What is called a regular course with an Antiquarian, generally takes up about six weeks; employing three hours a-day, you may, in that time, visit all the churches, palaces, villas8, and ruins, worth seeing, in or near Rome. But after having made this[488] course, however distinctly every thing may have been explained by the Antiquarian, if you do not visit the most interesting again and again, and reflect on them at more leisure, your labour will be of little use; for the objects are so various, and those you see on one day, so apt to be effaced9 by, or confounded with, those you behold10 on another, that you must carry away a very faint and indistinct recollection of any. Many travellers have experienced the truth of this observation.
One young English gentleman, who happens not to be violently smitten11 with the charms of virtù, and scorns to affect what he does not feel, thought that two or three hours a-day, for a month or six weeks together, was rather too much time to bestow12 on a pursuit in which he felt no pleasure, and saw very little utility. The only advantage which, in his opinion, the greater part of us reaped from our six weeks tour, was, that we could say, we had[489] seen a great many fine things which he had not seen. This was a superiority which he could not brook13, and which he resolved we should not long enjoy. Being fully14 convinced, that the business might be, with a little exertion15, dispatched in a very short space of time, he prevailed on a proper person to attend him; ordered a post-chaise and four horses to be ready early in the morning, and driving through churches, palaces, villas, and ruins, with all possible expedition, he fairly saw, in two days, all that we had beheld16 during our crawling course of six weeks. I found afterwards, by the list he kept of what he had seen, that we had not the advantage of him in a single picture, or the most mutilated remnant of a statue.
I do not propose this young gentleman’s plan, as the very best possible; but of this I am certain, that he can give as satisfactory an account of the curiosities of Rome, as some people of my acquaintance who[490] viewed them with equal sensibility, and at a great deal more leisure.
Those travellers who cannot remain a considerable time at Rome, would do well to get a judicious17 list of the most interesting objects in architecture, sculpture, and painting, that are to be seen here; they ought to visit these frequently, and these only, by which means they will acquire a strong and distinct impression of what they see; instead of that transient and confused idea which a vast number of things, viewed superficially, and in a hurry, leave in the mind. After they have examined, with due attention, the most magnificent and best preserved remains of ancient architecture, very few have satisfaction in viewing a parcel of old bricks, which, they are told, formed the foundation of the baths of some of the Emperors. And there are not many who would regret their not having seen great numbers of statues and pictures of inferior merit, when they had beheld all[491] that are universally esteemed19 the best. Would it not be highly judicious, therefore, in the greatest number of travellers, without abridging20 the usual time of the course, to make it much less comprehensive?
Besides churches, there are about thirty palaces in Rome, as full of pictures as the walls can bear. The Borghese Palace alone is said to contain above sixteen hundred, all original. There are also ten or twelve villas in the neighbourhood of this city, which are usually visited by strangers. You may judge from this, what a task they undertake, who resolve to go through the whole; and what kind of an idea they are likely to carry away, who perform this task during a stay of a few months. Of the villas, the Pineiana, which belongs to the Borghese family, is the most remarkable21. I shall confine myself to a few cursory22 remarks on some of the most esteemed curiosities it contains. The Hermaphrodite,[492] of which you have seen so many prints and models, is accounted by many, one of the finest pieces of sculpture in the world. The mattress23, upon which this fine figure reclines, is the work of the Cavalier Bernini, and nothing can be more admirably executed. Some critics say, he has performed his task too well, because the admiration of the spectator is divided between the statue and the mattress. This, however, ought not to be imputed24 as a fault to that great artist; since he condescended25 to make it at all, it was his business to make it as perfect as possible. I have heard of an artist at Versailles, in a different line, who attempted something of the same nature; he had exerted all his abilities in making a periwig for a celebrated26 preacher, who was to preach on a particular occasion before the court; and he imagined he had succeeded to a miracle. “I’ll be hanged,” said he to one of his companions, “if his Majesty27, or any man[493] of taste, will pay much attention to the sermon to-day.”
Among the antiques, there is a Centaur28 in marble, with a Cupid mounted on his back. The latter has the cestus of Venus, and the ivy29 crown of Bacchus, in allusion30 to beauty and wine; he beats the Centaur with his fist, and seems to kick with violence to drive him along. The Centaur throws back his head and eyes with a look of remorse31, as if he were unwilling32, though forced, to proceed. The execution of this group, is admired by those who look upon it merely as a jeu d’esprit; but it acquires additional merit, when considered as allegorical of men who are hurried on by the violence of their passions, and lament33 their own weakness, while they find themselves unable to resist.
There is another figure which claims attention, more on account of the allegory than the sculpture. This is a small statue of Venus Cloacina, trampling34 on an impregnated[494] uterus, and tearing the wings of Cupid. The allegory indicates, that prostitution is equally destructive of generation and love. Keysler mentioning this, calls it a statue of Venus, lamenting35 her rashness in clipping Cupid’s wings.
The statue called Zingara, or the Fortune-teller, is antique, all but the head, which is Bernini’s; the face has a strong expression of that sly shrewdness, which belongs to those whose trade it is to impose on the credulity of the vulgar; with a great look of some modern gypsies I have seen, who have imposed most egregiously36 on the self-love and credulity of the great.
Seneca dying in the Bath, in touchstone; round his middle is a girdle of yellow marble; he stands in a bason of blueish marble lined with porphyry; his knees seem to bend under him, from weakness; his features denote faintness, languor37, and the approach of death; the eyes are enamelled, which gives the countenance38 a[495] fierce and disagreeable look. Colouring the eyes always has a bad effect in sculpture; they form too violent a contrast with the other features, which remain of the natural colour of the marble. When the eyes are enamelled, it is requisite39 that all the face should be painted, to produce the agreeable harmony of life.
The Faun dandling an infant Bacchus, is one of the gayest figures that can be imagined.
In this Villa7, there are also some highly esteemed pieces by Bernini. ?neas carrying his father; David slinging40 the stone at Goliah; and Apollo pursuing Daphne: the last is generally reckoned Bernini’s master-piece; for my part, I have so bad a taste as to prefer the second. The figure of David is nervous, with great anatomical justness, and a strong expression of keenness and exertion to hit his mark, and kill his enemy; but the countenance of David wants dignity. An ancient artist, perhaps,[496] could not have given more ardour, but he would have given more nobleness to the features of David. Some may say, that as he was but a shepherd, it was proper he should have the look of a clown; but it ought to be remembered, that David was a very extraordinary man; and if the artist who formed the Belvedere Apollo, or if Agasias the Ephesian, had treated the same subject, I imagine they would have rendered their work more interesting, by blending the noble air of an hero with the simple appearance of a shepherd. The figures of Apollo and Daphne err41 in a different manner. The face and figure of Apollo are deficient42 in simplicity43; the noble simplicity of the best antique statues: he runs with affected44 graces, and his astonishment45 at the beginning transformation46 of his mistress is not, in my opinion, naturally expressed, but seems rather the exaggerated astonishment of an actor. The form and shape of Daphne are delicately executed; but in her face, beauty is, in some degree, sacrificed[497] to the expression of terror; her features are too much distorted by fear. An ancient artist would have made her less afraid, that she might have been more beautiful. In expressing terror, pain, and other impressions, there is a point where the beauty of the finest countenance ends, and deformity begins. I am indebted to Mr. Lock for this observation. In some conversations I had with him at Cologny, on the subject of Sculpture, that gentleman remarked, that it was in the skilful47 and temperate48 exertion of her powers, in this noblest province of the art, expression, that ancient sculpture so much excelled the modern. She knew its limits, and had ascertained49 them with precision. As far as expression would go hand in hand with grace and beauty, in subjects intended to excite sympathy, she indulged her chisel50; but where agony threatened to induce distortion, and obliterate51 beauty, she wisely set bounds to imitation, remembering, that though it may be moral to pity ugliness in distress52,[498] it is more natural to pity beauty in the same situation; and that her business was not to give the strongest representation of nature, but the representation which would interest us most. That ingenious gentleman, I remember, observed at the same time, that the Greek artists have been accused of having sacrificed character too much to technical proportion. He continued to observe, that what is usually called character in a face, is probably excess in some of its parts, and particularly of those which are under the influence of the mind, the leading passion of which marks some feature for its own. A perfectly53 symmetrical face bears no mark of the influence of either the passions or the understanding, and reminds you of Prometheus’s clay without his fire. On the other hand, the moderns, by sacrificing too liberally those technical proportions, which, when religiously observed, produce beauty, to expression, have generally lost the very point which they contended for. They seemed to think, that[499] when a passion was to be expressed, it could not be expressed too strongly; and that sympathy always followed in an exact proportion with the strength of the passion, and the force of its expression. But passions, in their extreme, instead of producing sympathy, generally excite feelings diametrically opposite. A vehement54 and clamorous55 demand of pity is received with neglect, and sometimes with disgust; whilst a patient and silent acquiescence56 under the pressure of mental affliction, or severe bodily pain, finds every heart upon an unison57 with its sufferings. The ancients knew to what extent expression may be carried, with good effect. The author of the famous Laocoon, in the Vatican, knew where to stop, and if the figure had been alone, it would have been perfect; there is exquisite58 anguish59 in the countenance, but it is borne in silence, and without distortion of features. Puget thought he could go beyond the author of Laocoon; he gave voice to his Milo; he made him roaring with pain,[500] and lost the sympathy of the spectator. In confirmation60 of this doctrine61, Mr. Lock desired, that when I should arrive at Rome, I would examine, with attention, the celebrated statue of Niobe, in the Villa de Medici. I have done so again and again, and find his remarks most strikingly just. The author of the Niobe has had the judgment62 not to exhibit all the distress which he might have placed in her countenance. This consummate63 artist was afraid of disturbing her features too much, knowing full well, that the point where he was to expect the most sympathy was there, where distress co-operated with beauty, and where our pity met our love. Had he sought it one step farther, in expression, he had lost it. It is unjust, you will say, that men should not sympathise with homely64 women in distress, in the same degree as they do with the beautiful. That is very true; but it is the business of the sculptor65 to apply his art to men as he finds them, not as they ought to be. Beside, this principle[501] has full force, and is strictly66 true, only in sculpture and painting. For, in real life, a woman may engage a man’s esteem18 and affections by a thousand fine qualities, and a thousand endearing ties, though she is entirely67 deficient in beauty.
This Villa is also enriched by one of the most animated68 statues in the world, and which, in the opinion of many men of taste, comes nearest, and in the judgment of some, equals the Apollo of the Vatican. I mean the statue of the fighting Gladiator. It is difficult, however, to compare two pieces whose merits are so different. The Apollo is full of grace, majesty, and conscious superiority; he has shot his arrow, and knows its success. There is, indeed, a strong expression of indignation, which opens his lips, distends69 his nostrils70, and contracts his brows; but it is the indignation of a superior being, who punishes while he scorns the efforts of his enemy. The Gladiator, on the contrary, full of fire[502] and youthful courage, opposes an enemy that he does not fear; but whom, it is evident, he thinks worthy71 of his utmost exertion; every limb, nerve, and sinew, is in action; his ardent72 features indicate the strongest desire, the highest expectation, but not a perfect security of victory. His shape is elegant as well as nervous, expressive73 of agility74 as well as strength, and equally distant from the brawny75 strength of the Farnesian Hercules, and the effeminate softness of the Belvedere Antinous. The action is transitive (if the term may be so used), and preparatory only to another disposition76 of body and limbs, which are to enable him to strike, and which he cannot do in his present position; for the moment his right arm crossed the perpendicular77 line of his right leg, the whole figure would be out of its centre. His action seems a combination of the defensive78 and offensive; defensive in the present moment, the left arm being advanced to secure the adversary79’s[503] blow; and preparing for offence in the next, the left leg already taking its spring to advance in order to give the figure a centre, which may enable it to strike, without risk of falling, if the blow should not take place. The action of the right arm, however, will always remain in some degree problematical, the ancient being lost; by whom the modern arm is restored, I never heard.
Though this fine figure generally goes by the name of the fighting Gladiator, some antiquarians cannot allow, that ever it was intended to represent a person of that profession, but a Victor at the Olympic games; and allege80, that Agasias of Ephesus, the sculptor’s name, being inscribed81 upon the pedestal, supports their opinion, because the Greeks never used gladiators. But I fear this argument has little weight; for the Greek slaves at Rome put their name to their work; and the free Greek artists, working in Greece, in public works,[504] found difficulty in obtaining the same indulgence. Those who wish to rescue this statue from the ignoble82 condition of a common Gladiator, say further, that he looks up as if his adversary were on horseback, adding, that gladiators never fought on foot against horsemen on the Arena83. Here again, I am afraid, they are mistaken. He looks no higher than the eye of an enemy on foot; the head must have a much greater degree of elevation84 to look up to the eye of an horseman, which is the part of your adversary which you always fix.
Some learned gentlemen, not satisfied that this statue should be thrown indiscriminately among Gladiators and Victors of the Olympic games, have given it a particular and lasting85 character; they roundly assert, that it is the identical statue, made by order of the Athenian State, in honour of their countryman Chabrias; and that it is precisely86 in the attitude which, according to Cornelius Nepos, that hero assumed,[505] when he repulsed87 the army of Agesilaus. This idea is in the true spirit of an antiquary.
If, upon turning to that author, you remain unconvinced, and are interested in the honour of the statue, I can furnish you with no presumptive proof of its original dignity, except, that the character of the face is noble and haughty88, unlike that of a slave and mercenary Gladiator. And there is no rope around the neck, as the Gladiator Moriens has, whom that circumstance sufficiently89 indicates to have been in that unfortunate situation.
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1
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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avocations
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| n.业余爱好，嗜好( avocation的名词复数 )；职业 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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9
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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10
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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12
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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17
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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20
abridging
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| 节略( abridge的现在分词 )； 减少； 缩短； 剥夺（某人的）权利（或特权等） | |
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21
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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centaur
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| n.人首马身的怪物 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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36
egregiously
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| adv.过份地，卓越地 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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38
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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39
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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40
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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41
err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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42
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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43
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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44
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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45
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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46
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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47
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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48
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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49
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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51
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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52
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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53
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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54
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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55
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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56
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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57
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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58
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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59
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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60
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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61
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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62
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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63
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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64
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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65
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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66
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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67
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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distends
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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allege
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| vt.宣称，申述，主张，断言 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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