cited them himself; they were indeed more
innocent than any other show of the days he lived in, and if well managed
may be always made subservient to the great causes of religion and
virtue. The passage cited was this:
Evil communication corrupts good manners.
And now with regard to the present state of morals at Rome, one must not
judge from staring stories told one; it is like Heliogabalus’s method of
computing the number of his citizens from the weight of their cobwebs. It
is wonderful to me the people are no worse, where no methods are taken to
keep them from being bad.
As to the society, I speak not from myself, for I saw nothing of it; some
English liked it, but more complained. Wanting amusement, however, can be
no complaint, even without society, in a city so pregnant with wonders,
so productive of reflections; and if the Roman nobles are haughty,
who can wonder; when one sees doors of agate, and chimney-pieces of
amethyst, one can scarcely be surprised at the possessors pride,
should they in contempt turn their backs upon a foreigner, whom they
are early taught to consider as the Turks consider women, creatures
formed for their _use_ only, or at best _amusement_, and devoted to
certain destruction at the hour of death. With such principles, the
hatred and scorn they naturally feel for a protestant will easily swell
into superciliousness, or burst out into arrogance, the moment it is
unrestrained by the necessity of forms among the rich, and the desire of
pillage in the poor.
But I shall be glad _now_ to exchange lapis lazuli for violets, and
verd antique for green fields. Here are more amethysts about Rome than
lilacs; and the laburnum which at this gay season adorns the environs
of London, I look for in vain about the Porta del Popolo. The proud
purple tulip which decorates the ground hereabouts, opposed to the
British harebell, is _Italy_ and _England_ again; but the _harebell_ by
cultivation becomes a _hyacinth_, the _tulip_ remains where it began. We
are now at the 16th of April, yet I know not how or why it is, although
the oaks, young, small, and straggling as they are, have the leaves come
out all broad and full already, though the fig is bursting out every day
and hour, and the mulberry tree, so tardy in our climate, that I have
often been unable to see scarcely a bud upon them even in May, is here
completely furnished. Apple trees are yet in blossom round this city, and
the few elms that can be found, are but just unfolding. Common shrubs
continue their wintry appearance, and in the general look of spring
little is gained. The hedges now of Kent and Surrey are filled with
fragrance I am sure, and primroses in the remoter provinces torment the
sportsmen with spoiling the drag on a soft scenting morning; while limes,
horse-chesnuts, &c. contribute to produce an effect not so inferior to
that fostered by Italian sunshine, as I expected to find it.
Why the first breath of far-distant summer should thus affect the oak
and fig, yet leave the elm and apple as with us, the botanists must
tell; few advances have been made in vegetation since we left Naples,
that is certain; the hedges were as forward near Pozzuoli two full
months ago. And here are no China oranges to be bought; no, nor a
cherry or strawberry to be seen, while every man of fashion’s table in
London is covered with them; and all the shops of Covent-garden and St.
James’s-street hang out their luxurious temptations of fruit, to prove
the proximity of summer, and the advantages of industrious cultivation.
Our eating pleased me more at every town than this; where however a man
might live very well I believe for sixpence a-day, and lodge for twenty
pounds a-year; and whoever has no attachment to religion, friends, or
country, no prejudices to plague his neighbours with, and no dislike
to take the world as it goes, for six or seven years of his life, may
spend them profitably at Rome, if either his business or his pleasure be
made out of the works of art; as an income of two, or indeed one hundred
pounds _per annum_, will purchase a man more refined delights of that
kind here, than as many thousands in England: nor need he want society at
the first houses, palaces one ought to call them, as Italians measure no
man’s merit by the weight of his purse; they know how to reverence even
poverty, and soften all its sorrows with an appearance of respect, when
they find it unfortunately connected with noble birth. His own country
folk’s neglect, as they pass through, would indeed be likely enough to
disturb his felicity, and lessen the kindness of his Roman friends, who
having no idea of a person’s being shunned for _any_ other _possible
reason_ except the want of a pedigree, would conclude that _his_ must be
essentially deficient, and lament their having laid out so many caresses
on an impostor.
The air of this city is unwholesome to foreigners, but if they pass
the first year, the remainder goes well enough; many English seem very
healthy, who are established here without even the smallest intention
of returning home to Great Britain, for which place we are setting out
to-morrow, 19th April 1786, and quit a town that still retains so many
just pretences to be styled the first among the cities of the earth; to
which almost as many strangers are now attracted by curiosity, as were
dragged thither by violence in the first stage of its dominion, impelled
by superstitious zeal in the second. The rage for antiquities now seems
to have spread its contagion of connoisseurship over all those people
whose predecessors tore down, levelled, and destroyed, or buried under
ground their statues, pictures, every work of art; Poles, Russians,
Swedes, and Germans innumerable, flock daily hither in this age, to
admire with rapture the remains of those very fabrics which their own
barbarous ancestors pulled down ten centuries ago; and give for the
head of a _Livia_, a _Probus_, or _Gallienus_, what emperors and queens
could not then use with any efficacy, for the preservation of their own
persons, now grown sacred by rust, and valuable from their difficulty to
be decyphered. The English were wont to be the only travellers of Europe,
the only dupes too in this way; but desire of distinction is diffused
among all the northern nations, and our Romans here have it more in
their power, with that prudence to assist them which it is said they do
not want, if not to _conquer_ their neighbours once again, at least to
_ruin_ them, by dint of digging up their dead heroes, and calling in the
assistance of their old Pagan deities, _now_ useful to them in a _new_
manner, and ever propitious to this city, although
Enlighten’d Europe with disdain
Beholds the reverenc’d heathen train,
Nor names them more in this her clearer day,
Unless with fabled force to aid the poet’s lay.