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.
In 1760, Nollekens proceeded to Italy, by the way of Paris. On arriving
in the French capital, he presented himself at the house of an uncle
there, told his name, and claimed kindred. The old gentleman stood with
his door half opened, put a few cool questions, and seemed to doubt the
veracity of his story; but at length catching a glimpse of a gold
watch-chain, he invited him to dinner. The pride of the young artist,
however, had been deeply touched--he declined the invitation, and went
his way. On reaching Rome, the friendless youth found his stock reduced
to some twenty guineas; and dreading want, and what was worse,
dependence, he set about mending his fortune with equal despatch and
success. He modelled and carved in stone a bas-relief, which brought him
ten guineas from England; and in the next year the Society of Arts voted
him fifty guineas for his Timoclea before Alexander, which was in
marble. He was now noticed by the artists of Rome, and lived on friendly
terms with Barry, who was waging a useless and vexatious war with
interested antiquarians and visitors of wealth and virtu. Indeed, such
was the gentleness of his nature, and his mild and unassuming demeanor,
that he never made enemies except amongst those who could have done no
one credit as friends.
NOLLEKENS AND GARRICK.
During Nollekens’ residence at Rome, Garrick came one day into the
Vatican, and observing the young sculptor, said, “Ah! what? let me look
at you! You are the little fellow to whom we gave the prizes in the
Society of Arts? eh!” Nollekens answered, “Yes,” upon which the actor
shook him kindly by the hand, inquired concerning his studies, and
invited him to breakfast the next morning. He did more--he sat to him
for his bust, and when the model was finished, he gave him twelve
guineas. This was the first bust he ever modelled.
NOLLEKENS’ TALENTS IN BUST SCULPTURE.
The bust of Sterne, which he afterwards executed at Rome in terra cotta,
materially increased his reputation; and the applause that it received
probably warned the sculptor of his talents in that branch of the art,
in which he afterwards became so distinguished. It forms a truly
admirable image of the original, and Nollekens, to his last hour,
alluded to it with pleasure. “Dance,” he used to say, “made my picture
with my hand leaning on Sterne’s head--he was right.” This striking bust
is now in the collection of Mr. Agar Ellis. His talents in bust
sculpture were universally acknowledged, and when Mr. Coutts, the
banker, applied to Fuseli, then keeper of the Royal Academy, for the
best sculptor to execute his bust, the painter replied, “I can have no
difficulty in telling you; for though Nollekens is weak in many things,
in a bust he stands unrivalled. Had you required a group of figures, I
should have recommended Flaxman, but for a bust, give me Nollekens.”
NOLLEKENS’ BUST OF DR. JOHNSON.
While he was modelling the bust of Dr. Johnson, the latter came one day
accompanied by Miss Williams, a blind lady; and being very impatient of
the protracted sittings, he came quite late, which so displeased the
sculptor that he cried out, “Now, Doctor, you _did_ say you would give
my bust half an hour before dinner, and the dinner has been waiting this
long time.” “Nolly, be patient, Nolly,” said the sage, making his way to
the bust. “How is this, Nolly, you have loaded the head with hair.” “All
the better,” returned the artist, “it will make you look more like one
of the ancient sages or poets.--I’ll warrant now, you wanted to have it
in a wig.” The Doctor remonstrated seriously, saying, “a man, sir,
should be portrayed as he appears in company”--but the sculptor
persisted. The bust is an admirable work of art, besides being a
faithful likeness.
NOLLEKENS’ LIBERALITY TO CHANTREY.
When Chantrey sent his bust of Horne Tooke to the Exhibition, he was
young and unfriended; but the great merit of the work did not escape the
eye of Nollekens. He lifted it from the floor, set it before him, moved
his head to and fro, and having satisfied himself of its excellence,
turned to those who were arranging the works for the Exhibition, and
said, “There’s a very fine work: let the man who made it be
known--remove one of my busts, and put this in its place, for it well
deserves it.” Often afterwards, when desired to model a bust, he said in
his most persuasive way, “Go to Chantrey, he is the man for a bust; he
will make a good bust of you--I always recommend him.” He sat for his
bust to Chantrey, who always mentioned his name with tenderness and
respect.
NOLLEKENS AND THE WIDOW.