A flight of steps conducts us to the Museo Pio-Clementino, where, in the first chamber, our attention is attracted by the sarcophagus of C. L. Scipio Barbatus. The spelling and grammar exhibit the ancient language of Rome, before the cases of the nouns had received a settled form, and the use of the ablative for the nominative and accusative, seems to announce some degree of relation to the modern Italian. A little further are the Torso and the Meleager, and turning to the left we enter a court, in some little cabinets in the angles of which are the Apollo, the Antinous, and the Laocoon.
In the first course that a stranger makes through the Vatican, criticism is lost in admiration; but after repeatedly visiting this collection of rarities, we are naturally desirous to distinguish a little more precisely, the good from the bad; and the ancient sculpture from the modern restorations. Just feeling, correct knowledge, and the habit of observation, can alone furnish the means of determining the first question, and here is the best school in the world to obtain these qualifications; but there are various accidental circumstances with respect to the second, which may greatly assist the judgment of the inexperienced observer. Marble fragments are sometimes restored in plaster; this is easily detected; but when the restorations are in marble, there is often a difference of quality, which affords a guide almost equally obvious, after a little attention to the marbles themselves, and their mode of varying in the size of the grains, in compactness, and in transparency. There are also, frequently slight differences of colour, either in the whole mass or in particular parts, the abrupt termination of which marks a modern addition. Ancient statues of all sorts have usually been repaired with the marble of Carrara; and as the ancient statues of this are comparatively few, they being generally formed out of marble of a larger grain and looser texture, it is not difficult to distinguish the modern parts. Again, when they are restored in marble of the same nature, the substance is often not so perfectly homogeneous, but that the eye can discover minute differences of texture; and if these are continued across a joining, they form a pretty decisive proof that the parts were originally one block. Some indications may be taken from the joinings themselves. A statue is never broken without some damage to the angles of the fracture, and the joining is consequently either partially or wholly, wide and unfinished, or filled up with plaster, or with accessory pieces of marble; if therefore a neat even joining appear all the way round, it is a decisive proof that one or both the pieces is modern. Any person who will take the trouble to go thus through the Vatican, will I am persuaded find, before he has completed his task, that he can generally distinguish the restorations, before he is near enough to decide upon the qualities of the marble. Yet he probably would not be able to do this, even in the best casts. One circumstance which will strike him, is that almost every emblem, or design, which determines the individuality of the statue, is a modern addition. Considerable efforts have at times been made, to repair the ancient figures in such a manner as to render it impossible to separate the new from the old, and Thorwaldson has restored the Egina marbles so perfectly, that I do not believe it possible for the most practised eye to determine, with any certainty, which is which; but this is a mistaken notion; it is better, on the contrary, that the difference should be visible, not perhaps at the first glance, but by any person who wishes to inquire into it: the confidence that certain parts are antique, when it is known, as it always must be, that the whole is not so, adds much to the interest of the observer; and in this way the Elgin marbles ought to be restored. In their present state, the imagination of the artist and skilful amateur readily supplies many deficiencies which are necessary to the understanding of the form, attitude, and action of the figure; but to the rest of the world these noble productions lose much of their value, because they are not well understood; which they would be if judiciously restored on this principle.
Connoisseurs find in the statues of the Vatican, a distinction between the Greek and Roman schools of art. I have attempted to follow them, but hitherto without success; as the best rule I have been able to hit upon is, that those of the Greek school are of Italian, and those of the Roman of Parian marble. The beau ideal is another abstruse subject. It is probable that the elasticity of the human skin, after repeated stretchings, does not perfectly recover itself, but in youth, as long as the body continues to grow, this is taken up by the increase of size. Afterwards, seams and wrinkles gradually begin to appear. A similar process takes place in the veins, and the protuberance of the lower part of the trunk. Unless therefore we suppose an immortality like that of Swift’s Struldbrugs, we must suppose in the gods, the perfect recovery of the parts after action, and consequently they can have no wrinkles; and no veins, except when they are swelled by strong muscular action. This seems a necessary consequence of their nature, rather than any part of the beau ideal. We might perhaps go a step farther, and conclude, that beings who were nourished with nectar and ambrosia, or with the smell of sacrifices, could not require very large digestive organs. Again, the strength of gods is not founded on ‘cumbrous flesh,’ or on ‘the brittle strength of bones,’ and therefore the expression of muscle and bone is to be kept down; but as the sculptor has no other way of giving the appearance of force, something of these must be preserved. It is probably not true that great muscular strength is always accompanied by distinctly marked muscles. The fibres may be supposed individually stronger, instead of more numerous. Topham, so celebrated for his extraordinary force, is said to have been remarkably round and smooth in his forms. To overcharge the muscles, may not therefore be the best way of expressing strength, and when in action, if the effect be given, the less the appearance of exertion, the more is the idea of supereminent force excited.
From this court, which I mentioned so long ago that you have perhaps forgotten it, and which, besides the productions above-mentioned, contains some beautiful baths of porphyry, granite, and basalt, bas-reliefs, sarcophagi, &c., we pass into the hall of the animals; these are executed in various marbles, and some of them are of the greatest beauty and truth. In some instances marbles of different colours are employed to indicate the various colours of the animal. The room is about 110 feet long, and 30 wide, and seems entirely filled with them. From this we enter a long gallery of statues and busts, of which the extreme length is about 200 feet, and the width about 25. On one side of this room is an elegant little cabinet, containing the Venere accoviata, a beautiful fawn of rosso antico, and other things of the same scarce marble, too numerous for me to mention, and among these productions of ancient art, four beautiful columns of modern alabaster from Monte Circello, the best parts of which are equal to the oriental.
Returning into the animal room, we enter from that into the hall of the Muses, and afterwards to the noble Sala Rotonda. In the middle of this is a great basin of porphyry, fourteen feet in diameter, in a single block. Throughout most of the Vatican, the apartments themselves are of little importance; we visit them for the objects they contain; but this is a magnificent room. The pavement is an ancient mosaic.
The next in succession is the Sala a croce Greca, whose name indicates its form. In this room are the two great sarcophagi, supposed to have contained, one the ashes of Helena, the mother of Constantine, the other those of his sister. As they are now, they have not the appearance of productions of the same age. Perhaps this may arise from modern restorations; but they both agree in this, that they are rather monuments of labour and expense, than of taste and skill.
A double flight of steps conducts us to a vestibule, whence we enter the beautiful little circular room of the Biga, so denominated from an ancient two horse car, executed in marble, and adorned with the most delicate ornamental sculpture. The whole of one horse and the limbs of the other are modern restorations, but the chariot itself is nearly entire. If an English coachmaker had it, he would certainly think the pole inserted the wrong way. The beautiful sculptures of this room I shall pass over in silence, as I have so many others.
Returning from the Biga room, we enter a long gallery, corresponding to that by which we entered the museum, but a story higher. This is divided into several parts, the Gallery of miscellaneous objects, the Gallery of candelabra, containing also a multitude of vases, some finely sculptured, others precious for the elegance of their forms, or the rarity and beauty of the marble of which they are composed. The last part is the geographical gallery, exhibiting a collection of maps painted on the walls; a fine idea, but one of the few things here, which could be better executed in modern times. After all this we arrive at the chambers hung with the tapestry from Raphael’s designs, through which I have already conducted you.
Of the Library of the Vatican every one has heard, and I believe it is not very difficult to obtain permission to make use of it, but I have hitherto been satisfied with seeing it. The principal room is 198 feet long, and 49 wide, but divided by a range of piers along the middle. The books are in cases entirely close, round the piers, and between the windows. These cases are placed on both sides, and are very low in proportion to the room, so that they look like chests, which is the name the Italians give to them. The arrangement of the architecture is neither beautiful nor suited to its purpose. Beyond this the library extends under the galleries of geography, and of the miscellaneous objects, that is for near a thousand feet, divided into several rooms; but the books are all closed, and you never feel as if you were in a library. Upwards of six hundred fictile vases are placed on the cabinets, but they are so lost in the space over which they are scattered, that we seem to have seen very few.
1826.