The Villa d'Asola, the country residence of the Signor Falieri, was in
a state of unusual excitement. Some of the most distinguished
patricians of Venice had been bidden to a great banquet, which was to
surpass in magnificence any entertainment ever before given, even by
the wealthy and hospitable Signer Falieri.
The feast was ready, the guests were assembled, when word came from the
confectioner, who had been charged to prepare the center ornament for
the table, that he had spoiled the piece. Consternation reigned in the
servants' hall. What was to be done? The steward, or head servant, was
in despair. He was responsible for the table decorations, and the
absence of the centerpiece would seriously mar the arrangements. He
wrung his hands and gesticulated wildly. What should he do!
"If you will let me try, I think I can make something that will do."
The speaker was a delicate, pale-faced boy, about twelve years old, who
had been engaged to help in some of the minor details of preparation
for the great event. "You!" exclaimed the steward, gazing in amazement
at the modest, yet apparently audacious lad before him. "And who are
you?" "I am Antonio Canova, the grandson of Pisano, the stonecutter."
Desperately grasping at even the most forlorn hope, the perplexed
servant gave the boy permission to try his hand at making a centerpiece.
Calling for some butter, with nimble fingers and the skill of a
practiced sculptor, in a short time the little scullion molded the
figure of a crouching lion. So perfect in proportion, so spirited and
full of life in every detail, was this marvelous butter lion that it
elicited a chorus of admiration from the delighted guests, who were
eager to know who the great sculptor was who had deigned to expend his
genius on such perishable material. Signor Falieri, unable to gratify
their curiosity, sent for his head servant, who gave them the history
of the centerpiece. Antonio was immediately summoned to the banquet
hall, where he blushingly received the praises and congratulations of
all present, and the promise of Signer Falieri to become his patron,
and thus enable him to achieve fame as a sculptor.
Such, according to some biographers, was the turning point in the
career of Antonio Canova, who, from a peasant lad, born in the little
Venetian village of Possagno, rose to be the most illustrious sculptor
of his age.
Whether or not the story be true, it is certain that when the boy was
in his thirteenth year, Signer Falieri placed him in the studio of
Toretto, a Venetian sculptor, then living near Asola. But it is equally
certain that the fame which crowned Canova's manhood, the title of
Marquis of Ischia, the decorations and honors so liberally bestowed
upon him by the ruler of the Vatican, kings, princes, and emperors,
were all the fruits of his ceaseless industry, high ideals, and
unfailing enthusiasm.
The little Antonio began to draw almost as soon as he could hold a
pencil, and the gown of the dear old grandmother who so tenderly loved
him, and was so tenderly loved in return, often bore the marks of baby
fingers fresh from modeling in clay.
Antonio's father having died when the child was but three years old,
his grandfather, Pisano, hoped that he would succeed him as village
stonecutter and sculptor. Delicate though the little fellow had been
from birth, at nine years of age he was laboring, as far as his
strength would permit, in Pisano's workshop. But in the evening, after
the work of the day was done, with pencil or clay he tried to give
expression to the poetic fancies he had imbibed from the ballads and
legends of his native hills, crooned to him in infancy by his
grandmother.
Under Toretto his genius developed so rapidly that the sculptor spoke
of one of his creations as "a truly marvelous production." He was then
only thirteen. Later we find him in Venice, studying and working with
ever increasing zeal. Though Signor Falieri would have been only too
glad to supply the youth's needs, he was too proud to be dependent on
others. Speaking of this time, he says: "I labored for a mere pittance,
but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my own resolution, and, as I
then flattered myself, the foretaste of more honorable rewards, for I
never thought of wealth."
Too poor to hire a workshop or studio, through the kindness of the
monks of St. Stefano, he was given a cell in a vacant monastery, and
here, at the age of sixteen, he started business as a sculptor on his
own account.
Before he was twenty, the youth had become a master of anatomy, which
he declared was "the secret of the art," was thoroughly versed in
literature, languages, history, poetry, mythology,--everything that
could help to make him the greatest sculptor of his age,--and had, even
then, produced works of surpassing merit.
Effort to do better was the motto of his life, and he never permitted a
day to pass without making some advance in his profession. Though often
too poor to buy the marble in which to embody his conceptions, he for
many years lived up to a resolution made about this time, never to
close his eyes at night without having produced some design.
What wonder that at twenty-five this noble youth, whose incessant toil
had perfected genius, was the marvel of his age! What wonder that his
famous group, Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur, elicited the
enthusiastic admiration of the most noted art critics of Rome! What
wonder that the little peasant boy, who had first opened his eyes, in
1757, in a mud cabin, closed them at last, in 1822, in a marble palace,
crowned with all of fame and honor and wealth the world could give! But
better still, he was loved and enshrined in the hearts of the people,
as a friend of the poor, a patron of struggling merit, a man in whom
nobility of character overtopped even the genius of the artist.