The allegorical decorations of a building, raised by the contributions of a whole nation, I mean the Duke of Marlborough’s palace at Blenheim, are absurd: enormous lions of massy stone, above two portals, tearing to pieces a little cock[309]. The hint sprung from a poor pun.
Nor can it be denied that antiquity furnishes some ideas seemingly analogous to this: as for instance, the lioness on the tomb of Leæna, the mistress of Aristogiton, raised in honour of her constancy amidst the torments applied by the tyrant, in order to extort from her a confession of the conspirators against him. But from this, I am afraid, nothing can arise in behalf of the above pitiful decoration: that mistress of the martyr of liberty having been a notorious woman, and whose name could not decently stand a publick trial. Of the same nature are the lizards and frogs on a temple[310], alluding to the names of the two architects, Saurus and Batrachus[311]: the above-mentioned lioness having no tongue, made the allegory still more expressive. The lioness on the tomb of the famous Lais[312], holding with her fore-paws a ram, as a symbol of her manners[313], was perhaps an imitation of the former. The lion was, in general, set upon the tombs of the brave.
It is not indeed to be pretended that every ornament and image of the ancient vases, tools, &c. should be allegorical; and to explain many of them, in that way, would be equally difficult and conjectural. I am not bold enough to maintain, that an earthen lamp[314], in the shape of an ox’s-head, means a perpetual remembrance of useful labours, on account of the perpetuity of the fire; nor to decypher here a mysterious sacrifice to Pluto and Proserpine[315]. But the image of a Trojan Prince, carried off by Jupiter, to be his favourite, was of great and honourable signification in the mantle of a Trojan. Birds pecking grapes seem as suitable to an urn, as the young Bacchus brought by Mercury to be nursed by Leucothea, on a large marble vase of the Athenian Salpion[316]. The grapes may be a symbol of the pleasures the deceased enjoy in Elysium: the pleasures of hereafter being commonly supposed to be such; as the deceased chiefly delighted in when alive. A bird, I need not say, was the image of the soul. A Sphinx, on a cup sacred to Bacchus, is supposed to be an allusion to the adventures of Oedipus at Thebes, Bacchus’s birth place[317]; as a Lizard on a cup of Mentor, may hint at the possessor, whose name perhaps was Saurus.
There is some reason to search for allegory, in most of the ancient performances, when we consider, that they even built allegorically. Such an allusive building was a gallery at Olympia[318], sacred to the seven liberal arts, and re-echoing seven times a poem read aloud there. A temple of Mercury, supported, instead of pillars, by Herms, or, as we now spell, Terms, on a coin of Aurelian[319], is of the same kind: there is on its front a dog, a cock, and a tongue; figures that want no explication.
Yet the temple of Virtue and Honour, built by Marcellus, was still more learnedly executed: having consecrated his Sicilian spoils to that purpose, he was disappointed by the priests, whom he first consulted on that design; who told him, that no single temple could admit of two divinities. Marcellus therefore ordered two temples to be built, adjoining to each other, in such a manner that whoever would be admitted to that of Honour must pass through that of Virtue[320]; thus publickly indicating, that virtue alone leads to true honour: this temple was near the Porta Capena[321]. And here I cannot help remembering those hollow statues of ugly satyrs[322], which, when opened, were found replete with little figures of the graces, to teach, that no judgment is to be formed from outward appearances, and that a fair mind makes amends for a homely body.
Perhaps, Sir, some of your objections may have been omitted: if so, it was against my will——and at this instant, I remember one concerning the Greek art of changing blue eyes to black ones. Dioscorides is the only writer that mentions it[323]. Attempts of this kind have been made in our days: a certain Silesian countess was the favourite beauty of the age, and universally acknowledged to be perfect, had it not been for her blue eyes, which some of her admirers wished were black. The lady, informed of the wishes of her adorers, by repeated endeavours overcame nature; her eyes became black,—and she blind.
I am not satisfied with myself, nor perhaps have given you satisfaction: but the art is inexhaustible, and all cannot be written. I only wanted to amuse myself agreeably at my leisure hours; and the conversation of my friend Frederic Oeser, a true imitator of Aristides, the painter of the soul, was not a little favourable to my purpose: the name of which worthy friend and artist[324] shall spread a lustre over the end of my treatise.