Part 34 (1/2)
PIUS IX. OBJECTS TO HAVING ME MAKE HIS BUST--I GO TO ROME TO SEE THE POPE--THE EXHIBITION AT NAPLES--AGAIN ON IDEALISM AND NATURALISM--THE MASTERS OF ITALIAN MELODY--VINCENZO BELLINI AND HIS MONUMENT--CONCLUSION.
I narrated, all in its proper place, how it happened that I was not enabled to make King Victor Emmanuel's portrait; and it is necessary for me now to explain how I did not obtain the concession to make a bust of Pius IX. Marchese Pompeo Bourbon del Monte, the President of the Working Men's Catholic a.s.sociation in Florence, had the intention of giving me an order to make a bust of the Pope, to place in a niche in our Duomo, with an inscription commemorative of the great pontiff's pa.s.sage through Florence, and his consecration of four bishops there. Naturally the Pope was first asked whether he was willing that his bust should be made and should be placed in our Duomo. With both of these propositions the Pope showed his great satisfaction, and he was therefore asked the favour of giving some sittings to the sculptor; but on hearing my name, he refused to do so, because, having made Cavour's monument, he did not wish me to take his portrait. To speak the truth, this species of censure on the part of the Pope was most unpleasant to me. As long as some of the prejudiced journalists of the extreme party, in blaming me for having executed this work, a.s.sailed me on the ground that some of the nude allegorical figures (just imagine, children of seven!) were obscene, I let it pa.s.s; but the condemnation of the Holy Father was a great vexation to me. As Monsignore Archbishop Cecconi had been the intermediary, I wrote him a letter expressing my regret, and went over the story of the monument, and how I had accepted it, and what expression I had given to it, saying that I had not thought I was doing any harm, and that I was extremely pained to have met with the Holy Father's displeasure, and begging Monsignore to make known these sentiments of mine to the Pope. In fact the Pope heard of my letter, or at least a part of it, and answered that he had never doubted my sentiments or my good intentions, but for all that he was not willing to have his portrait taken by me; and that, to prevent the matter from appearing _ad hominem_, he would not give permission for it to be made by any one else.
[Sidenote: AUDIENCE OF PIUS IX.]
A few months after this, wis.h.i.+ng to go to Naples to see the Italian Exhibition, I stopped on my way in Rome, and saw the Pope, but not in a private audience. Nevertheless, he spoke benevolently to me, and said, ”Dear Dupre, what fine works are you doing now?” I who, I must admit, never find myself embarra.s.sed by any one, stood there perfectly nonplussed, and was not able to utter a word; and that poor saintly old man, to put an end to my embarra.s.sment, continued, ”I pity you; the political vicissitudes and the noises of war distract the mind of the artist, and are, in fact, opposed to the development of his genius.”
Then turning to my daughter, he said, ”And you, too: well done, my sculptress; I bless you together with your father.”
It really gave me pleasure to see him again, and listen for the last time to that vibrating, and, at the same time, benevolent voice.
Something within me told me that he would soon be missing to us; and in fact, barely eight months after, he died, and but a few days after the king, to whom, during his last moments, he had sent his benediction; and report has it that he even said he would have gone himself to comfort the king, whom he personally loved, during his last hours, had he not been really so ill himself. These words of his gained for him the goodwill of those who were not his friends.
[Sidenote: EXHIBITION AT NAPLES--IDEALISM.]
Now I must speak of the Exhibition at Naples, and most particularly of the naturalistic element that manifested itself there in sculpture. It deserves being studied with attention, so as to enable young artists of good purpose, and for whom I have most particularly written these memoirs, to acquire something that may be useful to them. Naturally the vast question of realism and idealism rises again to the surface. Those who know me, know that I am neither a realist nor an idealist, be it understood, as is generally intended and practised.
Idealism, in my opinion, is nothing else but a species of vision that the artist creates by strong love in his mind when he thinks of a given subject. Idealism is therefore the idea of the subject, and not in the least the idea of the parts of the form. It is true that even these are a.s.sociated pleasantly together in the mind, but it is wrong and false to believe that we can grasp hold of them only by the help of memory, and without having nature before us. The idealist, as I should understand him, seeks in nature for the models appropriate to his idea and his subject. He does not content himself with one alone, because he does not find in one, or even in two, the multiplicity of parts by which his idea is composed. From one he takes the several ma.s.ses and movement, and will take great care in these never to change from his model; from another he will take the head, or the hands, or other parts of the body in which the model for the general ma.s.ses may have been defective, and will be careful that in age and character they be not dissimilar from the princ.i.p.al model--that is to say, the model that he has used for the general form. If he departs here or there from this simple method, the idealist will fall into academical conventionalism, or into the vulgar and defective. Corrections of the model's defects made from memory bring us to conventionalism, and the exact imitation of the model alone drags us down to the vulgar and defective, because it is humanly impossible that one model can have in himself, besides the whole, all the perfections of parts that const.i.tute beauty, which is the aim of art.
Such, and nothing else, is the idealist; and so am I, and such has always been my teaching.
[Sidenote: REALISM.]
Now let us see the realistic. The naturalistic, to my way of seeing, is simply intolerant of long study of the many rules and dogmas of the academicians that teach one to make statues in very nearly always the same way, with the same measures and with the same character--be it a Virgin or a Venus, a Messalina or an Ophelia, and so on. He is in love with his own subject, and wishes to give it expression in its true character and with its own individual expression, and even with those particularities and imperfections that distinguish it from others.
Bartolini did so in his ”Ammostatore,” in his ”Putti” for Demidoff's table, and in almost all his works; and so did Vela with his ”Napoleon I.” and his ”Desolazione”; and lastly, although in a much more minute manner, did Magni with his ”Reading Girl”; and up to this point I am naturalistic, and stand up for it. But in these days there is another species of naturalistics--better call them realistics--who love truth and nature to the extent of accepting even the ugly and bad in form and the useless and revolting in idea. And truly here I am neither with them, nor can I advise any one to hold in esteem this school, that I should rather be inclined to call the hospital or sewer of art. But what I have said so far is enough, for elsewhere I have touched upon the same subject, and do not want to repeat myself, but only to mention the question again, because at the great show in Naples the naturalistic school appeared in sculpture in all its audaciousness, and, I must frankly say, in all its power, worthier of a better cause and better intentions; and this, it is presumably to be hoped, may be at last more easily recognised by the young men who look for the truth, even wallowing in ugliness, than from those who fill their heads with the idea of looking for the beautiful in their memory and conventionalism.
From this it is evident that I have a predilection for the naturalist who caresses an idea and the idealist who is a faithful and not a timid friend of truth. The artist is not a servile copyist of nature--of ugly nature; not the imitator of statues, even though they are beautiful; not the slave of the name and teaching of the masters, ancient and modern.
[Sidenote: NATURALISTS AND IDEALISTS.]
I like the artist to be free in his imaginations, free in his feeling, free in his way of expressing himself and in his method, but yet strongly and tenaciously bound to nature and the beautiful. By this means we could have more good artists and fewer mediocre ones; but as long as there is official teaching it is useless to hope for it.
Government schools, in spite of the difficulty of admission and advancement from one cla.s.s to another, will always have too many scholars, amongst whom some--the very few, those who are really destined by nature for art--will have lost too much time in long academic courses; the others, the many, will have lost it entirely, because it is difficult with official teaching for any graduate to be expelled from school on account of tardy development or want of talent.
[Sidenote: INFLUENCE OF ACADEMIC TEACHING.]
I do not say, indeed, that young men ought not to study, or ought to study only a little. Quite the contrary. They ought to study very much--study always; but with freedom--perfect freedom in their way of seeing and feeling and expressing the multiformity of nature; and as this freedom does not and cannot exist in official teaching, young men ought to select a master after their own taste. Certainly masters who do not belong to these academies will accept but few scholars, and will retain still fewer--that is to say, the best, those who give promise of succeeding--and the rest they will send away. And here is the great gain, because the minor arts--subsidiary, so to speak, to the fine arts, will take possession of these young men, who, instead of becoming mediocre artists, will become good workmen. Official teaching in the fine arts ought to be confined to architecture; in fact, there it ought to be amplified by the study of mathematics, engineering, and its mechanical application. The purse and the safety of citizens must surely be protected.
This little digression on teaching, which I have elsewhere treated more at length, has sprung up and been jotted down here after having seen the exhibition of the works of art of the Neapolitan school. I say the school, and not the academy--I should better say the grades of the naturalistic school of Neapolitan sculpture. It is undeniable that various works in sculpture, exposed to the solemn trial of the Neapolitan Exhibition, show that the young sculptors have emanc.i.p.ated themselves outright from the trammels of academical teaching, and have entered with full sails into the interminable sea of nature. This sea is beautiful, full of agitation and life, and in its greatness rouses the desire of research into the unknown; and to him who navigates therein with strength and purpose, promises unknown lands, rich in supreme beauty. But it is easy enough, by steering one's boat badly, or missing one's direction, to get stranded or dashed to pieces against the rocks.
[Sidenote: SIGNOR D'ORSI'S PARASITES.]
Signor d'Orsi exposed a group in plaster representing the Parasites.
Nothing could have been better imagined than those two (I don't know how to call them) creatures. Brutified by food and wine, they sleep or drowse on a _triclinium_, leaning against each other. They are a literal imitation; and in this is all the merit of the work. It is not minute imitation, that battle-horse of small minds, but really the true expression of the conception and intention of the artist; but the idea is hideous, enormously hideous, so that to many it appeared disgusting and revolting; and I felt on looking at the work two opposite feelings--one that drove me from it, and another that kept me fixed to the spot. The ugliness of the subject and its forms repelled me; the knowledge and art by which it was expressed attracted me, and forced me to admire the talent of Signor d'Orsi. ”This man,” said I to myself, ”has not come out of the academy; he is looking for a pa.s.sage through the vast sea of nature, and a sh.o.r.e to land on. Will he find it?”