Naples.
I take the first opportunity of informing you of our arrival in this
city. Some of the principal objects which occurred on the road, with the
sentiments they suggested to my mind, shall form the subject of this
letter.
It is almost impossible to go out of the walls of Rome, without being
impressed with melancholic ideas. Having left that city by St. John
de Lateran’s gate, we soon entered a spacious plain, and drove for
several miles in sight of sepulchral monuments and the ruins of ancient
aqueducts. Sixtus the Fifth repaired one of them, to bring water into
that part of Rome where Dioclesian’s baths formerly stood: this water is
now called _aqua felice_, from Felix, the name of that pontiff, while he
was only a Cordelier. Having changed horses at the Torre de Mezzo Via,
so called from an old tower near the post-house, we proceeded through a
silent, deserted, unwholesome country. We scarce met a passenger between
Rome and Marino, a little town about twelve miles from the former, which
has its name from Caius Marius, who had a villa there; it now belongs to
the Colonna family. While fresh horses were harnessing, we visited two
churches, to see two pictures which we had heard commended; the subject
of one is as disagreeable, as that of the other is difficult to execute.
The connoisseur who directed us to these pieces, told me, that the first,
the slaying of St. Bartholomew, by Guercino, is in a great style, finely
coloured, and the muscles convulsed with pain in the sweetest manner
imaginable; he could have gazed at it for ever. “As for the other,”
added he “which represents the Trinity, it is natural, well grouped, and
easily understood; and that is all that can be said for it.”
From Marino, the road runs for several miles over craggy mountains. In
ascending Mons Albanus, we were charmed with a fine view of the country
towards the sea; Ostia, Antium, the lake Albano, and the fields adjacent.
The form and component parts of this mountain plainly shew, that it has
formerly been a volcano. The lake of Nemi, which we left to the right,
seems, like that of Albano, to have been formed in the cavity of a crater.
We came next to Veletri, an inconsiderable town, situated on a hill.
There is one palace here, with spacious gardens, which, when kept in
repair, may have been magnificent. The staircase, they assured us, is
still worthy of admiration. The inhabitants of Veletri assert, that
Augustus was born there. Suetonius says, he was born at Rome. It is
certainly of no importance where he was born. Perhaps it would have been
better for Rome, and for the world in general, that he never had been
born at all. The Veletrians are so fond of emperors, that they claim
a connexion even with Tiberius and Caligula, who had villas in their
neighbourhood. The ruins of Otho’s palace are still to be seen about
a mile from this city, at a place called Colle Ottone. Of those four
emperors, the last-mentioned was by much the best worth the claiming as a
countryman. As for Caligula, he was a mischievous madman. Tiberius seems
to have been born with wicked dispositions, which he improved by art.
Augustus was naturally wicked, and artificially virtuous; and Otho seems
to have been exactly the reverse. Though educated in the most vicious of
courts, and the favourite and companion of Nero, he still preserved, in
some degree, the original excellence of his character; and, at his death,
displayed a magnanimity of sentiment, and nobleness of conduct, of which
the highly flattered Augustus was never capable. “Alii diutius imperium
tenuerint,” says Tacitus; “nemo tam fortiter reliquerit.” Convinced that,
if he continued the contest with Vitellius, all the horrors of a civil
war would be prolonged, he determined to sacrifice his life to the quiet
of his country, and to the safety of his friends[3]. “To involve you in
fresh calamities,” said this generous prince to the officers who offered
still to support his cause, “is purchasing life at a price beyond what,
in my opinion, is its value. Shall Roman armies be led against each
other, and the Roman youth be excited to mutual slaughter, on my account?
No! for your safety, and to prevent such evils, I die contented. Let me
be no impediment to your treating with the enemy; nor do you any longer
oppose my fixed resolution. I complain not of my fate, nor do I accuse
any body. To arraign the conduct of gods or men, is natural to those only
who wish to live.”
Though they are not to be compared in other respects, yet the _death_ of
Otho may vie with that of Cato; and is one of the strongest instances to
be found in history, that a life of effeminacy and voluptuousness does
not always eradicate the seeds of virtue and benevolence.
In the middle of the square of Veletri, is a bronze statue of Urban the
Eighth. I think they told us it is the workmanship of Bernini.
Descending from that town by a rough road, bordered by vineyards and
fruit-trees, we traversed an unsalubrious plain to Sermonetta; between
which, and the post-house, called Casa Nuova, a little to the left of the
highway, are some vaults and ruins, not greatly worthy of the notice of
the mere antiquarian. Yet passengers of a singular cast of mind, who feel
themselves as much interested in the transactions recorded in the New
Testament, as men of taste are in paintings or heathen antiquities, stop
a little here to contemplate the _Tres Tabernæ_, which are said to be the
three Taverns mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, where the Christian
brethren from Rome came to meet St. Paul, when he was on his journey to
that city. I have seen, however, some Christian travellers, who, without
being connoisseurs, were of opinion, that old ruined houses derived
little value from the circumstance above mentioned, and who preferred a
good modern inn to all the antiquities, sacred or profane, that they met
with on their grand tours. Without presuming to blame any set of men for
their particular taste, I may venture to say, that a traveller, who loves
always to see a well-peopled and well-cultivated country, who insists
on good eating every day, and a neat comfortable bed every night, would
judge very wisely in never travelling out of England.—I am certain he
ought not to travel between Rome and Naples; for on this road, especially
the part which runs through the Ecclesiastical State, the traveller’s
chief entertainment must arise from a less substantial foundation; from
the ideas formed in the mind, at sight of places celebrated by favourite
authors; from a recollection of the important scenes which have been
acted there; and even from the thought of treading the same ground, and
viewing the same objects, with certain persons who lived there fifteen
hundred or two thousand years ago. Strangers, therefore, who come
under the first description, whose senses are far more powerful than
their fancy, when they are so ill advised as to come so far from home,
generally make this journey in very ill humour, fretting at Italian
beds, fuming against Italian cooks, and execrating every poor little
Italian flea that they meet with on the road. But he who can put up with
indifferent fare cheerfully, whose serenity of temper remains unshaken
by the assaults of a flea, and who can draw amusement from the stores of
memory and imagination, will find the powers of both wonderfully excited
during this journey. Sacred history unites with profane, truth conspires
with fable, to afford him entertainment, and render every object
interesting.
Proxima Circeæ raduntur littora terræ.