brought with me hither, and they are doubly welcome. What good
influence this little book has had on me, even on the second perusal,
Herder, for his reward, shall be circumstantially informed. Tischbein
cannot conceive how anything so excellent could ever have been written
by one who has never been in Italy.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 29, 1786.
In this world of artists one lives, as it were, in a mirrored chamber,
where, without wishing it, one sees one's own image and those of others
continually multiplied. Latterly I have often observed Tischbein
attentively regarding me; and now it appears that he has long cherished
the idea of painting my portrait. His design is already settled, and
the canvass stretched. I am to be drawn of the size of life, enveloped
in a white mantle, and sitting on a fallen obelisk, viewing the ruins
of the Campagna di Roma, which are to fill up the background of the
picture. It will form a beautiful piece, only it mil be rather too
large for our northern habitations. I indeed may again crawl into them,
but the portrait will never be able to enter their doors.
* * * * *
_Dec._ 29, 1786.
I cannot help observing the great efforts that are constantly being
made to draw me from my retirement--how the poets either read or get
their pieces read to me; and I should be blind did I not see that it
depends only on myself whether I shall play a part or not. All this is
amusing enough; for I have long since measured the lengths to which
one may go in Rome. The many little coteries here at the feet of the
mistress of the world strongly remind one occasionally of an ordinary
country town.
In sooth, things here are much like what they are every where else; and
what _could be done with me and through me_ causes me ennui long before
it is accomplished. Here you must take up with one party or another,
and help them to carry on their feuds and cabals; and you must praise
these artists and those dilettanti, disparage their rivals, and, above
all, be pleased with every thing that the rich and great do. All these
little meannesses, then, for the sake of which one is almost ready to
leave the world itself,--must I here mix myself up with them, and that
too when I have neither interest nor stake in them? No; I shall go no
further than is merely necessary to know what is going on, and thus to
learn, in private, to be more contented with my lot, and to procure
for myself and others all the pleasure possible in the dear wide
world. I wish to see Rome in its abiding and permanent features, and
not as it passes and changes with every ten years. Had I time, I might
wish to employ it better. Above all, one may study history here quite
differently from what one can on any other spot. In other places one
has, as it were, to read oneself into it from without; here one fancies
that he reads from within outwards: all arranges itself around you,
and seems to proceed from you. And this holds good not only of Roman
history, but also of that of the whole world. From Rome I can accompany
the conquerors on their march to the Weser or to the Euphrates; or,
if I wish to be a sight-seer, I can wait in the Via Sacra for the
triumphant generals, and in the meantime receive for my support the
largesses of corn and money; and so take a very comfortable share in
all the splendour.
* * * * *
_Rome, Jan._ 2, 1787.
Men may say what they will in favour of a written and oral
communication; it is only in a very few cases indeed that it is at
all adequate, for it never can convey the true character of any
object soever--no, not even of a purely intellectual one. But if one
has already enjoyed a sure and steady view of the object, then one
may profitably hear or read about it, for then there exists a living
impression around which all else may arrange itself in the mind; and
then one can think and judge.
You have often laughed at me, and wished to drive me away from the
peculiar taste I had for examining stones, plants, or animals, from
certain theoretical points of view: now, however, I am directing my
attention to architects, statuaries, and painters, and hope to find
myself learning something even from them.
* * * * *
_Without date._
After all this I must further speak to you of the state of indecision
I am in with regard to my stay in Italy. In my last letter I wrote you
that it was my purpose immediately after Easter to leave Rome, and
return home. Until then I shall yet gather a few more shells from the
shore of the great ocean, and so my most urgent needs will have been
appeased. I am now cured of a violent passion and disease, and restored
to the enjoyment of life, to the enjoyment of history, poetry, and of
antiquities, and have treasures which it will take me many a long year
to polish and to finish.
[Sidenote: Rome--My plans for the future.]
Recently, however, friendly voices have reached me to the effect that
I ought not to be in a hurry, but to wait till I can return home
with still richer gains. From the Duke, too, I have received a very
kind and considerate letter, in which he excuses me from my duties
for an indefinite period, and sets me quite at ease with respect to
my absence. My mind therefore turns to the vast field which I must
otherwise have left untrodden. For instance, in the case of coins and
cameos, I have as yet been able to do nothing. I have indeed begun to
read Winckelmann's History of Art, but have passed over Egypt; for, I
feel once again, that I must look out before me; and I have done so
with regard to Egyptian matters. The more we look, the more distant
becomes the horizon of art; and he who would step surely, must step
slowly.
I intend to stay here till the Carnival; and, in the first week of Lent
shall set off for Naples, taking Tischbein with me, both because it
will be a treat to him, and because, in his society, all my enjoyments
are more than doubled. I purpose to return hither before Easter,
for the sake of the solemnities of Passion week. But there Sicily
lies--there below. A journey thither requires more preparation, and
ought to be taken too in the autumn: it must not be merely a ride round
it and across it, which is soon done, but from which one brings away
with us in return for our fatigue and money nothing but a simple--_I
have seen it._ The best way is to take up one's quarters, first of all,
in Palermo, and afterwards in Catania; and then from those points to
make fixed and profitable excursions, having previously, however, well
studied _Riedesel_ and others on the locality.
If, then, I spend the summer in Rome, I shall set to work to study,
and to prepare myself for visiting Sicily. As I cannot well go there
before November, and must stay there till over December, it will be the
spring of 1788 before I can hope to get home again. Then, again, I have
had before my mind a _medius terminus._ Giving up the idea of visiting
Sicily, I have thought of spending a part of the summer at Rome, and
then, after paying a second visit to Florence, getting home by the
autumn.
But all these plans have been much perplexed by the news of the Duke's
misfortune. Since the letters which informed me of this event I have
had no rest, and would most like to set off at Easter, laden with the
fragments of my conquests, and, passing quickly through Upper Italy, be
in Weimar again by June.
I am too much alone here to decide; and I write you this long story of
my whole position, that you may be good enough to summon a council of
those who love me, and who, being on the spot, know the circumstances
better than I do. Let them, therefore, determine the proper course for
me to take, on the supposition of what, I assure you, is the fact, that
I am myself more disposed to return than to stay. The strongest tie
that holds me in Italy is Tischbein. I should never, even should it
be my happy lot to return a second time to this beautiful land, learn
so much in so short a time as I have now done in the society of this
well-educated, highly refined, and most upright man who is devoted to
me both body and soul. I cannot now tell you how thickly the scales are
falling from off my eyes. He who travels by night, takes the dawn for
day, and a murky day for brightness: what will he think, then, when
he shall see the sun ascending the mid-heaven? For I have hitherto
kept myself from all the world, which yet is yearning to catch me by
degrees, and which I, for my part, was not unwilling to watch and
observe with stealthy glances.
I have written to Fritz a joking account of my reception into the
_Arcadia_; and indeed it is only a subject of joke, for the Institute
is really sunk into miserable insignificance.
Next Monday week Monti's tragedy is to be acted. He is extremely
anxious, and not without cause. He has a very troublesome public,
which requires to be amused from moment to moment; and his piece has
no brilliant passages in it. He has asked me to go with him to his
box, and to stand by him as confessor in this critical moment. Another
is ready to translate my "Iphigenia;" another--to do I know not what,
in honour of me. They are all so divided into parties, and so bitter
against each other. But my countrymen are so unanimous in my favour,
that if I gave them any encouragement, and yielded to them in the very
least, they would try a hundred follies with me, and end with crowning
me on the Capitol, of which they have already seriously thought--so
foolish is it to have a stranger and a Protestant to play the first
part in a comedy. What connexion there is in all this, and how great
a fool I was to think that it was all intended for my honour,--of all
this we will talk together one day.
* * * * *
_January_ 6, 1787.
I have just come from Moritz, whose arm is healed, and loosed from its
bandages. It is well set, firm, and he can move it quite freely. What
during these last forty days I have experienced and learned, as nurse,
confessor, and private secretary to this patient, may prove of benefit
to us hereafter. The most painful sufferings and the noblest enjoyments
went side by side throughout this whole period.
[Sidenote: Rome--Colossal head of Juno.]
To refresh me, I yesterday had set up in our sitting-room a cast of a
colossal head of Juno, of which the original is in the Villa Ludovisi.
This was my first love in Rome; and now I have gained the object of my
wishes. No words can give the remotest idea of it. It is like one of
Homer's songs.
I have, however, deserved the neighbourhood of such good society
for the future, for I can now tell you that Iphigenia is at last
finished--_i.e._ that it lies before me on the table in two tolerably
concordant copies, of which one will very soon begin its pilgrimage
towards yourself. Receive it with all indulgence, for, to speak the
truth, what stands on the paper is not exactly what I intended; but
still it will convey an idea of what was in my mind.
You complain occasionally of some obscure passages in my letters, which
allude to the oppression, which I suffer in the midst of the most
glorious objects in the world. With all this my fellow traveller, this
Grecian princess, has had a great deal to do, for she has kept me close
at work when I wished to be seeing sights.
I often think of our worthy friend, who had long determined upon a
grand tour, which one might well term a voyage of discovery. After he
had studied and economized several years, with a view to this object,
he took it in his head to carry away with him the daughter of a noble
house, thinking it was all one still.
With no less of caprice, I determined to take Iphigenia with me to
Carlsbad. I will now briefly enumerate the places where I held special
converse with her.
When I had left behind me the Brenner, I took her out of my large
portmanteau, and placed her by my side. At the Lago di Garda, while
the strong south wind drove the waves on the beach, and where I was
at least as much alone as my heroine on the coast of Tauris, I drew
the first outlines, which afterwards I filled up at Verona, Vicenza,
and Padua; but above all, and most diligently at Venice. After
this, however, the work came to a stand-still, for I hit upon a new
design, viz., of writing an Iphigenia at Delphi, which I should have
immediately carried into execution, but for the distractions of my
young, and for a feeling of duty towards the older piece.
In Rome, however, I went on with it, and proceeded with tolerable
steadiness. Every evening before I went to sleep I prepared myself for
my morning's task, which was resumed immediately I awoke. My way of
proceeding was quite simple. I calmly wrote down the piece, and tried
the melody line by line, and period by period. What has been thus
produced, you shall soon judge of. For my part, doing this work, I have
learnt more than I have done. With the piece itself there shall follow
some further remarks.
* * * * *
_Jan._ 6, 1787.
To speak again of church matters, I must tell you that on the night of
Christmas-day we wandered about in troops, and visited all the churches
where solemn services were being performed; one especially was visited,
because of its organ and music. The latter was so arranged, that in
its tones nothing belonging to pastoral music was wanting--neither the
singing of the shepherds, nor the twittering of birds, nor the bleating
of sheep.
[Sidenote: Rome--Christmas-day.]
On Christmas-day I saw the Pope and the whole consistory in S. Peter's,
where he celebrated high mass partly before and partly from his
throne. It is of its kind an unequalled sight, splendid and dignified
enough, but I have grown so old in my Protestant Diogenism, that this
pomp and splendour revolt more than they attract me. I, like my pious
forefathers, am disposed to say to these spiritual conquerors of the
world, "Hide not from me the sun of higher art and purer humanity."
Yesterday, which was the Feast of Epiphany, I saw and heard mass
celebrated after the Greek rite. The ceremonies appeared to me more
solemn, more severe, more suggestive, and yet more popular than the
Latin.
But there, too, I also felt again that I am too old for anything,
except for truth alone. Their ceremonies and operatic music, their
gyrations and ballet-like movements--it all passes off from me like
water from an oilskin cloak. A work of nature, however, like that of
a Sunset seen from the Villa Madonna--a work of art, like my much
honoured Juno, makes a deep and vivid impression on me.
And now I must ask you to congratulate me with regard to theatrical
matters. Next week seven theatres will be opened. Anfossi himself
is here, and will act "Alexander in India." A Cyrus also will be
represented, and the "Taking of Troy" as a ballet. That assuredly must
be something for the children!
* * * * *
_Rome, Jan._ 10, 1787.
Here, then, comes the "child of sorrows," for this surname is due
to "Iphigenia" in more than one sense. On the occasion of my reading
it out to our artists, I put a mark against several lines, some of
which I have in my opinion improved, but others I have allowed to
stand--perhaps Herder will cross a few of them with his pen.
The true cause of my having for many years preferred prose for my
works, is the great uncertainty in which our prosody fluctuates, in
consequence of which many of my judicious, learned friends and fellow
artists have left many things to taste, a course, however, which was
little favourable to the establishing of any certain standard.
I should never have attempted to translate "Iphigenia" into iambics,
had not Moritz's prosody shone upon me like a star of light. My
conversation with its author, especially during his confinement from
his accident, has still more enlightened me on the subject, and I would
recommend my friends to think favourably of it.
It is somewhat singular, that in our language we have but very few
syllables which are decidedly long or short. With all the others,
one proceeds as taste or caprice may dictate. Now Moritz, after much
thought, has hit upon the idea that there is a certain order of rank
among our syllables, and that the one which in sense is more emphatic
is long as compared with the less significant, and makes the latter
short, but on the other hand, it does in its turn become short,
whenever it comes into the neighbourhood of another which possesses
greater weight and emphasis than itself. Here, then, is at least a rule
to go by: and even though it does not decide the whole matter, still it
opens out a path by which one may hope to get a little further. I have
often allowed myself to be influenced by these rules, and generally
have found my ear agreeing with them.
As I formerly spoke of a public reading, I must quietly tell you how it
passed off. These young men accustomed to those earlier vehement and
impetuous pieces, expected something after the fashion of Berlichingen,
and could not so well make out the calm movement of "Iphigenia," and
yet the nobler and purer passages did not fail of effect, Tischbein,
who also could hardly reconcile himself to this entire absence of
passion, produced a pretty illustration or symbol of the work. He
illustrated it by a sacrifice, of which the smoke, borne down by a
light breeze, descends to the earth, while the freer flame strives to
ascend on high. The drawing was very pretty and significant. I have
the sketch still by me. And thus the work, which I thought to despatch
in no time, has employed, hindered, occupied, and tortured me a full
quarter of a year. This is not the first time that I have made an
important task a mere by-work; but we will on that subject no longer
indulge in fancies and disputes.
I inclose a beautiful cameo,--a lion with a gad-fly buzzing at his
nose; this seems to have been a favourite subject with the ancients,
for they have repeated it very often. I should like you from this
time forward to seal your letters with it, in order that through this
(little) trifle an echo of art may, as it were, reverberate from you to
me.
* * * * *
_Rome, Jan._ 13, 1787.
How much have I to say each day, and how sadly am I prevented, either
by amusement or occupation, from committing to paper a single sage
remark! And then again, the fine days when it is better to be anywhere
rather than in one's room, which, without stove or chimney, receive us
only to sleep or to discomfort! Some of the incidents of the last week,
however, must not be left unrecorded.
In the Palace Giustiniani there is a Minerva, which claims my undivided
homage. Winckelmann scarcely mentions it, and, at any rate, not in the
right place; and I feel myself quite unworthy to say anything about
it. As we contemplated the image, and stood gazing at it a long time,
the wife of the keeper of the collection said--This must have once
been a holy image; and the English, who happen to be of this religion,
are still accustomed to pay worship to it by kissing this hand of it,
(which in truth was quite white, while the rest of the statue was
brownish). She further told us, that a lady of _this_ religion had
been there not long before, and, throwing herself on her knees before
the statue, had regularly offered prayer to it; and I, she said, as a
Christian, could not help smiling at so strange an action, and was
obliged to run out of the room, lest I should burst out into a loud
laugh before her face. As I was unwilling to move from the statue, she
asked me if my beloved was at all like the statue that it charmed me so
much. The good dame knew of nothing besides devotion or love; but of
the pure admiration for a glorious piece of man's handiwork,--of a mere
sympathetic veneration for the creation of the human intellect, she
could form no idea. We rejoiced in that noble Englishwoman, and went
away with a longing to turn our steps back again, and I shall certainly
soon go once more thither. If my friends wish for a more particular
description, let them read what Winckelmann says of the high style
of art among the Greeks; unfortunately, however, he does not adduce
this Minerva as an illustration. But if I do not greatly err, it is,
nevertheless, of this high and severe style, since it passes into the
beautiful,--it is, as it were, a bud that opens,--and so a Minerva,
whose character this idea of transition so well suits.
Now for a spectacle of a different kind. On the feast of the Three
Kings, or the Commemoration of Christ's manifestation to the Gentiles,
we paid a visit to the Propaganda. There, in the presence of three
cardinals and a large audience, an essay was first of all delivered,
which treated of the place in which the Virgin Mary received the three
Magi,--in the stable,--or if not, where? Next, some Latin verses were
read on similar subjects, and after this a series of about thirty
scholars came forward, one by one, and read a little piece of poetry
in their native tongues; Malabar, Epirotic, Turkish, Moldavian,
Hellenic, Persian, Colchian, Hebrew, Arabic, Syrian, Coptic, Saracenic,
Armenian, Erse, Madagassic, Icelandic, Bohemian, Greek, Isaurian,
Æthiopic, &c. The poems seemed for the most part to be composed in the
national syllabic measure, and to be delivered with the vernacular
declamation, for most barbaric rhythms and tones occurred. Among them
the Greek sounded like a star in the night. The auditory laughed most
unmercifully at the strange sounds; and so this representation also
became a farce.
And now (before concluding) a little anecdote, to show with what levity
holy things are treated in Holy Home. The deceased cardinal, Albani,
was once present at one of those festal meetings which. I have just
been describing. One of the scholars, with his face turned towards the
Cardinals, began in a strange pronunciation, _Gnaja! Gnaja!_ so that it
sounded something like _canaglia! canaglia!_ The Cardinal turned to his
brothers with a whisper, "He knows us at any rate."
* * * * *
_January_ 13, 1787.
How much has Winckelmann done, and yet how much reason has he left us
to wish that he had done still more. With the materials which he had
collected he built quickly, in order to reach the roof. Were he still
living, he would be the first to give us a re-cast of his great work.
What further observations, what corrections would he not have made--to
what good use would he not have put all that others, following his own
principles, have observed and effected. And, besides, Cardinal Albani
is dead, out of respect to whom he has written much; and, perhaps,
concealed much.
* * * * *
_January_ 15, 1787.
And so then, "Aristodemo" has at last been acted, and with good success
too, and the greatest applause; as the Abbate Monti is related to the
house of the Nepoté, and is highly esteemed among the higher orders:
from these, therefore, all was to be hoped for. The boxes indeed were
but sparing in their plaudits; as for the pit, it was won from the
very first, by the beautiful language of the poet and the appropriate
recitation of the actors, and it omitted no opportunity of testifying
its approbation. The bench of the German artists distinguished itself
not a little; and this time they were quite in place, though it is at
all times a little overloud.
[Sidenote: Rome--Monti, "Aristodemo."]
The author himself remained at home, full of anxiety for the success of
the piece. From act to act favourable despatches arrived, which changed
his fear into the greatest joy. Now there is no lack of repetitions of
the representation, and all is on the best track. Thus, by the most
opposite things, if only each has the merit it claims, the favour of
the multitude, as well as of the connoisseur, may be won.
But the acting was in the highest degree meritorious, and the chief
actor, who appears throughout the piece, spoke and acted cleverly,--one
could almost fancy one of the ancient Cæsars was marching before us.
They had very judiciously transferred to their stage dresses the
costume which, in the statue, strikes the spectator as so dignified;
and one saw at once that the actor had studied the antique.
* * * * *
_January_ 18, 1787.
Rome is threatened with a great artistic loss. The King of Naples has
ordered the Hercules Farnese to be brought to his palace. The news has
made all the artists quite sad; however, on this occasion, we shall see
something which was hidden from our forefathers.