By degrees I felt my strength returning, and my heart expanded with hope. Delightful artistic thoughts, that had so long lain dormant, sprang into life within me, one by one, like the first leaves in April; and Will, precious gift, mysterious, immortal power, again took and held its empire over me, and pronounced itself. During the days just passed, the smiling country, the glorious sun, the terrible beauty of the sea, the joys of men, the creations of art, and (sad to say) even the affectionate care of my dear ones, were irksome to me; and now, with pleasure, slowly and by degrees I began to feel a desire and thirst to enjoy these good things, thinking about them and loving them with more intensity of understanding and hearty sincerity. Every day there was a new excursion to be made: Capodimonte, with its immense park and rich gallery; that beautiful walk, the Strada Maria Teresa, now Vittorio Emanuele; the Certosa of San Martino, where one enjoys a view of the whole city, of the sea and all the Campagna-Felice, of Vesuvius, of Monte Somma, of Portici, Resina, Capri, and Nisida. Then I felt a desire to see the Royal Museum, unique in the world for its great riches in ancient bronzes; the Flora, Venus Victrix, Callipige, Aristides, the equestrian statues of the Balbi, father and son; the seated Mercury; the Sleeping Faun, and a thousand other statues, big and little; busts, in marble and in bronze, of exquisite beauty, all or almost all of them having been dug out of the ashes of Herculaneum and Pompeii. On certain days, or I should rather say at certain moments, a sight of these works of sculpture sets one on fire, and fills one with courage and a strong desire to do something; but at other times it gives one a feeling of dismay, discouragement, and fear that cannot be described. This difference of impression deserves to be examined a little, and he who is bored must here skip; the young artist, however, I am certain, will follow me attentively. I have made a promise to myself not to leave these papers as food for mere curiosity, for, seriously speaking, there should be no satisfaction in that; whereas a little value and profit will be found by every one who has the patience to follow me.
EXCURSIONS—THE ROYAL MUSEUM.
THE ACADEMICIANS AND NATURALISTS.
Yes, dear friends, sometimes, in seeing certain works of art, one burns with enthusiasm, with a fire, a desire to do, that is really marvellous, and we ease our minds with the conviction that this is a sign of our strength. Illusions, dear sirs—illusions! To the eyes of the artist all works of art ought to be the occasion of examination and serious hesitating thought; and when these outbursts of immoderate confidence in ourselves occur, they are a sign that our sight is obscured by pride, or that we are not able to comprehend the degree of beauty in such works, and consequently the difficulties that have been overcome to produce them. We must correct ourselves of both these defects, and learn to respect even mediocre things, as by this method we arrive at the discovery of something good even in these, if not as a whole, at least in their intention and germ, and this will always be something gained. As a young man, I have found myself laughing compassionately at some of the most beautiful works of art, both ancient and modern, and this merely because my natural pride had been excited by light or false praise. The complacency that we feel in ourselves and our works comes in part from a species of exclusiveness and belief in the infallibility of the principles we profess. Not that I would counsel any disloyalty to the principles that are our guides in art—no, indeed, for we must keep entirely true to them; but it is a very different thing to despise all other schools that are removed from ours. For instance, why despise the Academicians, who are tenacious of the study of antique statues, in order to keep within bounds the turbid torrent of the veristi, who in their turn, through their coarse adherence to nature, lose the idea of the beautiful? Let us, on the contrary, respect them for their intentions and motives, at the same time that we make certain reservations as to the final consequences that would result from this distrust and refashioning of nature. The fault of the Academic school lies in this, that instead of saying, "Study the antique; look how well they knew how to choose from life and how to interpret it," they say, "Here, copy these casts; apart from them there is no health or safety for you. Nature is imperfect; you must improve on it, and, imitating the Grecian and Roman statues, you will learn to purge nature from all her imperfections." So saying, the intention, which is good, is spoiled by its application of exaggerated rules. But, I repeat, the intention is good; therefore let us look to that whilst we reject its application. On the other hand, why should we despise the naturalisti in all that they have that is good—I mean, in their axioms and rules—which, in short, putting aside amplification and exaggeration, means the imitation always in everything of nature? We have always accepted and insisted upon the imitation of nature, that is of beautiful nature, putting aside that exaggeration which leads to folly, absurdity, and licence of conception, and to ugliness of form, detail, and minutiæ.
THE NATURALISTS AND IDEALISTS.
The same may be said of the mystics, the purists, colourists, lovers of effect and barocco, &c. Let us take the good where we can find it: not, indeed, make a mixture, a medley, as some have been fantastic enough to imagine, by which we should arrive directly at eclecticism, which is the most foolish thing in this world; but putting our minds into the study of all these schools, we shall be able to find good reasons for their teachings. Separating them from excess and exaggeration, we shall find ourselves in a wider, clearer, higher atmosphere, and the impressions that we receive from works of art will not produce despondency or rejoicing, our judgments will be more temperate and just, and our own work will be done quicker and better. This does not mean, indeed, that we are to remain indifferent before works of art. Alas for the man who is indifferent! for the artist who before some work of art stands cold and without feeling! A young man who is ardent, boasting, and proud, can correct himself, can be trained by difficulties and instances, by emulation or jeering. The timid will become animated, and take courage, moving with measured and cautious steps on his arduous journey, and, by reason of his timid, gentle character, conciliate the goodwill of his masters and fellow-students; but the indifferent and cold of nature has too much the air of a simpleton or an arrogant person, and he is fled from and left in his stupid ignorance.
AN ARTISTIC VISIT.
And here, gentle reader, is one of these happy mortals who live their little day in dreamland. A person came to see me one day bringing with him a young man who might have borne a quarter of a century weight on his shoulders. He was of medium height, with broad shoulders, bent slightly, owing, perhaps, to his being twenty-five years of age; he had a black beard, bronzed complexion, and wandering eyes. He looked all about him and saw nothing. I say that he saw nothing, for he paid the same attention to my cat as he did to the head of the Colossus of Monte Cavallo, which stood on a stand in the room, and to my "Abel" as he did to me or my stool. He spoke no Italian, not even French; but the person who accompanied him, and who was competent in all respects, spoke for him, or rather of him, for the young man himself never opened his mouth to utter a word, although he kept it half open even when he was looking at the cat. This very polite person said—
"You will forgive me, Signor Professor, if I take you away from your occupations for a few brief moments; but I could not forego the pleasure of regaling you with a visit from, and making you acquainted with, this young sculptor, who is on his way to Rome, where he goes, not, indeed, to perfect himself as an artist, but to practise the profession which he has so nobly and splendidly illustrated by his genius. As he is undoubtedly born to fame, and the whole world will talk of him, I wished to bring him to you, and make you really acquainted, that you might some day be able to say, 'I have seen him and spoken with him.'"
A GENIUS.