The Gallery of Portraits: with Memoirs. Volume 3 (of 7)

by Arthur Thomas Malkin

After finishing a model of the colossal statue of the King of Naples, Canova received a flattering invitation to visit the court of Bonaparte, then First Consul; and in obedience to the wishes even of the Pope he proceeded to Paris. His conversations with Bonaparte during this and a subsequent visit have been preserved; and it appears that he lost no opportunity of representing the fallen and impoverished state of Italy (the consequence of the French invasion) to the arbiter of its destinies, whom he dexterously reminded of his Pisan or Florentine origin. His recommendation of the arts in Rome was at least successful, for soon after his return thither ample funds were forwarded by command of Bonaparte for the revival and extension of the Academy of St. Luke, of which Canova was naturally appointed the Director, and for prosecuting the excavations in the Forum. When Canova, in one of his visits to Paris, ventured to ask for the restitution of the statues that had been taken from Rome, the French ruler replied, that “they might dig for more.”

Having modelled the bust of Bonaparte, Canova returned to Italy to complete the colossal statue of Napoleon, now in the possession of the Duke of Wellington. In this work, which he considered an heroic representation, he elevated the forms to his highest conceptions of an abstract style, and, probably in imitation of the statue of Pompey, exhibited the figure naked. The censures which were passed on this bold attempt were most satisfactorily answered by the celebrated Visconti. In Canova’s second visit to Paris, Napoleon himself remarked, that his statue should have been in the ordinary dress, to which Canova replied, “Our art, like all the fine arts, has its sublime language; this language in sculpture is the naked, and such drapery as conveys a general idea.” The extensive monument for Vienna was next finished, and Canova repaired to the Austrian capital to see it put together. The artist’s general deviation from the style of sculpture practised by the ancients, may be illustrated by this work, admirable as it is for its details. The real aperture, or door of the tomb, into which the procession is entering, the literal reality of the steps, the accurately-imitated drapery, and other circumstances, are all nearer to nature than the flesh, the reverse of the principle of the Greeks. The partial or absolute truth of the accessories thus reminds us that colour and life are wanting in the figures—a discovery the spectator should never be permitted to make. Again, the indistinctness which must exist more or less in an assemblage of figures similar in colour (the unavoidable condition of the art), far from being obviated by indiscriminate imitation, requires rather to be counteracted by those judicious conventions which, in some measure, represent the varieties of nature, and constitute the style of sculpture. The Venus for Florence, (afterwards more than once repeated,) and the statues of the Princess Borghese, and the mother of Napoleon, were the next works of Canova. The attitude and treatment of the last seem to have been inspired by the statue of Agrippina; it was completely successful in Paris. After these, the well-known Dancing Nymphs occupied him, and seem to have been favourite works of his own. Although these statues excited more attention in Paris than perhaps any of his former works, and raised his reputation more than ever, they have since been very generally censured as meretricious in their taste. The portrait statues of the Princess Borghese and Madame Letitia, invited many other commissions of the same kind, which it would be long to recount. The monument of Alfieri, and the statues of Hector and Ajax, the latter admirable for their details, but with little of the antique character in their general treatment, were successively produced, together with many busts of individuals and of ideal personages. An opportunity was soon after afforded the sculptor, in a statue of Paris for the Empress Josephine, of exhibiting his best powers to the French critics. He was perhaps better satisfied with this than with any other single figure he had done. It was much admired when exhibited in the Louvre, and Quatremère de Quincy published an eulogium on it.

In 1810, Canova again proceeded to the French capital to receive the commands of Napoleon, and modelled the bust of Maria Louisa. The statue of the Empress, as Concord, and of the Princess Eliza, in the character of a Muse, were finished on his return to Rome. The group of the Graces, and a statue of Peace, were next completed. The colossal horse, first intended to bear Napoleon, and then Murat, was finally surmounted with the statue of Charles III. of Naples, and placed in that city. A recumbent nymph, Canova’s next work, was succeeded by one of his most extraordinary productions, the Theseus and Centaur, a group now in Vienna, where it is placed in a temple built for its reception. Opinions are divided between the merits of this work and of his Hercules and Lichas.

In 1815, when the Allies occupied Paris, Canova was sent there by Pope Pius VII. on an honourable and interesting mission, namely, to intercede with the French government and the invading powers, for the restitution of the works of art which had been torn from Rome by the treaty of Tolentino. The French ministry resisted his application, and it was ultimately by the decision of the Allied Powers, and literally under the protection of foreign bayonets, that Canova removed the objects in question from the Louvre. The gratitude of the Pope to the British government on this occasion led to Canova’s visit to London. The honours he received in England from George IV., then Prince Regent, from the nobility, and the professors of the arts, perhaps even exceeded the homage which had been paid him on the continent; and it ought not to be forgotten, that the great Flaxman, who was among the warmest in welcoming him, wrote a letter to Canova on his return to Rome, which did honour to both, and in which he says, “You will be always a great example in the arts, not only in Italy, but in Europe.”

Canova’s return to Rome, in 1816, was little short of a triumph. The Pope created him Marquis of Ischia, with an annual pension of three thousand crowns; but the noble-minded artist divided this sum, till his death, among the institutions of the arts, in premiums for the young and in aids for the old and decayed. Long was his benevolence to rising artists the general theme of gratitude and regret; and in every case of ill-rewarded industry, or fancied oppression, the exclamation was, “Ah! if Canova were alive!”

The statue of Washington; the Stuart monument in St. Peter’s; the group of Mars and Venus, which was done for George IV.; the Sleeping Nymphs; the recumbent Magdalen, executed for the Earl of Liverpool, were successively produced at this highly-honoured period of his life; and a third monument in St. Peter’s, viz., that of Pope Pius VI.

The last great act of Canova’s life was the foundation of a magnificent church at Possagno, the first stone of which was laid by him July 11, 1819. The monument for the Marquis Salsa Berio, sent to Naples, the figures of which are in basso relievo; seven mezzi relievi for the metopes of the frieze of his church at Possagno, the design of which combines the forms of the Parthenon and the Pantheon; and the beautiful group of the Pietà, or dead Christ in the lap of the Virgin at the foot of the cross, accompanied by the Magdalen, intended for the altar of the same church, were the last works of Canova.

In 1822, he visited Possagno, partly to see the progress of the building, and still more on account of his infirm state of health. After a short stay in the neighbourhood, his illness increased so much that he was forced to repair to Venice for medical assistance; but his recovery was hopeless, and he died October 13, 1822, in the 65th year of his age. Gratitude was among the prominent virtues of Canova, and among his legacies, it is pleasing to observe that the sons of Faliero, his earliest patron, were remembered. He was buried at Possagno; but his funeral obsequies were celebrated throughout Italy, and a statue to his memory was afterwards placed in the Academy of St. Luke, at Rome.

Ample details of Canova’s life, his precepts on art, and conversations with Napoleon, will be found in the account of him by Missirini: for a catalogue and eulogy of his works, Cicognara’s ‘Storia della Scultura’ may be consulted. The memoir of him by that nobleman, together with his own ‘Thoughts on the Arts,’ taken down and recorded by Missirini, will be found in the splendid edition of Canova’s works, engraved in outline by Moses.