Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Dupre Part 12

The waiter, with a napkin over his shoulder, was standing before us. I was like a full flask which, being upturned, can with difficulty empty itself. There was such a variety of odours in the room, and such a quant.i.ty of things to eat, that I could not get out a word; and my friend, seeing my embarra.s.sment, hastened to say to me--

[Sidenote: A BREAKFAST.]

"Will you have some soup and a cutlet?"

"Yes; two," I replied.

"Will you have Orvieto or good Roman wine?"

"Do me the favour to bring anything you please, so long as you bring me something to eat and drink. I can't stop to choose."

And the good Travalloni, turning to the servant, said--

"Bring at once a flask of Orvieto, such as I drink--you understand?--some bread, some soup, a cutlet, cheese, and fruit."

That day Travalloni appeared to me to be a man of genius.

CHAPTER VIII.

LITERATI AT MY STUDIO, AND THEIR INFLUENCE ON MY WORK--CALAMATTA'S OPINION OF TENERANI, OF BARTOLINI, AND OF MYSELF--HIS DEFENCE OF MY ABEL IN PARIS--PIUS II.--ACADEMICIANS AND "NATURALISTI"--LUIGI VENTURI--PRINCE ANATOLIA DEMIDOFF AND THE PRINCESS MATILDE--THE STATUETTE IN CLAY OF THE PRINCESS MATILDE IS DESTROYED--OUR MINISTER NIGRA PRESENTS ME TO THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON III.--BEAUTY DOES NOT EXIST OUTSIDE OF NATURE--PRAISE PUTS ONE TO SLEEP--THE INCOHERENCE OF BARTOLINI.

My studio, as I think I have already said, was the resort of many of the literary men of the time--Giusti, Thouar, Montazio, La Farina, F. S.

Orlandini, Enrico Mayer, Girolamo Gargiolli, Giovanni Chiarini, Filippo Moise, and sometimes, but rarely, G. B. Niccolini, Atto Vannucci, and Giuseppe Arcangeli. These distinguished men, all talking with me, and bringing forward their theories of Art, somewhat confused me in my ideas. I said, at the very beginning of these memoirs--and the reader, I hope, keeps it in mind--that I had received no education, and my judgment was not trained to discern and distinguish the laws of the beautiful, which, the more deeply one studies them, the more they scatter, and seem, as it were, to fly from us. I was attracted to Art by a purely natural sentiment, which I sought to express by a simple imitation of nature; and so far, I think I was right, for whatever other path we may take, supported however it may be by philosophic and aesthetic reasons, it will prove utterly fallacious unless it lead to this end, of imitating the beautiful in nature, and will surely lead astray the young artist, even though he has a good natural talent and a lively fancy.

[Sidenote: A Pa.s.sAGE IN DANTE.]

Yes, sir; my poor head was perplexed, and I began to distrust nature, with its imperfections and its vulgarity. The warm and imaginative utterances of La Farina made all the words of Niccolini seem colourless to me, for though given with antique beauty, they came from him with difficulty. The pure and touching morality of Thouar conflicted with the humoristic and cynical freedom of Montazio. Giusti, who might have set me right in my opinions, kept at a distance without giving a reason why; and in this he was wrong, for I should have given heed to him. But he contented himself with writing to the advocate Galeotti, telling him that I was surrounded by a number of fops who spoiled me, and that if I did not shut myself up in my studio, as I did when I made the Abel, I should not succeed in making anything good. This outburst of Giusti's I only knew many years afterwards, on the publication of his letters.

I remember one day, when Giusti was with me, I recited from memory the canto in the 'Inferno' relating to Francesca, but when I came to this pa.s.sage--

"Quali colombe dal desio chiamate Con l'ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido Volan per l'aere dal voler portate;"

he interrupted me, saying, "You recite well and intelligently the verses of the divine poet; but you, too, fall into the error into which so many have fallen--copyists, printers, and commentators--that of placing the semicolon at the end of the line, after the word _portate_, instead of putting it in the middle of the line, after the word _aere_. This punctuation makes Dante guilty of a blunder, he attributing to the doves, besides desire, which is most proper, also will, which belongs properly to man. Try and place the comma and the pause after the word _aere_, and you will see what a stupendous philosophical value it gives to the verses. Listen; I will repeat them to you:--

'Quali colombe dal desio chiamate Con l'ali aperte e ferme, al dolce nido Volan per l'aere; dal voler portate Cotali uscir dalla schiera, ov'e Dido,'" &c.

This correction, so clear, so easy, so just, satisfied me immediately, and from that day I have always recited these lines in this way. The unintelligent did not perceive the change of sense, but those who were more attentive and refined gave me praise for it; but I rejected it at once as belonging to me, saying that the correction was due to Giuseppe Giusti.[6]

[6] The distinguished Signor Carlo Ara of Palermo informs me that this new punctuation did not originate with Giusti, but with Muzzi.

And, in truth, Giusti did not tell me that it was his, but simply recommended me to try to say it and understand it in that sense; and I, supposing the correction to be his, recited and wrote it so. The distinguished Carlo Ara pointed out to me the way in which I could verify his a.s.sertion; and I am glad to be able to correct an error (involuntary on my part), and to take this occasion to thank the distinguished Signor Carlo Ara.

The distinguished Signor Angelo Cavalieri of Trieste writes to me that this new punctuation of this Dantesque simile does not convince him, and he gives his reasons; but upon this I am not competent to enter into a discussion.

[Sidenote: STATUE OF GIOTTO.]

In making my Giotto, I followed my inspiration by drawing upon nature for that type of rude good-nature which const.i.tuted the outward character of my statue; and although some of my literary friends, who were more attached to the antique and the so-called _bello ideale_, blamed me, and some artists of distinction opposed me openly, I firmly adhered to the sound principle of imitating nature. The Giotto was finished without a moment's indecision, although, as I have said, I had been revolving over and over again in my mind the conception of a beauty ideal and beyond nature, but which, without great judgment, becomes conventional.

[Sidenote: CALAMATTA'S VISIT.]

About this time a controversy occurred between me and a great artist which it may be well to speak of here, because, although it will show how tenacious I was of this principle of imitating nature, yet it will also show how much I was affected by it, and how the acerbity of this artist produced a change in me, which certainly he did not desire. His fear was lest I should fall into a servile copying of life; and had his language been more measured, we should easily have understood each other. But he took a different course, and I now proceed to give the history of this controversy.

[Sidenote: CALAMATTA'S ATTACK.]

I had a short time previously completed my model of Giotto, and, as I have said, some among the artists most tenacious of the cla.s.sic rules attacked me sharply, but Bartolini defended me. I was therefore somewhat irritated when Calamatta, accompanied by Signor Floridi, the draughtsman, came to my studio. He came in with a magisterial and rather arrogant air. I received him politely and with respectful words, such as became me towards the author of the famous mask of Napoleon I. He looked at "Abel" and "Cain" without opening his mouth, and as if he found in them nothing either to praise or to blame; but when he came to the "Giotto," he said, "I have heard a good deal of talk about you, in which you have been lauded to the skies, and I wished to come and ascertain with my own eyes whether you were ent.i.tled to your fame; and I confess to you, though what I shall say may seem bitter to you, that in the presence of your works your fame disappears; and if it be permitted to me to make a comparison, I should say that you produce the same effect upon me as if I saw a balloon inflated with gas rising majestically in the air, and which, after arriving at a certain height, bursts, and afterwards leaves nothing to be seen." I answered that such things might be thought, and even spoken, but a little more graciously, and I said no more. Calamatta rejoined, with some irritation, that he was a person who could not endure the ugly--that it was his instinct to denounce it with the same vivacity and earnestness that one does when there is a cry of fire, and some place is in flames. I began then to lose my patience: still I only contented myself with asking whether he was quite sure that there was a conflagration, and whether he was absolutely called upon to extinguish it; and finally, added that Bartolini, Tenerani, and others had seen my works, and had spoken of them in very different terms. This only more irritated poor Calamatta, and he said that he had just come from Paris, and had visited Tenerani at Rome, and his insipid and hard mysticism had seemed pitiable to him; and that, on coming to Florence, he had found in Bartolini the most filthy and offensive realism, carried to the point of proclaiming the beauty of deformity, and that in response to his just criticisms upon the injury that he was thus doing to the true principles of Art, Bartolini had advised him to come to my studio and see the application of those principles which he censured,--and now, after examining my works, he perceived that I was sliding down a steep declivity, which would soon precipitate me into naturalism and deformity, and though he recognised in me a certain talent, he warned me to avoid that false school and those insidious precepts, and more than all, to be on my guard against treacherous and lying praises. All this was very fine, if it were granted that I was on a false road. But as I did not think so then, and still less now,--and besides, as I was young, flattered, and praised, and those words of his, "that I should be on my guard against insidious precepts and treacherous praises," seemed to me a very unjust accusation against Bartolini,--I indicated to him that I should be glad if he would leave me in peace, and in fact, as he had declared my works to be ugly, and of an ugliness that he abhorred, he was not in his proper place here; and as to his counsel, not having asked for it, I should not take the trouble to consider it. Poor Calamatta was angry at this, and taking by the hand Floridi, who during the whole squabble was on thorns, he said, "Let us go away; let us go away; let us go away"--and away he went.

[Sidenote: HIS REPORT AND DEFENCE OF ME.]

[Sidenote: CALAMATTA'S SPEECH.]

Poor Calamatta, my ill.u.s.trious friend. If any one had said on that day, when we separated with such unpleasant feelings, and on my part with so little kindness, "The time will come, and soon, when he will be your most open defender and friend," I would not have believed him, and I should not have wished to believe him,--and yet it so turned out. In 1855, eleven years after our disagreement, he was in Paris, and on the Jury of the Fine Arts at the World's Exhibition. I had sent a model of the "Abel" in plaster, and among the jury the doubt arose whether it was not cast from life. As in Florence that opinion was originated out of evil-mindedness, so it was repeated in Paris from speciousness, and heedlessness of judgment. Calamatta, whom I had not seen since that famous day, although he frequently returned to Florence, undertook to defend my work with sound reasoning and friendly warmth, but he did not succeed in convincing the entire body of the jury of their error of judgment; and in a.s.signing the prizes, out of mere regard for Calamatta they gave to "Abel" one of the last. Calamatta then rose and said, "Gentlemen, our judgment of this work must not be given in this way. I have endeavoured to show you by artistic reasoning that this statue is really modelled in clay, in imitation of beautiful nature. I have pointed out that certain imperfections which are always found in nature have been wisely avoided by the artist. I have shown you clear proofs of modelling in the mode of working the clay. I thought that I had convinced you that so n.o.ble and refined a whole is rather the creation of the mind, through a studious and loving imitation of parts, than a mechanical reproduction by casting; and finally, I have demonstrated, and you have conceded to me, that the head is of equal merit with all the rest of the body, and this could not have been cast from life. From these considerations, which arise from the examination of the work itself, and without regard to the artist, whom I have only once met in Florence, and who is, I believe, inimical to me, I am of opinion that your judgment of this work should be reconsidered, and if it seems to you to be proved that this statue is a cast from nature and not modelled, and in consequence a falsification and not a work of art, you ought not to adjudge to it even the lowest prize, but to exclude it entirely from the Exhibition, and in so doing you should give your reasons for such a decision in writing, and under your signatures,--and in such case I shall retire from the Jury of Fine Arts, and shall publish in the journals of Paris my reasons for withdrawing." After this discourse there arose an exceedingly animated discussion, and the President decided that a new examination of the model should be made; and as many were convinced by the good reasons put forward by Calamatta, the second examination of "Abel" resulted in a complete success, and at the next voting the golden medal of the First Cla.s.s was awarded to me.

The news of this, derived directly from Calamatta himself, was sent to me at once by Rossini, who had conceived a strong affection for me, and honoured me with his friends.h.i.+p.

[Sidenote: GOLDEN MEDAL--PIUS II.]

I now return to the point where I left off. After Giotto I began Pius II.; and filled as my head was by the criticism of the academicians, the eulogies of the _naturalisti_, the contempt of some to whom the subject was displeasing, and more than all by the exceptional character of the studies I had made for this work, I began it unwillingly, and strove (strangely enough) to conciliate the academicians, copying from the life with timidity, where boldness and fidelity were required--boldness, that is to say, in accepting frankly the stiff paper-like folds of the pontifical mantle, and fidelity in copying them. In consequence I made a washed-out work, and I pleased neither one party nor the other, and much less myself. I make this statement so that young men may be on their guard against allowing themselves to stray from the true path, which is this--viz., to embody the subject in its appropriate form by the imitation of living nature, to strive for truth of character in the general action and in all the particulars, and in proportion as the subject is historical and natural, as in portraiture, to adhere all the more closely to nature. In such a case as this statue of Pius II., it is necessary to be naturalistic--avoiding, of course, all minutiae which add nothing to the beauty of general effect and the truth of character.

Has it ever happened to you, courteous reader, to meet a person with whom your personal relations brought you often in contact, and who, reserved and serious by nature as well as on account of his social position, differed from you, who are perhaps too vivacious and open; and on the one side you feared to displease him by your vivacity, and on the other you were annoyed by his reserve? In such a case, if certain allowance be made on both sides--as far as you are concerned by listening with attentive deference to his wise counsels, austere maxims, and high principles, and on his part by an indulgent consideration for your free and vivacious nature--has it not happened to you that insensibly and firmly a harmony of relation has established itself which it is difficult to break,--and this for the undeniable, however recondite reason, that there is a sympathy between entirely different natures which causes each to compensate for the other?

[Sidenote: MY FRIENDs.h.i.+P WITH VENTURI.]

In like manner as this may have happened to you, so it happened to me with Luigi Venturi, then private secretary of his Royal and Imperial Highness the Grand Duke Leopold II. He often came to my studio by order of the Grand Duke, for whom I was making a statuette of Dante and another of Beatrice. He took a liking to me, which I have returned sincerely, even till to-day; and he is the oldest and most affectionate of my friends. After the revolution of '59, with the loss of his high position he lost also a great portion of such friends as come with Fortune and flee with her. But neither the ingrat.i.tude of some nor the fickleness of others ever drew from him a lament. He was contented with those who remained, and I was one of them. Our long and intimate connection has at last harmonised our characters,--he making me more temperate, and I (as I dare to hope) making him more open and vivacious.

His friends.h.i.+p, as well as that of others of whom I shall speak in the proper place, has strengthened my judgment and tempered my fancies.

Trustworthy, honest, and sincere friends are a great fortune--and I have had such, and have kept them. To distinguish the good from the bad requires study, and we must learn how to get rid of chatterers and adulators.

[Sidenote: PRINCE ANATOLIO DEMIDOFF.]

And this warning I feel it my duty to give to young artists, for whom these memoirs are specially written. I have already said, in speaking of models, "Girls unaccompanied as models, no!" now I add, "Nor even married women without the express consent of their husbands." Here is a little incident which may serve as a lesson.

Prince Anatolio Demidoff often came to my studio. He gave vent to his annoyance at the delays and the infinite difficulties interposed by Bartolini in completing the groups and statues of the monument ordered by him in honour of the memory of his dead father. To listen to the Prince, he seemed to have a thousand good reasons; but the consequences he drew from them, and the bold, unjust measures which he proposed, I could not but think blameworthy, and I strove in every way to moderate him, and to dissuade him from carrying out his intentions. My frank and loyal defence of Bartolini, so far from exasperating him, as often happened when he was opposed, made him more kindly towards me, and he proposed to order of me a great work worthy, as he was pleased to say, of my genius. He had a thousand projects, and among them he spoke to me of a colossal statue of Napoleon I. He was at that time tenderly inclined toward the Bonaparte family. His pride in being connected with it, as well as the charms of the beautiful Princess, his wife, were in great measure the cause of this enthusiasm. He treated me with great kindness, invited me often to dinner and to his evening receptions, and talked very freely with me in regard to works that he wished me to make for him.

[Sidenote: STATUETTE OF PRINCESS DEMIDOFF.]

About this time the Princess came one day to my studio, and told me that she wished me to make her portrait--not merely a bust, but the whole figure, almost half the size of life. I answered that I should like much to make it, for I was persuaded that it would give the Prince pleasure; but she hastened to say that the Prince must know nothing about it. I had not sufficient presence of mind to reply that without his consent I could not undertake it--and I was wrong, I confess: but the Princess stood before me blandly insisting; and overcome by the beauty of the model, I agreed to make it and keep it a secret from the Prince. She gave me a number of sittings, and I was going on satisfactorily with the statuette, and had already a good likeness, when unexpectedly the Prince came one day to see me, and after exchanging a few words and taking a turn through the room, he stopped before the modelling-stand, on which was the clay of the statuette covered with wet cloths, and said--

"And what have you got here?"

"Nothing, your Excellency--nothing."

"Let me see what there is under here."

"But there is nothing; it is only a ma.s.s of infirm clay, and is not in a state to show."

"Let us see, my friend,--I am extremely curious." And so saying he lifted up the cloths, looked at it, and then said seriously, "Very good--very like;" and then in a sharp tone added, "And who has ordered this?"