Rome Is Surrounded With An Old Wall, But Altogether
Incapable Of Defence.
Or if it was, the circuit of the walls is
so extensive, that it would require a garrison of twenty thousand
men.
The only appearance of a fortification in this city, is the
castle of St. Angelo, situated on the further bank of the Tyber,
to which there is access by a handsome bridge: but this castle,
which was formerly the moles Adriani, could not hold out half a
day against a battery of ten pieces of cannon properly directed.
It was an expedient left to the invention of the modern Romans,
to convert an ancient tomb into a citadel. It could only serve as
a temporary retreat for the pope in times of popular commotion,
and on other sudden emergencies; as it happened in the case of
pope Clement VII. when the troops of the emperor took the city by
assault; and this only, while he resided at the Vatican, from
whence there is a covered gallery continued to the castle: it can
never serve this purpose again, while the pontiff lives on Monte
Cavallo, which is at the other end of the city. The castle of St.
Angelo, howsoever ridiculous as a fortress, appears respectable
as a noble monument of antiquity, and though standing in a low
situation, is one of the first objects that strike the eye of a
stranger approaching Rome. On the opposite side of the river, are
the wretched remains of the Mausoleum Augusti, which was still
more magnificent. Part of the walls is standing, and the terraces
are converted into garden-ground. In viewing these ruins, I
remembered Virgil's pathetic description of Marcellus, who was
here intombed.
Quantos ille virum, magnum mavortis ad urbem.
Campus aget gemitus, vel que Tyberine, videbis
Funera, cum tumulum, preter labere recentem.
Along his Banks what Groans shall Tyber hear,
When the fresh tomb and funeral pomp appear!
The beautiful poem of Ovid de Consolatione ad Liviam, written
after the ashes of Augustus and his nephew Marcellus, of
Germanicus, Agrippa, and Drusus, were deposited in this
mausoleum, concludes with these lines, which are extremely
tender:
Claudite jam Parcae nimium reserata sepulchra;
Claudite, plus justo, jam domus ista patet!
Ah! shut these yawning Tombs, ye sister Fates!
Too long unclos'd have stood those dreary Gates!
What the author said of the monument, you will be tempted to say
of this letter, which I shall therefore close in the old stile,
assuring you that I ever am, - Yours most affectionately.
LETTER XXXI
NICE, March 5, 1765
DEAR SIR, - In my last I gave you my opinion freely of the modern
palaces of Italy. I shall now hazard my thoughts upon the gardens
of this country, which the inhabitants extol with all the
hyperboles of admiration and applause. I must acknowledge
however, I have not seen the famous villas at Frascati and
Tivoli, which are celebrated for their gardens and waterworks. I
intended to visit these places; but was prevented by an
unexpected change of weather, which deterred me from going to the
country. On the last day of September the mountains of Palestrina
were covered with snow; and the air became so cold at Rome, that
I was forced to put on my winter cloaths. This objection
continued, till I found it necessary to set out on my return to
Florence. But I have seen the gardens of the Poggio Imperiale,
and the Palazzo de Pitti at Florence, and those of the Vatican,
of the pope's palace on Monte Cavallo, of the Villa Ludovisia,
Medicea, and Pinciana, at Rome; so that I think I have some right
to judge of the Italian taste in gardening. Among those I have
mentioned, that of the Villa Pinciana, is the most remarkable,
and the most extensive, including a space of three miles in
circuit, hard by the walls of Rome, containing a variety of
situations high and low, which favour all the natural
embellishments one would expect to meet with in a garden, and
exhibit a diversity of noble views of the city and adjacent
country.
In a fine extensive garden or park, an Englishman expects to see
a number of groves and glades, intermixed with an agreeable
negligence, which seems to be the effect of nature and accident.
He looks for shady walks encrusted with gravel; for open lawns
covered with verdure as smooth as velvet, but much more lively
and agreeable; for ponds, canals, basins, cascades, and running
streams of water; for clumps of trees, woods, and wildernesses,
cut into delightful alleys, perfumed with honeysuckle and sweet-
briar, and resounding with the mingled melody of all the singing
birds of heaven: he looks for plats of flowers in different parts
to refresh the sense, and please the fancy; for arbours, grottos,
hermitages, temples, and alcoves, to shelter him from the sun,
and afford him means of contemplation and repose; and he expects
to find the hedges, groves, and walks, and lawns kept with the
utmost order and propriety. He who loves the beauties of simple
nature, and the charms of neatness will seek for them in vain
amidst the groves of Italy. In the garden of the Villa Pinciana,
there is a plantation of four hundred pines, which the Italians
view with rapture and admiration: there is likewise a long walk,
of trees extending from the garden-gate to the palace; and plenty
of shade, with alleys and hedges in different parts of the
ground: but the groves are neglected; the walks are laid with
nothing but common mould or sand, black and dusty; the hedges are
tall, thin and shabby; the trees stunted; the open ground, brown
and parched, has scarce any appearance of verdure. The flat,
regular alleys of evergreens are cut into fantastic figures; the
flower gardens embellished with thin cyphers and flourished
figures in box, while the flowers grow in rows of earthen-pots,
and the ground appears as dusky as if it was covered with the
cinders of a blacksmith's forge.
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