first chamber, our attention is attracted by the sarcophagus of C. L.
Scipio Barbatus. The spelling and grammar exhibit the ancient language
of Rome, before the cases of the nouns had received a settled form, and
the use of the ablative for the nominative and accusative, seems to
announce some degree of relation to the modern Italian. A little further
are the Torso and the Meleager, and turning to the left we enter a
court, in some little cabinets in the angles of which are the Apollo,
the Antinous, and the Laocoon.
In the first course that a stranger makes through the Vatican, criticism
is lost in admiration; but after repeatedly visiting this collection of
rarities, we are naturally desirous to distinguish a little more
precisely, the good from the bad; and the ancient sculpture from the
modern restorations. Just feeling, correct knowledge, and the habit of
observation, can alone furnish the means of determining the first
question, and here is the best school in the world to obtain these
qualifications; but there are various accidental circumstances with
respect to the second, which may greatly assist the judgment of the
inexperienced observer. Marble fragments are sometimes restored in
plaster; this is easily detected; but when the restorations are in
marble, there is often a difference of quality, which affords a guide
almost equally obvious, after a little attention to the marbles
themselves, and their mode of varying in the size of the grains, in
compactness, and in transparency. There are also, frequently slight
differences of colour, either in the whole mass or in particular parts,
the abrupt termination of which marks a modern addition. Ancient statues
of all sorts have usually been repaired with the marble of Carrara; and
as the ancient statues of this are comparatively few, they being
generally formed out of marble of a larger grain and looser texture, it
is not difficult to distinguish the modern parts. Again, when they are
restored in marble of the same nature, the substance is often not so
perfectly homogeneous, but that the eye can discover minute differences
of texture; and if these are continued across a joining, they form a
pretty decisive proof that the parts were originally one block. Some
indications may be taken from the joinings themselves. A statue is never
broken without some damage to the angles of the fracture, and the
joining is consequently either partially or wholly, wide and unfinished,
or filled up with plaster, or with accessory pieces of marble; if
therefore a neat even joining appear all the way round, it is a decisive
proof that one or both the pieces is modern. Any person who will take
the trouble to go thus through the Vatican, will I am persuaded find,
before he has completed his task, that he can generally distinguish the
restorations, before he is near enough to decide upon the qualities of
the marble. Yet he probably would not be able to do this, even in the
best casts. One circumstance which will strike him, is that almost every
emblem, or design, which determines the individuality of the statue, is
a modern addition. Considerable efforts have at times been made, to
repair the ancient figures in such a manner as to render it impossible
to separate the new from the old, and Thorwaldson has restored the Egina
marbles so perfectly, that I do not believe it possible for the most
practised eye to determine, with any certainty, which is which; but this
is a mistaken notion; it is better, on the contrary, that the difference
should be visible, not perhaps at the first glance, but by any person
who wishes to inquire into it: the confidence that certain parts are
antique, when it is known, as it always must be, that the whole is not
so, adds much to the interest of the observer; and in this way the Elgin
marbles ought to be restored. In their present state, the imagination of
the artist and skilful amateur readily supplies many deficiencies which
are necessary to the understanding of the form, attitude, and action of
the figure; but to the rest of the world these noble productions lose
much of their value, because they are not well understood; which they
would be if judiciously restored on this principle.
Connoisseurs find in the statues of the Vatican, a distinction between
the Greek and Roman schools of art. I have attempted to follow them, but
hitherto without success; as the best rule I have been able to hit upon
is, that those of the Greek school are of Italian, and those of the
Roman of Parian marble. The _beau ideal_ is another abstruse subject. It
is probable that the elasticity of the human skin, after repeated
stretchings, does not perfectly recover itself, but in youth, as long as
the body continues to grow, this is taken up by the increase of size.
Afterwards, seams and wrinkles gradually begin to appear. A similar
process takes place in the veins, and the protuberance of the lower part
of the trunk. Unless therefore we suppose an immortality like that of
Swift’s Struldbrugs, we must suppose in the gods, the perfect recovery
of the parts after action, and consequently they can have no wrinkles;
and no veins, except when they are swelled by strong muscular action.
This seems a necessary consequence of their nature, rather than any part
of the beau ideal. We might perhaps go a step farther, and conclude,
that beings who were nourished with nectar and ambrosia, or with the
smell of sacrifices, could not require very large digestive organs.
Again, the strength of gods is not founded on ‘cumbrous flesh,’ or on
‘the brittle strength of bones,’ and therefore the expression of muscle
and bone is to be kept down; but as the sculptor has no other way of
giving the appearance of force, something of these must be preserved. It
is probably not true that great muscular strength is always accompanied
by distinctly marked muscles. The fibres may be supposed individually
stronger, instead of more numerous. Topham, so celebrated for his
extraordinary force, is said to have been remarkably round and smooth in
his forms. To overcharge the muscles, may not therefore be the best way
of expressing strength, and when in action, if the effect be given, the
less the appearance of exertion, the more is the idea of supereminent
force excited.
From this court, which I mentioned so long ago that you have perhaps
forgotten it, and which, besides the productions above-mentioned,
contains some beautiful baths of porphyry, granite, and basalt,
bas-reliefs, sarcophagi, &c., we pass into the hall of the animals;
these are executed in various marbles, and some of them are of the
greatest beauty and truth. In some instances marbles of different
colours are employed to indicate the various colours of the animal. The
room is about 110 feet long, and 30 wide, and seems entirely filled with
them. From this we enter a long gallery of statues and busts, of which
the extreme length is about 200 feet, and the width about 25. On one
side of this room is an elegant little cabinet, containing the _Venere
accoviata_, a beautiful fawn of rosso antico, and other things of the
same scarce marble, too numerous for me to mention, and among these
productions of ancient art, four beautiful columns of modern alabaster
from Monte Circello, the best parts of which are equal to the oriental.
Returning into the animal room, we enter from that into the hall of the
Muses, and afterwards to the noble Sala Rotonda. In the middle of this
is a great basin of porphyry, fourteen feet in diameter, in a single
block. Throughout most of the Vatican, the apartments themselves are of
little importance; we visit them for the objects they contain; but this
is a magnificent room. The pavement is an ancient mosaic.
The next in succession is the Sala a croce Greca, whose name indicates
its form. In this room are the two great sarcophagi, supposed to have
contained, one the ashes of Helena, the mother of Constantine, the other
those of his sister. As they are now, they have not the appearance of
productions of the same age. Perhaps this may arise from modern
restorations; but they both agree in this, that they are rather
monuments of labour and expense, than of taste and skill.
A double flight of steps conducts us to a vestibule, whence we enter the
beautiful little circular room of the Biga, so denominated from an
ancient two horse car, executed in marble, and adorned with the most
delicate ornamental sculpture. The whole of one horse and the limbs of
the other are modern restorations, but the chariot itself is nearly
entire. If an English coachmaker had it, he would certainly think the
pole inserted the wrong way. The beautiful sculptures of this room I
shall pass over in silence, as I have so many others.
Returning from the Biga room, we enter a long gallery, corresponding to
that by which we entered the museum, but a story higher. This is divided
into several parts, the Gallery of miscellaneous objects, the Gallery of
candelabra, containing also a multitude of vases, some finely
sculptured, others precious for the elegance of their forms, or the
rarity and beauty of the marble of which they are composed. The last
part is the geographical gallery, exhibiting a collection of maps
painted on the walls; a fine idea, but one of the few things here, which
could be better executed in modern times. After all this we arrive at
the chambers hung with the tapestry from Raphael’s designs, through
which I have already conducted you.
Of the Library of the Vatican every one has heard, and I believe it is
not very difficult to obtain permission to make use of it, but I have
hitherto been satisfied with seeing it. The principal room is 198 feet
long, and 49 wide, but divided by a range of piers along the middle. The
books are in cases entirely close, round the piers, and between the
windows. These cases are placed on both sides, and are very low in
proportion to the room, so that they look like chests, which is the name
the Italians give to them. The arrangement of the architecture is
neither beautiful nor suited to its purpose. Beyond this the library
extends under the galleries of geography, and of the miscellaneous
objects, that is for near a thousand feet, divided into several rooms;
but the books are all closed, and you never feel as if you were in a
library. Upwards of six hundred fictile vases are placed on the
cabinets, but they are so lost in the space over which they are
scattered, that we seem to have seen very few.
1826.
Since my former visit, a new hall has been added to this museum, which
is usually distinguished by the name of Braccio Nuovo. It runs across
the long court or garden, surrounded by the suite of apartments above
described. The central division is covered by a _velum_; that is, by a
cupola, the diameter of which is equal to the diagonal of the square on
which it rises, and of which consequently the sides are cut away. I do
not much admire it, but the panelling is badly managed. The other parts
are covered with a continued vault, in which the light is admitted by
square holes along the crown; this also displeases me. The _cornice
architravata_ is likewise a defect. The cornice represents, says
Milizia, the edge of the roof, it is therefore absurd to shew it
internally. True, echoed the Italian architects, we will therefore omit
the frieze, and Milizia seems to have admitted the deduction. The parts
also, though very beautiful, are too much ornamented. The object of the
architect seems to have been a fine hall, ornamented with statues, but
in a museum the statues ought to be the principal object, and the
architecture subordinate to them. The room of the Biga is not free from
this latter imputation.
LETTER XXIX.
PALACES OF ROME.
_Rome, April, 1817._
ONE does not at first do justice to the architecture of the Roman
palaces. The great size of many of them, and the abundance, and bold
projection of the ornaments, produce indeed a general impression of
magnificence, but if we can get space enough in front to examine the
parts distinctly, we often turn away dissatisfied from the absurdity and
disproportion they exhibit. Yet with great faults, we may find amongst
them great beauties, which, when habit has enabled us to support their
defects, the mind learns to enjoy. Generally speaking, there is great
simplicity of design, so much so, that in a large number, the front is
not divided into parts, either as a centre and two wings, or in any
other way, but presents one simple continued line of surface; and this I
am persuaded is the best plan which can be adopted for large houses in
streets. They also exhibit much richness of detail, and you know,
simplicity of design and richness of detail, form my receipt for the
production of beauty in architecture. It is true that these details are
frequently very far from correct in themselves, and the proportions not
always good; but to an architect, the modern palaces of Rome are
invaluable, as a collection of experiments on architectural beauty on a
grand scale; and let me add, in a grand style, for however they may be
abused as extravagant, absurd, or preposterous, they at least avoid the
greatest fault that a building can have, that of being mean and paltry.
The Romans even in these their degenerate days, have adopted a style fit
for those who had the world at their command. These palaces are rarely
decorated, either with columns or pilasters, and they are better without
them; for these never look well in a building of many stories in height.
Ornaments round the windows are never omitted, and never should be
omitted, for without them a window is a mere hole in the wall. The Roman
architects have more often erred in making these dressings, as they are
called, too large than too small, and their details are frequently very
bad; yet even in their worst state they contribute greatly to the
general beauty of a building, much more so when they are well designed.
The stories are generally divided by horizontal bands or mouldings along
the front, and great space is left between the ranges of windows. This
latter circumstance is of great importance. It gives an air of solidity
and magnificence to the front, and suggests the idea of lofty rooms
within; and it is a great point gained, when in addition to the
magnificence which is seen, the artist can excite the idea of other
magnificence which is not seen. This space is however sometimes broken
by a disagreeable mezzanine. The whole is crowned by a large and rich
cornice. The perfect beau ideal of such an arrangement is not to be
found in Rome, although some of its palaces are highly beautiful, but it
cannot fail to be excited in the mind of an architect who attentively
studies them. The body of the edifice is nothing but a useful
dwelling-house, the ornaments naturally arise out of the construction
required for such an object, and the design is capable of any degree of
magnificence suited to the rank and consequence of the owner. In short,
we find in it every thing which can satisfy the eye, the imagination,
and the judgment. For a public building it is not so well suited, nor
perhaps for the palace of a sovereign, which ought to partake of the
character of a public building; nor should I recommend it for a country
villa; we want there less height, less solidity, and more variety of
form; less of the grand, and more of the agreeable; yet even here, the
plain unbroken line is much superior to the unmeaning division into a
centre and wings, or into five parts, both of which are so frequently
seen in our English dwellings.
Before I enter into any detail of the private palaces, I must say
something about the celebrated Campidoglio. This of course is among the
first objects of a stranger at Rome. But after walking along the Corso,
and keeping in his eye the confused pile of buildings at the end, which
he is told covers part of the Capitoline hill, he is lost among a
labyrinth of narrow dirty streets. At length, if he is fortunate enough
to take the right direction, he will find himself in a small square at
the foot of two lofty flights of steps. The one on the left, which is
the longest and steepest, conducts him to the apparently half-finished
front of a Gothic building, the Madonna di Ara Cœli. The right leads to
the _Intermonzio_, and the modern Capitol. At the bottom of this flight
are two lions of basalt, of Greek-Egyptian workmanship, which squirt a
little stream of water from their mouths, or occasionally on great
festivals, of wine. At top, a continued balustrade, which on each side
of the step completes the north-western side of the place or square, is
accompanied by colossal statues of men and horses, and by trophies taken
from a ruined building on the Esquiline, thought to have been the
castellum of the Aqua Marcia, and believed to be of the time of Trajan,
though the trophies themselves are attributed to Marius. I shall not
criticise any of these individually, but remark their fine effect
altogether, as uniting with the architecture, and announcing the
magnificence to be expected in the Capitol itself. The admirable
equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius next attracts our attention, and
deserves equal praise from its individual merit, and as an ornament to
the square. The attitude and expression are at once graceful and
commanding, and suited to the philosophic and benevolent master of the
Roman world. He gives not the least attention to himself or to his
horse, but is entirely occupied with his people.
I have been induced to mention these accessories before the building
itself, because they first strike the eye. I will now proceed to the
examination of what is perhaps the best architectural work of M. Angelo
Buonarroti. Its merit depends a good deal on the same circumstances as
that of St. Mark’s Place at Venice, that is, the two side buildings form
an avenue conducting to the central one. Its faults are, First, that
this central building has not sufficient _character_. It hardly looks
like the principal, and I believe in such cases that a bad display of
architecture is better than none at all, because the general effect
depends more upon the air of comparative importance, than upon the
excellence of the parts. Perhaps also, its destination is not
sufficiently important. All the fine arts speak to the imagination, and
the true artist uses every means in his power to excite the imagination
in his favour; not from system, but because he feels its importance in
himself. Secondly, The lines of the side buildings diverge, and this
makes them appear shorter than they are, when it would be better that
they should appear longer, as I have already explained, in the colonnade
of St. Peter’s. Thirdly, A large ugly window has been inserted in the
middle of each side, thereby making it a separate composition; and there
are no positions more certain, than that unity of design is essential to
magnificence, and that in order to preserve unity of design, the
inferior parts should not form independent compositions. This however
was not done by M. A. Buonarroti, but by his pupil, Giacomo del Duca.
The earliest architects of modern Rome have the merit of preserving
unbroken the leading lines of their architecture; a beauty which seems
to have been little attended to by their successors in any country; but
which nevertheless, everybody feels, when he brings into comparison,
buildings in other respects nearly similar.
Of the three buildings which form this architectural composition, that
on the left hand side of the spectator as he enters, contains the Museum
Capitolinum. That on the right is termed the Palace of the Conservatori.
The front building is the Palace of the solitary senator of Rome. An
open portico supported, or appearing to be supported, by small Ionic
columns, about half the height of the principal order, extends along the
front of each side building. The capitals of these Ionic columns are
very singular, and are perhaps the earliest modern examples of such
capitals, with the volutes uniformly projecting in the diagonal, instead
of being parallel to the face of the building. We have ancient specimens
of this kind at Pompei, but it is hardly probable that M. Angelo was
acquainted with them. In the museum, you enter from this portico through
a small vestibule, into a gallery of the same length, the central part
of which is open to a small court, whence it derives its light. This
court is ornamented with statues, and amongst them is that of Marforio,
the ancient rival of Pasquin, but both have long been silent. Indeed,
Misson in his travels in Italy in 1688, speaks of it as a practice which
perhaps once existed. “’Tis very probable,” says he, “that it used
formerly to be the custom, to affix the pasquinades on the statue of
Pasquin, but that way is now laid aside, and all the satirical
invectives are still fathered on Pasquin, though they never come near
him.”
From this gallery you pass into three rooms in front of the building,
the first of which contains imitations of Egyptian statues, in perfect
preservation, found at the Villa Adriana. They are mostly of black
marble, and strongly exhibit marks of their Grecian origin; but there
are some of basalt, which have a truer Egyptian character. In the last
is the famous sarcophagus, supposed, I know not why, to have contained
the bodies of Alexander Severus, and his mother Mammæa. The bas-reliefs
surrounding it represent the exploits of Achilles, and those of the
front, and of one end are good, and in some parts really fine; the other
end is inferior, and the back is miserable. The figures at the top,
whoever they may represent, are not well executed.
In the walls of the staircase are encrusted the fragments of the ancient
marble plan of Rome, found in the Temple of Remus. It is a pity that
they are only fragments, but still it is a very curious monument, if it
were only to show how incorrect the Romans were in these things. The
date is not I think, determined, but we may suppose that a plan
sculptured in marble and preserved in a temple, would have all the
accuracy of which the subject was considered to be capable; and it is on
a scale which would admit the greatest precision. Yet in buildings with
columns, not only are these of unequal sizes, and placed at unequal
distances, but even the number of them is disregarded; thus to mention
one instance among many—the temple of Minerva is figured with six
columns in front, and eight behind, a circumstance quite incredible.
Above stairs is a long gallery over that below. This, and five rooms in
front, and one behind, are all filled with objects of great beauty or
interest. One room contains a series of busts of Roman emperors and
their wives. I wonder no one of our countrymen has thought of forming an
historical series in plaster, of the emperors at least. This collection,
added to those at Florence and Naples, would afford the materials, and
opportunity also of selecting in a great many instances, the best, among
a considerable number. Another room is occupied with busts of poets and
philosophers. As for the beautiful objects of sculpture, they are too
celebrated for me to venture a word upon them. The rooms are handsome
and well disposed. The great hall, in particular, is a noble room of
fine proportions, and the bold relief of the panelling of the lofty
ceiling corresponds with the general air of solid magnificence, but its
disposition is sadly complicated. As receptacles for sculpture, the
light is introduced too low.