A BOOK CASE BY ANDRÉ CHARLES BOULE
One last circumstance enabled Le Brun to make himself absolutely indispensable to the king’s glory. On February 6, 1661, the first floor of the small gallery of the Louvre was almost totally destroyed by fire. Our artist was commissioned to renew its decoration; he made of this a monument to the glory of Apollo, the god of the sun, a delicate attention which enabled him to indulge in more or less delicate allusions with his brush to the king himself. All the works—which, for that matter, were never finished under Louis XIV: the works at the other royal residences, and particularly at Versailles, thrust the Galerie d’Apollon into the background—were directed solely by Le Brun: he got together a little army of sculptors and decorators, among whom we recall the names of Gaspard and Balthazar de Marsy, François Girardon, Thomas Regnauldin, Monnoyer, the brothers Lemoyne and Ballin, whose fortunes were thenceforth closely linked with those of the first painter to the king. ¶ The letters patent of Louis XIV instituting the ‘royal manufactory of crown furniture’ are dated November 1667, but they sanction a state of things that existed as far back as 1663. I shall analyse briefly this deed of foundation, most of whose dispositions it is very important for us to know, showing as they do how the machinery of administration was capable of being simplified in the seventeenth century. Let me here remind my readers that the name of ‘Gobelins,’ which to-day serves to designate the tapestries issuing from the famous manufactory, dates back to the fifteenth century. At that time a dyer called Jean Gobelin, a native of Rheims, settled on the banks of the little river Bièvre. His trade prospered so well that his name was given to his house and workshop, near to which came to live Marc de Comano and François de la Planche, the Flemish upholsterers installed in Paris by Henry IV. In 1662 Colbert joined the old house of the Gobelins to the workshops of the descendants of Comano and La Planche; and on these premises was installed the new manufactory which was destined to perpetuate the memory of the name of the humble dyer of the fifteenth century.
(To be continued.)
THE EXHIBITION OF GREEK ART AT THE BURLINGTON FINE ARTS CLUB
❧ WRITTEN BY CECIL SMITH ❧
EVERY man of taste will congratulate himself that England is the seat and the refuge of the arts; and that so many genuine remains of ancient sculpture are present in our cabinets.’ So wrote James Dallaway at the beginning of last century, and, although some may think that the arts have now somewhat altered their habits, there is no doubt that this country still remains pre-eminent in the wealth of its private collections of Greek antiquities. If proof were needed, this admirable little collection would afford it. When the scheme was first mooted of a Greek exhibition at the Burlington Club, a moderate scepticism was not altogether unnatural. The former attempt in 1888 had not been exactly an enthusiastic success, and somehow the club itself appeared to be a somewhat stern soil for so tender a plant. A society of dilettanti, with grave and reverend opinions upon every conceivable form of bigotry and virtue, might be expected either to adopt an attitude of cold aloofness or to overlay its offspring with excessive and even (may one whisper it?) injudicious appreciation. But we never know where a blessing may light, and, if one may judge from the assiduous attention the exhibition has received, not only from the sternest critics of the club, but from the smart ladies of at least two capitals, a new era has dawned for Greek art; if it only lasts long enough, intrepid explorers will be found invading Bloomsbury, and the British Museum will cease to offer cool solitudes for the peaceful reflection of the philosopher and student. ¶ For the general public who have little time or inclination for long museum galleries, this sort of exhibition has much to recommend it; the intelligent public likes to have its culture prescribed for it in tabloid form—a small dose, unmistakably potent, which can be easily digested between meals. To this form of requirement the Burlington Club is admirably adapted: a single room, with just enough space for arranging a few good things. Mrs. Strong and her committee are so much to be congratulated that it seems ungracious to grumble; but personally I should have preferred to turn out about half of the less fine objects. It was difficult, no doubt; the susceptibilities of lenders are not lightly to be trifled with; but Greek art, more than most things, needs plenty of breathing space, and the exhibition would have gained by a judicious depletion. ¶ I think it was M. Piot who used to carry always in his waistcoat pocket a few of the choicest Greek coins (those being the most portable forms of the best art), as he said, ‘to correct his eye’; that was undoubtedly a true instinct. When all is said and done, Greek art will always serve as an admirable corrective—within its limits of course, for painting is obviously excluded—and that is at least some comfort in these impressionist days, when new creeds lie about like leaves in Vallombrosa. ¶ I overheard one day a visitor to this exhibition angrily resenting the suggestion that Greek art at its best could be compared for a moment with the master works of the middle ages. It is a large question, which there is no space here to argue, only I do not think it is so easily dismissed as the hasty critic supposed. I should even be prepared to stand by some of the objects here exhibited. After all, it is in many cases the same plant growing up under differing conditions of time and circumstance. Some day perhaps the club may be persuaded to try the experiment of showing side by side some of the finest parallel achievements of antiquity and the three centuries of mediaeval Europe.
PLATE I
FRAGMENT OF THE FRIEZE OF THE PARTHENON, BELONGING TO MR T. D. BOTTERELL