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.
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.
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.
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.
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."