University of Virginia Library

ART AND ARTISTS.

Within the palace is a magnificent range of apartments
appropriated to the fine arts, through which
we are privileged, by the liberal courtesy so striking
to the stranger in Tuscany, unreservedly to wander.
They are adorned above with the most splendid
frescos illustrative of the Iliad, beneath by brilliantly
polished floors, while around, in gorgeous
profusion, are various and admired paintings. The
chief distinction of this collection seems to consist
in the remarkable paucity of ordinary works amid
such a multitude. There are few which indicate
vast genius or inspire overpowering sentiments, but
many which, from their intrinsic beauty or excellence
of execution, form delightful sources of contemplative
pleasure.

But the grand object which lends a most attractive
charm to this city, is its far-famed gallery of art,
containing, besides innumerable paintings, many
original works of ancient sculpture. Day after day
may the resident here frequent this elegant and
instructive resort, until it becomes to him a familiar
retreat, where much of his daily happiness is experienced,
and many of his best thoughts suggested.

Here, were this my home, would many of my best
friends be; for who can fail to have his favourite
paintings, as well as his much-loved walks or most
admired authors? And who that values the objects
and agencies around him in proportion to their improving
influences can withstand the sentiment of
sympathy inspired by the long study and nurtured
love of art's happiest products? How many delightful
hours may one pass in that little sanctum
of art—the Tribune, gazing upon its presiding goddess,
and basking in the radiated expression of its
pictured glories! Often, while seated in the circular
chair opposite the celebrated statue of the Knife-grinder,
I could not but reflect upon the position as
superior to any which mere wealth or station could
boast. For if the end chiefly attainable from both
these is enjoyment, assuredly the rich little apartment
I temporarily occupied, evolves from its beautiful
treasures sufficient pleasurable inspiration to
delight every worthy capacity of happiness, such as
is derivable from outward objects. Specification
and especial comment in regard to the paintings in
the Gallery and Palace of Florence becomes less
and less practicable as the sojourner repeats and
lengthens his visits. The works of Raphael, Titian,
Morillo, and Salvator, distinctive as they are, become
to the studious observer more and more
instinct with an inspiration over which he loves to
ponder, but which seldom `wreaks itself upon expression.'

Standing amid the renowned sculptured group of

Niobe and her children, I could indeed discover
maternal sadness in the fixed countenance of the
former: yet at the first view, it seemed wanting in
that excited, agonized grief, which the occasion
would naturally induce. Perhaps, however, the expression
more justly is that of placid and utterly
despairing sorrow. The matronly form, the manner
in which the mother's arm protects her clinging
babe, the fine natural positions of the children—
none can behold without admiration; nor, I think,
without wishing that the whole group was better
disposed for exhibiting the scene so vaguely indicated
by the severed and regularly placed figures.

At the extremity of the gallery are two statues
by Donatello—John the Baptist in the Wilderness,
and David. In viewing the former, one must admit
its excellence as an artificial representation of an
attenuated human form; but few can restrain a feeling
of impatience in regarding it as the image it is
designed to exhibit. In the successful attempt to
delineate a victim of famine, all trace of devotion
and benignity is lost. In this, as in other instances,
the subject of regret is that the artist had not been
satisfied with executing a fine imitation of nature,
instead of aiming, at the same time, at representing
a great character. Michael Angelo's Christ would
not so often disappoint, were it known by another
name. It is the nature of man to associate with
names corresponding ideas; and he mars not a little
the completeness of his fame who is prone to connect

with the emanations of his genius or industry,
the added attraction of a title which is, in itself, calculated
to excite great expectations. That title will
anticipate the work itself in reputation; and hence
the notions of the multitude will be proportionably
raised. It is highly interesting to peruse the
various, and for the most part, strongly marked
countenances in the Portrait Gallery. These likenesses
comprise authentic delineations of the master-painters.
Those of Titian, Vandyke, and Perugini
particularly arrested my attention.

In the Corsini Palace, several sketches by Salvator—a
powerful modern work, the Death of Priam—
a very pretty one, the Corsini Children—two Dutch
portraits, finished up with a truly dreadful fidelity
to nature—Carlo Dolci's Poesia, and a drawing by
Raphael, are the most interesting works in the extensive
collection. Of late productions of art at
present to be seen in this city, few interested me
more than those of Bartolini, the most celebrated,
and, in some respects, the best of modern sculptors.
The statue of Charity, with an infant asleep in her
arms, and a boy receiving instruction at her feet,
and a beautiful Priestess of Bacchus, still in the
hands of the artist, most delighted me. I viewed,
also, with lively pleasure, a picture just completed
by a young Florentine—the miracle of a mule
refusing her proffered food and falling upon her
knees at the sight of St. Anthony bearing the host.
Whatever may be thought of the subject, the execution

is wonderful. The countenance of the covered
heretic, for whose good the miracle is supposed to
have been performed, expressing astonishment and
conviction, the calm self-possessed air of the saint,
with the reverence and still devotion beaming from
the attentive features of the surrounding crowd—all
this is most feelingly conceived and depicted. The
artist is but twenty years of age, one of a gifted
family.

In relation to contemporary artists, and to the
most beautiful of the arts, it is however happily permitted
to the American visitor at Florence, to mingle
with the gratifications of the present and the
hopes of the future, the glow of patriotic pride and
pleasure. When from the halls sacred to the trophies
of ancient art, he turns to regard the efforts
now making to renew the days of her glory, there
is one spot to which he will fondly and frequently
revert, where an assiduous and gifted votary brightens
the days of his exile with the loved labours of
the chisel. Whether moulding infant forms to
speak to us of innocence and heaven, tracing the
delicate lines of a marble-embodied portraiture, or
turning to the sublime enterprise of fashioning the
august image of the Father of his Country for the
Capitol of the rotunda, the artist manifests the conceptive
and progressive energy of true genius. It
is the Studio of Greenough.