Chapter II: Part 2

The first remarkable incident recorded of the infant prodigy, occurred in his seventh year; when, being placed to watch the sleeping infant of his eldest sister, he drew a sort of likeness of the child, with a pen, in red and black ink. His mother returned, and snatching the paper which he sought to conceal, exclaimed to her daughter, “I declare, he has made a likeness of little Sally!” She took him in her arms, and kissed him fondly. This feat appeared so wonderful in the eyes of his parents that they recalled to mind the prediction of Peckover.

LITTLE BENJAMIN AND THE INDIANS.

When he was about eight years old, a party of Indians, who were always kindly treated by the followers of George Fox, paid their summer visit to Springfield, and struck with the rude sketches which the boy had made of birds, fruit, and flowers, they taught him to prepare the red and yellow colors with which they stained their weapons and ornamented their skins; his mother added indigo, and thus he was possessed of three primary colors. The Indians also instructed him in archery.

HIS CAT’S TAIL PENCILS.

The wants of the child increased with his knowledge; he could draw, and had colors, but how to lay them on skillfully, he could not conceive; a pen would not answer, and he tried feathers with no better success; a neighbor informed him that it was done with a camel’s hair pencil, but as such a thing was not to be had, he bethought himself of the cat, and supplied himself from her back and tail. The cat was a favorite, and the altered condition of her fur was attributed to disease, till the boy’s confession explained the cause, much to the amusement of his parents and friends. His cat’s tail pencils enabled him to make more satisfactory efforts than he had before done.

WEST’S FIRST PICTURE.

When he was only eight years old, a merchant of Philadelphia, named Pennington, and a cousin of the Wests, was so much pleased with the sketches of little Benjamin, that he sent him a box of paints and pencils, with canvass prepared for the easel, and six engravings by Gribelin. The child was perfectly enraptured with his treasure; he carried the box about in his arms, and took it to his bedside, but could not sleep. He rose with the dawn, carried his canvass and colors to the garret, hung up the engravings, prepared a palette, and commenced work. So completely was he under this species of enchantment, that he absented himself from school, labored secretly and incessantly, and without interruption, for several days, when the anxious inquiries of his schoolmaster introduced his mother into his _studio_, with no pleasure in her looks. He had avoided copyism, and made a picture, composed from two of the engravings, telling a new story, and colored with a skill and effect which, to her eyes, appeared wonderful. Galt, who wrote West’s life, and had the story from the artist’s own lips, says, “She kissed him with transports of affection, and assured him that she would not only intercede with his father to pardon him for having absented himself from school, but would go herself to the master, and beg that he might not be punished. Sixty-seven years afterwards the writer of these memoirs had the gratification to see this piece, in the same room with the sublime painting of Christ Rejected (West’s brother had sent it to him from Springfield), on which occasion the painter declared to him that there were inventive touches of art in his first and juvenile essay, which, with all his subsequent knowledge and experience, he had not been able to surpass.” A similar story is told of Canova, who visited his native place towards the close of his brilliant career, and looking earnestly at his youthful performances, sorrowfully said, “I have been walking, but not climbing.”

WEST’S FIRST VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA.

In the ninth year of his age, he accompanied his relative Pennington to Philadelphia, and executed a view of the banks of the river, which so much pleased a painter named Williams, that he took him to his studio, and showed him all his pictures, at the sight of which he was so affected that he burst into tears. The artist, surprised, declared like Peckover that Benjamin would be a remarkable man; he gave him two books, Du Fresnoy, and Richardson on Painting, and invited him to call whenever he pleased, to see his pictures. From this time, Benjamin resolved to become a painter, and returned home with the love of painting too firmly implanted to be eradicated. His parents, also, though the art was not approved by the Friends, now openly encouraged him, being strongly impressed with the opinion that he was _predestinated_ to become a great artist.

WEST’S AMBITION.

His notions of a painter at this time were also very grand, as the following characteristic anecdote will show. One of his school-fellows allured him, on a half holiday from school, to take a ride with him to a neighboring plantation. “Here is the horse, bridled and saddled,” said the boy, “so come, get up behind me.” “Behind you!” said Benjamin; “I will ride behind nobody.” “Oh, very well,” replied the other; “I will ride behind you, so mount.” He mounted accordingly, and away they rode. “This is the last ride I shall have for some time,” said his companion; “to-morrow I am to be apprenticed to a tailor.” “A tailor!” exclaimed West; “you will surely never be a tailor?” “Indeed but I shall,” replied the other; “it is a good trade. What do you intend to be, Benjamin?” “A painter.” “A painter! what sort of a trade is a painter? I never heard of it before.” “A painter,” said West, “is the companion of kings and emperors.” “You are surely mad,” said the embryo tailor; “there are neither kings nor emperors in America.” “Aye, but there are plenty in other parts of the world. And do you really intend to be a tailor?” “Indeed I do; there is nothing surer.” “Then you may ride alone,” said the future companion of kings and emperors, leaping down; “I will not ride with one who is willing to be a tailor!”

WEST’S FIRST PATRONS.

West’s first patron was Mr. Wayne, the father of General Anthony Wayne, who gave him a dollar a piece for two small pictures he made on poplar boards which a carpenter had given him. Another patron was Mr. Flower, a justice of Chester, who took young West to his house for a short time, where he was made acquainted with a young English lady, governess to Mr. Flower’s daughters, who had a good knowledge of art, and told him stories of Greek and Roman history, fit for a painter’s pencil. He had never before heard of the heroes, philosophers, poets, painters, and historians of Greece and Rome, and he listened while the lady spoke of them, with an enthusiasm which he loved to live over again in his old age. His first painting which attracted much notice was a portrait of Mrs. Ross, a very beautiful lady, the wife of a lawyer of Lancaster. The picture was regarded as a wonderful performance, and gained him so much reputation, says Galt, “that the citizens came in such crowds to sit to the boy for portraits, that he had some trouble in meeting the demand.” At the same time, a gunsmith, named Henry, who had a classic turn, commissioned him to paint a picture of the Death of Socrates. West forthwith made a sketch which his employer thought excellent, but he now began to see his difficulties, and feel his deficiencies. “I have hitherto painted faces,” said he, “and people clothed. What am I to do with the slave who presents the poison? He ought, I think, to be painted naked.” Henry went to his shop, and returned with one of his workmen, a handsome young negro man half naked, saying, “There is your model.” He accordingly introduced him into his picture, which excited great attention.

WEST’S EDUCATION.

West was now fifteen years old. Dr. Smith, Provost of the College at Philadelphia, happened to see him at Lancaster, and perceiving his wonderful talents, and that his education was being neglected, generously proposed to his father to take him with him to Philadelphia, where he proposed to direct his studies, and to instruct him in all the learning most important for a painter to know.

WEST’S DEDICATION TO ART.

The art of painting being regarded by the Quakers as not only useless but pernicious, “in preserving voluptuous images, and adding to the sensual gratifications of man,” Mr. West determined to submit the matter to the wisdom of the Society, before giving a positive answer. He accordingly sent for his son to attend the solemn assembly. The Friends met, and the spirit of speech first descended on John Williamson, who, according to Galt, thus spake: “To John West and Sarah Pearson, a man-child hath been born, on whom God hath conferred some remarkable gifts of mind; and you have all heard that, by something amounting to inspiration, the youth has been induced to study the art of painting. It is true that our tenets refuse to own the utility of that art to mankind, but it seemeth to me that we have considered the matter too nicely. God hath bestowed on this youth a genius for art--shall we question his wisdom? Can we believe that he gives such rare gifts but for a wise and good purpose? I see the Divine hand in this; we shall do well to sanction the art and encourage this youth.” The Quakers gave their unanimous consent, and summoned the youth before them. He came, and took his station in the middle of the room, his father on his right hand, his mother on his left, while around him gathered the whole assembly. One of the women first spake, but the words of Williamson, says Galt, are alone remembered. “Painting,” said he, “has hitherto been employed to embellish life, to preserve voluptuous images, and add to the sensual gratifications of men. For this we classed it among vain and merely ornamental things, and excluded it from amongst us. But this is not the principle but the mis-employment of painting. In wise and pure hands, it rises in the scale of moral excellence, and displays a loftiness of sentiment, and a devout dignity, worthy of the contemplation of Christians. I think genius is given by God for some high purpose. What the purpose is, let us not inquire--it will be manifest in His own good time and way. He hath in this remote wilderness endowed with rich gifts of a superior spirit this youth, who has now our consent to cultivate his talents for art; may it be demonstrated in his life and works, that the gifts of God have not been bestowed in vain, nor the motives of the beneficent inspiration, which induces us to suspend the strict operations of our tenets, prove barren of religious and moral effect!” At the conclusion of this address, says Galt, the women rose and kissed the young artist, and the men, one by one, laid their hands on his head. The scene made so strong an impression on the mind of West, that he looked upon himself as expressly dedicated to art, and considered this release from the strict tenets of his sect, as enjoining on his part a covenant to employ his powers on subjects pure and holy. The grave simplicity of the Quaker continued to the last in his looks, manners, and deportment; and the moral rectitude and internal purity of the man were diffused through all his productions.

WEST’S EARLY PRICES.

At about eighteen years of age, West commenced portrait painting as a profession in Philadelphia. His extreme youth, the peculiar circumstances of his history, and his undoubted merit, brought him many sitters. His prices were very humble--$12.50 for a head, and $25 for a full-length; all the money he thus laboriously earned, he carefully treasured, to secure, at some future period, the means of travel and study; for his sagacious mind perceived that travel not only influenced public opinion, but was absolutely necessary for him if he wished to excel, especially in historical painting. There were no galleries in America; he knew that the masterpieces of art were in Italy, and he had already set his heart on visiting that delightful country. He made a copy of a picture of St. Ignatius, by Murillo, which had been captured in a Spanish vessel, and belonged to Governor Hamilton; he also painted a large picture for Mr. Cox, from the history of Susanna, the Elders, and Daniel, in which he introduced no less than forty figures. This work gained him great reputation, and West always considered it the masterpiece of his youth; it was afterwards unfortunately destroyed by fire. After having painted the portraits of all who desired it in Philadelphia, he proceeded to New York, where he opened a studio, and Dunlap says for eleven months he had all the portraits he could execute, at double the prices he had charged in Philadelphia. An opportunity now presented itself, which enabled him to gratify his long cherished desire of going to Italy. The harvest had partially failed in that country, and Mr. Allen, a merchant of Philadelphia, was loading a ship with wheat and flour for Leghorn. He had resolved to send his son as supercargo, to give him the benefit of travel, and West’s invaluable friend, Provost Smith, made arrangements for the young painter to accompany the young merchant. It happened that a New York merchant, of the name of Kelly, was sitting for his portrait when this good news arrived, and West with joy spoke to him of the great advantage he expected to derive from a residence of two or three years in Italy. The portrait being finished, Mr. Kelly paid him ten guineas, and gave him a letter to his agent in Philadelphia, which, on being presented, proved to be an order from the generous merchant to pay him fifty guineas, as “a present to aid in his equipment for Italy.”

WEST’S ARRIVAL AT ROME.

West arrived at Rome on the 10th of July, 1760, in the 22d year of his age. Cunningham thus describes his reception: “When it was known that a young American had come to study Raffaelle and Michael Angelo, some curiosity was excited among the Roman virtuosi. The first fortunate exhibitor of this lion from the western wilderness was Lord Grantham, the English ambassador, to whom West had letters. He invited West to dinner, and afterwards took him to an evening party, where he found almost all those persons to whom he had brought letters of introduction. Among the rest was Cardinal Albani, who, though old and blind, had such delicacy of touch that he was considered supreme in all matters of judgment regarding medals and intaglios. ‘I have the honor,’ said Lord Grantham, ‘to present you a young American, who has a letter for your Eminence, and who has come to Italy for the purpose of studying the Fine Arts.’ The Cardinal knew so little of the New World, that he conceived an American must needs be a savage. ‘Is he black or white?’ said the aged virtuoso, holding out both hands, that he might have the satisfaction of touching, at least, this new wonder. Lord Grantham smiled and said, ‘he is fair--very fair.’ ‘What! as fair as I am?’ exclaimed the prelate. Now the complexion of the churchman was a deep olive--that of West more than commonly fair; and as they stood together, the company smiled. ‘As fair as the Cardinal,’ became for a while proverbial. Others, who had the use of their eyes, seemed to consider the young American as at most a better kind of savage, and accordingly were curious to watch him. They wished to try what effect the Apollo, the Venus, and the works of Raffaelle would have upon him, and thirty of the most magnificent equipages in the capital, filled with some of the most erudite characters in Europe, says Galt, conducted the young Quaker to view the masterpieces of art. It was agreed that the Apollo should be first submitted to his view; the statue was enclosed in a case, and when the keeper threw open the doors, West unconsciously exclaimed, ‘My God! a young Mohawk warrior!’ The Italians were surprised and mortified with the comparison of their noblest statue to a wild savage; and West, perceiving the unfavorable impression, proceeded to remove it. He described the Mohawks, the natural elegance and admirable symmetry of their persons, the elasticity of their limbs, and their motions free and unconstrained. ‘I have seen them often,’ he continued, ‘standing in the attitude of this Apollo, and pursuing with an intense eye the arrow which they had just discharged from the bow.’ The Italians cleared their moody brows, and allowed that a better criticism had rarely been made. West was no longer a barbarian.”

WEST’S EARLY FRIENDS.

The excitement to which West was subjected at Rome, his intense application, and his anxiety to distinguish himself, brought on a fever, and for a time, interrupted his studies; by the advice of his physicians, he returned to Leghorn, for the benefit of the sea air, where, after a lingering sickness of eleven months, he was completely cured. But he found his funds almost exhausted, and he began to despair of being able to prosecute his studies according to the proposed plan. He called on his agents, to take up the last ten pounds he had in the world, when to his astonishment and joy, he was handed a letter of unlimited credit from his old friends in Philadelphia, Mr. Allen and Governor Hamilton; they had heard of his glorious reception at Rome, and his success with the portrait of Lord Grantham. At a dinner, one day, with Governor Hamilton, Mr Allen said, “I regard this young man as an honor to his country, and as he is the first that America has sent out to cultivate the Fine Arts, he shall not be frustrated in his studies, for I shall send him whatever money he may require.” “I think with you, sir,” replied Hamilton, “but you must not have all the honor to yourself; allow me to unite with you in the responsibility of the credit.” Those who befriend genius when it is struggling for distinction, are public benefactors, and their names should be held in grateful remembrance. The names of Hamilton, Allen, Smith, Kelly, Jackson, Rutherford, and Lord Grantham, must be dear to all the admirers of West; they aided him in the infancy of his fame and fortune, cheered him when he was drooping and desponding; and watched over his person and purse with the vigilance of true friendship. West always expressed his deepest obligation to these generous men, and it was at his particular request that Galt recorded their names, and their deeds.

WEST’S COURSE OF STUDY.

West now proceeded with redoubled alacrity, to execute the plan recommended by Mengs. He visited Florence, Bologna, Parma, and Venice, and diligently examined everything worth studying. He everywhere received marks of attention, and was elected a member of the Academies of Florence, Bologna, and Parma. In the latter city, he painted and presented to the Academy, a copy of the famous St. Jerome by Correggio, “of such excellence,” says Galt, “that the reigning prince desired to see the artist. He went to court, and to the utter astonishment of the attendants, appeared with his hat on. The prince was familiar with the tenets of the Quakers, and was a lover of William Penn; he received the young artist with complacency, and dismissed him with many expressions of regard.” West returned to Rome, where he painted two pictures which were highly commended, one of Cimon and Iphigenia, and the other of Angelica and Medora. At Venice, he particularly studied the works of Titian, and Cunningham says, “he imagined he had discovered his principles of coloring.”

A REMARKABLE PROPHECY.

As West was conversing one evening with Gavin Hamilton in the British Coffee House, at Rome, an old man, with a long and flowing beard and a harp in his hand, entered and offered his services as an improvisatore bard. “Here is an American,” said the wily Scot, “come to study the Fine Arts in Rome; take him for your theme, and, it is a magnificent one.” The minstrel casting a glance at West, who never in his life could perceive what a joke was, commenced his song. “I behold in this youth an instrument chosen by heaven to create in his native country a taste for those arts which have elevated the nature of man--an assurance that his land will be the refuge of science and knowledge, when in the old age of Europe they shall have forsaken her shores. All things of heavenly origin move westward, and Truth, and Art, have their periods of light and darkness. Rejoice, O Rome, for thy spirit immortal and undecayed now spreads towards a new world, where, like the soul of man in Paradise, it will be perfected more and more.” The prediction of Peckover, the fond expressions of his beloved mother, and his solemn dedication to art, rushed upon West’s memory, and he burst into tears; and even in his riper years, he was willing to consider the poor mendicant’s song as another prophecy.

WEST’S FONDNESS FOR SKATING.

There are other minor matters, says Cunningham, which help a man on to fame and fortune. West was a skillful skater, and in America had formed an acquaintance on the ice with Colonel Howe. One day, the painter having tied on his skates at the Serpentine, was astonishing the timid practitioners of London with the rapidity of his motions, and the graceful figure which he cut. Some one shouted “West! West!” It was Colonel Howe. “I am glad to see you,” said he, “and not less so that you came in good time to vindicate my praises of American skating.” He called to him Lord Spencer Hamilton, and some of the Cavendishes, to whom he introduced West as one of the Philadelphia prodigies of skating, and requested him to show them what was called “the Salute.” He performed this feat so much to their satisfaction that they spread the praises of the American skater all over London. West was exceedingly fond of this invigorating amusement, and used frequently to gratify large crowds by cutting the Philadelphia Salute. Cunningham says, “Many to the praise of skating, added panegyrics on his professional skill, and not a few to vindicate their applause, followed him to his easel, and sat for their portraits.”

WEST’S DEATH OF WOLFE.

A change was now to be effected in the character of British art. Hitherto, historical painting had appeared in a masking habit; the actions of Englishmen, says Cunningham, had all been performed, if costume were to be believed, by Greeks and Romans. West dismissed at once this pedantry, and restored nature and propriety in his noble work of “the Death of Wolfe.” The multitude acknowledged its excellence at once, on its being exhibited at the Royal Academy; but the lovers of old art, or of the compositions called _classical_, complained of the barbarism of boots, buttons, and blunderbusses, and cried out for naked warriors, with bows, bucklers, and battering rams. Lord Grosvenor was so pleased with the picture, that, disregarding the frowns of amateurs, and the cold approbation of the Academy, he purchased it. Galt says that the king questioned West concerning this picture, and put him on his defense of this new heresy in art. “When it was understood,” said the artist, “that I intended to paint the characters as they had actually appeared on the scene, the Archbishop of York called on Reynolds, and asked his opinion; they both came to my house to dissuade me from running so great a risk. Reynolds began a very ingenious and elegant dissertation on the state of the public taste in this country, and the danger which every innovator incurred of contempt and ridicule, and concluded by urging me earnestly to adopt the costume of antiquity, as more becoming the greatness of my subject than the modern garb of European warriors. I answered that the event to be commemorated happened in the year 1758, in a region of the world unknown to the Greeks and Romans, and at a period of time when no warriors who wore such costume existed. The subject I have to represent is a great battle fought and won, and the same truth which gives law to the historian, should rule the painter. If instead of the facts of the action, I introduce fiction, how shall I be understood by posterity? The classic dress is certainly picturesque, but by using it, I shall lose in sentiment what I gain in external grace. I want to mark the place, the time, and the people, and to do this, I must abide by truth. They went away, and returned again when I had finished the painting. Reynolds seated himself before the picture, examined it with deep and minute attention for half an hour; then rising, said to Drummond, ‘West has conquered; he has treated his subject as it ought to be treated; I retract my objections. I foresee that this picture will not only become one of the most popular, but will occasion a revolution in art.’ ‘I wish,’ said the king, ‘that I had known all this before, for the objection has been the means of Lord Grosvenor’s getting the picture; but you shall make a copy for me.’”

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Michael Angelo was descended from the noble family of Canosa. From his earliest infancy, he discovered a passion for drawing and sculpture. It is said that his nurse was the wife of a poor sculptor, or as some say, a mason. His father, Lodovico Simone Buonarotti, intended him for one of the learned professions, and placed him in a grammar school at Florence. Here young Angelo soon manifested the greatest fondness for drawing, and became quite intimate with the students in painting. The decided bent of his genius induced his parents, against their wishes, to place him at the age of fourteen under the instruction of Domenico Ghirlandaio. He made such rapid progress, that he soon not only surpassed all his fellow disciples, but even his instructor, so that he was able to correct Domenico’s drawing.

While pursuing his studies under Ghirlandaio, he was accustomed to visit the gardens of the Grand Duke, (Lorenzo the Magnificent) to study the antique. One day, when he was about fifteen years of age, he found a piece of marble in the garden, and carved it into the mask of a satyr, borrowing the design from an antique fragment. Lorenzo, on seeing the work, was struck with its excellence, and jestingly told the young Angelo that he had made a mistake in giving a full set of teeth to an old man. This hint was not lost; the next day it was found that the artist had broken one of the teeth from the upper jaw, and drilled a hole in the gum to represent the cavity left by the lost tooth. The first work executed by Michael Angelo, on his return to Florence from Bologna, where he had fled on account of the disturbances in the former city, was a Sleeping Cupid, in marble, which considerably enhanced his reputation; but so great was the prejudice in favor of the antique, that by the advice of a friend, Michael Angelo sent his statue to Rome, to undergo the process of burial, in order to give it the appearance of a work of ancient art, before it should be submitted to public inspection. This fraud, like many of a similar kind at this time practiced, succeeded completely; and the Cupid was eagerly purchased by the Cardinal St. Giorgio, for 200 ducats. It was not long before the Cardinal was told that a trick had been played upon him, and he sent a person to Florence, in order to ascertain, if possible the truth of the charge. The latter repaired to the studios of the different artists in that city, on the pretence of seeing their productions. On visiting the _atelier_ of Michael Angelo, he requested to see a specimen of his work; but not having anything finished at the time, he carelessly took up a pen, and made a sketch of a hand. The Cardinal’s messenger, struck by the freedom and grandeur of the style, inquired what was the last work he had executed. The artist, without consideration, answered at the moment, it was a Sleeping Cupid; and so minutely described the supposed antique statue, that there remained no doubt whose work it was. The messenger at once confessed the object of his journey, and so strongly recommended Michael Angelo to visit Rome, that he soon after went to that city, on the express invitation of the Cardinal St. Giorgio himself. Here he executed several admirable works, among which the Pietá, or dead Christ, has been highly extolled for the great knowledge of anatomy displayed in the figure. He afterwards returned to Florence, where he executed his celebrated marble statue of David.

MICHAEL ANGELO AND JULIUS THE SECOND.

Julius the Second, a patron of genius and learning, having ascended the papal throne, Michael Angelo was among the first invited to Rome, and was immediately employed by the pope in the execution of a magnificent mausoleum. On the completion of the design, it was difficult to find a site befitting its splendor; and it was finally determined to rebuild St. Peter’s, in order that this monument might be contained in a building of corresponding magnificence. Thus originated the design of that edifice, which was one hundred and fifty years in completion, and which is now the noblest triumph of architectural genius the world can boast. The completion of this grand monument was delayed by various causes during the pontificates of several succeeding popes, until the time of Paul III. It was not placed in St. Peter’s, as originally intended, but in the church of S. Pietro, in Vincoli. On this monument is the celebrated colossal statue of Moses, which ranks Michael Angelo among the first sculptors, and has contributed largely to his renown.

ST. PETER’S CHURCH.

Michael Angelo’s greatest architectural work was the cupola of St. Peter’s church. Bramante, the original architect, had executed his design only up to the springing of the four great arches of the central intersection. Giuliano di Sangallo, Giocondo, Raffaelle, Peruzzi, and Antonio Sangallo, had been successively engaged, after Bramante’s decease, to carry on the work; but during the inert sway of Adrian VI., and amid the catastrophes of Clement VII., little had been accomplished. At length Paul III. appointed Michael Angelo to the post of architect, much against his will, as he was then seventy-two years of age. He immediately laid aside all the drawings and models of his predecessors, and taking the simple subject of the original idea, he carried it out with remarkable purity, divesting it of all the intricacies and puerilities of the previous successors of Bramante, and by its unaffected dignity, and unity of conception, he rendered the interior of the cupola superior to any similar work of modern times. He was engaged upon it seventeen years, and at the age of eighty-seven he had a model prepared of the dome, which he carried up to a considerable height; in fact, to such a point as rendered it impossible to deviate from his plan; and it was completed in conformity with his design, by Giacomo della Porta, and Domenico Fontana. The work was greatly delayed in consequence of the want of necessary funds, or else Michael Angelo would have himself completed this great monument of his taste and skill. If we are indebted to Bramante for the first simple plan of the Greek Cross of St. Peter’s, and the idea of a cupola to crown the centre, still it must be allowed that to Michael Angelo is due the merit of carrying out the conception of the original architect, with a beauty of proportion, a simplicity and unity of form, a combination of dignity and magnificence of decoration, beyond what even the powers of Bramante could have effected.

Such was the unparalleled eminence which this wonderful genius attained in the three sister arts of sculpture, architecture, and painting. His chief characteristics were grandeur and sublimity. His powers were little adapted to represent the gentle and the beautiful; but whatever in nature partook of the sublime and the terrible, were portrayed by him with such fidelity and grandeur as intimidates the beholder. Never before nor since has the world beheld so powerful a genius. The name of Michael Angelo will be immortal as long as the peopled walls of the Sistine chapel endure, or the mighty fabric of St. Peter’s rears its proud dome above the spires of the Eternal city.

MICHAEL ANGELO’S FIRST PATRON.

Lanzi says that Lorenzo the Magnificent, desirous of encouraging the statuary art, then on the decline in his country, had collected in his gardens many antique marbles, which he committed to the care of Bertoldo. He requested Ghirlandaio to send him a talented young man, to be educated there, and he sent him Michael Angelo, then a youth of sixteen. Lorenzo was so pleased with his genius that he took him into his palace, rather as a relative than a dependent, placing him at the same table with his own sons, with Poliziano and other learned men who graced his residence. During the four years that he remained there, he laid the foundation of all his acquirements.

THE CARTOON OF PISA.

According to Condivi, Michael Angelo devoted twelve years to the study of anatomy, with great injury to his health, and this course “determined his style, his practice, and his glory.” His perfect knowledge of the human body was best shown in his famous Cartoon of the Battle of Pisa, prepared in competition with Leonardo da Vinci, in the saloon of the public palace at Florence. Angelo did not rest satisfied with representing the Florentines, cased in armor, and mingling with their enemies in deadly combat; but choosing the moment of the attack upon the van, while bathing in the river Arno, he seized the opportunity of representing many naked figures, as they rushed to arms from the water, by which he was enabled to introduce a prodigious variety of foreshortenings, and attitudes the most energetic--in a word, the highest perfection of his peculiar excellence. Cellini observes of this work, that “when Michael Angelo painted in the chapel of Julius II., he did not reach half that dignity;” and Vasari says that “all the artists who studied and designed after this cartoon, became eminent.”

This sublime production has perished, and report, though not authenticated, accuses Baccio Bandinelli of having destroyed it, either that others might not derive advantage from its study, or, because of his partiality to Vinci and his hatred to Buonarotti he wished to remove a subject of comparison that might exalt the reputation of the latter above that of the former.

MICHAEL ANGELO’S LAST JUDGMENT.

Lanzi says, “In the succeeding pontificates (to that of Julius II.) Michael Angelo, always occupied in sculpture and architecture, almost wholly abandoned painting, till he was induced by Paul III. to resume the pencil. Clement VII. had conceived the design of employing him in the Sistine chapel, on two other grand historical pictures--the Fall of the Angels, over the gate; and the Last Judgment, in the opposite façade, over the altar. Michael Angelo had composed designs for the Last Judgment, and Paul III. being aware of this, commanded, or rather entreated, him to commence the work; for he went to his house, accompanied by ten Cardinals,--an honor, except in this instance, unknown in the annals of the art.” This sublime work was finished by Michael Angelo in eight years, and was exhibited in 1541. Vasari says that at the suggestion of Fra Sebastiano del Piombo, the Pope desired that it should be painted in oil; but Michael Angelo positively declined to undertake it, except in fresco, saying “that oil painting was an employment only fit for women, or idlers of mean capacity.” Varchio in his funeral oration says, “Such was the delicacy of his taste that no artist could please him; and as in sculpture, every pincer, file, and chisel which he used, was the work of his own hands, so in painting, he prepared his own colors, and did not commit the mixing and other necessary manipulations to mechanics and boys.”

Lanzi says that Michael Angelo must be acknowledged supreme in that peculiar branch of the profession (the nude), at which he aimed in all his works, especially in his Last Judgment. “The subject appeared rather _created_ than selected by him. To a genius so comprehensive, and so skilled in drawing the human figure, no subject could be better adapted than the Resurrection; and to an artist who delighted in the awful, no story more suitable than the day of supernal terrors. He saw Raffaelle preëminent in every other department of the art; he foresaw that in this alone could he expect to be triumphant; and perhaps he indulged the hope that posterity would adjudge the palm to him who excelled all others in the most arduous walk of art.”

“The Last Judgment,” says Lanzi, “was filled with such a profusion of nudity that it was in great danger of being destroyed, from a regard to the decency of the sanctuary. Paul IV. proposed to whitewash it, and was hardly appeased with the correction of its most glaring indelicacies, by some drapery introduced here and there by Daniello da Volterra, on whom the facetious Romans, from this circumstance, conferred the nickname of the _Breeches-maker_.” Other corrections were proposed by different critics, and some alterations made. Angelo was censured for mixing sacred with profane history; for introducing the angels of revelation with the Stygian ferryman; Christ sitting in judgment, and Minos assigning his proper station to each of the damned. To this profanity, he added satire; in Minos, he portrayed the features of the Master of Ceremonies, who in the hearing of the pope, had pronounced this picture more suitable for a Bagnio than a church; and an officious Cardinal, he placed among the damned, with a fiend dragging him by the testes down to hell.

MICHAEL ANGELO’S COLORING.

The coloring of Michael Angelo has been generally criticised as being too cold and inharmonious, but the best critics now consider that it was admirably adapted to his design. His chief characteristics were grandeur and sublimity, and whatever partook of the sublime and the terrible, he portrayed with a fidelity that intimidates the beholder. It is an error to suppose that he could not color delicately and brilliantly when he chose. During his residence at Florence, he painted an exquisite Leda for Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara. Michael Angelo was so much offended at the manner of one of the courtiers of that prince, who was sent to bring it to Ferrara, that he refused to let him have it, but made it a present to his favorite pupil, Antonio Mini, who carried it to France. Vasari describes it as “a grand picture, painted in distemper, that seemed as if it breathed on the canvass”; and Mariette, in his notes on Condivi, affirms that he saw the picture, and that “Michael Angelo appeared to have forgot his usual style, and approached the tone of Titian.” D’Argenville informs us that the picture was destroyed by fire in the reign of Louis XIII. Lanzi says, “In chiaro-scuro, Michael Angelo had not the skill and delicacy of Correggio; but his paintings in the Vatican have a force and relief much commended by Renfesthein, an eminent connoisseur, who, on passing from the Sistine chapel to the Farnesian gallery, remarked how greatly in this respect the Caracci themselves were eclipsed by Buonarotti.”

MICHAEL ANGELO’S GRACE.

“It is a vulgar error,” says Lanzi, “to suppose that Michael Angelo had no idea of grace and beauty; the Eve in the Sistine chapel turns to thank her Maker, on her creation, with an attitude so fine and lovely, that it would do honor to the school of Raffaelle. Annibale Caracci admired this, and many other naked figures in this grand ceiling, so highly that he proposed them to himself as models in the art, and according to Bellori, preferred them to the Last Judgment, which appeared to him to be too anatomical.”

MICHAEL ANGELO’S OIL PAINTINGS.

It has long been a disputed point whether Michael Angelo ever painted in oil; but it has been ascertained by Lanzi that the Holy Family in the Florentine gallery, which is the only picture by him supposed to be painted in oil, is in reality in distemper. Many of his designs, however, were executed in oil by his cotemporaries, especially Sebastiano del Piombo, Jacopo da Pontormo, and Marcello Venusti. Fresco painting was better adapted to the elevated character of his composition, which required a simple and solid system of coloring, rather subdued than enlivened, and producing a grand and impressive effect, which could not have been expressed by the glittering splendor of oil painting. There are many oil paintings erroneously attributed to him in the galleries at Rome, Florence, Milan, the Imperial gallery at Vienna, and elsewhere. (See Spooner’s Dict. of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects; table of _Imitators_.)

MICHAEL ANGELO, HIS PROPHETS, AND JULIUS II.

When Michael Angelo had finished the works in the Sistine chapel which Julius II. had commanded him to paint, the Pope, not appreciating their native dignity and simplicity, told him that “the chapel appeared cold and mean, and there wanted some brilliancy of coloring, and some gilding to be added to it.” “Holy father,” replied the artist, “formerly men did not dress as they do now, in gold and silver; those personages whom I have represented in my pictures in the chapel, were not persons of wealth, but saints, who were divinely inspired, and despised pomp and riches.”

BON-MOTS OF MICHAEL ANGELO.

Michael Angelo was a true poet. He was endowed with a ready wit and consummate eloquence. His bon-mots, recorded by Dati, rival those of the Grecian painters, and he was esteemed one of the most witty and lively men of his time.

When he had finished his statue of Julius II. for the Bolognese, the Pope thought it too severe, and said to him, “Angelo, my statue appears rather to curse than to bless the good people of Bologna.” “Holy father,” replied the artist, “as they have not always been the most obedient of your subjects, it will teach them to be afraid of you, and to behave better in future.”

Under the pontificate of Julius III., the faction of San Gallo went so far, as to prevail upon the Pope to appoint a committee to examine the fabric. Angelo paid no attention to the cavils of his enemies. Finally the Pope summoned him before him, and told him that a particular part of the church was too dark. “Who told you that, holy father?” said Angelo. “I did,” interrupted the Cardinal Marcello. “Your eminence should consider, then,” said the artist, casting at the prelate a look of cool contempt, “that besides the window there is at present, I have designed three more in the ceiling of the church!” “You did not tell me that,” replied the Cardinal. “No indeed, I did not, sir. I am not obliged to tell you; nor would I ever consent to be obliged to tell your eminence, or any person whomsoever, anything concerning it. Your business is to take care that money is plenty at Rome; that there are no thieves there; to let me alone; and to permit me to go on with my plan as I please.”

When asked why he did not marry, he replied that “his art was his mistress, and gave him trouble enough.” Again, that “an artist should never cease to learn.” When told that some one had performed a remarkable feat in painting with his fingers, he said, “Why don’t the blockhead use his brush?” When shown Titian’s Danaë, he observed, “What a pity these Venetians do not study design.” Of the Gates of Ghiberti, he said, “they are fit to adorn the portals of Paradise.”

WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

“Soon after Allston’s marriage with his first wife, the sister of the late Dr. Channing, he made his second visit to Europe. After a residence there of a little more than a year, his pecuniary wants became very pressing and urgent--more so than at any other period of his life. On one of these occasions, as he himself used to narrate the event, he was in his studio, reflecting with a feeling of almost desperation upon his condition. His conscience seemed to tell him that he had deserved his afflictions, and drawn them upon himself, by his want of due gratitude for past favors from heaven. His heart, all at once, seemed filled with the hope that God would listen to his prayers, if he would offer up his direct expressions of penitence, and ask for divine aid. He accordingly locked his door, withdrew to a corner of the room, threw himself upon his knees, and prayed for a loaf of bread for himself and his wife. While thus employed, a knock was heard at the door. A feeling of momentary shame at being detected in this position, and a feeling of fear lest he might have been observed, induced him to hasten and open the door. A stranger inquired for Mr. Allston. He was anxious to learn who was the fortunate purchaser of the painting of “Angel Uriel,” regarded by the artist as one of his masterpieces, and which had won the prize at the exhibition of the Academy. He was told that it had not been sold. “Can it be possible? Not sold! Where is it to be had?” “In this very room. Here it is,” producing the painting from a corner, and wiping off the dust. “It is for sale--but its value has never yet, to my idea of its worth, been adequately appreciated--and I would not part with it.” “What is its price?” “I have done affixing any nominal sum. I have always, so far, exceeded my offers. I leave it for you to name the price.” “Will four hundred pounds be an adequate recompense?” “It is more than I have ever asked for it.” “Then the painting is mine.” The stranger introduced himself as the Marquis of Stafford; and he became, from that moment, one of the warmest friends of Mr. Allston. By him Mr. A. was introduced to the society of the nobility and gentry; and he became one of the most favored among the many gifted minds that adorned the circle, in which he was never fond of appearing often.

“The instantaneous relief thus afforded by the liberality of this noble visitor, was always regarded by Allston as a direct answer to his prayer, and it made a deep impression upon his mind. To this event he was ever after wont to attribute the increase of devotional feelings which became a prominent trait in his character.”--_Boston Atlas._

ALLSTON’S DEATH.

“Notwithstanding the general respect which is manifested to the memory of this distinguished artist, there are unsympathising, ice-hearted men of the world who yet reproach him for uncontrollable events in his career.

The actions of the painter, the poet, and the musician, are dictated often by other motives than those impelling the arm of the mechanic, or the tongue of the advocate. Men of genius are of a more delicate organization than those possessing inferior abilities, and are swayed by emotions the most lofty that can actuate humanity. The world’s neglect, the contempt of critics, depressed spirits induced by pecuniary embarrassments, blast their hopes, enervate their energies, and deprive them of the potency to cope with the heartless world.

Men there are who would visit the generous Allston with censure, because, while laboring under disappointments, ill health, and crushed anticipations, he failed to finish his painting of Belshazzar’s Feast, a theme that possibly became uncongenial to his pencil. May their ill feeling be forgotten, and, if the fountain of their sympathies be not wholly dried up, may it yield a little lenity towards one of America’s noblest sons.

It may not be inappropriate to insert a tribute to the memory of Allston, which will serve to vindicate his character from his aspersers, and exhibit it as traced by one for many years connected with him by the dearest ties of friendship:

‘PARIS, November, 1843.

The Duke de Luynes, a French nobleman, has lately given a
commission to Monsieur Ingres, the painter, recently Director of
the French Academy of Arts in Rome, to decorate his palace at
Dampierre with a series of pictures, the subjects of which I have
not heard. One hundred thousand francs are allowed to the artist
for this work. M. Ingres was a student at Rome, pensioned by his
government, at the time Mr. W. Allston and myself were there
pursuing the same studies--not, however, aided by a government.

When the melancholy news of the death of my much regretted friend
and fellow artist reached here, which was about the time the above
favor was granted to M. Ingres, I could not but reflect on the less
fortunate destiny of our highly accomplished countryman, whose
muse, alas! was doomed to linger out a languid existence in a state
of society unfavorable to the arts, or at least where there was
little to encourage and sustain them, compared with the capitals in
Europe where he had lived and studied. Such an indifference to the
arts is not confined to one section of our country, but pervades
the whole United States.

It is indeed a subject of regret that so highly-gifted an artist
should not have been commissioned to ornament some public building,
or private mansion of opulence, with a series of pictures in the
free style of fresco, comprising poetical designs and landscapes,
in which he was so superior, instead of being subjected to finish a
picture which, from some cause, he had become dissatisfied with,
for the prosecution of which he found himself debarred of even the
advantages of models and costume, not to mention those of a less
material nature--the absence of all the great models of art to
kindle and inspire his genius, etc. A work of the kind before
suggested would admit of a free execution, independent in a degree
of models and costume. Such a commission, I am persuaded, would
have cheered up his spirit, and called forth fresh images from his
fancy. It is ever to be regretted that he was not employed in this
way; had he been, our country would no doubt have had a beautiful
creation from a highly cultivated and poetic mind, now forever
lost.

No one who was ever acquainted with the subject of this notice, but
must feel sincere regret, also, that so fair and amiable a
character was not soothed in his latter years with all the ease and
comfort of mind and body that the world could bestow, which thus
far has been seldom if ever the lot of his profession in our
country. How many there are who have not undergone half the
fatigue, physical or mental, endured by Mr. Allston--not to mention
the far greater amount of time and money expended in the
acquisition of his profession than in most other pursuits--yet have
secured to themselves the means to reach the decline of life in a
condition to assure ease and comfort. Such is the unequal
compensation of the world.

When I look back some five or six-and-thirty years, when we were
both in Rome, and next-door neighbors on the _Trinita del Monte_,
and in the spring of life, full of enthusiasm for our art, and
fancying fair prospects awaiting us in after years--and few
certainly had more right than my worthy colleague to look towards
such a futurity--it is painful to reflect how far these hopes have
been from being realized. Such may be the lot of a great many;
still we may believe and hope that so melancholy an example rarely
occurs.

J. VANDERLYN.”

The Art-Union of New-York have struck a commemorative medal, with Allston’s face on the obverse side; and thus is the great artist rewarded.

Genius, that breaks the fetters encircling the mind, is fated to drink life’s bitterest cup to the dregs. After earth has flung the gem away, she proclaims its value.

Reformers must be martyrs. Every Socrates must quaff his hemlock--every Burns pine in unpitied poverty. In life, the artist appears on the reverse side of the world’s medal--in death, on the obverse.”--_Dewey Fay._

AMERICAN PATRONAGE AT HOME AND ABROAD.