Part 9

Ten years previously the latter had arrived in New York, an expert die-sinker and engraver; now he had just returned from studying under Roty in Paris. The story of his progress from artisan to artist is not without a touch of romance.

To the student of personal accomplishment there is always a particular satisfaction in the contrast between hard and strait beginnings and the ultimate success. He forgets, as the artist himself perhaps does when the sweets of victory are on his tongue, the long weariness of the previous struggle, and is philosophically persuaded that the pain of parturition must necessarily precede the birth of art as of life. However that may be, Brenner has had his share of privations; and it is well for him that he encountered them early and surmounted them before the enthusiasm of youth dwindled.

He was born in 1871 at Shavly, in the north-west of Russia, and from his sixth to his thirteenth year attended the Hebrew school. After three years of apprenticeship to his father, who was a general mechanic and seal-cutter, with considerable talent in carving, the youth, now sixteen years old, travelled through the neighbouring towns, making seals. Then he worked for a jewelry engraver in Riga, and subsequently migrated to Mittau, where he found employment in a rubber stamp and type foundry, cutting dies and illustrations for advertisements. In 1889 he established himself in Kowno as a jewelry engraver and seal-cutter. By this time he had saved nearly enough to pay his passage to New York, and the following year he reached our shores. He was then scarcely nineteen, without friends, knowledge of the language or ready funds. For a while he sold matches on Fulton Street, and then graduated to the superior opportunities of a sweat-shop in Brooklyn. He was rescued from this by an advertisement through which he found employment with a jewelry firm. Meanwhile his acquaintance with the language and with the local conditions was improving, and it was not long before he obtained a position as seal-cutter. Then followed an engagement with Mr. H. Popper as die-cutter and jewelry engraver, during which he came to the notice of Professor S. H. Oetinger, the numismatist, whose collection of medals seems to have awakened in the young man a longing to be himself an artist. In 1891 he first learned to handle clay at the Cooper Union night class, but attended only for a month, and it was not until 1896 that he studied drawing under Ward in the night class of the Academy of Design.

Meanwhile, in 1893, he had started for himself in business, working for jewelry and silversmith firms; steadily improving his financial conditions, but becoming more and more impatient under the restraints which the exigencies of trade placed upon his desire to be an artist. I should judge that these years of material comfortableness may have been really more trying to him than the previous lean years. Then, work and food and lodging seemed the only desirable things; now he was in labour with a desire that exceeded all others. He had tasted of the sweets of beauty and become conscious of having something beautiful within himself, might he but learn how to express it; and all the while the Gallios of trade “cared for none of those things.”

This period of probation at length came to an end in 1898, by which time he had saved sufficient money for study in Paris. A little time before, in connection with a medal for the Convention of Charities and Corrections, he had made the acquaintance of Mr. Samuel P. Avery. But the latter had for some time been acquainted with him, keeping watch over his progress and secretly helping him to commissions. Of the value and encouragement of Mr. Avery’s friendship Brenner speaks with warm gratitude. Through him he obtained an introduction to Mr. George A. Lucas, who befriended him in Paris and introduced him to Roty, furnishing him with commissions while he was still studying in the latter’s _atelier_. This he entered after preliminary studentship in the

Julien school, and became the assistant as well as pupil of the master. His progress was rapid, and examples of his work are already to be found in the Paris Mint, Munich Glyptothek, Vienna Numismatic Society, the Metropolitan Museum and the Numismatic Society, New York.

Up to the present time Brenner’s best work has been portrait-plaques and the heads upon the obverse of medals. In designs which involve a decorative treatment he has been less happy. As might be expected of one whose period of study has been so short, he is weak in composition and freehand drawing, nor does he display much inventiveness of fancy. On the other hand, he has an extraordinarily direct vision, quickened by experience in so exacting an occupation as die-cutting, and, moreover, a very mobile sympathy. The latter helps him to be interested at once in his subject, and with so much affection and reverence for the personality that his portrayal exhibits a very unusual degree of intimacy.

Among the best of his portraits are those of William Maxwell Evarts, J. Sanford Saltus and George Aloysius Lucas, whom I place in one group; and those of M. Vadé, Edward D. Fulde and M. Lacour in another. The reasonableness of the separation is to be found in the difference of motive, respectively, illustrated in the modelling; the more distinctively sculptural as compared with the painter-like method.

For in all low-relief work one will find the artist to be showing a preference either for form and the structural character of the subject, or for its colour qualities, represented by delicate variations in the planes, which produce a corresponding warmth of delicate light and shade; in a word, he feels his subject either in the round or in the flat. Which you yourself will prefer is a question of your point of view. Among brother artists who are painters there will probably be a verdict in favour of the second group, since it represents more closely what they themselves strive for, and are therefore partial to. And its pictorial quality may equally recommend it also to general approbation. For, indeed, such a portrait as that of M. Vadé is unquestionably fascinating. There is in it scarce any resort to lines, the modelling being effected almost entirely by planes, at once broad and subtle, full of a sense of colour and giving an expression of dreaminess to the face. Yet, if one compares this portrait with either of the three included in the former group, it is to find in the latter a compensating virility of expression, a greater dignity of structure and of character.

It is not usual to find these two very opposite motives of technique united in one artist. But in Brenner’s case it seems to result from an absence of all artistic _parti pris_, and from the freshness of interest with which he attacks each subject, so that the latter itself reveals to him the more appropriate manner of presenting it. In the portrait shown in the accompanying illustration the two motives seem to be combined.

XII

THE DECORATIVE MOTIVE

In all ages sculpture has been intimately allied with architecture, somewhat as the blossom with the tree, reaching often its noblest expression as an efflorescence of decoration upon the surface of a building or as separate forms within it; springing up in statue, tomb or pulpit like bursts of flowery growth in the forest. Nature in a marvellous way adapts the colour and forms of the blossoms to the character and structure of the tree and shapes of the woodland flowers; for example, the foxglove spiring up amid the tree trunks to the character of its environment. In the spirit of this example the sculptor fashions his designs in conformity with that of the architecture, whether it be for decoration of the building’s surface or for a separate contributing feature.

Such coöperation with the architect demands at once fertility of imagination and considerable self-restraint; an appreciation of the larger qualities of design as displayed in the architecture, mingled with a natural feeling for the charm of minute and exquisite workmanship; a personal feeling, subordinated to the main design, yet in this subordination finding an increase of force. For the modelled ornament is itself enriched by its enrichment of the wall-surface; and the statue which has fine architecture for its setting receives therefrom additional dignity, provided always that the sculptor has adapted the lines of his figure to those of the architecture. If he miss the spirit of the latter and design his subject independently his statue loses the benefit of the alliance and its importance is overpowered by the necessary predominance of the architectural effect. Nor is the failure to secure harmonious relation between the sculpture and the architecture always to be laid to the sculptor. The architect’s design may be lacking in taste and dignity; or, if good in itself, yet without adequate or any provision for sculptural embellishment; the latter being resorted to as an afterthought. Examples of this kind are not infrequent.

The best opportunity that we have in this country of studying sculpture in its relation to architecture is in the Library of Congress, for here the design was deliberately planned to include sculpture and painted decoration, and on a scale of unusual magnitude. Some critics are disposed to complain of an overelaboration in the decorative scheme, but at least every item of the sculpture was organic and structural in intention. We may differ, that is to say, as to the propriety of introducing so much embellishment, but the latter everywhere grows naturally out of its position and has its closely planned function in the general design.

The sculptural decoration of the staircase hall was entrusted to Philip Martiny, except the figures in the spandrils over the main arch which fronts you as you enter. These were executed by Olin L. Warner--whose work has been reviewed in another chapter--and in their Greek-like monumental simplicity and repose, their freedom from all accessory aids to decoration and their avowal of the decorative value of pure form they are in marked contrast to the French spirit of Martiny’s work. For the latter, a naturalised Frenchman, represents the French training, comparatively unaffected by the American environment. As a boy he was employed with his father in modelling and carving ornamental designs; thus gaining a familiarity with ornament before he proceeded to study it systematically as a designer, from which stage he passed on to the further studies of a sculptor of the figure. The feeling for decoration is with him an instinct, cultivated in the best of all schools, that of practical experience; his knowledge of historic forms a habit of memory, and his versatility in adapting, skill in device and manipulative facility, the product of habitual practice.

For the newel posts of the staircase he executed the female figures holding a torch aloft; but these reveal mainly the results of good teaching. They are not a personal expression of himself. In a seated figure, however, designed as a Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Memorial for Jersey City, he reached a very considerable degree of monumental dignity; yet it still appears to be true that his real bent is toward decoration. In this he displays creative fancy and a most charming faculty in the use of form. Witness this marble balustrade, divided into compartments by a series of plain posts, between which are suspended festoons of fruit and flowers, with baby forms astride them. Each in a vein of playful fancy personifies some occupation, art or science, and the emblems typifying them are introduced as accents of surprise in the composition. The whole is alive with graceful animation and yet preserves a rhythmical dignity, a variety in uniformity, like the play of notes in succeeding bars of music.

Its freedom of fancy and rich effect recall the qualities shown in Lorado Taft’s decoration of the Horticultural Building at the World’s Fair; a decoration of rare distinction. Indeed the prime feature of this artist’s work at its best is the decorative character of the composition; as in “The Solitude of the Soul,” which involves an ideal motive, but is perhaps happiest in the grouping of the nude figures around the mass of unhewn rock.

The relief ornament in the ceiling of the dome and in the frieze of the entablature was modelled by Albert Weinert. He was limited by the architect to the well-known Roman forms revived by the sculptors and painters of the Italian Renaissance, but has treated them with so much individual feeling that one may regret he was denied the opportunity of creating the designs. For one cause of the dearth of decorative sculptors in America may very reasonably be attributed to the hesitation of architects to permit the use of any forms except such as they can find authority for in historic ornament. Martiny, we have seen, was allowed to invent the design for the staircase; a quite unusual privilege, which has resulted in a memorable work of art, almost unique in the country. Usually the architect from books and photographs indicates what forms shall be adopted, and these are reproduced by the draftsmen in working drawings, which are handed over to a contractor to be executed by journeymen modellers. Their business is to copy the drawing exactly. If they have any individuality of feeling it is suppressed; the divorce between design and craftsmanship is perpetuated, and dry conventionalism results. In the degradation of design which ensues from this slavish adherence to historic precedents, producing, be it noted, not a revival of the precedent but, for the most part, a dead, inert copy, a thing not to be taken seriously as decoration, the sculptor is discouraged from associating himself with design. He may have the gift of decoration, but it lies uncultivated, since he will not work except with reasonable liberty. And he is right, for the only decoration that is of any vital worth is such as grows under the hand of a man whose brain has conceived it and is controlling continually its growth. He may be influenced by historic precedent or be working in the freedom of his fancy; in either case, his work has personal, vital significance. Significantly bad it may be, and this I suspect is the architect’s apprehension; yet, provided it have significance, there is some prospect of improvement: just as we reach what measure of virtue we have through our faults. For of all men the most exasperating is he who, without character enough for fault or virtue, methodically maintains a level of innocuous mediocrity. Equally exasperating is decoration of this kind, and it is a kind that is prevalent everywhere.

The dome of the Library is supported on eight piers, each formed of a cluster of columns, one of which projects more prominently than the rest and is surmounted by a figure personifying some department of civilised life or thought. Its function seems to be to prolong the upright line of the pier to the bottom of the triangular pendentive which connects the spread of the arches; at any rate, those figures which most simply suggest the vertical direction, with as little play of contour lines as possible, appear most conformable to their position. The one that most thoroughly fulfils this condition is the figure of “Philosophy,” by Bela L. Pratt. One arm hangs down, the other is drawn up at the elbow supporting a book; the line of the drapery on one side comes squarely down to the feet and on the other is slightly varied by the drawing back of the leg from the knee. The figure is of ample proportion, with a sweet gravity of mien; the head, being slightly bowed, which, as it is viewed from below, brings the face agreeably within the line of vision; a point that has been overlooked in some of the other statues. Without having any particular force, the figure nevertheless impresses by the sobriety of its lines and mass and by its reserve of feeling. The value of these qualities can best be appreciated when one is actually standing in the dome and able to compare the figure with the other corresponding ones, all of which by reason of more varied contours seem inferior to it in decorative appropriateness.

This same sculptor was entrusted with the designs of the six spandrils over the entrance doors. The forms are graceful and repeat with pleasant variation the curve of the arch, but they do not adequately fill the space, and are wanting in architectonic character. Just what I mean can better be understood by comparing them with Warner’s spandrils, mentioned above. Then one can scarcely fail to notice how much more structural in feeling are the latter, organically related to the arches and to the space, truly architectural in their character. Pratt’s strongest point seems to be expression of sentiment, exemplified in his busts of Colonel Henry Lee and of Phillips Brooks; in some low-relief portraits of children and in the heroic figure of a soldier for St. Paul’s School, Concord, New Hampshire. In all of these it is not so much the characteristics preëminently sculptural that we are conscious of, as the quality of the sentiment; and this same quality, portrayed with graceful inventiveness, represents the measure of his architectural decoration. It is, therefore, in such examples as the medallions in the pavilions of the Library, personifying the four seasons, that he appears at his best; for in these the sentiment is expressed not only by suavity of line, but by a sensitive treatment of the various planes. Like his low-relief portraits they have very strongly the pictorial quality. That he has, however, a feeling as well for the sculptural quality of form is evident from two nude female figures which he has executed in marble, “Study of a Young Girl” and “Study for a Fountain,” in which the charm of sentiment and form are very happily united.

It is not within the scope of this essay, which is considering the principles of architectural sculpture, to note each of the remaining seven statues in detail, especially since most of them are by sculptors whose work has been reviewed elsewhere. And the same applies to the sixteen bronze statues that stand below upon the marble balustrade of the gallery. These represent real or imaginary portraits of men illustrious in the departments of civilised life and thought, personified above, and their function is to relieve by a series of spiring forms the level lines of the balustrade. And here again, if I am not mistaken, those which with least disturbance of contour conform to the character of a simple shaft are the most effective. Thus we may be disposed to feel that, viewed in relation to its position and function, the “Solon” by F. Wellington Ruckstuhl protests too much its own individuality, and that the greater reserve of C. E. Dallin’s “Newton,” of John J. Boyle’s “Bacon” and “Plato,” of Paul W. Bartlett’s “Michelangelo,” of Edward C. Potter’s “Fulton,” of Charles H. Niehaus’s “Gibbon,” of George E. Bissell’s “Kent” and the “Henry” by Herbert Adams, makes them more valuable as sculptural adornments to the architecture. And, after all, this qualification is the most important one in the interest both of the architecture and of the statue itself.

If it were possible to study the statues independently of their surroundings we might find that some I have mentioned are intrinsically inferior to some of those omitted; and I well remember that some which now fill their present position with quiet effectiveness seemed less interesting before they were put in place. For the ultimate test of the statue, as a part of the architectural scheme, depends less upon its intrinsic than its extrinsic value; not so much upon what it is as upon how it coöperates with the architecture, lending it some accent of piquancy or elaboration and drawing from it dignity and enforcement. Nor is the truth of this weakened by the fact that you visit many a church in Italy solely to study some piece of sculpture without one thought of the architecture, unless it be a regret that the shrine is not worthy of its treasure. In such a case the intention of the sculpture was not architectonic; whereas in the Library of Congress, as in all other buildings in which the coöperation of the sculptor has been deliberately included, the ideal is to make the two arts mutually reënforcing. The architecture being necessarily predominant, the sculpture which does not conform to the limitations imposed upon it will suffer by comparison, while, on the other hand, through conformity it will secure additional measure of impressiveness.

Of the elaborate decoration of the rotunda clock by John Flanagan I cannot speak from knowledge; and, without having seen it in place, it is unfair to judge of the effect of the mingling of precise elegance in the lower part with the florid arrangement above of Father Time and two female figures. But before leaving the Library we may find in the corridors of the entrance hall four relief-panels, by R. Hinton Perry, personifying Greek, Roman, Persian and Scandinavian “Inspiration.” They seem to me to represent this sculptor at his best, displaying a gift of imagination and very charming treatment of form, regulated by reserve and taste; for these last qualities are not so conspicuous in some of his work. The fountain group, for example, which embellishes the terrace in front of the Library, is a clever exhibition of technical skill in the representation of form and movement, but pretentious. Its lack of cohesion as a group may have been less the affair of the sculptor than of the architect, since the latter had provided for the figures three equal-sized niches; but on the other hand the sculptor seems to have regarded them as features to be ignored. His central figure of Neptune is entirely outside the arch, while the sea-nymphs on their restive steeds seem to be trying to get clear of the architectural restraint. Restiveness, indeed, is the chief suggestion of the whole; an uneasy collocation of aggressive forms, out of keeping with the somewhat severe character of the Library façades.

Yet one should not overlook the indubitable power and vigour of these figures, especially of the Neptune; only regretting that imagination has entered so little into its composition. In this respect the “Primitive Man and Serpent,” a later statue, is much more acceptable. It also has power, the more effective that its energy has been controlled, and the sculptor, in thinking out this conflict between creatures of such different forms, has produced a composition which is full of imagination and very statuesque. Again he exhibits his mastery of form in a statue of “Circe”; a finely poised, supple figure, with a superb action of voluptuous invitation. Moreover, the conception is satisfactorily idealised, a quality which does not always characterise his treatment of the female form. The one, for instance, in the group of “The Lion in Love” is a very ordinary reproduction of the model; nor can I find in his Langdon doors for the Buffalo Historical Society’s Building, the same imaginative control of form as in the Library reliefs. Perry, in fact, seems to be an impetuous, forceful person, drawing largely upon his temperament and with the unevenness of result very usual in such cases. Yet he has a mastery of technique so much above the average that, when he regulates it with reserve and kindles it from his imagination, he produces work which is full of interest.