Larking about Greece as a student of the antique, he stumbled on one buried marvel after another: a mass of marble limbs and torsos in a barley field-the broken frieze of the temple of Aegina another trove of statues unearthed while exploring a fox's den. But when the Greeks, once free, set about restoring their mutilated temple, the loss of the frieze was bitterly felt.Ī more creative and conscientious plunderer than Elgin was Charles Cockerell, a friend of Byron. The German archaeologist who later observed that "only blind passion could doubt that Lord Elgin's act was an act of preservation" had a case (though the fact, recently revealed, that in 1939 the marbles were damaged by being scrubbed with ammonia and wire brushes may cast some new doubt on that). The columns of a temple at Sardis were blown up by a Greek looking for gold on Samos a temple was used for Turkish gunnery practice. Many a statue-blasphemous in Turkish eyes-had been burnt for its lime, to end up as whitewash on the walls of some hovel. When Lord Elgin's agents decided to chisel loose the sculptures of the Parthenon frieze as ornaments for his Scottish estate, neither Greeks nor Turks, who ruled the land, were concerned. The beautiful sculptures, a prize exhibit at the British Museum for 175 years, may well be returned to Athens yet, a polluted industrial city where the maidens of the Erectheum have been replaced with replicas, while the Parthenon itself will have to be enclosed in a plastic bubble if the crumbling remains are to last the century. The rape of the Elgin marbles at the beginning of the 19th century has produced unabating argument. The fact that these legacies were often neglected was convenient, and having a treaty to cite-even one signed under duress-quieted any upstart pang of conscience. Russell Chamberlin's lively and engaging book explains such puzzles, and dwells with bemused relish on the brazen self-justifications with which "collectors" have defended their appropriations, putting them in flattering perspective by describing the heirs of great civilizations as "natives," not to be trusted with their own legacies. Did we wonder as children how those mummies, those crisply carved bas reliefs, those lengths of linen and of papyrus marked with mysterious hieroglyphs came to the cold, echoing halls of our museums? Or why the treasures of Tutankhamun should be in London, while the bust of Nefertiti sheds its lunar radiance in a museum in Berlin? "CEMETERIES for murdered evidence" is one way to describe a museum. By EVE AUCHINCLOSS EVE AUCHINCLOSS is an editor of Connoisseur.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |