The Tiber.—Monte Mario.—Milvian Bridge.—Bridge of Nomentanus.—The
Sacred Mount; Apologue of Menenius Agrippa.—City
Walls.—Amphitheatre.—Santa Scala.—The Lateran.—Works of the Empire
and the Republic contrasted.—The Coliseum.—Via Sacra.—The Capitoline
Hill.—The Palatine.—Imperial Palace.—The Forum.—Arch of Septimius
Severus.—Column of Phocas.—The Capitol.—Statue of M.
Aurelius.—Columns of Trajan and Antoninus.—The Pantheon.
In my last, I took you round the walls, an excursion I make weekly, for
the road is excellent, and almost every foot of the way offers something
of interest. We will now turn in another direction, which, if not so
interesting as regards antiquities, may amuse you, by giving you better
and more precise ideas of the region in which Rome stood nearly three
thousand years since, and stands to-day.
We will quit the city by the same gate as before; but, instead of
inclining to the right, let us take the opposite direction, which brings
us, within a hundred yards, to the banks of the Tiber.
If you feel the same sensation that I did, on finding yourself riding
along the shores of this classical stream, your seat in the saddle will
be elastic, and you will feel a double enjoyment at galloping in a pure
air and under a serene sky. You know the size of this river already, and
I will merely add that, in the winter and spring, it is turbid, rapid,
and apt to overflow its banks, particularly in the town, for at the
place where we now are, these banks are perhaps ten feet above the
surface of the water. It is thought the bed of the river has been
materially raised by _débris_ within the walls, and projects have even
been entertained for turning the water, with a view to discoveries.
As boats sometimes ascend, there is a towing-track, which, though little
used, is a reasonably good bridle-path, the equestrians keeping this
track beaten. As the stream is as meandering as our own Susquehanna, it
presents many pretty glimpses; though the nakedness of the Campagna
(which, north of Rome, while more waving and broken than farther south,
is almost destitute of any other herbage than grass and a few bushes,)
prevents the scenery from being absolutely beautiful. Still every turn
of the river is pregnant with recollections, and one can hardly look
amiss in quest of an historical site.
The eminence on the opposite side of the stream, that shows steep
acclivities at its eastern and southern faces, and up which a road winds
its way by the south-western ascent, is Monte Mario, a hill that
overlooks Rome, very much as Montmartre overlooks Paris. The half-ruined
country-house that stands against its eastern side is the Villa Madama,
so termed from having been built by Margaret of Austria, a daughter of
Charles V. from whom it has descended to the family of Naples. The house
on the summit is the property of the Falonieri, the present owners of
the mount. What a thing it is to own a Roman site! and what a cockneyism
to convert it into a dandy residence,—a “half-horse, half-alligator”
ruin!
After riding a little more than a mile, we reach the Milvian Bridge, a
portion of which is ancient. We will not cross at this spot, so
celebrated for the battle fought by Constantine near it, but pursue our
way up the side of the stream, on which we still are. Crossing the
highway, then, (the ancient Flaminian Way,) we continue our course up
the river, which just here has been the scene of a melancholy event, of
no distant occurrence. The horse of a young Englishwoman backed off the
steep bank, and falling over her, she was drowned. What has rendered
this calamity more striking, was the fate of her father, who is said to
have left a post-house in the mountains, on foot, while travelling, and
has never since been found.
Near the scene of this accident, or a hundred rods above the Milvian
Bridge,[8] the river sweeps away towards the Sabine Hills, and our road
leads us along the brow of a bluff, by a very pretty and picturesque
path, which soon brings us to some mineral waters, that have a
reputation as ancient as Rome itself. At this point, though distant only
a mile or two from the city, nothing of it is to be seen, but, were it
not for a few dwellings scattered near, one might almost fancy himself
on a prairie of the Far West, such is the wasted aspect of the country,
as well as the appearance of the rapid, turbid Tiber.
Footnote 8:
This name is a proof of the manner in which words become changed by
use. The bridge has been termed Milvius, Mulvius, Molvius, and Molle,
the latter being its present Roman name.
Diverging from the stream, which inclines north again, taking the
direction to the mountains where it rises, we next enter some fields
imperfectly fenced, among which a Tityrus or two are stretched under
their _patulæ fagi_, not playing on the oaten reed, it is true, but
mending their leathern leggings. Rising some hills, we reach another
great road, and crossing this, and the fields that succeed, we come to a
spot where the Anio is spanned by another bridge, with a tower in its
centre. The part of the environs between the last highway and this
bridge, has more of the character of a suburb, than any other portion of
the vicinity of Rome; and did the city ever extend far beyond the
present course of its walls, it must have been principally in this
direction, I think.
The bridge is the _Nomentanus_, and dates from the time of Narses, but
was restored about the middle of the fifteenth century, and has much the
character of a work of the latter period. Beyond this bridge is a naked
hill, with the remains of some works or the ruins of villas on it. This
is the Sacred Mount, so celebrated for those decided acts of the
plebeians, who twice retired to it, in a body, on account of the
oppression of the nobles, in the years of Rome 261 and 305. Here they
resisted all persuasion to return until Menenius Agrippa overcame their
obstinacy by the famous apologue of the belly and the members of the
human body. The tribunes owed their existence to this act of decision,
which is probably the first trades’ union that was ever established.
These things, on the whole, work evil, because they are abused; but they
are not without their uses, as well as tartar emetic. The Romans,
however, found them unsuccessful, for they took a solemn oath, never to
revolt against their tribunes,—the law, in other words,—and hence the
mount, where the oath was taken, was called the Sacred Mount. No
apologue ever contained more truth than that of Menenius; and yet the
belly may disease all the limbs, as well as the limbs throw the belly
into disorder, by sins of commission, as well as by sins of omission.
One can write an apologue about any thing, and, after all, a fact is a
fact.
Proceeding another mile, some extensive ruins are seen between the road
of Nomentanum and that of Salaria, which are the remains of the
country-house of Phaon, the freedman of Nero, where the last of the
Cæsars committed suicide. Two hundred years intervened between the death
of Nero and that of Aurelian, but they were hardly sufficient to bring
all this space within the walls, which must have been the case to give
the latter a circuit of fifty miles. Besides, where all the remains of
this huge town, without the present wall, if it ever existed there? We
see the remains of villas and camps and bridges all around us even
to-day, but none of a city. The Anio would not be spanned by such rude
arches, had Rome ever covered this spot.
Let us now enter the town by the Porta Salaria, and ride through the
vineyards and among the gardens of that quarter, towards that of St.
John in Laterano. Ruins are scattered about on every side, and among
them are aqueducts, from the arches of some of which, water still
trickles. The circular wall on our left, as we approach the gate of St.
John, is the remains of the amphitheatre of the camp, in which the
soldiers fought with beasts. The exterior of this wall is better seen
from without, for it has also been incorporated with that of the town.
Of the vast palace and church of the Lateran I have nothing to say at
present, except that it strikes the traveller with an imposing grandeur
as he enters the city. Some devotees before the little church near it,
however, will draw us in that direction, and you will be surprised to
see men and women ascending a long plain flight of broad steps in it, on
their knees. This is done because tradition hath it that these steps
belonged to the palace of Pilate, and that they were transferred from
Jerusalem to this spot because Christ descended them when he went from
condemnation to the cross.
You probably know that this church of St. John in Laterano is the first
of the Christian world, and that the palace was long celebrated for its
bulls and councils. The present edifices are about five centuries old,
though the church is as fresh and rich as if just finished. The obelisk
came from Thebes, and was brought to Rome in the fourth century, and
placed in the great circus. Sixtus V. had it disinterred and brought to
this spot.
You will now follow the road to the Coliseum and the Forum. All this
quarter of the town, with the exception of some broken fragments of
suburbs (always within the walls,) is filled with ruins, more or less
conspicuous. Here, indeed, the objects and recollections of the past
crowd upon the senses oppressively, and it requires time and use to
visit the place with a sufficiency of coolness and leisure to analyze
the parts, and to separate the works of different ages and reigns.
An intelligent Swiss who is now here, and who frequently accompanies me
in these morning rides, exclaimed triumphantly the other day, “You will
find, on examining Rome in detail, that all the works of luxury and of a
ferocious barbarity belonged to the Empire, and those of use to the
Republic. The latter, moreover, are the only works that seem to be
imperishablé.” After allowing for the zeal of a republican, there is
some truth in this; though the works of the republic, by their nature,
being drains and aqueducts, &c., are more durable than those above
ground. Still it is a good deal to have left an impression of lasting
usefulness, to be contrasted with the memorials and barbarity of vain
temples and bloody arenas.
Of the Coliseum it is unnecessary to speak, beyond the effect it will
produce on us both. For me, unlike the effect of St. Peter’s, some time
was necessary to become fully conscious of its vastness. When one comes
deliberately to contemplate this edifice, its beauty of detail and of
material, the perfect preservation of its northern half, in the exterior
at least, it must be a dull imagination indeed that does not proceed to
people its arches and passages, and to form some pictures of the scenes
that, for near five hundred years, were enacted within its walls. This
noble structure, noble in extent in architecture, if not in its uses,
was occupied in the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries as a
strong place, by the contending factions of Rome. This period, however,
longer than that of the existence of our American community, is but a
speck in the history of the building, as a short retrospect will show.
Vespasian died in 79, Titus in 81, and Domitian in 96. The first
commenced, the last is said to have finished, this edifice. For three
hundred years it was used for the exhibitions of the gladiators, and,
down to the year 523, for battles of wild beasts. For five hundred years
more there is little account of it; but it was probably too vast for the
purposes of the people who then dwelt among the ruins of Rome. Then came
the civil contentions, and near three centuries of military occupation.
In 1381, it is said to have been much dilapidated, particularly on the
southern side, when it was converted into a hospital. After this, the
popes and their favourites began to pull it to pieces, for the stone.
Several of the largest palaces of modern Rome have certainly been
erected out of its materials; that of the Farnese, in particular. The
quay of the Ripetta, or the port, is also enriched from this classical
quarry. It is only within a few years—less than thirty, I believe—that
any serious attempts have been made to preserve what is left; and, to
the credit of the papal government be it said, these attempts are likely
to be successful. The walls require little but the “let us alone”
policy, for they seem to defy time and the seasons. As there was a
possibility of their crumbling, however, at the broken extremities of
the outer circle, vast piers of brickwork have been erected, and in a
style that, in this species of construction, is only equalled in Italy.
This edifice was 1641 feet in circumference, according to Vasi, who
wrote in French; and if French feet are meant, this will exceed 1700 of
our feet, which is near a third of a mile. The height is 157 feet, which
is quite equal to an ordinary American church spire, even in the towns.
From these facts you may obtain some ideas of the general vastness, for
the summit was every where of the same elevation. The earth had
accumulated to the height of several feet about the base; but it has
been removed, a wall has been erected, a short distance from the
edifice, and, on that side, one may see the Coliseum very much as it
existed under Nero. The arena, according to my former authority, was 285
feet long, by 182 wide. This arena is now encircled by fourteen little
chapels, erected in honour of the Christians, who are said to have
perished here. The interior, however, is a wild and ruined place.
I know nothing, in its way, that gives one ideas of the magnificence and
power of Rome so imposing as the Coliseum. It was erected in an
incredibly short time, in a way to resist wars, earthquakes, time, and
almost the art of man, and now offers one of the most imposing piles
under which the earth groans; in some respects the most imposing. The
uncertainty that hangs about the Pyramids impairs their interest; but
the Coliseum is almost as well known to us, through the lapse of
eighteen centuries, as Drury Lane or the Théâtre Français.
As we are not making antiquarian examinations, let us proceed in the
direction of the Forum, and look into its actual condition. The
direction of the Via Sacra is well known. It commenced at the Coliseum,
and passed near, if not beneath, the Arch of Titus, which is still
standing; and, following a line of temples of which we still see many
remains, it went beneath the Arch of Septimius Severus, which is also
standing, and, it is thought, ascended the Capitol Hill, by what are
called the “Sacred Steps.” The vacant space, which vulgarly passes by
the name of the Forum, is in the shape of two parallelograms, united by
a right angle. One of these open spaces lies between the Capitol and
Palatine Hills, and the other stretches from the Arch of Titus to the
base of the Capitol, the latter hill not lying directly in a line with
the Palatine. Neither of these celebrated hills is large or very high,
the Capitol having about two thirds of a mile in circumference at its
base, and the latter a little less. As their sides are generally
precipitous, the surfaces of the summits do not vary much from their
dimensions. I should think the present elevation of the Capitol Hill may
be about fifty feet above the level of the surrounding streets; though
there is one point which is higher. These streets are, however, much
higher than formerly, as is proved by discovering the bases of ancient
structures some distance beneath their pavements. The other hill has
about the same elevation, or is perhaps a little higher. Their bases are
materially changed.
The Palatine, or the cradle of Rome, will first attract our attention.
It lies on our left as we advance towards the Forum, and exhibits a
confused surface of ruins, gardens, vines, and modern villas. Its
prevailing appearance, however, is that of ruin. For several reigns,
this mount sufficed not only to contain the residences of the kings of
Rome, but all Rome itself. The antiquarians pretend, on what authority I
do not know, but that of Livy, I believe, to point out the precise spots
where several of the first princes lived. In time it did not suffice for
the palace of a single monarch. The palatine was probably much larger
then than now, the eastern end having the appearance of being cut. Thus
the house of Ancus Martius is said to have been on the summit of the Via
Sacra, which would carry the hill near the present site of the Temple of
Venus and Rome. On this hill, the Gracchi, Cicero, Cataline, Marc
Antony, Catullus, and Octavius, with many others of note, are known to
have lived; though, after the fall of the republic, it passed entirely
into the hands of the emperors. In the time of Caligula, the imperial
palace had a front on the Forum, with a rich colonnade, and a portico. A
bridge, sustained by marble columns, crossed the Forum, to communicate
with the Capitol Hill. One here sees the rapid progress of luxury in a
monarchy. Augustus lived modestly in what might be termed a house;
Tiberius, his successor, added to this house until it became a palace;
Caligula, not satisfied with the Palatine, projected additions on the
Capitol Hill; Claudius, it is true, abandoned this plan, and even
destroyed the bridge, but Nero caused an enormous edifice to succeed.
The first palace of Nero must have occupied the whole of the Palatine
Hill, with perhaps the exception of a temple or two, the ground around
the Coliseum (the site of which was a pond), and all the land as far as
the Esquiline, or even to the verge of the Quirinal,—a distance
exceeding a mile. This was possessing, moreover, the heart of the town;
although a portion of the space was occupied by gardens and other
embellishments. When this building was burned, he returned to the
Palatine, repaired the residence of Augustus, and rebuilt with so much
magnificence, that the new palace was called the “Golden House.” This
building also extended to the Esquiline; though it was never finished.
Vespasian and Titus, more moderate than the descendent of the Cæsars,
demolished all the new parts of the palace, and caused the Coliseum and
the baths that bear the name of the latter to be constructed on the
spot. These emperors were elected, and they found it necessary to
consult the public tastes and public good. Thus we find the remains of
two of the largest structures of the world now standing within the
ground once occupied by the palace of the Cæsars, on which they appear
as little more than points. From this time the emperors confined
themselves to the Palatine, the glory of which gradually departed. It is
said that the palace, as it was subsequently reduced, remained standing,
in a great measure, as recently as the eighth century, and that it was
even inhabited in the seventh.
The ruins of the Palatine are now little more than the vaulted rooms of
the foundation. One or two halls of the principal floor are thought to
be still partially in existence; but as nearly every thing but the
bricks has disappeared, they offer little more than recollections to a
visitor. Even their uses are conjectured rather than proved. It is
possible, by industry and research, to get some ideas of the localities;
but few things at Rome, compared with its original importance, offer
less of interest directly to the senses than the Palatine Hill. The
ruins are confused, and the study of them is greatly perplexing.
Certainly, one is also oppressed with sensations on visiting this spot;
but, unless a true antiquary, I think the eye is more apt to turn
towards the Coliseum, and the other surrounding objects, than to the
shapeless and confused masses of brickwork that are found here.
The site of the house of Augustus is now a villa, belonging to an
Englishman, which is well kept up, and which may have its uses in a
certain sense, but which struck me as being singularly ill-placed as
respects sentiment. One could wish every trace of a modern existence to
be obliterated from such a spot; and, moreover, a man ought to have
great confidence in the texture of his own skin to stand constantly
beneath the glare of a powerful sun.
You know that the Forum was originally established, in the time of
Romulus and Tatius, when a hill was almost a country, as a market place
between the hostile people. Here the two _nations_ met to traffic.
Forums afterwards became common, and the remains and sites of several in
the city are known; but this was _the_ Forum, _par excellence_. This
Forum remained in a state of preservation as lately as the seventh
century, sufficient to receive monuments; but since that time down to a
period about the commencement of the present century, it was falling
gradually into a worse and worse condition; though its severest blow is
attributed to Robert Guiscard, about the year 1000. He burned and laid
waste all this part of Rome, much to the damage of modern travelling.
For several hundred years the Romans were in the practice of throwing
rubbish in this spot, to which circumstance is ascribed the present
elevation of its surface. To this cause, however, must be added the
regular accumulation of materials from the crumbling ruins; for other
parts of Rome prove that it is not the Forum alone which has been thus
buried. You will be surprised to hear that, in disinterring many of the
monuments that still remain, the pavement of the ancient Forum, and the
bases of the works themselves, have been found at a depth varying from
twenty to twenty-five feet below the actual surface.
The Forum is said to have been surrounded by a colonnade of two stories,
which gave to the whole a form and arrangement something like those of
the Palais Royal at Paris. The Curia, or senate chamber, was under the
Palatine; and the Comitium, or the place for the popular meetings, was
near it. As the emperors lived above, here was a shadowing forth of that
sublime mystification which has so long blinded and amused the world, in
the way of a political device, which it is the fashion to term the
“three estates.” I wonder if Nero said who should be his ministers, and
the senate said who should not!
The Arch of Septimius Severus still remains, one may say, perfect. It
stands at the foot of the Capitoline, and its base is cleared away, and
the vacancy is protected, as usual, by a wall. The digging around it is
not very deep. It dates from the commencement of the second century.
Not far from this arch, there stood, previously, to the year 1813, a
solitary column, with nearly half its shaft buried in the earth, the
capitol being perfect. This column, it was then believed, belonged to a
temple, or, if not to a temple, at least to the bridge of Caligula; but,
in 1813, the earth was removed from its base, and it was then found to
stand on a pedestal, on which there is an inscription that proves the
column was erected in honour of Phocas, and as lately as the year 608. I
believe it is one of the last things of the sort ever placed in the
Forum. The column itself, however, is supposed to be much older, and to
have been taken from some ancient and ruined temple. It may have been
truly one of those that supported the bridge. The name of Phocas, it
would seem, had been partially erased, after his fall: a circumstance
which shows that men have the same envious stone-defacing propensities
under all circumstances.
There are many other remains in and about the Forum, some of which are
of more interest than those mentioned; but I have taken these, as my
object is to offer you a picture of Rome as it is, rather than to
pretend to any great antiquarian knowledge. You know I am no antiquary.
I do not think many of these constructions equal expectation, with the
exception of the Coliseum, and perhaps I ought to add, the remains that
give us notions of the vastness of the palaces.
By following a road up a sharp acclivity, we reach the summit of the
Capitol Hill, or rather its square, for the land is higher on both sides
of it than in the area itself. The surface has undergone a good deal of
change; though it is thought still easy to trace the sites of the
ancient constructions. The Capitol of Rome and the Capitol of Washington
were as different as the two countries to which they belonged. The
former, originally, was a town; then a fortress, or a citadel; and, in
the end, it became a collection of different objects of high interest,
principally devoted to religious rites. If any particular _building_ was
called the Capitol, it was the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, which is
described as not being very large, though very magnificent; not large as
a _building_, though large as a _temple_; for few of the Roman temples
appear to have been of any great size. The senate assembled in the
Curia, which was on the Forum, as you know, and not in the Capitol at
all.
The buildings that are now called the Capitol stand on the centre of the
mount, facing the north. They consist of three detached edifices, that
occupy as many sides of a square, with a noble flight of steps in their
front. The central edifice contains prisons and offices, and the others
are filled with works of art. The celebrated statue of Marcus Aurelius,
the only equestrian bronze statue of ancient Rome in existence, stands
in the centre of the area, and, although the horse is heavy and even
clumsy, according to American notions, a noble thing it is. The ease and
the motion of this statue are beyond description. It may, at once, be
set down as the model of all we possess of merit in these two respects.
The artist may have had a model for this in some other work of art; but,
certain I am, this has been a model for all we now possess. The
senatorial palace, or the centre building of the modern Capitol, from
which we obtain the name and uses of _our_ Capitols, is not very old,
and it stands on the foundations of the ancient Tabularium, a structure
that contained the table of the Roman laws, treaties, &c. The building
was originally a sort of fortress, and probably obtained its name of the
Capitol from its situation.
We call our legislative structures Capitols, under some mistaken notion,
I think, about the uses of the Roman Capitol. Let this be as it may, the
Romans gave this name to _their_ hill from the circumstance of finding a
head buried in it; and it might have been well had we waited until some
signs of a head had appeared on our own, before we christened the
edifices so ambitiously. But taste in names is not the strong point of
American invention. After all, too, the American Capitol has proved the
grave of divers sounding heads.
I cannot stop to speak of all the objects of interest that crowd Rome,
for descriptions of which you will search the more regular books; but we
will descend from the Capitol Hill by the winding carriage road near the
great stairs, and, riding round its base by narrow streets, for here the
modern town commences in earnest, and crossing the end of the Corso, we
find ourselves in a large open space, surrounded by houses, with a
street around an area in the centre; which area lies several feet below
the level of the streets, is paved, has a great many broken columns and
other fragments scattered about it, and a noble column entire, standing
at one end:—this is the Forum of Trajan.
Until the year 1812, this place was covered with houses. A beautiful
column rose among them, half concealed by the buildings, and partly
buried. The column is 132 feet high, was surmounted by a statue of the
emperor, which has disappeared, and has been replaced by one of St.
Peter. It is covered with _bas reliefs_, wrought in the marble,
representing scenes from the Dacian wars. This column was the model of
that of the Place Vendôme, at Paris. There is staircase within, and,
until the time named, those who chose to mount by the outside to examine
it, descended as in a well.
The celebrity of this column is well established. The _bas reliefs_ have
a high reputation, and must have cost an immensity of labour, as there
are more than two thousand figures, besides military insignia. The Forum
was the richest of Rome; and its length is supposed to have been near
2000 Roman feet, and its breadth more than 600. This is more, however,
than has been uncovered, and probably more than is certainly known to
have ever existed. In 1812 the column was laid bare to the base, where a
door affords entrance; and a good deal of the Forum has also been
excavated, and walled, as usual. The diggings, however, are not so deep
as those of the great Forum, the pavement of the place lying only about
eight or ten feet below that of the town.
Returning to the Corso, we will next ride along that street, the
principal avenue of Rome. It is probable, the Flaminian Way faced the
Temple of Jupiter, or the Capitol; but the modern termination of this
street is altogether unworthy of the street itself. Like the Rhine at
Leyden, it is lost in a maze of narrow, crowded, and crooked passages.
Following this street between lines of palaces, we come to the Piazza
Colonna, where we find the column that is usually called the column of
Antonnius. It is higher and larger, and a century later than that of
Trajan, but by no means its equal in beauty. This column _appears_ to
stand, as it was erected, on a level with the surrounding earth: but we
are told this is an error, as the pedestal now seen is a substitute in
part, and the old one is still buried to the depth of eleven feet. Even
the inscriptions, which are only about two centuries and a half old, (or
about as old as ourselves, as a nation!) are thought to be incorrect;
for it ascribes the column to Marcus Antonnius, in honour of his
father-in-law, Antonnius Pius, when, in fact, it was erected by the
senate, in honour of Marcus Aurelius Antonnius, to commemorate his
victories in Germany.
The palaces around this square belong to the great families of Piombino,
Chigi, &c., and have thirteen or fifteen windows in a row, besides being
built around courts. The square near, with an unequal little eminence
and an obelisk, is called Citorio. The eminence is caused by the ruins
of an amphitheatre. The obelisk, which Pliny attributes to Sesostris(!)
was brought from Egypt by Augustus. It was placed in the Campus Martius,
and found there as lately as in 1748.
We will now wend our way through narrow and crowded streets, for a short
distance, until we come out in another square of a very different
character. We find it filled with market people, dirty, and far from
attractive; although there is an obelisk in its centre. On the side
opposite to that by which we enter it, however, is an edifice, that, as
a second look shows, possesses a strange mixture of beauty and
deformity. Its form is round: though the adjoining buildings prevent
this circumstance from being immediately seen. It has a noble portico,
with a fine row of columns, but a tympanum which is altogether too
heavy. Two little belfries peep out, like asses’ ears, at each side of
the portico, in a way to make a spectator laugh, while he wonders at the
man who devised them did not stick them on his own head. An inscription
on the cornice causes us to start; for we see in large letters, M.
AGRIPPA, L. F. COS. TERTIVM. FECIT. This, then, is the Pantheon!
You will be disappointed with the _coup d’œil_ of this celebrated
structure, as well as I was myself. You will probably find the building
too low, the appliances of the square unseemly, the manner in which the
building is surrounded by houses oppressive, the _ears_ too long, and,
above all, the Roman heaviness of the pediment but a poor substitute for
the grace and lightness of the Grecian architecture of the same form. It
is thought that the body of the building and the portico are not of the
same period. The inscription speaks for itself; and the last, at least,
it is fair to infer, was erected about the year 727 of Rome, or a short
time previously to the birth of Christ.
On entering the building, it is impossible not to be struck by its
simple and beautiful grandeur. A vast vaulted rotunda, of solid stone,
without a basement, and lighted by a graceful opening that permits a
view of the firmament, are things so novel, so beautiful, not to say
sublime, that one forgets the defects of the exterior. This idea is one
of the most magnificent of its kind that exists in architecture. The
opening, a circular hole in the top, admits sufficient light, and the
eye, after scanning the noble vault, seeks this outlet, and penetrates
the blue void of infinite space. Here is, at once, a suitable physical
accompaniment to the mind, and the aid of one of the most far-reaching
of our senses is enlisted on the side of omnipotence, infinite majesty
and perfect beauty. Illimitable space is the best prototype of eternity.
I believe the vulgar notion that the Pantheon was dedicated to _all_ the
gods is erroneous. It is a better opinion, it would seem, to suppose
that it was dedicated to a few gods, in whom _all_ or many of the divine
_attributes_ are assembled. This, after all, is begging the question, as
the gods themselves, it is fair to presume, represented merely so many
different attributes of infinite power and excellence. The niches are
not sufficient to hold many statues, and there probably never were
statues in the building to one half the deities of Rome.
One of the principal external faults of this edifice, as it is now seen,
must not be ascribed to its architecture. Its majesty is impaired by its
want of height; but it has been ascertained that eight steps anciently
existed in front of the portico, in place of the two which are now seen.
The diameter of the rotunda is 132 Roman feet; and this is the edifice,
as you know, that Michael Angelo boasted he would raise into the air, as
a cupola for St. Peter’s. He has raised there something very like it.
Since the year 608 the Pantheon has virtually been a Christian church.
There is a long period during which it is not mentioned; but it is fair
to presume, it has always preserved its present character since the year
just mentioned. At one time the palace of the popes adjoined this
temple, and then it served as their private chapel.
We will not return to the Corso, but, winding our way out of this maze
of streets, return home by the Via Ripetta. The huge palace we pass near
the river, in the shape of a harpsichord, is that of the Borghese
family, and it is at present occupied by the Prince Aldobrandini, the
brother of Don Camillo, who married the sister of Napoleon. It is a huge
edifice, with courts, and is worthy to be a royal abode. Still, it is by
no means the best house in Rome; but he who has not seen this town, or
rather Italy, can form no just idea of magnificence in this part of
life.