A History of Art for Beginners and Students: Painting, Sculpture, Architecture

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

CANOVA, THORWALDSEN, AND OTHER RECENT SCULPTORS.

In the middle of the eighteenth century the arts had fallen into such a feeble state that a true artistic work—one conceived and executed in an artist spirit—was not to be looked for. As in the Middle Ages, too, thought seemed to be sleeping. Both art and letters were largely prostrated to the service of those in high places; they were scarcely used except for the pleasure or praise of men whose earthly power made them to be feared, and because they were feared they were flattered openly and despised secretly.

But about the end of the century another spirit arose; a second Renaissance took place, which may be traced in literature and in art, as it may be in the movement of political events and an independence of thought everywhere.

Naturally the question as to where artists could turn for their models was an important one, and as before in various epochs in art the antique had been the "only help in time of trouble," so it proved again. In 1764 Winckelmann published his "History of Ancient Art," in which the rich significance of classic art was clearly placed before the student. The service which this author rendered to art can scarcely be over-estimated, coming, as it did, at a time when the genius of art seemed to have turned his back upon the world, and all true inspiration was lost. At about the same time the monuments of Athens were recalled to the European world by Stuart and Revett in their architectural designs, and by the end of the century the study of the antique had done its transforming work, and artists were striving for more worthy ends than the favor of kings and powerful patrons. This new study of classic art did not show its full and best results until the Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen executed his works; but before his time others were striving for that which it was his privilege to perfect.

Among the earliest and most famous of these eighteenth-century reformers was the Venetian, Antonio Canova (1757-1822). He was born in Possagno, and was the son and grandson of stone-cutters. His father died when he was very young, and he was thus left to the care and instruction of his grandfather, the old Pasino Canova, who lost no time in accustoming the boy to the use of the chisel, for there are cuttings in existence which were executed by Canova in his ninth year. Signor Giovanni Faliero dwelt near Possagno, and was in the habit of employing Pasino Canova frequently; he entertained such respect for the old stone-cutter that he sometimes asked him to spend a few days at his villa. On these visits the old man was accompanied by Antonio, who soon became a favorite with all the family of Faliero, and a friend of the young Giuseppe.

On one occasion when Pasino and the boy attended a festival at Villa Faliero, the ornament for the dessert was forgotten. When the servants remembered it at the last moment they went to the old Pasino in distress, and begged him to save them from the displeasure of the master. The old man could do nothing for them, but the young Tonin, as he was called, asked for some butter, and from it quickly carved a lion. At table this strange ornament attracted the attention of all the guests, and Tonin was called in to receive their praises; from this time the Senator Faliero became his patron, and he placed the boy under the instruction of Giuseppe Bernardi, called Toretto, a Venetian sculptor who had settled at Pagnano.

At this time Canova was twelve years old; he studied two years under Toretto, and made many statues and models, which are still preserved by the Faliero family, or in other collections. His first really original work was the modelling of two angels in clay; he did these during an absence of his master's; he placed them in a prominent place, and then awaited Toretto's opinion with great anxiety. When the master saw them he was filled with surprise, and exclaimed that they were truly marvellous; from these models the grandfather cut two angels in pietra dura for the high-altar at Monfumo. At this same period Canova made his first representations of the human form; he was accustomed to make small statues and give them to his friends.

When he was fifteen years old Faliero sent for him, and received him into his own family. Canova wished to earn something for himself, and engaged to work half of the day for Giuseppe Ferrari, who was a nephew of his former master, Toretto. Of this time Canova afterward wrote: "I labored for a mere pittance, but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my own resolution, and, as I then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honorable rewards." This circumstance proves how remarkable he must have been; it is unusual for a boy of fifteen to be paid for work instead of paying for instruction. In Venice he was able to learn much from observation. He divided his time systematically, spending his mornings in the Academy or some gallery, his afternoons in the shop where he was employed, and his evenings in studies for which he had had no opportunity as a child.

The first commission which was given to Canova was from the Commendatore Farsetti for a pair of baskets filled with fruit and flowers, to be sculptured in marble, and placed on a staircase which led to the picture gallery in the Farsetti Palace, where Canova spent much time in study. These works have no special excellence.

After a year in Venice he went to Asolo with the Faliero family. Some time before this his patron had asked Canova to make for him a group of Orpheus and Eurydice, taking the moment when Eurydice beholds her lover torn away from her forever. Canova had been busy with this in his leisure hours in Venice, and he took with him to Asolo everything necessary to the work. He completed the Eurydice in his sixteenth year; it was life-size, and cut from pietra di Costosa.

With this first attempt Canova became convinced that the small models such as were in use by sculptors were quite insufficient to good work, and he determined that his models should be of the size which the finished work would have, even when colossal.

After this time he had his studio in a cell of the monastery of the Augustine friars attached to the Church of San Stefano, in Venice. During the next three years he was occupied with his Orpheus and a bust of the Doge Renier. At this time he studied entirely from nature; he devoted himself to the pursuit of anatomy, and after a time was accustomed to make dissections in order to sketch or model from important parts or some conformations that he desired in particular instances.

In 1776 his Orpheus was finished and exhibited, and it chanced to be at the annual festival of the Ascension, when the opera of Orpheus was brought out in Venice. Canova was accustomed to say that the praise he then received was "that which made him a sculptor;" and so grateful was he for it that later, when he became Marquis of Ischia, he chose for his armorial ensigns the lyre and serpent which are the mythological symbols of Orpheus and Eurydice. The Senator Grimani ordered a copy of the Orpheus, and this was the first work of Canova in Carrara marble.

He soon found his workshop too small, and removed to one in the street of San Maurizio, where he remained until he left his native country. His next work was a statue of Æsculapius, larger than life; a short time before his death, when he saw this statue, he sorrowfully declared that "his progress had by no means corresponded with the indications of excellence in this performance of his youth." About this time he executed an Apollo and Daphne which was never entirely finished, and when twenty-two years old he completed a group of Dædalus and Icarus for the Senator Pisani. This was intended for an exterior decoration of his palace; but when it was done Pisani considered it worthy of a place in his gallery, already famous on account of the painting of Darius and his Family, by Paul Veronese, and other fine works. This may be called Canova's last work in Venice, as he went to Rome soon after his twenty-third birthday.

The Cavaliere Zuliani was then the representative of Venice in Rome, and Faliero gave Canova letters to him. Zuliani was an enlightened patron of art, and he received the young sculptor with great kindness, and soon arranged to have his model of Dædalus and Icarus exhibited to the best artists and judges of art in Rome. We can fancy the anxiety with which Canova went to this exhibition; but the praise which he there received secured for him a place among the artists then in Rome.

Canova had a great desire to undertake a group of some important subject, and Zuliani was his friend in this; for he gave him the marble, and promised if no other purchaser appeared to give him the full value of the work when completed. He also gave him a workshop in the Venetian Palace, to which no one had access, where he could be entirely free and undisturbed. The subject chosen for the group was Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur, and the size was to be colossal. Canova now worked with untiring devotion; he was often seen before the statues on Monte Cavallo, with sketch-book in hand, as soon as it was light enough for him to see, and he studied faithfully in the museums and galleries of Rome. His friends in Venice had secured for him a pension of three hundred ducats, which placed him above want, and he was free to devote himself to his Theseus, although while at work on that he made a statue of Apollo, which was exhibited with Angelini's Minerva, and received much praise.

Meantime no one knew of the Theseus save the ambassador. When it was finished Zuliani prepared it for exhibition, and invited all the most distinguished men in Rome to an entertainment. A model of the head of Theseus was put in a prominent place, and the guests were busy in discussing it; they asked questions and expressed opinions, and when their interest was well awakened Zuliani said: "Come, let us end this discussion by seeing the original," and the statue was unveiled before their eyes. Canova often declared that death itself could not have been more terrible to him than were those moments. But he and all else were forgotten in the surprise and admiration which the group excited; in that hour the artists who afterward hated him gave him their sincere praise. From that day the fame of Canova was established.

Fig. 115.—The Three Graces.
By Canova.

Very soon he was selected to erect a monument to Clement XIV. This pope was a famous man; he was the collector of the Clementine Museum, the author of the elegant letters known by his family name of Ganganelli, and, above all, he was the suppressor of the Jesuits. While Canova felt the honor that was thus offered him he also thought himself bound to consult those who had conferred his pension upon him, and thus helped him to become the artist that he was. He went, therefore, to Venice and sought direction from the Senate; he was told to employ his time as should be most profitable to himself. He therefore gave up his studio in Venice, and as his patron, Zuliani, had now left Rome, he fitted up the studio in the Strada Babbuino, which became so well known to lovers of art of all nations who visited Rome. In 1787 the above monument was exhibited, and was much admired. An engraving was made from it and dedicated to Zuliani; but Canova desired to do something more worthy for his patron, and made a statue of Psyche as a gift to him; Zuliani hesitated to accept it, but finally consented to do so if Canova would in turn accept a number of silver medals with the Psyche on one side and a head of Canova on the other, which he could give to his friends. In the midst of all this Zuliani died, and his heirs were so angry because he had left works of art to the Public Library that they refused to carry out his plans. In the end the Psyche was bought by Napoleon and presented to the Queen of Bavaria.

Canova executed a second papal monument to Pope Clement XIII. It was erected in St. Peter's by his nephews. The mourning genius upon it is frequently mentioned as one of Canova's happiest figures. The execution of these two monuments occupied almost ten years of the best part of this sculptor's life.

Canova's fame had extended over all Europe, and he was asked to go to St. Petersburg, and offered most advantageous terms if he would do so; but he declined, and executed the monument of Admiral Emo, on a commission from the Venetian Senate. For this work he received a gold medal and an annuity for life.

In 1798, during the revolutionary excitement at Rome, Canova went to Possagno, his native town. Here, in his retirement, he painted more than twenty pictures, which were by no means to be despised. His masterpiece represented the Saviour just taken from the cross, and surrounded by the Marys, St. John, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea. This was the first of the many gifts which he made to this little church, by which it became a splendid temple and the expression of Canova's love for his birthplace and early home.

After he returned to Rome his health was not sufficient to allow of his usual close application to work, and he went to Berlin and Vienna in company with Prince Rezzonico, and this so benefited him that he was able to resume his labors with new energy. He soon achieved a proud triumph, for his Perseus was placed in one of the Stanze of the Vatican by a public decree; this was the first modern work which had been thus honored.

In 1802-1803 Napoleon requested Canova to go to Paris to model a portrait bust for a colossal statue; the work was finished six years later. In 1805 the artist went again to Vienna, where he modelled a bust of the Emperor of Austria; in 1810 again to Paris to prepare a model for the statue of Maria Louisa. With the exception of these short journeys he was constantly at work in his Roman studio until 1815, when he was sent in an official capacity to France by the pope, for the purpose of reclaiming the works of art which had been carried from Italy in times of war, and which really belonged to the patrimony of the Church. Canova executed his commission with rare judgment, and then continued his journey to England. In London he received many honors; the king gave him an order for a group, held several conversations with him, made him valuable gifts, and intrusted him with a private letter to the pope.

Canova returned to Rome on January 5th, 1816. His entry might almost be called a triumphal one, for the people of Rome were so grateful for the restoration of their treasures that they expressed their joy in demonstrations to Canova. He had been President of St. Luke's Academy before; he was now made President of the Commission to purchase works of art, and of the Academy of Archæology. In full consistory of all the high officers of the Church, the pope caused his name to be inscribed upon the "golden volume of the Capitol," and conferred upon him the title of Marquis of Ischia, with a pension of three thousand crowns a year.

Canova now determined to execute a colossal statue of Religion, which should commemorate the return of the pope from banishment. He endeavored to persuade the authorities to decide where it should be placed; this was not done, and he was much grieved at his failure to carry out the idea. But he determined that from this time he would devote his life and fortune to religion, and resolved to erect a church at Possagno, to adorn it with works of art, and to make it his own burial-place.

On July 8th, 1819, Canova assembled his workmen in his native town, and gave them a fête; many peasant girls joined in the festivities and assisted in the breaking of the ground; at evening, as they all passed before Canova to bid him farewell, each one received a gift from him. Three days later the religious ceremony of laying the corner-stone of the future church took place. An immense number of people from the surrounding country and from Venice were present; Canova, in his robes as a Knight of Christ, and wearing the insignia of other orders, led the procession; all who had seen Canova when a poor boy in their midst were much impressed by this occasion. Here, in a public manner, he consecrated his life and fortune to the service of God and the benefit of his birthplace. Every autumn Canova went to Possagno to encourage the workmen and to give directions as to how the whole should be done. Between these visits he worked devotedly, for he was forced to earn all he could in order to pay for his great undertaking.

At this time he executed a statue of Washington, and was making an equestrian statue of Ferdinand of Naples, and in the month of May, 1822, went to that city, where he fell ill; he returned to Rome, and revived somewhat, and resumed his work. On September 17th he went to Possagno, in October to Villa Faliero, where, fifty years before, he had spent such happy days. From here he went to Venice, and on the 13th of the same month he died.

Solemn services were held in the cathedral, and his remains were then intrusted to the priests of Possagno, who bore them to their temple, where he was buried on the 25th of the month; the crowd was so great that the oration was delivered in the open air. Canova's heart was given to the Academy of Venice, and an elegant little monument was erected in the Palace of Arts to contain this relic of the sculptor. The Venetian artists arranged to erect to him a monument, and chose the design which he himself had made for the tomb of Titian; it is in the Church of Santa Maria de' Frari. In Rome a statue was decreed to him, and he was declared the perpetual President of her chief academy.

In personal appearance Canova was not grand or very attractive. His head was remarkably well placed upon his shoulders, and the loose manner in which he dressed his neck allowed this to be seen; his forehead was a noble one, his hair black, and his whole manner and dress was modest and simple. His habits were very orderly and quiet; he rose early to work, and went little into public society; but he welcomed a few friends to dinner almost daily. He entertained them cordially, but without display, and led the conversation to light, cheerful topics that did not touch upon art, or demand mental exertion. At eleven o'clock he retired to his own room and amused himself with a book or pencil before sleeping. Some of his best drawings were made at this hour, and have been published with the title of "Pensieri," or thoughts. To describe one day was to give a picture of all, so regular were his habits of life.

In his professional life he was just and generous to others, and though he would have no pupils, he would leave everything to advise an artist or visit his works. He was also a patron of art, and had executed, at his own expense, the numerous busts of distinguished persons in the Capitoline Museum.

Fig. 116.—Hebe.
By Canova.

There is a story of a romance in his life. It is said that when he first arrived in Venice he fell in love with a beautiful girl who was older than himself, who went to draw in the Farsetti Gallery. Day by day he watched her until she came no more; at length her attendant returned, and Canova inquired for her mistress; she burst into tears and answered, "La Signora Julia is dead." He asked no more, and never knew who Julia was or any circumstances of her history; but all his life he treasured her image, and when he endeavored to unite the purity of an angel with the earthly beauty of a woman, the remembrance of Julia was always in his mind.

Canova was one of the few artists who received their full merit of praise and the benefits of their labors while alive. Without doubt he was a great sculptor, and coming as he did, at a time when art was at its worst, he seemed all the more remarkable to the men around him. But the verdict of to-day would not exalt him as highly as did his friends and patrons. His statues lack the repose which makes the grandest feature of the best sculpture; his female figures have a sentimental sort of air that is not all we could wish, and does not elevate them above what we may call pleasing art. His male figures are better, more natural and simple, though some of his subjects bordered on the coarse and brutal, as in the two fencers, Kreugas and Damoxenes, or Hercules and Lichas. But in his religious subjects he is much finer, and in some of his monuments he shows dignity and earnestness, while his composition is in the true artistic spirit. Taken on the whole, he was a wonderful artist and a man of whom his century might well be proud.

Other sculptors of this period and of different nations studied at Rome, and devoted themselves to the antique with enthusiasm. One of these was Antoine Denis Chaudet (1763-1810), who was born at Paris. His talent was so early developed that he was admitted to the Royal Academy when fourteen years old, and when twenty-one he gained the first prize, and with the royal pension went to Rome, where he remained five years. He soon took good rank among artists of that time, for he was a designer and painter as well as sculptor. He adhered strictly to the antique style, and attained much purity, though he was always cold in treatment. He was made a Professor of Sculpture in the French Academy, and made valuable contributions to the "Dictionary of Fine Arts."

Chaudet's principal works in sculpture were the silver statue of Peace in the Tuileries; a statue of Cincinnatus in the Senate Chamber; a statue of Œdipus; a bas-relief of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, in the Musée Napoléon, and many busts and smaller works.

He also designed numerous medals and some of the illustrations for a fine edition of Racine, and painted a picture of Æneas and Anchises in the Burning of Troy.

Johann Heinrich Dannecker (1758-1841) was born at Stuttgart. By a statue of Milo he gained the prize of the academy founded by Duke Charles Eugene, and with the royal pension he went first to Paris and then to Rome, where he studied seven years. He then returned to Würtemberg, and was made Director of the Royal Academy, with a salary of fifteen thousand francs a year. During fifteen years Dannecker maintained a high rank in his art, but his health became so feeble that he was forced to see others excel him. One of his works has a wide reputation, and is known to many people the world over, through the generosity of Herr Bethmann of Frankfort, who admits visitors to his gallery, and from the models and pictures which have been made from it; it is the Ariadne on a Panther (Fig. 117).

Fig. 117.—Ariadne and the Panther.
By Dannecker.

Dannecker had a delicate feeling for nature; his figures were light and graceful, and his heads were noble in expression. He labored eight years upon a figure of Christ, which belongs to the Emperor of Russia; in Stuttgart a nymph pouring water on Neckar Street and two nymphs on a reservoir in the palace garden show his fine taste in architectural sculpture. Among his other works are a statue of Alexander, a monument to Count Zeppelin, a Cupid, and a Maiden lamenting a Dead Bird. Some of his works are among the very best productions of modern sculpture; his portraits are noble and true to nature; the works named here are by no means all that he did, and we should add that his efforts in religious subjects exhibit a pure sense of the beautiful, and a true conception of Christian ideas.

We come now, for the first time, to a great English sculptor. John Flaxman (1755-1826) was born in York, but while he was still an infant his father removed to London, where he kept a plaster-cast shop. The boy began to draw and even to model very early; when but five years old he kept some soft wax, with which he could take an impression from any seal or ring or coin which pleased him. He was very delicate in health, and was once thought to be dead, and was prepared for burial, when animation returned; his parents tried to gratify all his wishes, and while a child he modelled a great number of figures in wax, clay, and plaster.

By the time he was ten years old he was much stronger, and was able to use the activity which corresponded to his enthusiastic feeling and imagination. About this time he read "Don Quixote," and was so moved by the adventures of that hero that he went out early one morning armed with a toy sword and bent upon protecting some forlorn damsel; he went to Hyde Park and wandered about all day, not finding any one who was in need of his services. At night he returned home, very hungry and weary, to find his family in great alarm over his unusual absence.

He now spent all his time in drawing and modelling, and never had more than two lessons from a master; at eleven years of age he began to gain various prizes, and at fourteen was admitted to study at the Royal Academy, and gained the silver medal there that same year. About this time he made some friends who aided him to study the classics and to learn more of history, all of which was of great use to him in his art. He was also fortunate in having the friendship of Mr. Wedgwood, for whom he made many models. He also painted a few pictures in oil.

Among his earliest sculptures were a group of Venus and Cupid and a monument to Mrs. Morley, who, with her baby, died at sea. Flaxman represented the mother and child rising from the sea and being received by descending angels.

In 1782 Flaxman married Miss Ann Denman, whose intelligence and love of art were of great assistance to her husband. In 1787 he went to Rome, where he remained seven years. During this time he made a group for Lord Bristol, representing the Fury of Athamas, from the Metamorphoses of Ovid; this work cost him much labor, for which he received but small pay; it was carried to Ireland and then to Ickworth House, in Suffolk, where but few people see it. In Rome Flaxman also made a group of Cephalus and Aurora for Mr. Thomas Hope, and the designs from Homer, Æschylus, and Dante, which have such a world-wide fame.

In 1794 he returned to England, where he was constantly employed on important works until his death. We cannot give a list of his numerous works. Many of his monuments are seen in the churches of England. In Glasgow are his statues of Mr. Pitt and Sir John Moore, in bronze; in Edinburgh is that of Robert Burns. Flaxman executed much sculpture for the East Indies, one of these works being unfinished when he died. Some critics consider his Archangel Michael and Satan his best work; it was made for the Earl of Egremont, who had his life-size Apollo also.

In 1797 Flaxman was elected an Associate of the Royal Academy, in 1800 an Academician, and in 1810, when a Professor of Sculpture was added to the other professors of the Academy, he was appointed to the office. His lectures have been published. The friezes on the Covent Garden Theatre were all designed by Flaxman, and he executed the figure of Comedy himself. His last work was making designs for the exterior decoration of Buckingham Palace, which would have been entirely under his direction and partly executed by him if he had lived.

His wife died in 1820, and her loss was a grief from which he could not recover; she had been a great advantage to him, and he had depended much upon her sympathy and counsel. Flaxman was a singularly pure man, and so attractive in manner that he was the friend of old and young alike.

Sir Richard Westmacott succeeded Flaxman as Professor at the Royal Academy; he said: "But the greatest of modern sculptors was our illustrious countryman, John Flaxman, who not only had all the fine feeling of the ancient Greeks (which Canova in a degree possessed), but united to it a readiness of invention and a simplicity of design truly astonishing. Though Canova was his superior in the manual part, high finishing, yet in the higher qualities, poetical feeling and invention, Flaxman was as superior to Canova as was Shakespeare to the dramatists of his day."

But the perfection of the results of the study of Canova and others who endeavored to raise sculpture to its ancient glory was seen in the Dane, Bertel Thorwaldsen (1770-1844), who was born in Copenhagen. The descent of this artist has been traced to memorable sources in two quite distinct ways. Those who claim that the Norsemen discovered America relate that during their stay upon this coast a child was born, from whom Thorwaldsen's descent can be distinctly followed. The learned genealogists of Iceland say that his ancestors were descended from Harald Hildetand, King of Denmark, who, in the eighth century, was obliged to flee, first to Norway and then to Iceland, and that one of his descendants, Oluf Paa, in the twelfth century, was a famous wood-carver. But this much is certain: in the fourteenth century there lived in Southern Iceland a wealthy man, whose family and descendants were much honored. One of these, Thorvald Gottskalken, a pastor, had two sons and but a small fortune; so he sent his sons to Copenhagen, where one became a jeweller and died young; the other, who was a wood-carver, was the father of the artist, whose mother was Karen Gröulund, the daughter of a Jutland peasant.

The father was employed in a shipyard, and carved only the rude ornaments of vessels and boats; but these served to lead the mind of the little Bertel to the art he later followed. His father could not have dreamed of such a future as came to his son, but he was wise enough to know that the boy might do more and better than he had done, and he sent him, when eleven years old, to the free school of the Royal Academy to study drawing; and very soon the works of the father showed the gain which the son had made, for his designs were those now used by the old wood-carver.

Bertel was also sent to study his books at the school of Charlottenburg, and here he was so far from clever that he was put in the lowest class. When Bertel gained his first prize at the academy the chaplain of the school at Charlottenburg asked him if the boy who had taken the prize was his brother. He looked up with surprise, and blushing, said, "It is myself, Herr Chaplain." The priest was astounded at this, and said, "Herr Thorwaldsen, please to pass up to the first class."

The boy was amazed at these honors, and from this day retained the title of "Herr," which gave him much distinction. When, after many years, the sculptor had been loaded with honors, and stood on the heights of fame, he was accustomed to say that no glory had ever been so sweet to him as that first rapture which came from the words of the Chaplain Höyer when he was seventeen years old and a poor school-boy.

The effect of this first prize seemed to be to rouse his ambition, and he worked with the greatest diligence and earnestness. Two years later he made a bas-relief of Love in Repose, which took the large silver medal. His father now thought him prepared to enter on the life of a ship's carver, and Bertel made no objection to doing so; but the painter Abildgaard, who had been his teacher in the academy, had grown very fond of him, and saw how much talent he had, and could not think of his being but a common tradesman without deep regret. He went, therefore, to the old carver, and after some difficulty obtained his consent that his son should spend half his time in study at the academy, and the other half in the earning of his daily bread at his father's side.

In 1790, when twenty years old, Thorwaldsen made a medallion of the Princess of Denmark, which was so good a likeness that a number of copies was sold. A year later he gained the small gold medal of the academy by a bas-relief of the Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple. The Minister of State now became interested in the young artist, and measures were taken to aid him to go on with his studies. His patrons desired him to study the subjects of the antique sculptures, and he chose that of Priam begging the Body of Hector from Achilles. Later in life he repeated this subject, and it is interesting to notice the strength and grandeur of the second when compared with the weakness of the first. And yet it was from the latter that predictions were made of Thorwaldsen's future greatness. In 1793 he gained the prize which entitled him to travel and study three years at the expense of the academy. The work he presented was a bas-relief of Saint Peter healing the Paralytic. In these works this sculptor already showed two qualities which remained the same through his life; in his subjects from antiquity he showed a Greek spirit, which has led some writers to speak of him as a "posthumous Greek," or a true Greek artist born after other Greek artists had died; on the other hand, when he treated religious subjects his spirit was like that of the best masters of the Renaissance, and these works remind us of Raphael. All this excellence came entirely from his artistic nature, for outside of that he was ignorant; he knew nothing of history or literature, and was never a man of culture as long as he lived. Outside of the work connected with his profession Thorwaldsen was indolent, and only acquired knowledge of other matters through observation or from the conversation of others.

Although he gained the prize which allowed him to travel in 1793, he did not leave Copenhagen until May, 1796. In the mean time he had done what he could to earn something: he had made designs for book-publishers, given lessons in drawing and modelling, and made some bust and medallion portraits, reliefs, and so on. The vessel in which the young sculptor sailed for Naples was called the Thetis, and the captain engaged to watch over him; the voyage was long, and all on board became fond of Thorwaldsen, though the captain wrote, "He is an honest boy, but a lazy rascal." This opinion is very amusing when we know what an enormous amount of labor he performed. At Naples he remained for some time, and saw and admired all its works of art. He did not reach Rome until about nine months after leaving Copenhagen, but from that time his whole thought and life were changed. He was accustomed to say, "I was born on the 8th of March, 1797; before then I did not exist."

While in Naples Thorwaldsen had been ill, and suffered from a malarial affection, which compelled him to be idle much of the time. But he was always studying the antique statues, and made many copies. Some of the first original works which he attempted were failures, when, at last, he modelled a colossal statue of Jason, which was well received by those who saw it, and made him somewhat famous in Rome (Fig. 118). Canova praised it, and other critics did the same; but Thorwaldsen had no money; the academy had supported him six years; what could he do? Quite discouraged, he was engaged in his preparations for leaving Rome, when Mr. Thomas Hope, the English banker, gave him an order for the Jason in marble. In an hour his life was changed. He was living in Rome not as a student on charity, but as an artist gaining his living. We are forced to add that Mr. Hope did not receive this statue until 1828, and Thorwaldsen has been much blamed for his apparent ingratitude; but we cannot here give all the details of the unfortunate affair.

Fig. 118.—Jason.
By Thorwaldsen.

Thorwaldsen had a true and faithful friend in Rome, the archæologist Zoëga; at his house the young Dane had met a beautiful Italian girl, Anna Maria Magnani, whom he loved devotedly. She was too ambitious to marry a poor sculptor, so she married a rich M. d'Uhden; but she persuaded Thorwaldsen to sign an agreement by which he bound himself to take care of her if she should not agree with her husband and should leave him; this was just what happened in 1803, and the sculptor received her into his house, where she remained sixteen years, when she disappears from his life. He provided an honorable marriage for their daughter.

In 1803 Thorwaldsen also made the acquaintance of the Baron von Schubart, the Danish Minister, who presented the sculptor to Baron von Humboldt; and through the friendship of these two men, and the persons to whom they presented him, Thorwaldsen received many orders. In 1804 his fame had become so well established that he received orders from all countries, and from this time, during the rest of his life, he was never able to do all that was required of him. He was much courted in society, where he was praised for his art and beloved for his agreeable and pleasing manner. In this same year he was made a Professor of the Royal Academy of Florence; and though the Academy of Copenhagen expected his return, they would not recall him from the scene of his triumphs, and sent him a gift of four hundred crowns. A few months later he was made a member of the Academy of Bologna and of that of his native city, in which last he was also appointed a Professor.

Many circumstances conspired to increase his popularity and to excite the popular interest in him, when, in 1805, he produced the bas-relief of the Abduction of Briseis, which still remains one of his most celebrated works. His Jason had put him on a level with Canova, who was then at the height of his fame; now the Briseis was said by many to excel the same type of works by Canova, and there is no question that in bas-relief the Dane was the better sculptor of the two. This relief and his group of Cupid and Psyche, which was completed in 1805, mark the era at which Thorwaldsen reached his full perfection as a sculptor. In this same year he modelled his first statue of Venus; it was less than life-size; and though two copies of it were finished in marble, he was not pleased with it, and destroyed the model: later he made the same statue in full size.

In 1806 he received his first commission for religious subjects, which consisted of two baptismal fonts for a church in the island of Fionia. But he was devoted to mythological subjects, and preferred them before all others, and in this same year modelled a Hebe while engaged upon the fonts. His industry was great, but he found time to receive many visitors at his studio, and went frequently into society. At the house of Baron von Humboldt, then Prussian Ambassador at Rome, Thorwaldsen was always welcome and happy; here he met all persons of note who lived in or who visited Rome.

It was at this period that the young Prince Louis of Bavaria entered into a correspondence with Thorwaldsen, which ended only with the sculptor's life. Louis was collecting objects for his Glyptothek at Munich, and he frequently consulted Thorwaldsen in these matters; his advice was of value, and he more than once saved Louis from imposition by dealers. Louis gave the sculptor the order for the fine Adonis, now in the Glyptothek; it was modelled in 1808, but was not completed until 1832; this splendid work was executed entirely by Thorwaldsen's own hands. In 1808 he also received the order for four bas-reliefs to be used in the restoration of the Palace of Christiansborg, which had been injured by fire. This was the year, too, when he was made an honorary member of the Academy of St. Luke.

The year 1809 brought deep sorrows to Thorwaldsen in the death of his two friends, Stanley and Zoëga. He interested himself in the settlement of the affairs of the latter, and had much trouble and anxiety; but he managed to accomplish the modelling of six bas-reliefs in this year, in spite of the disturbed state of Rome on account of the pope's departure, and in spite of the hindrances in his own life.

In 1810 the King of Denmark made Thorwaldsen a Knight of Danebrog, and he was then known in Italy as the Cavaliere Alberto. His work this year was in bas-reliefs, and in 1811 he modelled a colossal statue of Mars, the bust of Mademoiselle Ida Brun, a lovely statue of Psyche, and his own portrait as a colossal Hermes.

The people of Denmark were growing very impatient at the prolonged absence of their artist. He had left home a mere boy, and was now famous over all the world. They wished for his return; a marble quarry had been discovered in Norway, and even Prince Christian Frederick wrote to Thorwaldsen to urge his going home. The sculptor wished to go, and even made some preparations to do so, when he received so important a commission that it was impossible to leave Rome. This new work was a frieze for one of the great halls in the Quirinal Palace. He chose the Entrance of Alexander the Great into Babylon for his subject, and it proved to be one of the most important works of his life. It was completed in June, 1812; and though it had been somewhat criticised as too rough in its finish, when it was elevated to its proper height it was all that had been expected by the artist's friends; later he repeated this frieze for his own countrymen. In Rome he was now frequently called the "Patriarch of Bas-relief." Soon after this he was made a member of the Imperial Academy of Vienna.

In 1813 Thorwaldsen was again a victim of malignant fever, and visited the baths of Lucca, in company with the Baron and Baroness von Schubart, for the benefit of his health. He met many people and received much honor, especially from the Grand Duchess of Tuscany. His health was improved, but his old and tried friend, the Baroness von Schubart, died the winter following; he felt her loss deeply, for she had been his friend and confidante from the time of his arrival in Rome.

He was always busy, and one after another of his almost numberless works was finished. In 1815 he made the Achilles and Priam, a relief which is sometimes called his masterpiece; in the same year he made the famous and familiar medallions of Night and Morning; it is said that he conceived the first while awake in a sleepless, restless condition, and modelled it entirely on the following day; these medallions have been reproduced in all possible forms—in engravings, on cameos, gems, in metals, and a variety of marble, plaster, and porcelain.

Fig. 119.—Ganymede and the Eagle.
By Thorwaldsen.

About this time Thorwaldsen removed to a spacious studio with gardens, and received pupils, and was overwhelmed with orders, so that he could not yet go to Denmark, in spite of the urgent letters he received. He executed many important original works, and also restored the marbles of Ægina, now at Munich; this was a great task, but his study of the antique had made him better able to do it than was any other modern sculptor.

The exquisite group of Ganymede and the Eagle (Fig. 119) shows the effect of his study of the antique, and the same may be said of his statue of Hope, a small copy of which was afterward placed above the tomb of the Baroness von Humboldt. The Three Graces (Fig. 120) belongs to the year 1817; the Mercury was of about this date, as well as the elegant statue of the Princess Baryatinska, which is his finest portrait statue.

After an absence from Denmark of twenty-three years he left Rome in July, 1819, and turned his face toward home. His model for the famous Lion of Lucerne had already been sent on before him, and the work commenced by one of his pupils, Bienaimé. Thorwaldsen first went to Lucerne, where he gave all necessary advice in this work, and then proceeding on his journey reached Copenhagen on the 3d of October. Apartments had been prepared for him in the Academy of Fine Arts, and as soon as it was known that he was there he was the centre of attraction and importance. Crowds went to welcome him to his home. A great reception and a grand banquet were given in his honor, and he was lauded to the skies in speeches, and was made a Counsellor of State, in order that he might sit at table with the royal family and not violate the court etiquette.

Fig. 120.—The Three Graces.
By Thorwaldsen.

All this must have gratified the artist, who had earned such proud honors by the force of his genius; but it interests us much more to know that he received commissions for some very important works, among which those of the Church of Our Lady are very interesting. The orders for all the work which he did here were not given at once, but in the end it became a splendid monument to this sculptor, and embraces almost all his religious works of any importance. There are the figures of Christ and the Twelve Apostles; the Angel of Baptism, which is an exquisite font; the Preaching of St. John the Baptist, which is a group in terra-cotta on the pediment of the church; a bas-relief in marble of the Institution of the Lord's Supper; another in plaster of Christ's Entry into Jerusalem; one of Christ Bearing the Cross; one of the Baptism of Christ; another of the Guardian Angel, and one of Christian Charity.

He did not remain very long in Denmark, but went to Warsaw, where he had been summoned to arrange for some important works. He was presented to the Emperor Alexander, who gave him sittings for a portrait bust; this was so successful that for some years Thorwaldsen employed skilled workmen to constantly repeat it, in order to fill the demand for it which was made upon him. While at Warsaw he received an order for a monument to Copernicus, which was dedicated in 1830; other important commissions were given him, and after visiting Cracow, Troppau, and Vienna, he reached Rome in December, 1820, where he was heartily welcomed by the artists, who gave him a banquet, on which occasion the Prince Royal of Denmark sat next to the sculptor.

Before this a correspondence had established a friendship between Thorwaldsen and Prince Louis of Bavaria; but from the year 1821 intimate personal relations existed between them. He took up work with great energy; he had returned to Rome with so much to do that he required much room, and employed a large company of workmen. In the summer of 1822 he was able to secure a large building which had been used for a stable to the Barberini Palace, and here he was able to set up all his large models.

In 1824 Thorwaldsen was summoned by the Cardinal Consalvi, who gave him the commission for the monument to Pius VII., now in the Clementine Chapel of St. Peter's at Rome; this work was not completed when the cardinal himself died, and his own monument by Thorwaldsen was placed in the Pantheon before that of Pius VII. was put in its place. He also made a cross for the Capuchins for which he would accept no reward, though they were entirely satisfied with it.

In 1825 Thorwaldsen was elected President of the Academy of St. Luke with the advice and consent of Pope Leo XII., who paid him a visit in his studio. Many delays occurred, and the monument to Pius VII. was not erected until 1831.

The works upon which the artist and his assistants were engaged were far too numerous to be mentioned; he was at the very height of fame and popularity, and was forced to refuse some of the commissions sent him. In 1830 he went to Munich to superintend the setting up of his monument to Eugène Beauharnais, the Duke of Leuchtenberg. This gave Louis of Bavaria an opportunity to show his regard for the sculptor, which he did in every possible way. Soon after the monument was unveiled Thorwaldsen received the cross of an officer of the Legion of Honor.

Thorwaldsen's place in Rome was a very important one, not only as an artist, but as a man. He had the respect and esteem of many good men of all nations; he also suffered some things from the envy of those who were jealous of him, as is the case with all successful men; but he was a fearless person, and did not trouble himself on account of these things. The frequent agitations of a political nature, however, did disturb him, and he began to think seriously of returning to Denmark. In 1837, when the cholera broke out in Rome, he determined to leave; his countrymen were delighted, and a government frigate was sent to take him home; he sailed from Leghorn in August, 1838. His arrival was hailed with joy in Denmark, and wherever he went his progress was marked by tokens of the pride which his countrymen felt in him. As soon as it was known in Copenhagen, on September 17th, that the "Rota," which brought the sculptor, was in the harbor, a flag was run up from St. Nicolas Church as a signal for the beginning of the festivities which had been arranged.

Although it rained heavily, boats filled with artists, poets, students, physicians, mechanics, and naval officers went out to meet him; each boat had a flag with an appropriate device, that of the artists having Thorwaldsen's Three Graces, the poets, a Pegasus, and so on. The meeting with his friends on the deck of the ship was a pleasant surprise to the artist, who was hurried ashore amid the firing of salutes and all sorts of joyous demonstrations, a vast number of boats rowing after that in which he was seated. His carriage was drawn by the people from the quay to Charlottenburg, where a vast crowd assembled to get a sight at him. His form was tall and erect, his step firm; his long white hair fell on his shoulders, and his clear eye and benevolent face beamed with intelligence and sympathetic interest in all around him. He was led out on a balcony, where, uncovered, he saluted the people, who greeted him with wild applause. Thorwaldsen smiled and said, "Would not any one think that we were in Rome, and I were the pope about to give the benediction urbi et orbi from the balcony of St. Peter's?"

One ovation after another followed, day by day, and such crowds of visitors went to see him that he was unable to unpack and arrange his possessions which he had brought from Italy, or to work at all, which was worse to him. At last he began to do as he had done in Rome, and to receive his friends with his chisel or modelling-stick in hand. He lived frugally, and continued many of his Roman habits of life; but he was forced to dine out every evening.

He was now sixty-eight years old, but he did a vast amount of work in one way and another, and was so pursued by all sorts of people who wished to engage his attention in a variety of projects, that he seriously considered the question of leaving Copenhagen. He became very fond of certain families where he visited, among which was that of the Baron von Stampe, who, with his wife and children, were soon treated by the sculptor as if they were his own kindred. He went with them to their summer home at Nysoë, and while there the baroness persuaded him to model his own statue. He did this imperfectly, as he had no suitable workshop; and when the baroness saw his difficulty in working in an ordinary room she had a studio built for him in a garden near the castle. She took the time to do this when Thorwaldsen was absent for eight days, and in this short space the whole was completed, so that when he returned it seemed to him like magic. This studio was dedicated in July, 1839.

He then began the proper modelling of his own statue, and was progressing very well when he received a letter from the poet Oehlenschlaeger, who was in great haste to have a portrait bust made of himself. Thorwaldsen felt that he ought not to make his own statue when thus wanted for other work, and he threw down his tools, and would have broken the model. But the baroness succeeded in getting him away, and locked the studio, keeping the key. However, no argument or entreaty would move the sculptor, and she could do nothing with him until she happened to think of crying. When she began to weep and to accuse him of having no affection for her, and reminded him of the proofs of her devotion which she had given him, he was taken in by her mock tears, and exclaimed, "Well, they may think what they like. My statue is not for posterity, but I cannot refuse it to a friend to whom it will give such pleasure." He then resumed his work, and completed his statue in seventeen days. He represented himself standing with one arm resting upon his statue of Hope.

After this summer Thorwaldsen divided his time between Copenhagen and Stampeborg, and worked with the same industry in one place as in the other. The life in the country was a great delight to him; he played games, listened to fairy tales from the poet Andersen, or to music from the young girls of the house, all with equal pleasure; and if he were allowed to have his mornings for work he would spend the rest of the day in the woods or pay visits, and was perfectly happy in this succession of labor and leisure.

Baroness Stampe did not stop at one trick upon the old artist, for she found it more easy to gain a point in this way than by argument. He had promised to execute a statue of Christian IV. for Christian VIII., the reigning king; he put it off until the king was impatient. One day, when he had gone for a walk, the baroness went to the studio and began a sketch in clay as well as she could. When Thorwaldsen returned he asked what she was doing, and she answered, "I am making the statue of the king. Since you will not do it, and I have pledged my word, I must do it myself." The artist laughed, and began to criticise her work; she insisted it was all right, and at last said, "Do it better, then, yourself; you make fun of me; I defy you to find anything to change in my work." Thorwaldsen was thus led on to correct the model, and when once he had begun he finished it.

It would be impossible to give any account here of the numerous incidents in the later years of the life of this sculptor; of the honors he received, of the many works he was consulted about and asked to do, of the visits he paid and received from persons of note; few lives are as full as was his, and the detailed accounts of it are very interesting.

He had always desired to go again to Rome, and in 1841, when the Baron von Stampe decided to go there with his family, Thorwaldsen travelled with them. They went through Germany, and were everywhere received as honorably as if he were a royal person: he was invited to visit royal families; court carriages were at his service; Mendelssohn gave a musical fête for him; in all the great cities he was shown the places and objects worthy of his attention; poets and orators paid him respect, and nothing that could be done to show appreciation of his genius and his works was omitted.

In Rome it was the same; he remained there almost a year, and upon his arrival at Copenhagen, in October, 1842, he experienced the crowning glory of his life. During his absence the Thorwaldsen Museum had been completed, and here, the day after he reached home, he was received. The building was decorated with garlands, and he went over the whole of it; at last he entered the inner court, where he was to be buried; here he stood for some time with bowed head, while all about him kept silence. Can any one fancy the thoughts that must have come to him? Here he must be buried, and yet here would he live in the works of his hand which would surround him and remain to testify to his immortal powers.

He lived three years more, and was always busy. His mind was strong and his conceptions of his subjects had lost nothing, but his ability to execute his works was less; his hand had lost somewhat of its cunning. He went much into society, was fond of the theatre, and under the devoted care of his servant, Wilkens, he enjoyed all that was possible to a man of his age. On the 24th of March 1844, the Baroness von Stampe went to ask him to dine at her house; he said he was not well and would not go out; but as his daughter was to be there and expected him he decided to go. He was modelling a bust of Luther, and threw down before it a handful of clay and stuck a trowel in it; just so, as he left it, this now stands in the museum, preserved under glass, with the print of his hand in the clay.

He was merry at dinner, and in speaking of the museum said he could die now, whenever he chose, since the architect Bindesböll had finished his tomb. After dinner he went to the theatre, and there it was seen that he was really ill; he was taken out with haste and laid upon a sofa, when it was found that he was already dead. The Charlottenburg joined the theatre, and there, in the hall of antique sculpture, he was laid. He was first buried in the Frue Kirke, which he had so splendidly decorated; four years later he was borne to the vault in the centre of the Thorwaldsen Museum, where above him grows the evergreen ivy, a fitting emblem of his unfading fame.

Thiele, in his splendid book called "Thorwaldsen and his Works," gives a list of two hundred and sixty works by this master; and as one journeys from Rome, where are some of his sculptures in St. Peter's and the Quirinal, to Copenhagen, with the Frue Kirke and the Museum, one passes through few cities that are not adorned by his statues and reliefs. Among his most important works are the frieze of Alexander's entrance into Babylon, at the Quirinal; the Lion of Lucerne; the many statues, groups, and bas-reliefs in the Frue Kirke; more than thirty sepulchral and commemorative monuments in various cities and countries; sixteen bas-reliefs which illustrate the story of Cupid and Psyche; twenty bas-reliefs of Genii; twenty-two figures from antique fables, and many portrait busts and statues, and various other subjects.

Thorwaldsen was a very remarkable man. No circumstance of his youth indicated his success, and a certain indolence which he had would have seemed to forbid it; but the power was within him, and was of that genuine quality which will declare itself; and a man who has it becomes great without intending to be so, and almost without believing that he is remarkable beyond others. The true antique spirit seems to have been revived in him. His characteristics as a sculptor are severe simplicity, perfect beauty in form, distinctness, and repose. Thiele says of him: "He has challenged and has received the decision of the world's Supreme Court, that his name shall stand on the rolls of immortality. And if his life might be embodied in a single emblem, perhaps it should be that of a young lion, with an eye that glows and flashes fire, while he is bound with ivy and led by the hand of the three graces."

The sculpture of Germany in the last part of the eighteenth and the early years of the present century was very interesting. The architect Schinkel was a great lover of antique art, and he had much influence over all arts, as well as in his special department. Thorwaldsen himself so admired the sculptor John Rudolph Schadow (1786-1822) that when the King of Prussia gave him a commission for a statue he replied: "Sire, there is at this moment in Rome one of your faithful subjects who is more capable than I of performing to your satisfaction the task with which you deign to honor me; permit me to solicit for him your royal favor." The commission was given to Schadow, and he made his charming work, The Spinner. John Rudolph was the son of John Gottfried Schadow (1764-1850), who was court sculptor, and long survived his gifted son. The chief works of the father were the statues of Count von der Mark, at Berlin; that of Frederick the Great, at Stettin; Luther's monument in the market-place at Wittenberg, and Blücher's statue at Rostock.

John Rudolph Schadow studied under both Canova and Thorwaldsen, and was a very gifted artist. He was engaged upon a group of Achilles protecting the body of Penthesilea at the time of his death; it was finished by Wolff.

Fig. 121.—Statue of Queen Louise.
By Rauch.

Christian Frederic Tieck (1776-1851) was an eminent sculptor of his time, and decorated with sculpture some of the fine edifices erected at Berlin by Schinkel. He was very active in establishing a gallery of models from the antique at Berlin, and was a Director of the Sculptures in the Museum as well as a member of the Academy. His most successful original works were portrait busts, and he had many notable people among his sitters. Among them were the Emperor of Germany, the King of Bavaria, Schelling, Goethe, Lessing, and many others.

Christian Rauch (1777-1857). This eminent sculptor was born at Waldeck, and followed the manner of Schadow, which he carried to its perfection. His statue of Queen Louise (Fig. 121) is one of the finest works of modern sculpture, and his statues of the Generals Scharnhorst and Bülow, in Berlin, are very fine; the reliefs upon the pedestals are of classic beauty. But his masterpiece is the grand Friedrichs monument. Rauch executed many excellent busts; he made good portraits, and yet he elevated the character of his subjects to the greatest nobleness of which they were capable. As a rule Rauch avoided religious subjects, but late in life he modelled the group of Moses supported in prayer by Aaron and Hur.

Among his important works are the statue of Blücher, at Breslau; that of August Hermann Franke, at Halle; Dürer, at Nuremberg; monument to Maximilian I., at Munich; and six marble Victories for the Walhalla. His works are numerous, and in them we feel that this artist had not a great imaginative power; he rarely conceived imaginary subjects, but he took some fact or personality as his motive, and elevated it to the highest point to which it could be brought, and under his masterly style of execution produced splendid results.

Ernst Rietschel (1804-1860) was a gifted pupil of Rauch. After spending some time in Rome he settled in Dresden, and executed the statue of Friederich August of Saxony, for the Zwingerhof, when but twenty-seven years old. His chief excellence was in portrait statues, and those of Lessing and Luther are remarkable for their powerful expression of the intellectual and moral force of those men. His religious subjects were full of deep feeling, and his lighter works have a charming grace about them.

Ludwig Schwanthaler (1802-1848) studied much in Rome, and was as devoted to the antique as was Thorwaldsen. He executed many works in Munich, the principal ones being the interior decoration of the Glyptothek; also that of the Königsbau and two groups for the Walhalla. A prominent work by this master is the bronze statue of Bavaria, which is fifty-four feet high and stands in front of the Ruhmeshalle. He also made twelve gilt-bronze statues of Bavarian sovereigns. Schwanthaler had remarkable powers of invention and a fruitful imagination; in these points he ranks with the first of modern sculptors; but his works rarely rise above what we call decorative art, and in spite of his excellent gifts he lacked the power to arouse any enthusiasm for his statues.

There are many other names that might be mentioned in connection with modern sculpture in Germany. Nowhere have the monuments and portrait statues and busts reached a higher excellence than in what we may call, in general terms, the Berlin school. Profound attention has been given to the proper reproduction of the individual characters of its subjects, while the art has not been allowed to sink into caricature or commonplaceness. Nowhere does the traveller better appreciate the art of our own day than in the sculpture of Germany.

But there are exceptions to this rule; some such artists as Theodore Kalide and Ludwig Wichmann are wanting in the serious qualities of Schadow, Rauch, and their followers, and sometimes fall into a coarse realism; but in spite of this, the revival of love for the antique, which began with Canova and his time, has borne rich fruit in the works of modern German sculptors.

In France the spirit of modern sculpture has been largely that of the severe classic style, and it has shown many of the same qualities that we have seen in modern German sculpture; but the different characteristics of the two nations have had their influence here as in everything else. In France the artist has aimed at a fine effect—flowing outline and dazzling representations of dramatic motives—far more than the northern sculptors have done. There is less thought and depth of feeling, more outward attraction and striking effect. The classic taste which asserted itself in the time of Canova was adopted in France, but in a French manner; and one of the earliest artists who showed its effects was François Joseph Bosio (1769-1845), who was much honored. He was made a member of the Institute of France and of the Royal Academy of Berlin: he was chief sculptor to the King of France, and executed many public works. He made many portrait busts of the royal family and other prominent persons, but his chief works were the reliefs on the column of the Place Vendôme, the Chariot on the arch of the Place du Carrousel, the monument to the Countess Demidoff, and statues of mythological heroes and heroines. For the Chapelle Expiatoire, Bosio executed a group representing Louis XVII. receiving comfort from an angel; the design is not as good as in some of his classic works, but the conception is pure and noble.

Fig. 122.—Nymph.
By Bosio.

James Pradier (1790-1832), though born in Geneva, was essentially a French sculptor, and excelled the artists of his day in his representations of feminine beauty. His masterpiece is a fountain at Nimes, in which the figures are fine and the drapery noble and distinct in treatment. The serious and comic Muses of the Fountain Molière are excellent works. He made several separate statues which are well known; his Psyche has a butterfly poised on the upper part of the arm; Atalanta is fastening her sandals; Sappho is in despair. His Niobe group showed his power to represent bold action, and his Prometheus chained, erected in the garden of the Tuileries, is grand and spirited.

We could name a great number of French sculptors belonging to this period whose works are seen in many public places which they adorn, but whose genius was not sufficient to place them in the first ranks of the world's artists, or make the accounts of them anything more than a list of works which has little meaning, except when one stands before them. Perhaps no one man had so wide an influence upon this art as had Pierre Jean David (1793-1856), who is called David of Angers, which was his birthplace, in order to distinguish him from Jacques Louis David, the great painter, who was like a father to this sculptor, though in no way connected with him by ties of kindred, as far as we know. But when the sculptor went to Paris, a very poor boy, David the painter, whose attention was called to him in some way, was his friend, and gave him lessons in drawing and aided him in other ways. In 1811 David of Angers obtained the prize which enabled him to go to Rome, and after his return to Paris he was constantly employed. The amount of his work was enormous; many of his statues were colossal, and he executed a great number of busts and more than ninety medallions.

He made the statue of Mme. de Staël; one of Talma for the Théâtre Français; the colossal statue of King René at Aix; monument to Fénelon at Cambray; the statue of the great Condé at Versailles; the Gutenberg memorial at Strasburg, which is one of his most successful works, and a large number of other sculptures.

His chief characteristic is realism, and he carried this so far that it frequently became coarseness. David designed the relief for the pediment of the Pantheon. The inscription on the building declares that it is dedicated by a grateful country to its great men, and the sculptor seems to have had this in mind, for he represented in his group a figure of France surrounded by those who had been great in its times of war and days of peace. It is too realistic to be pleasing, and is far less creditable to the sculptor than are many of his less prominent works.

If little can be said of the modern French sculpture prior to our immediate time, there is still less to be told of that of England. There are many public monuments there, but they do not show forth any high artistic genius or rise above the commonplace except in very rare instances. There is but one English sculptor of whom I shall speak. John Gibson (1791-1866) was born near Conway, in Wales. When he was nine years old his parents went to Liverpool with the intention of sailing for America; but they gave up the idea, and the boy was sent to school in Liverpool. Before this he had been in the habit of drawing and of making sketches of anything that he saw and was pleased with; he now studied the prints in the shop windows, and made pictures, which he sold to his fellow-pupils. He attracted the attention of a print-seller, who was so interested in him that he allowed him to draw from studies and casts from the antique which he had. When fourteen years old the boy was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker, but after a year he persuaded his employer to allow him to leave his shop, and was then apprenticed to a wood-carver. He did not stop at this, however, for when he became acquainted with the Messrs. Francis, who had a marble-yard, he persuaded his second master to release him, and was apprenticed for the third time, and in this case to the occupation which he had determined should be that of his life.

He was now very happy, and his improvement in drawing, modelling, and working in marble was very rapid. After a few months he made the acquaintance of William Roscoe, who became his friend and patron. He remained in Liverpool until he was twenty-seven years old; he had improved every advantage within his reach, but he was very desirous of travelling. In 1817, armed with a few letters of introduction, he went to London, where he obtained several orders, and in October of that year went to Rome.

He had a letter to Canova, who took him under his care and gave him admission to the classes in the Academy, in which he could draw from living models. In 1819 he received his first important commission; it was from the Duke of Devonshire for a group of Mars and Cupid. From this time he advanced steadily in his profession, and was always busy. He lived twenty-seven years in Rome, and passed his summers in Innsbrück.

In 1844 he went to Liverpool to oversee the erection of his statue of Mr. Huskisson; he was received with enthusiasm, and when he went to Glasgow to superintend the placing of his statue of Mr. Finlay in the Merchants' Hall his reception was even more flattering, as it was given him simply as an artist, and not connected with any former associations, as in Liverpool. During this visit to England Gibson was summoned to Windsor to make a statue of Queen Victoria, which he completed after his return to Rome. The queen was represented in a classical costume, and the diadem, sandals, and borders of the drapery were colored. This was very much criticised and much was written and said about it; Gibson took little notice of all this, and simply answered it by saying, "Whatever the Greeks did was right."

In 1851 Gibson sustained a great loss in the death of his brother Ben, who had lived with him in Rome for fourteen years. Five years later, when in perfect health, the sculptor was attacked by paralysis, and lived but a short time. He was buried in the English cemetery at Rome, and Lord Lytton wrote the inscription upon his monument. It says: "His native genius strengthened by careful study, he infused the spirit of Grecian art into masterpieces all his own. His character as a man was in unison with his attributes as an artist—beautiful in its simplicity and truthfulness, noble in its dignity and elevation." A monument was also raised to Gibson in the church at Conway.

The master left the models of all his works and the larger part of his fortune to the Royal Academy in London. Among his works are Mars and Cupid, at Chatsworth; Psyche borne by Zephyrs, in the Palazzo Torlonia, at Rome, and a replica at St. Petersburg; Hylas surprised by Nymphs, in the National Gallery, London; Sleeping Shepherd Boy, in the Lenox collection in New York; Cupid disguised as a Shepherd, which he often repeated; portraits of Queen Victoria, at Buckingham Palace and Osborne; Sir Robert Peel, in Westminster Abbey; George Stephenson, in St. George's Hall, Liverpool; eighteen portrait busts; sixteen bas-reliefs of ideal subjects and sixteen others for monuments to the dead. A large part of these are in the chapel of the Liverpool Cemetery. He modelled a bas-relief of Christ blessing little children.

Gibson found his entire happiness in his art. In his own words, he worked on "happily and with ever new pleasure, avoiding evil and with a calm soul, making images, not for worship, but for the love of the beautiful. The beautiful elevates us above the crowd in this world; the ideal, higher—yes, higher still, to celestial beauty, the fountain of all. Socrates said that outward beauty was the sign of the inward; in the life of a man, as in an image, every part should be beautiful."

He was never elated by praise; he was glad of tributes which proved that he was respected, but he received all honors with a simplicity of self-respect which spoke the sincere nobility of his nature.

There are many amusing anecdotes told of his absentmindedness about everything not connected with his art. Miss Harriet Hosmer was his only pupil, and she said of him: "He is a god in his studio, but God help him when he is out of it." He never could master the ins and outs of railroad travelling, and even when put in the right train at the right time he would be sure to get out at the wrong place at the wrong time.

On one of his journeys, when he supposed he was at the right place, he got out and asked the porter to show him the way to the cathedral. In his own account he said: "But the scoundrel would have it there was no cathedral in the place, and at last had the impudence to ask me if I knew where I was. Then I discovered that instead of being in Chichester, where I had a particular appointment with the dean and chapter, I was safe in Portsmouth, where there was no cathedral at all."

The time has not come for any comprehensive estimate of the sculpture of our own country. So many of our artists are still living that it would be unjust to speak of them in connection with those whose work is complete and whose rank is fixed as a matter of history. We have no right to say of one who is still working that he has reached his full height, and even after death a certain period must elapse before the true merit of an artist can be established and his name written in its just place upon the roll of fame. So, in leaving this subject, we will turn again to the land of which we first spoke in considering modern sculpture. In Italy this art has not risen above the elevation to which Canova and Thorwaldsen brought it; for though the last was a Dane, his work may truly be said to belong to the Roman school. We must regard Italy as the land of art in a peculiar sense, but it is easy to understand that under the political misfortunes which she has suffered an advance in artistic life could not be made. Now, when a new spirit is active there, and a freer thought prevails in other directions, may we not believe that in the arts there will be a revival of the best inspiration that has ever come to that home of grace and beauty?

As we glance over the entire civilized world of to-day we find an immense activity in all matters pertaining to the fine arts. Schools and academies are multiplied everywhere, and the interest in works of art is universal. Many a private gentleman is to-day as liberal a patron of artists as were the princes and nobles of the past. It is as if there were a vast crucible in which artists of all nations are being tested, and from this testing of their metal it would seem that much pure gold must come forth.

As we review the history of sculpture from its earliest days to the present, we are compelled to linger lovingly with the Greek or classic art. The period in which it existed was a blessed period for the sculptor. We all know that the best foundation for the excellence of art is the study and reproduction of nature, and in the times of the Greeks there was no reason why the human form, the most beautiful object in nature, should not be used by the sculptor for the decoration of the temple, for the statues of the public square or theatre, or for any position in which sculpture could be used at all. The customs of modern life are opposed to this free exhibition of nude forms, and the difficulties that are thrown in the way of the sculptor by this one fact are almost more than we can realize; and the task of draping a figure and yet showing its shape and indicating its proper proportions and action is one before which even a Greek sculptor would have reason to doubt himself.

On the other hand, when a sculptor does succeed in producing a draped figure which satisfies artistic taste, he has achieved much, and merits the highest praise. A drapery which has gracefully composed masses and flowing lines adds great dignity to the figure of a patriarch or a prophet, and there are numerous subjects, religious and monumental, in which a full, graceful drapery is requisite; but when, as is often the case, the sculptor is required to reproduce the actual costume of the day, what can we look for? The truth is, it has no grace in itself; what, then, must it be when put into the fixedness of bronze or marble? Yet where is the remedy for this? We do not wish to see the men whom we have known and who have moved among us in the dress of other men put into an antique disguise by the sculptor; the incongruity of this is too apparent. Much has been written and said upon these points, and no solution of the difficulty has been found; but it is only just that when we judge of the statues made under such difficulties, we should remember them and give the artist the benefit of the consideration of all the hindrances that exist for him.

Westmacott, in his "Handbook of Sculpture," gives as his "Conclusion" an account of the mechanical methods of the sculptor, and I believe that I can add nothing here which will be of greater use to my readers than a quotation from that author.

"The artist, having invented or conceived his subject, usually begins by making a small sketch of it in some soft and obedient substance, as clay or wax. He can change or alter this at his pleasure till he is satisfied with the lines and masses of the composition, and the proportions it will command of light and shadow. He then proceeds to copy this small but useful sketch, as his guide, in its general arrangement, for his full-sized model. Before commencing the larger model it is necessary to form a sort of skeleton or framework of iron and wood, with joints made of wire, to support the great mass of clay in which the figure or group is now to be executed. This iron frame is firmly fixed upon a turning bench, or banker, so that the model may be constantly moved without difficulty, so as to be seen in different lights and in various points of view. As the clay is likely to shrink as it gets dry, it is necessary occasionally to wet it. This is done by sprinkling water over it with a brush, or from a large syringe, and by laying damp cloths upon it. This is the ordinary process for making a model in the 'round.'

"In modelling in rilievo of either kind, alto or basso, a plane or ground is prepared upon which the design is, or should be, carefully drawn. This may be made of clay floated or laid upon a board, or the ground may be of slate, or even of wood, though the latter is objectionable, in large works especially, from its liability to shrink and to be warped by the action of damp or moisture. The clay is then laid in small quantities upon this ground, the outline being bounded by the drawing, which should be carefully preserved; and the bulk or projection of the figures is regulated by the degree of relief the sculptor desires to give to his design.

"If the final work is to be baked in clay (terra-cotta) there must be no iron or wooden nucleus, as it would interfere with the model drying regularly and uniformly, and probably cause it to crack in shrinking. The model is therefore prepared for drying without such support. When perfectly free from moisture the model is placed in an oven and baked slowly, by which it acquires great hardness and the peculiar brownish-red color seen in these works. This art has been brought to great perfection in England in modern days.

"If the final work is to be in marble, or bronze, or only in plaster, the next process after finishing the model is to mould it, in preparation for its being reproduced in a material that will bear moving about without risk of injury to the design. This is done by covering it with a mixture of plaster of Paris with water, which quickly sets or becomes consistent, forming a hard and thick coating over the whole. The clay is then carefully picked out, and an exact matrix, or form, remains. This is washed clean, and the interior is then brushed over with any greasy substance, usually a composition of soap and oil, to prevent the plaster with which it is next to be filled adhering too firmly to it. The fresh plaster is mixed to about the consistency of cream and then poured into the mould, which is gently moved about till the inner surface is entirely filled or covered, so that all parts may be reached. The thickness or substance of the coating depends upon the size of the work and the degree of strength required.

"When the newly introduced plaster is set the mould is carefully knocked away with chisels, and a true cast appears beneath, giving an entire fac-simile of the original model. Some skill is required in making moulds, in order to provide for projecting parts and under-cuttings; practice alone can teach the artist how to deal with those difficulties when they occur. The above general instructions sufficiently explain the ordinary processes of moulding and casting in plaster.

"In metal-casting or founding great attention must be paid to the strengthening of the parts to bear the weight of the metal; but the principle described in plaster-moulding applies also to the preparation for metal-casting. The mixture of metals to form bronze, the proper heating of the furnace, burning and uniting parts, chasing and other processes of founding cannot be fully described in this place. They belong to a distinct practice, and to be well understood must be studied in the foundry.

"If the model—now reproduced in plaster—is to be copied in marble or stone, the first step is to procure a block of the required size. Two stones, called scale-stones, are then prepared, upon one of which the model or plaster cast is placed, and upon the other the rough block of marble. The fronts of these stones have figured marks or 'scales,' to use the technical term, exactly corresponding. An instrument capable of being easily moved, and which is fitted up with socket-joints and movable arms, is then applied to the scale-stone of the model, and a projecting point or 'needle' is made to touch a particular part of the model itself. This is carefully removed to the scale-stone of the rough block, and the marble is cut away till the 'needle' reaches so far into the block as to correspond with the 'point' taken on the model. A pencil-mark is then made to show that the point is found and registered. This process is repeated all over the model and block, alternately, till a rough copy or shape of the model is entirely made. These 'pointing' machines are not always precisely alike in their forms, but the principle upon which they act is exactly similar in all. The statue being thus rudely shaped out, the block is placed in the hands of a superior workman, called a 'carver,' who, having the plastic model near at hand to refer to, copies the more minute portions of the work by means of chisels, rasps, and files, the pencil-marks made by the 'pointer' showing him the precise situation of the parts and the limit beyond which he is not to penetrate into the marble. When the carver has carried the work as far as the sculptor desires, he proceeds himself to give it the finishing touches, improving the details of form and expression, managing the different effects produced by two different materials—one, the plastic model, being opaque; the other, the marble, being considerably diaphanous; giving the proper varieties of texture in the flesh, hair, and drapery, and, more especially, harmonizing the whole.

"The rich quality of surface that appears more or less in works of marble is produced by rubbing with fine sand or pumice-stone and other substances, and the ancients appear to have completed this part of their work by a process which is called 'circumlitio,' and may mean not only rubbing or polishing, but applying some composition, such as hot wax, to give a soft, glowing color to the surface. Many of the ancient statues certainly exhibit the appearance of some foreign substance having slightly penetrated the surface of the work to about one eighth of an inch, and its color is of a warmer tint than the marble below it; a process, be it observed, quite distinct from and not to be confounded with polychromy, or what is usually understood by painting sculpture with various tints, in imitation of the natural color of the complexion, hair, and eyes. Its object, probably, with the ancients as with modern sculptors, has been simply to get rid of the glare and freshness of appearance that is sometimes objected to in a recently finished work, by giving a general warmth to the color of the marble."

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