Upon
The Whole He Is Decidedly Modest About His Virtuoso Vein, And
When We Reflect Upon The Way In Which Standards Change And Idols
Are Shifted From One Pedestal To Another, It Seems A Pity That
Such Modesty Has Not More Votaries.
In Smollett's time we must
remember that Hellenic and primitive art, whether antique or
medieval, were unknown or unappreciated.
The reigning models of
taste in ancient sculpture were copies of fourth-century
originals, Hellenistic or later productions. Hence Smollett's
ecstasies over the Laocoon, the Niobe, and the Dying Gladiator.
Greek art of the best period was hardly known in authentic
examples; antiques so fine as the Torso of Hercules were rare.
But while his failures show the danger of dogmatism in art
criticism, Smollett is careful to disclaim all pretensions to the
nice discernment of the real connoisseur. In cases where good
sense and sincere utterance are all that is necessary he is
seldom far wrong. Take the following description for example: -
"You need not doubt but that I went to the church of St. Peter in
Montorio, to view the celebrated Transfiguration by Raphael,
which, if it was mine, I would cut in two parts. The three
figures in the air attract the eye so strongly that little or no
attention is paid to those below on the mountain. I apprehend
that the nature of the subject does not admit of that keeping and
dependence which ought to be maintained in the disposition of the
lights and shadows in a picture. The groups seem to be entirely
independent of each other. The extraordinary merit of this piece,
I imagine, consists not only in the expression of divinity on the
face of Christ, but also in the surprising lightness of the
figure that hovers like a beautiful exhalation in the air."
Smollett's remarks about the "Last Judgement" of Michael Angelo,
(that it confuses the eye as a number of people speaking at once
confounds the ear; and that while single figures are splendid,
the whole together resembles a mere mob, without subordination,
keeping, or repose) will probably be re-echoed by a large
proportion of the sightseers who gaze upon it yearly. But his
description of the "Transfiguration" displays an amount of taste
and judgement which is far from being so widely distributed. For
purposes of reproduction at the present day, I may remind the
reader that the picture is ordinarily "cut in two." and the
nether portion is commonly attributed to Raphael's pupils, while
the "beautiful exhalation," as Smollett so felicitously terms it,
is attributed exclusively to the master when at the zenith of his
powers. His general verdict upon Michael Angelo and Raphael has
much in it that appeals to a modern taste. Of Raphael, as a
whole, he concludes that the master possesses the serenity of
Virgil, but lacks the fire of Homer; and before leaving this same
Letter XXXIII, in which Smollett ventures so many independent
critical judgements, I am tempted to cite yet another example of
his capacity for acute yet sympathetic appreciation.
"In the Palazzo Altieri I admired a picture, by Carlo Maratti,
representing a saint calling down lightning from heaven to
destroy blasphemers. It was the figure of the saint I admired,
merely as a portrait. The execution of the other parts was tame
enough; perhaps they were purposely kept down in order to
preserve the importance of the principal figure. I imagine
Salvator Rosa would have made a different disposition on the same
subject - that amidst the darkness of a tempest he would have
illuminated the blasphemer with the flash of lightning by which
he was destroyed. This would have thrown a dismal gleam upon his
countenance, distorted by the horror of his situation as well as
by the effects of the fire, and rendered the whole scene
dreadfully picturesque."
Smollett confuses historical and aesthetic grandeur. What appeals
to him most is a monument of a whole past civilization, such as
the Pont du Gard. His views of art, too, as well as his views of
life, are profoundly influenced by his early training as a
surgeon. He is not inclined by temperament to be sanguine. His
gaze is often fixed, like that of a doctor, upon the end of life;
and of art, as of nature, he takes a decidedly pathological view.
Yet, upon the whole, far from deriding his artistic impressions,
I think we shall be inclined rather to applaud them, as well for
their sanity as for their undoubted sincerity.
For the return journey to Florence Smollett selected the
alternative route by Narni, Terni, Spoleto, Foligno, Perugia, and
Arezzo, and, by his own account, no traveller ever suffered quite
so much as he did from "dirt," "vermin," "poison," and imposture.
At Foligno, where Goethe also, in his travels a score of years or
so later, had an amusing adventure, Smollett was put into a room
recently occupied by a wild beast (bestia), but the bestia turned
out on investigation to be no more or no less than an "English
heretic." The food was so filthy that it might have turned the
stomach of a muleteer; their coach was nearly shattered to
pieces; frozen with cold and nearly devoured by rats. Mrs.
Smollett wept in silence with horror and fatigue; and the bugs
gave the Doctor a whooping-cough. If Smollett anticipated a
violent death from exhaustion and chagrin in consequence of these
tortures he was completely disappointed. His health was never
better, - so much so that he felt constrained in fairness to drink
to the health of the Roman banker who had recommended this
nefarious route. [See the Doctor's remarks at the end of Letter
XXXV.] By Florence and Lerici he retraced his steps to Nice early
in 1765, and then after a brief jaunt to Turin (where he met
Sterne) and back by the Col di Tende, he turned his face
definitely homewards. The journey home confirmed his liking for
Pisa, and gives an opening for an amusing description of the
Britisher abroad (Letter XXXV). We can almost overhear Thackeray,
or the author of Eothen, touching this same topic in Letter XLI.
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