Part 30 (2/2)
The aversion to it grew beyond bounds, and p.r.o.nounced itself by means of the press to such a degree, that the Giunta thought it best no longer to intrust him with the commission for the work; for, by virtue of an article in the programme for this compet.i.tion, the committee were not in the least tied down to commit the execution of the monument to the gainer of the prize at the compet.i.tion, having left itself full and entire liberty of action. From this began a sequel of remonstrances and appeals on the part of the artist, and answers backed by law on the part of the commission, which was then broken up and another formed, for the purpose of studying anew the whole affair.
[Sidenote: THE CAVOUR MONUMENT GIVEN TO ME.]
I hurry over these things quickly as they come to me and as my memory has retained them after many years, without searching amongst letters, newspapers, or elsewhere, wis.h.i.+ng, as I have done until now, to make use only of my memory.
The new Giunta, presided over by my ill.u.s.trious and lamented friend Count Federigo Sclopis, took up this tangled affair, discussed in so many ways, and came to the determination of not having any more compet.i.tion. They decided that the best thing to be done was to choose an artist, and order the work directly from him, leaving him free to determine the rendering of the subject, the size of the monument, the materials to be employed, and choice of the site, and all other matters, except, naturally, as to price and time,--which latter could be but short, owing to the two years that had pa.s.sed in compet.i.tions! The choice fell on me, who was a thousand miles away from thinking of such a thing. However, before saying a word to me, and much less, writing to me, I was interrogated by a most estimable person if I would accept that work, and I answered at once that I would not: in the first place, because the subject was a difficult one, on account of its purely political significance,--so extraneous, not to say tiresome, to my nature and studies; in the second place, because, having been one of the judges on that commission, it did not seem delicate to accept it; and finally, because I thought Vela's design most praiseworthy. But neither my refusal nor the reasons I put forth availed to alter the resolution they had now taken to make me accept the work, which, for the matter of that, if it presented great difficulties, and even rather rough ones, in the rendering of its great conception, yet offered a most rare opportunity, that would have flattered many other artists of more ambitious hope than I, who have always been temperate. With all this, however, I should always have replied in the negative, had not a gentle and most n.o.ble lady begged me to accept, touching on certain family affections that have always found in me an echo of a.s.sent.
[Sidenote: I ACCEPT THE COMMISSION.]
I accepted this commission, therefore, not blinding myself to the great difficulties that I was going to encounter, or the many little annoyances that I should undergo on account of the disappointed hopes of those who had competed for the work. I saw and felt all the seriousness of my undertaking, and thought of nothing else but carrying it out most conscientiously. I asked for eight years' time, which will not appear much, to execute the work; but I was begged to be satisfied with six, and I wrote my adhesion, still declaring in the contract that it would be impossible for me to complete it in that short time. Although I worked with all possible energy, and provided myself with additional workmen besides my own usual ones, yet the monument could not be finished and put in its place until after the eight years that I had asked for.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF MY DESIGN.]
My composition of the architectural part of the monument was a quadrangular base, with two spherical bodies on each side, whereon reposed another base, with the corners cut off, that sustained the princ.i.p.al group of Italy and Cavour. In front, on the lower base, is the half-reclining figure representing Right in the act of rising, who leans with the right hand on a broken yoke, and clenches the left on his breast in a menacing att.i.tude. His head and back are covered by a lion's skin, signifying that right is strength. Opposite is Duty, in a quiet att.i.tude of repose. His head is crowned by a wreath of olives, signifying that in the fulfilment of duty peace is to be found; his right elbow rests on a block, where, on the two sides exposed to view, are sculptured in bas-relief the two extremes of human activity. On one of these there is a king distributing a crown and prizes to a virtuous man, whilst behind him there is a chained delinquent undergoing his penalty; and on the other there is a husbandman ploughing the ground. On the two lateral sides there are two groups. That on the right is of Politics, with two little genii, Revolution and Diplomacy. Politics is seated, but alert, and almost in the act of rising: her head is turned to the little genius of Diplomacy, who has unfolded the treaties of 1815, and is gravely showing it to her with his right hand, whilst with his left he hides behind him a sword and olive-branch, demonstrating that he brings with him either war or peace. The other little genius of Revolution, in the act of wis.h.i.+ng to dash forward, is held back by Politics, who keeps her eyes on him, and, with a caressing expression, tries to temper his ardour; one of his feet rests on a fragment of medieval architecture, and he holds in his right hand a brand, the symbol of destruction. The group on the left is of Independence, tightly clasping in her embrace the little genius of the Provinces, at whose feet still lies a link of his chain of captivity. Independence has Roman sandals on her feet, and a warrior's helmet on her head; her right arm is uplifted, and she holds a broken chain in her hand, in the act of das.h.i.+ng it from her. The other genius is that of Unity, crowned by an oak-wreath; he holds the fasces, to show that union is strength. The princ.i.p.al group stands up on the top, and represents Cavour, wrapped in his funereal mantle. Italy, at his side, in the act of rising from her prostration, is offering him the civic crown, with expressions of grat.i.tude, more decidedly expressed by her left arm, by which she holds her great politician tenderly around the waist; whilst he, with kindly act, shows the people a chart, on which is written his famous formula, ”_Libera Chiesa in libero Stato_,” or free Church in free State. On the two facades of the great base are two bas-reliefs in bronze. In one of these is portrayed the return from the Crimea of the Sardinian troops, who, by Cavour's advice, took part, in union with France and England, in the war against Russia, to put a check to the ambitious designs of that Power in the East. The other bas-relief represents the Congress of Paris, where for the first time, on account of Cavour, Italy's voice was listened to.
[Sidenote: DESCRIPTION OF THIS MONUMENT.]
The architectural part is made in rose granite of Baveno; the ornaments--that is to say, the arms, cornices, and trophies--and the statues are in clear white marble of Ca.n.a.l Grande, which withstands all attacks of weather. The entire monument is elevated on three steps, and surrounded by a garden enclosed by railing.
The inscriptions are: On the front, ”To Cammillo Cavour, born in Turin the 10th of August 1810, died the 6th of June 1861.” On the side over the Politics, ”_Audace prudente_;” over the Independence, ”_L'Italia libero_;” and behind, ”_Gli Italiani, auspice Torino_.” These inscriptions are by Professor Michele Coppino.
CHAPTER XX.
ALLEGORIES IN ART--THE MONGA MONUMENT AT VERONA--OF MY LATE DAUGHTER LUISINA--HER DEATH--HOW I WAS ROBBED--MONSIGNORE ARCHBISHOP LIMBERTI'S CHARITABLE PROJECT--ONE OF MY COLLEAGUES--NICOLo PUCCINI AND THE STATUE OF CARDINAL FORTEGUERRI--CESARE SIGHINOLFI--CARDINAL CORSI, ARCHBISHOP OF PISA.
I should now feel inclined to speak at length of the troubles, the thoughts, and of the opposition that I had to encounter during eight years, the grimaces and the miserable enmities of fickle, unstable friends and ungenerous enemies; but I must keep silent, as I have been thus far on all such matters, because my intentions and my works being known to all, others may judge them. Then I also remember a wise warning that was given me when I was quite little, which is never to satisfy any desire or impulse to give vent to personal resentment, and I have always found myself the better for it. In such cases, silence has two advantages,--that of leaving one's own soul at peace, and of not satisfying those who would take pleasure in hearing us complain.
Only on one thing I will not be silent, because this does not concern me, but is a principle in art. I was reproved for having used allegorical figures in Cavour's monument, it being a.s.serted that as the subject was entirely a modern one, and could not bear allegory, it was inopportune and improper. To which I answered, that when the subject permitted, it was well not to think even of allegories. If they had said to me, ”A memorial of Count Cavour is wanted, make us a statue,” nothing would have been easier. A portrait-statue dressed in the clothes he wore, one or two bas-reliefs on the base, and a brief inscription, would have been enough; and, I repeat, nothing would have been easier. It was not this, however, that the commission required for Cavour's monument.
The commission desired that the whole of his character and intentions, the tenacity of his will, the greatness of his propositions, and the benefits obtained therefrom, should be portrayed. Now, how to explain this with real historical figures, or, as they say, in living art? As if a complex idea expressed by one or more figures, as is the case with allegory, is dead art! Oh, do me the famous pleasure, you irritating aesthetics, to go and prattle to babes! But don't speak to them of Phidias, Zeuxis, Alcamenes, and others, of that dead art that is now more alive than it ever was; nor of Giotto, nor of Giovanni and Andrea Pisani, nor of Raphael, nor of Michael Angelo, and many more, for they might find you out in your error. I repeat, this does not concern me or my work in the least, but it bears on a principle, and is a question that has been many times ventilated and resolved by the best thinkers in the way of argument, and by artists, who were not blockheads, in their works.
[Sidenote: HISTORICAL FIGURES AND ALLEGORIES.]
From the n.o.ble Signora Augusta Albertini of Verona, through my friend Aleardo Aleardi, I had an order for a monument to her family, an extremely painful subject. The Signora Albertini had lost, one by one, all her family--father, mother, brothers, sisters, all--and she had alone survived; alone, but with the bitterly sweet memory of those she had loved so much, and the desire to erect a monument to them. Some time before, she had given the commission to a young Veronese sculptor of great promise, Torquato della Torre, and they tell me that he had already made a sketch; but shortly after, the young sculptor died, and after a long time had gone by I undertook to make this monument. Here is the description of it. On a quadrangular conical base there is placed a group consisting of the Angel of Death seated, and prostrated at his feet the only survivor of the family, waiting, as it were, after the havoc made by that angel in her family, for her turn to fall a victim.
The angel, seated on a fragment of an antique frieze, to denote that he is superior to time and the pomps of humanity, is crowned with cypress, and has a pained expression, as if he deplored the office that Divine Justice had ordered him to fulfil; the exterminating sword is still in his hand, but the point is lowered. On the base is a bas-relief representing the dead members of that family; and as they died at brief intervals the one from the other, as if Death had blown them down with her breath as the wind overthrows the trees in the country, so they are laid out, shoulder to shoulder, by each other. A little angel hovers in the air near them with hands clasped in prayer, and in the background, on the horizon line, one perceives Verona. The bas-relief is in bronze, and its colours add seriousness and sadness to the scene. On the sides, and again in bronze, are sculptured two wreaths of cypress, so that this first base on the plinth seems as if it were entirely made of bronze; the upper part, on which the inscription is engraved and the group stands, is in granite. This monument is at the end of the first nave on the right in the cemetery at Verona.
[Sidenote: MONUMENT TO THE FAMILY ALBERTINI.]
I said in the beginning of these memoirs, that I wrote not only for young artists desirous of knowing something of my life, my works, and the principles that have been my guide in art and my intercourse with my fellow-beings, but also to leave to my family a remembrance of my feeling and affection for them. And now that it behoves me to speak of one of our greatest sorrows--that is, of the loss of my most beloved daughter Luisina--I know that I am doing what my dear ones desire, however sad it may be; therefore I warn those not caring for this theme to pa.s.s on.
[Sidenote: DEATH OF MY DAUGHTER LUISINA.]
I would that I could divest myself of all my defects to speak of Gigina.
I would that this page which I consecrate to her memory breathed a little of the sweetly chaste love that showed itself in every act, every word, and every look of hers. I would that I could simplify my style, temper and purify my words, that they might sound sadly sweet, pure, and serene, as were her words, her looks, and her mind. But I greatly fear that I shall not succeed in giving even a feeble idea of that dear child; I fear, because purity and chast.i.ty of imagery and simplicity of words have in some measure vanished with my youth and ambition--the pa.s.sion and love for renown have perhaps clouded the clearness of mind wherein was reflected the true and the good. I shall also not succeed, because the innate beauty of that sweet creature was not fully revealed to me, for the confidence existing between a daughter and her father is always modified by respect; and so it is bereft of those intimate and delicate traits which are its sweetest perfume. My family will read these words on our beloved Luisina, and supply with their loving memory where I fail in my littleness. My son-in-law, Antonino, wrote of her with the intelligence of love; and several of my friends in condoling with me rendered her image more beautiful and more amiable. Yet notwithstanding all this, I feel a desire to return to that dear little angel, were it for nothing else but to rejuvenate and sanctify that sorrow.
<script>