the victorious Hannibal. Similar emotions were excited by the numerous Roman vases; the amphorae in which their wines were kept; and especially by the relics of the unfortunate Herculaneum. These consist of utensils, vases, gods, etc., and among other things are the very hinges of their doors. By the sight of these authentic remnants of this illustrious nation, a powerful impulse is excited towards the study of their antiquities.
Benjamin Silliman was twenty-five when he came to Britain to further his education. He had been a law tutor at Yale University (his almamater), but Yale’s president at the time, Timothy Dwight, wanted him to requalify to teach science. Silliman first studied science in Philadelphia, and then sought out scientists in England and Scotland. He did, on returning to Yale, teach chemistry, helped found Yale Medical School, and launched the American Journal of Science .
On this June day, he visited the British Museum in London. The museum was then half a century old, but its collection had just grown as a result of many valuable objects—particularly Egyptian mummies—acquired by the British after the surrender of the French general Menou at Alexandria in 1801. Rebuilding was going on to add exhibition space, and so the treasures were stored in makeshift sheds, “constructed to defend them from the weather, till they can be removed into a building.”
Benjamin Silliman cast a detached eye over the sarcophagi. But gradually, something began to stir in him. He thought first of Alexander the Great (this was not, in fact, his coffin), and then he began to imagine the soldiers who had carried these weapons and worn these rings and helmets during the Battle of Cannae. He looked at the rings and ornaments, reflecting how “one cannot remain unaffected when he realizes that these rings have been worn on Roman fingers.” They must have been prized possessions. And he could feel what it was like to have the weight of a helmet on one’s head, or a spear in one’s hand.
His sense of excitement deepened. He loved the small things, like the vases and amphorae, and “the very hinges of their doors” from tragic Herculaneum. What had seemed mere objects now came to life in his imagination, things that people had handled in centuries long past. He was not looking only with his head but also with his heart, and so “emotions were excited by the numerous Roman vases,” and he was happy to be in the presence of the amphorae because these were the very jars “in which their wines were kept.” He felt a burst of joy at sensing the sheer life of the past.
The Landscape Painting
Emma Willard, educator, writing a letter to her sister
PARIS • DECEMBER 18, 1830
When I tell you that I devoted this morning to viewing the pictures in the gallery of the Louvre, you will probably expect me to come out in quite a rhapsody, as you know my great fondness for paintings. I was indeed quite rapt, as I walked slowly up the long gallery, and got into the spirit of the different feelings, which the whole scene is calculated to inspire: admiration —loathing—pity—disgust—veneration—and the spirit of laughter [. . .]—and besides this, the spirit of severe reprehension; all these feelings rose by turns, or mingled together in my mind [. . .] Yet I dare say, I shall go often to the gallery, but I shall learn to do by these pictures, as I do by Paris generally [. . .] I control my eyes, and my mind; and look at what I like, and pass over the rest as if it were not.
There are two comparatively small apartments [in the Louvre], filled with paintings before you enter the grand gallery. Among these my attention was particularly fixed by one landscape. It had, upon the grass and shrubs which skirted its living waters, the fresh dew of morning when the sun’s first rays give to it its sparkling brightness.
Emma Willard was a pioneer of women’s education in America. After founding an academy for young women in
Benjamin Silliman was twenty-five when he came to Britain to further his education. He had been a law tutor at Yale University (his almamater), but Yale’s president at the time, Timothy Dwight, wanted him to requalify to teach science. Silliman first studied science in Philadelphia, and then sought out scientists in England and Scotland. He did, on returning to Yale, teach chemistry, helped found Yale Medical School, and launched the American Journal of Science .
On this June day, he visited the British Museum in London. The museum was then half a century old, but its collection had just grown as a result of many valuable objects—particularly Egyptian mummies—acquired by the British after the surrender of the French general Menou at Alexandria in 1801. Rebuilding was going on to add exhibition space, and so the treasures were stored in makeshift sheds, “constructed to defend them from the weather, till they can be removed into a building.”
Benjamin Silliman cast a detached eye over the sarcophagi. But gradually, something began to stir in him. He thought first of Alexander the Great (this was not, in fact, his coffin), and then he began to imagine the soldiers who had carried these weapons and worn these rings and helmets during the Battle of Cannae. He looked at the rings and ornaments, reflecting how “one cannot remain unaffected when he realizes that these rings have been worn on Roman fingers.” They must have been prized possessions. And he could feel what it was like to have the weight of a helmet on one’s head, or a spear in one’s hand.
His sense of excitement deepened. He loved the small things, like the vases and amphorae, and “the very hinges of their doors” from tragic Herculaneum. What had seemed mere objects now came to life in his imagination, things that people had handled in centuries long past. He was not looking only with his head but also with his heart, and so “emotions were excited by the numerous Roman vases,” and he was happy to be in the presence of the amphorae because these were the very jars “in which their wines were kept.” He felt a burst of joy at sensing the sheer life of the past.
The Landscape Painting
Emma Willard, educator, writing a letter to her sister
PARIS • DECEMBER 18, 1830
When I tell you that I devoted this morning to viewing the pictures in the gallery of the Louvre, you will probably expect me to come out in quite a rhapsody, as you know my great fondness for paintings. I was indeed quite rapt, as I walked slowly up the long gallery, and got into the spirit of the different feelings, which the whole scene is calculated to inspire: admiration —loathing—pity—disgust—veneration—and the spirit of laughter [. . .]—and besides this, the spirit of severe reprehension; all these feelings rose by turns, or mingled together in my mind [. . .] Yet I dare say, I shall go often to the gallery, but I shall learn to do by these pictures, as I do by Paris generally [. . .] I control my eyes, and my mind; and look at what I like, and pass over the rest as if it were not.
There are two comparatively small apartments [in the Louvre], filled with paintings before you enter the grand gallery. Among these my attention was particularly fixed by one landscape. It had, upon the grass and shrubs which skirted its living waters, the fresh dew of morning when the sun’s first rays give to it its sparkling brightness.
Emma Willard was a pioneer of women’s education in America. After founding an academy for young women in