Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Dupre Part 26

It has been said that this man was extravagant and almost brutal; but when I remember the expression of radiant joy he had on his face when he was looking at his wife while proposing to give her a statue, as if it had been only a flower or a fan--when I recall that I have seen him shed warm tears for the death of Bartolini, and when I remember his great charity in founding and maintaining the Asylum of Saint Niccolo,--I cannot but deplore the bad feeling and injustice of those who take pleasure in blackening his character, in misinterpreting facts, and maligning his intentions.

The order for the statue of Napoleon proved a failure, as also for that of the Princess, owing to the separation of husband and wife. And now let me go back to my place, for oh, how I have wandered away from the fainting young soldiers in Hyde Park!

The exhibition of the models competing for the Duke of Wellington's monument was about to be opened, so I thought it better to return home--all the more, because I wished to stop in Paris on my way back, as I had been in too great a hurry to see it when I came through. By this time, nothing that there was to be seen in London had escaped me, and I could describe with great precision the Docks, the Tunnel, Westminster, St Paul's, the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament, &c., &c.; but to what use? Are there not guide-books? And my impressions are many, it is true, and not of the common run; but they would require no little s.p.a.ce, and this would change the simple design and form of these papers.

[Sidenote: EXAMINATION OF THE MODELS IN LONDON.]

Two or three days before the opening of the exhibition of these models, the Minister of Public Instruction, accompanied by the royal commissioner and other officials, visited the great hall at Westminster, where the models were exhibited. Some English and a few foreign artists thought proper to accompany the Minister when he went to inspect these works. As for me, I felt no such wish; and not wanting to be thought rude, and as neither the commissioner nor any of the people with the Minister knew who I was, I reclined in my s.h.i.+rt-sleeves on one of the cases belonging to these monuments, and so pa.s.sed for a common workman in the hall. The commissioner, in fact, only knew me as a person of trust, who had some ability in restoring a work in plaster. I hope the reader has not forgotten that little affair. I was consoled, however, by seeing that the Minister stopped some time to look at my work, although he pa.s.sed by others in too much haste, excusable in many instances, but not in some, where attention and praise were merited. Be it as it may, I was well pleased that he stopped before mine--and all the more so, that I did not form a part of his Excellency's suite. In fact I have been always very slow in putting myself forward with Ministers of Public Works, and I don't know to what saint I owe this feeling of respect for the Ministry. With certain members I have had frank cordial relations, before they became Excellencies; afterwards, when once they were in the Ministry, as if by a sort of magic they became for me such respectable personages that I retired into myself, and kept most willingly to my own place. Then those poor gentlemen have so much to do that, without a doubt, if you wanted to see them, you would be told that they could not receive you. So the fact of it is, that I have so much respect for them, and just so much for myself, as not to be willing to annoy them, and there is not a Minister of Public Works who can say, "This fellow has bored me about this or that thing." True it is, that by the grace of G.o.d I have never felt the necessity of doing so. Once only, and that not on my own account, but from a sentiment of dignity and justice, negotiations were entered into with the Ministers Natoli, Correnti, and Bonghi, as to the completion of a base for my Tazza, which I mentioned some time back; and as it just fits in here, I shall now bring this story to a close. The subject is a delicate, and for me a trying one, but I shall discuss it with calmness, and in as few short words as truth and reason can be clothed.

[Sidenote: THE BASE OF THE TAZZA.]

[Sidenote: I LEAVE LONDON.]

The base of the Tazza that I had modelled was either to be cast in bronze or cut in marble, and the last was decided on. Whilst they were looking for a pure piece of close-grained marble, the revolution took place, and the Grand Duke left. My model had already been paid for, and I hoped that the present Government, sooner or later, would have confirmed the commission; but I hoped in vain. After several years had pa.s.sed, I asked my friend Commendatore Gotti, Director of the Royal Galleries, to make known my claim to the Ministry, which was done; but I obtained nothing. Later, Professor Dall'Ongaro spoke about it to Correnti, the Minister, and also obtained nothing. At last Commendatore D'Ancona was most pressing in speaking to Bonghi the Minister, and Betti the Secretary; but then came the fall of the Minister with his Cabinet, and I was really tired out by the whole thing, with its long, wearisome, and useless negotiations. I must add, that as the model had already been paid for, the expense for executing it was all that was required; and yet, notwithstanding all these recommendations, this little sum was not granted, and I was not given a hearing. And here it is to the purpose to remind the Ministers of our Government that I for more than fifteen years have occupied the gratuitous post of Master of Finis.h.i.+ng; and as in the statute creating this office it is declared that the Royal Government is not wanting in funds to pay the professors who shall have done the most for the good of their young pupils, it is to the purpose, I repeat, to remind them of the office that I have filled, and to declare to them that the pupils I have taught are now for the most part young living artists--some of them already professors, _cavalieri_, and masters in the schools--and that meanwhile I not only have not obtained a recompense, but even my demand, which to my belief was but a matter of pure justice, was not even listened to. But enough of this. I return to London, or rather let me say I leave it, as my work was finished and in place, only waiting for the judges. I therefore packed my trunk, paid my landlord, said good-bye to my friends, and got into the train, thinking of that blessed Channel where I had suffered so much in crossing.

CHAPTER XVII.

MY FATHER'S DEATH--A TURN IN THE OMNIBUS--THE FERRARI MONUMENT--I KEEP THE "SAPPHO" FOR MYSELF--THE "TIRED BACCHANTE"

AND THE LITTLE MODEL--RAPHAEL AND THE FORNARINA--THE MADONNA AND BAS-RELIEFS AT SANTA CROCE AND CAVALIERE SLOANE--MY DAUGHTER AMALIA AND HER WORKS--MY DAUGHTER BEPPINA--DESCRIPTION OF THE BAS-RELIEF ON THE FAcADE OF SANTA CROCE--I AM TAKEN FOR THE WRONG PERSON BY THE HOLY FATHER PIUS IX.--MARSHAL HAYNAU--PROFESSOR BEZZUOLI AND HAYNAU'S PORTRAIT.

My stay in London had been rather a long one, but it was necessary for the restorations (and what restorations!) of my work, and also to see the wonders of art collected by that powerful nation, by force of will, money, and time. I stayed there about two months; and notwithstanding the many and novel distractions which that vast city offered, and the good health I enjoyed at that time under a climate so different from ours, I felt every day more and more keenly the ardent desire to see my family, so that when I arrived in Paris I delayed very little. The letters which I received from home breathed the same affectionate longing that I felt myself; and the gay, thoughtless life of Paris, instead of attracting me, disgusted me. My daughters by their mother's side in our little parlour were always present to me; and knowing their dispositions, and the loving wisdom of the mother, I felt that tender, holy joy which is difficult to describe, but such as a loving and beloved father feels for his dear ones. I had lost two years ago my poor father from cholera. The poor old man had at first resisted the fury of that tremendous disease. He lived at the Carra, beyond Porta al Prato.

All around death reaped its victims,--young and old, poor and rich; it spared no one. Almost every evening, at dusk, I went to him to a.s.sure myself of his health. One evening I found him unwell and in bed; but he had no fever, and his servant-maid, a good girl, served him with affectionate zeal. I left him quiet. On going away I urged her to be attentive to my father through fear of the epidemic then raging. The girl a.s.sured me that I need not doubt of her being so, and that I might be tranquil. The next evening I went back to see him: he was still in bed, and was better; but he told me that he stayed there as a precaution, and that he was to get up the following day, having the physician's permission to do so. The door had been opened for me by a little boy, to whom he gave lessons in drawing and ornamentation--Gabriello Maranghi--who to-day is one of our ornamental marble-workers.

[Sidenote: MY FATHER'S ILLNESS--DEATH OF ROSA.]

"Oh, Rosa," I said to my father; "where is she?"

"Rosa, poor thing, died this morning. She came back from marketing, put down her things, went into her room, and I have not seen her since. They carried her away a short time ago!"--and the poor old man was much moved.

This sudden news of a death so instantaneous upset me and frightened me for my poor father. It was the same whether he stayed there or was carried elsewhere, for in every district they died in the same way. I went away sad at heart. The next day he got up, and was pretty well, even gay--in fact, for several days continued well, and went on with his work as usual. One morning--it was Sunday--my wife, who had got up before me, came into the bedroom, waked me up, and said--

[Sidenote: DEATH OF MY FATHER.]

"Nanni, get up; father is ill."

I looked in my wife's face, and read there the nature and gravity of my poor father's illness. I ran to him; he recognised me, and said--

"My good Giannino, you have done well to come quickly to your father; I am so glad to see you before I die."

He lived all day, but had spasms of pain and wandered in mind. Then he died, and his face became serene, as if he were sleeping peacefully.

Whoever has lost a father knows the kind of grief it is!

As I have said, I stayed but a few days in Paris. I saw, on the wing as it were, and without being able to study them, the monuments of art in which that great capital is rich. I repeat, I felt an irresistible desire to return home. Of the artists, I saw only Gendron, whom I had known in Florence; Anieni, a Roman; and Prince Joseph Poniatowsky, then in his prime. What was most to my taste was to ride up and down the streets of Paris in an omnibus to get an idea of the movement and grandeur of that city; but an incident occurred to me that prevented my having that desire any longer, and I should have put an end to this going up and down even if I had not already determined upon my departure. This was what happened. I had just come from a walk in the Champs Elysees, when I saw the omnibus which goes from the Barriere du Trone to the Madeleine standing still. I said to myself: "Very good; I will get in here, go through all the Boulevards as far as the Barriere, and without even descending, turn about again, and when I get back to the Rue du Helder (where I lodged), I will get out and go home." The omnibus started, drove through all the Boulevards des Italiens, des Capucines, Poissonniere, &c., and arrived at the Barriere. The pa.s.sengers got out, the omnibus stopped, and the conductor said to me--

[Sidenote: I RETURN TO FLORENCE.]

"_Monsieur, descendez, s'il vous plait._"

I answered, "_Je ne descends pas moi._"

"_Pourquoi donc?_"

"_Parce que je retourne sur mon chemin._"

The ill-concealed laughter made me aware of my mistake, and the conductor, with good manners, gave me to understand that the drive ended there, and on account of the lateness of the hour there was no return trip. I got out, and was at least four miles from home. To find a carriage, I was obliged to take a long walk towards the centre of Paris, and finally found one, and had myself conveyed home, muttering against my own stupidity. The next day, without turning either to the right or to the left, I returned to Italy,--to dear, beautiful Florence; to the bosom of my family; to my studies; to my works; to my good pupils; to my faithful workmen; and to my dear friends. Fortune had favoured me in London: my work had gained one of the first prizes in the compet.i.tion.

Another prize was obtained also by Professor Cambi.

I had scarcely got back from London when Count Ferrari Corbelli ordered from me the monument for his wife, the Countess Berta, whom he had lost a few days before. This work, which he wished to see finished as soon as possible, was the cause of my abandoning the group of the "Deluge,"

which I had already sketched, as I have before stated. The monument was composed of a base, on which was placed the urn containing the body of the deceased. Modesty and Charity, the princ.i.p.al virtues of the departed Countess, stand leaning on the angles of the sarcophagus, and above these the Angel of the Resurrection points the way to heaven for the soul of the Countess, s.n.a.t.c.hed from the love of her husband and children. The monument stands under an arch, on which are three _putti_ who hold up some folds as if they were opening the curtain of heaven.

The background is encrusted with lapis-lazuli. This monument is placed in the Church of San Lorenzo, in the chapel next to the sacristy. My friend Augusto Conti liked the conception of this monument, but objected to the nudity of the child of Charity. I have a sincere respect for his criticism, as I respect also the one he made on the monument to Cavour.

He is a profound and conscientious critic of art; and besides this, he has had, and has, for me and my family, a truly fraternal love, and I remember with emotion the part which he took during the illness and death of my daughter and my wife.

[Sidenote: COUNTESS FERRARI CORBELLI.]

Contemporaneously with this work I modelled a "Sappho," and put it at once into marble, by order of Signor Angiolo Gatti, a dealer in statues; but it happened that when he should have received the statue he had no funds, and so I sent it to our Italian Exhibition. The Government, which had set apart a sum of money for the acquisition of the best works of art, decided not to take my statue, so I have it by me now. It seems to me (I confess the weakness) as if I had been wronged, so to speak, and as if my poor "Sappho" resented this wrong from the new Phaons: so I have wished to keep my faith with her, since the desertion of her lover had caused her death; and although I have several times had offers not to be despised, yet I have never been willing to sell her. Who can tell where this poor "Sappho" will be, and how situated, after my death?

[Sidenote: MODEL OF THE "BACCHANTE."]

At this same time--that is, in 1857--I made the model of the "Tired Bacchante"; and the idea of this figure was suggested to me by a little model who was brought to me by her mother, and who had never before been seen naked by any one. The freshness of this young girl, her unspoiled figure, the delicate beauty, somewhat sensual, of her face, suggested as a subject the "Tired Dancer," which afterwards was converted to a "Bacchante"; and as some time before I had made a little statue, representing Grat.i.tude, for the Signora Maria Nerli of Siena, the general lines of that statuette served me as a sketch for this. But were I to say that it was only the beauty of the model, the subject suggested so spontaneously to me, and the composition already made, that persuaded me to keep the girl and make the statue, I should not be telling the exact truth. The mother of this girl was one of those women who not only throw aside all a mother's duty and responsibility, but despising all decency, show that they are capable of worse things. I tried at first to dissuade her from taking the young girl about to studios, and so forcing her to lose all that a maiden has most precious--modesty; nor was I silent about the perils that she was exposing her to. But my words were thrown away, for she smiled at them as if they were childish: so I kept the young girl and made the statue. I can a.s.sure you that she was a good young creature, and when I had finished the model I dismissed her with paternal words. I saw her many years after, so changed and sad, that one could hardly recognise her. She told me her sad story,--a name was on her lips, but a daughter's love made her conceal it. I repeat, she was good, and suffered, but not by any fault of hers. I have never seen her again: perhaps she is dead--the only good thing that can befall any of those unhappy creatures.

[Sidenote: THE NUDE MODEL.]

To some it may seem as if I have been rather tedious about this poor Traviata; but most people, I hope, have found my indignation reasonable, for the condition of such a girl as this is most sad and humiliating,--forced by her mother, who ought to be the jealous guardian of the modesty and innocence of her child, to strip herself naked before a man. Even though her mother remain there present, it is always a hard thing, and most disagreeable to a young woman jealous of her good name, and dreading the looks and thoughts of the man there before her. It is not even impossible that it may be thought I have studiously and affectedly deplored such cases as these, as if I wished to show myself better than I am. I have no answer to give to any one who thinks thus, for in these papers he will find nothing to justify such an opinion. I only desire to remind the profane in art, that when we have a model before us, our mind and all our strength is so absorbed in our work, and the difficulties are so great in taking from nature just so much as is required for the character, expression, and form of our subject, that nothing else affects us. He who does not credit this is not an artist, and does not feel art.

I see a little smile of incredulity, almost of triumph, come over the face of my unbelieving reader, and the old story, so often sung and perhaps exaggerated, of Raphael and the Fornarina placed before me, to belie my words. This case of Raphael and the Fornarina was a unique one, and quite different from the ordinary relations that exist between the artist and his models. A model is for us like an instrument or a tool, necessary for our work. If good and beautiful, we prize her and respect her as we would a good tool; if neither beautiful nor good, we bid her be off. The Fornarina was beautiful, and perhaps she may have been even good; but unfortunately she was of a sanguine temperament, imaginative, and ardent, as she appears from the portraits Raphael has left of her.

The graceful nature, the delicate figure of the young artist, and the prestige of his fame, roused the love and ambition of the beautiful Trasteverina.

"Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona,"[10]

"Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving,"

seized hold of that angel and smothered him in its embrace. What has this most fatal story to do with our usual artistic life? To-day there are no more Fornarinas, and, above all, there are no Raphaels; and if by chance an artist falls in love with his model, why, he marries her, and there is an end of it. In conclusion, a good and beautiful model that willingly and honestly (I use this word for want of a better) does her business, I like and employ; but a simple, good-natured, ignorant young girl forced to this shame by her own mother, irritates me and makes me sad.

[10] Dante, Inferno, canto v.

[Sidenote: RAPHAEL AND THE FORNARINA.]

At this time they were making the facade of the Church of Santa Croce, with the most valuable aid of Cavaliere Sloane, to whom we are chiefly indebted that it was possible to complete this work. In the design of the facade there were bas-reliefs in the arches over the three doors: over the middle door the "Triumph of the Cross"; over that of the right nave the "Vision of Constantine"; and over the other, on the left, the "Refinding of the Cross." I had already made for the facade the Madonna, who stands high up over the _cuspide_ of the middle door; and because the subject was dear to me, as also the idea which it should convey, I was content with a price which would barely cover the cost of making it, without counting my work on the model. But these three bas-reliefs were much more arduous work; and as I could not make them at the same rate as I had made the Madonna, I refused. Cavaliere Sloane, however, who much desired that these bas-reliefs should be made, came to me and begged me to accept them. As to the price, he a.s.sured me that we should agree, and that he would himself pay it, because he wished that the facade should be made by me. I took time to reply, and reflecting that the three bas-reliefs would take much more time than I had to dispose of, and desiring to help my two clever and affectionate pupils, I proposed to Cavaliere Sloane to divide this labour into three parts.

The larger bas-relief, that over the central door, I would make; the other two, over the lateral doors, should be made, one by Sarrocchi of Siena, and the other by Emilio Zocchi of Florence. Sloane was satisfied with my proposition, but with the understanding that I should be answerable for the excellence of these works, and while I should leave these artists freedom in their conceptions, I should direct them in such conceptions as well as in the execution. This I formally promised to do, and the work was decided upon.

[Sidenote: BAS-RELIEFS ON SANTA CROCE.]

These bas-reliefs, which I relinquished to my scholars, recall to my mind other works also given up to scholars, but not mine. Among these is Professor Costa of Florence. In the beginning of my artistic career, when I was making the "Cain" and "Abel," "Giotto," and "Pius II.," I had also a commission to make a statue representing Summer, for one of the four seasons which ornament the palace once called Batelli. This commission, though a poor one, I should have executed, because I had engaged to do so, and poor Batelli had urged it in a friendly way; but Pietro Costa, then very young, studious, and needy, begged it of me, and I, with the consent of the person who had given the commission, gave it up to him, and it was a great success.