the ostrich, which thinks itself to be concealed when it has hid its
head, so in certain cases I give it up, still maintaining, however,
my old thesis. I had without hesitation paid a visit of compliment to
the Prince von Lichtenstein, the brother of my much-esteemed friend
the Countess Harrach, and occasionally dined with him, and I soon
perceived that my good-nature in this instance was likely to lead me
much further. They began to feel their way, and to talk to me of the
Abbé _Monti_, and of his tragedy of Aristodemus, which is shortly to
be brought out on the stage. The author, it was said, wished above all
things to read it to me, and to hear my opinion of it, but I contrived,
however, to let the matter drop, without positively refusing; at last,
however, I met the poet and some of his friends at the prince's house,
and the play was read aloud.
The hero is, as is well known, the King of Sparta, who by various
scruples of conscience was driven to commit suicide. Prettily enough
they contrived to intimate to me their hope that the author of Werther
would not take it ill if he found some of the rare passages of his own
work made use of in this drama. And so even before the walls of Sparta
I can not escape from this unhappy youth.
The piece has a very simple and calm movement, the sentiments as well
as the language are well suited to the subject,--full of energy, and
yet of tenderness. The work is a proof of very fair talents.
I failed not, according to my fashion, (not, indeed, after the Italian
fashion) to point out, and to dwell upon all the excellencies and
merits of the piece, with which, indeed, all present were tolerably
satisfied, though still with Southern impatience they seemed to require
something more. I even ventured to predict what effect it was to be
hoped the piece would have from the public. I excused myself on account
of my ignorance of the country, its way of thinking and tastes, but
was candid enough to add, that I did not clearly see how the Romans,
with their vitiated taste, who were accustomed to see as an interlude
either a complete comedy of three acts, or an opera of two, or could
not sit out a grand opera, without the intermezzo of wholly foreign
ballets, could ever take delight in the calm, noble movement of a
regular tragedy. Then, again, the subject of a suicide seemed to me to
be altogether out of the pale of an Italian's ideas. That they stabbed
men to death, I knew by daily report of such events; but that any one
should deprive himself of his own precious existence, or even should
hold it possible for another to do so; of that no trace or symptom had
ever been brought under my notice.
[Sidenote: Rome--Monti's Aristodemus.]
However I allowed myself to be circumstantially enlightened as to all
that might be urged in answer to my objections, and readily yielded to
their plausible arguments. I also assured them I wished for nothing so
much as to see the piece acted, and with a band of friends to welcome
it with the most downright and loudest applause. This assurance was
received in the most friendly manner possible, and I had this time at
least no cause to be dissatisfied with my compliance--for indeed Prince
Lichstenstein is politeness itself, and found opportunity for my seeing
in his company many precious works of art, a sight of which is not
easily obtained without special permission, and for which consequently
high influence is indispensable. On the other hand, my good humour
failed me, when the daughter of the Pretender expressed a wish to see
the strange marmoset. I declined the honour, and once more completely
shrouded myself beneath my disguise.
But still that is not altogether the right way, and I here feel most
sensibly what I have often before observed in life, that the man who
makes good his first wish, must be on the alert and active, must oppose
himself to very much besides the selfish, the mean, and the bad. It is
easy to see this, but is extremely difficult to act in the spirit of it.
* * * * *
_Nov._ 24, 1786.
Of the people I can say nothing more than that they are fine children
of nature, who, amidst pomp and honours of all kinds, religion and
the arts, are not one jot different from what they would be in caves
and forests. What strikes the stranger most, and what to-day is
making the whole city to talk, but only to _talk_, is the common
occurrence of assassination. To-day the victim has been an excellent
artist--Schwendemann, a Swiss, a medallionist. The particulars of his
death greatly resemble those of Windischmann's. The assassin with whom
he was struggling gave him twenty stabs, and as the watch came up, the
villain stabbed himself. This is not generally the fashion here; the
murderer usually makes for the nearest church, and once there, he is
quite safe.
And now, in order to shade my picture a little, I might bring into it
crimes and disorders, earthquakes and inundations of all kinds, but for
an eruption of Vesuvius, which has just broke out, and has set almost
all the visitors here in motion; and one must, indeed, possess a rare
amount of self-control, not to be carried away by the crowd. Really
this phenomenon of nature has in it something of a resemblance to the
rattle-snake, for its attraction is irresistible. At this moment it
almost seems as if all the treasures of art in Rome were annihilated;
every stranger, without exception, has broken off the current of his
contemplations, and is hurrying to Naples; I, however, shall stay, in
the hope that the mountain will have a little eruption, expressly for
my amusement.
* * * * *
_Rome, Dec._ 1, 1786.
Moritz is here, who has made himself famous by his "Anthony the
Traveller" (_Anton Reiser_,) and his "Wanderings in England"
(_Wanderungen nach England._) He is a right down excellent man, and we
have been greatly pleased with him.
* * * * *
_Rome, Dec._ 1, 1786.
Here in Rome, where one sees so many strangers, all of whom do not
visit this capital of the world merely for the sake of the fine
arts, but also for amusements of every kind, the people are prepared
for everything. Accordingly, they have invented and attained great
excellence in certain half arts which require for their pursuit little
more than manual skill and pleasure in such handiwork, and which
consequently attract the interest of ordinary visitors.
Among these is the art of painting in wax. Requiring little more than
tolerable skill in water-colouring, it serves as an amusement to employ
one's time in preparing and adapting the wax, and then in burning it,
and in such like mechanical labours. Skilful artists give lessons in
the art, and, under the pretext of showing their pupils how to perform
their tasks, do the chief part of the work themselves, so that when at
last the figure stands out in bright relief in the gilded frame, the
fair disciple is ravished with the proof of her unconscious talent.
Another pretty occupation is, with a very fine clay, to take
impressions of cameos cut in deep relief. This is also done in the case
of medallions, both sides of which are thus copied at once. More tact,
attention, and diligence is required, lastly, for preparation of the
glass-paste for mock jewels. For all these things Hofrath Reiffenstein
has the necessary workshops and laboratories either in his house, or
close at hand.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 2, 1786.
I have accidentally found here Archenholtz's Italy. A work written on
the spot, in so contracted and narrow-minded a spirit as this, is just
as if one were to lay a book purposely on the coals, in order that it
might be browned and blackened, and its leaves curled up and disfigured
with smoke.
[Sidenote: Rome--Archenholtz's Italy.]
No doubt he has seen all that he writes about, but he possesses far too
little of real knowledge to support his high pretensions and sneering
tone; and whether he praises or blames, he is always in the wrong.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 2, 1786.
Such beautiful warm and quiet weather at the end of November, (which
however is often broken by a day's rain,) is quite new to me. We spend
the fine days in the open air, the bad in our room; everywhere there is
something to learn and to do, something to be delighted with.
On the 28th we paid a second visit to the Sistine Chapel, and had
the galleries opened, in order that we might obtain a nearer view of
the ceiling. As the galleries are very narrow, it is only with great
difficulty that one forces one's way up them, by means of the iron
balustrades. There is an appearance of danger about it, on which
account those who are liable to get dizzy had better not make the
attempt; all the discomfort, however, is fully compensated by the sight
of the great masterpiece of art. And at this moment I am so taken
with Michael Angelo, that after him I have no taste even for nature
herself, especially as I am unable to contemplate her with the same eye
of genius that he did. Oh, that there were only some means of fixing
such paintings in my soul! At any rate, I shall bring with me every
engraving and drawing of his pictures or drawings after him that I can
lay hold of.
Then we went to the _Loggie_, painted by Raffaelle, and scarcely dare
I say that we could not endure to look at them. The eye had been so
dilated and spoiled by those great forms, and the glorious finish of
every part, that it was not able to follow the ingenious windings
of the Arabesques; and the Scripture histories, however beautiful
they were, did not stand examination after the former. And yet to
see these works frequently one after another, and to compare them
together at leisure, and without prejudice, must be a source of great
pleasure,--for at first all sympathy is more or less exclusive.
From hence, under a sunshine, if anything rather too warm, we proceeded
to the Villa Pamphili, whose beautiful gardens are much resorted to for
amusement; and there we remained till evening. A large flat meadow,
enclosed by long ever green oaks and lofty pines, was sown all over
with daisies, which turned their heads to the sun. I now revived my
botanical speculations, which I had indulged in the other day during a
walk towards Monte Mario, to the Villa Melini, and the Villa Madama.
It is very interesting to observe the working of a vigorous unceasing
vegetation, which is here unbroken by any severe cold. Here there are
no buds: one has actually to learn what a bud is. The strawberry-tree
(_arbutus unedo_) is at this season, for the second time, in blossom,
while its last fruits are just ripening. So also the orange-tree may
seen in flower, and at the same time bearing partially and fully
ripened fruit. (The latter trees, however, if they are not sheltered by
standing between buildings, are, at this season, generally covered).
As to the cypress, that most "venerable" of trees, when it is old and
well grown, it affords matter enough for thought. As soon as possible
I shall pay a visit to the Botanical Gardens, and hope to add there
much to my experience. Generally, there is nothing to be compared with
the new life which the sight of a new country affords to a thoughtful
person. Although I am still the same being, I yet think I am changed to
the very marrow.
For the present I conclude, and shall perhaps fill the next sheet with
murders, disorders, earthquakes, and troubles, in order that at any
rate my pictures may not be without their dark shades.
* * * * *
_Rome, Dec._ 3, 1786.
The weather lately has changed almost every six days. Two days quite
glorious, then a doubtful one, and after it two or three rainy ones,
and then again fine weather. I endeavour to put each day, according to
its nature, to the best use.
[Sidenote: Rome--The Apollo Belvedere, &c.]
And yet these glorious objects are even still like new acquaintances
to me. One has not yet lived with them, nor got familiar with their
peculiarities. Some of them attract us with irresistible power, so that
for a time one feels indifferent, if not unjust, towards all others.
Thus, for instance, the Pantheon, the Apollo Belvedere, some colossal
heads, and very recently the Sistine Chapel, have by turns so won
my whole heart, that I scarcely saw any thing besides them. But, in
truth, can man, little as man always is, and accustomed to littleness,
ever make himself equal to all that here surrounds him of the noble,
the vast, and the refined? Even though he should in any degree
adapt himself to it, then how vast is the multitude of objects that
immediately press upon him from all sides, and meet him at every turn,
of which each demands for itself the tribute of his whole attention.
How is one to get out of the difficulty? No other way assuredly than by
patiently allowing it to work, becoming industrious, and attending the
while to all that others have accomplished for our benefit.
Winckelmann's History of Art, translated by Rea, (the new edition), is
a very useful book, which I have just procured, and here on the spot
find it to be highly profitable, as I have around me many kind friends,
willing to explain and to comment upon it.
Roman antiquities also begin to have a charm for me. History,
inscriptions, coins, (of which formerly I knew nothing,) all are
pressing upon me. As it happened to me in the case of natural history,
so goes it with me here also; for the history of the whole world
attaches itself to this spot, and I reckon a new-birth day,--a true new
birth from the day that I entered Rome.
* * * * *
_December_ 5, 1786.
During the few weeks I have been here, I have already seen many
strangers come and go, so that I have often wondered at the levity
with which so many treat these precious monuments. God be thanked that
hereafter none of those birds of passage will be able to impose upon
me. When in the north they shall speak to me of Rome, none of them now
will be able to excite my spleen, for I also have seen it, and know
too, in some degree, where I have been.
* * * * *
_December_ 8, 1786.
We have every now and then the finest days possible. The rain which
falls from time to time has made the grass and garden stuffs quite
verdant. Evergreens too are to be seen here at different spots, so
that one scarcely misses the fallen leaves of the forest trees. In the
gardens you may see orange-trees full of fruit, left in the open ground
and not under cover.
I had intended to give you a particular account of a very pleasant
trip which we took to the sea, and of our fishing exploits, but in
the evening poor Moritz, as he was riding home, broke his arm, his
horse having slipped on the smooth Roman pavement. This marred all our
pleasure, and has plunged our little domestic circle in sad affliction.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 15, 1786.
I am heartily delighted that you have taken my sudden disappearance
just as I wished you should. Pray appease for me every one that may
have taken offence at it. I never wished to give any one pain, and
even now I cannot say anything to excuse myself. God keep me from ever
afflicting my friends with the premises which led me to this conclusion.
Here I am gradually recovering from my "salto mortale," and studying
rather than enjoying myself. Rome is a world, and one must spend
years before one can become at all acquainted with it. How happy do I
consider those travellers who can take a look at it and go their way!
[Sidenote: Rome--Winckelmann's letters.]
Yesterday many of Winckelmann's letters, which he wrote from Italy,
fell into my hands. With what emotions did I not begin to read them.
About this same season, some one and thirty years ago, he came hither
a still poorer simpleton than myself, but then he had such thorough
German enthusiasm for all that is sterling and genuine, either in
antiquity or art. How bravely and diligently did he not work his
way through all difficulties; and what good does it not do me,--the
remembrance of such a man in such a place!
After the objects of Nature, who in all her parts is true to herself
and consistent, nothing speaks so loudly as the remembrance of a good
intelligent man,--that genuine art which is no less consistent and
harmonious than herself. Here in Rome we feel this right well, where so
many an arbitrary caprice has had its day, where so many a folly has
immortalized itself by its power and its gold.
The following passage in Winckelmann's letters to Franconia
particularly pleased me. "We must look at all the objects in Rome with
a certain degree of phlegm, or else one will be taken for a Frenchman.
In Rome, I believe, is the high school for all the world, and I also
have been purified and tried in it."
This remark applies directly to my mode of visiting the different
objects here; and most certain is it, that out of Rome no one can have
an idea how one is schooled in Rome. One must, so to speak, be new
born, and one looks back on one's earlier notions, as a man does on
the little shoes, which fitted him when a child. The most ordinary man
learns something here, at least he gains one uncommon idea, even though
it never should pass into his whole being.
This letter will reach you in the new year. All good wishes for the
beginning; before the end of it we shall see one another again, and
that will be no little gratification. The one that is passing away has
been the most important of my life. I may now die, or I may tarry a
little longer yet; in either case it will be alike well. And now a word
or two more for the little ones.
To the children you may either read or tell what follows. Here there
are no signs of winter. The gardens are planted with evergreens; the
sun shines bright and warm; snow is nowhere to be seen, except on the
most distant hills towards the north. The citron trees, which are
planted against the garden walls, are now, one after another, covered
with reeds, but the oranges are allowed to stand quite open. A hundred
of the very finest fruit may be seen hanging on a single tree, which is
not, as with us, dwarfed, and planted in a bucket, but stands in the
earth free and joyous, amidst a long line of brothers. The oranges are
even now very good, but it is thought they will be still finer.
We were lately at the sea, and had a haul of fish, and drew to the
light fishes, crabs, and rare univalves of the most wonderful shapes
conceivable; also the fish which gives an electric shock to all who
touch it.
* * * * *
_Rome, Dec._ 20, 1786.
And yet, after all, it is more trouble and care than enjoyment. The
Regenerator, which is changing me within and without, continues to
work. I certainly thought that I had something really to learn here;
but that I should have to take so low a place in the school, that I
must forget so much that I had learnt, or rather absolutely unlearn so
much,--that I had never the least idea of. Now, however, that I am once
convinced of its necessity, I have devoted myself to the task; and the
more I am obliged to renounce my former self, the more delighted I
am. I am like an architect who has begun to build a tower, but finds
he has laid a bad foundation: he becomes aware of the fact betimes,
and willingly goes to work to pull down all that he has raised above
the earth; having done so, he proceeds to enlarge his ground plan,
and now rejoices to anticipate the undoubted stability of his future
building. Heaven grant that, on my return, the moral consequences may
be discernible of all that this living in a wider world has effected
within me. For, in sooth, the moral sense as well as the artistic is
undergoing a great change.
[Sidenote: Rome--Dr. Münter.]
Dr. Münter is here on his return from his tour in Sicily--an energetic,
vehement man. What objects he may have, I cannot tell. He will reach
you in May, and has much to tell you. He has been two years travelling
in Italy. He is disgusted with the Italians, who have not paid due
respect to the weighty letters of recommendation which were to have
opened to him many an archive, many a private library; so that he is
far from having accomplished his object in coming here.
He has collected some beautiful coins, and possesses, he tells me,
a manuscript which reduces numismatics to as precise a system of
characteristics as the Linnæan system of botany. Herder, he says, knows
still more about it: probably a transcript of it will be permitted. To
do something of the kind is certainly possible, and, if well done, it
will be truly valuable; and we must sooner or later enter seriously
into this branch of learning.
* * * * *
_Rome, Dec._ 25, 1786.
I am now beginning to revisit the principal sights of Rome: in such
second views, our first amazement generally dies away into more of
sympathy and a purer perception of the true value of the objects. In
order to form an idea of the highest achievements of the human mind,
the soul must first attain to perfect freedom from prejudice and
prepossession.
Marble is a rare material. It is on this account that the Apollo
Belvedere in the original is so infinitely ravishing; for that sublime
air of youthful freedom and vigour, of never-changing juvenescence,
which breathes around the marble, at once vanishes in the best even of
plaster casts.
In the Palace Rondanini, which is right opposite to our lodgings, there
is a Medusa-mask, above the size of life, in which the attempt to
portray a lofty and beautiful countenance in the numbing agony of death
has been indescribably successful. I possess an excellent cast of it,
but the charm of the marble remains not. The noble semi-transparency of
the yellow stone-approaching almost to the hue of flesh--is vanished.
Compared with it, the plaster of Paris has a chalky and dead look.
And yet how delightful it is to go to a modeller in gypsum, and to see
the noble limbs of a statue come out one by one from the mould, and
thereby to acquire wholly new ideas of their shapes. And then, again,
by such means all that in Rome is scattered, is brought together, for
the purpose of comparison; and this alone is of inestimable service.
Accordingly, I could not resist the temptation to procure a cast of the
colossal head of Jupiter. It stands right opposite to my bed, in a good
light, in order that I may address my morning devotions towards it.
With all its grandeur and dignity it has, however, given rise to one of
the funniest interludes possible.
Our old hostess, when she comes to make my bed, is generally followed
by her pet cat. Yesterday I was sitting in the great hall, and could
hear the old woman pursue her avocation within. On a sudden, in great
haste, and with an excitement quite unusual to her, she opens the door,
and calls to me to come quickly and see a wonder. To my question what
was the matter, she replied the cat was saying its prayers. Of the
animal she had long observed, she told me, that it had as much sense
as a Christian--but this was really a great wonder. I hastened to see
it with my own eyes; and it was indeed strange enough. The bust stood
on a high pedestal, and as there was a good length of the shoulders,
the head stood rather high. Now the cat had sprung upon the table, and
had placed her fore-feet on the breast of the god, and, stretching her
body to its utmost length, just reached with her muzzle his sacred
beard, which she was licking most ceremoniously; and neither by the
exclamation of the hostess, nor my entrance into the room, was she
at all disturbed. I left the good dame to her astonishment; and she
afterwards accounted for puss's strange act of devotion, by supposing
that this sharp-nosed cat had caught scent of the grease which had
probably been transferred from the mould to the deep lines of the
beard, and had there remained.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 29, 1786.
Of Tischbein I have much to say and to boast. In the first place, a
thorough and original German, he has made himself entirely what he
is. In the next place, I must make grateful mention of the friendly
attentions he has shewn me throughout the time of his second stay in
Rome. For he has had prepared for me a series of copies after the best
masters, some in black chalk, others in sepia and water colours; which
in Germany, when I shall be at a distance from the originals, will grow
in value, and will serve to remind me of all that is rarest and best.
[Sidenote: Rome--Portrait by Tischbein.]
At the commencement of his career as an artist, when he set up as a
portrait painter, Tischbein came in contact, especially in Munich, with
distinguished personages, and in his intercourse with them his feeling
of art has been strengthened and his views enlarged.