Acheron: there is a singular contrast between these terrible names and
the lovely scenes which surround one; but the borders of these lakes are
still dreadful by their insalubrity; this is a reasonable mal aria, such
as one might expect from circumstances: a shallow stagnant lake in a
strip of flat and marshy land, stretches along the foot of the hills
parallel to the sea. The water is almost filled with putrefying
confervæ, and being used in addition, as a place for steeping hemp, must
be a disagreeable neighbour. It abounds, like several other lakes of the
same sort in this district, with fish, and oysters, which adhere to
stakes fixed in the bottom for that purpose: from this lake I crossed
the hill which forms the western boundary of the bay of Naples, and
without stopping at Baia, which lay close on the south, turned to the
north and visited the baths of Nero, and Stufe of Tritola: the road is
here cut in the rock for some distance, and nearly at the extremity of
the gallery there are several chambers cut also in the soft rock, and a
long winding passage, apparently artificial, which conducts to a pool of
hot salt water. You are told that it will harden an egg in two minutes.
I took off my coat and neckcloth and followed my guide. The heat at
first was almost suffocating. However, by stooping very low, I found it
more supportable, and afterwards a profuse perspiration relieved me, so
that while the man was cooking his egg, I was perfectly at ease: he took
with him a bucket, which he dipped into the water, and then put the egg
into the bucket; he held it there three minutes, and the white was not
entirely fixed, so that the temperature is probably less than 212, but
being salt, if it had really boiled it would have been more. As nearly
as I could estimate, the water here is at the level of the sea. The
baths of Nero are close by, consisting of a large vaulted chamber cut in
the rock, with some preparation for baths. I then came to the Lago
Lucrino, famous now, as formerly, for its oysters, and swarming with
fish, but it has been much diminished in size by the eruption of Monte
Nuovo. We pass along a lane, and through vineyards to the left, to the
grotto of the Sybil, that at Cuma being her town-house, and this her
country residence; here are a long gallery passing through a subordinate
hill, several chambers, and a bath with stone beds, where the vaults and
walls are covered with mosaics; all these rooms have about 18 inches of
water in them. The path afterwards ascends till it reaches a brick
archway, at which we stare with wonder, as its situation seems perfectly
unaccountable. It perhaps formed the original entrance, but at present
all direct communication with the day is prevented by the earth which
fills up the farther part.
All this is very near the lake of Avernus. Close on its banks are the
remains of a large domed room called the Temple of Apollo, or of
Proserpine; behind it are several small chambers. What it was, I cannot
tell, the fragments here are so numerous that the attempt to determine
their names seems a hopeless task.
My guide had been contending with me very strenuously, that the hot
water of the stufe of Tritola, proceeded from the Solfatara passing by a
natural channel under the sea. As I was walking leisurely back along the
shore, he desired me to put my hand into the sea, I did so mechanically,
and started back on finding both the sand and the water quite hot; this
was a great triumph for him, for he considered his position to be
perfectly proved. Nearer to Pozzuoli are the bases of a range of columns
in the sea; they are in a straight line, and apparently horizontal, so
that they do not give the idea of having slipt from their original
position, but rather of an elevation in the level of the sea: this is
not so mysterious as the circumstances of the columns of the temple of
Serapis, but even with these smaller things, it is difficult to hit upon
any theory which will consistently explain all the phenomena, and to
save trouble we cut the knot and say that the ground has been heaved or
depressed by the action of subterraneous fires.
On approaching to Pozzuoli we discern, projecting from an angle of the
hill on which the city stands, the remains of a mole which inclosed the
ancient port. It consists of brick arches, the springing of which is
below the usual level of the sea, and it is this circumstance probably
which has obtained for it the popular name of the bridge of Caligola. It
must have been a noble work, and is evidently a Roman one; once
consisting, as we are told, of twenty-five arches, of which we may
perhaps now make out traces of thirteen.
On another occasion I walked from Pozzuoli along the ancient Campanian
way, where the multitude of ancient tombs is very interesting, and
several of them in a state almost perfect:
[Illustration: Illustrations of tombs]
many of the urns remain, because they are in such abundance that no one
has thought proper to take them away: they are entirely plain. Much of
the stucco ornament and of the colours which enriched it, exist, as
fresh apparently as when first executed.
Instead of passing through the grotto of Pausilippo, we may take a road
which is called La Mergellina, near the shore of the bay, whence we
enjoy the most delightful views. The hill of Pausilippo, so named from a
village on its summit, forms a long narrow ridge, which advancing into
the sea, divides the bay of Pozzuoli from that of Naples. At the
beginning is a small church dedicated to Santa Maria del Parto, which
contains the tomb of Sanazzaro. This monument is decorated with the
figures of Apollo and Minerva, but the piety of the neighbouring
inhabitants has changed the names to David and Judith. The road soon
leaves the water’s edge, and ascends obliquely to the ridge of the hill,
nor is it possible to keep close to the sea, though there are several
paths leading down to it. The modern houses are very picturesque,
standing frequently half in the water, or on some insulated rock,
connected by an arch with the shore. About the grotto, and in the
nearest part of the promontory, the Roman antiquities are few; but as we
approach the point, they crowd upon us in rapid succession, baptized by
different names of temples, baths, fishponds, villas and schools.[24]
I returned over the hill of Pausilippo; for part of the way the view is
confined between the walls of the vineyards, but wherever there is any
opening, the scenery is delightful, including on one side, the bay of
Pozzuoli, with the islands of Ischia, Procida and Nisida; and on the
other, the city of Naples, which rising on this side on the Chiatamone,
and terminated at one end by the castle of St. Elmo, and at the other by
the Castel del Uovo, forms a most picturesque object. Beyond it lie
Vesuvius, the long mountainous promontory of Sorrento, and the rugged
island of Capri. I took the tomb of Virgil in the descent. It is a
small, square, vaulted chamber, which has been surmounted by a circular
edifice, formerly on the road side, but now on the edge of the cliff,
which has been cut down full 50 feet to make the present road more
commodious. It is very much ruined, and covered with ivy and creeping
shrubs, and all the ornaments and inscriptions, external and internal,
have been taken away.
I believe I told you that there were two Englishmen in the cabriolet in
my journey to Naples. The statement was not quite correct, as they are
Scotchmen, but we do not mind these little differences so far from home.
We took a boat together a few days ago to visit Baiæ. There were three
men, and the agreement was for sixteen carlines. The men were moderate
in their demands, for at first they only asked thirty carlines, and
perhaps had we gone without a bargain, would not have required more than
forty, and as a general rule at Naples, the man who does not ask you
more than twice what he ought to have beforehand, or three times as much
after the service is performed, has treated you well. The trip was
delightful, we set off about half-past eight, and touched first at the
point beyond Pausilippo. Virgil’s school is here, and several other
antiquities, christened the Temple of Fortune, of Augustus, the villa of
Lucullus, of Pollio, and the fishponds of the latter, where he fed his
lampreys on human flesh: but these pretended fishponds are long vaulted
chambers, and were probably reservoirs for water, like so many others
scattered in all directions in this neighbourhood. In a climate like
England, where the rain is divided through the year, such reservoirs
would be comparatively of little use; but here, where it rains in three
days more than as many inches, and then no more for several months, they
are of great value. A single fit of rainy weather, which usually lasts
from three to five days, might fill a large reservoir to the depth of 12
or 15 feet, and provide a small but constant supply of water through the
summer. There are other vaults scattered about in the vineyards, which
have not been reservoirs, for they have doors in them. Other remains
again are shapeless masses, or mere traces of foundations, some in the
sea, and some on land, and so numerous, so mixed, and so confused, that
it would be hardly possible to mark what belongs to one edifice, and
what to another. Some of them indeed are so deeply buried in the hill,
that they seem rather the productions of nature than of art: the
prevailing style of workmanship is rubble, faced with a reticulated work
of very soft stone, which is less durable than the mortar which cemented
it, and yet the mortar here is seldom very good; but even this
imperfection of materials enhances our wonder; where the waste is so
considerable, and yet so much still remains, what must the edifices once
have been! The hill consists of a soft, sandy rock, which has furnished
the materials of the buildings, and we cannot help reflecting, that one
stormy English winter would wash half these antiquities away. In one
place, a long vault is cut in the rock, which perhaps furnished a
subterraneous road to some villa. It is very extensive, but the earth
has fallen in, and rendered the farther part inaccessible. Leaving this
point, we passed by the island of Nisida, an extinct volcano, part of
which has been eaten away by the tides, and thence crossed the bay of
Pozzuoli to Cape Miseno. Here again we landed in the port, and examined
the remains of the ancient city. There are the foundations of a small
theatre and some other fragments; and at a short distance, on a little
peninsula, are some caverns called the Dragonara, said to have been made
by Nero, to convey the hot waters from Baiæ, but it has no appearance of
a water conduit, and was perhaps a reservoir. The lower part of one
opening, which is stuccoed, and appears to be ancient, seems adverse to
my theory, but there is now fresh water standing in some parts, hardly
if at all above the level of the sea. The port is very beautiful, but
shallow. Just behind it is the Dead Sea, and on its shores the Elysian
fields, which like so many other places about Naples, are covered with a
grove of vine-supporting poplars. After satisfying ourselves here, we
proceeded to Bauli, or as the boatmen pronounced it, Bagoli, near which
is the _Piscina mirabile_, a reservoir of water supposed to have been
constructed for the supply of the Roman fleet at Miseno. It is about 250
feet long, above 80 wide, and 25 high, or deep. The Romans seem to have
been fond of these large reservoirs, and always vaulted them over. Here
is a thick and very hard tartar deposited from the water over the
stucco, but the stucco itself is not particularly hard, and those who
tell you that it is, are speaking of the tartar. Thence we went to the
Cento Camarelle, which consist of one room above, and various branched
and winding passages below, all cut in the rock, but sometimes lined
with rubble-work, and always with stucco. Some have imagined they were
prisons, others fancy them to be substructions of some destroyed villa;
there is no probability that they were either, but I cannot tell what to
make of them. The situation is delightful, commanding the islands, the
Mare Morto, and the Elysian fields. On the road between the
landing-place and these antiquities, are many other remains which I
shall not attempt to particularize. Quite on the shore is a fragment
called the tomb of Agrippina, but it has rather the appearance of a
little theatre. There is also a so-called temple of Hercules, but a few
fragments of foundations may be named anything.
Returning to our boat, we proceeded to Baiæ, where are the temples of
Venus Genitrix, of Diana Lucifera, and of Mercury, names which at least
serve to distinguish the objects. The first is octagonal externally,
built of brick and reticulated tufo: it forms a good object among the
vines. Behind it are some small chambers ornamented in stucco, called
the baths of Venus. The Temple of Mercury, called also _Truglio_, a word
of uncertain derivation, is a large, domed room nearly entire, but in
which the ground is considerably raised. It is about 130 feet in
diameter, and is famous for an echo, which repeats a sound several
times, an effect apparently owing to the manner in which the dome is
broken: there are many smaller buildings about it, and it appears to be
a place well worth investigation. The reticulated work in some of the
vaults is covered with a stucco containing fragments of marble, which
seem to have been commonly used as a sort of gauge, when a marble lining
was intended. The Temple of Diana is also a rotunda, and half the dome
remains, shewing that there was no opening at the top, which there is in
the temple of Mercury. The hills seem to be cut away to make room for
these buildings, many of which are still half underground. They are
generally of tufo faced with brick, and sometimes with alternate layers
of brick and tufo.
Among all these ruins there is perhaps no one which individually would
make much impression, and the ornamental architecture has long
disappeared, but the immense number of fragments scattered in all
directions, keeps up a continual feeling of astonishment. Wherever we
see some mass of masonry, or some half-ruined vault, we are reminded of
Rome, of her luxurious senators, and of their eagerness to enjoy the
delights which Baiæ could afford. The recollection is principally of
selfishness, slavery, and cruelty. The stern virtues of republican Rome,
which have so much power over the imagination, are not here called to
mind. About Baiæ the peasants do not mention Cicero and Virgil, whose
names cast something of a redeeming spell over the ruins at Pozzuoli and
Pausilippo. All is vice, and the mind feels a sort of satisfaction in
the destruction even of objects, which considered in themselves, might
have been highly beautiful. Yet I doubt this. Architecture seems highly
sensible of mental degradation, and the caprices of an over-indulged
taste, tend rapidly to deprive her of every beauty. In point of scenery,
nothing can be more enchanting. The broken coast rising into rocky hills
of various forms; sometimes projecting into headlands, sometimes
retiring into charming bays, where the unruffled mirror doubles by
reflecting every beauty, presents an inexhaustible variety. It nowhere
rises so high as to be of difficult access, it is everywhere
inhabitable, and even now, everywhere inhabited and cultivated. The
loose, steep banks, which at Hastings or the Isle of Wight would only be
spotted with tufts of rank grass, are here luxuriantly covered with
vines. The bay of Naples takes the appearance of a large lake, and
Vesuvius, the bold and rugged promontory of Sorrento, and the high
summit of Ischia, form a delightful contrast to the milder beauties of
the near landscape. We did not get back till ten o’clock in the evening,
and could not at that time enter the harbour, as no boats are admitted
at night, but we landed at a part called Santa Lucia, which suited us
better.
I walked a day or two after this to the Camaldoli, a convent on the
summit of a hill, which rises above all the places I have just been
describing. The roads about Naples are generally in close lanes between
the walls of the vineyards, and the country is full of little villages;
but as I began to ascend the hill, the walls were exchanged for high,
sandy banks, sprinkled with bushes of chesnut. The more level ground is
covered with vineyards to a considerable elevation, but extensive woods
cover the higher part of the hill, and descend into the deep ravines
which intersect it. From the garden of the monastery, the prospect is
wonderfully fine, comprehending the whole bay of Naples, with the
surrounding islands and mountains, the ridges of the Apennines, and the
coast, as far as Monte Circello, sixty miles distant; yet there was an
appearance of haziness in the atmosphere. The lake of Agnano seemed to
be just below me. The fathers complain that the steeping hemp and flax
in that lake renders the air unwholesome; yet it is two miles off, and
the elevation of the convent must exceed 1,000 feet. Many winding
ravines penetrate into this hill, which afford a solitary walk at a
small distance from the city, and there are many little patches of wood,
besides that which spreads over the summit of the hill, which afford a
pleasant shade, and are interesting to the botanist by the variety of
plants to be found there. Yet in spite of the glorious views from some
points, and the romantic home scenes in others, the country about Naples
is not generally an agreeable one for foot rambles. It is too uniformly
covered, and I long at times for a quiet path, through pleasant meadows,
to a country church. Perhaps one of the greatest defects I find here is,
that there are no country churches; not that there are no churches in
the country; on the contrary, they are numerous, but they all partake of
what in persons we call shabby genteel; rags and lace: always a wish of
display. Sometimes they are fine buildings, and sometimes occupy noble
situations, with a platform in front, whence you have a magnificent
prospect. But they are never calculated to excite those ideas of
retiring, unobtrusive piety, which give so great a charm to our English
ones. I believe too, I miss the churchyards.
“The rugged elms, the yew tree’s shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,”
and where
“Their names, their years spelt by the unlettered muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.”
Then the villages are not collections of neat cottages, each with its
little garden, and its trim hedge, but of large, shabby, forlorn-looking
houses, disposed on each side of a narrow, crooked street, always
uneven, often stony, the remains of a former pavement, and where high,
stone walls shut out all view from the traveller.
I have been once to Pompei, but I do not intend to enter into any
particulars of that place, till I have obtained permission to make
drawings there, and have seen it more at leisure. I will, however, give
you some account of my excursion. The first object on the road is
Portici, where the kings of Naples have erected a palace, and where
there is a museum, consisting almost exclusively of paintings discovered
at Herculaneum, Stabia, and Pompei; the other articles having now been
mostly removed to Naples.[25] Some of them are very beautifully
designed, and many of the ornaments are highly elegant. The figures in
general are spirited and graceful, but the drawing is by no means exact
in the detail.
In the old part of the palace, the apartments are very tawdry; one room
is entirely lined with porcelain, with representations of figures and
landscapes; the effect is ugliness, but those fitted up by Murat for
himself and his queen are very beautiful.
At Herculaneum nothing is shown but the Theatre, and that by
torch-light, as it is entirely subterraneous, and the whole consequently
cannot be displayed at once; but we trace the disposition as well as we
can, as we reach the different parts separately, by means of passages
cut in the rock. This is not a lava, but a hard tufo, formed by the
concretion of the small substances thrown out by the volcano, and
afterwards apparently consolidated by water. It has very accurately
adapted itself to the form of the walls and vaults of the ancient city.
Not only have the excavations ceased, but some parts which were dug out
have been filled up again for fear of injury to the town, and
particularly to the palace above.
After leaving Portici, the road is not good, but we pass through Torre
del Greco and Torre dell’ Annunziata, in our way to Pompei. The former
place is intersected by the streams of lava which have so often
destroyed it. They present a tolerably even surface on the whole extent,
but excessively rough and broken in the detail, which you see when you
are on it, but at a little distance the eye passes over these
inequalities, and the whole has the appearance of a field of rich soil,
cross ploughed, with the clods unbroken, and still perfectly naked. The
tower of the principal church is half buried, and in two or three other
churches the ancient doorway has been filled up, and the present
entrance is by a descending flight of steps, through what was originally
the large front window. Torre dell’ Annunziata is famous for its
manufacture of maccaroni.
Pompei lies quite beyond Vesuvius, and recollecting its catastrophe, we
are surprised at its distance from the mountain. We are not suffered
(unless a permission to draw have been previously obtained) to go about
without a guide, and these take you in regular succession to the
soldiers’ quarters, the theatres, the amphitheatre, the forum, with its
surrounding temples and public buildings, to several private houses, to
the street of the tombs, and the villa of Marcus Arrius Diomed. The
whole having been covered with earth, many of the walls look as if they
were new. We see almost everywhere ancient columns of stone covered by
later work in stucco; the first design and execution being much superior
to the more recent; a circumstance not to have been expected, as the
eruption which destroyed the city took place in the reign of Titus, when
the fine arts are usually supposed to have been in a state of high
perfection. An earthquake had considerably damaged the city sixteen
years before the fatal eruption which overwhelmed it, and we still
readily trace the half finished restorations. This helps us in many
cases to a precise date, which we could not otherwise have obtained. The
names of the inhabitants remain written on the walls just by the door,
but where the termination is observed, it is always in the accusative
case, a circumstance which has puzzled the antiquaries. The profession
is judged from the indications observed within. In one house surgeon’s
instruments were discovered, and it is remarkable, that the room where
these were found, has a large window open to the sky, and not under a
portico, which is the case with almost all the other openings in the
interior of the houses at Pompei: in another, wine-jars, still tinged
with the fur of the wine; in another, cups, and marks of these having
been placed wet on the marble-covered counter, has given occasion to
believe that the place was one where hot liquors were sold, something in
the nature of a modern coffee-house; in another was the iron-work of a
carriage, with the impression of the wood on the earth, and sometimes
bits of charcoal. We spent five hours in merely looking about us, and as
it appeared at the time rather hastily than otherwise. It brings
antiquity home to us, and produces a feeling of intimacy and sympathy
with it, which nothing else can give.
Another excursion not to be neglected in the neighbourhood of Naples is
to Caserta. Two architectural friends accompanied me on this occasion,
and we first visited the Ponte della Maddalena, an aqueduct, as you
know, across a deep valley, made in order to convey water to the foolish
cascade at Caserta. I believe the water does further service, but this
seems the principal object for maintaining it at so great an elevation.
We slept at Caserta, and the next morning, the 1st of October, went to
old Capua, where there are remains of a gateway, and of an amphitheatre,
of many tombs, and probably of some villas. The gateway, as was usual at
the entrance of cities, is of two arches, that those who entered might
not interrupt such as were going out. There are three niches, and
evident signs of a marble covering. The outside of the city-gates was a
place of meeting for the inhabitants, and a large portion of ornament
was therefore justly bestowed upon them.
After satisfying our curiosity at old Capua, we returned to Caserta and
visited the palace, an enormous pile of building, but with no effect
externally corresponding to its vast size. The interior corridor is
however very fine, and the staircase and the landing from it still more
so, but it is vexatious to reflect that much of the marble used here was
pillaged from the temple of Jupiter Serapis at Pozzuoli. The apartments
are not in general very handsomely finished, but some of them are
beautiful. In particular the king’s cabinet, with porphyry styles, and
green panels with black and gold borders, pleased me very much.
The gardens are not beautiful, and a feeling of dissatisfaction is
produced, when we see the enormous expense of the aqueduct, employed to
produce an ugly and ill-placed cascade. The palace itself is placed too
low, for though the ground rises gradually towards it for a great
distance, the slope is not of itself perceptible; and if it had been
erected on part of the still gentle, but sensible ascent behind the
present edifice, the situation would have been admirable, both for the
appearance of the building, and the pleasantness of the views from it.
LETTER XLV.
JOURNEY TO ATHENS.
_Athens, January, 1818._