Fortuny and Decamps
MARIANO FORTUNY’S art is so modern in its character that new words are needed to describe it; and Mr. Yriarte, in his biography1 of the brilliant Spanish master, speaks a language which owes some of its most telling terms to the highly colored jargon of the Parisian studios. The advantage of a personal acquaintance with the painter of the Spanish Wedding enables the author to tell the not unromantic story of Fortuny’s life in an intimate manner, and to add many hitherto unpublished particulars. Born at Reus, a village in the province of Tarragona, in 1838, the artist lived only thirty-six years, but in this brief time he created a great fame. He was an orphan, and poor, when at fourteen he went to Barcelona to begin his studies under one Claudio Lorenzale, in the Fine Arts Academy. The modest pension of about eight dollars a month allowed him by the city he eked out by decorating in distemper several village churches in the neighborhood. In a competition he took the “ prize of Rome,” giving him the privilege of two years of study in that capital. The town of Barcelona, which seems to have taken a paternal interest in the taciturn young man from the beginning, then sent him forth, with General Prim, to illustrate the episodes of the picturesque campaign of 1860 in Morocco. Mr. Yriarte was with Fortuny on this expedition, and describes him as a robust and well-built Catalan, abrupt in manner, thoughtful, resolute in times of difficulty, accustomed to rough fare and hardship, always ready for anything, and cool under fire. His portrait of himself represents a strong and well-proportioned head, full of character, with a proud Spanish carriage, indicating independence and force of will. Although he was in Morocco more than five months, the war and Prim’s easy victories did not interest him in the least. He made many sketches, but they were of everything except battles, and he was so much absorbed in observation of the exterior aspect of things — the arid country, the sky, the atmosphere, the character and costumes of the Moors, the buildings, and the play of light over these various objects — that he may be said to have hardly noticed that a war was in progress. On his return, Barcelona commissioned him to paint a large picture of The Capture of the Camps of Muley-el-Abbas and Muley-el-Hamed by the Spanish Army. He went to Rome, by way of Madrid and Paris, to execute this work, which, begun with apparent enthusiasm, was never completed. Several accounts of this episode have been current, but it is plain, from Mr. Yriarte’s account, that Fortuny never really cared for the subject, that, it was so foreign to his bent that he was ill at ease in doing it, and that presently he became intensely interested in other things. He rolled up the big canvas, and for several years replied by evasions to the queries of the Barcelona authorities. Finally, he offered to return the money advanced, and although this proposition was refused at first, when it became evident that he had given up the idea of finishing the painting, the contract was annulled. His conduct in this affair appears to have lacked candor.
In 1866 Fortuny went to Paris, where he profited by the instruction of Meissonnier ; and then to Madrid, where he married the daughter of his friend, the artist Madrazo. He returned to Rome, as ever, for he regarded the Eternal City as his home, and from this period forth he was famous, courted, and rich. A brilliant artistic group surrounded him, and such men as Zamaçoïs, Ximenez, Domingo, Rico, and Villegas regarded him as their leader. His studio was a marvelous museum. Visitors “ de Boston, de Philadelphie, de Cuba,” sought admission to it. Everybody admired those odd and sparkling little paintings, “ made to delight the eyes rather than to touch the heart.” Henri Regnault wrote home: I spent the daybefore yesterday at Fortuny’s, and cela m’a cassé bras et jambes. He is astonishing, ce gaillard-là ! . . . He is the master of us all.”
It was in 1870 that the Spanish Wedding made such a stir in Paris. Fortuny followed this success with others of his most striking canvases, — the Reception of a Model at the Academy, Les Suppliciés, Fantasia in Morocco, Halte des Voyageurs, Kabyles Convulsionnaires, Les Barocchi, The Drunken Arquebusier, Rehearsal in a Garden, The Prayer, etc. His entire œuvre was very small, and less than fifty pictures and sketches are mentioned in the catalogue at the end of Mr. Yriarte’s volume. Fortuny went to Granada and Tangiers in 1870, and was absent from Rome two years, passing the greater part of this time at the Alhambra, where he accomplished some of his finest work. A brief visit to England and a sketching trip to Naples and Portici were his last journeys on earth. He died in Rome, November 21, 1874.
Fortuny’s works are all sparkle, brilliancy, and gem-like radiance. They have no depth of sentiment, and the human beings in them are not more important than the inanimate objects. All is superficial, but it is far from prosaic, and the barbaric splendor of the effect dazzles and amazes the sight. Fortuny liked whatever shone, — arms, faïences, glass, metal-work, precious stones, marbles, and bronzes; and, like the Zoroastrians, he worshiped the sun even as the eye of Deity. His effects of full sunlight falling upon white walls, relieved by transparent shadows, are almost magical. His touch was nervous and distinguished. His audacity was such that he attacked the most difficult problems of painting from preference. He was full of caprice, and in more than one respect he was like his compatriot, the fiery Goya, by whose works he was much influenced. It is generally conceded that Fortuny’s manual skill has not been equaled by any modern painter. His biographer laments that he, with his prodigious dexterity, unwittingly founded “the school of the hand.” In his track there came forward a whole constellation of prankish and scintillating executants, devoid of ideas, who betrayed and belittled the artist. “ His genuine science, allied with an indisputable magic, whose spell was felt by all ; his love of light, his worship of the sun ; an indefinable and unexpected quality in his selection, his idea, and his handling, — all this brought about his legitimate renown,” says Mr. Yriarte. “ But ’round about him it soon came to be believed that it sufficed to dress out a model in a lively-colored costume, and to place him against a more or less appropriate background, in order to constitute a picture. The weather. the time of day, the epoch, the country, the special atmosphere of a locality, the soul of things, in a word the character, no longer existed for certain uncritical, thoughtless, and unlearned artists, who undertook to replace intelligent drawing by the prestidigitation of the brush and the séduction de la tache The contrast between Fortuny and Millet, with which Mr. Yriarte concludes his able study, is just and eloquent.
Alexaudre-Gabriel Decamps, different in so many respects from the Spanish master, yet had certain rare qualities in common with him. Decamps was an orientalist and a virtuoso. He also was intensely modern. Known at the outset as a caricaturist and anecdotist, he passed on from burlesques and lithography to oriental genre and landscape, in which his style became fully developed and he took a high rank as a colorist. Like Fortuny’s, his palette was described as bewitched; its resources were wonderful, and by its aid he accomplished miracles of coloring. Mr. Clément, art critic of the Journal des Débats, contributes an interesting account2 of this remarkable painter’s career to the valuable series of artists’ biographies now in progress of publication in Paris. Decamps lived from 1803 to 1860, and was consequently in the thick of the romantic fray. He never received a thorough training in his art, but no man ever labored more earnestly to master the difficulties of a beloved vocation, and many a well-equipped academic draughtsman might have envied his success. At the time of the restoration and after the revolution of 1830, he was making drawings for La Caricature with Grandville and Charlet. Afew of these crayon stabs are reproduced in Mr. Clément’s book. They are witty and full of French malice. The decrepit King Charles X. playing at hunting in his own apartments, and in the act of aiming a popgun at a toy rabbit; Louis Philippe and his ministers vainly trying to hold in leash the too lively infant Françoise Désirée Liberté ; the French class in Mr. Dupin’s school (1830) conjugating the verb to save ; Mr. Guizot at a government door begging for only a poor little prefecture ; a group of four monkey experts solemnly examininga painting, — all these serve to demonstrate his exceptional sense of humor and his cynicism. In 1827 he had already begun to show oil-paintings in the Salon, and he was a constant exhibitor until a short time before his death. His great oriental pictures were produced between 1840 and 1860, after several journeys in the East. His illustrations of Biblical episodes are really oriental landscapes, of astonishing depth and resonance of tone. The figures are small, but have much life, movement, and character. There was a sketch called The Walk to Emmæus, in the Morgan collection, New York, last winter, which caused a profound and solemn impression by the extraordinary richness of its color and its imaginative force. " What sort of landscape is it ? ” was asked of an amateur who had seen it. “ It is just such a landscape as Christ ought to walk in,” was the reverential reply. Though his biographer makes no mention of it, Decamps was a Jew, as was Troyon and many other great artists. His iuflueuce has been great in the art of France. Marilhat, Guignet, and other painters have been more or less directly inspired by his example. Mr. Clément, without laying himself open to the charge of extravagance, might have claimed even more glory for Decamps than he has seen fit to do.