Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Dupre Part 23

[Sidenote: POPULAR DEMONSTRATION.]

The next morning, from my little villa which I had rented at the Pian di Giullari, I went down to Florence, taking my usual route, at about half-past eight, when I saw a gathering of people, and groups here and there crowded together and talking excitedly. I then began to suspect something. I went to my studio, uncovered my clay, and waited for the model, who should have been there. She kept me waiting for an hour; and before I could reprove her for her unpunctuality, she told me that she had been detained by the great crowd of the demonstration which blocked up all the streets around Barbano, and that the Piazza was thronged with people carrying banners and emblems. "Bravo!" I said to myself, "I did know a good deal!" At the same time, an under-officer and instructor of the Lyceum Ferdinando, who lived over me, came to the window and cried out "Viva Italia!" and his pupils repeated his cry with enthusiasm. "Do you know what this means?" I asked of my model, who was already undressed. "I cannot work now; dress yourself, and go." She at once obeyed, and I remained thinking over the fact. I desired that the Grand Duke should yield, as in fact he did yield, to the League with Piedmont for the war against the foreigner; and I was grieved when I heard of his departure. On returning to the country, I met my friend the advocate Mantellini with Duchoque, and we were all very sorry for what had occurred, although I had nothing to do with the events which took place either before or on that day.

[Sidenote: SKETCH FOR MONUMENT TO WELLINGTON.]

The desire to give an account of this day has kept me for some time from the regular order of my records, and I must now return upon my steps.

When I had completed the model for the base of the Tazza, a desire came over me to model a group of colossal dimensions. I had selected as subject the universal Deluge, and with youthful ardour I had sketched out the whole, and had fairly well modelled some of the parts. But as at that time the English Parliament had decided to erect an imposing monument to the Duke of Wellington, and to that end had opened a world-compet.i.tion, I stopped working on my group, and set myself to think out the monument to Wellington. I had, however, little wish to compete, because it seemed to me that the work would finally be intrusted to an English sculptor, and that love of country would naturally overcome that rect.i.tude of judgment which is so deeply seated in the spirit of that great nation. And so it happened that I had, as I have said, little desire to compete; and besides, I have always been opposed to compet.i.tions, and I shall explain my reasons for this elsewhere. But my friends at first began by proposing it to me, then said so much, and urged the matter with such insistence, that finally I yielded and competed. This work of mine I cannot exactly describe, because, not having seen it for many years, I scarcely remember it. Let me try, however. In the angles of the great embas.e.m.e.nts were groups representing Military Science, Political Science, Temperance, and Fort.i.tude, each with his Genius. The four faces of the base were ornamented with _alti-rilievi_. [Sidenote: THE GRAND DUKE SENDS ME TO LONDON.]

Above this rose upon another base the princ.i.p.al group of Wellington with Victory and Peace. There was a large contribution of Florentine sculpture sent to London, for Fedi, Cambi, and Cartei competed as well, and their models were exhibited before going to England. The sending of these models was not without risk, owing to their fragility--being in plaster--the minuteness of the work upon them, and the length of the journey. All these difficulties did not escape the attention of our benevolent sovereign, who had seen my model; and as soon as I had sent it off, he told me he thought it both prudent and even necessary for me to go to London to attend to my work and see it taken out of its box. I answered that I had no fear of its being injured, having had it so well packed, and depending on the Government officials who were intrusted to receive and see to the placing of these compet.i.tive works. These were the reasons I gave; but there were others of a more intimate and delicate nature, for out of respect for the other compet.i.tors I did not wish to appear as if I went to push forward my own work. On his Highness urging me more and more, I told him all my thoughts, and he replied, with a smile, "If it is on account of this, you can go at once, for Fedi came to take leave of me yesterday; and to facilitate your journey, I shall give you a hundred _zecchini_. I could give you a letter for King Leopold of the Belgians, my good friend, but that would be like a recommendation, so I shall abstain from doing so. Go and make haste, for if your work should be damaged on its arrival, who is there who could mend it? Therefore go; and good-bye."

CHAPTER XV.

PATIENCE A MOST ESSENTIAL VIRTUE--TRUST WAS A GOOD MAN, BUT TRUST-NO-ONE A BETTER--A COMPEt.i.tION EITHER ATTRACTS OR DRIVES AWAY MEN OF TALENT--A STUDY FROM LIFE OF A LION BY MARROCCHETTI--a.s.sISTANT MODELLERS--SYDENHAM AND ITS WONDERS--ONE OF "ABEL'S" FINGERS--NEW JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON--AN IMPORTANT QUESTION--AN INDIAN WHO SPEAKS ABOUT THINGS AS THEY ARE--PROFESSOR PAPI AND THE FAILURE OF THE FIRST CAST IN BRONZE OF THE "ABEL"--A MEDICINE NOT SOLD BY THE CHEMIST.

I started at once, and it was well that I did so, for the vessel which had the case containing my model sprang a leak on account of the bad weather, had to stop at Malta, and arrived in London too late, as the term had expired for the presentation of these models. If it had not been for my having the bill of lading,--from which it was made clear that I had not only sent it in time, but a long time before I was required, and that this delay had occurred from circ.u.mstances entirely independent of my will,--my work would have been undoubtedly rejected.

For this reason, and through the good offices of William Spence, it was accepted; and he made me acquainted with the royal commissioner of the exhibition as the person intrusted by the author of the work. When they proceeded to open the case the commissioner wished me to be present, that I might see in what state it had arrived--and it was a truly lamentable state! The ship, as I have already said, sprang a leak, and the water had entered the case and softened the plaster figures, so that they were dislodged from their places, and rolled about in the box in all directions. Heads were detached from their bodies, hands mutilated and broken, aquiline noses flattened out, the helmets had lost their plumes and front pieces. In fact, it was all a perfect hash! Besides this, as I had wrapped them up in cotton-wool and paper, and the salt water had penetrated and remained there for many days, they had gone through a sort of special chemical process, by which my sketch was coloured in the most varied and capricious way. Blue, red, and yellow were mixed up together with the most lively pleasantry; and if it had been done on purpose, one could not have reduced the poor work to a more wretched condition. I saw at once that I needed all the _sang froid_ possible, so I did not utter a word, and ostentatiously showed a calm exterior that I did not really feel,--all the more because already the greater part of the models had been put in their places, and the exhibition and judgment on them were imminent. Fedi, who was present at this disaster, seeing me so cold, said to me, almost in a rage, "Why don't you get angry?"

[Sidenote: MY SKETCH ARRIVES BROKEN TO PIECES.]

"Why should I get angry?" I answered. "Shall I mend the matter by getting angry? On the contrary, see how well I shall manage, in a slow and orderly way. I remember to have read somewhere--I don't recollect where--that he who has to go up a steep ascent must take it slowly; and so shall I."

He was of the contrary opinion, and advised me rather to leave everything alone for the moment, to take a pleasant walk, and to set myself to work the next day with a fresh mind; and he himself, with praiseworthy thoughtfulness, offered to help me. But I held to my purpose, thanking him for his advice and offer to help me, as I felt confident that I should be able to do it all by myself. I then at once informed the commissioner for the exhibition that, as I was empowered by the author of the sketch, and was in his entire confidence, I intended immediately to set to work and restore it. As this gentleman commissioner understood not a word of French or Italian, William Spence, then a young man, was my interpreter. When he understood what it was I wanted, he called a gentleman who was looking at the models for compet.i.tion, and spoke to him in a low voice in his own language; but my young mentor, who, besides his intelligence, had a fine sense of hearing, taking me aside, told me what orders the commissioner had given this gentleman.

[Sidenote: REPARATION OF THE SKETCH.]

It should be known that the English Government, among the articles regulating this compet.i.tion, had made one which was most wise, as it partially guaranteed the artist who had not been able to accompany his sketch in person, and had no correspondents or friends who could act for him, to repair any chance damages to his work. For this they had appointed an able artist capable of making the required restorations.

This, then, was what Spence told me: "The commissioner, as you see, called that gentleman to tell him to pay attention to what you are doing to this model, for although you have a.s.serted yourself to be the person intrusted by the author of the work, yet he has not felt sure of it; and as you might also be a person who, with bad intentions, propose to damage it under pretence of restoring it, it was his duty to prevent this,--so he gave orders to that gentleman, in case he saw that your hand was guided by bad faith or incompetency, to make you leave off at once, and to set himself instead to work on it."

[Sidenote: SIGNOR BRUCCIANI'S FRIENDLINESS.]

I understand I must give all my attention and mind to the manner in which I do my work, though I should have acted more freely had I not been exposed to a supervision as reasonable as it was conscientious. The consequence of a mistake or an oversight might be to see myself set aside as an a.s.s, or even worse, as an impostor, and the heads and hands of my little figure mended by another, Heaven knows how!

In the meantime, the sculptor or modeller who was to watch me never lost sight of me, and being sure that I knew nothing of his charge, observed every movement of mine; but after I had been at work about ten minutes he was completely convinced, and declared that I could be allowed to continue the restorations--_meno male!_ Plaster brushes, small knives, sharp tools, and all other implements, had been largely furnished to me by Signor Brucciani, a most able caster, and the proprietor of a large shop, or rather a gallery of plaster statues, able to supply any school of design, and what my friend Giambattista Giuliani would have called a perfect _gipsoteca_.

And with regard to good Signor Brucciani, I must say some words in his praise, not only because he provided me liberally with plaster and tools, and help in my work, but because he, a stranger in a foreign land, has known how, with his activity, to acquire for himself the esteem of a people who are as tardy in conceding it as they are tenacious in keeping to it when once given. From this he derives his good fortune and enviable position.

When Signor Brucciani fell in with an active and open-hearted compatriot, it brightened him up soul and body, and he often wished to have me with him. His wife and daughter united a certain English stiffness with Italian _brio_ and frankness that they took from their husband and father. One day Brucciani and his family desired to spend the day in the country and dine in Richmond Park. Everything Brucciani did he did well; and I hope he is alive and able to do so still. He brought with him several carriages, with everything that was required for the _cuisine_ and table--furniture, servants, food, and exquisite wines, even ice in which to keep the ices, &c. A _viva_ to him! for as the Marchese Colombi said, "Things can be done or not done." After dinner a caravan of gipsies, perfect witches, who live in that forest, made their appearance, and asked if we wanted our fortunes told. The request was odd enough; but being made in such a serious manner, it became really amusing. Naturally, as we had to give something to these poor gipsies not to humiliate them, we had our fortunes told; and as for the old woman that examined my hand, she guessed so much that was true that I was almost frightened, and drew away my hand. The old witch continued to point with her bony finger, and say, "There is still more, still more."

[Sidenote: THE SKETCH IS RESTORED.]

My work was rather long, and would have been tiresome; but as it was a necessity, I did it willingly, and succeeded very well. It is true, however, that both the architecture and the figures were strangely spotted with stains made by the salt water, and bits of paper and cotton-wool in which it had been packed. Some one advised me to give it all a uniform tint to hide this; but I insisted on leaving it in that way, trusting to the good sense of the judges, who were called upon to consider much worse defects than those produced by a chance accident. I remember that Mr Stirling Crawford, of London, on receiving some years before the two statues of "Innocence and the Fisherman," and a stain having made its appearance on the leg of one of these, wrote to me manifesting his entire satisfaction with these works, and adding: "It is true that here and there there are some stains in the marble; but as I know that you do not make the marble yourself, it would be absurd to reprove you for this." There are but few gentlemen like him, however--so few, that I have never found another; but on the contrary, I have seen more than one who would even buy a mediocre statue, to use no harsher expression, provided it were made out of beautiful marble.

[Sidenote: MARROCCHETTI'S VIEWS OF COMPEt.i.tION.]

I remained in London about two months, and left the day before the opening of the compet.i.tive exhibition. The judgment was to be p.r.o.nounced after the public exhibition was over; and there were a great many competing--nearly a hundred--and some of the models were very beautiful.

There were to be nine prizes given--three first cla.s.s and six second.

The Government reserved to itself the power of giving the final commission without regard to the models that had received prizes, as it might so happen that when the name of the sculptor who drew the first prize was known, he might not be able to offer sufficient warrant as to the final execution of the work as to tranquillise the consciences of the judges and satisfy public opinion. This argument is a just one when not vitiated by preconceived opinions or self-love, which sometimes happens, as we shall see hereafter.

This was in itself a thing easily understood, but was not understood by us, who went in for this compet.i.tion. Not so Marrocchetti, who, clever artist that he was, was none the less wide awake and wise. With those who instigated him to compete he reasoned in this way, saying: "They know that I am capable of doing this work. Why, therefore, enter into compet.i.tion with others, if not to find out that there is some one else cleverer than I am? Very well; but I choose to retire, and you can take the other fellow--take him and leave me in peace. So far this would seem prompted by nothing but the fear of losing, which in itself is no small thing for a man who has a name and has gone through his long career applauded by all. But there is another and a much more piercing and almost insufferable dread. Do you know what it is? That of winning.

Yes, that of coming in victor before a poor young fellow, perhaps one of your own scholars!" Thus he gave vent to his feelings one day to me, with the sort of intimacy that springs to life quickly and vigorously between artists who are neither hypocrites nor a.s.ses; and his words depict in a lifelike manner the frank, and, I might say, bold character of this original artist, who was most dashing, and who, with a thorough knowledge of dramatic effects in art, from the very exuberance of his strength, not seldom had the defects produced by these qualities--defects which were perhaps magnified by his a.s.sistant modellers, who worked with too much rapidity and carelessness.

[Sidenote: MARROCCHETTI.]

When he saw the photograph of my model he desired to have it, and I was delighted to give it to him. He wished me to choose something of his as a remembrance, and I did not need to be urged. I had set my eyes on a most beautiful study of a lion from life in dry clay, and so I asked him for that; but as that was a thing precious to him, he asked me if I would not content myself with a cast of it in bronze instead of the clay. On my answering that I would, he called his caster, who worked for him in his own great foundry, and ordered it to be cast at once. Two days after this I received it, and keep it as the dear remembrance of an excellent friend, and as a valuable work of art.

At that time Marrocchetti had finished his great equestrian statue of Richard the Lion-hearted. It is a singular thing that Marrocchetti, in his long and glorious life, made four equestrian statues--Emanuele Filiberto, the Duke of Orleans, Carlo Alberto, and Richard the Lion-hearted. Each one of these statues bears a different stamp, both as regards composition, feeling, and mode of treatment; one would say that they were the work of four different artists. This difference of work can be reasonably explained by the diversity of the subjects and the distance of time that occurred between each work, necessarily producing notable changes in the mind and style of the artist; and also because Marrocchetti, on account of the multiplicity of serious work he had in hand, thought it advisable to have help, not only in the marble work, but also on his clay models; and as those who helped him were not always of his school, so every one brought just so much of their own individuality to bear upon the work as to alter the master's character and style. These are the sad but inevitable results for him who has the bad habit of getting a.s.sistance with his clay models.

[Sidenote: MARROCCHETTI AND HIS a.s.sISTANTS.]

While I was there in 1856 he had under his directions a very able modeller--I think he was a Roman, by name Bezzi. Bezzi went on modelling, and Marrocchetti directed his work, whilst he sat smoking and talking with me and others. Sometimes he would make him pull down a piece he had been at work on and begin afresh. This method seemed to me then, as it does now, a most strange and dangerous one; and it has not resulted happily, even amongst us, with those who have been induced to follow it.

Marrocchetti was distinguished from other sculptors by another originality--I was almost going to say oddity--and this was, that he coloured his statues often to such a degree that you could no longer distinguish the material of which they were made. I remember to have seen an imposing monument composed of several figures that had been put up in honour of Madame de la Riboisiere in the chapel belonging to the hospital which bears that name in Paris. It is completely coloured--I should better say painted all over--with body colour,--the heads, hair, eyes, draperies, all coloured so that it is impossible to distinguish the material in which it was sculptured. You could distinguish absolutely nothing; and if it had not been for the _custode_, who affirmed that the work was in marble, you might have thought it was coloured plaster or _terra cotta_. And this worthy man was so sure of having thus added beauty to his statues that he was much astonished that others did not imitate him.

[Sidenote: THE COLOURING OF STATUES.]

Marrocchetti, there is no doubt, was wrong in loading on colour as he did; but it is a question not yet solved or to be lightly put aside as to whether a delicate veil of colour may not be tried on the fleshy parts. Grecian sculptors used colour, and ours also in the middle ages, although only on particular parts of the figure and on the ornamental portions of their monuments. The only one that I know of, amongst modern artists, who used colour with discretion, was Pradier. The English sculptor Gibson was more audacious. I have seen a Cupid by Gibson entirely coloured--the hair golden, the eyes blue, his quiver chiselled and gilt, and, incredible as it may seem, the wings painted in various colours with tufts or ma.s.ses of red, green, blue, and orange feathers, like those of an Arara parrot.

[Sidenote: THE CRYSTAL PALACE.]

Having seen the Kensington Museum, and the other sculpture and picture galleries in which London is so rich, I take pleasure in recounting a little occurrence that happened to me at Sydenham. Sydenham is a place some fifteen miles from London, in an open country, healthy, and rich in green vegetation. There is the famous Crystal Palace, where one can see a permanent exhibition of all the most beautiful things that are scattered about in different parts of the world, beginning with ante-diluvian animals reconstructed scientifically from some fossil bones found in the excavations of mines in Scotland and elsewhere. There are gigantic trees from Australia, one of which, having been cut in pieces, bored, and the centre extracted, to enable it to be transported, had been put together again and planted inside this palace. It is as high as a veritable campanile; at its base a door has been made, so that one can enter inside it; and it holds comfortably some thirty persons.

All the tropical plants are there in fine vegetation, in conservatories heated by stoves, where the heat is so oppressive that one longs to go out and breathe the fresh outside air. There also can be seen that famous plant that grows in the water, with its flower floating on the surface. This gigantic flower, when I then saw it, measured not less than two metres in diameter, and the leaves flattened out on the water looked like open umbrellas. It seems really as if one were dreaming, to see such gigantic vegetation. Besides plants and animals from all parts of the earth--from the polar as well as from the tropical regions--there are the full-sized models of men taken from life, and coloured according to nature--Cretins, Esquimaux, savages, Tartars, Mongols, and anthropophagi, all in most natural att.i.tudes, and in their various costumes. There are also full-size reproductions of pieces of Egyptian, Indian, a.s.syrian, Mongolian, and Moorish architecture; parts of the Alhambra Palace; some rooms from Pompeii; minarets and Chinese temples; sculpture (I mean, be it understood, reproductions in plaster) of the best Egyptian, Indian, Greek, and Roman works, as well as those of the middle ages; Ghiberti's doors; the equestrian statues of Colleoni, of Gattamelata, of Marcus Aurelius; and even some modern works, amongst which is my "Abel."

[Sidenote: I BREAK OFF THE FINGER OF "ABEL."]

I knew that this statue of mine must be there, for I had it cast by Papi, who had the mould ever since he cast it in bronze; and when I saw it amongst these masterpieces as a specimen of modern art, I felt a certain feeling of complacency that I hope will be forgiven me. But this complacency of mine was disturbed when I saw that one of the fingers of the left hand had been badly restored, not merely formed inelegantly, but actually distorted, as the last phalange was much too short. That little stump of a finger so irritated me, that I gave it a blow with the stick I had in my hand, and it fell on the ground. Ill-luck would have it that one of the guards saw me, and seizing hold of me, he carried me off to the commissary of the exhibition. I was asked why I had damaged that statue; and I answered that the finger was badly made, and that I had broken it off by an involuntary movement. They replied that I could not judge whether that finger or anything else was well done or badly done, and in any case it was not permitted for persons to damage the objects exhibited there; that therefore, for this violation of the rules, I had incurred the penalty decreed in such and such an article, and that they intended to keep me in custody. To tell the truth, this Signor Commissary spoke French rather badly; but I understood him very well, and with the best grace possible begged to be forgiven, saying that the wish to damage the statue had never entered into my thoughts, that the finger I had broken was positively ugly, that it must be remade as it ought to be, and that, as to having it restored, I would myself bear the expense. But the commissioner was firm, and was about to consign me to a guard, who was to conduct me not exactly to prison, but to something of that kind. I then felt obliged to make my name known. At first he had no intention of yielding to my explanation, and there was an expression on his face that might be translated thus: "It seems to me strange; it cannot be; I don't believe it." Then he went on to say, "Your position as author did not give you the right to do what you have done, even admitting that what you affirm is true--and we shall soon see if it be really true (_tout de suite_). You are the author of that statue; then remake the finger that you have broken." I was completely taken aback by this new judgment of Solomon, so simple and just. Calling to my aid a young modeller who was employed there, working a little and directing a little, the finger was soon remade. And so this odd adventure came to an end, proving the justice of the proverb, "Who breaks, pays."

[Sidenote: DINNER GIVEN BY INDUSTRIAL SOCIETY.]

I returned to Sydenham several times, because the quant.i.ty and importance of the things to be seen required time and attention; but when I found myself near my own statue, I gave it a wide berth.

One day I found myself, or rather I should say I was taken by William Spence, to a great dinner given by the Artistic and Industrial Society in the dining-hall of the great Palace of the Exhibition. We were no less than four hundred, and Lord Derby presided. About the end of the dinner the toasts began, with speeches of which naturally I understood not a word; but fortunately "Mino" translated them to me in a few brief words. At last an Indian officer of the English army arose with a face the colour of copper, and began to speak; but after the first words, here and there in that immense hall, first in undertones, and then louder and louder, there arose a confused noise of voices of disapprobation. I understood nothing, and begged "Mino" to explain; and he replied that I must keep quiet, and he would afterwards explain everything. In the meantime the noise of disapprobation increased, and some loud words were repeated. The orator's voice could hardly be heard any more, but he was not disturbed, and waited until the tempest was a little calmed down before continuing. Then I heard a word repeated louder and louder, which "Mino" explained to me was "Enough." The only one who remained cold, pa.s.sive, and silent was the president; and when the speaker saw that it was an impossibility to make himself heard, he bowed and sat down. After a little while every one rose from table.

[Sidenote: AN EXCITING SPEECH ON INDIA.]

"Now, then, relieve my curiosity. What has that officer said of so extraordinary a nature as to compel him to silence in a country like this, where really such entire liberty prevails?"

"What he has said," replied "Mino," "he could have said and repeated most freely; but he was badly inspired, and had the imprudence to name the Queen. Now amongst us the Queen, whatever may be the question, is never mentioned. The law--and more than the law, respect for her person--prohibits us from naming her. The officer who spoke is a colonel in our Indian army, and is, as you can see by the colour of his face, an Indian. He only arrived a few days ago on a mission, they say, of some importance. Now this is what he has said: The Indians, subjugated by the force and cunning of the English Government, having borne as much as is humanly possible to bear--the loss of their liberty, of their wealth, and of their religious faith; aggravated by the odious sight of their oppressors; every modest demand of theirs rejected; weighed down every day more and more by additional taxation,--for some time past have burned with impatience to shake off their yoke and regain their lost liberty. The English Government, being aware in part of this movement, and in part ignoring it, he felt himself in duty bound to proclaim it loudly, as much for the good of his own people as for the English themselves. After having in vain attempted all ways of adjustment with the Government of the Queen (first time of mention), he hoped at least by these means to open the eyes and move the heart of the Queen (second time) in favour of those poor pariahs, a.s.sa.s.sinated by a Government who, in the name of her Majesty the Queen (third time), add to insult the derision of a people whom it has enervated with the pretext of civilising it. Revolution and war being imminent if their just demands are this time again rejected, the Government being responsible for this disaster, and the Queen ... and the Queen----Here the orator, as you saw, was unable to continue, and already they had allowed him to say too much. Neither the gravity of his revelations nor his injurious a.s.sertions against the Government had been able in the least to excite our delicate organisation, but it was only and entirely on account of the sacred name of the Queen being mixed up in his speech so imprudently and with so little judgment."

[Sidenote: THE INDIAN MUTINY.]

The fact is, however, that in less than five weeks from the day that this poor Indian attempted to make the truth known--explaining what was wrong, and revealing the consequences that would follow, and counselling a remedy--the telegraph, with its flashing words, announced the Mutiny, the peril the English were in, and their calls for help. It is true that the Queen was not then mentioned, but for all that, men did not the less die. Methinks I can hear it said, "What has this to do with your memoirs? In our opinion, it has nothing to do either with your life or with any artistic reflection that can be of interest to us."

[Sidenote: STUDY OF CHARACTER AND TEMPERAMENT.]

But this objection bears only the appearance of reason. With this scene I wished to depict the temper and character of the English in general, and in particular of the two most prominent persons of that a.s.semblage--namely, the Indian colonel and the president of the banquet.