(and even less than usual, at the present moment, as all the theatres
are closed), we must, like all other travellers, content ourselves with
the creations of architecture, painting, and sculpture of the former
flourishing period of Italian art. Of these certainly there is a wealth
such as is not to be found in any other city in the world. Wherever
one goes--in the streets, in the squares, palaces, churches, and
gardens--one sees everywhere columns, obelisks, statues, bas-reliefs
and paintings. We first strolled through all the streets, in order to
familiarise ourselves with the remains of ancient Roman architecture.
The venerable Pantheon, the Forum Romanum with its triumphal arches
and columns, and particularly the Colosseum, filled us with wonder and
admiration. We then ascended the Capitol, saw the Tarpeian rock and a
thousand other places and objects made interesting by Roman history.
On the following day we visited the immortal _Michael Angelo’s_
master-piece, the church of St. Peter. Several travellers whose
expectations of this gigantic structure from their point of view had
not been satisfied, had much depressed mine, and from that circumstance
perhaps it made a powerful impression upon me. The open space before
the church, with the semi-circular colonnades, the obelisk and the
two stupendous fountains are of themselves of imposing grandeur. But
on entering the interior of the church, one is seized with wonder
and admiration at the magnificence of the decorations. Without being
overloaded, it contains such wealth in mosaic pictures, statues, and
bas-reliefs, that it would occupy weeks to examine all the separate
works of art. As all these things are in the most harmonious relation
and proportion to each other, and are as colossal as the whole
structure itself, one is greatly deceived at first in regard to the
size of the church. But upon contemplating more nearly the separate
objects, one finds, for instance, that the little angels which hold the
basins for holy-water, when seen closer, are taller than the tallest
Prussian grenadier; and one finds the assertions of the architects who
have taken all the dimensions of the building, more creditable, that,
for instance, the cathedral of Strasburg could conveniently stand
under the dome without the top of the tower reaching higher than into
the lantern. But it is necessary to ascend into the interior of the
lantern itself to convince oneself of the correctness of the other
calculations, viz., that the pen of St. Peter is eight feet long, that
four men abreast can conveniently walk round upon the cornice, etc. etc.
From the church we went to the museum of the Vatican. The riches
it contains in treasures of art and antiquities, and the size and
splendour of the place, surpass even the most exalted expectations.
One first enters a long gallery on both sides of which the walls are
encrusted with ancient Roman inscriptions and sepulchral stones, which
had but little interest for us. We then came into a second gallery,
in which are statues, busts, and fragments of sculpture innumerable.
We then entered the famed Belvedere, where all round a circular open
court, in the centre of which is a fountain, a number of niches,
apartments, and saloons contain the most precious works of ancient and
modern art. We first saw in one of the niches the celebrated _Apollo
of Belvedere_, whose form is still considered the beau ideal of manly
vigour and beauty. By a mistake for which I may be readily pardoned,
since as I have said I never make use either of a guide or book, I had
taken the somewhat feminine figure in the gallery at Florence for the
universally admired Apollo of Belvedere. That statue, which is also of
extreme artistic beauty, is, as I am now informed called the Apollino.
In a second niche we saw the celebrated group of _Laokoon and his
sons_; in a third, three master-pieces of _Canova_, a _Perseus_ and
two Roman gladiators. The _Perseus_ is a wonderfully beautiful figure,
but evidently imitated from the _Apollo_; for the head as well as the
position of the body and of the mantle are strikingly similar. One
of the gladiators is said to resemble more an English prize-fighter
than a Roman gladiator; at least such is the opinion of the pupils and
partisans of _Thorwaldsen_, who cannot forgive _Canova_ his certainly
very blamable vanity, that he should have placed his work, the only
one of a modern in a museum of antiques. Nevertheless, if one judges
without reference to persons, it must be admitted that in _Perseus_ he
has produced a splendid work of art, and that there are hundreds of
antiquities in the museum which are not equal to it in artistic beauty.
In one apartment there is a great number of animals, single and in
groups, in marble and other yet more costly and rare varieties of
stone, of the most perfect execution. I could not give the preference
to any one of them without disparaging the others. In other apartments
are vases of immense size, of Egyptian granite and porphyry, cups,
fountains and sarcophages with bas-reliefs, arabesques and other
ornaments, as well as statues of all sizes. A two-wheeled Roman
chariot, such as were used in chariot races, with two incomparably
beautiful horses, greatly pleased us. The magnificence of the saloons,
rotundi, apartments, and staircases exceeds anything we have ever seen.
The floor consists almost wholly of ancient mosaics, and the ceilings
are decorated with the most splendid fresco-paintings.
From the Belvedere two handsome staircases then lead one story higher
up to a long gallery. One then enters an apartment in which the
tapestries are hung which were worked after the drawings of _Raphael_.
As is natural to suppose, not only the colours are said to be bad, as
is usual with all tapestries, but the drawing is also defective, so
that connoisseurs in art esteem them but little. In the composition
and throughout the grouping, nevertheless, the spirit of _Raphael_ is
visible.
Now come the celebrated “Stanzi” of _Raphael_, which are considered
by painters and connoisseurs in art as the most costly and beautiful,
not only in Rome, but in the whole world. One of these apartments he
finished entirely himself; in the others only some of the figures are
of his execution; the rest were painted by his pupils and friends
after his drawings and under his eye. The paintings are in much better
preservation than those in the Sixtine chapel and, with the care which
is now taken of them, they may for centuries to come attract the
admiration of connoisseurs. It is nevertheless a sad reflection that
some of the most precious things produced by the genius and pencil of
_Raphael_ are here adherent to the walls, and must perish with them.
It is therefore fortunate that these paintings have been and are so
frequently copied and engraved, that something of them will yet remain
when the originals shall be no more. But this must not be permitted to
be done in the way resorted to by the young Parisian academicians, who
stick their tracing paper upon the paintings with wax or even fasten
it on with nails, in order to copy the contours, by which proceeding
a quantity of the lime cement has already crumbled away from one of
the walls. An iron rail is now put up round the apartments, so that
one can no longer approach close to the walls. The passages from these
apartments lead to the “Logge” of _Raphael_, by which is understood the
arched galleries outside the buildings. Those decorated by that master
himself are now enclosed by glazed windows to shield them from the
destructive effects of the weather, the rest are open. In these “logge”
there are but four small paintings from his own hand; all the rest are
painted by others after his drawings. In a niche at the end of the
gallery stands a bust of _Raphael_, which is said, however, to be but
an indifferent likeness of him.
December 9.
On a second visit which we made yesterday to the museum, we saw the
room containing the celebrated oil paintings of _Raphael_. The finest
of them is without a doubt the Transfiguration, respecting which so
much has been written, and disputed. Connoisseurs of art are not agreed
as to whether the composition is correct or defective. Some maintain
that it consists of two separate groups which do not harmonise with
each other in the least; others, on the contrary, say that every
part is in the most perfect and beautiful accord. Without troubling
ourself with the contentions of the æsthetics, which was renewed by two
persons in our presence, we gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of its
contemplation. It is extremely interesting to see here three paintings
of _Raphael_ of different periods of his life in close proximity to
each other. The eldest, or that of his youthful days, hangs by the
side of one by his master _Perugino_, and is painted wholly in his
style, with the same hardness of outline and the same formal, almost
symmetrical grouping. The one of the middle period (a Madonna with the
child, and some others figures, resembling very much the painting at
Dresden in the grouping) evinces his own genius enfranchised from the
form of his teacher. In the third, the “Transfiguration,” his last
important work, we see the fully developed artist.
December 12.
As we live in a couple of rooms which cannot be heated, we have
suffered somewhat from cold the last eight days, on account of the
_Tramontana_, or north wind, which has not ceased to blow all that
time; but although we have had hoar-frost a few times in Rome, we have
had no ice yet, neither has it snowed. When we rose this morning,
we found that the outside of our window was dim with moisture, and
on opening it a warm moist air blew in; while the weathercocks
informed us that the _Sirocco_ (south wind) was blowing. It now
soon became overcast, and this afternoon it is raining. Generally,
however, the _Tramontana_ brings bright settled weather. As Rome
is very damp and dirty, one soon longs for the return of that wind,
and is better content with a little cold than with the unwholesome
moisture. In the spring of the year especially, when it begins to grow
warm, this moisture is said to be quite unbearable, and to engender
dangerous fevers, particularly on the other side of the Tiber, in the
neighbourhood of the Vatican, where many a stranger, who has taken up
his residence there on account of the cheaper rate of the lodging,
has found a grave. In the summer months especially Rome must be very
unhealthy, the air being charged with the exhalations from the dead
bodies, which, according to ancient custom, are here all deposited
in the vaults of the churches. Every time one of these vaults is
opened, which takes place almost every day, a stench rushes out which
penetrates into the interior of the very palaces of the living. At the
time of the domination of the French the dead were buried outside the
city, but no sooner was the papal rule restored, than that wholesome
regulation was discontinued. No corpse is permitted to remain unburied
longer than twenty-four hours, and accordingly the body of any one
deceased is laid upon a bier, some eight or ten hours only after the
breath is out of it, and carried with uncovered head, breast, and feet,
in broad daylight, through the street to the church, and set down
before the altar, when if the estate is sufficient to pay the expenses,
a mass for the dead is read, and the body is thrown uncoffined through
one of the openings of the vaults. That many only apparently dead are
in this manner buried with the rest, may be readily imagined; and a few
years ago such a case actually occured. A poor man, who a few hours
after his apparent death had been thrown into the vault, was aroused by
the fall and passed two fearful days among the half-decomposed bodies,
when fortunately the chief entrance to the vault was opened in order to
clear it out, and the poor fellow was rescued and is still living.
In no city in the world, I think, is the contrast so striking between
the most luxurious splendour and the most abject misery as here. On
the marble steps of the palaces, among the statues for which thousands
have been paid, near the altars of the churches which are laden
with golden ornaments and utensils--everywhere, in fact, one sees
half-starved mendicants lying, who moan for bread, and gnaw the stumps
of cabbages or the peel of lemons, which they have picked out of the
gutter. At first I thought this a trick merely to excite the compassion
of strangers; but I became convinced afterwards that many of the poor
must for days subsist on such horrid food, or perish with hunger. The
Romans are accustomed to see this misery from their youth, and seldom
give alms (except they drop it into the begging-box of some well-fed
monk collecting for his monastery), and strangers soon become hardened
to pity, when they find that as soon as they have given something to
one beggar, they are immediately surrounded by _twenty others_. It is
true there are many among them who beg from sheer idleness, but there
are many also who are quite unable to work for a livelihood. In this
respect also I admire my native country, where every pauper has at
least potatoes and bread, and a case of one dying of starvation in the
midst of his richer fellowmen is wholly unheard of.
December 19.
Last evening our concert took place. As I had been refused permission
to give a public concert in the theatre during Advent, I was obliged
to make arrangements to give it at a private house, without any public
announcement. Prince _Piombino_ granted me an apartment for the purpose
in the _Ruspoli_ palace, and Count _Apponyi_, the Austrian ambassador,
procured for me a considerable number of subscribers; so that this was
the first concert in Italy that brought me a somewhat considerable
profit. The price of admission was one Piaster (nearly a Laubthaler).
The orchestra, composed of the best musicians of Rome, was nevertheless
the worst of all that had yet accompanied me in Italy. The ignorance,
want of taste, and stupid arrogance of these people beggars all
description. Of _nuances_ in _piano_ and _forte_ they know absolutely
nothing. One might let that pass, but each individual makes just what
ornamentation comes into his head and double strokes with almost every
tone, so that the _ensemble_ resembles more the noise of an orchestra
tuning up than harmonious music. I certainly forbade several times
every note which did not stand in the score; but ornamentation has
become so much a second nature to them, that they cannot desist from
it. The first hornist, for instance, blew once in the _Tutti_, instead
of the simple cadence,
[Music]
the following
[Music]
The Clarinets blew perhaps at the same time
[Music]
instead of
[Music]
and now if one imagines the figured passages for the violins, which
the composer has prescribed, some conception may be formed of the
bewildering noise which such an orchestra gives you for music. With
that, the musicians have so little musical taste, and are so unskilled
in note-reading, that we nearly broke down twice. Here also, my
concerto in the form of a vocal-scene pleased most, and I gained far
more applause for the way in which I played the song parts, than for
the mastery of very great difficulties. A tenor belonging to the papal
orchestra, the permission for whose co-operation I had obtained with
great difficulty, sang a duet with Mademoiselle _Funk_ of Dresden, and
a very beautiful air of _Rossini_, the best of that composer which I
had yet heard.
December 20.
Last evening I was present at a small private musical performance
at the house of Count _Apponyi_. There was much good vocal music
with piano accompaniment. The best were a duet from a “Passione” by
_Paisiello_, most charmingly sung by Madame _Häser_ and the Countess
_Apponyi_; an aria by _Zingarelli_ with chorus, written for Madame
_Häser_ and executed by her in the most finished manner; a duett of
_Rossini’s_, sung by Countess and Signor _Moncade_. Madame _Häser_ sang
with a feeling and a purity such as I never heard her display before.
Her magnificent sonorous voice, which in a room with much reverberation
sounds almost too sharp, particularly in the higher tones, had a fine
effect yesterday in an apartment where the tapestry and carpeting
deadened the sound. She has at command every nuance of tone, from the
most tender breathings to the greatest fullness of power, and she
knows how to avail herself of it in a masterly manner. She has lost,
it is true, the brilliant fluency of voice which was formerly so much
admired in Dresden, but she retains still enough of it to enable her
to give every vocal ornamentation with ease and elegance. The only
thing I miss in her singing is the shake, which in the present day is
so much neglected. _Moncade_ is a singer with a fine chest voice, and
a tasteful though not a very feeling execution. Besides them, Prince
_Frederick of Gotha_ sang an air, and a bass singer a couple of Buffi.
I have again been twice to _Sirletti’s_ music parties. A week ago some
parts of the Requiem were repeated and the Halleluja; but the rest of
the evening was wholly devoted to _Marcello’s_ Psalms. With regard
to the latter, I find my former opinion still more confirmed. In the
fine edition of these Psalms, there is also a biography of _Marcello_,
in which the reason is given for his relinquishing theatrical
compositions, to which alone he had previously devoted himself, and
taking all at once to sacred music. On visiting a church in a retired
part of Venice, he had the misfortune to fall through a badly covered
opening into one of the subterranean dead-vaults, and remained there
a long time before his cries for assistance were heard. This accident
induced so serious a tone of mind, that ever after he would write
nothing but sacred music.
I have again been to _Ruffini’s_ music parties also, and heard a
tragic opera by a young and early deceased composer, who had much
native talent but evinced also a complete deficiency of study. The
singer showed to more advantage in this opera than in the one they
gave previously; but the orchestra was just as unbearable. I sat next
to the formerly so celebrated singer _Crescentini_ (but, who is said
to have now wholly lost his voice, although he is scarcely fifty years
of age), and I had the satisfaction to find that his opinion upon the
present state of music in Italy agreed in every respect with mine.
His conversation evinced the highly cultivated artiste, free from the
trammels of prejudice. He deplored that at the present day the good
school of vocal music, the only one in which Italians had distinguished
themselves, had become more and more rare every day, and upon his
last return to Italy (I think he had been in Paris) he had found so
frivolous and bad a taste, that it no longer bore the least trace
of the former simple yet noble style of his time. To him, also, who
had heard much good music in Germany and France, the insipidity and
incorrectness of modern Italian music are abominations.
December 23.
Now that the festival of Christmas is approaching, begging, with which
one is plagued here at all times, will be carried on on a large scale.
Wherever you go, you are greeted with the cry of “Pleasant holidays!”
and you are then expected to pull out your purse. This system of
begging occurs, it is true, in Germany at New Year, but is by no means
so general as here. For instance, the servants of all the nobility and
gentry at whose houses have shewn yourself, if but once, come to beg
of you; and indeed at other times as well, foreigners are laid under
contribution by them. If you have paid the master a visit, the servant
comes the next day and asks you for a present. As one cannot give less
than three Paoli, it becomes a dear amusement to deliver many letters
of introduction here. The poor devils are certainly very badly paid,
and must resort to such a system of begging if they would not starve.
Yesterday _Meyerbeer_ and his mother arrived here. He received a letter
in Florence from _Carl M. von Weber_, and read to me from it the
gratifying intelligence that my Opera “Faust” had already been twice
performed at Prague with marked approbation.
December 25.
Last evening we were present at a service in the Sixtine chapel
preparatory to the approaching high festival. I had anticipated
something very effective but I found myself very much mistaken. The
illumination was by no means effective, for the chapel was soon so
filled with the smoke of the tapers that you could not see distinctly
ten paces before you. Instead of the four-voice Psalmody which I had
hoped for, the singers of the choir recited merely a rather long Litany
of prayers in _unison_, without any melody, something as the following:
[Music]
To listen to this for almost half an hour without interruption was the
greatest musical penitence that I ever endured. At length, in the midst
of a silent prayer, we were refreshed by a four-voiced solo, in which
the splendid soprano-voice before alluded to was again remarkable. But
immediately after this, the monotonous chaunt was again resumed, and
now we thought it preferable to work our way through the compact crowd
at the expense of great exertion rather than to endure it any longer.
This morning early we at length saw the head of the catholic church
in the highest ecclesiastical pomp perform mass in the church of
St. Peter. The high altar under the dome, divested of its habitual
covering, was radiant with gold and precious stones; the clergy and
cardinals, habited in their richest gold-embroidered stuffs, the
body-guard in their splendid uniform, the Swiss guard in their bright
polished old German armour, in a word all converted with the pope
contributed to render this service the most splendid spectacle ever
performed in a church. For more than a theatrical spectacle it was not
to the surrounding crowd: not a sign of emotion or spiritual elevation
was to be seen among the many thousand spectators! The appearance of
a spectacle got up for amusement was more especially given to it by
the circumstance that for the accommodation of the high personages who
were present--the king of Spain, the queen of Etruria, the princes
of Prussia, Gotha and others--a sumptuously decorated box had been
erected, and, that upon the amphitheatre the fashionable world of Rome
was present in full dress. A singular contrast with this splendour was
presented by the rags and dirt of the riff-raff of the Roman populace
who had pressed to the very step of the high altar. As the “service”
became tediously long, and what the singers sang was neither very
interesting, nor could be heard distinctly for the noise in the church,
we preferred to take a walk, as the weather was so mild and bright, but
returned in sufficient time to the church to see the procession, which
forms the close to the whole performance.
In front moved a detachment of the body-guard, behind these the
Cardinal’s hat was carried upon a sword; then came the Cardinals,
and lastly the Pope seated upon a richly decorated sedan or throne
borne by eight priests; on either side of him two large fans of white
ostrich feathers; then all the clergy, and lastly the remainder of
the body-guard and Swiss guards. During the procession, the Pope,
a venerable old man of 75, on whose pale and interesting face the
exhausting influence of frequent fast and of the long fatiguing service
were very distinctly visible, bestowed with a feeble motion of the
hand his blessing upon the people. But the latter shewed during this
no sign of devotion; not a knee was bent; there was laughing and loud
talking during the whole service. The procession passed out through a
side chapel into the Vatican. The immense size of the church could be
first rightly seen to-day, from the mass of human beings which it held.
It was full half an hour before they could make their exit through
three large doors.
December 27.