[Sidenote: INDIFFERENCE TO WHAT IS NEAR US.]
But often it happens that the most valuable things one has, so to speak, at one"s very door, are not thought anything of--not even noticed; and such was the case then with some artists in Naples, who either did not remember or were not acquainted with their own artistic treasures. I remember a young sculptor who often lamented that Naples was wanting in art of the middle ages. I reminded him of the monuments above mentioned, dwelling especially on that by Donatello, to which he answered that he did not know it. "Go to see it," I said; "it is unpardonable in you not to know it."
After some time I saw the youth, and said to him--
"Well, did you see the monument by Donatello, and what did you think of it?" to which he answered, "I found that I had already seen it once before, but did not remember it."
"Then," thought I to myself, "there is an end of all hope for you."
[Sidenote: CICERONI AND THEIR IDEAS.]
It is certainly a most painful fact that some of the finest works of our elders are either entirely ignored or not cared for, but it is most sad when this indifference comes from young men who have dedicated themselves to art. That the usual ignorant _ciceroni_ who show strangers the sepulchral chapel of the Princes of Sangro take no notice of the monument by Donatello is natural enough, but it is none the less disgusting to hear them pouring forth their opinions after the following fashion: "See, gentlemen, these statues are the stupendous work of the famous Venetian Antonio Corradini. Observe the two statues that stand in the arch by the columns of the high altar; they are miracles of sculpture; one is by Corradini, and one by Quieroli. The first represents the mother of the Prince Don Raimondo, who restored and enriched this chapel--which was founded by the Prince Don Francesco in 1590--with precious marble. The statue represents Modesty--one of the princ.i.p.al virtues that distinguished the Princess. See, gentlemen, she is enveloped in a transparent veil, beneath which is revealed the whole of her figure: this is a method of sculpture unknown even to the Greeks, for the ancients only painted their draperies, but did not cut them in marble. The other prodigy of art is a statue representing the father of the Prince himself as "Disinganno." In this statue behold a man caught in a net; you see all the meshes of the net, and inside it the body itself." The stranger, meantime, stands there open-mouthed, admiring these statues, in which, to tell the truth, one could not too deeply deplore the time and patience that have been wasted on work whose only object is to arrest the attention of vulgar people, who take all these material and mechanical difficulties for the essential and only aim in art. All this, I repeat, is disgusting if you like, and rather ridiculous; but the people of the country, and most particularly artists, ought to laugh at such works as these, as well as their admirers. This mania for the difficult and surprising, to the detriment of beauty itself, which is so simple, has carried corruption into art itself as well as to its amateurs--so much so, that dresses of rich stuffs, embroideries, laces, and like trifles, which need but a little patience and practice to produce, have to-day become so much in vogue as to really make one fear that art is in danger, and that research and study to reproduce the beautiful will be replaced by work of a sort of asinine patience, which surprises and impresses only simple-minded, vulgar people, and dilettanti. And _apropos_ of dilettanti, I wish to express my opinion that although they may take pleasure in painting and sculpture they are not of the slightest use to these arts. Dilettanti are generally gentlemen--fine gentlemen, sometimes even princes--and in consequence of their station and wealth, are surrounded by a cloud of small-minded people, who, owing to the respect and deference they feel for them, are induced to praise them. This cheap praise, which is taken so unceremoniously, engenders in those who give it a false and sophistical tone, with which they quiet their consciences, ever muttering, "You ought not to have said this; it is not just--it is not true." As this internal grumbling is irksome, the mind builds up a sort of reasoning that holds out as long as it can, and then falls for want of that solid foundation, Truth, that alone can uphold any structure, be it scientific, artistic, or literary. With him who receives the praise, matters go far more easily; he does not give it another thought, or if he does, it is from excess of vanity that he sniffs the remaining odour from that small cloud of incense.
[Sidenote: CHEAP PRAISE.]
[Sidenote: A DILETTANTI PRINCE.]
In Naples there were two of these dilettanti princes,--one a painter, the other a sculptor. His Royal Highness Don Sebastian, Prince of Bourbon, brother-in-law of the King of Naples, was the painter, and His Royal Highness Count of Syracuse, brother of the same king, was the sculptor. The last named died a little after the revolution in 1860, and of his artistic merits I have already spoken. I shall therefore now say two words about his Highness Don Sebastian. I had the honour of being presented to him by the Grand Duke Leopold, who was at that time in Naples with his daughter the Princess Isabella, married to Count Trapani, who was expecting to be confined. Having been some time in Naples myself, I went to pay my homage to him, and he then made me acquainted with his Highness Don Sebastian, who was without pretensions, a simple, modest man. He asked for advice, and he asked for it with such eagerness and persistency that it showed a desire to know the absolute truth, that he might correct himself--and not truth disguised under a veil of complimentary praise, which only misleads. And I, with the mildest words that I could find in the vocabulary of truth, gave him briefly and generally some advice; for his wish to do something really good was above his school and the studies he had followed. Although, as I have said, he had a sincere desire to hear the truth, yet I became aware that the language I used was quite new to him. I can add, however, that he did not feel hurt by it, as he often wished to see me and hear me, and corrected himself or tried to do so in many things, thus indicating confidence and goodwill. At this time he was painting a large picture for an altar, which he presented to the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnuoli, above Toledo, and I remember that he gave me a drawing of it. He had taken refuge in Naples with the king his brother-in-law, owing to the part he had taken as a Legitimist against the government of Queen Isabella, who had confiscated all his revenues; and he mitigated the bitterness of exile and poverty by his devoted love for art. After some time he was restored to his country, and reinstated in his property, so that at last he must have comforted himself with his own bread, having known how salt was that of exile. He returned to his country, and who knows if he did not cut off his beard, which he used to wear full and long, after the fashion of Spanish Legitimists? Strange to say, in Italy at that time, especially in Naples, a beard was the sign of just the contrary--that is to say, of a Liberal; and the annoyances caused by the police on this account were so ridiculous as to be quite disgusting. One was obliged, however, to conform to all this, for if a young man desired not to be exposed to worse annoyances, he was obliged to shave his chin. He might keep his moustache and whiskers after the German fashion, or wear his whiskers alone like the English--he was quite free to do that; but a beard on his chin, be it long or short, indicated Liberalism: and as I have said, he was immediately marked by the agents of Del Carretto, Minister of Police, and, willing or no, was obliged to shave to avoid something worse. At that time, therefore, the manliness of a Neapolitan showed itself everywhere but on his chin. In all Naples--with the rare exception of some foreigner, the Prince Don Sebastian, who was anything but a Liberal, the Count of Syracuse, and Count of Aquila, brothers of the king, whom the police hounds could growl at but not bite--not for a million of money could a beard be seen, unless it were mine, which, although not so luxuriant as it is now, was still more than enough for the police.
[Sidenote: BEARDS IN NAPLES.]
During the days that the Grand Duke remained in Naples, he desired to see the museums and other monuments of this great city, and wished me to accompany him, out of simple kindness, for his Highness acted as my guide, being much better acquainted with them than I was. This driving up and down the streets of Naples in a Court carriage, with a full beard on my face, upset all the ideas of those poor _sbirri_. Some people took me for a Spanish Legitimist; and others--especially the sentinels at the palace--christened me at once a relation of the royal family,--so much so, that they presented arms to me every time I pa.s.sed by. Must I admit that I took pleasure in this, returning their salute and pa.s.sing before them as if I had been a true prince? "_Viva_ my beard!" said I to myself; "but see how things are going in this country!
Some people are sent almost to the gallows for wearing a beard, and to me they are presenting arms." One evening, however, even I came very near being sent to prison. I was walking in the Strada Toledo, and about to return home. Near the turning of the _Orefici_ by the Palazzo dei Ministeri, there was a print-shop lighted by a reflected lamp, that threw a light upon it as brilliant as day. There were some French engravings, such as the Death of Richelieu, the Death of the Duke de Guise, and I know not what else. I felt a hand on my shoulder; turning round I saw some one gazing attentively at me, and before I had time to ask him what he wanted, some one else took the man by the arm and said, "Don"t occupy yourself with him; he is one of the royal household;" and away they went in the crowd, and I saw them no more.
[Sidenote: I Pa.s.s FOR A PRINCE.]
[Sidenote: LA BOTTIGLIA.]
I hurried home, for fear of finding others who might not share the same opinion. My wife and little one were waiting for me to go to the theatre, and I remember that they were then giving "Edmondo Dante, Count of Monte Cristo," a monstrous production which lasted twelve hours--divided, however, into three evenings. My little box was on the first tier near the orchestra,--and such an orchestra! Two violins, one double-ba.s.s, a clarionet, and a flute, the music being pieces adapted from the "Trovatore"; and such an adaptation! Good heavens! All this cost me--that is to say, cost the Grand Duke--four _carlini_, including "the bottle," for in Naples one must always pay for "the bottle" to every one. Really in that fortunate country one required to have a _carlino_ always in hand. I don"t know how it is now, but then every one was constantly drinking. Ushers, inspectors, _custodi_--all asked for "this bottle" with the utmost frankness and in perfect seriousness. I, who went often to the museum, wished to have my cane to lean on, as there were no chairs to sit down on; but "No, sir,"--the porter, with his great c.o.c.ked-hat, came and took it away, having the right to do so, as it was against the regulations. When I left he gave it back to me, always saying, "Your Excellency, the bottle," p.r.o.nouncing these words with such dignity that you would have thought they were part of the royal regulations; and I used to give it--that is to say, a half-_carlino_ at every section. Pompeian paintings, statues and bronzes, Etruscan vases, Renaissance paintings and drawings--each had a _custode_, and all wanted a drink. Perhaps now they are no longer thirsty, which will be all the better for the poor visitor. I paid these half-bottles, or rather half-_carlini_, most unwillingly, for to be always paying out is in itself most tiresome; and I was more out of temper than really tired, not being able to find a seat anywhere. One day a painter who was copying there was moved to pity, and offered me his stool. It is not unnatural that a man who was both poor and unwell, should be unwilling to pay out money in gratuities, and should look upon that given to the porter as the hardest part of all, as it was to pay him merely for taking away the stick he had to lean on. The consequence was, that not being able to bear this _lucro cessante_ and _danno emergente_, as they say in law, I made bold to say to this high personage (he was at least a palm taller than I), "Listen, signor; I will no longer give you the bottle."
[Sidenote: FEES FOR ADMISSION TO THE GALLERIES.]
"Why not, Excellency?"
"Because you take away my stick, which would be a comfort for me to lean on."
"Well, well," he answered, "keep your stick, Excellency; but remember the bottle."
"I understand, I quite understand--and add a little more to it."
And the eyes of that Argus brightened, although he was by way of shutting them as far as the regulations were concerned. The necessity for drinking, it seems, belongs to this people, and it must be on account of the hot air they breathe, all impregnated with the salt from the sea. Therefore I fancy this desire of theirs has not yet been allayed, for even I drank a great deal when I was there, only it was water, which is so good, so fresh, so light, that it is a pleasure to drink; but alas! so many prefer "the bottle." If, however, even against the natural order of the country, this has been suppressed amongst the subalterns, it has been adopted by the heads themselves, as the Minister of Public Instruction has decreed an entrance-tax for every one who wishes to see in our galleries the works of Raphael, Michael Angelo, or our other glorious fathers, who in their simplicity certainly never thought of being obliged to show themselves at so much a head like some wild beasts.
[Sidenote: ADMISSION FEES TO THE PUBLIC GALLERIES.]
It is a curious thing (which induces me to think that thirst must be in the air of Naples) that this bottle-tax was inst.i.tuted by a Neapolitan, the Honourable Ruggero Bonghi, who, be it said with all due respect, seems to be less anxious for the decorum of art and the advantage of artists than for an economy which, to say the truth, is but a shabby one. I know quite well that artists are free from this tax, but they must be provided with a certificate, which is always a restriction; and it is also true that artists, and those who are not artists, can enjoy free entrance, but only on _festa_ days. It comes to the same as if to one who said, "I am hungry," you answered, "You shall eat next week." Is it believed that only those students who are provided with certificates are to become artists? Art learns more from example than from precept, as it is with every other thing. I should be curious to know if Demosthenes and Cicero lived before or after the Treatise on Eloquence, or if Phidias studied at the Academy, and paid a tax for admission.
Then, also, this is the common property of all, and therefore its advantages should not be restricted. The answer is, that the entrance-tax is used for the maintenance and decorum of the galleries themselves. The decorum and support of the public galleries never suffered from the want of this in bygone days; why should they feel the need of it to-day?
CHAPTER XIII.
NEVER MAKE A PRESENT OF YOUR WORKS--POPE REZZONICO BY CANOVA--TENERANI--OVERBECK"S THEORIES--MINARDI AND HIS SCHOOL--A WOMAN FROM THE TRASTEVERE WHO LOOKED LIKE THE VENUS OF MILO--CONVENTIONALISTS AND REALISTS--AN AMBITIOUS QUESTION AND BITTER ANSWER--FILIPPO GUALTERIO.
The church of Gesu Nuovo was at that time under the ordinance of the Jesuit Fathers, and one of these fathers, who was devoted to the church, set on foot a work which did him much honour. Though the church was beautiful in its design and decorations and rich in marbles, the high altar was of wood, and this was quite out of keeping with the general effect. Padre Grossi, who was as learned as he was zealous in his religion and a lover of art, made the resolve that this altar should be entirely renewed and reconstructed of precious marble, and he succeeded in carrying this into effect. Everybody contributed--the Court, the n.o.bility, the people, owners of marble, and artists. It was not, however, yet finished; some ornaments were still wanting, and among these the panels of the pyx. I was asked by Padre Grossi to make a model for this to be cast in silver, and I cheerfully accepted the commission.
The subject, which was singular and unusual, but extremely pleasing, was suggested to me by the Padre himself. It represented a youthful female figure, accompanied by an angel, at the foot of the altar, who came to partake of the mystic bread. As soon as I had finished the model, I sent it to Padre Grossi, who expressed his satisfaction with it. Not so the superior and the other fathers, to whom the subject seemed to be too unusual. The superior wrote me a very courteous letter of thanks, the substance of which, stripped of all its sweet and useless phrases, was that he could not give his approval to the work. I then took back my model and presented it to Professor Tommaso Aloysio Juvara, who kept it as a pleasant memorial of me; and thus this work also, which was intended as a present, fell through.
[Sidenote: MY MENTAL CONDITION.]
The time for my return to Florence now drew near, for my health could now be considered as quite restored, save that a slight melancholy still hung about me, induced by an importunate and persistent feeling that made me doubt my own powers to overcome the difficulties of art, and of that art upon which I had at first entered, as it were, in triumph. I was oppressed by a torpor or indecision, a sense of something vague and undefined, resembling that state of moral weakness which shows itself in sudden impulses and as sudden prostrations--all indications of lively fancy and active sensibility, together with a great weakness of judgment and will. In a word, I had become a coward. In my excited imagination I felt the beauty of art, but I could not bring myself to lay hold of it, and express it, and reproduce it. I desired to go back to my first steps, and so felt my vanity offended. The _bello ideale_, ill defined and ill understood, smiled upon me with all its flattering and illusory charms. At slight intervals I seemed to feel these allurements, and then again I suddenly fell into uncertainty.
"E quale e quei, che disvuol ci che volle E per novi pensier cangia proposta;"[8]
[8] "And like to one who unwills what he wills, And changes for new thoughts his purposes."
--DANTE: _Inferno_, Canto ii.
this was my state, and it afflicted me.
[Sidenote: STATUE OF POPE REZZONICO.]
The decision which was to overcome all my uncertainty came to me from an idealist, or rather from an imitator of Greek art, Canova, and from one of his works not drawn from the ideal, but from life. I was about to return from Rome to Florence, when, as I stood looking vaguely about one morning in St Peter"s, a prey to fleeting and changeable thoughts, my eyes were arrested by the statue of Pope Rezzonico. How often I had looked at that grandiose monument and pa.s.sed on! This time the movement and expression of concentrated feeling in this statue, united with a sentiment of imitation so strong, and yet so free from minute and servile detail, made a great impression on me; and this was all the more vivid, because I could confront it with the other statues of the same monument, all of which are characterised by mannerism and imitation of the antique. This comparison stood me in stead of the most powerful of reasonings and criticism, and I seemed to hear a voice issue from those marbles which said, "See the great affection and study that Canova has given to these statues, and still they do not speak to your heart like that praying figure of the Pope. Why is this? Reflect!" And, in fact, I know no subject more worthy of consideration than to seek among the statues of Canova for the reasons of his oscillation between the imitation of nature and the imitation of the antique; for exactly here is the knot of that grave question which even to-day keeps artists divided into two schools--that of the Academicians and that of the _veristi_.
[Sidenote: CANOVA AND THE BELLO IDEALE.]
Doubtless nature is the foundation of art, as beauty is its object; and to forget either one or the other is to fall into error. If we kept these two cardinal points in our mind, and made them both subjects of study in our works, all our discussions and disputes would cease. But it too often happens that the Academicians, holding too strongly to the beautiful as the end to be attained, forget that its foundation is in the truth or nature; while the Realists, blindly trusting to nature, which when it is not subjected to selection is a bad foundation, lose sight of the true end, which is beauty. Now in the works of Canova we see a constant endeavour to harmonise the beautiful with nature; but as the cry of _bello ideale_ (a magic phrase invented at that time) was then loved, with the painter David leading the chorus, and the imperial cannon sounding the accompaniment, the interior voices and protests of the Christian artificers were either drowned or lifted to the hundred pagan deities whom the epicurean philosophy of the time demanded, and to whom they burned their incense. But the genius which nature had given to this great artist triumphed over the tendencies of his time, over the cry of pedants and the imperial favours; and the Pope Rezzonico, and Pius VI., and the Magdalen, are there to demonstrate the singular force of that genius which alone battled against the torrent of the schools and the tyranny and customs of his age. These works of his are rays of that light which first illuminated the mind of this great artist, when, still young and free in his inspirations, and unbia.s.sed by rules, counsel, and praise, he conceived and executed that wonderful group of Icarus.
In this careful spirit of examination and reasoning I again reviewed and studied the masterpieces of ancient and modern art, and many of the judgments which had been distorted by my poor brain during my first visit were afterwards rectified. I became attached with reverent friendship to Minardi, Tenerani, and Overbeck; and although all three followed the school of the mystical ideal, which was far from conformable to the rich and inexhaustible variety of nature, I admired in them their profound conviction in the excellence of their school; and although Tenerani united to his mysticism the graces of antique form, still it seemed to me that precisely on this account he was often a timid friend to nature. When, however, he was not dominated by a preconceived idea--I mean in his portraits--he was really and incontestably true to nature. His Count Orloff, though inspired by the statues of the philosophers in the Vatican, is not inconsistent with this opinion; and his Pellegrino Rossi and his Maria of Russia are perfectly original, and show no preoccupation of his mind except with nature. And it then seemed to me strange, as it still seems, that an artist, in portraying a fact or a personage, however ideal, should attempt to draw it purely from an idea, and not from living nature; for his idea is for the most part only a remembrance of what he has seen.
The two processes are quite different; for the idea reaches out for the source of truth or nature, which is infinitely varied, while the memory retains types and figures of other works of so small a scale in variety that its extreme ends soon meet each other.
[Sidenote: TENERANI AND OVERBECK.]
Overbeck was more ideal and mystical than Tenerani. He placed all the charm of art in the conception alone, and rarely or never used a model.
One day he said to me, in a tone of the most absolute conviction, that models (or nature) destroyed the idea. This theory, which is eminently false as a general proposition, has a certain truth when applied to sacred subjects and representations of divinity, and specially in regard to those artists who in painting a Madonna make a portrait of a model.
The imitation of life is certainly necessary even in sacred subjects; but it is difficult so to select and portray them that the religious idea does not become obscured, as well on account of the vulgarity as of the excessive realism and expression of the model. The expression it is absolutely necessary that the artist should create, if he has it in him,--and only so far as this Overbeck was right. Then, indeed, is the opportunity for the _bello ideale_, which is so ill understood and ill treated; for the ideal is in substance nothing else but the idea of the truth in nature, and diffused over all creation, as well in the material as in the intellectual world. And every artist of heart and just perceptions feels it and sees it, and recomposes its scattered parts by means of long study and great love.
[Sidenote: MINARDI AND HIS SCHOOL.]
Minardi, the father, so to speak, of all the artistic youths of his day, strove to reform them in taste and composition, founding himself on the works and the canons of the _Cinquecentisti_. This recognition is all the more due to him when we remember that precisely at this time, when he was endeavouring to carry out this reform, he had before him Camuccini and all his school in full vigour, and that now Minardi"s school is flourishing and strengthened as much by the conquests he has made in variety of imitation from nature as in mastery of colour. I have said that Minardi was like a father; and so he was. He treated his young pupils as if they were his children, kept them in his own studio, and I have seen three--Consoni, Mariani, Marianecci--and many others around him gaily jesting with their venerable master. His portfolios and alb.u.ms were always open to all, and he delighted to show them, and, while looking over their studies and compositions, to add those words of explanation, counsel, and warning which are so useful to young artists.
I seem to see him now in that great studio of his, which was somewhat in disorder, and enc.u.mbered with easels, drawings, cartoons, books, prints, and antique furniture--the air filled with clouds of tobacco-smoke which issued from the pipe he had always in his mouth, and he himself always working or talking, reading or writing. He was affable, gracious, and eloquent, and, with those little eyes looking through his spectacles, he seemed to read into your soul; and if he found it sad, he threw out a word, and awakened it again to life and courage. One day, seeing me more than ordinarily melancholy, he rose from his work, took me by the hands, and puffing from his pipe a larger volume of smoke than usual, asked what was troubling me; and when I had made a clean breast of it to him, he laid his pipe down, and embracing me, said, "Cheer up, my son! drive away from your head all those whims: go back to Florence, take up your work again with courage, and have more faith in yourself and in your powers. It is an old man who is speaking to you, who neither can nor will deceive you." The words of the excellent master went straight to my heart, and filled it with courage, hope, and peace.
[Sidenote: ROMAN AND FLORENTINE MODELS.]
In this way, with studying the ancient monuments, and going about among the living artists, I pa.s.sed several days in Rome. The models, and particularly those of the artists I have named, I found more robust and rounded than our Florentine models, which are for the most part slender and lymphatic. Among our girls you will not find, though you should pay a million, such necks, so firm and robust, and at the same time so soft and flexible, and like the examples which Greek and Roman art has left us. So it seems that, without seeking for the cause of the contradiction between the living nature I had found in Florence, and that which was represented in antique art, I had come to the conclusion that the Greeks and Romans worked purely from ideas, and corrected nature according to that established rule which we call convention. Nothing is more erroneous than this notion, and the proof of it I found in Rome itself, as I shall now tell.
[Sidenote: A ROMAN MODEL.]
[Sidenote: AN ADVENTURE WITH A TRASTEVERE GIRL.]