The peculiar abilities of Praxiteles were admirably displayed in the Venus of Cnidus, which, withthe exception of the Olympian Jupiter of Phidias, has received higher and more unqualified eulogiums from ancient writers, than any other work of Grecian art. These two great artists may therefore be considered as standing at the head of their respective schools; Praxiteles, the delicate and beautiful—Phidias, the grand and sublime.
Praxiteles was eminent for his works, both in bronze and marble, but he seems to have had the highest reputation for his skill in the latter. Among those in bronze, Pliny and Pausanias mention a statue of Bacchus; and one of a Satyr so excellent, that it was calledPeriboetos, or the Celebrated. He also made a statue of Venus; a statue of a Matron weeping; and one of a Courtesan laughing, believed to be a portrait of the celebrated Thespian courtesan, Phryne. His Apollo Sauroctonos (or the Lizard Killer), was the finest of his works in bronze, and was greatly distinguished for purity of style, and graceful beauty of form. In the Vatican there is a well-authenticated marble copy of this work, which is justly considered one of the greatest treasures of that storehouse of art. Among the works in marble by Praxiteles, the famous Venus of Cnidus takes the preëminence.
Praxiteles executed two statues of Venus—the one draped, and the other naked. The people ofCoös chose the former, as the most delicate; but the Cnidians immediately purchased the latter. This work is mentioned by Lucian as the masterpiece of Praxiteles; and it is also the subject of numerous epigrams in the Greek Anthology. Its fame was so great that travelers visited Cnidus on purpose to see it. The original work was destroyed at Constantinople, in the fifth century, in the dreadful fire which consumed so many of the admirable monuments of art, collected in that city.
Pausanias relates that the beautiful Phryne, whose influence over Praxiteles seems to have been considerable, was anxious to possess a work from his chisel, and when desired to choose for herself, not knowing which of his exquisite works to select, devised the following expedient. She commanded a servant to hasten to him, and tell him that his workshop was in flames, and that with few exceptions, his works had already perished. Praxiteles, not doubting the truth of the announcement, rushed out in the greatest anxiety and alarm, exclaiming, “all is lost, if mySatyr and Cupidare not saved!” The object of Phryne was answered—she confessed her stratagem, and chose the Cupid.
Pliny mentions two figures of Cupids as among the finest works of Praxiteles, one of which he ranks on an equality with the Venus of Cnidus. It was made of Parian marble. There is an exquisite antique Cupid in the Vatican, supposed to be a copy of the Cupid of Phryne.
According to Lucian, Nicomedes, King of Bithynia, was so captivated with the Venus of Cnidus, that he offered to pay a debt of the city, amounting to one hundred talents, (about one hundred thousand dollars) on condition of their giving up to him this celebrated statue; but the citizens, to their honor, refused to part with it on any terms, regarding it as the principal glory of the state.
Phidias, the most renowned sculptor of antiquity, was born about B. C. 490. Quintilian calls him “the Sculptor of the Gods,” and others, “the Æschylus of Sculpture,” from the character of grandeur and sublimity in his works. The times in which he lived were peculiarly favorable to the development of his genius. He was employed upon great public works during the administration of Cimon, and subsequently, when Pericles attained the height of his power, Phidias seems to have been consulted in regard to the conduct of all the works in sculpture, as well as architecture. Plutarch says, “It was Phidias who had the direction of these works, although great architects and skillful sculptors were employed in erecting them.” Among the most remarkable objects upon which his talents wereexercised, the Parthenon, or Temple of Minerva, claims preëminence. It was built by Callicrates and Ictinus, under the superintendence of Phidias. Within the temple, Phidias executed his celebrated statue, in gold and ivory, of Minerva, represented standing erect, holding in one hand a spear, and in the other a statue of Victory. The helmet was highly decorated, and surmounted by a sphinx; the naked parts were of ivory; the eyes of precious stones; and the drapery throughout was of gold. It is said there were forty talents weight of this metal used in the statue. The people, being desirous of having all the glory of the work, prohibited Phidias from inscribing his name upon it; but he contrived to introduce his own portrait as an old bald-headed man throwing a stone, in the representation of the combat between the Athenians and Amazons, which decorated the shield. A likeness of Pericles was also introduced in the same composition. The exterior of the Parthenon was enriched with admirable sculptures, many of which were from the hand of Phidias, and all of them executed under his direction. A portion of these, termed the Elgin marbles, from their having been taken to England by the Earl of Elgin, are now in the British Museum. They have been highly commended by the most excellent judges; and the eminent sculptor Canova, after visiting London, declared that “he should have been well repaid forhis journey to England, had he seen nothing but the Elgin marbles.”
The comprehensive character of the genius of this preëminent sculptor, is well attested by his contest with Alcamenes. It was intended to place a statue of Minerva on a column of great height in the city of Athens; and both these artists were employed to produce images for the purpose, which were to be chosen by the citizens. When the statues were completed, the universal preference was given to the work of Alcamenes, which appeared elegantly finished, while that of Phidias appeared rude and sketchy, with coarse and ill-proportioned features. However, at the request of Phidias, the statues were successively exhibited on the elevation for which they were intended, when all the minute beauties of his rival’s work completely disappeared, together with the seeming defects of his own; and the latter, though previously despised, seemed perfect in its proportions, and was surveyed with wonder and delight.
The enemies of Pericles, with the view of implicating that statesman, accused Phidias of having misapplied part of the gold entrusted to him for the statue of Minerva, and desired that he should be brought to trial. The sculptor, however, by theprudent advice of Pericles, had executed the work in such a manner that the gold might easily be removed, and it was ordered by Pericles to be carefully weighed before the people. As might have been expected, this test was not required, and the malicious accusation was overthrown. They then declared the sculptor guilty of sacrilege in placing his own portrait upon the shield of Minerva; and some writers state that he was thrown into prison; others, that he was banished.
Phidias fled from Athens to Elis, where he was employed to execute a costly statue of the Olympian Jupiter, for the temple in Altis. This statue was the most renowned of all the works of Phidias. It was of colossal dimensions, being sixty feet in height; and seated on a throne; the head was crowned with olive; the right hand held a small statue of Victory, in gold and ivory; the left hand grasped a golden sceptre of exquisite workmanship, surmounted by an eagle; the sandals and mantle were also of the same material, the latter sculptured with every description of flowers and animals; the pedestal was also of gold, ornamented with a number of deities in bas-relief. In the front of the throne was a representation of the Sphynx carrying off the Theban youths; beneath these, the Fate of Niobe and her Children; and, on the pedestal joining the feet, the Contest of Hercules with the Amazons, embracing twenty-nine figures, among which was one intended to represent Theseus. On the hinder feet of the throne were four Victories, as treading in the dance. On the back of the throne, above the head of the god, were figures of the Hours and Graces; on the seat, Theseus warring with the Amazons, and Lions of gold. Its base, which was of gold, represented various groups of Divinities, among which were Jupiter and Juno, with the Graces leading on Mercury and Vesta; Cupid receiving Venus from the Sea; Apollo with Diana; Minerva with Hercules; and, below these, Neptune, and the Moon in her Chariot. On the base of the statue, was the inscription,Phidias, the son of Charmidas, made me.—Quintilian observes that this unparalleled work even added new feelings to the religion of Greece. It was without a rival in ancient times, all writers speaking of it as a production that none would even dare to imitate. There is a tradition connected with this celebrated work. Phidias, after the completion of his design, is said to have prayed Jupiter to favor him with some intimation of his approbation, whereupon a flash of lightning darted into the temple, and struck the pavement before him. This was hailed as a proof of divine favor, and a brazen urn or vase was placed upon the spot, which Pausanias mentions as existing in his time.
Phidias, being asked how he could conceive that air of divinity which he had expressed in the faceof the Olympian Jupiter, replied that he had copied it from Homer’s celebrated description of him. All the personal strokes in that description relate to the hair, the eye-brows, and the beard: and indeed to these it is that the best heads of Jupiter owe most of their dignity; for though we have now a mean opinion of beards, yet all over the east a full beard carries the idea of majesty along with it; and the Grecians had a share of this Oriental notion, as may be seen in their busts of Jupiter, and the heads of kings on Greek medals. But the Romans, though they held beards in great esteem, even as far down as the sacking of Rome by the Goths, yet in their better ages held them in contempt, and spoke disrespectfully of their bearded forefathers. They were worn only by poor philosophers, and by those who were under disgrace or misfortune. For this reason Virgil, in copying Homer’s striking description of Jupiter, has omitted all the picturesque strokes on the beard, hair, and eye-brows; for which Macrobius censures him, and Scaliger extols him. The matter might have been compounded between them, by allowing that Virgil’s description was the most proper for the Romans, and Homer’s the noblest among the Greeks.
Apollodorus, one of the most famous of the ancient Greek painters, was born at Athens B. C. 440. Pliny commences his history of Greek painting withthis artist, terming him “the first luminary of the art.” He also says of him, “I may well and truly say that none before him brought the pencil into a glorious name and especial credit.” The two most famous works of Apollodorus, were, a Priest in the act of Devotion, and Ajax Oileus Wrecked, both remarkable, not only in coloring and chiaro-scuro, but in invention and composition. These paintings were preserved at Pergamos in the time of Pliny, six hundred years after they were executed. Apollodorus was the first who attained the perfect imitation of the effects of light and shadow invariably seen in nature. If we may depend upon the criticisms of ancient writers, the works of this master were not inferior in this respect to those of the most distinguished moderns. His pictures riveted the eye, not merely from their general coloring, but also from a powerful and peculiar effect of light and shade, on which account he was called “the Shadower.”
This great architect, who flourished about A. D. 100, was born at Damascus. By his great genius he acquired the favor of the emperor Trajan, for whom he executed many works. He built the great Square of Trajan, to effect which, he leveled a hill, one hundred and forty-four feet high; in the centre he raised the famous column, of the same height as the hill that had been removed, which commemorated the victories of Trajan, and served as a monument to that victorious Emperor. Around the Square, he erected the most beautiful assemblage of buildings then known in the world, among which was the triumphal arch commemorative of Trajan’s victories. The marble pavements of this Square are fifteen feet below the streets of modern Rome. Apollodorus also erected a college, a theatre appropriated to music, the Basilica Nepia, a celebrated library, the Baths of Trajan, aqueducts, and other important works at Rome. His most famous work was a stone bridge over the Danube, in Lower Hungary, near Zeverino. It was one mile and a half long, three hundred feet high, forty feet wide, and was built upon twenty piers and twenty-two arches. Its extremities were defended by two fortresses. Trajan had it constructed to facilitate the passage of his troops, but his successor dismantled it, fearing that the barbarians would use itagainst the Romans.
This column is one of the most celebrated monuments of antiquity. Its height, including the pedestal and statue, is one hundred and forty-four English feet. It was erected in the centre of the forum of Trajan, and was dedicated to that emperor by the senate and people of Rome in commemoration of his decisive victory over the Dacians. It is of the Doric order, and its shaft is constructed of thirty-four pieces of Greek marble, hollowed out in thecentre for the stairs, and joined together with cramps of bronze. For elegance of proportion, beauty of style, and for simplicity and dexterity of sculpture, it is accounted the finest column in the world. The sculptures on the pedestal are master-pieces of Roman art. The shaft is embellished with bassi-rilievi, representing the expedition of Trajan against the Dacians, which run spirally, twenty-three times around the column, and which gradually increase in size, so that those at the top appear to the spectator, to be of the same size as those at the bottom. A spiral stair-case, of one hundred and eighty-five steps, runs up the interior, and receives light from sixty-three openings in the shaft. A gold medal, struck in commemoration of the completion of the column, shows that it was formerly surmounted by a statue of Trajan, holding in one hand a sceptre, and in the other a globe, in which were deposited the ashes of that prince. Pope Sixtus V. placed a statue of St. Peter, by the Cavaliere Fontana, in the place of that of Trajan, which had been destroyed some centuries before. A greater absurdity than placing the statue of a peaceful apostle over the sculptured representation of the Dacian war, can scarcely be conceived.
Apollodorus fell a victim to the envy of Adrian, the successor of Trajan, who himself dabbled in architecture, as well as the other arts. According toPliny, he ridiculed the proportions of the temple of Rome and Venus, which had been built from Adrian’s designs, saying that “if the goddesses who were placed in it should be disposed to stand up, they would be in danger of breaking their heads against the roof, or if they should wish to go out, they could not,” which so incensed the Emperor, that he banished the architect, and had him put to death. Another account is, that as Trajan was conversing about some of the buildings, Adrian, who was present, made some remarks, on which the architect said, “Go and paint pumpkins, for you know nothing about these matters,” an affront which Adrian never forgot, and avenged by the death of the architect when he became Emperor. What a return to the architect of Trajan’s Column!
The talents of this eccentric genius were preëminent in burlesque and satire. He therefore chiefly devoted himself to delineate the calamities and crimes of private life, and the vices and follies of the age. He portrayed vice as leading to disgrace and misery, while he represented virtue as conducting to happiness and honor. His series of the “Harlot’s Progress,” the “Rake’s Progress,” “Marriage à la Mode,” gained him great reputation; and the prints which he engraved and published from them, although rude specimens of the art, met with an enormous sale, greatly to his own emolument. LordOrford characterizes him as a painter of comedy. “If catching the manners and follies of the age, ‘living as they rise’; if general satire on vices and ridicules, familiarized by strokes of nature, and heightened by wit, and the whole animated by just and proper expressions of the persons, be comedy, Hogarth composed comedy as much as Moliere.” Others have better characterized him as a great moral preacher. Alderman Boydell was accustomed to say that every merchant, shopkeeper, mechanic, and others who had youth in their employment, ought to have some of Hogarth’s prints framed and hung up for their admonition.
Hogarth was apprenticed, at an early age, to an engraver of arms on plate. While thus engaged, his inclination for painting was manifested in a remarkable manner. Going out one day with some companions on an excursion to Highgate, the weather being very hot, they entered a public house, where before long a quarrel occurred. One of the disputants struck the other on the head with a quart pot, which cut him severely; and the blood running down the man’s face, gave him a singular appearance, which, with the contortions of his countenance, presented Hogarth with a laughable subject. Taking out his pencil, he sketched the scene in such a truthful and ludicrous manner, that order and good feeling were at once restored.
Hogarth, in his early career, was once greatly distressed to raise the paltry sum of twenty shillings, to satisfy his landlady, who endeavored to enforce payment. To be revenged on her, he painted her an ugly and malicious hag, her features so truthfully drawn, that every person who had seen her at once recognized the individual. Woe betided the man who incurred his ire; he crucified him without mercy. In his controversy with Wilkes, he caricatured him in his print of “The Times;” and Churchill, the poet, he represented as a canonical bear, with a ragged staff, and a pot of porter.
It was Hogarth’s custom to sketch on the spot any remarkable face that struck him. A gentleman being once with him at the Bedford Coffee House, observing him to draw something on his thumb nail, inquired what he was doing, when he was shown the likeness of a comical looking person sitting in the company.
Hogarth married the only daughter of Sir James Thornhill, who was dissatisfied with the match. Soon after this period, he began his Harlot’s Progress, and was advised by Lady Thornhill to place some of the prints in the way of his father-in-law. Accordingly, early one morning, Mrs. Hogarth conveyed several of them into the dining room, when Sir James inquired whence they came? Being told, he said, “Very well, very well: the man who can produce representations like these, can also maintain a wife without a portion.” He soon after became both reconciled and generous to the young couple.
The “Harlot’s Progress” was the first work which rendered the genius of Hogarth conspicuously known. Above twelve hundred names were entered in his subscription book. It was dramatized, and represented on the stage. Fans were likewise embellished with miniature representations of all the six plates.
A nobleman, not remarkable for personal beauty, once sat to Hogarth for his portrait, which the artist executed in his happiest manner, but with rigid fidelity. The peer, disgusted at this exact counterpart of his dear self, did not feel disposed to pay for the picture. After some time had elapsed, and numerous unsuccessful attempts had been made to obtain payment, the painter resorted to an expedient which he knew must alarm the nobleman’s pride. He sent him the following card:—
“Mr. Hogarth’s dutiful respects to Lord ——. Finding he does not mean to have the picture drawn for him, Lord —— is informed again of Mr. Hogarth’s pressing necessity for money. If, therefore, his Lordship does not send for it in three days, it will be disposed of, with the addition of a tail and some other appendages, to Mr. Pau, the famous wild beast man; Mr. H. having given that gentleman a conditional promise of it for an exhibition picture, on his Lordship’s refusal.” This intimation had the desired effect; the picture was paid for, and committed to the flames.
Hogarth was once applied to, by a certain nobleman, to paint on his staircase a representation of the Destruction of Pharaoh’s host in the Red Sea. In attempting to fix upon the price, Hogarth became disgusted with the miserly conduct of his patron, who was unwilling to give more than half the real value of the picture. At last, out of all patience, he agreed to his terms. In two or three days the picture was ready. The nobleman, surprised at such expedition, immediately called to examine it, and found the space painted all over red.
“Zounds!” said the purchaser, “what have you here? I ordered a scene of the Red Sea.”
“The Red Sea you have,” said the painter.
“But where are the Israelites?”
“They are all gone over.”
“And where are the Egyptians?”
“They are all drowned.”
The miser’s confusion could only be equalled by the haste with which he paid his bill. The biter was bit.
Hogarth treated those who sat for their portraits with a courtesy which is not always practiced, even now, in England. “When I sat to Hogarth,” says Mr. Cole, “the custom of giving vails to servants was not discontinued. On taking leave of the painter at the door, I offered his servant a small gratuity; but the man politely refused it, telling me it would be as much as the loss of his place if his master knew it. This was so uncommon and so liberal in a man of Hogarth’s profession, at that time, that it much struck me, as nothing of the kind had happened to me before.” Nor is it likely that such a thing would happen again: Sir Joshua Reynolds gave his servant six pounds annually as wages, and offered him one hundred pounds a year for the door.
Hogarth was one of the most absent minded of men. Soon after he set up his carriage, he had occasion to pay a visit to the Lord Mayor. When he went, the weather was fine; but he was detained by business till a violent shower of rain came on. Being let out of the mansion house by a different door from the one at which he had entered, he immediately began to call for a hackney coach. Not being able to procure one, he braved the storm, and actually reached his house in Leicester Fields, without bestowing a thought on his carriage, till his wife,astonished to see him so wet, asked him where he had left it.
Hogarth disposed of this celebrated picture by lottery. There were eighteen hundred and forty-three chances subscribed for; he gave the remaining one hundred and sixty-seven tickets to the Foundling Hospital, and the same night delivered the picture to the governors.
Hogarth dedicated his picture of the March to Finchley to George II. The following dialogue is said to have ensued, on this occasion, between the sovereign and the nobleman in waiting:
“Pray, who is this Hogarth?”
“A painter, my liege.”
“I hate painting, and poetry too; neither the one nor the other ever did any good.”
“The picture, please your majesty, must undoubtedly be considered as a burlesque.”
“What! burlesque a soldier? He deserves to be picketed for his insolence. Take his trumpery out of my sight.”
Hogarth supported himself by the sale of his prints: the prices of his pictures kept pace neitherwith his fame nor with his expectations. He knew, however, the passion of his countrymen for novelty—how they love to encourage whatever is strange and mysterious; and hoping to profit by these feelings, the artist determined to sell his principal paintings by an auction of a very singular nature.
On the 25th of January, 1745, he offered for sale the six paintings of the Harlot’s Progress, the eight paintings of the Rake’s Progress, the Four Times of the Day, and the Strolling Actresses, on the following conditions:
“1. Every bidder shall have an entire leaf numbered in the book of sale, on the top of which will be entered his name and place of abode, the sum paid by him, the time when, and for what picture.
2. That on the day of sale, a clock, striking every five minutes, shall be placed in the room; and when it has struck five minutes after twelve, the first picture mentioned in the sale book shall be deemed as sold; the second picture when the clock has struck the next five minutes after twelve; and so on in succession, till the whole nineteen pictures are sold.
3. That none advance anything short of gold at each bidding.
4. No person to bid on the last day, except those whose names were before entered on the book. As Mr. Hogarth’s room is but small, he begs the favor that no person, except those whose names are entered on the book, will come to view his paintings on the last day of sale.”
This plan was new, startling, and unproductive. It was probably planned to prevent biddings by proxy, and so secure to the artist the price which men of wealth and rank might be induced to offer publicly for works of genius. “A method so novel,” observes Ireland, “probably disgusted the town; they might not exactly understand this tedious formula of entering their names and places of abode in a book open to indiscriminate inspection; they might wish to humble an artist who, by his proposals, seemed to consider that he did the world a favor in suffering them to bid for his works; or the rage for paintings might be confined to the admirers of the old masters.” Be that as it may, he received only four hundred and twenty-seven pounds seven shillings for his nineteen pictures—a price by no means equal to their merit.
The prints of the Harlot’s Progress had sold much better than those of the Rake’s; yet the paintings of the former produced only fourteen guineas each, while those of the latter were sold for twenty-two. That admirable picture, Morning, brought twenty guineas; and Night, in every respect inferior to almost any of his works, six and twenty. Such was the reward, then, to which these patrons of genius thought his works entitled. More has since been given, over and over again, for a single painting, than Hogarth obtained for all his paintings put together.
A short time before Hogarth was seized with the malady which deprived society of one of its brightest ornaments, he proposed to his matchless pencil the work he has entitled theTail Piece. The first idea of this picture is said to have been started in company, while the convivial glass was circulating round his own table. “My next undertaking,” said Hogarth, “shall be theend of all things.” “If that is the case,” replied one of his friends, “your business will be finished, or there will be an end to the painter.” “The fact will be so,” answered Hogarth, sighing heavily, “and therefore the sooner my work is done, the better.” Accordingly he began the next day, and continued his design with a diligence that seemed to indicate an apprehension that he should not live to complete it. This however he did, and in the most ingenious manner, by grouping everything that could denote the end of all things: a broken bottle; an old broom worn to the stump; the butt-end of an old musket; a cracked bell; a bow unstrung; a crown tumbled to pieces; towers in ruins; the sign-post of a tavern called the World’s End falling down; the moon in her wane; the map of the globe burning; a gibbet falling, the body gone, and the chains which held it dropping down; Phœbus and his horses lying dead in the clouds; a vessel wrecked; Time, with his hour-glass and scythe broken; a tobacco-pipe, with the last whiff of smoke going out; a play-book opened, withexeunt omnesstamped in the corner; an empty purse; and a statute of bankruptcy taken out against Nature. “So far so good,” said Hogarth, on reviewing his performance; “nothing remains but this;” taking his pencil, and sketching the resemblance of a painter’s palette broken. “Finis!” he then exclaimed, “the deed is done; all is over.” It is a very remarkable fact, and not generally known, that Hogarth never again took the palette in his hand, and that he died in about a month after he had finished thisTail Piece.
This great painter was born at Paris in 1750. His countrymen have conferred upon him the distinguished title ofThe Head and Restorer of the French School, which he brought back from its previous gaudy and affected style, to the study of nature and the antique. His reputation was established as the first painter in France when the French Revolution broke out, and filled with an ardent love of liberty, he lent all his powers in overturning the government, and establishing the Republic. For this purpose, in 1789, he executed his Brutus condemning his sons to death. He also executed the designs for the numerous republican monuments and festivals of the time. He was chosen a deputy to the National Convention, and voted for the king’s death. During the Reign of Terror, he was one of the most zealous Jacobins, wholly devoted toRobespierre; and on the fall of that monster, he was thrown into prison, and his great reputation as a painter alone saved him from the guillotine. At length, disgusted with the excesses and revolting scenes transpiring on all sides, and seeing no hopes of the Republic being established on a permanent basis, he retired to private life, and devoted himself exclusively to his pencil. When Napoleon came into power, perceiving the advantage of employing such a painter as David to immortalize his glorious victories on canvass, he appointed him his chief painter, showed him every mark of his favor, and endeavored to engage him to paint the successes of the French armies. But these subjects were not congenial to his taste, which ran to the antique. “I wish,” said he, “that my works may have so completely an antique character, that if it were possible for an Athenian to return to life, they might appear to him to be the productions of a Greek painter.” He however painted several portraits of the Emperor and the members of the Imperial family, and other subjects, the chief of which were, Napoleon as First Consul crossing the Alps, and pointing out to his troops the path to glory, and the Coronation of Napoleon.
On the restoration of the Bourbons, David was included in the decree which banished all the regicides forever from France, when he retired to Brussels, where he continued to practice his profession till his death in 1825.
The largest picture ever known to have been executed, prior to this production, is the celebrated Marriage at Cana by Paul Veronese, now at the Louvre; being thirty-three feet long, and eighteen high: whereas the present composition, containing two hundred and ten personages, eighty of whom are whole lengths, is thirty-three feet long, and twenty-one high. This performance occupied four years in its completion, during which many impediments were thrown in the way of the artist’s labor, by the clergy on the one hand, and the orders of the Emperor on the other. Cardinal Caprara, for instance, who is represented bareheaded, producing one of the finest heads in the picture, was very desirous of being painted with the decoration of his wig; Napoleon had also ordered the Turkish ambassador to be exhibited in company with the other envoys; but he objected, because the law of the Koran forbids to Mahometans the entrance into a Christian church. His consent, however, was at length obtained, and these scruples removed, under the consideration that, in the character of an ambassador, he belonged to no religious sect.
During the execution of this colossal picture, M. David was incessantly interrupted by applications from artists to witness the progress of his work; amongst whom was Camucini, prince of the Roman school, and the late famous statuary Canova, who daily presented themselves at the artist’s paintinggallery. At the last visit made by Camucini, he found David surrounded by many of his pupils, and on taking leave of the painter, he bowed to him in the most respectful manner, using the following expressive words on the occasion:
“Adio il piu bravo pittore di scholari ben bravi.”
“Adio il piu bravo pittore di scholari ben bravi.”
“Adio il piu bravo pittore di scholari ben bravi.”
On Canova’s return to Italy, in order to fulfil what he conceived to be a duty in regard to this artist, he proposed to the Academy of Saint Luke, that he should be received as an honorary member; when the academicians set aside their usual forms, and in honor of M. David, unanimously elected him one of their body, Canova being chosen to announce this pleasing intelligence to their new associate.
The picture was completed in 1807, and prior to its public exposition Napoleon appointed a day to inspect it in person, which was the fourth of January, 1808; upon which occasion, in order to confer a greater honor upon the artist, he went in state, attended by a detachment of horse and a military band, accompanied by the Empress Josephine, the princes and princesses of his family, and followed by his ministers and the great officers of the crown.
Several criticisms had been previously passed upon the composition, which had gained the Emperor’s ear, and in particular, that it was not the coronation of Napoleon, but of his consort; the moment selected by the painter, however, was highly approved by his master, who, after an attentive examination of the work, expressed himself in these words.
“M. David, this is well; very well indeed; you have conceived my whole idea; the Empress, my mother, the Emperor, all, are most appropriately placed, you have made me a French knight, and I am gratified that you have thus transmitted to future ages the proofs of affection I was desirous of testifying towards the Empress.” After a silence of some seconds, Napoleon’s hat being on, and Josephine standing at his right hand, with M. David on his left, the Emperor advanced two steps, and turning to the painter, uncovered himself, making a profound obeisance while uttering these words in an elevated tone of voice, “Monsieur David, I salute you!”
“Sire,” replied the painter, “I receive the compliment of the Emperor, in the name of all the artists of the empire, happy in being the individual one, you deign to make the channel of such an honor.”
In the month of October, 1808, when this performance was removed to the museum, the Emperor wished to inspect it a second time; and M. David in consequence attended in the hall of the Louvre, surrounded by his pupils; upon which occasion, at the Emperor’s desire, having pointed out the most conspicuouséleves, who received the decorations of the Legion of Honor: “It is requisite,” said Napoleon, “that I should testify my satisfaction to the master of so many distinguished artists; therefore, I promote you to be an officer of the Legion of Honor: M. Duroc, give a golden decoration to M. David!” “Sire, I have none with me,” answered the grand marshal. “No matter,” replied the Emperor, “do not let this day transpire without executing my order.” Duroc, although no friend to the painter, was obliged to obey, and on the same evening the insignia were forwarded to M. David.
The King of Wurtemberg, at the suggestion of the Emperor, also waited upon the artist to inspect his labor, who, on contemplating the performance, and in particular, the luminous brightness spread over the group in which are the pope and Cardinal Caprara, his majesty thus expressed himself: “I did not believe that your art could effect such wonders; white and black in painting afford but very weak resources. When you produced this you had, no doubt, a sunbeam upon your pencil.”
This compliment, which displayed great knowledge of the art, surprised the painter, who, after offering his thanks, added: “Sire, your conception, and the mode in which you express it, bespeak either the practical artist or the well informed amateur. Your majesty has doubtless learned to paint.”—“Yes,” said the king, “I sometimes occupy myself with the art, and all my brothers possess a similar taste; that one in particular, who frequently visits you, has acquired some celebrity; for his performances are not like the generality of royal paintings, they are worthy of the artist. M. David” addedthe monarch, “I dare not hope to obtain a copy of this picture; but you may indemnify me by placing my name at the head of the subscribers to the engraving, pray do not forget me.”
The personages represented in this picture are as follow: the Emperor; the Empress Josephine; the Pope; Cambaceres, Duke of Parma, arch-chancellor; the Duke of Plaisance, arch-treasurer; Mareschal Berthier, Prince of Wagram; M. Talleyrand, Prince of Benevento, grand chamberlain to the emperor; Prince Eugene Beauharnais, viceroy of the kingdom of Lombardy; Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, grand écuyer; Mareschal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo, and afterwards King of Sweden; Cardinal Pacca, councillor of the pope; Cardinal Fesch, the uncle of Napoleon; Cardinal Caprara, then the Pope’s legate at the court of France; the Count D’Harville, senator and governor of the palace of the Tuileries; Esteve, grand treasurer of the crown; Mareschal Prince Murat, afterwards King of Naples; Mareschal Serrurier, governor of the royal Hotel of Invalids; Mareschal Moncey, Duke of Cornegliane, inspector-general of the gendarmerie; Mareschal Bessierre, Duke of Treviso, general of the imperial guard; Compte Segur, grand master of the Ceremonies; the beautiful and heroic Madame Lavalette, and the Countess of La Rochefoucault, ladies of honor to the empress; Cardinal du Belloy, archbishop of Paris; MariaAnnunciade Carolina, wife of Murat; Maria Paulina, wife of Prince Borghese, Duke of Guastalla; and Maria Anna Elisa, Duchess of Tuscany, and Princess of Lucca and Piombino;—the three sisters of Napoleon; Hortense Eugenia Beauharnais, daughter of Josephine, and wife of Louis Napoleon, King of Holland, together with her son Louis Napoleon; Maria Julia Clary, wife of Joseph Napoleon; Junot, Duke of Abrantes, colonel-general of hussars; Louis Napoleon, grand constable; Joseph Napoleon, grand electeur, King of Spain, afterwards a citizen of the United States; Mareschal Le Febvre, Duke of Dantzic; Mareschal Perignon, governor of Naples; Counts de Very, de Longis, D’Arjuzen, Nansouty, Forbin, Beausset, and Detemaud, all filling distinguished posts; Duroc, Duke of Frioul, grand mareschal of the palace; Counts de Jaucourt, Brigade, de Boudy, and de Laville; the Baron Beaumont; the Duke of Cossé Brissac; Madame, mother of the emperor; Count Beaumont; Countess Fontanges; Madame la Mareschal Soult; the Duke of Gravina, ambassador from Spain; Count Marescalchi, minister of the kingdom of Lombardy; Count Cobenzel, Austrian ambassador; the Turkish envoy; Mr. Armstrong, ambassador from the United States; the Marquis of Luchesini, Prussian envoy; M. and Madame David; and the senator Vien, master of the artist; of whom the emperor said, when viewing the picture, “I perceive thelikeness of the good M. Vien.” Whereto the painter replied, “I was desirous to testify my gratitude to my master, by placing him in a picture, which from its subject will be the most important of my labors.” There were, besides, the poet Lebrun; Gretry the musician; Monges, member of the Institute; Count D’Aubusson de la Feuillade; chamberlain, etc., etc.
The Bourbons, upon their restoration, unmindful of the arts, and actuated by a mean spirit of vengeance, ordered this chef d’œuvre of David to be destroyed, which was accordingly done!! When Napoleon returned to Paris, the existing government, conceiving it important that the picture should be replaced, requested David to repaint his former picture, which he felt great repugnance to do, regarding it as not within the province of real genius to repaint former productions. He was, however, prevailed upon to acquiesce, and the government agreed to pay the same price that he had received for the original, 100,000 francs. Upon Napoleon’s second abdication, the Emperor Alexander, aware of the history of the performance, made overtures to become possessed of it, after David had completed it at Brussels; but, though his offers were munificent, the painter refused to part with it, and left it to his son, who subsequently exhibited it in London.
During David’s exile at Brussels, the Duke of Wellington called on him, and said, “Monsieur David, I have called to have my portrait taken by the illustrious painter of Leonidas at Thermopylæ.” David, eyeing fiercely the man who had humbled his country, and dethroned her Emperor, replied, “Sir, I cannot paint the English.”
David introduced the Cardinal Caprara, as the Pope’s legate, into the picture of the Coronation of Napoleon, without his wig. The likeness was exact, and the Cardinal remonstrated with David on the omission, desiring him to supply it. The painter replied that he never had, and never would paint a wig. The Cardinal then applied to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and represented that as no pope had hitherto worn a wig, it might seem as if he (Caprara) had purposely left his own off, to show his pretensions to the tiara. David however stood firm as a rock, even before Talleyrand, and said, “his Eminence may think himself lucky that nothing but his wig has been taken off.”
David, then advanced in years, severely felt his exile at Brussels. He lived very retired, saw little company, and seldom went abroad. It is related that Talma, during a professional engagement at Brussels, got up the tragedy of Leonidas, expressly to gratify his old friend, and invited him to the theatre to see the performance. David consented to go,but told Talma he must pardon him if he should happen tonod. As soon as David was recognized in the theatre, the whole house roseen masse, and gave three hearty cheers for the illustrious exile, which so affected him that he burst into tears. When the performance commenced, so far from giving way to sleep, he became completely absorbed in the interest of the play, and when the curtain dropped, he exclaimed, “Heavens! how glorious it is to possess such a talent.”
There have been found occasionally some artists, who could so perfectly imitate the spirit, the taste, the character, and the peculiarities of great masters, that they have not unfrequently deceived the most skillful connoisseurs.
An anecdote of Pierre Mignard is singular. This great artist painted a Magdalen on a canvass fabricated at Rome. A broker in concert with him, went to the Chevalier de Clairville, and told him as a secret, that he was to receive from Italy a Magdalen of Guido, and one of his masterpieces. The Chevalier caught the bait, begged the preference, and purchased the picture at a very high price. Some time afterwards, he was informed that he had been imposed upon, for that the Magdalen was painted by Mignard. Although Mignard himself caused the alarm to be given, the amateur would not believe it; all the connoisseurs agreed it was aGuido, and the famous Le Brun corroborated this opinion. The Chevalier came to Mignard; “There are,” said he, “some persons who assure me that my Magdalen is your work.” “Mine!” replied Mignard; “they do me great honor. I am sure that Le Brun is not of that opinion.” “Le Brun swears it can be no other than a Guido,” said the Chevalier; “you shall dine with me, and meet several of the first connoisseurs.” On the day of meeting, the picture was more closely inspected than ever. Mignard hinted his doubts whether the piece was the work by Guido; he insinuated that it was possible to be deceived, and added that, if it was Guido’s, he did not think it in his best manner. “I am perfectly convinced that it is a Guido, sir, and in his very best manner,” replied Le Brun, with warmth; and all the critics unanimously agreed with him. Mignard then said, in a firm tone of voice, “And I, gentlemen, will wager three hundred louis that it is not a Guido.” The dispute now became violent—Le Brun was desirous of accepting the wager. In a word, the affair became such as could add nothing more to the glory of Mignard. “No, sir,” replied the latter; “I am too honest to bet, when I am certain to win. Monsieur le Chevalier, this piece cost you two thousand crowns; the money must be returned—the painting is by my hand.” Le Brun would not believe it. “The proof,” continued Mignard, “is easy; on thiscanvass, which is a Roman one, was the portrait of a Cardinal; I will show you his cap.”
The Chevalier did not know which of the rival artists to believe; the proposition alarmed him. “He who painted the picture shall mend it,” said Mignard; and taking a pencil dipped in spirits, and rubbing the hair of the Magdalen, he soon discovered the cap of the Cardinal. The honor of the ingenious painter could no longer be disputed.
This eminent painter was born at Plympton, in Devonshire, in 1723. He was the son of the Rev. Samuel Reynolds, who intended him for the medical profession; but his natural taste and genius for painting, induced his father to send him to London to study painting under Hudson, when he was seventeen years of age. In 1749, he accompanied Captain, afterwards Lord Keppel to the Mediterranean, and passed about three years in Italy. On his return to England, he established himself in London, where he soon acquired a distinguished reputation, and rose to be esteemed the head of the English school of painting. At the formation of the Royal Academy in 1768, he was elected president, and received the honor of knighthood. In 1781 he visited Holland and the Netherlands to examine the productions of the Dutch and Flemish masters, by which he is said to have improved his coloring. In 1784, on the death of Ramsay, he was appointedprincipal painter to the King. He died in 1792, and his remains were deposited in the crypt of St. Paul’s cathedral, near the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren. He formed a splendid collection of works of art, which, after his death, brought at public sale about £17,000; and the whole of his property amounted to about £80,000, the bulk of which he left to his niece, who married Lord Inchiquin, afterwards Marquis of Thomond. He never married, but his sister Frances Reynolds conducted his domestic affairs. He was fond of the society of literary men, kept open house, and seldom dined without his table being graced by the presence of some of the chosen spirits of the land. He was simple and unostentatious in his habits, and affable in his deportment; and while his table was abundantly supplied, there was an absence of all ceremony, and each guest was made to feel himself perfectly at home, which gave a delightful zest to his hospitality.
Soon after Reynolds’ return to England from Italy, in 1752, he commenced his professional career in St. Martin’s Lane, London. He found such opposition as genius is commonly doomed to encounter, and does not always overcome. The boldness of his attempts, and the brilliancy of his coloring, were considered innovations upon the established and orthodox system of portrait manufacture, in the styles of Lely and Kneller. The old artists first raised their voices.His old master Hudson called at his rooms to see his Turkish Boy, which had caused quite a sensation in the town. After contemplating the picture some minutes, he said with a national oath,—“Why, Reynolds, you do not paint as well as you did when you left England.” Ellis, an eminent portrait maker, who had studied under Kneller, next lifted up his voice. “Ah, Reynolds,” said he, “this will never answer, you do not paint in the least like Sir Godfrey.” When the young artist vindicated himself with much ability, Ellis, finding himself unable to give any good reasons for the objections he had made, cried out in a rage, “Shakspeare in poetry, and Kneller in painting for me,” and stalked out of the room. Reynolds’ new style, notwithstanding the vigorous opposition he met with, took with the fashionable world, his fame spread far and wide, and he soon became the leading painter in London. In 1754, he removed from St. Martin’s Lane, the Grub-street of artists, and took a handsome house on the north side of Great Newport-Street, which he furnished with elegance and taste. Northcote says his apartments were filled with ladies of quality and with men of rank, all alike desirous to have their persons preserved to posterity by one who touched no subject without adorning it. “The desire to perpetuate the form of self-complacency, crowded the sitting room of Reynolds with women who wished to be transmitted as angels, and with men who wished to appear as heroes and philosophers. From his pencilthey were sure to be gratified. The force and facility of his portraits, not only drew around him the opulence and beauty of the nation, but happily gained him the merited honor of perpetuating the features of all the eminent and distinguished men of learning then living.”
“The price,” says Cunningham, “which Reynolds at first received for aheadwas five guineas; the rate increased with his fame, and in the year 1755 his charge was twelve. Experience about this time dictated the following memorandum respecting his art. ‘For painting the flesh:—black, blue-black, white, lake, carmine, orpiment, yellow-ochre, ultramarine, and varnish. To lay the palette:—first lay, carmine and white in different degrees; second lay, orpiment and white ditto; third lay, blue-black and white ditto. The first sitting, for expedition, make a mixture as like the sitter’s complexion as you can.’ Some years afterwards I find, by a casual notice from Johnson, that Reynolds had raised his price for a head to twenty guineas.
“The year 1758 was perhaps the most lucrative of his professional career. The account of the economy of his studies, and the distribution of his time at this period, is curious and instructive. It was his practice to keep all the prints engraved from his portraits, together with his sketches, in a large portfolio; these he submitted to his sitters; and whatever position they selected, he immediately proceeded to copy it on the canvass, and paint the likeness to correspond. He received six sitters daily, who appeared in their turns; and he kept regular lists of those who sat, and of those who were waiting until a finished portrait should open a vacancy for their admission. He painted them as they stood on his list, and often sent the work home before the colors were dry. Of lounging visitors he had a great abhorrence, and, as he reckoned up the fruits of his labors, ‘Those idle people,’ said this disciple of the grand historical school of Raphael and Angelo, ‘those idle people do not consider that my time is worth five guineas an hour.’ This calculation incidentally informs us, that it was Reynolds’ practice, in the height of his reputation and success, to paint a portrait in four hours.”
Reynolds’ commissions continued to increase, and to pour in so abundantly, that in addition to his pupils, he found it necessary to employ several subordinate artists, skillful in painting drapery and backgrounds, as assistants. He also raised his price to twenty-five guineas a head.
“In the year 1761,” says Cunningham, “the accumulating thousands which Johnson speaks of, began to have a visible effect on Reynolds’ establishment. He quitted Newport Street, purchased a fine houseon the west side of Leicester Square, furnished it with much taste, added a splendid gallery for the exhibition of his works, and an elegant dining-room; and finally taxed his invention and his purse in the production of a carriage, with wheels carved and gilt, and bearing on its pannels the Four Seasons of the year. Those who flocked to see his new gallery, were sometimes curious enough to desire a sight of this gay carriage, and the coachman, imitating the lackey who showed the gallery, earned a little money by opening the coach-house doors. His sister complained that it was too showy—‘What!’ said the painter, ‘would you have one like an apothecary’s carriage?’
“By what course of study he attained his skill in art, Reynolds has not condescended to tell us; but of many minor matters we are informed by one of his pupils, with all the scrupulosity of biography. His study was octagonal, some twenty feet long, sixteen broad, and about fifteen feet high. The window was small and square, and the sill nine feet from the floor. His sitter’s chair moved on castors, and stood above the floor a foot and a half; he held his palettes by a handle, and the sticks of his brushes were eighteen inches long. He wrought standing, and with great celerity. He rose early, breakfasted at nine, entered his study at ten, examined designs or touched unfinished portraits till eleven brought a sitter; painted till four; then dressed, and gave the evening to company.
“His table was now elegantly furnished, and round it men of genius were often found. He was a lover of poetry and poets; they sometimes read their productions at his house, and were rewarded by his approbation, and occasionally by their portraits. Johnson was a frequent and a welcome guest: though the sage was not seldom sarcastic and overbearing, he was endured and caressed, because he poured out the riches of his conversation more lavishly than Reynolds did his wines. Percy was there too with his ancient ballads and his old English lore; and Goldsmith with his latent genius, infantine vivacity, and plum-colored coat. Burke and his brothers were constant guests, and Garrick was seldom absent, for he loved to be where greater men were. It was honorable to this distinguished artist that he perceived the worth of such men, and felt the honor which their society shed upon him; but it stopped not here—he often aided them with his purse, nor insisted upon repayment.”
“The Royal Academy,” says Cunningham, “was planned and proposed in 1768 by Chambers, West, Cotes, and Moser; the caution or timidity of Reynolds kept him for some time from assisting. A list of thirty members was made out; and West, a prudent and amiable man, called on Reynolds, and, in a conference of two hours’ continuance, succeeded in persuading him to join them. He ordered his carriage, and, accompanied by West, entered theroom where his brother artists were assembled. They rose up to a man, and saluted him ‘President.’ He was affected by the compliment, but declined the honor till he had talked with Johnson and Burke; he went, consulted his friends, and having considered the consequences carefully, then consented. He expressed his belief at the same time that their scheme was a mere delusion: the King, he said, would not patronize nor even acknowledge them, as his majesty was well known to be the friend of another body—The Incorporated Society of Artists.”
The truth is, the Royal Academy was planned at the suggestion of the King himself. He had learned, through West, the causes of the indecent bickerings in the Society of Artists, and declared to him that he was ready to patronize any institution founded on principles calculated to advance the interests of art. West communicated the King’s declaration to some of the dissenters, who drew up a plan which the king corrected with his own hand. See Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects, article West.
In the year 1754, Reynolds accidentally made the acquaintance of Dr. Samuel Johnson, which ripened into a mutual and warm friendship, that continued through life. Of the fruit which he derived from this intercourse, Reynolds thus speaks, in one of his Discourses on Art:
“Whatever merit these Discourses may have, must be imputed in a great measure to the education which I may be said to have had under Dr. Johnson. I do not mean to say, though it certainly would be to the credit of these Discourses if I could say it with truth, that he contributed even a single sentiment to them; but he qualified my mind to think justly. No man had, like him, the art of teaching inferior minds the art of thinking. Perhaps other men might have equal knowledge, but few were so communicative. His great pleasure was to talk to those who looked up to him. It was here he exhibited his wonderful powers. The observations which he made on poetry, on life, and on everything about us, I applied to one art—with what success, others must judge.”
In 1764, Reynolds was attacked by a sudden and dangerous illness. He was cheered by the sympathy of many friends, and by the solicitude of Johnson, who thus wrote him from Northamptonshire:
“I did not hear of your sickness till I heard likewise of your recovery, and therefore escaped that part of your pain which every man must feel to whom you are known as you are known to me. If the amusement of my company can exhilarate the languor of a slow recovery, I will not delay a day to come to you; for I know not how I can so effectually promote my own pleasure as by pleasing you,or my own interest as by preserving you; in whom, if I should lose you, I should lose almost the only man whom I can call a friend.” He to whom Johnson could thus write, must have possessed many noble qualities, for no one could estimate human nature more truly than that illustrious man.
Johnson showed his kindly feelings for Sir Joshua Reynolds, by writing the following apology for portrait painting. Had the same friendship induced him to compliment West, he doubtless would have written in a very different strain:
“Genius,” said he, “is chiefly exerted in historical pictures, and the art of the painter of portraits is often lost in the obscurity of the subject. But it is in painting as in life; what is greatest is not always best. I should grieve to see Reynolds transfer to heroes and goddesses, to empty splendor and to airy fiction, that art which is now employed in diffusing friendship, in renewing tenderness, in quickening the affections of the absent, and continuing the presence of the dead. Every man is always present to himself, and has, therefore, little need of his own resemblance; nor can desire it, but for the sake of those whom he loves, and by whom he hopes to be remembered. This use of the art is a natural and reasonable consequence of affection: and though, like all other human actions, it is often complicated with pride, yet even such pride is morelaudable than that by which palaces are covered with pictures, which however excellent, neither imply the owner’s virtue, nor excite it.”