On reaching Rome, it is difficult to express the emotions I felt on a first sight of the Holy City, surrounded by the desolate Campagna, the Tiber rolling in front, the Castle of St. Angelo, and the numerous towers of churches rising out of the mass of houses, crowned by the gorgeous dome of St. Peter’s elevated in proud majesty above the whole, backed by the magnificent views of the ancient city, once the mistress of the world.
This most interesting, I may say, most thrilling, sight lay before me in all its solemn majesty. When I considered that it rose from a few insignificant shepherds’ hovels to imperial splendour, then became the prey of the barbarian hordes of the north, and lastly, the throne of the Catholic Christian world, I was awed by the wonderful decrees of Providence, and at the instability of all human grandeur. I lay restless all night; I could scarcely realize the fact that I was actually in this wonderful, all-absorbing city, to visit which from my childhood had been one of the greatest objects of my ambition. It would be vain to attempt to describe in detail its numerous splendid buildings, both ancient and modern, its museums, and its countless treasures of priceless art. I will merely remark that there is no city in the world more worthy of a visit than Rome, or where greater gratification and instruction can be derived; for example, the aqueducts and the Cloaca Maxima show how thoroughly the Romans understood the importance of sewerage and good water for the preservation of human life, an importance that is only now beginning to be recognized in England, while there still remains very much to be accomplished.
My friend Colonel Aitchison was obliged to hasten his departure. I then took lodgings in the Piazza de Spagna, and devoted myself to the study of the Italian language, architecture, and drawing, and in my leisure moments entered into society; and fortunately at that time there were assembled there some of the most distinguished characters in science, literature, and art, besides diplomatists and leaders of fashion, from the various capitals of Europe. Amongst the first may be mentioned the celebrated chemist and philosopher, Sir Humphry Davy, and his talented wife, under whose hospitable roof I passed many happy days, and at the same time received much valuable instruction. I made acquaintance with the Marchese Martinette, the scientific engineer, who at that time devised the extensive hydraulic works for the improvement of the rivers and drainage of the marsh-land districts of Bologna and Ferrara, from whom I derived much information. I also met the well-known antiquary, Sir W. Gell, who to his interesting memoir of Greece afterwards added much towards explaining the antiquities of Rome, and in his agreeable society I spent many a pleasant day. Dodwell too had just returned from Greece; and I made the acquaintance of that prince of sculptors, Canova, to whom my father had given me a letter of introduction. I frequently went to his studio, where he always received me with the greatest kindness. He was then at work on the model of his famous dying Madeleine, which struck me as a masterpiece of elegance and beauty, combined with the resignation and piety which so pre-eminently distinguishes it as a beautiful specimen of art. Nobody could be more kind, amiable, and modest in his manner than that distinguished sculptor. Flattered by emperors, kings, and the great and cultivated of every land, he never for a moment forgot himself or appeared to be elated, or to be put out of his ordinary simple, unobtrusive manner; whilst to his brother artists he was equally kind and familiar; to his inferiors he was always gentle and considerate, giving his humbler fellow-workers every encouragement and advice, cheering them on their way, and not unfrequently assisting them with his purse when their necessities required it. He was devoted to his art, of which he was so eminent a professor, and with it combined all those amiable and charitable feelings which rendered him an universal favourite and a benefactor to mankind.
I made acquaintance also with the great Dane, Thorwaldsen, who frequently admitted me to his studio. He was totally different from Canova. His square, massive head, covered with a redundance of flowing locks; his finely-developed countenance, beaming with talent and firmness of purpose; his colossal and well-proportioned figure, and erect and commanding gait, all combined to raise in the mind of the spectator a degree of respect and admiration not usually to be met with. Yet with all this apparent sternness there was combined a happy mixture of gentleness, genial sociability, and good-nature, which, after a little acquaintance, soon made you feel at home with him; and the more you knew him the more you liked him. He was then at work upon the colossal figures of the Twelve Apostles, for the church at Copenhagen, a commission given to him by the King. Several of these were finished, and magnificent specimens of art they were. I have since seen them in their places, and have looked at them with increased admiration. His Triumph of Alexander had just then been completed, and a finer specimen of bas-relief it is impossible to see. It is singular that with all this nobleness of character, and being withal a perfect master in his art, this great man—for certainly he was so in his sphere—should have looked upon Canova as his rival, and disliked him with a dislike almost amounting to hatred, whereas the gentle Canova had no such feeling towards Thorwaldsen.
Their styles, moreover, were so totally different from each other, that there could be no reason for jealousy between them. Canova excelled in the female form, where nothing but elegance, gentleness, and grace are required, although he by no means failed in the male figure; whereas Thorwaldsen excelled in that of the male, where force, manliness, and dignity are mainly requisite. Both were at the head of their profession in their respective styles, and both have left behind them numerous masterpieces of art, which have never been surpassed in ancient or modern times.
In addition to these celebrities, there were Lawrence, Chantrey, and Turner, all engaged in their respective walks of art. These I had known in England, and I received much kindness and instruction from them, and enjoyed the greatest pleasure in their delightful society.
Numerous great houses were at that time open for the reception of all the celebrities of Roman and foreign society, to which I had access. Amongst many others may be mentioned those of the beautiful Princess Borghese, the Duchess of Devonshire, and Lord William Bentinck. At the house of the Duchess of Devonshire I was introduced to the polished courtier and priest, Cardinal Gonsalvi, at that time Minister of Foreign Affairs to the Pope, whose graceful manners and elegant language, combined with a vast fund of information, enchanted everybody. I also met Thomas Moore, who enraptured the whole audience by singing his fresh melodies, with a degree of pathos, taste, and feeling which was peculiarly his own. Neither must I forget Lady Morgan, whose lively and constant prattle afforded much amusement, not altogether destitute of information.
At the hospitable house of Lord and Lady William Bentinck I saw the élite of English society, where I was frequently a welcome guest. Amongst others, appeared the beautiful Miss Canning, afterwards the Marchioness Clanricarde, and the silent, amiable, and unfortunate Lord William Russell, who afterwards fell a victim to his servant, the assassin Courvoisier.
To enumerate all the agreeable and talented persons of whom I had the honour of making the acquaintance at Rome would be foreign to my purpose, and out of place here. Suffice it to say, that the winter of 1819, which I passed at Rome, was one of the most agreeable and instructive of my life, and will ever be remembered by me with the most lively feelings of satisfaction. Before leaving I had the honour of being presented to the benevolent Pius VII., and was much captivated with his kind and unostentatious reception. After witnessing the Church ceremonies of Christmas, I left Rome just before the Carnival. I passed through Castel Gandolfo, and afterwards came upon the Pontine Marshes.
The Pontine Marshes consist of a low tract of land, extending from the elevated ridge of Castel Gandolfo to a spur of the Apennines, which approach the Mediterranean near Velletri, being a length of about 20 miles, whilst on the east they are bordered by the Apennines, from whence numerous streams and torrents descend into the marshes; and on the west, or sea side, they are bounded by a line of sandbanks, or dunes, thrown up by the waves and storms from the west; so that they form, as it were, a basin into which all the waters flow, without a natural outfall through which they can escape. To attempt to make a direct outfall to the sea was perfectly practicable, but there was no rise of tide, so that though the outfall would be considerably improved, there would yet remain the difficulty of keeping it open, in consequence of the constant influx of the sand. In similar, and indeed in all cases of this class, there are two points to be considered, namely, the water which comes from the highlands, and that which falls directly upon the lowlands. Now the former, coming from a higher level, and necessarily having greater velocity, will naturally descend to the lowest level, which is the marshes, and will force its way to the outfall before the lowland water; so that until the highland water is discharged, the lowland water, having less inclination, cannot escape, and as the outfall was extremely deficient, neither the highland nor lowland water could be discharged, and both combined accumulated upon the lowlands and flooded them. It therefore was evident that so long as this state of things remained it was impossible for the lowlands to be properly drained, as the outfall was deficient for the discharge of both waters when combined.