Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Dupre Part 15

Some one always arrived late, but Rossini would not see everybody. This evening, if I mistake not, came the Signora Varese, Signor de Luigi, and others whom I did not know; then two youths, who apparently were music-masters, and they, after saluting the Signora, turned to Rossini with these words: "Have you heard, Signor Maestro, the criticism of Scudo on the new opera of Verdi, 'I Vespri Siciliani,' which has just been given in Paris?"

"No," answered Rossini, rather seriously.

"A regular criticism, you know; you should read it. It is in the last number of the 'Revue des Deux Mondes.'" And then they began to repeat some of these opinions of Scudo's, with adulation, which, if courteous, was little praiseworthy. But Rossini interrupted them, saying--

"They make me laugh when they criticise Verdi in this way, and with such a pen! To write an able and true criticism of him, requires higher capacity and an abler pen. In my opinion, this would require two Italian composers of music who could write better than he does himself; but as these Italian musical composers who are superior to Verdi are yet to come, we must content ourselves with his music, applaud him when he does well," and here he clapped his hands, "and warn him in a fraternal way when we think he could have done better." As he finished these words he seemed a little heated, and almost offended, as if he thought that these people had come to give him this news by way of flattering him, or in order to have the violent criticism of Scudo confirmed. The fact is, he must have already read the criticism itself, as I had seen the number of the 'Revue' on his table before dinner. The conversation then changed, and nothing more was said.

[Sidenote: VISIT OF THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.]

About this time the Emperor of Russia, who was pa.s.sing through Florence, honoured me with a visit. I should have pa.s.sed over in silence this fact; but as it was the occasion of a false impression, by which I appeared to be the most stupid and ignorant man in the world, it is better that I should narrate exactly what occurred. Signor Mariotti, the agent for the Russian Imperial household, who, the reader may remember, had procured for me the commission for the marble of Abel, sent me word that during the day the Emperor would come to see the Cain, which was already finished in marble. I waited for him all day; but towards evening, an hour before nightfall, I dressed myself to go away, not believing that any one would come at that hour. Just as I was going out I heard a disturbance, a noise of carriages and horses, and saw the Emperor stopping at my studio. It was nearly dark, so, with a stout heart, before he descended I went to the door of the carriage and said--

"Your Majesty, I am highly honoured by your visit to my studio, but I fear that your Majesty cannot satisfy your desire to see the Cain, as it is nearly nightfall, and I should like to show this work of mine in a more favourable light."

The street was full of curious people; the studios of the artists my neighbours were all open, and they were in the doorway; the ministers of the Imperial house put their heads out of their carriage to see what was the reason the Emperor did not get out, and with whom he was talking.

The Emperor, with a benign countenance, answered--

"You are quite right; one cannot see well at this hour. I will return to-morrow after mid-day."

I bowed, and the carriages drove on. This stopping of the carriage and its driving on again after a few words had pa.s.sed between his Majesty and myself, led some a.s.s to suppose that I had not been willing to receive the Emperor, and some malicious person repeated the little story; but not for long, as the next morning he returned with all his suite.

As soon as he descended, he said to me--

"_Vous parlez francais?_"

"_Tres mal, Majeste._"

"Well, I speak a little Italian; we will make a mixture."

General Menzicoff, Count Orloff, and others whom I do not remember, accompanied the Emperor. As soon as he entered the studio he took off his hat, to the great astonishment of his suite, who all hastened to imitate him, and remained with his head uncovered all the time he was there. He was of colossal build, and perfectly proportioned. The Emperor Nicholas was then of mature years, but he looked as if he were in the flower of manhood. He talked and listened willingly, and tried to enter into the motives and conceptions of the artist.

Amongst others he saw a sketch of Adam and Eve that I had just made with the intention of representing the first family. He saw it, and it pleased him. He said it would go well with the Cain and Abel; and from these words, one might have taken for granted that he had ordered it.

But I have always rather held back and been little eager for commissions, so that I did not feel myself empowered to execute it.

Then, also, I had taken this subject for my simple satisfaction, and certainly with the intention of making it in the large, which I did not, however, carry into effect; for if I had done so, I should probably have offered it to him, as he had been so much pleased by the sketch. The Emperor was most affable with me, and showed a desire to know something about me besides my studies and works that he had before his eyes, so I satisfied his wishes. Nor is it to be wondered at that so important a person as he was should inquire into the particulars of simple home-life, for he was (so I afterwards heard) a good husband and father.

He accompanied the Empress his wife to Palermo, as her ill health made it necessary for her to be in that mild climate, perfumed with life-giving odours. He married his daughter Maria Nicolaiewna to the Prince of Leuchtenberg, who was a simple officer in the army; but as he became aware that the young people loved each other, he wished to procure their happiness. A good husband and a good father; pity it is that one cannot say a good sovereign! His persecutions and cruelty towards Poland, especially in regard to her religious liberty, and even her language, which is the princ.i.p.al inheritance of a nation, are not a small stain on that patriarchal figure.

[Sidenote: THE EMPEROR'S CHARACTER.]

If the young reader has the good habit of not skipping, he will remember perhaps the danger I ran of dying asphyxiated in my little studio near San Simone in company with the model, whilst I was making the sketch for the Abel. Now I must speak of another grave peril that I ran of certain death, had it not been that Divine Providence sent me help just in time.

It was the 12th of April 1849: for some days past a crowd of rough and violent Livornese had been going about our streets with jeering and menacing bearing; and insults, violence, and provocations of every kind had not been wanting. That day a squad of these brutal fellows, after having eaten and taken a good deal to drink, would not pay their reckoning; there were altercations and blows, to the damage of the poor man who kept the wine-shop; and as if that were not enough, there were other gross improprieties. This happened in the Camaldoli of San Lorenzo, at a place called La Cella, where the population was crowded and rude. The cup was overflowing, and at a cry of, "Give it to them!

give it to them!" they fell upon these scoundrels; and although the latter were armed with swords (being of the Livornese national guard) and stilettoes, they were overwhelmed by the rush of the populace, disarmed, and killed.

[Sidenote: RIOT IN FLORENCE.]

This was like a spark, and spread like lightning throughout Florence.

There was a great tumult and angry cries for men from Leghorn.

Everything served as a weapon; every workman ran out with the implements of his trade, and even dishevelled ragged women ran about like so many furies with cudgels, shovels, and tongs, screaming, "Kill them! kill them!" There were many victims. The soldiers who were in the Belvedere fortress, as soon as they heard the reports of the guns and the cause thereof, came down from there like wild beasts, such was their hatred against these people, from whom they had received every kind of insult, even to finding two of their companions nailed to the boards of their barracks one day--acts that were a dishonour to the good reputation of the open-hearted Livornese, with their free mode of speech and quick intelligence. Timid people retired and shut themselves up in their houses, the shops were closed, the streets deserted, and one saw some people running and others pursuing them, as dogs hares; reports of guns were heard, now close by and now in the distance, cries for mercy, the drums beating the _generale_, and the mournful tolling of the big bell,--all of which produced a fearful and cruel effect.

I lived in a house over my studio, in Via n.a.z.ionale, a short distance from the spot from which came the fatal spark. At the sound of the beating of the _generale_ I rushed up into my house to arm myself, to run to join our company. My colonel was the Marchese Gerini, and the captain Carlo Fenzi. My poor wife! I see her still crying and supplicating me not to leave her, saying, "What are you going to do?--to kill or to be killed? Stay here, and if they come to attack us in the house, as they said they would, then you will defend these poor little ones." I yielded; but Sarrocchi, who was in the house with me, in spite of his father's tears and prayers, would go, and our company went forward and protected these Livornese Guards from the fury of the populace as far as the station of Santa Maria Novella. The company was led by the second lieutenant, Engineer Renard. I went back down into the studio and tried to work, but could do nothing. That constant noise of running, questioning, firing of guns, the beating of the distant drums--a dull sound, strange and fearful--had so irritated my nerves that I walked up and down the studio, taking up a book and putting it down again. At last I resolved to go home again, all the more so that I had left my wife feeling anxious and every moment fearing that something might happen to me. I had my studio dress on, which consisted of a linen blouse and red skull-cap. Just as I was going out I heard some screams, lamentations, and a rush of people. I looked out, and saw a squad of furious men following and beating with sticks a poor Livornese, who, not being able to go any farther, fell at the corner of the street, by the Caffe degli Artisti. That b.l.o.o.d.y scene made me ill; and compelled by compa.s.sion for that poor young fellow, I ran and thrust myself into the midst of the crowd that surrounded the fallen man. He was wounded in the head, and bleeding freely; one eye was almost put out, and he held one hand up in supplication, but his infuriated a.s.sailants beat at him as if they had been threshing corn. "Let him alone! Stop! Good heavens, don't you see that the poor young fellow is dying?" They turned and looked at me. "What does he say? Who is he?" asked these a.s.sa.s.sins. "He is a Livornese also," was the answer. The eagerness I had shown in favour of that unfortunate man, the red skull-cap that I wore on my head, and my accent not being that of a vulgar Florentine, gave strength to that a.s.sertion. From the dark look in their eyes and their sardonic smiles I became aware of my danger, and wished to speak; but these infuriated beings screamed out, "Give it to him! give it to him, for he is also a Livornese!" I felt that I was lost. A blow, aimed at my head, fell on my shoulder, and some one spat in my face. A person, whose name I do not recall, an ex-sergeant and drill-master of our company, arrived in time to save me.

[Sidenote: PERSONAL DANGER.]

"Stop!" said he--"stop!" and with these words he interposed and warded off the blows aimed at me. The words and resolute action of this man in sergeant's uniform carried weight with them, and to put an end to all this excitement he shouted out, "I bear witness, on my honour, that this is the Professor Dupre, sculptor, corporal in our company, and not at all a Livornese."

The crowd had thickened more and more, and in it there were some who knew me and echoed the words of this courageous and spirited man, so that I was saved. In the meantime my scholars, Enrico Pazzi and Luigi Majoli, armed with long iron compa.s.ses, had rushed to my succour; and it was fortunate that they were no longer needed, as, being young and brave-spirited, and Romagnoli, with these weapons in their hands, who knows what might have been the consequence?

CHAPTER X.

MY WIFE, MY LITTLE GIRLS, AND MY WORK--DEATH OF MY BROTHER LORENZO--DEATH OF LORENZO BARTOLINI--THE BASE FOR THE "TAZZA"--EIGHT YEARS OF WORK, ONLY TO OBTAIN A LIVING--MUSSINI AND HIS SCHOOL--POLLASTRINI--THE SCHOOL IN VIA SANT'APOLLINI--PRINCE DEMIDOFF AND THE MONUMENT BY BARTOLINI--THE NYMPH OF THE SCORPION AND THE NYMPH OF THE SERPENT, BY BARTOLINI--MARCHESE ABA--COUNT ARESE--THE FOUR STATUETTES FOR DEMIDOFF--AMERIGO OF THE PRINCE CORSINIS--HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS COUNT OF SYRACUSE, A SCULPTOR--"SANT'ANTONINO"

STATUE AT THE UFFIZI.

The events of that day already belong to history, and it is not for me to narrate them. Those of the Livornese who could escape from the fury of the populace were part of them shut up in the Fortress da Ba.s.so, and part of them packed like anchovies in the railway-carriages. Guerrazzi was imprisoned in the fortress of the Belvedere, and the reins of the government were provisionally put into the hands of the Munic.i.p.ality, Ubaldino Peruzzi being _gonfaloniere_. That same evening the ensigns of liberty that the republicans had hoisted in the _piazze_ and the street-crossings in Florence, were torn to the ground. Thus ended the enormities of these so-called democrats, who were in fact only the sc.u.m and unrestrained rabble of the flourishing and active city of Leghorn.

In the meantime affairs in my studio went from bad to worse. The political vicissitudes, the uncertainty of the present, and fears for the future, preoccupied every one, and no thought was given to the Arts. I had no work to do, and lived a secluded life of poverty with my little family, fearing that the apprehensions of my poor wife would be realised: often we were in need even of the mere necessaries of life, and one thing after another went to the _monte di pieta_ in order to supply our most pressing wants. Sorrows, disillusions, and mortifications were not wanting: one of my children died, the only boy that I ever had; the statue of Pope Pius II. that I had made for Siena was despised and kept shut up in its box for month after month, the aversion taken to it being, they said, occasioned by the disaffection of Pius IX. What Pius II. had to do with Pius IX. I do not know.

[Sidenote: THE GRAND DUKE RETURNS.]

The Grand Duke returned; but the joy felt for his return was embittered by the presence of foreigners, and thence there were fears, suspicions, and ill-repressed rage, so that Art suffered in consequence--Art, that lives and breathes in the quiet and life-giving atmosphere of peace.

[Sidenote: DESIGN OF A CASKET FOR THE GRAND DUKE.]

The Grand Duke having returned, I went to make my bow to him. He received me with his usual kindness, and asked me about my works and my family. I spoke out sincerely to him, touching lightly, not to distress him, on my misfortunes. He remained thoughtful, and dismissed me with benevolence. Some days after, he sent his secretary Luigi Venturi for me, and talked at length with me about works that he was thinking of giving me. In the meanwhile, remembering that in times gone by I had occupied myself with wood-carving, he asked me if I could make or direct some work that he was thinking of having executed for a present he wished to make to his daughter Princess Isabella, who was to be married to Prince Francesco of Naples. Already, before Isabella, his eldest daughter, the Princess Augusta, to whom he had given my two little statuettes of Dante and Beatrice, had been married. The work for the Princess Isabella was, however, of an entirely different kind, being a casket for jewels. I accepted this commission with grat.i.tude, although it was not a real work of sculpture; but remembering that our old artists had executed works of the same kind, and that Baccio d'Agnolo, a famous architect, used to make the _ca.s.sone_ that contained the trousseau of the young Florentine brides, and gloried in signing himself Baccio d'Agnolo, carpenter, I was contented. And besides, to speak my mind clearly, it is not the material or the thing itself that counts for anything. A little _terra cotta_ of Luca della Robbia, or an _intaglio_ of Barili, is worth more than a hundred thousand wretched statues in marble or bronze. I therefore made and showed him the design for the casket. In shape it was rectangular, and stood on two squares, ornamented on all sides; the cover was slightly elevated, and on the top was a group of three figures representing maternal love; in the six s.p.a.ces were six subjects taken from the Bible representing holy marriages. These, I thought, were real jewels--family jewels. They came in order as follows: Adam and Eve in the terrestrial paradise before the Fall, Isaac and Rebecca, Boaz and Ruth, Esther and Ahasuerus, Tobit and Sarah, David and Abigail. The Grand Duke liked the idea and the design, and asked me in what wood I should carve it. I answered, in ivory, for two reasons: on account of the smallness of the figures, which would not admit of another material; and then because ivory is in itself beautiful, rich, and most adapted for this kind of work. Fortunately, it was not necessary to look for the ivory, as in the Grand Duke's laboratory there was a most beautiful elephant's tusk. He gave it to me; and after having cut it up into as many pieces for the _formelie_, _cornice_, and _lamine_ as were required for this work, there remained a large piece, which I still keep. I set myself to the task, and worked with a will, as the marriage of the Princess was soon to take place. In the construction of the square I employed a man from the cabinetmaker's, Ciacchi; for the ornaments, Paolino Fanfani, a clever wood-carver and my good friend, whom I had known when a boy in Sani's shop, where I used to work at wood-carving. Two poems by Luigi Venturi, "Lo sposo, la sposa e gli sposi," which form part of his poem "L'Uomo," were placed inside of the box.

[Sidenote: I AM DISPIRITED.]

And here I am at work. Consider, friendly reader, if you are an artist, and after long study and anxiety have ever obtained the hoped-for compensations and triumphs, the more deserved because so earnestly laboured for, that you now see an artist occupied, on a work difficult indeed, but very far from being of that ideal greatness that his hopes and the applause previously given him have led him to antic.i.p.ate and desire. The smallness of the work, the material, and even the tools for working it, reminded me of the humbleness of my origin. I felt sick at heart, and then flashed into my mind the fear that I might be obliged to return to wood-carving. Not that I despised that art--I have already said the material is of no account; but I wanted to be a sculptor, and meantime I had nothing to do, and my family looked to me for support.

This thought gave me strength, drove away the golden dreams of the future, even the memory of the smiling past, and I worked all day long and part of the night. My poor wife, who was always so good and active, attending to the household economy and to the education of our little girls, comforted me with her simple and affectionate words. Sometimes, returning home with the children, she would stop to see me, and would look at and praise my work, and perhaps, because it reminded her of our early years, would say--

[Sidenote: FAMILY DIFFICULTIES.]

"Beautiful this work, is it not, Nanni?"

"Yes; do you like it?"

"Yes."

But in this exchange of loving words there was a certain sadness, and although it did not appear on the surface, yet the ear and eye of him who loves hears and sees what is hidden below. We remained silent, and she, taking the little girls by the hand, said good-bye to me, and I was deeply moved, and resumed my work.

Added to all this, we were preoccupied about my sister, who would not remain any longer in the Conservatorio of Monticelli, and could not return to my house on account of incompatibility of temper between her and my mother-in-law. At last I arranged that she should be with my father; and this proved satisfactory, as he thus had some one to look after his house, and she some one to lean upon. As soon, however, as this was settled, we had other troubles, and of a graver kind--my brother's illness. Already for some time past, after the work in the studio had fallen off, the maintenance of this brother had been a serious thing to me; but with a little sacrifice and a little goodwill, this difficulty had been got over, and the hope of better days kept up the courage in both of us. But he constantly grew worse, and we had no hope of his recovery. In his wanderings he always spoke about me and my works, and it seemed as if his mind at times was clearer and more active. Perhaps this is so because the soul feels the day of its freedom approaching, and is breaking the chains which bind it to the body, and drawing nearer to its immortal life. We say that it is wandering, because we do not understand it; the veil of the flesh obscures our spiritual vision, and we cannot comprehend the meaning of the strange and mysterious words we use. Having partaken of the blessed Sacrament, he expired, at peace with G.o.d, in the first days of January 1850. My poor brother! poor Lorenzo! strong and handsome of person; open and gay of nature, and generous-hearted; loving work and not minding fatigue, with a frank sincere smile that often came to soften the sharpness of his words. In those days a man of high intellect and great spirit, burning with a love for all that was truly beautiful, also left us.

Lorenzo Bartolini died, after a few days' illness, of congestion of the brain, not young in years, but always very young in his affections and inspirations. Some moments before he was overtaken by illness, he was working on the marble with the energy and precision of a man in the prime of life. Whatever was the cause, he was taken ill, and neither the efforts of science, nor the love of his family, nor the interest and concern of every one, was able to save him. He was universally lamented, even by those who disliked him; for genius, though at first it may irritate the weak, in the long-run commands admiration and love.

[Sidenote: DEATH OF BARTOLINI.]

His works remain as an example of the beautiful in nature, which is the mainspring of Art. In the foregoing pages I have already touched on his character as a man. I have also mentioned the reasons why he kept me at a distance; and now it is pleasant for me to remember that some time before his death he became reconciled to me, and the reconciliation took place in a most singular and casual way. One evening at Fenzi's house, after dinner, we were all a.s.sembled in the billiard-room playing pool: there were also some ladies, who were not kept away by the cigar-smoke.

Bartolini came in; and Carlino Fenzi, as soon as he saw him, went forward to meet him, and said--