The Spectator, 11 May 1839

Turner is as gorgeous and mysterious as ever; and while we regret and condemn his extravagances, it is impossible not to admire the wondrous power of his art in representing an atmosphere of light. Ancient Rome; Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus - the Triumphal Bridge and Palace of Caesars Restored, is a blaze of orange-golden sunshine, reflected from piles of architecture that must be of marble to be so steeped in the hues of light; and Modern Rome - Campo Vaccino, of which we see just enough to know what it is meant for, is also immersed in a flood of radiance, with a stream of silvery light from the new-risen moon glancing across the scene. Another picture of Turner's in this room is real nature, and its poetry is intelligible - The Fighting Temeraire Tugged to her Last Berth to be broken up, 1838, is a grand image of the last days of one of Britain's bulwarks; the huge hulk - looming vast in the distance in the midst of a faint gleam of moonlight, that invests with a halo the ghost of her former self - is towed by a steam-boat whose fiery glow and activity and small size make a fine contrast with the majestic stillness of the old line-of-battle ship, like a superannuated veteran led by a sprightly boy; the sun is setting on the opposite side of the picture, in a furnace-like blaze of light, making the river glow with its effulgence, and typifying the departing glories of the old Teméraire. The colouring is magical, and does not "o'erstep the modesty of nature": this picture ought to be purchased for Greenwich. (p.441.)

CW