Oskar Edgren, University of Sydney
History in the Making, Vol 6 (December 2018)
Rome is a great many cities. Its identities have been manyfold over the millennia, but whether as a bastion of republicanism, the seat of an empire, the epicentre of organised religion or the birthplace of fascism, Rome has always held great influence far beyond its borders. In his Civilisation and its Discontents, father of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud described an imaginary Rome in which nothing built had ever decayed, and every structure still standing could be seen layered over those now fallen. Freud’s description was imaginative and nostalgic, but he was not the first or the last to see Rome as a palimpsest. For hundreds of years, historians, archaeologists, writers and poets have conceived the city as deeply complex. However, due to the great number of significant Romes that visitors have to choose from, most decide to ignore whatever aspects of the city’s history do not appeal to them. Freud himself imagined Caesarean palaces, Severus’ Septizonium and whatever jewels of antiquity were carried off by invading Goths, but neglected to mention any Renaissance or Baroque landmarks that may have succumbed to the ravages of time. As a beneficiary of both a classical education and a Jewish heritage, Freud apparently had no interest in the two millennia of Catholic history that the city presented.
This selective visualisation is consistent throughout the history of tourism and travel, and is very significant to the influential British tradition of the Grand Tour. An education in Latin language, history and literature was important to British identity and worldview, and intense interest in the classics was the primary lens through which the British traveller of the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries viewed the Mediterranean world. This interest was historical and archaeological (although that discipline was in its infancy), but was also deeply literary – given how little survived of ancient Roman topography, much of its story was told through sculpture, column, coin and bas-relief. In this article I will explore how eighteenth-century travel-writer Joseph Addison (1672-1719) created and conveyed an imaginative visualisation of ancient Rome largely through statues, columns and other works, despite a near-complete absence of physical proof of the ancient city. In exploring the city for its importance to classical literature, Addison attempted to capture and convey an abstract spirit of Rome that resonated with his own cultural heritage and identity. In doing so he had to wrestle with the disappointing fact that the Rome of the classical era, perhaps the Rome he expected to find, was not recognisable in the city as it appeared in 1701. This left him with the difficult task of reconciling the two cities, and drawing a real appreciation of the city’s classical roots out of the modern place.
Addison was a writer, poet, playwright, magazine editor, essayist and Whig politician of some influence. A member of the landed gentry and the son of an Anglican priest, he had a good education in classical history, poetry and Latin, all areas in which he developed a keen and precocious interest. As a young man, Addison both wrote and translated Latin poetry, apparently proficiently enough to earn him the position of Demy at Magdalene College, Oxford at the age of seventeen. Addison was a devout man, but unlike his clerically conservative father, he embraced the philosophical changes of the late seventeenth century. His faith he never questioned, but his philosophical, ethical and political writing was largely free of theological justification, and he found the splendour of God’s creation most exciting through the lens of the microscope. Ultimately, Addison decided that his skills were better served in government than the clergy, and chose public office rather than following his father’s footsteps into priesthood. This choice was a significant one, made all the more so by his love of the writers of ancient Rome. Addison’s heroes were the Ciceros and Catos of the Roman republic, men whose love of country and gods had manifested itself in lives devoted to peace and civilisation, and defined by citizenship and office.
Addison’s passion for antiquity defined his worldview and political ambition, as well as his verse and prose in both Latin and English. It is in one of his first pieces of published English prose, Remarks on Several Parts of Italy etc, in the Years 1701, 1702, 1703, where we see this passion for classical antiquity define his visualisation of a foreign place. The guide is noteworthy for a number of reasons. It was his first and only trip to the continent, and therefore the only time he was able to visit the places significant to his classical education and passion for Latin literature. It was also an important point in his career: he had received a grant of £200 with which to fund his journey, and his guide was another feather in his cap for his profession as a writer, and set him up for a potential (but ill-fated) career as a diplomat. In a broader historical sense, it fits into the English tradition of the Grand Tour, and provides an early source for methods of visualisation in that context. The Remarks were intended for publication as a travel guide, a genre that had only existed for thirty years at the time of Addison’s tour. These guides were taken as authorities by later tourists; the Remarks were cited extensively throughout the eighteenth century. To ensure publication and use by later tourists, it behoved Addison to carve out a niche for his own guide, and his expertise in classical Latin literature provided a lens through which he could explore and represent Italy, both for himself and for later readers. The Remarks became very popular, and the way Addison found connections with the distant past helped shape the way British visitors imagined and saw the city of Rome for years to come.
Addison begins his Remarks by acknowledging Italy’s physical and cultural beauty:
There is certainly no place in the world where a man may travel with greater pleasure and advantage than in Italy. One finds something more particular in the face of the country, and more astonishing in the works of nature, that can be met within any other part of Europe. It is the great school of music and painting, and contains in it all the noblest productions of statuary and architecture both ancient and modern…There is scarce any part of the nation that is not famous in history, nor so much as a mountain or river that has not been the scene of some extraordinary action.
Although he was clearly taken with the beauty of the land and the joy of travel, Addison, like Freud, was most concerned with the ghosts of the past. Whether by personal choice or literary convention, he, like many other travel writers of the eighteenth century, rarely wrote about himself. Furthermore, from the moment he touched ground in Genoa, he almost completely depopulated the places he visited. Fresh off the boat from Marseilles, he was struck by the beauty of the Genoese olive groves, and recalled the penance of Mary Magdalene, a scene he considered very romantic. He then speculated that the landscape may have influenced the poetry of fourth century Roman writer Claudian, and quoted his In Rufinum at length, before describing his next sea voyage. This set the tone for much of Addison’s description of place; he would lightly describe a particularly striking detail of the landscape, then compare it extensively to a particular passage of Latin poetry that he was familiar with. His passion for Latin literature and poetry was at the forefront of his mind wherever he went, even in places where its relevance is as slight as Claudian and the olive groves. It is through his imaginative engagement with these passages that Addison saw the places he visited. As we see in his later chapters, the connection between Latin literature and place is much stronger in urban environments, and for this reason Addison was much more interested in the cities of Italy than the countryside.
Addison began his exploration of Rome proper on his way north out of Naples. He had made a short visit to the Vatican on his way south, but saved the rest of the city for an extended stay, perhaps to separate modern Rome from the ancient city of his imagination. His chapter on Rome begins with an explanation of the city’s palimpsestic topography:
It is generally observed, that modern Rome stands higher than the ancient; some have computed it at about fourteen or fifteen feet, taking one place with another. The reason given for it is, that the present city stands upon the ruins of the former, and indeed I have often observed that where any considerable pile of building stood anciently one still finds a rising ground, or a little kind of hill, that was doubtless made up out of the fragments and rubbish of the ruined edifice.
It is difficult to draw intent from Addison’s writing, given how passive his style is, but the purpose of this passage may be to ward his readers against a disappointing first impression of the ancient city. Even today visitors are told that the ruins of Rome might not be as visually striking as one might expect, three centuries of active excavation later. It is possible that Addison, his imagination having got the better of him, may have expected to see something resembling the ancient city, and was disappointed at the shapelessness of the ruins. Before exploring any specific area, he then drew a line between the ‘two sets of antiquities, the Christian and the Heathen.’ Claiming that the remains of Christian Rome are too ‘embroiled with fable and legend’ to be of much interest, he did not mention them again in the entire chapter. This demonstrates a clear pattern in Addison’s writing: Catholic spaces are to be largely ignored. He and his readers came to see the Rome of pre-Christian antiquity, and more recent history was of little interest to them.
This is the clearest pattern in Addison’s selective visualisation of place. He viewed and described things for their classical, literary and sometimes biblical importance, but showed little interest in the history of Catholicism, or the political history of modern Italy. He appreciated architectural beauty; when he first visited Rome on his way south he visited St Peter’s Cathedral, and described its beauty and impressive design at length. However, he made no comparison to classical literature or anything else he may have read, and offered no insight into the history of the building or its relevance that another traveller might be interested in. So here we must ask the question: Why, and for who, does Addison record his journey? Travel writing was popular, and the Remarks were an important stepping-stone in Addison’s career. The tradition of the Grand Tour was young when Addison undertook his, but there were already a number of published accounts of travellers in Italy and elsewhere on the continent, and most travel writers preferred to demonstrate some originality in their accounts. Italy, and Rome in particular, was popular for its antiquities, and many British travellers would stay there for days, weeks or months at a time, enjoying the Mediterranean lifestyle and putting their classical education to use. Unlike the historically-minded tourists of today, educated British travellers had no interest in antiques whose identity or purpose could not be verified or connected to something familiar, and quickly lost patience with any subject of antiquarian debate. These visitors considered their stay to be the summation of their classical education, and saw the many ruins and antiques of the city as illustrations to the classical literature they were familiar with. It was to this specific mode of visualisation that Addison catered to, and exhibited himself. To him, and others like him, education and imagination were tools to decipher the Roman landscape, and visualisation had to be formed around the gaps and obstructions from non-classical spaces.
The first thing to catch Addison’s eye was not a ruin or monument, but the countless ancient statues one could find throughout the city.
No part of the antiquities of Rome pleased me so much as the ancient statues, of which there are still an incredible variety. The workmanship is often the most exquisite of anything in its kind. A man would wonder how it were possible for so much life to enter into marble, as may be discovered in the best of them.
The connection between statues and the literary heroes they portray is an obvious one, and Addison eagerly discussed the depictions of the various characters he was familiar with. This mode of viewing is central to his work, as well as the tradition for the Grand Tour in general. By viewing, describing and situating statues and antiques within their literary context (in a sense translating them), an eighteenth-century Grand Tourist could build a virtual collection, demonstrating how well travelled and erudite they were to readers back home. Antique statues were much more numerous and better preserved than buildings and other structures of a similar age, and as such were spread throughout the city in a number of different environments. The fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries saw a significant dispersal of antique statues amongst the courts of various popes and aristocrats, and as such they could be found displayed in various public and private settings by the time of Addison’s tour. In the already frenetic topography of eighteenth-century Rome, statues were even further divorced from the contemporary environment. To the classically minded British visitor, uninterested in church history, Renaissance history or contemporary Italian life, these statues were the culmination of all Rome had to offer. To Addison, they illustrated his pre-conception of classical literary Rome better than what was represented in the actual landscape, and provided him with as concrete a visualisation of that imaginary setting as he could hope to find.
Addison’s visualisation of Rome grew increasingly full of phantom places as he further explored the city. Before trying to guide his readers to the numerous surviving arches and columns, he took a tour of Rome’s various empty spaces.
There are still many such promising spots of ground that have never been searched into. A great part of the Palatine mountain, for example, lays untouched, which was formerly the seat of the Imperial Palace, and may be presumed to abound with more treasures of this nature than any other part of Rome.
Addison was correct: the Palatine hill of the twenty-first century is littered with ruins and unearthed antiquities – including the Imperial Palace of the Flavians – but in the early eighteenth century it would have been little but a small grassy plateau. As such, it presented Addison with a tranquil, attractive and shaded area away from the noise of the city, for him to ponder on his imaginary reconstruction of the ancient city space. The Palatine was an important area in Roman history and classical culture. It was a high but gentle slope above the fertile plains below, offering defensible fortification from invasion and a breezy respite from the summer humidity. It was mythologically (and probably historically) the site of the first settlement that became Rome in the eighth century BC, and was home to the hut of Romulus, which became the Flavian Palace of the early Roman emperors. From the Late Republic onward it was home to some of the city’s wealthiest people, and in Addison’s era was largely covered with the famously beautiful Farnese Gardens. For both Caesar Augustus and Benito Mussolini it was the centre of political reformation, so established is its identity as a symbolic centre for the Roman spirit. His quotation of Claudian’s De Sexto Consulatu Honorii Augusti proves that Addison understood the symbolic connotations of the hill, and the place was special to him.
As he explored the significant sites of antiquity, Addison continued to visualise them through time. From the Palatine and down to the emperor Nero’s no-longer-existent golden house, he was continuously impressed by conspicuous absences as much or more than notable landmarks. Given the totality of these absences in eighteenth century Rome, Addison can be forgiven for placing such emphasis on the much more visually accessible works of classical art, but his mode of viewing these empty spaces is not necessarily less rigorous. Addison was travelling in the very earliest days of archaeology, and had very little concrete visual basis for his imagination. A twenty-first century traveller has a far more established visual memory-bank of classical imagery, due to easily accessible photography, informed artists’ conceptions and a rich representation in film and documentary. Even when surviving ruins do not offer at least an outline of what they once were, a rich archaeological tradition still enables a strong visual basis on which to imagine. To fruitfully explore empty or near-empty archaeological sites, referred to by Tim Copeland as ‘low-visibility landscapes’, one must actively construct their own meaning based on one’s knowledge, imagination and visual touchstones. Copeland describes a list of progressive modes of visualisation that a traveller in a low-visibility landscape adopts. The first is the enactive mode, where the traveller physically explores the space, noting positive and negative features of the environment, such as walls, ditches, etc. This is then informed by the iconic mode, where the traveller compares their experience to visual touchstones, such as photographs, paintings, film, re-enactment, or museum displays. Finally, there is the symbolic mode, where findings of the previous two investigations are considered in the light of the site’s known context, through historical knowledge or research. Addison was entirely capable of the first and third of these modes, but lacked the archaeological and visual reserve that a twenty-first century traveller might expect. His use of classical literature and poetry, however, emerged as a workable symbolic mode for him to draw contextual understandings from. Latin literature, combined with the visual medium of sculpture, conveyed a very real spirit of ancient Rome, with which Addison and his classically educated readers were able to provide the culturally foreign modern city with an ancient, and more familiar, identity and meaning. From antique sculpture, Addison was, in a way, drawing an imaginative understanding of place through visualisation.
Addison became very interested in the representation of ancient structure on the various surviving coins and medals he found in private collections. He was disappointed that some of the most famous ancient buildings, such as Nero’s golden house and the Septizonium of Septimus Severus, could not be found on any surviving coins, and speculated (rightly) that the coins and medals that had been exhumed by his own historical period represented only a small fraction of those that must have existed. Despite his emphasis on literature and imagination, Addison was desperate for visual representation of antiquity. His excitement for the architectural imagery on coins and medals indicates a search for his missing iconic mode of visual understanding. The coins would provide a more concrete historical visualisation of the city, but Addison believed that they could provide context for the statues as well:
A man takes a great deal more pleasure in surveying the ancient statues, who compares them with medals, that it is possible for him to do without some little knowledge this way; for these two arts illustrate each other; and as there are several particulars in history and antiquities that receive a great light from ancient coins, so it would be impossible to decipher the faces of the many statues…without a universal key to them.
The coins represented a mid-way point between the lack of visualisation in the physical space and the literary visualisation of the statues. Addison did not specifically differentiate the literary and historical in his Remarks, but the coins created a link between statues and architecture that seems to indicate that he considered them equally important. Indeed, classical Romans themselves did not have a strict delineation between figures of history, ancestry and mythology, so when trying to visualise and represent the spirit of classical Rome, the distinction is irrelevant. Even so, the coins, in depicting both people and places, lend historical legitimacy to the use of artwork, as well as strengthening Addison’s ability to fill in the gaps in low-visibility landscapes.
So selective was Addison’s visualisation of Rome, that he managed to turn busy streets and churches into low-visibility landscapes as much as empty fields and hills. Toward the end of his chapter on Rome, he recorded the multitude of columns and pillars throughout the city, ruined, free-standing and repurposed. Most of these pillars were either re-used in the construction of palaces and churches, or put on interior display in some fashion, so could only be seen in the context of a medieval or Renaissance-era building. This, characteristically, did not stop Addison from investigating them for their artistic and architectural value in their original context. He poured over them in intricate detail, inspecting every detail of their positioning, design, technology and the various types of stone used. He speculated as to the types of tools used and the proficiency of ancient technology, and related the laundry list of materials and where they were imported from. Alongside the small and undetailed reproductions on coins and medals, the columns represented the best surviving visual aid to the architecture of classical Rome, and provided Addison and his readers a close visual study of the building blocks of the ancient city. Here Addison was able to claim some insight into classical architecture – in his description of the alabaster column in the Basilica di Santa Maria in Ara coeli al Campidoglio, he informed the reader that it is mathematically imperfect in design compared to more modern architecture, and speculated that the ancient architects only cared that it was pleasing to the eye and let mathematical exactitude fall by the wayside. This is presented as a piece of interesting trivia, but even these speculative asides count toward the imaginative visualisation of antique architecture and landscape. As both a feature of architectural design and an artistic medium, the columns served the same purpose as the coins to an even greater extent – to situate the artistic representation of sculpture in the physical context of Roman architecture.
To understand the extremity of Addison’s visual selectiveness, one should compare his chapter on Rome to one on a city with no classical history, such as Venice. He did not specify how long he spent in each city, so it is difficult to determine how his volume of writing on each place is representative of time or interest, but the chapter on Venice is less than half the length of that on Rome (twenty-nine and sixty-seven pages, respectively). His Venice chapter contains no quotation from classical literature save for three quotes on the last two pages (one from Claudian and two from Sannizarius), all for the purpose of anachronistically comparing the modern Venetians to the Veneti Gauls. When freed from the limitations of exploring space through classical literature, Addison was happy to offer a much more straightforward travelogue of the city – discussing fortifications, climate, urban geography, industry and even populace to a far greater extent than he did for Rome. Despite a lack of connection to Roman antiquity, Venice held an important place in British political tradition. Venice embodied the perfect republic in humanist philosophical tradition, a manifestation of the principles of Aristotle and Polybius. Influential on the rather young British model of Constitutional Monarchy, Venice represented the perfect balance of democracy, aristocracy and monarchy, and the perfect mediator of both tyranny and anarchy. Particularly to Addison and his Whiggish compatriots, Venice, alongside classical Rome, displayed a political spirit that was a valuable model for Britain – the post-restoration British parliament was even referred to as a ‘Venetian Oligarchy. As he was able to form these connections with its more recent history, Addison was much more content to explore modern Venice. His visual connection with the space bore much more resemblance to other British visitors to Italy – many were struck by the unique and extraordinary nature of the city. Like Rome, Venice was rich in political, philosophical, historical and cultural symbolism that was important to British political identity, but it was also immediately exciting and interesting for a visitor in ways Rome was not.
Addison’s interest in ancient Rome was more than just scholarly. Comparisons to Roman republican and imperial figures were common in the political discourse of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Britain; the prestige that accompanied the Ciceronian, Caesarean or Augustan comparison was sought after by governmental and royal figures no matter what their political disposition. Unlike various movements in Germany, Italy and Greece from the previous few centuries, the British did not claim any direct ethnic or political lineage from the Roman Empire. Instead they largely considered themselves descendants and inheritors of various martial cultures, such as the Teutons, Angles, Saxons, Normans and Celts, and counted the Romans with the Danes and Jutes as colonial aggressors that had been driven off. However, Rome was still the gold-standard of both the colonial, imperial monarchy and the successful republic, and prestige could be gained from imitation and comparison. The ways of valuing the past that emerged in the Renaissance and Enlightenment sowed the seeds for nationalism and ethnic identity for hundreds of years to come, and often found their root in a claim to the legacy of the Roman empire. Rather than a specific legacy, the pseudo-historical idea of the Roman spirit — called romanità by Mussolini — may have informed a somewhat abstract sense of collective cultural heritage for the British. The Romans were both invaders and civilisers; Roman occupation was a baptism of fire for British ethnic identity and a progenitor of their military and imperial legacy.
Comparison to Augustus Caesar specifically was particularly popular for the post-Restoration English monarchs; Augustus was often associated with power and empire without the negative connotations of decline and tyranny associated with the later emperors, and with peace, political success and stable monarchic power. Addison was an enthusiastic supporter of William and Mary, publishing a number of Latin poems in celebration of the royal couple’s successes. The use of Latin carried a number of meanings; French had surpassed it as political lingua franca, but it carried associations with classical culture and literature, ecclesiasticism, and denoted the speaker as a well-educated and erudite individual. Combined with a national obsession with Italy that had been blooming for over a hundred years, travel to Rome became a rite of passage for young men of aristocratic standing, particularly those of political learning. Maintaining a reputation Rome had possessed since it was able to propagate it itself, the city was seen as a beacon of masculinity and masculine life. A deep understanding of the city, especially a rather original take on its topography, would benefit Addison in his academic, social and political life on his return.
Also deeply relevant to Addison’s worldview, and present in his Remarks, were his profound religiosity and belief in the superiority of the Anglican church. Morgan Strawn believes that Addison’s Remarks actually convey a more tepid attitude for the classical Romans than they initially seem, and rather that they are an exercise in Anglican epistemological chauvinism. Strawn asserts that Addison is drawing a comparison between Catholic and pagan use of idolatry and ritual, and that both fall short of achieving the understanding of the world that Anglican protestants gain through rational devotion. I disagree somewhat – I believe that Addison separates the primitivism of pagan ritual and belief from the more abstract Roman spirit that informs his political beliefs, ethics and worldview – but his intellectual chauvinism over the Catholics is certainly evident. The similarity between Roman pagans and Catholics in their superstition, ritualism and credulity was a common stereotype amongst Anglicans and one that Addison did make reference to, but most comparisons he made were purely to the detriment of modern Catholics. Rather than creating these comparisons to express the intellectual, spiritual and cultural superiority of the Anglican church, this chauvinism expressed itself in a near-complete depopulation of modern Catholic sites. As we have seen, Addison’s visualisation of Rome is hugely selective, the near-invisible ancient drowning out the ever-present modern in his descriptions of place. If Catholicism represented anti-intellectualism, irrationality and primitive idolatry, then Addison was trying to divorce that from the spirit of ancient Rome that informed his sense of heritage. We can see him make this distinction at the very beginning of his chapter on Rome:
There are in Rome two sets of antiquities, the Christian and the Heathen. The former, through of a fresher date, are so embroiled with fable and legend, that one receives but little satisfaction from searching into them. The other give a great deal of pleasure to such as have met with them before in ancient authors.
In pagan antiquity one finds the noble spirit of the republic, the genius of Caesar and the benevolent authority of Augustus, as well as the height of the Latin literary tradition that Addison so adored. Rather than comparing pagan ritualism to Catholicism as a means of disparagement, he used the innate virtue of the Roman spirit to aggrandise his own religious and cultural heritage.
To many British visitors, modern Rome was a symbol of great decay. Gibbon claimed to have had the idea for his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire while pondering the city’s history from the Capitoline Hill, listening to friars singing in the Temple of Jupiter. The Capitoline, the former seat of the Roman state religion, stands opposite the Palatine looking down on the ruins of the Roman Forum, the ancient city-centre-turned-cattle-pasture far away from the eighteenth century population centre on the Tiber floodplain. This particular area seems to have given pause to a number of Grand Tourists; it is not far from where Addison inspected a grove of ancient trees that indicated a potential position of Nero’s golden house, and pondered on what great treasures might lie beneath the Palatine Hill. To the Anglican or Protestant viewer, Christian Rome, both ancient and modern, was symbolic of the decline of the Roman spirit. In exposing and exploring pre-Christin pagan Rome, visitors like Addison could attempt to excise Catholicism from Roman identity and draw what they can for their own sense of heritage. The act of travelling to Rome gave a British traveller an appreciation for the Roman aspects of their own cultural heritage, while also gaining a sense of heritage and belonging through the shared experience of travel. The fact that Gibbon and Addison had such similar experiences and processes of thought over sixty years apart is evidence of this. The tradition of the Grand Tour represented both the perceived reclamation of a pseudo-Roman historical heritage and the emergence of a cultural identity of educated and erudite travellers and antiquarians.
Addison’s Tour failed to secure him a diplomatic career. However, it provided him with a fruitful exploration of philosophical, political and religious identity and heritage. The Grand Tour was a combined exploration and creation of cultural heritage and, like pilgrimage, allowed for a constitution of individual and cultural identity through the act of travel. Through his literary tour, Addison, like many Grand Tourists, bridged the gaps between history and mythology, imitation and heritage and imagination and visualisation. Like everyone who travels to the Eternal City, he explored it through space, time, belief and imagination, and created a Rome of his own.
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 R. J. B. Bosworth, Whispering City: Rome and its Histories (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2011) p. 2
 James H. S. McGregor, Rome From the Ground Up (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005) p. 2
 Rosemary Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour: the British in Italy, c. 1690-1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) p. 108
 Amanda Claridge, ‘Archaeologies, Antiquaries and the Memorie of Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Rome’, in Ilaria Bignamini, ed., Archives and Excavations: Essays on the History of Archaeological Excavations in Rome and Southern Italy From the Renaissance to the Nineteenth Century (London: British School at Rome, 2004), p. 34
 Robert M. Otten, Joseph Addison (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1982) p. 7
 Otten, Joseph Addison, Chronology
 Otten, Joseph Addison, pp. 8-9
 Otten, Joseph Addison, p. 9
 Otten, Joseph Addison, p. 9
 Charles L. Batten, Jr., Pleasurable Instruction: Form and Convention in Eighteenth-Century Travel Literature (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1978) p. 10-11
 Jeremy Black, Italy and the Grand Tour (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2003), p. 20
 Black, Italy and the Grand Tour, p. 20
 Joseph Addison, Remarks on Several Parts of Italy etc in the Years 1702, 1702, 1703 (London: Printed for Jacob Tonson, Gray’s Inn Gate Next Gray’s Inn Lane, 1705) Preface. I have modernised spelling and capitalisation for ease of reading.
 Batten, Jr., Pleasurable Instruction, p. 13
 Addison, Remarks, p. 2
 Addison, Remarks, p. 300
 Bosworth, Whispering City, p. 39
 Addison, Remarks, p. 301
 Addison, Remarks, p. 301
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 174-176
 Batten, Jr., Pleasurable Instruction, p. 95
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 108
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 110
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 109
 Addison, Remarks, p. 303
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 111
 Francis Haskell and Nicholas Penny, Taste and the Antique: The Lure of Classical Sculpture 1500-1900 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1981) p. 8
 Chloe Chard, ‘Nakedness and Tourism: Classical Sculpture and the Imaginative Geography of the Grand Tour’, Oxford Art Journal 18, No. 1 (1995), p. 20
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 111
 Addison, Remarks, p. 333
 Grant Heiken, Renato Funiciello and Donatella de Rita, The Seven Hills of Rome: A Geological Tour of the Eternal City (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2005) pp. 37-38
 McGregor, Rome From the Ground Up, p. 64
 Heiken, Funiciello and de Rita, The Seven Hills of Rome, p. 38
 McGregor, Rome From the Ground Up, p. 64
 Tim Copeland, ‘Site-Seeing: Streetwalking Through a Low-Visibility Landscape’, in Emma Waterton and Steve Watson, eds., Culture, Heritage and Representation: Perspectives on Visuality and the Past (Surrey: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2010), pp. 232-233
 Copeland, ‘Site-Seeing’, p. 232
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 345-346
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 347-348
 Addison, Remarks, p. 355
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 106-108
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 80-109
 Bruce Redford, Venice and The Grand Tour (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996), pp. 51-52
 Redford, Venice and the Grand Tour, p. 52
 John Eglin, Venice Transfigured: The Myth of Venice in British Culture, 1660-1797 (New York: Palgrave, 2001) p. 45
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 199
 Howard D Weinbrot, Augustus Caesar in “Augustan” England: The Decline of a Classical Norm (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978), p. 5
 Colin Kidd, British Identities Before Nationalism: Ethnicity and Nationhood in the Atlantic World, 1600-1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 80-82
 David Lowenthal, Possessed by the Past: The Heritage Crusade and the Spoils of History (New York: The Free Press, 1996) p. 13-14
 Bosworth, Whispering City, p. 16
 Weinbrot, Augustus Caesar in “Augustan” England, p. 4-5
 Otten, Joseph Addison, p. 8
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 1
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 24
 Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour, p. 24
 Morgan Strawn, ‘Pagans, Papists and Joseph Addison’s Use of Classical Quotations in the Remarks on Several Parts of Italy’, Huntington Library Quarterly 75, no. 4 (Winter 2012), pp. 561-575
 Strawn, ‘Pagans, Papists and Joseph Addison’s use of Classical Quotations’, p. 562
 Strawn, ‘Pagans, Papists and Joseph Addison’s use of Classical Quotations’, p. 567
 Addison, Remarks, p. 301
 Catherine Edwards, Writing Rome: Textual Approaches to the City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 69
 Edwards, Writing Rome, p. 70
 Addison, Remarks, pp. 335-336
 David Crouch, ‘The Perpetual Performance and Emergence of Heritage’, in Emma Waterton and Steve Watson, eds., Culture, Heritage and Representation: Perspectives on Visuality and the Past (Surrey: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2010), p. 67
 Crouch, ‘The Perpetual Performance and Emergence of Heritage’, p. 69