As St. Peter’s affords the best sample of modern art in Rome[178], so does the Pantheon exhibit the most satisfactory and best-preserved specimen of ancient art; for, notwithstanding the injuries it has sustained by the hands of barbarians of all ages, no signs of natural decay are yet visible; and with this magnificent model before their eyes, it appears strange, that the architects of St. Peter’s should not have accomplished their task more worthily. The Pantheon seems to be the hemispherical summit of a modern temple, taken off and placed on the ground; so it appears to us, at least, accustomed to see cupolas in the former situation only.
“It is built in the dirtiest part of modern Rome,” says the author of Rome in the Nineteenth Century; “and the unfortunate spectator, who comes with a mind filled with enthusiasm, to gaze upon this monument of the taste and magnificence of antiquity, finds himself surrounded by all that is most revolting to the senses, distracted by incessant uproar, pestered by the crowd of clamorous beggars, and stuck fast in the congregated filth of every description that covers the slippery pavement; so that the time he forces himself to spend in admiring its noble portico, generally proves a penance from which he is glad to be liberated, instead of an enjoyment he wishes to protract. We escaped none of these nuisances, except the mud, by sitting in an open carriage to survey it. The smells of the beggars were equally annoying. You may perhaps form some idea of the situation of the Pantheon at Rome, by imagining what Westminster Abbey would be in Covent Garden Market.”
This does not appear, however, to have damped the enthusiasm of Dupaty:—“I first directed my steps,” says he, “towards the Pantheon, dedicated by Agrippa to all the gods, and since, I know not by what pope, to all the saints[179]. This consecration has preserved the Pantheon from the general pillage and destruction which the other temples have undergone. It has been despoiled of every thing that made it rich; but they have left all that made it great. It has lost its marbles, its porphyry, its alabaster, but it has preserved its dome, its peristyle, and its columns. How magnificent is this peristyle! The eyes are just attracted by eight Corinthian columns, on which rests the pediment of this immortal monument. These columns are beautiful from the harmony of the most perfect workmanship, and the lapse of twenty centuries, which adds to their grandeur, and the awe they inspire. The eye can never tire with mounting with them in the air, and following their descent. They present I know not what appearance of animated life, that creates a pleasing illusion, an elegant shape, a noble stature, and a majestic head, round which the acanthus, with leaves at once so flexible and so superb, forms a crown; which, like that of kings, serves the double purpose of decorating the august head to which it gives a splendour, and disguising the immense weight that loads it. How richly does architecture, which creates such monuments, merit a place among the fine arts!”
The light, as we have before observed, is admitted only by a circular opening in the dome, which is twenty-eight feet in diameter[180]. Through this aperture a flood of light diffuses itself over the whole edifice, producing a sublime effect, but only showing all its beauties by permitting every passing shower to deluge its gorgeous pavement. The rain is carried off by a drain to the Tiber; but from the low situation of the building in the Campus Martius, the waters of the Tiber, when it is swollen, find their way up the drain, and flood the interior. Myriads of beetles, scorpions, worms, rats and mice, may then be seen retreating before the waters, as they gradually rise from the circumference to the centre of the area, which is a little elevated above the rest of it. “A beautiful effect,” says Dr. Burton, “is produced by visiting the building on these occasions at night, when the moon is reflected upon the water, through the aperture of the dome.”
“The Pantheon retains its majestic portico,” says Mr. Eustace, “and presents its graceful dome uninjured; the pavement, laid by Agrippa, and trodden by Augustus, still forms its floor; the compartments and fluted pillars of the richest marble, that originally lined its walls, still adorn its inward circumference; the deep tints that age has thrown over it, only contribute to raise its dignity, and augment our veneration; and the traveller enters its portal, through which twice twenty generations have flowed in succession, with a mixture of awe and religious veneration. Yet the Pantheon itself has been ‘shorn of its beams,’ and looks eclipsed through the ‘disastrous twilight of eighteen centuries.’”
Augustus dwelt at first[181] near the Roman Forum, in a house which had belonged to the orator Calvus; afterwards on the Palatine, but in the moderate house of Hortensius, which was not conspicuous, either for extent or ornament; it had some porticoes of Alban columns, and rooms without any marble or remarkable pavement. For more than forty years he occupied the same chamber, in winter and in summer; and although he found the city by no means favourable to his health in the winter, yet he constantly passed the winter in it. After the palace had been accidentally destroyed by fire, Augustus had it rebuilt, as we are told, and ordered it to be entirely opened to the public. This edifice was called Palatium, from the name of the hill on which it stood; and that being afterwards applied to the residence of the Roman emperors, it has passed into most of the languages of Europe, as the common appellation of a princely mansion.
It was under the immediate successors of Augustus that the Palatine rose in splendour, till it eclipsed all that we read of magnificence in the history of the ancient world. The imperial possessors of this proud eminence seem to have regarded it as a theatre for their amusement; and upon it their “gorgeous tyranny” was amply displayed, in the vast and costly structures which they erected for the gratification of their personal pleasure or caprice.
This palace received many additions by Tiberius, Caligula, and Domitian; and, finally, by Nero; from whom it was called “the golden house of Nero.” It is thus described by Salmon, from Suetonius, Tacitus, and other writers:—“From the remains in the back part of the Palatine-hill, the ancient palace of Nero, from its great extent and vast size, was no less difficult to be inhabited than it is for us to believe its magnificence. It was built by the famous architects Severus and Cererus. In the vestibule or principal entrance was the colossal statue of Nero, of bronze. It was one hundred and twenty feet high, of excellent workmanship, by Zenodorus, who was sent for from Gaul for the purpose. It was restored by Vespasian, and dedicated to the sun. The emperor added the rays, which were twenty-two feet and a half in length. In the porticos were three galleries supported by large columns, which extended a mile in length. This palace enclosed all the Palatine-hill, together with the plain between the Palatine and the Cælius, and part of the Esquiline mount near to the garden of Mæcenas. It was raised on large columns of marble carried on a level from the Palatine to the Esquiline. The superb entrance was facing the Via Sacra. Nero, in order to execute this design, destroyed the houses of many of the citizens, which occasioned the saying, that Rome consisted of one house. Tacitus writes, that when Rome was in flames seven days and nights, it was not to be extinguished till all the buildings about the Palatine were burnt. Where the amphitheatre now stands, Nero formed a lake to resemble the sea, with edifices around it similar to a city, together with extensive gardens and walks, and places for wild beasts, vineyards, &c. In the palace were a great number of halls, and an innumerable quantity of rooms, galleries, and statues, resplendent in every part with gold, gems, and precious stones; from which circumstance it acquired the name of the golden house. Many of the rooms destined for public feasts were very spacious, with most beautiful ceilings, which turned round in such a manner that from various parts there fell flowers and exquisite odours. The principal hall where Nero supped was circular, and of such art, that the ceiling was ornamented with stars to resemble the heavens, in conformity to which it continually revolved night and day. Birds of silver were carved in the other ceilings with surprising art. Amulius, a celebrated artist, was employed during the whole of his life to paint this palace. The tables were of ivory, the floors of the rooms were intersected with works in gold compartments of gems and mother-of-pearl: the marble, the bronze, the statues, and the richest of the tapestry, were beyond all description. When Nero went to inhabit it, he said, full of pride, ‘I now begin to be lodged like a man.’ Here, particularly, was a temple of Fortune, consecrated by Servius Tullius, and constructed by Nero, of a fine transparent alabaster, called fingites. This stone was brought from Cappadocia, and was so clear, that every object might be seen when the doors were shut, as if it were noon-day. In the gardens were delightful baths, numerous fish-ponds and pastures, with all sorts of animals. Here were also baths of fresh and sea water. To erect these wonderful edifices Italy was ruined with impositions and burdens, and its temples spoiled of their precious ornaments, statues of gold and silver, as likewise great part of the empire. Tacitus writes in his Annals, that it was twice burned and rebuilt; that is, in the fire under Nero, and in the sixth year of Trajan. According to Dion, it was burnt the third time under the emperor Commodus; and, as he rebuilt it, it was called from him Colonia Commodiana. Various emperors, abhorring the excess of so much riches and luxury, removed the most valuable part, and employed it for the greater ornament of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. Antoninus Pius, detesting the extent of the palace, contented himself with the part called Tiberiana, and shut up the rest. All this magnificence, time, and especially the malignity of man, have destroyed, and cypresses, symbols of death and desolation, triumph on the ruins.”
Its present condition has been thus described by the poet:—
Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower, grown Matted and massed together; hillocks heaped On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strown In fragments, choked-up vaults, and frescoes steeped In subterranean damps, where the owl peeped, Deeming it midnight: temples, baths, or halls? Pronounce who can; for all that learning reaped From her research hath been, that these are walls. Behold the Imperial Mount! ‘tis thus the mighty falls.