From the Oak to the Olive: A Plain record of a Pleasant Journey

by Julia Ward Howe

This gallery possesses a famous torso called the Ilioneus, concerning which Mrs. Jamieson rhapsodizes somewhat in her Munich book. The Barberini Faun, too, is among its treasures. As my readers may not be acquainted with the artistic antecedents of this statue, I will subjoin for their benefit the following narration, which I abridge from the "Ricordi" of the Marquis Massimo d' Azeglio, recently published.

At the time of the French domination in Italy, the Roman nobles were subjected to the levying of heavy contributions. The inconvenience of these requisitions often taxed the resources of the wealthiest families, and led to the sale of furniture, jewels, and the multifarious denomination of articles classed together as objets d'art. Among others, the Barberini family, in their palace at the Quattro Fontane, exposed for sale various antiquitties, and especially the torso of a male figure, of Greek execution and in Pentelican marble, a relic of the palmy days of Hellenic art.

A certain sculptor, Cavalier Pacetti, purchased this last fragment, sold at auction for the sum of seven or eight hundred dollars. The arms and legs were wholly wanting—the narrator is uncertain as to the head. Pacetti had made this purchase with the view of restoring the mutilated statue to entireness. He proceeded to model for himself the parts that were wanting, and in time produced the sleeping figure known as the Barberini Faun.

This work was esteemed a great success. Besides the value of its long and uncertain labor must be mentioned the difficulty of matching the original marble. To effect this the artist was obliged to purchase and destroy another Greek statue, of less merit, whose marble supplied the material for the restoration.

In the mean time the Napoleonic era had passed away; the pope had returned to Rome. Foreigners from all parts now flocked to the Eternal City, and to one of these Pacetti sold his work for many thousands of dollars. Before it could be packed and delivered, however, a governmental veto annulled the sale, directing the artist to restore the statue to the Barberini family, under the plea of its being subject to a fidei commissa, and offering him the sum of money expended by him in the first purchase, together with such further compensation for his labor and materials as a committee of experts should award.

The unfortunate Pacetti resisted this injustice to the extent of his ability. He demonstrated the sale of the torso to have been made without reserve, the money for its purchase to have been raised by him with considerable effort. The further expense of the secondary statue was a heavy item. As an artist, he could not allow any one but himself to set a price upon his work.

In spite of these arguments, the Barberinis, remembering that possession is nine points of the law, managed to confiscate the statue by armed force. Before this last measure, however, a mandate informed the artist that the pitiful sum offered to him in exchange (not in compensation) for his work, had been placed in the bank, subject to his order, and that from this sum a steady discount would mark every day of his delay to close with the shameful bargain.

Pacetti now fell ill with a bilious fever, the result of this bitter disappointment. His recovery was only partial, and his death soon followed. His sons commenced and continued a suit against the Barberini family. They obtained a favorable judgment, but did not obtain their property, which the Barberinis sold to the King of Bavaria.

I have thought it worth while to quote this history of a world-renowned work of art. I do not know that a more perfect and successful combination of modern with ancient art exists than that achieved in this Munich Faun. The mutilated honor of the Barberini name is, we should fear, beyond restoration by any artist.

The Glyptothek closed much too soon for us. With the exception of the sculptures just enumerated, it possesses nothing that can compete in interest with the noted Italian galleries, or perhaps with the Louvre. But the few valuables that it has are first rate of their kind, and it contains many duplicates of well-known subjects. The building and arrangements are very elegant, and seem to cast a certain pathos over the follies of the old king, to whom it owes its origin, making one more sorry than angry that one who knew the Graces so well should not have fraternized more with the Virtues. The Æginetan Minerva is stern and hideous, however, and may have exercised an unfortunate influence over her protegé.