[Sidenote: ANECDOTE OF BARTOLINI.]
"Good evening, Professor."
"_Accidenti_ to all Professors!"
"What kind of a speech is this? Have I offended you?"
"Offence or no offence! I have said _accidenti_, and ... if you don"t know anything, go and learn;" and with this he pa.s.sed into the other rooms. Carlino stood there as if he had been made of stucco, and turning to me said--
"But what stuff is this? Do you understand anything about it?"
"Dear Carlino," I answered, "I understand it all, and will tell you at once. Bartolini does not wish to be called Professor."
"What! but is he not Professor Bartolini?"
"That he is,--a Professor, and one of the most able, and perhaps the oldest of them all; but he has a dislike to be called so, because he says all Professors are a.s.ses."
"This may be, and may not be," replied Carlino, "but I knew nothing about it; and besides, how does he wish to be called? A Cavaliere? It seems better to me to be an honourable Professor than a Cavaliere."
"No, my dear fellow, not even a Cavaliere, although he does not at all dislike being one, as you see he wears the ribbon of his order constantly in his b.u.t.ton-hole."
"Well, what then?"
"He wishes to be called master," I answered.
"Dear, dear! oh, this is beautiful! And I, who knew nothing about it, what fault is it of mine? Does it seem to you proper or well-bred to come out with that word before everybody, even before ladies? To me it seems not only not like a master, but not even like a schoolboy."
[Sidenote: I REPROVE BARTOLINI.]
"Have patience, Carlino, and don"t let us talk any more about it: bury it under a stone, and leave it alone. Listen! they are calling out your number;" and so the matter ended.
The day after, I had a model, Tonino Liverani, called Tria--a beautiful model, and Bartolini"s favourite one, the same from whom he modelled when making his group of the Astyanax. Half an hour before mid-day he said to me--
"Signor Giovanni, would you be so kind as to send me away a quarter of an hour earlier to-day? I must be at the _maestro"s_ at twelve o"clock.
I replied, "Certainly--of course; dress yourself at once and go; do not keep him waiting."
Whilst Tria was dressing, I thought over the _accidente_ or the _accidenti_ on the previous evening, and if that horrid word did not go down with Carlino because it was said at his house, neither did it please me, for in my quality of Professor it wounded me more than it did him. But, in fact, joking apart, I was really grieved to see such a great man descend without any cause to the use of such puerile and unbecoming expressions, the more so that he was made an object of ridicule because Carlino took the matter seriously. I said to myself, Shall I send him a message or let it go? If I let it go, he will think that I am afraid to say what I feel, or that I am so weak-minded as to think that sally of his the most natural thing in the world: in the one case, as in the other, I shall cut a bad figure, and Bartolini despises men who are afraid or stupid. Then, too, who knows if a frank sincere word, spoken at any rate with respect and reason, such as I should say, would not do him good? All depends on Tonino"s reporting it straight.
[Sidenote: BASE OF TABLE OF THE MUSES.]
"Have you any orders, Sor Giovanni? When shall I return?" said Tonino.
"Listen, Tonino; you must do me the kindness to say to the _maestro_, that last night he let fall from his mouth a word that displeased me, because those who heard it did not know why he used it, and having heard his reason did not appreciate it. Take care! not a word more or less, and don"t make a mistake."
And having gone over his lesson two or three times, he repeated it quite right.
"You will return to-morrow morning at nine o"clock if Bartolini will let you, and then you will give me his answer."
The day after, at nine, Tria appeared and said to me--
"I told the _maestro_, you know."
"Well, what did he answer?"
"He replied in these words: "You must say to Dupre that I thank him. I also was aware that I had done wrong, but it was too late. Salute him.""
Some evenings afterwards I saw him again at Fenzi"s house: I was playing billiards. He shook my hand and said "Good evening," a thing he had not done for a long time.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF MY DESIGN.]
After the little ivory casket that I have already spoken of, the Grand Duke ordered me to compose a base for the famous Table of the Muses in _pietra dura_ that is in the Palazzo Pitti. This work made me happier, as I was free to imagine and execute it in the manner I thought best, and a rich and elaborate subject occurred to me at once. The Table of the Muses is round; in the centre is Apollo driving the chariot of the sun, and encircling him are the attributes of the Muses. As the artist who made the top of the table had taken for his subject Apollo as the father of the Muses, I in my work gave to him the attributes of the sun, as fertiliser of the earth. In the base immediately under the table, I preserved its circular form, throwing out at the top a sort of capital supported by jutting brackets, and richly ornamented. Beneath this is a cylinder covered with figures of children (_putte_) engaged in the rural occupations and pleasures of the various seasons. In the spring they are sporting, and playing on instruments, and dancing among flowers; in the summer they are cutting and bringing in the corn; in the autumn they are harvesting and treading grapes; in the winter they are digging, hoeing, and sowing. This cylinder thus storied over is set upon a large disc with mouldings and bevelled slope, upon which the Seasons are seated, in varied att.i.tudes, and weaving a garland of the flowers and fruits which the earth produces during the year. Spring is peacefully sitting, lightly draped, crowned with daisies, and holding her head somewhat elevated, to express the reawakening of Nature. Summer has her _torso_ nude, is crowned with ears of corn, and is more robust of form than the others. Autumn is crowned with grapes and vine-leaves, entirely dressed, but without a mantle. Winter is crouching down, pressing her knees together, is entirely enveloped in her mantle, has a cloth on her head, and is expressive of cold. The garland which unites the figures is hidden behind Winter, is more slender, and composed solely of fruits.
Each of these four figures seated upon the disc stretches forth a foot upon a projecting ledge or bracket, which is in plumb beneath the upper brackets, which support the capital; and these four lower brackets, making part of the disc and jutting forth from it, form the base and foot of the entire column. In the s.p.a.ces between the figures on the upper bevelled slope of the disc, ornaments with the attributes of the elements are carved--for the earth a growth of acanthus-leaves, for the water a dolphin, for the air an eagle, for the fire a vase with flames.
Full of goodwill, I put my hand to the work with new hopefulness. I remember those days of a new awakening within me of interest in my art, and trust in Providence for the support of my little family, which had been increased by the birth of Luisina, dear little angel, whom G.o.d took to Himself again, now some four years ago. In going from us, she left behind her the memory of her rare virtues, that softens the bitterness of our great loss. My poor little angel, pray for us. My eyes are dim with tears, but I feel how true it is that sorrow only rekindles the light of faith.
[Sidenote: IN BETTER SPIRITS.]
I worked with true enthusiasm, getting up at an early hour, and after a slight breakfast with my family, going down into the studio, which was almost under my own room. I kept note of all my expenses, to have some idea of the price I should ask for my model, as it was his Highness"s intention to have it cast in bronze. I was very light-hearted, as I have already said; and the princ.i.p.al reason for my being so was, that I saw by means of this work the bread for my family was provided for. I had not put aside a _soldo_, and the various works I had made during eight years--that is to say, from "42 to "50--had yielded me barely enough to live upon, because the inevitable expenses of housekeeping had absorbed all the little I had beyond. I lived day by day, hoping always that fortune would smile upon me as in my early years; and now with this work of the pedestal for the table, I felt at ease.
I have thought it opportune to enter into these minute particulars, that the young artist may learn two things from them: first, not to give himself up with too much a.s.surance to the joys of early triumphs; and secondly, not to get discouraged in the bitter days of want and disillusions, when he feels himself forsaken. I know so many young men who become dejected at once, and inveigh against adverse fortune, against the injustice of men and their neglect, and other phrases equally idle, proud, and foolish.
[Sidenote: MUSSINI"S WORKS.]
My studio was no longer what it used to be at one time--no longer the place of rendezvous of applauding friends and admirers who followed the fashion of the moment; these all went about their own affairs, and had nothing more to do with me. Some of the most distinguished amongst them, after the Restoration, were refugees, some in one place, some in another. Venturi was the only one who remained, and he came often to see me, and we talked at length about Art. Ciseri also was a good and faithful friend, and used to come to take me for a long walk in the evening. Mussini, whom I had known a short time before, first left for Paris, and then returned to go to Siena as Director of the Inst.i.tute of Fine Arts there, where he still teaches, and from his admirable school have come such famous artists as Ca.s.sioli, Franchi, Maccari, and Visconti, who died a miserable death from drowning at Rome.
[Sidenote: MUSSINI"S CHARACTER AND FORTUNES.]
I knew Mussini in 1844, when he had finished his four years of _pensionat_, and was on his return from Rome. Mussini was then a remarkable young artist, having gone through a varied and severe course of study. His compositions were serious and careful, and as a draughtsman he followed the style of our Florentine school of the _quattrocento_. Those qualities he showed in his first pictures, the Expulsion of the Profaners of the Temple, Sacred Music, and the Allegory of Almsgiving. In his last sketch, which he made in Rome, Abelard and Helose, he changed a little from his first manner, or I should better say from his first method: in the "Abelard" he followed the modern German school--Overbeck perhaps. As soon as he had returned to Florence he set to work on his Triumph of Truth, abandoning his first views, enlarging his style, freshening his colouring, and taking his inspiration from Leonardo and Raphael. We became friends. He was rather a small thin young man, with black hair, black eyes, and olive complexion. In his conversation he was vivacious, sententious, and decided; an admirer of Phidias and Giotto above all others; also of Raphael, Michael Angelo, and, in modern times, of Ingres and Bartolini.
His companionship and friendship were of great use to me on account of his frank and sound advice on Art. He went for some time to Paris, and returned, as I have already said, to occupy the place of Director of the Inst.i.tute of Fine Arts at Siena--a post that he had begged me to ask for in his name; and in this way I lost the friendship of Enrico Pollastrini, who had asked for it for himself. As soon as I heard that the post was vacant by the death of Menci, I advised Mussini by letter to apply for it. He answered me at once, thanking me for my advice, but adding that at present he did not wish to leave Paris. Two days after, in another letter he told me he had changed his mind, and begged me, as I have said, to make an application in his name. Pollastrini, who knew neither of my advice and counsel to Mussini nor of my having asked for the post for him, came to see me, to get me to promise that I would support him in his demands for the place. Poor Enrico! he died but a few months ago. He was an excellent man, affectionate, and ready to serve a friend, but mistrustful and irascible. He would take offence at a mere nothing, and once in that vein, he was capable of not bowing to you for some time. I did not like him the less for all this. He never did any harm to anybody; and I believe he would not have killed even a fly, much less have been of injury to any one. May G.o.d give his soul peace! He came, therefore, to see me and get me to pledge myself in his favour; and when he heard that I had recommended the nomination of Mussini--for by my pet.i.tion it was to be understood that I supported him--he was annoyed, and did not hide his resentment, saying that he should not have expected me to show this preference, or to put another before him. I answered that I knew nothing about his having asked for the nomination, and that what I had done had been from a desire that a clever artist, and one so able to teach, should not remain in a foreign land. These reasons, instead of bringing persuasion to him, only embittered him the more, and he was angry with me for a long time. But below the surface poor Enrico cared for me, and has shown it in a thousand ways.
[Sidenote: MUSSINI"S PRINCIPLES IN ART.]
I have said that Mussini was a master of sound and true principles in Art; and so he is still, for his school at Siena has produced, and produces, excellent results. Beyond these principles, he had the power of communicating and exemplifying them to others, and this is a most important and invaluable faculty in a teacher. Before he left for Paris, he kept a school in Via Sant"Apollonia, where, amongst other scholars, I remember a certain Pelosi di Lucca, Gordigiani, and Norfini, now painters of repute. He begged me to take the direction of his school, and I accepted, not without observing to him that I had not the necessary qualities for that place; but he insisted, and I yielded.
Things, however, went as it was natural they should go; the school lingered on awhile, and after a few months was broken up.
[Sidenote: GORDIGIANI"S TALENT FOR SCULPTURE.]
As it seemed to me, from his drawing, that Gordigiani had talent for sculpture, I advised him to give himself up to that art, and he readily came to my studio and began to model with goodwill. But, either because the material he had to handle was difficult to manage on account of its novelty, or because impatience got the better of him, one fine day he threw his tools and work to the ground, and would have nothing more to say to them. He gave himself up to painting portraits, and succeeded so well that he has now become the portrait-painter most praised amongst us, and has made for himself a really enviable position. Nevertheless, I believe that if he had had a little constancy, he would have succeeded as well in sculpture as in painting, because few understand as well as he does the form and relation of planes.
[Sidenote: I REFUSE TO FINISH BARTOLINI"S STATUES.]
At this time I had a commission to finish in marble two statues by Bartolini that he had left unfinished; the "Nymph and the Scorpion" for the Emperor of Russia, and the "Nymph and the Serpent" for the Marchese Ala-Ponzoni of Milan. With regard to this there were certain ill-natured reports against me that I think best to clear up. Some time before, Prince Demidoff had engaged and even begged of me to finish some of the figures of the great monument to his father that Bartolini had left incomplete. I would not accept this commission, because the master had worked on them a great deal himself, and it seemed to me irreverent, and not a thing to be done, to continue and finish his work. I endeavoured to make the Prince understand that as Bartolini had worked upon it himself, and the work was so well advanced, it had more value left as it was than if it were finished by my hand, be it even with all the love of an artist. The Prince did not appear to be much persuaded by this reasoning, and insisted, saying that my principles in art were the same as those taught by Bartolini, and the veneration felt by me for him was a pledge of the love I would employ in finishing these figures. I thanked the Prince for the too great confidence he placed in me as an artist, but I begged of him not to insist in carrying out this idea of having the work finished, either by me or by any other--for he, in order to force me to accept, said that otherwise he should give it to some one else, and added (exaggerating out of kindness my worth in art) that it would be my fault if it chanced that the artist was not fully equal to the arduous enterprise. I answered that I thought other artists abler than myself, but was of opinion that the statues ought to be left as they were. In order to convince him, I reminded him, as an example to the purpose, of the Medici monuments in San Lorenzo, before which no one would dare to say, "What a pity these figures are not finished!" if he did not say it with regard to Michael Angelo himself. And if, instead, they had been finished by other hands, with a good reason he would curse Clement, who, after having betrayed his country, had wished to offer this offence to art and Michael Angelo"s fame. This, G.o.d be praised, cannot be said, because the statues of Day and Night are just as that divine master left them. These words, said with the conviction and the warmth of an artist, who was a poor one to boot, and wishing and longing for fame and fortune, so entirely convinced the Prince, that he was quite satisfied; and pressing my hand in silence, which was more eloquent than words, he left me.
[Sidenote: RESTORATION OF BARTOLINI"S STATUE.]
If this conduct of mine was praised by some people in the hopes that it had not been quite liked by the Prince, my acceptance of the order for the two statues for the Emperor and the Marchese Ala afterwards, gave rise to a number of remarks: "See his consistency of principles and opinions!" they said. "How is it that the same reasons that were held out for his refusing the figures in the Demidoff monument do not hold equally good for these? Are these not also statues of Bartolini"s, and to be finished in the same way as those?"
And here I come to an explanation of this point, where it would seem as if I had been in contradiction with myself. On one of these statues, the "Nymph and the Scorpion," for the Emperor of Russia, Bartolini had never worked with his own hands--in fact, it was not finished, not even blocked out. On the other, for the Marchese Ala, he had worked, but how?
The head, where he had wished to make a change in the arrangement of the hair, had been so cut away that there was a finger"s-breadth of marble in the blocking-out points wanting on each side, so that it was ugly to see; and in addition to this, he had bent the forefinger of the left hand that rests on the serpent under the palm of the hand, perhaps because in undercutting it the last joint of the finger had been broken.