Part 19

The authenticated works of Da Vinci are exceedingly scarce; he bestowed so much labor upon them that they were never very numerous, and time and casualty has reduced the number. It is said that one of the proprietors of the Orleans collection destroyed some of the most capital works of Da Vinci and Correggio from conscientious scruples! The most celebrated are the Mona Lisa Giocondo, in the Louvre; a lovely picture called La Vierge aux Rochers; a Leda, in the collection of Prince Kaunitz at Vienna; Christ disputing with the Doctors, in the Pamfili palace at Rome; John the Baptist, formerly in the French Museum; the portrait of Lodovico Maria Sforza, in the Dresden gallery. There are a few others in the collections at Florence, Milan, and Rome. There are some in England; but the authenticity of most of these, to say the least, is extremely doubtful. The Christ disputing with the Doctors, in the National gallery, is doubtless a copy by some one of his pupils. The original, as before mentioned, is at Rome. Passavant says, “The numerous copies or repetitions of this picture, now existing, imply the estimation in which the original cartoon was held, and are additional proofs of its being an original work. One of these I saw in the Spada gallery at Rome; two others at Milan--one in the Episcopal palace, and the other in the house of the Consigliere Commendatore Casati.” Most of the pictures claimed to be original by Da Vinci, even in the public galleries of Europe, were executed by his pupils and imitators, several of whom copied and imitated him with great success. Lanzi says that Lorenzo di Credi approached him so closely, that one of his copies of Lionardo could hardly be distinguished from the original. For a list of his imitators, see Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects, table of Imitators.

WORKS IN NIELLO.

The art of working in niello, which led Maso Finiguerra, a sculptor and worker in gold and silver, to the invention of copper plate engraving, was very early practiced in Italy. In the 15th century, and long before, it was the practice to decorate the church and other plate with designs in niello; and also caskets, sword and dagger hilts, and various kinds of ornaments. The designs were hatched with a steel point in gold or silver, then engraved with the burin, and run in while hot, with a composition called _niello_, an Italian term derived from the Latin _nigellum_--a compound of silver, lead, copper, sulphur, and borax, used by the ancients, and easily fusible, and of a dark color. The superfluous parts of the niello were then scraped away, and the surface polished, when the engraved part appeared with all the effect of a print. Lanzi says, “this substance (nigellum) being incorporated with the silver, and the whole being polished, produced the effect of shadows, which, contrasted with the clearness of the silver, gave the entire work the appearance of a chiaro-scuro in silver.” There are many very beautiful specimens of this species of work, particularly vases, cups, and _paxes_, or images of Christ on the cross, which the people in Catholic countries kiss after service, called the kiss of peace. The most remarkable known specimen in niello, is a very curious cup, preserved in the British Museum. Its total height, including the statuette of a cherub on the top of the lid, is about three feet. It is composed of silver, and the whole, except the border and statuette, is embellished with various fanciful designs. For a long time it was the property of the noble family of van Bekerhout, who made a present of it to Calonia, the sculptor of the statue of John van Eyck, in the Academy of Arts at Bruges. The widow of this artist sold it to Mr. Henry Farrer, who afterwards disposed of it to the British Museum for the sum of £350.

Remarkable as this process was, there arose out of it another incalculably more so. It became a practice for goldsmiths, who wished to preserve their designs, to take impressions of their plates with earth, over which liquid sulphur was poured, and from which, when cold, the earth was removed. But Maso Finiguerra, a goldsmith and sculptor of Florence, and a pupil of the celebrated Masaccio, about the middle of the 15th century, carried the process still further, for with a mixture of soot and oil he filled the cavities of the engraving he had made, as a preparation for niello, and by pressing damp paper upon it with a roller, obtained impressions on the paper, having, as Vasari says, “Veni vano come disegnate di penna”--all the appearance of drawings done with a pen. Finiguerra was followed by Baccio Baldini, a goldsmith of Florence, who, according to Vasari, employed the eminent artist Sandro Botticelli, to design for him.

Lanzi says in 1801, a pax from the collection of the Grand Duke of Florence, supposed to have been executed by Matteo Dei, an eminent worker in niello in the early part of the 15th century, was taken to pieces to examine the workmanship. The embellishments upon its surface represented the Conversion of St. Paul, and on the niello being extracted, the engraved work was found not at all deep; and ink and paper being provided, twenty-five fine proof prints were struck from it, which were distributed among a few eminent artists and connoisseurs. One of them is now in the collection of the senator Martelli at Florence.

The arts are generally to be traced to a humble origin, and in these works in niello, often discovering little taste, we recognize the cradle of that of engraving on _copper_, to which engraving on _steel_ has within the last few years succeeded. In the earliest efforts of this kind, the lines produced were comparatively rude and unmeaning, and had nothing more to recommend them than their merely representing a particular sort of markings, or slight hatchings with a pen, without any apparent degree of execution or expression. It was not long, however, before this incipient art became indebted to the elegant etchings of the great masters in painting, as well as to their drawings in pen and ink. It acquired accuracy and taste from the drawings of Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, and Lionardo da Vinci, which connoisseurs of our own time have seen and admired. Some of those by Da Vinci were hatched in a square and delicate manner, with a white fluid on dark colored paper; while those of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle inclined more to the lozenge, in black or brown ink. They even carried this style of hatching with the pencil into their pictures, some of which adorn the Vatican, and into the famous cartoons, which are the glory of the picture gallery at Hampton Court; and by the persevering application of the graver, the art has been advancing to the present period.

When compared with painting, it appears but of recent invention, being coeval only with the art of printing.

It is for us to rejoice in the immense power that it now possesses, and to avoid the error pointed out by Lord Bacon when he said: “We are too prone to pass those ladders by which the arts are reared, and generally to reflect all the merit to the last new performer.”

SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.

This great architect, and learned man, was born in 1632. Though he was of a weak bodily constitution in childhood, he possessed a most precocious mind, and early manifested a strong inclination for the paths of science and philosophy. At the age of thirteen, he invented an astronomical instrument, a pneumatic engine, and another instrument of use in gnomonics. When fourteen years old, he was entered as a gentleman commoner at Wadham College, Oxford; and during the period of his collegiate course, he associated with Hooke, (whom he assisted in his _Micrographia_) and other scientific men, whose meetings laid the foundation of the Royal Society. In 1653, he was elected a Fellow of All Souls’ College; and by the age of twenty-four, he was known to the learned of Europe, for his various theories, inventions, and improvements, a list of which would be too long for insertion. In 1657 he was appointed to the professor’s chair of astronomy at Gresham College, London, and three years after, to that of the Savilian professor at Oxford. On the establishment of the Royal Society, he contributed largely to the success and reputation of that learned body.

WREN’S SELF-COMMAND.

Wren possessed great self-command, as appears from the following anecdote of him and his uncle, the Bishop of Ely, whom the Parliament had imprisoned in the Tower. Some time before the decease of Oliver Cromwell, Wren became acquainted with Mr. Claypole, who married Oliver’s favorite daughter. Claypole, being a lover of mathematics, had conceived a great esteem for young Wren, and took all occasions to cultivate his friendship, and to court his conversation, particularly by frequent invitations to his house and table. It happened in one of these conversations that Cromwell came into the room as they sat at dinner, and without any ceremony, as was his usual way in his own family, he took his place. After a little time, fixing his eyes on Wren, he said, “Your uncle has been long confined in the Tower.” “He has so, sir,” replied Wren, “but he bears his afflictions with great patience and resignation.” “He may come out if he will,” returned Cromwell. “Will your highness permit me to tell him so?” asked Wren. “Yes,” answered the Protector, “you may.” As soon as Wren could retire with propriety, he hastened with no little joy to the Tower, and informed his uncle of all the particulars of his interview with Cromwell; to which the Bishop replied with warm indignation, that “it was not the first time he had received the like intimation from that miscreant, but he disdained the terms proposed for his enlargement, which were a mean acknowledgment of his favor, and an abject submission to his detestable tyranny: that he was determined to tarry the Lord’s leisure, and owe his deliverance to him only.” This expected deliverance was not far distant, for he was released from confinement by the Restoration.

WREN’S RESTRAINTS IN DESIGNING HIS EDIFICES.

It is often seen, that when kings patronize genius, instead of allowing it to develop itself according to its own laws, they hamper it according to their own preconceived fancies. The palace at Hampton Court is censured for its ill proportions; but Cunningham says that Wren moved under sad restraints from the commissioners in one place, and the court in the other. When the lowness of the cloisters under the apartments of the palace was noticed by one of the courtiers, King William turned on his heel like a challenged sentinel, and answered sharply, “Such were my express orders!” The rebuked nobleman bowed, and acquiesced in the royal taste. When St. Paul’s Cathedral was nearly completed, the “nameless officials” called commissioners of that edifice, decided to have a stone balustrade upon the upper cornice, and declared their determination to that effect, “unless Sir Christopher Wren should set forth that it was contrary to the principles of architecture.” To this resolution, in which blind ignorance gropes its way, calling on knowledge to set its stumblings right, Wren returned the following answer: “I take leave first to declare I never designed a balustrade. Persons of little skill in architecture did expect, I believe, to see something that had been used in Gothic structures, and _ladies think nothing well without an edging_.” After this deserved satire, he showed clearly, at considerable length, that a balustrade was not in harmony with the general plan and unique combinations of the edifice; but his opinion was disregarded, and the balustrade was placed on the cornice.

THE GREAT FIRE IN LONDON.

While the discussions were going on whether St. Paul’s Cathedral should be restored, or the entire edifice be rebuilt, the great fire in London, in 1666, not only decided this question, but opened an extensive field for the display of Wren’s talents in various other metropolitan buildings. One of his immediate labors, arising from the conflagration, was a survey of the whole of the ruins, and the preparation of a plan for laying out the devastated space in a regular and commodious manner, with wide streets, and piazzas at intervals, which he laid before Parliament; but his plans were not adopted, and the new streets arose in that dense and intricate maze of narrow lanes, which even now are but slowly disappearing before modern improvements. Furthermore, instead of the line of spacious quays along the Thames which Wren proposed, the river is shut out from view by wharfs and warehouses, to such an extent as to render any adequate scheme for the improvement of its banks hardly practicable. London might have arisen from her ashes the finest city in the world, had Wren’s plans been followed.

ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.

Wren prepared several designs and models for this great edifice. The composition of his favorite plan was compact and simple, forming a general octagonal mass, surmounted by a cupola, and extended on its west side by a portico, and a short nave or vestibule within. The plan adopted, exhibits an almost opposite mode of treatment, both as to arrangement and proportions. While the first exhibits concentration and uniform spaciousness, the other is more extended as to length, but contracted in other respects, and the diagonal vistas that would have been obtained in the other case, are altogether lost in this. The first stone of the present edifice was laid June 21, 1675; the choir was opened for divine service in December, 1697; and the whole was completed in thirty-five years, the last stone on the summit of the lantern being laid by the architect’s son Christopher, in 1710. Taken altogether, St. Paul’s Cathedral is a truly glorious work, and its cupola is matchless in beauty. There are few churches of the past or present day that can vie with it in richness of design; and St. Peter’s, with its single order and attic, appearing of much smaller dimensions than it really is, cannot be put in comparison with it. For a description of this edifice, see Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects.

WREN’S DEATH.

This illustrious artist died in 1723, and was buried in the vault of St. Paul’s Cathedral, the most enduring monument of his genius, under the south aisle of the choir. Inscribed upon his tomb are four words “that comprehend,” says Walpole, “his merit and his fame,” sublimely and eloquently expressed: “Si monumentum quæris, circumspice”--“If thou inquirest for a monument, look around thee!”

WREN AND CHARLES II.

Wren’s small stature, and his intimacy with Charles II., are humorously shown in an anecdote preserved by Seward. The king, on walking through his newly erected palace at Newmarket, said, “These rooms are too low.” Wren went up to the king and replied, “An please your majesty, I think them high enough.” Whereupon Charles, stooping down to Sir Christopher’s stature, answered with a smile, “On second thoughts, I think so too.”

THOMAS BANKS, THE ENGLISH SCULPTOR.

Among the friends of this gifted man, were Flaxman, Fuseli, and the talented John Horne Tooke. His friendship with the last nearly proved mischievous to Banks, and perhaps would certainly have been so, had it not been for the uprightness of his character. During those perilous days, when “revolution” and “mad equality” were causing such commotions, suspicion fell upon the politician, who was subjected to an official examination and a trial, Banks being also implicated in the charge, although his offence consisted at most in listening to the other’s declamations. “I remember,” says his daughter Lavinia, “when Tooke, and Hardy, and others were arrested on the charge of high treason, that an officer waited on my father with an order from the Secretary of the State to go to his office. I chanced to be in the next room, and the door being partly open, I heard all that passed. My father only requested to be allowed to go into his study, and give directions to his workmen; this was complied with, and he then accompanied the messenger. I said nothing to my mother of what I had heard, since father had been silent for fear of exciting unnecessary apprehensions; but I sat with much trouble at heart for several hours, when to my inexpressible joy I heard his well known knock at the door, and ran to greet his return--a return rendered doubly happy, since his own simple and manly explanation had acquitted him of all suspicion of treasonable designs, or of a thought injurious to his country.” The intercourse between Banks and his daughter Lavinia was of the most delightful character. His chief pleasure for many years was in her instruction; he superintended her education in all things, and more particularly in drawing; she sat beside him whilst he modeled, accompanied him in his walks, and in the evenings cheered him with music, of which he was passionately fond. A most touching instance of filial and paternal love!

THE GENIUS OF BANKS

As Banks never received anything like the encouragement which he deserved, the character of his genius must be sought more in the works that he sketched, than those that he executed in marble. Among his sketches, the poetical abounded, and these were founded chiefly on Homer. Several splendid sketches are his Andromache lamenting with her handmaidens over the body of Hector, the Venus rising from the Sea, shedding back her tresses as she ascends, and a Venus bearing Æneas wounded from the Battle. “In his classical sketches,” says Cunningham, “the man fully comes out: we see that he had surrendered his whole soul to those happier days of sculpture when the human frame was unshackled and free, and the dresses as well as deeds of men were heroic; that the bearing of gods was familiar to his dreams; and that it was not his fault if he aspired in vain to be the classic sculptor of his age and nation.” His monument to the only daughter of Sir Brooke Boothby, now in Ashbourne church, Derbyshire, represents the child when six years old, lying asleep on her couch in all her innocence and beauty. “Simplicity and elegance,” says Dr. Mavor, “appear in the workmanship, tenderness and innocence in the image.” The sculptor’s daughter Lavinia says, “He was a minute observer of nature, and often have I seen him stop in his walk to remark an attitude, or some group of figures, and unconsciously trace the outline in air with his finger as if drawing paper had been before him. He would in the same way remark folds of drapery, and note them in his mind, or sketch them on paper, to be used when occasion called.”

BANKS’ KINDNESS TO YOUNG SCULPTORS.

His daughter Lavinia often marvelled at his patience in pointing out the imperfections or beauties of drawings and models submitted by young artists to his inspection. Even when little hope of future excellence appeared, he was careful not to wound the feelings of a race whose sensitiveness he too well knew. He would say, “This and better will do,--but this and worse will never do,” and ended by recommending industry and perseverance. One morning a youth of about thirteen years of age, came to the door of Banks with drawings in his hand. Owing to some misgiving of mind, the knock which he intended should be modest and unassuming, was loud and astounding, and the servant who opened the door was in no pleasant mood with what he imagined to be forwardness in one so young. Banks, happening to overhear the chiding of the servant, went out and said with much gentleness, “What do you want with me, young man?” “I want, sir,” said the boy, “that you should get me to draw at the academy.” “That,” replied the sculptor, “is not in my power, for no one is admitted there but by ballot, and I am only one of those persons on whose pleasure it depends. But you have got a drawing there--let me look at it.” He examined it for a moment, and said, “Time enough for the academy yet, my little man! go home and mind your schooling,--try and make a better drawing of the Apollo, and in a month come again and let me see it.” The boy went home, drew with three-fold diligence, and on that day month appeared again at the door of Banks with a new drawing in his hand. The sculptor liked this drawing better than he did the other, gave him a week to improve it, encouraged him much, and showed him the various works of art in his own study. He went away and returned in a week, when the Apollo was visibly improved--he conceived a kindness for the boy, and said if he were spared he would distinguish himself. The prediction has been fulfilled,--the academician Mulready has attained wide distinction.

THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE AND CHARACTER OF BANKS.

In person, Banks was tall, with looks silent and dignified, and an earnestness of carriage that well became him; he spoke seldom; he had a winning sweetness in his way of address, and a persuasive manner which was not unfelt by his academic companions. He was simple and frugal in his general style of living, yet liberal to excess in all that related to the encouragement of art; his purse was open to virtuous sufferers, and what is far more, he shrank not from going personally into the houses of the poor and sick, to console and aid them in adversity. In his younger days it was his custom to work at his marbles in the solitude of the Sabbath morning, when his assistants were not at hand to interrupt him; but as he advanced in life he discontinued the practice, and became an example to his brother artists in the observance of the Sabbath day. He grew strict in religious duty, and, like Flaxman, added another to the number of those devout sculptors, whose purity of life, and reach of intellect, are an honor to their country.

FLAXMAN’S TRIBUTE TO BANKS.

That Flaxman appreciated and honored Banks’ genius, he was ever ready to give strong proof.--“We have had a sculptor,” he says in one of his lectures, “in the late Mr. Banks, whose works have eclipsed the most, if not all his continental cotemporaries.” On another occasion--that of the sale of the sculptor’s models--Mrs. Siddons and Flaxman were seated together, when the auctioneer began to expatiate upon the beauty of an antique figure, saying, “Behold where the deceased artist found some of his beauties.” “Sir,” exclaimed Flaxman, more warmly than was his wont, “you do Mr. Banks much wrong, _he_ wanted no assistance.”

Banks died in 1805. In Westminster Abbey a tablet is erected with this inscription, “In memory of Thomas Banks, Esq., R. A., Sculptor, whose superior abilities in the profession added a lustre to the arts of his country, and whose character as a man reflected honor on human nature.”

JOSEPH NOLLEKENS, THE ENGLISH SCULPTOR.

Cunningham says, “He was passionately fond of drawing and modelling, and labored early and late to acquire knowledge in his profession; yet he was so free from all pride, or so obliging by nature, that he would run on any errand; nor did he hesitate to relate, in the days of his wealth and eminence, how he used to carry pots of porter to his master’s maids on a washing day, and with more success than Barry did when he treated Burke, ‘for,’ says he, ‘I always crept slowly along to save the head of foam that the lasses might taste it in all its strength.’ Such traits as these, however, I cannot consent to set down as incontrovertible proofs of a mean and vulgar spirit; nay, they often keep company with real loftiness of nature.”

NOLLEKENS’ VISIT TO ROME.