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CHAPTER XIX . “ L ’ altra vedete ch’ha fatto alla guancia Della sua palma , sospirando , letto . ” — Purgatorio , vii . When George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of Windsor , when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister , and Mr . Vincy was mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch , Mrs . Casaubon , born Dorothea Brooke , had taken her wedding journey to Rome . In those days the world in general was more ignorant of good and evil by forty years than it is at present . Travellers did not often carry full information on Christian art either in their heads or their pockets ; and even the most brilliant English critic of the day mistook the flower - flushed tomb of the ascended Virgin for an ornamental vase due to the painter’s fancy . Romanticism , which has helped to fill some dull blanks with love and knowledge , had not yet penetrated the times with its leaven and entered into everybody’s food ; it was fermenting still as a distinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in certain long - haired German artists at Rome , and the youth of other nations who worked or idled near them were sometimes caught in the spreading movement . One fine morning a young man whose hair was not immoderately long , but abundant and curly , and who was otherwise English in his equipment , had just turned his back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was looking out on the magnificent view of the mountains from the adjoining round vestibule . He was sufficiently absorbed not to notice the approach of a dark - eyed , animated German who came up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder , said with a strong accent , “ Come here , quick ! else she will have changed her pose . ” Quickness was ready at the call , and the two figures passed lightly along by the Meleager , towards the hall where the reclining Ariadne , then called the Cleopatra , lies in the marble voluptuousness of her beauty , the drapery folding around her with a petal - like ease and tenderness . They were just in time to see another figure standing against a pedestal near the reclining marble : a breathing blooming girl , whose form , not shamed by the Ariadne , was clad in Quakerish gray drapery ; her long cloak , fastened at the neck , was thrown backward from her arms , and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek , pushing somewhat backward the white beaver bonnet which made a sort of halo to her face around the simply braided dark - brown hair . She was not looking at the sculpture , probably not thinking of it : her large eyes were fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell across the floor . But she became conscious of the two strangers who suddenly paused as if to contemplate the Cleopatra , and , without looking at them , immediately turned away to join a maid - servant and courier who were loitering along the hall at a little distance off . “ What do you think of that for a fine bit of antithesis ? ” said the German , searching in his friend’s face for responding admiration , but going on volubly without waiting for any other answer . “ There lies antique beauty , not corpse - like even in death , but arrested in the complete contentment of its sensuous perfection : and here stands beauty in its breathing life , with the consciousness of Christian centuries in its bosom . But she should be dressed as a nun ; I think she looks almost what you call a Quaker ; I would dress her as a nun in my picture . However , she is married ; I saw her wedding - ring on that wonderful left hand , otherwise I should have thought the sallow Geistlicher was her father . I saw him parting from her a good while ago , and just now I found her in that magnificent pose . Only think ! he is perhaps rich , and would like to have her portrait taken . Ah ! it is no use looking after her — there she goes ! Let us follow her home ! ”
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