首
先你注意到的是他的姿态：他高约11英寸（28厘米），呈坐姿，右腿内弯，就像坐在横座马鞍上一样，上半身扭曲，左腿伸展。然后你才会关注他的面部：他高高的鼻梁上蒙着一块面巾，把脸的大部分遮挡起来，只露出浓浓的弯眉，双眼俯视下方，眼神异常专注。
Fondazione Torino Musei
研究学者提出了各种假说，想弄清楚这尊现藏于意大利都灵东方艺术博物馆的唐俑的真实身份。
东方艺术博物馆东亚艺术厅的负责人崔维尔(Marco Guglielminotti Trivel)说，该馆暂将这尊墓俑命名为"骑骆驼或马的波斯人"(a Persian riding a camel or a horse)。它是阿涅利基金会(Agnelli Foundation)捐赠给东方艺术博物馆的五百件中国古代艺术品中的一件。墓俑的眼睛呈圆形，鹰钩鼻子；虽然大多数此类墓俑所表现的男子都是跨立骑姿，但横坐马鞍倒也并非绝无仅有。崔维尔说，墓俑举起的拳头可能是在握住缰绳，而蒙面巾和覆盖后颈的一片布应该是为了防风、防晒和防沙。
崔维尔说，"要知道，在唐朝的鼎盛时期，唐帝国都城的人口在100万人左右，其中可能至少有四分之一是外国人。"当时很多外国人都是粟特人，即波斯人的一支，他们控制着丝绸之路上的贸易。因此我们可以做出这种假设，富有的中国古人在给死去的亲人创造一个日常生活缩影让其带入阴间时，往往也会把外国人包括在内。这也反映出当时的中国人有多么地国际化。
然而，骑骆驼的假设并不能让人完全信服。这一点，只要问问执掌阿涅利基金会25年之久的帕西尼(Marcello Pacini)就知道了。他大约在20年前通过拍卖得到这尊墓俑，作为基金会的收藏。他说，"我从未见过哪个骑者墓俑有这么专注的眼神。这很像是一位祭司向神祗祈祷时的眼神，而不是一个骑着骆驼的人在处理一些小困难时该有的表情。"他怀疑这位神秘男子是一个正在给圣火添柴的拜火教(Zoroastrian)的祭司。他指出，信仰拜火教的粟特人在中国唐代确有存在，拜火教祭司在举行祭祀仪式时会在脸上蒙布，以免自己的呼吸或唾液玷污圣火。
不过，这种假设也并非滴水不漏。比如说，拜火教祭司会围着饰有流苏的腰带，而这尊墓俑的腰带上没有任何装饰；拜火教祭司的形象通常都是站立的，而这尊墓俑却是坐着的；拜火教祭司的蒙面巾是方形的，而这尊墓俑的是三角形，就像把方巾对折了一样。但帕西尼认为，这些并不足以推翻他的假设。他认为粟特人的商队可能会调整祭祀仪式和服装，以适应商队不断迁徙的生活方式。
外部的专家能否解开这个谜团呢？加州大学圣迭戈分校(University of California, San Diego)的卡西尔(Suzanne Cahill)教授对这尊墓俑表现的是拜火教祭司的说法很感兴趣，但她提醒大家不要在眼部和手部细节上钻牛角尖。作为研究唐朝物质文化的专家，她说当时的这种外国人墓俑往往都是眼神非常专注的，"不管他们的身体是否处于紧张状态，这是因为当时的艺术家专注于表现又大又圆的眼睛，并经常采取夸张的表现手法。"不过，墓俑的蒙面巾让她感到困惑，她猜测道，"这也许是舞者的服饰。"
艾克菲尔德(Tonia Eckfeld)是《中国唐代帝王陵墓，618年-907年》（Imperial Tombs in Tang China, 618-907，2005年出版）一书的作者，她得出了类似的结论，认为这尊墓俑所表现的可能是一名乐手。在仔细观察了墓俑的照片后，她在一封电子邮件中写道，"他宽大的衣袖很像是一个鼓手的服饰，看他手臂和手的位置，应该是拿着鼓槌。"但见过实物的崔维尔表示，墓俑的姿势不像是在击鼓──有一只垂下的衣袖在膝盖部位拖得太长，没有空间摆放下一个乐器了。
崔维尔有些迟疑地承认，自己还有一个揣测没说出来。他所知道的唯一四尊似乎也是雕刻而成的墓俑描绘的都是男伶的形象──这几尊墓俑也收藏于东方艺术博物馆内。他说，"他们拥有相似的动感和独特之处，此外还有一点：男伶身着异域风情的衣服，跟蒙面男子的衣服简直一模一样。"检测发现，这些墓俑可能来自于同一个制作工场；不但如此，崔维尔还认为，它们可能描绘的都是同样的形象：蒙面男子也是个男伶，可能在表演强盗在作案过程中被发现的一幕场景。
崔维尔旋即又补充道，这只是个猜想而已，他希望下一步的研究将探讨这种可能性是否存在。现在，只有两件事是肯定的：第一，这尊墓俑是墓俑中的另类，而且热释光检测证实其为真品；第二，无论这尊墓俑对公元八世纪的中国人意味着什么，对公元二十一世纪的研究学者而言，它是一件引人遐想的艺术精品。
Lee Lawrence
（本文版权归道琼斯公司所有，未经许可不得翻译或转载。）
The first thing you notice is the pose: About 11 inches tall, he sits with his right leg bent inward as though riding sidesaddle, his upper body torqued, his left leg extended. Then you see the face, most of which is hidden by a cloth that drapes across the bridge of a rather prominent nose, revealing only thick, arched eyebrows and eyes that stare down with fierce intensity.
Made in China during the latter part of the eighth century, this unusual Tang dynasty burial figure today sits on a shelf in the Museo di Arte Orientale (MAO) of Turin, Italy, exuding as much mystery as he does energy. To date, nobody can say exactly who or what he is -- his clothes, his pose, his expression don't add up. Even his manufacture is atypical: While almost all other known burial statuettes are hollow and cast in molds, this one is solid clay and appears to have been sculpted by hand.
For the moment, MAO has him down as 'a Persian riding a camel or a horse,' says Marco Guglielminotti Trivel, MAO's curator of East Asian art. And this is plausible enough. One among 500 ancient Chinese works that the Agnelli Foundation donated to the museum, the figure's eyes are rounded, his nose aquiline, and though most figurines show a male rider straddling his mount, sidesaddle is not unheard of. The raised fists, Mr. Guglielminotti notes, might have held reins, while the face cover -- as well as a flap of cloth over the back of his neck -- would have protected against wind, sun and sand.
'Keep in mind that at the height of the Tang period, the population of the imperial capital was about one million and, of these, at least a fourth were probably foreigners,' Mr. Guglielminotti says. And many of them were Sogdians, a Persian people who dominated trade along the Silk Road. So it stands to reason that, when creating a microcosm of everyday reality to accompany the deceased in the afterlife, wealthy Chinese often included foreigners. It also showed just how cosmopolitan they were.
But the camel-rider interpretation is not entirely satisfying. Just ask Marcello Pacini, who headed the Agnelli Foundation for 25 years and acquired the statue at auction some 20 years ago for its collection. 'I have never seen a rider with such intensity in his eyes,' he says. 'His is the expression of a priest honoring a god, not that of a camel rider facing some banal complication.' He speculates that our riveting mystery man is a Zoroastrian priest feeding the sacred fire. He points to the fact that Zoroastrian Sogdians had a visible presence in Tang China and that Zoroastrian priests wore a face cover during rituals to avoid polluting the fire with breath or saliva.
Still, the case is not airtight. Zoroastrian priests, for example, wore belts with tassels, yet the belt here is plain; priests usually appear standing, while our man sits; and their face cover -- or padam -- is square, while this one falls in a triangle like a folded kerchief. Not a deal breaker, according to Mr. Pacini. He speculates that communities of Sogdian traders might have adapted rituals and costumes to caravan life.
Could outside experts resolve the issue? Although intrigued by the Zoroastrian theory, Prof. Suzanne Cahill of the University of California, San Diego, nevertheless warns against reading too much into the disconnect between the eyes and hands. She specializes in Tang material culture and notes that in foreign figures the gaze is often intense 'whether or not their bodies are tense. The artists fixate on the big round eyes and often caricature them.' But the face veil mystifies her; 'it might be part of a dancer's costume,' she muses.
In a similar vein, Tonia Eckfeld, who wrote 'Imperial Tombs in Tang China, 618-907' (2005), thinks the figure in Turin might be a musician. 'His loose sleeves would be consistent with a drummer, and the positions of his arms and hands suggest he could have been holding drumsticks,' she emails after examining images of the statuette. But Mr. Guglielminotti, who has the advantage of examining the actual object, says the pose is not quite right for that -- one sleeve falls too far over the lap to allow enough room for an instrument.
Mr. Guglielminotti then reluctantly admits to harboring a secret theory of his own. The only other tomb figures he knows that also appear to be sculpted portray four actors -- they, too, are in the MAO collection. 'Similar dynamism and originality, but,' he adds, 'there is more: The actors sport 'exotic' clothes that are practically identical to that of the veiled man.' Not only do tests indicate that the works probably come from the same atelier, but Mr. Guglielminotti thinks they might depict the same subject: an actor, maybe playing a robber surprised midtheft.
Just a theory, he is quick to add, hoping that future research will investigate this possibility too. In the meantime, only two things are certain: As unusual as our man is among burial figures, he is authentic according to thermoluminescence tests; and whatever he represented to eighth-century Chinese, to 21st-century scholars he is a riveting work of art.
Lee Lawrence
Made in China during the latter part of the eighth century, this unusual Tang dynasty burial figure today sits on a shelf in the Museo di Arte Orientale (MAO) of Turin, Italy, exuding as much mystery as he does energy. To date, nobody can say exactly who or what he is -- his clothes, his pose, his expression don't add up. Even his manufacture is atypical: While almost all other known burial statuettes are hollow and cast in molds, this one is solid clay and appears to have been sculpted by hand.
For the moment, MAO has him down as 'a Persian riding a camel or a horse,' says Marco Guglielminotti Trivel, MAO's curator of East Asian art. And this is plausible enough. One among 500 ancient Chinese works that the Agnelli Foundation donated to the museum, the figure's eyes are rounded, his nose aquiline, and though most figurines show a male rider straddling his mount, sidesaddle is not unheard of. The raised fists, Mr. Guglielminotti notes, might have held reins, while the face cover -- as well as a flap of cloth over the back of his neck -- would have protected against wind, sun and sand.
'Keep in mind that at the height of the Tang period, the population of the imperial capital was about one million and, of these, at least a fourth were probably foreigners,' Mr. Guglielminotti says. And many of them were Sogdians, a Persian people who dominated trade along the Silk Road. So it stands to reason that, when creating a microcosm of everyday reality to accompany the deceased in the afterlife, wealthy Chinese often included foreigners. It also showed just how cosmopolitan they were.
But the camel-rider interpretation is not entirely satisfying. Just ask Marcello Pacini, who headed the Agnelli Foundation for 25 years and acquired the statue at auction some 20 years ago for its collection. 'I have never seen a rider with such intensity in his eyes,' he says. 'His is the expression of a priest honoring a god, not that of a camel rider facing some banal complication.' He speculates that our riveting mystery man is a Zoroastrian priest feeding the sacred fire. He points to the fact that Zoroastrian Sogdians had a visible presence in Tang China and that Zoroastrian priests wore a face cover during rituals to avoid polluting the fire with breath or saliva.
Still, the case is not airtight. Zoroastrian priests, for example, wore belts with tassels, yet the belt here is plain; priests usually appear standing, while our man sits; and their face cover -- or padam -- is square, while this one falls in a triangle like a folded kerchief. Not a deal breaker, according to Mr. Pacini. He speculates that communities of Sogdian traders might have adapted rituals and costumes to caravan life.
Could outside experts resolve the issue? Although intrigued by the Zoroastrian theory, Prof. Suzanne Cahill of the University of California, San Diego, nevertheless warns against reading too much into the disconnect between the eyes and hands. She specializes in Tang material culture and notes that in foreign figures the gaze is often intense 'whether or not their bodies are tense. The artists fixate on the big round eyes and often caricature them.' But the face veil mystifies her; 'it might be part of a dancer's costume,' she muses.
In a similar vein, Tonia Eckfeld, who wrote 'Imperial Tombs in Tang China, 618-907' (2005), thinks the figure in Turin might be a musician. 'His loose sleeves would be consistent with a drummer, and the positions of his arms and hands suggest he could have been holding drumsticks,' she emails after examining images of the statuette. But Mr. Guglielminotti, who has the advantage of examining the actual object, says the pose is not quite right for that -- one sleeve falls too far over the lap to allow enough room for an instrument.
Mr. Guglielminotti then reluctantly admits to harboring a secret theory of his own. The only other tomb figures he knows that also appear to be sculpted portray four actors -- they, too, are in the MAO collection. 'Similar dynamism and originality, but,' he adds, 'there is more: The actors sport 'exotic' clothes that are practically identical to that of the veiled man.' Not only do tests indicate that the works probably come from the same atelier, but Mr. Guglielminotti thinks they might depict the same subject: an actor, maybe playing a robber surprised midtheft.
Just a theory, he is quick to add, hoping that future research will investigate this possibility too. In the meantime, only two things are certain: As unusual as our man is among burial figures, he is authentic according to thermoluminescence tests; and whatever he represented to eighth-century Chinese, to 21st-century scholars he is a riveting work of art.
Lee Lawrence
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