so manifoldly and thoroughly altered by the changes of time, but, sees
nevertheless, the same soil, the same mountains, and often indeed the
same walls and columns, one becomes, as it were, a contemporary of
the great counsels of Fortune, and thus it becomes difficult for the
observer to trace from the beginning Rome following Rome, and not only
new Rome succeeding to the old, but also the several epochs of both old
and new in succession. I endeavour, first of all, to grope my way alone
through the obscurer parts, for this is the only plan by which one can
hope fully and completely to perfect by the excellent introductory
works which have been written from the fifteenth century to the present
day. The first artists and scholars have occupied their whole lives
with these objects.
And this vastness has a strangely tranquillizing effect upon you
in Rome, while you pass from place to place, in order to visit the
most remarkable objects. In other places one has to search for what
is important; here one is oppressed, and borne down with numberless
phenomena. Wherever one goes and casts a look around, the eye is at
once struck with some landscape,--forms of every kind and style;
palaces and ruins, gardens and statuary, distant views of villas,
cottages and stables, triumphal arches and columns, often crowding
so close together, that they might all be sketched on a single sheet
of paper. He ought to have a hundred hands to write, for what can a
single pen do here; and, besides, by the evening one is quite weary and
exhausted with the day's seeing and admiring.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 7, 1786.
Pardon me, my friends, if for the future you find me rather chary of
my words. On one's travels one usually rakes together all that we meet
on one's way; every day brings something new, and one then hastens to
think upon and to judge of it. Here, however, we come into a very great
school indeed, where every day says so much, that we cannot venture
to say anything of the day itself. Indeed, people would do well if,
tarrying here for years together, they observed awhile a Pythagorean
silence.
* * * * *
_Nov._ 1786.
I am quite well. The weather, as the Romans say, is _brutto._ The south
wind, the scirocco, is blowing, and brings with it every day more or
less of rain; for my part, I do not find the weather disagreeable; such
as it is, it is warmer than the rainy days of summer are with us.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 7, 1786.
The more I become acquainted with Tischbein's talents, as well as his
principles and views of art, the higher I appreciate and value them. He
has laid before me his drawings and sketches; they have great merit,
and are full of high promise. His visit to Bodmer led him to fix his
thoughts on the infancy of the human race, when man found himself
standing on the earth, and had to solve the problem, how he must best
fulfil his destiny as the Lord of Creation.
As a suggestive introduction to a series of illustrations of this
subject, he has attempted symbolically to vindicate the high antiquity
of the world. Mountains overgrown with noble forests,--ravines worn out
by watercourses,--burnt out volcanoes still faintly smoking. In the
foreground the mighty stock of a patriarchal oak still remains in the
ground, on whose half-bared roots a deer is trying the strength of his
horns,--a conception as fine as it is beautifully executed.
In another most remarkable piece he has painted man yoking the horse,
and by his superior skill, if not strength, bringing all the other
creatures of the earth, the air, and the water under his dominion.
The composition is of an extraordinary beauty; when finished in oils
it cannot fail of producing a great effect. A drawing of it must, at
any cost, be secured for Weimar. When this is finished, he purposes
to paint an assembly of old men, aged and experienced in council,--in
which he intends to introduce the portraits of living personages. At
present, however, he is sketching away with the greatest enthusiasm on
a battle-piece. Two bodies of cavalry are fighting with equal courage
and resolution; between them yawns an awful chasm, which but few horses
would attempt to clear. The arts of defensive warfare are useless here.
A wild resolve, a bold attack, a successful leap, or else to be hurled
in the abyss below! This picture will afford him an opportunity to
display, in a very striking manner, the knowledge winch he possesses of
horses, and of their make and movements.
Now it is Tischbein's wish to have these sketches, and a series of
others to follow, or to be intercalated between them, connected
together by a poem, which may serve to explain the drawings, and, by
giving them a definite context, may lend to them both a body and a
charm.
The idea is beautiful, only the artist and the poet must be many years
together, in order to carry out and to execute such a work.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Rome--Raffaele.]
_Rome, November 7_, 1786.
The "_Loggie_" of Raffaele, and the great pictures of the "School of
Athens," &c., I have now seen for the first and only time; so that for
me to judge of them at present is like a man having to make out and to
judge of Homer from some half-obliterated and much-injured manuscript.
The gratification of the first impression is incomplete; it is only
when they have been carefully studied and examined, one by one, that
the enjoyment becomes perfect. The best preserved are the paintings on
the ceilings of the _Loggie._ They are as fresh as if painted yesterday
The subjects are symbolical. Very few, however, are by Raffaele's own
hand, but they are excellently executed, after his designs and under
his eye.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 7, 1786.
Many a time, in years past, did I entertain the strange whim, as
ardently to wish that I might one day be taken to Italy by some
well-educated man,--by some Englishman, well learned in art and in
history; and now it has all been brought about much better than I could
have anticipated. Tischbein has long lived here; he is a sincere friend
to me, and during his stay here always cherished the wish of being able
one day to show Rome to me. Our intimacy is old by letter though new by
presence. Where could I meet with a worthier guide? And if my time is
limited, I will at least learn and enjoy as much as possible; and yet,
notwithstanding, I clearly foresee, that when I leave Rome I shall wish
that I was coming to it.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 8, 1786.
My strange, and perhaps whimsical, incognito proves useful to me
in many ways that I never should have thought of. As every one
thinks himself in duty bound to ignore who I am, and consequently
never ventures to speak to me of myself and my works, they have
no alternative left them but to speak of themselves, or of the
matters in which they are most interested, and in this way I become
circumstantially informed of the occupations of each, and of everything
remarkable that is either taken in hand or produced. Hofrath
Reiffenstein good-naturedly humours this whim of mine; as, however,
for special reasons, he could not bear the name which I had assumed,
he immediately made a Baron of me, and I am now called the "_Baron
gegen Rondanini über_" (the Baron who lives opposite to the Palace
Rondanini). This designation is sufficiently precise, especially as the
Italians are accustomed to speak of people either by their Christian
names, or else by some nickname. Enough; I have gained my object; and I
escape the dreadful annoyance of having to give to everybody an account
of myself and my works.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 9, 1786.
I frequently stand still a moment to survey, as it were, the heights I
have already won. With much delight I look back to Venice, that grand
creation that sprang out of the bosom of the sea, like Minerva out of
the head of Jupiter. In Rome, the Rotunda, both by its exterior and
interior, has moved me to offer a willing homage to its magnificence.
In S. Peter's I learned to understand how art, no less than nature,
annihilates the artificial measures and dimensions of man. And in the
same way the Apollo Belvidere also has again drawn me out of reality.
For as even the most correct engravings furnish no adequate idea of
these buildings, so the case is the same with respect to the marble
original of this statue, as compared with the plaister models of it,
which, however, I formerly used to look upon as beautiful.
* * * * *
_Rome, November_ 10, 1786.
Here I am now living with a calmness and tranquillity to which I have
for a long while been a stranger. My practice to see and take all
things as they are, my fidelity in letting the eye be my light, my
perfect renunciation of all pretension, have again come to my aid, and
make me calmly, but most intensely, happy. Every day has its fresh
remarkable object,--every day its new grand unequalled paintings, and a
whole which a man may long think of, and dream of, but which with all
his power of imagination he can never reach.
[Sidenote: Rome-The Grotto of Egeria, &c.]
Yesterday I was at the Pyramid of Cestius, and in the evening on the
Palatine, on the top of which are the ruins of the palace of the
Cæsars, which stand there like walls of rock. Of all this, however, no
idea can be conveyed! In truth, there is nothing little here; although,
indeed, occasionally something to find fault with,--something more
or less absurd in taste, and yet even this partakes of the universal
grandeur of all around.
When, however, I return to myself, as every one so readily does on
all occasions, I discover within a feeling which does not infinitely
delight me--one, indeed, which I may even express. Whoever here looks
around with earnestness, and has eyes to see, must become in a measure
solid--he cannot but apprehend an idea of solidity with a vividness
which is nowhere else possible.
The mind becomes, as it were, primed with capacity, with an earnestness
without severity, and with a definiteness of character with joy. With
me, at least, it seems as if I had never before so rightly estimated
the things of the world as I do here; I rejoice when I think of the
blessed effects of all this on the whole of my future being. And let me
jumble together the things as I may, order will somehow come into them.
I am not here to enjoy myself after my own fashion, but to busy myself
with the great objects around, to learn, and to improve myself, ere I
am forty years old.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 11, 1786.
Yesterday I visited the nymph Egeria, and then the Hippodrome of
Caracalla, the ruined tombs along the Via Appia, and the tomb of
Metella, which is the first to give one a true idea of what solid
masonry really is. These men worked for eternity--all causes of decay
were calculated, except the rage of the spoiler, which nothing can
resist. Right heartily did I wish you had been there. The remains of
the principal aqueduct are highly venerable. How beautiful and grand a
design, to supply a whole people with water by so vast a structure! In
the evening we came upon the Coliseum, when it was already twilight.
When one looks at it, all else seems little; the edifice is so vast,
that one cannot hold the image of it in one's soul--in memory we think
it smaller, and then return to it again to find it every time greater
than before.
-------
_Frascati, Nov._ 15.
The company are all in bed, and I am writing with Indian ink which they
use for drawing. We have had two beautiful days without rain, warm and
genial sunshine, so that summer is scarcely missed. The country around
is very pleasant; the village lies on the side of a hill, or rather
of a mountain, and at every step the draughtsman comes upon the most
glorious objects. The prospect is unbounded--Rome lies before you,
and beyond it, on the right, is the sea, the mountains of Tivoli, and
so on. In this delightful region country houses are built expressly
for pleasure, and as the ancient Romans had here their villas, so
for centuries past their rich and haughty successors have planted
country residences on all the loveliest spots. For two days we have
been wandering about here, and almost every step has brought us upon
something new and attractive.
And yet it is hard to say whether the evenings have not passed still
more agreeably than the days. As soon as our stately hostess has placed
on the round table the bronzed lamp with its three wicks, and wished
us _felicissime notte_, we all form a circle round it, and the views
are produced which have been drawn and sketched during the day; their
merits are discussed, opinions are taken whether the objects might or
not have been taken more favourably, whether their true characters have
been caught, and whether all requisitions of a like general nature,
which may justly be looked for in a first sketch, have been fulfilled.
Hofrath Reiffenstein, by his judgment and authority, contrives to
give order to, and to conduct these sittings. But the merit of this
delightful arrangement is due to Philipp Hackert, who has a most
excellent taste both in drawing and finishing views from nature.
Artists and dilettanti, men and women, old and young--he would let no
one rest, but stimulated every one to make the attempt at any rate
according to their gifts and powers, and led the way with his own good
example. The little society thus collected, and held together, Hofrath
Reiffenstein has, after the departure of his friend, faithfully kept
up, and we all feel a laudable desire to awake in every one an active
participation. The peculiar turn and character of each member of the
society is thus shown in a most agreeable way. For instance, Tischbein,
as an historical painter, looks upon scenery with very different eyes
from the landscape painter; he sees significant groups, and other
graceful speaking objects, where another can see nothing, and so he
happily contrives to catch up many a naive-trait of humanity,--it
may be in children, peasants, mendicants, or other such beings of
nature, or even in animals, which with a few characteristic touches,
he skilfully manages to portray, and thereby contributes much new and
agreeable matter for our discussions.
When conversation is exhausted, at Hackert's suggestion, perhaps, some
one reads aloud Sulzer's Theory; for although from a high point of
view it is impossible to rest contented with this work, nevertheless,
as some one observed, it is so far satisfactory as it is calculated to
exercise a favourable influence on minds less highly cultivated.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 17, 1786.
We are back again! During the night we have had an awful torrent of
rain, with thunder and lightning; it is still raining, but withal very
warm.
[Sidenote: Rome-Farnese Gallery, &c.]
As regards myself, however, it is only with few words that I can
indicate the happiness of this day. I have seen the frescoes of
_Domenichino_ in _Andrea della Valle_, and also the Farnese Gallery of
Caraccio's. Too much, forsooth, for months-what, then, for a single day!
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 18, 1786.
It is again beautiful, weather, a bright genial warm day. I saw in
the _Farnesine_ palace the story of Psyche, coloured copies of which
have so long adorned my room, and then at S. Peter's, in Montorio, the
Transfiguration by Raffaelle--all well known paintings--like friends
which one has made in the distance by means of letters, and which for
the first time one sees face to face. To live with them, however, is
something quite different; every true relation and false relation
becomes immediately evident.
Moreover, in every spot and corner glorious things are to be met with,
of which less has been said, and which have not been scattered over the
world by engravings and copies. Of these I shall bring away with me
many a drawing from the hands of young but excellent artists.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 18, 1786.
The fact that I long maintained a correspondence with Tischbein, and
was consequently on the best terms possible with him, and that even
when I had no hope of ever visiting Italy, I had communicated to him
my wishes, has made our meeting most profitable and delightful; he
has been always thinking of me, even providing for my wants. With the
varieties of stone, of which all the great edifices, whether old or new
are built, he has made himself perfectly acquainted; he has thoroughly
studied them, and his studies have been greatly helped by his artistic
eye, and the artist's pleasure in sensible things. Just before my
arrival here he sent off to Weimar a collection of specimens which he
had selected for me, which will give me a friendly welcome on my return.
An ecclesiastic who is now residing in France, and had it in
contemplation to write a work on the ancient marbles, received through
the influence of the Propaganda some large pieces of marble from the
Island of Paros. When they arrived here they were cut up for specimens,
and twelve different pieces, from the finest to the coarsest grain,
were reserved for me. Some were of the greatest purity, while others
are more or less mingled with mica, the former being used for statuary,
the latter for architecture. How much an accurate knowledge of the
material employed in the arts must contribute to a right estimate of
them, must be obvious to every one.
There are opportunities enough here for my collecting many more
specimens. In our way to the ruins of Nero's palace, we passed through
some artichoke grounds newly turned up, and we could not resist the
temptation to cram our pockets full of the granite, porphyry, and
marble slabs which lie here by thousands, and serve as unfailing
witnesses to the ancient splendour of the walls which were once covered
with them.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 18, 1786.
I must now speak of a wonderful problematical picture, which even in
the midst of the many gems here, still makes a good show of its own.
[Sidenote: Rome.]
For many years there had been residing here a Frenchman well known as
an admirer of the arts, and a collector; he had got hold of an antique
drawing in chalk, no one knows how or whence. He had it retouched by
Mengs, and kept it in his collection as a work of very great value.
Winckelmann somewhere speaks of it with enthusiasm. The Frenchman died,
and left the picture to his hostess as an antique. Mengs, too, died,
and declared on his death-bed that it was not an antique, but had been
painted by himself. And now the whole world is divided in opinion, some
maintaining that Mengs had one day, in joke, dashed it off with much
facility; others asserting that Mengs could never do anything like
it--indeed, that it is almost too beautiful for Raffaelle. I saw it
yesterday, and must confess that I do not know anything more beautiful
than the figure of Ganymede, especially the head and shoulders; the
rest has been much renovated. However, the painting is in ill repute,
and no one will relieve the poor landlady of her treasure.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 20, 1786.
As experience fully teaches us that there is a general pleasure in
having poems, whatever may be their subject, illustrated with drawings
and engravings--nay, that the painter himself usually selects a passage
of some poet or other for the subject of his most elaborate paintings,
Tischbein's idea is deserving of approbation, that poets and painters
should work together from the very first, in order to secure a perfect
unity. The difficulty would assuredly be greatly lessened, if it
were applied to little pieces, such as that the whole design would
easily admit of being taken in at once by the mind, and worked out
consistently with the original plan.
Tischbein has suggested for such common labours some very delightful
idyllic thoughts, and it is really singular, that those which he wishes
to see worked out in this way are really such as neither poetry nor
painting, alone, could ever adequately describe. During our walks
together he has talked with me about them, in the hopes of gaining
me over to his views, and getting me to enter upon the plan. The
frontispiece for such a joint work is already designed; and did I not
fear to enter upon any new tasks at present, I might perhaps be tempted.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 22, 1786. _The Feast of St. Cecilia._
The morning of this happy day I must endeavour to perpetuate by a
few lines, and at least by description to impart to others what I
have myself enjoyed. The weather has been beautiful and calm, quite a
bright sky, and a warm sun. Accompanied by Tischbein, I set off for
the Piazza of St. Peter's, where we went about first of all from one
part to another; when it became too hot for that, walked up and down
in the shade of the great obelisk, which is full wide enough for two
abreast, and eating grapes which we purchased in the neighbourhood.
Then we entered the Sistine Chapel, which we found bright and cheerful,
and with a good light for the pictures. "The Last Judgment" divided our
admiration with the paintings on the roof by Michael Angelo. I could
only see and wonder. The mental confidence and boldness of the master,
and his grandeur of conception, are beyond all expression. After we
had looked at all of them over and over again, we left this sacred
building, and went to St. Peter's, which received from the bright
heavens the loveliest light possible, and every part of it was clearly
lit up. As men willing to be pleased, we were delighted with its
vastness and splendour, and did not allow an over nice or hypocritical
taste to mar our pleasure. We suppressed every harsher judgment: we
enjoyed the enjoyable.
[Sidenote: Rome--St. Peter's.]
Lastly we ascended the roof of the church, where one finds in little
the plan of a well-built city. Houses and magazines, springs (in
appearance at least), churches, and a great temple all in the air,
and beautiful walks between. We mounted the dome, and saw glistening
before us the regions of the Apennines, Soracte, and towards Tivoli the
volcanic hills. Frascati, Castelgandolfo, and the plains, and beyond
all the sea. Close at our feet lay the whole city of Rome in its length
and breadth, with its mountain palaces, domes, &c. Not a breath of air
was moving, and in the upper dome it was (as they say) like being in a
hot-house. When we had looked enough at these things, we went down, and
they opened for us the doors in the cornices of the dome, the tympanum,
and the nave. There is a passage all round, and from above you can take
a view of the whole church, and of its several parts. As we stood on
the cornices of the tympanum, we saw beneath us the pope passing to his
mid-day devotions. Nothing, therefore, was wanting to make our view of
St. Peter's perfect. We at last descended to the area, and took in a
neighbouring hotel a cheerful but frugal meal, and then set off for St.
Cecilia's.
It would take many words to describe the decorations of this church,
which was crammed full of people; not a stone of the edifice was to be
seen. The pillars were covered with red velvet wound round with gold
lace; the capitals were overlaid with embroidered velvet, so as to
retain somewhat of the appearance of capitals, and all the cornices and
pillars were in like manner covered with hangings. All the entablatures
of the walls were also covered with life-like paintings, so that the
whole church seemed to be laid out in mosaic. Around the church, and
on the high altar more than two hundred wax tapers were burning. It
looked like a wall of lights, and the whole nave was perfectly lit
up. The aisles and side altars were equally adorned and illuminated.
Right opposite the high altar, and under the organ, two scaffolds were
erected, which also were covered with velvet, on one of which were
placed the singers, and on the other the instruments, which kept up one
unbroken strain of music. The church was crammed full.
I have heard an excellent kind of musical accompaniment, just as
there are concerts of violins, or of other instruments, so here
they had concerts of voices; so that one voice--the soprano for
instance--predominates, and sings solo, while from time to time the
chorus of other voices falls in, and accompanies it, always of course
with the whole orchestra. It has a good effect. I must end, as we in
fact ended the day. In the evening we come upon the Opera, where no
less a piece than "I Litiganti" was being performed, but we had all the
day enjoyed so much of excellence, that we passed by the door.
* * * * *
_Rome, Nov._ 23, 1786.