Amid the alien limbs
John Kenworthy-Browne
THE PLEASURES OF ANTIQUITY: BRITISH COLLECTORS OF GREECE AND ROME by Jonathan Scott Yale, £40, pp. 340, ISBN 0300098545 1 n 1882 the German archaeologist Adolf Michaelis published his authoritative Ancient Marbles in Great Britain, a book which is still in use by scholars. 'No other country in Europe.' he wrote, 'can at this day boast of such a wealth of Private Collections of antique works of art as England, which in this particular recalls the Rome of the 16th and 17th centuries'. The English collections of ancient sculpture have continued to fascinate scholars, particularly archaeologists. from Germany. America and Britain.
Jonathan Scott's account is fresh and lively. Having been for ten years chairman of the Reviewing Committee for the Export of Works of Art, he is quite at home with 18th-century methods of getting past the Papal Antiquary at Rome by 'presents' or wangling. His is a historian's, not an archaeologist's approach. The book is primarily about the collectors, and secondly about their collections. Architecture and sculptural quality come third and fourth.
The first of the British collectors was the Earl of Arundel, whose accumulation in the 17th century was vast, though, it seems, rather indiscriminate. Some of it was bought by the 8th Earl of Pembroke, who made a massive collection from distinguished sources. His enthusiasm was greater than his knowledge, and Michaelis was scathing about 'the large number of spurious pieces, the abominable restorations, and the absurd nomenclature'. The same could be said of most of the dilettante collections, but that would not be fair. Fakes and false names came from the dealers at Rome, and a complete restoration of missing limbs was accepted practice before 1800. Since then. archaeologists have removed alien arms, legs, heads, and even noses. Contrariwise, historians often
prefer to see them in place, and at the Vatican the 16th-century arms of Apollo Belvedere have actually been put back.
In 18th-century Rome there were always plenty of rich young Englishmen making their grand tour. The few who wanted objects or knowledge necessarily had to go to the antiquaries, who were usually also restorers, dealers and skilful salesmen: Cavaceppi and Piranesi, and the British Thomas Jenkins and Gavin Hamilton. Jenkins, the most active, was famously economical with the truth and made a great deal of money. Eager young men could be over-persuaded. Thomas Mansel Talbot bought a large collection in 1768-73, but at home he had nowhere to put them and they remained in packing cases for nearly two decades. William Weddell of Newby Hall made a good collection, but his two best statues. a Venus and a Minetya, both bought from Jenkins, had the wrong heads. However, his enormous outlay on the Venus seems justified by the money, some £8 million, that it fetched at auction last year.
The sculpture gallery became an English art form but there were few of them. Petworth, the property of the National Trust, is disappointing architecturally but the contents are splendid and, as in the great houses at Rome, they spill over the state rooms. Holkham Hall and Newby also remain complete (except, sadly, for the Jenkins Venus), and one hopes they will remain so. As for Ince Blundell and Woburn Abbey, the contents mostly survive and with the good will of their owners they could be reinstated.
By the late 18th century, collectors became more scholarly, and they paid lip service to Greek, as opposed to Roman, sculpture. Charles Townley, though not outstandingly rich, bought sculpture of higher quality, and more of it, than anyone else. The collection went to the British Museum. His friend Richard Payne Knight, collector of bronzes, coins and gems, was also a scholar. He acknowledged the superiority of the Greek; yet when faced by the genuine article in the Elgin marbles he failed to recognise it, obstinately keeping his opinion that the pediment figures were of Hadrian's date.
Early sales such as Lord Cawdor's (1790) and the Earl of Bessborough's (1801) re-circulated the sculpture among collectors. By the 20th century sales were not infrequent, and the finest works usually went abroad. The Deepdene (Thomas Hope's) sale in 1917, though in wartime, was well advertised and the Minerva made a high price, £7,140. In 1930 the very fine Lansdowne marbles were sold. The Great Depression was under way, but prices were still fair, and one piece. the Wounded Amazon, made an exceptional £27,350. It went to the Metropolitan Museum, New York. Prices slumped badly in the 1930s, and remained low until about 1970.
The story so far covers four centuries. Scott's book is absorbing, well organised and well illustrated. There are copious footnotes and the references seem to be nearly complete.
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