Part 20 (1/2)
[Sidenote: INDIFFERENCE TO WHAT IS NEAR US.]
But often it happens that the most valuable things one has, so to speak, at one's very door, are not thought anything of--not even noticed; and such was the case then with some artists in Naples, who either did not remember or were not acquainted with their own artistic treasures. I remember a young sculptor who often lamented that Naples was wanting in art of the middle ages. I reminded him of the monuments above mentioned, dwelling especially on that by Donatello, to which he answered that he did not know it. ”Go to see it,” I said; ”it is unpardonable in you not to know it.”
After some time I saw the youth, and said to him--
”Well, did you see the monument by Donatello, and what did you think of it?” to which he answered, ”I found that I had already seen it once before, but did not remember it.”
”Then,” thought I to myself, ”there is an end of all hope for you.”
[Sidenote: CICERONI AND THEIR IDEAS.]
It is certainly a most painful fact that some of the finest works of our elders are either entirely ignored or not cared for, but it is most sad when this indifference comes from young men who have dedicated themselves to art. That the usual ignorant _ciceroni_ who show strangers the sepulchral chapel of the Princes of Sangro take no notice of the monument by Donatello is natural enough, but it is none the less disgusting to hear them pouring forth their opinions after the following fas.h.i.+on: ”See, gentlemen, these statues are the stupendous work of the famous Venetian Antonio Corradini. Observe the two statues that stand in the arch by the columns of the high altar; they are miracles of sculpture; one is by Corradini, and one by Quieroli. The first represents the mother of the Prince Don Raimondo, who restored and enriched this chapel--which was founded by the Prince Don Francesco in 1590--with precious marble. The statue represents Modesty--one of the princ.i.p.al virtues that distinguished the Princess. See, gentlemen, she is enveloped in a transparent veil, beneath which is revealed the whole of her figure: this is a method of sculpture unknown even to the Greeks, for the ancients only painted their draperies, but did not cut them in marble. The other prodigy of art is a statue representing the father of the Prince himself as 'Disinganno.' In this statue behold a man caught in a net; you see all the meshes of the net, and inside it the body itself.” The stranger, meantime, stands there open-mouthed, admiring these statues, in which, to tell the truth, one could not too deeply deplore the time and patience that have been wasted on work whose only object is to arrest the attention of vulgar people, who take all these material and mechanical difficulties for the essential and only aim in art. All this, I repeat, is disgusting if you like, and rather ridiculous; but the people of the country, and most particularly artists, ought to laugh at such works as these, as well as their admirers. This mania for the difficult and surprising, to the detriment of beauty itself, which is so simple, has carried corruption into art itself as well as to its amateurs--so much so, that dresses of rich stuffs, embroideries, laces, and like trifles, which need but a little patience and practice to produce, have to-day become so much in vogue as to really make one fear that art is in danger, and that research and study to reproduce the beautiful will be replaced by work of a sort of asinine patience, which surprises and impresses only simple-minded, vulgar people, and dilettanti. And _apropos_ of dilettanti, I wish to express my opinion that although they may take pleasure in painting and sculpture they are not of the slightest use to these arts. Dilettanti are generally gentlemen--fine gentlemen, sometimes even princes--and in consequence of their station and wealth, are surrounded by a cloud of small-minded people, who, owing to the respect and deference they feel for them, are induced to praise them. This cheap praise, which is taken so unceremoniously, engenders in those who give it a false and sophistical tone, with which they quiet their consciences, ever muttering, ”You ought not to have said this; it is not just--it is not true.” As this internal grumbling is irksome, the mind builds up a sort of reasoning that holds out as long as it can, and then falls for want of that solid foundation, Truth, that alone can uphold any structure, be it scientific, artistic, or literary. With him who receives the praise, matters go far more easily; he does not give it another thought, or if he does, it is from excess of vanity that he sniffs the remaining odour from that small cloud of incense.
[Sidenote: CHEAP PRAISE.]
[Sidenote: A DILETTANTI PRINCE.]
In Naples there were two of these dilettanti princes,--one a painter, the other a sculptor. His Royal Highness Don Sebastian, Prince of Bourbon, brother-in-law of the King of Naples, was the painter, and His Royal Highness Count of Syracuse, brother of the same king, was the sculptor. The last named died a little after the revolution in 1860, and of his artistic merits I have already spoken. I shall therefore now say two words about his Highness Don Sebastian. I had the honour of being presented to him by the Grand Duke Leopold, who was at that time in Naples with his daughter the Princess Isabella, married to Count Trapani, who was expecting to be confined. Having been some time in Naples myself, I went to pay my homage to him, and he then made me acquainted with his Highness Don Sebastian, who was without pretensions, a simple, modest man. He asked for advice, and he asked for it with such eagerness and persistency that it showed a desire to know the absolute truth, that he might correct himself--and not truth disguised under a veil of complimentary praise, which only misleads. And I, with the mildest words that I could find in the vocabulary of truth, gave him briefly and generally some advice; for his wish to do something really good was above his school and the studies he had followed. Although, as I have said, he had a sincere desire to hear the truth, yet I became aware that the language I used was quite new to him. I can add, however, that he did not feel hurt by it, as he often wished to see me and hear me, and corrected himself or tried to do so in many things, thus indicating confidence and goodwill. At this time he was painting a large picture for an altar, which he presented to the church of San Giacomo degli Spagnuoli, above Toledo, and I remember that he gave me a drawing of it. He had taken refuge in Naples with the king his brother-in-law, owing to the part he had taken as a Legitimist against the government of Queen Isabella, who had confiscated all his revenues; and he mitigated the bitterness of exile and poverty by his devoted love for art. After some time he was restored to his country, and reinstated in his property, so that at last he must have comforted himself with his own bread, having known how salt was that of exile. He returned to his country, and who knows if he did not cut off his beard, which he used to wear full and long, after the fas.h.i.+on of Spanish Legitimists? Strange to say, in Italy at that time, especially in Naples, a beard was the sign of just the contrary--that is to say, of a Liberal; and the annoyances caused by the police on this account were so ridiculous as to be quite disgusting. One was obliged, however, to conform to all this, for if a young man desired not to be exposed to worse annoyances, he was obliged to shave his chin. He might keep his moustache and whiskers after the German fas.h.i.+on, or wear his whiskers alone like the English--he was quite free to do that; but a beard on his chin, be it long or short, indicated Liberalism: and as I have said, he was immediately marked by the agents of Del Carretto, Minister of Police, and, willing or no, was obliged to shave to avoid something worse. At that time, therefore, the manliness of a Neapolitan showed itself everywhere but on his chin. In all Naples--with the rare exception of some foreigner, the Prince Don Sebastian, who was anything but a Liberal, the Count of Syracuse, and Count of Aquila, brothers of the king, whom the police hounds could growl at but not bite--not for a million of money could a beard be seen, unless it were mine, which, although not so luxuriant as it is now, was still more than enough for the police.
[Sidenote: BEARDS IN NAPLES.]
During the days that the Grand Duke remained in Naples, he desired to see the museums and other monuments of this great city, and wished me to accompany him, out of simple kindness, for his Highness acted as my guide, being much better acquainted with them than I was. This driving up and down the streets of Naples in a Court carriage, with a full beard on my face, upset all the ideas of those poor _sbirri_. Some people took me for a Spanish Legitimist; and others--especially the sentinels at the palace--christened me at once a relation of the royal family,--so much so, that they presented arms to me every time I pa.s.sed by. Must I admit that I took pleasure in this, returning their salute and pa.s.sing before them as if I had been a true prince? ”_Viva_ my beard!” said I to myself; ”but see how things are going in this country!
Some people are sent almost to the gallows for wearing a beard, and to me they are presenting arms.” One evening, however, even I came very near being sent to prison. I was walking in the Strada Toledo, and about to return home. Near the turning of the _Orefici_ by the Palazzo dei Ministeri, there was a print-shop lighted by a reflected lamp, that threw a light upon it as brilliant as day. There were some French engravings, such as the Death of Richelieu, the Death of the Duke de Guise, and I know not what else. I felt a hand on my shoulder; turning round I saw some one gazing attentively at me, and before I had time to ask him what he wanted, some one else took the man by the arm and said, ”Don't occupy yourself with him; he is one of the royal household;” and away they went in the crowd, and I saw them no more.
[Sidenote: I Pa.s.s FOR A PRINCE.]
[Sidenote: LA BOTTIGLIA.]
I hurried home, for fear of finding others who might not share the same opinion. My wife and little one were waiting for me to go to the theatre, and I remember that they were then giving 'Edmondo Dante, Count of Monte Cristo,' a monstrous production which lasted twelve hours--divided, however, into three evenings. My little box was on the first tier near the orchestra,--and such an orchestra! Two violins, one double-ba.s.s, a clarionet, and a flute, the music being pieces adapted from the 'Trovatore'; and such an adaptation! Good heavens! All this cost me--that is to say, cost the Grand Duke--four _carlini_, including ”the bottle,” for in Naples one must always pay for ”the bottle” to every one. Really in that fortunate country one required to have a _carlino_ always in hand. I don't know how it is now, but then every one was constantly drinking. Ushers, inspectors, _custodi_--all asked for ”this bottle” with the utmost frankness and in perfect seriousness. I, who went often to the museum, wished to have my cane to lean on, as there were no chairs to sit down on; but ”No, sir,”--the porter, with his great c.o.c.ked-hat, came and took it away, having the right to do so, as it was against the regulations. When I left he gave it back to me, always saying, ”Your Excellency, the bottle,” p.r.o.nouncing these words with such dignity that you would have thought they were part of the royal regulations; and I used to give it--that is to say, a half-_carlino_ at every section. Pompeian paintings, statues and bronzes, Etruscan vases, Renaissance paintings and drawings--each had a _custode_, and all wanted a drink. Perhaps now they are no longer thirsty, which will be all the better for the poor visitor. I paid these half-bottles, or rather half-_carlini_, most unwillingly, for to be always paying out is in itself most tiresome; and I was more out of temper than really tired, not being able to find a seat anywhere. One day a painter who was copying there was moved to pity, and offered me his stool. It is not unnatural that a man who was both poor and unwell, should be unwilling to pay out money in gratuities, and should look upon that given to the porter as the hardest part of all, as it was to pay him merely for taking away the stick he had to lean on. The consequence was, that not being able to bear this _lucro cessante_ and _danno emergente_, as they say in law, I made bold to say to this high personage (he was at least a palm taller than I), ”Listen, signor; I will no longer give you the bottle.”
[Sidenote: FEES FOR ADMISSION TO THE GALLERIES.]
”Why not, Excellency?”
”Because you take away my stick, which would be a comfort for me to lean on.”
”Well, well,” he answered, ”keep your stick, Excellency; but remember the bottle.”
”I understand, I quite understand--and add a little more to it.”
And the eyes of that Argus brightened, although he was by way of shutting them as far as the regulations were concerned. The necessity for drinking, it seems, belongs to this people, and it must be on account of the hot air they breathe, all impregnated with the salt from the sea. Therefore I fancy this desire of theirs has not yet been allayed, for even I drank a great deal when I was there, only it was water, which is so good, so fresh, so light, that it is a pleasure to drink; but alas! so many prefer ”the bottle.” If, however, even against the natural order of the country, this has been suppressed amongst the subalterns, it has been adopted by the heads themselves, as the Minister of Public Instruction has decreed an entrance-tax for every one who wishes to see in our galleries the works of Raphael, Michael Angelo, or our other glorious fathers, who in their simplicity certainly never thought of being obliged to show themselves at so much a head like some wild beasts.
[Sidenote: ADMISSION FEES TO THE PUBLIC GALLERIES.]
It is a curious thing (which induces me to think that thirst must be in the air of Naples) that this bottle-tax was inst.i.tuted by a Neapolitan, the Honourable Ruggero Bonghi, who, be it said with all due respect, seems to be less anxious for the decorum of art and the advantage of artists than for an economy which, to say the truth, is but a shabby one. I know quite well that artists are free from this tax, but they must be provided with a certificate, which is always a restriction; and it is also true that artists, and those who are not artists, can enjoy free entrance, but only on _festa_ days. It comes to the same as if to one who said, ”I am hungry,” you answered, ”You shall eat next week.” Is it believed that only those students who are provided with certificates are to become artists? Art learns more from example than from precept, as it is with every other thing. I should be curious to know if Demosthenes and Cicero lived before or after the Treatise on Eloquence, or if Phidias studied at the Academy, and paid a tax for admission.
Then, also, this is the common property of all, and therefore its advantages should not be restricted. The answer is, that the entrance-tax is used for the maintenance and decorum of the galleries themselves. The decorum and support of the public galleries never suffered from the want of this in bygone days; why should they feel the need of it to-day?
CHAPTER XIII.
NEVER MAKE A PRESENT OF YOUR WORKS--POPE REZZONICO BY CANOVA--TENERANI--OVERBECK'S THEORIES--MINARDI AND HIS SCHOOL--A WOMAN FROM THE TRASTEVERE WHO LOOKED LIKE THE VENUS OF MILO--CONVENTIONALISTS AND REALISTS--AN AMBITIOUS QUESTION AND BITTER ANSWER--FILIPPO GUALTERIO.