About the middle of the last century the art of Sculpture, which had been long on the decline, may be said to have reached the lowest point to which it has sunk since the revival of the arts; for, although the seventeenth century was the great Æra of bad taste, the genius which was often apparent in the mannered productions of that time, no longer survived in those of the imitators who succeeded. The works of Bernini in Italy, and of Puget in France, both men of extraordinary talent but most mistaken principles, were still regarded as types of excellence. Their fame still produced a host of followers, who, with perhaps the single exception of Duquesnoy, called Fiammingo, naturally aimed at the extravagances and peculiarities of their models; and the consequence was, a constantly increasing deviation from nature, and a total misconception of the style and limits of the art. The works which were produced in Rome about the period alluded to, thus fluctuated between manner and insipidity; till the art had relapsed into a state of such lethargic mediocrity, that even sculptors of note, such as Cavaceppi, Pacetti, and Albacini, were content to occupy themselves in restoring and mending antique statues. But the germs of a better taste, and a more rational imitation, were already expanding. If the mania for collecting antique statues had the temporary effect of paralysing invention in the artist, and diverting the means of patronage, a gradual appreciation of the principles of ancient art was, nevertheless, the result; while the illustration and description of museums, and the works of Winkelmann, all tended to awaken the attention of the connoisseur to the amazing difference between the ill-advised caprices of the Bernini school and the sagacious simplicity of the ancients.

These circumstances concurred ultimately to work a change and an improvement of taste among the artists themselves, and thus prepared a better Æra of sculpture. The partiality of the Italians may be excused, when they attribute the reformation of the art to the single efforts of Canova, although the designs of Flaxman, composed about the same time that the Italian artist was beginning his career, exhibit a more decided feeling for the long-lost purity of the antique, and a more thorough comprehension of the style and language of sculpture, than we find in the works of his continental contemporaries. But it is time to give a more particular account of the subject of this memoir.

Antonio Canova was born A.D. 1757, at Possagno, a small town in the province of Treviso. His father, Pietro Canova, was a stonemason and builder; and the first occupation of the future sculptor taught him to use the chisel with dexterity. At the age of fourteen, he was introduced to the notice of Giovanni Faliero, a Venetian senator, who used annually to pass the autumn near Possagno. By the kind assistance of this nobleman, the young Canova was placed with one Torretti, a sculptor who had studied in Venice, and who resided in a neighbouring town. On the return of this artist to Venice, Canova accompanied him. A year afterwards however Torretti died, and the young sculptor, unwilling to continue with Ferrari, his master’s nephew and heir, established himself in a studio of his own. While with Ferrari, he produced his first work, a pair of baskets of fruit and flowers, done for the noble Faliero. They are still to be seen in the stair-case of the Farsetti palace, in Venice, more generally known as the Albergo della Gran Bretagna. The same patron next employed him on two statues of Orpheus and Eurydice, preserved in the villa of Pradazzi, near Possagno. After one or two other less important performances, he executed his DÆdalus and Icarus, for the Procurator Pisani. In all these works he aimed at a close imitation of individual nature, and this was carried so far in the DÆdalus, that, when it was afterwards shown in Rome, the sculptor was hardly believed when he asserted that it was not moulded from a living model.

The imitation of the softness, surface, and accidents of skin was an early excellence and a lasting peculiarity of Canova; and however he may have been smitten with the antique statues in Rome, it is certain that, while in Venice, where he remained till the age of twenty-two, he paid little attention to the specimens of ancient art in the Farsetti Gallery. It is probable that the prejudice against the antique, which had prevailed ever since Bernini’s time, was hardly yet effaced in Venice; and if Canova’s admiration of the ancients increased in Rome, it was undoubtedly greatly owing to the opinion and examples of those among whom he had the good fortune to be first thrown.

In 1779, Girolamo Zulian being appointed ambassador of the Republic at Rome, Faliero recommended Canova to his notice. The young sculptor had already determined to visit the metropolis of the arts, and soon followed the ambassador thither. The course of study which he adopted, founded on the comparison of nature with the best specimens of art, showed that he was earnest to improve; and his new patron Zulian, who had introduced him to the distinguished amateurs and artists residing in Rome, recommended him to send for a cast of his DÆdalus and Icarus, in order to show them what he had done, and profit by their advice. He did so, and the day on which that group was submitted to the judgment of the connoisseurs was a memorable one for Canova. His work by no means excited unqualified approbation. It was, indeed, so different from the style which was then prevalent, that his judges remained silent, till the generous Gavin Hamilton openly declared, that it was a simple imitation of nature, which showed that the artist had nothing to unlearn; at the same time reminding him, that although the greatest artists had always begun thus, they had subsequently refined their taste by comparison and selection, and their execution by an ampler and larger treatment; all which, aiming at the grandest impressions of nature, but by no means departing from nature, approaches what is called the divine and ideal in art. This opinion, from so good a judge as Hamilton, delighted Zulian, who asked “what was to be done with the young man?” “Give him a block of marble,” said Hamilton, “and let him follow his own feeling.” From this hour the fate of the young artist was decided: Zulian furnished him with a studio and materials, and he began his career in Rome.

Canova always spoke with gratitude of Gavin Hamilton, and acknowledged that he owed to him every sound principle of art. The vast knowledge of the antique which the Scotch artist possessed, gave more than common weight and value to his advice respecting its imitation. Canova’s first work in Rome, was an Apollo crowning himself. The sculptor himself was not satisfied with it, and felt all the difficulty of uniting a purer and broader style with a sufficient attention to the details of nature. His engagements soon after recalled him to Venice, to complete an unfinished work, the statue of the Marquis Poleni, placed in the Prato della Valle, at Padua. It was probably hurried, that he might get back sooner to Rome.

On his return to Rome, he produced his celebrated group of Theseus sitting on the slain Minotaur. The moment chosen was recommended by Hamilton, who observed, that it was generally safer for young artists not to aim at too much action in their subjects. In this composition Canova endeavoured to infuse still more of the style of the antique, and he succeeded so well, that the exhibition of it may be considered an epoch in the art. QuatremÈre de Quincy (an eminent French sculptor) spoke of it in these words in 1804:—“This group struck foreigners even more than the Romans, who were still attached to their accustomed manner. Nevertheless, Canova, from that time, was considered the sculptor who was destined to restore good taste, and to reduce the art to its grand principles.” The fame which this work gained for its author has been allowed, on all hands, to have been justly awarded; and, after the efforts of the artist to fix his style and define the mode of imitation which he believed to be the best, it may be supposed that the praises he received would have confirmed him in the principles he had formed to himself, and encouraged him to carry them farther. None of his Italian biographers, however, have taken sufficient notice of the fact, that he never followed up the style which is observable in this group. His subsequent works were undoubtedly more refined in execution and more anatomically studied; but it is quite certain that he never approached the breadth of the antique so much in any later works. Hence it would appear that, in this effort, he was in some degree doing violence to his real feelings; and having once established his reputation, he was more likely afterwards to exercise his own unbiassed taste. It was, indeed, some time before he was occupied on a subject which afforded a display of the figure.

His next work was the monument of Ganganelli (Clement XIV.), placed in the Church de’ Santi Apostoli at Rome; in this he was again fortunate. Its originality and simplicity, for such was the character of the design, compared with the extravagant compositions of preceding artists, gave very general satisfaction; but the advocates of the taste of a former age did not remain silent. Pompeo Battoni, the most celebrated Italian painter of his day, having condescended to accompany Hamilton to see the model of the monument while it was in the clay, observed, in Canova’s hearing, that the young artist had talent, but that it was a pity he had chosen a bad road, and that it would be better to retrace his steps while there was time. Hamilton, in consoling Canova afterwards, reminded him, that it was the style of Pietro da Cortona, Carlo Maratti, and Bernini, which Battoni considered synonymous with excellence; and it was the departure from this, in search of the purer style of sculpture, which he called “the bad road.” The fastidious Milizia, on the other hand, gave this work unqualified approbation.

The monument of Rezzonico (Clement XIII.), which was the next subject the sculptor was invited to treat, was begun in 1787, and only placed in St. Peter’s in 1795. While engaged on this, and the monument of Ganganelli, other works of less extent were from time to time finished. Among these were a group of Cupid and Psyche, a group of Venus and Adonis, which, however, was not executed in marble, and a second composition of Cupid and Psyche, the one in which Psyche is recumbent. These were the works which first procured for their author, among his Italian admirers, the reputation and title of the sculptor of the Graces; and it was in these that a certain effeminacy of style—at least what would be so called by less indulgent critics—seemed to supersede the simplicity, and almost severity, which he had appeared to aim at in the Theseus and Minotaur. To the same period belong most of the bassi relievi of Canova. These were composed and executed when his imagination was warmed by the study of the ancient poets; and although wrought in the intervals of greater occupations, there can be no doubt that they received his mature attention, and exhibited the free expression of his own taste. Of all the works of the artist, these bassi relievi have, perhaps, been most universally and deservedly condemned; but, defective as they are, they are still purer in the forms and drapery than the works of his predecessors.

The monument of Rezzonico completely established Canova’s reputation; the expression and attitude of the kneeling Pope, and the novelty and happy execution of the lions, excited the utmost admiration. The figure of the Genius is again an instance of a total dereliction of the style of the antique, for a soft and pulpy fleshiness without sufficient characteristic marking; but even this was found to be new and agreeable, and the drapery of the figure of Religion was almost the only part of the work which was criticised. On revisiting Venice, after an illness brought on by severe application, the Venetian government commissioned him to execute a monument for the Procurator Angelo Emo, which was afterwards placed in the arsenal. He returned to Rome to execute this work; but first revisited his native village, where he was surprised, and somewhat disconcerted, at finding a fÊte prepared for his welcome. A deputation of the inhabitants lined the roads to receive him; the streets were strewed with laurel; the bells of the campanile, and the mortaletti, usually fired on festivals, saluted him as he entered; and a band of music accompanied him to his mother’s house. The enthusiasm of his countrymen went so far, that a statue was erected to him even in early life, and placed in the Prato della Valle, at Padua.

A group of Venus and Adonis was next completed, and sent to Naples, where it contributed to spread his fame. A new group of Cupid and Psyche, standing, done for Murat, was sent to Paris, and being fortunately one of his best works, it excited a great sensation when exhibited there. The reputation Canova had acquired in Italy naturally provoked a close and keen scrutiny into the merits and defects of this work; but its success was complete, and from that time his great merit was as fully acknowledged in France as elsewhere. Some of his subsequent works exhibited in the Louvre were, it is true, severely criticised, but they always found ardent defenders, and those among the most respectable connoisseurs and artists.

The celebrated kneeling Magdalen, which ultimately became the property of Count Sommariva, and adorned his house in Paris, was Canova’s next performance; it was afterwards, like many of his works, copied, or rather repeated, for other amateurs.

This statue created a still greater sensation than the Cupid and Psyche when it was exhibited in Paris. The well-known Hebe was executed about the same time; this, too, was often repeated, and one copy was exhibited in the Louvre bearing a golden vase and cup, and with the lips and cheeks slightly tinged with vermilion. These innovations were severely objected to by the French critics, while the general taste of this and other works of the artist was still less indulgently treated in London. But the execution of individual parts of his statues was every where allowed to be exquisite, and many a time, in Rome, artists who were his professed rivals have purchased casts of the joints and extremities of his figures as models of perfect imitation: such detached portions have even been mistaken for casts from the antique.

Much has been said by the Italian eulogists of Canova of his skill in painting, and a story is told of his having done a pretended portrait of Giorgione on an old panel, which Angelica Kaufmann, and other very sufficient judges, for a time believed to be an original by the Venetian master. Canova’s attempts at painting were regarded with complacency, at least by himself, remarkable as he was for great modesty in speaking of his works in sculpture. He seems never to have forgotten that he was a Venetian, and gloried in the perfections, and almost in the defects, of the painters of that school. It is not impossible that this predilection may have operated in some degree to check his pursuit of the severe style of the ancients in sculpture, and it may, perhaps, account for the picturesque licences which he sometimes indulged in, as, for instance, in the Hebe; but if his efforts in painting were naturally defective in execution, they were still more open to criticism in their invention and taste, and, on the whole, call rather for indulgence than admiration.

The unsettled state of Italy consequent upon the French Revolution, and the troubles in Rome, induced Canova, about the close of the century, to retire for a time to his native province. From thence he accompanied the Senator Rezzonico into Germany, and visited Munich, Vienna, Dresden, and Berlin. At Vienna, he received from Duke Albert of Saxe Teschen, the commission for the monument to Maria Christina of Austria.

His first ambition, however, on returning to Italy, was to embody in a picture some of the impressions he had received from contemplating the galleries of Germany, and particularly the Notte of Correggio; and he actually painted a large altar-piece for the parochial church of Possagno. This work, though since considered unworthy of criticism, was highly extolled at the time it was done. On his return to Rome, he began the model of his celebrated group of Hercules and Lichas, a work which found favour even with those who had objected to the want of manliness of taste in his treatment of most other subjects. It is indeed impossible to contemplate this group, without feeling it to be the production of a man of genius; while the patient elaboration of the anatomical details, and the power and knowledge with which the difficulties of the composition are overcome, have never failed to excite the high praise which is awarded to rare excellence. The originality of the idea has, however, been lately disputed; and a bronze has come to light which, if its history be true, at least proves that some earlier sculptor than Canova had conceived the subject nearly in the same manner. This grand work, first intended for Naples, was purchased by Torlonia, Duke of Bracciano, and is now the principal ornament of the Bracciano Palace in Rome.

Soon after this the Perseus was produced, a statue which, by command of Pius VII., received the unparalleled honour of being placed in the Vatican, in a situation similar to that of the Apollo, or rather to supply its place, for the Apollo at this time was not returned from Paris. The honour was even greater when that statue was restored to Rome, for the Perseus then remained as a companion or pendant to it. The two Pugilists were modelled soon after for the same patron, Pope Pius VII., and were placed, when finished, in the Vatican, together with the Perseus. A cast of the Creugas, one of these figures, exhibited about the same time at Paris, was very generally admired, and very ably and generously defended from the hostile criticisms it called forth, by the sculptor QuatremÈre de Quincy. The high estimation in which Canova was held, and his zeal for the preservation of the ancient monuments in Rome, as well as the frescoes of the Vatican, induced the Pope to confer on him the appointment and title of Inspector-General of the Fine Arts. Though at first unwilling to assume the responsibility of this charge, Canova at last undertook it; and it appears that his conscientious attention to the duties connected with it, gave a new impulse to the Roman school, and excited in all a zeal and ardour for the preservation of the precious remains of antiquity. The conduct of Canova in furthering the general interests of the arts of his country is worthy of all praise: his private benevolence is well known. It may be said that his happy freedom from jealousy was owing to the quiet security of established fame; but he was equally remarkable for magnanimity when placed in competition with those whom he had reason to regard as possible rivals.

After finishing a model of the colossal statue of the King of Naples, Canova received a flattering invitation to visit the court of Bonaparte, then First Consul; and in obedience to the wishes even of the Pope he proceeded to Paris. His conversations with Bonaparte during this and a subsequent visit have been preserved; and it appears that he lost no opportunity of representing the fallen and impoverished state of Italy (the consequence of the French invasion) to the arbiter of its destinies, whom he dexterously reminded of his Pisan or Florentine origin. His recommendation of the arts in Rome was at least successful, for soon after his return thither ample funds were forwarded by command of Bonaparte for the revival and extension of the Academy of St. Luke, of which Canova was naturally appointed the Director, and for prosecuting the excavations in the Forum. When Canova, in one of his visits to Paris, ventured to ask for the restitution of the statues that had been taken from Rome, the French ruler replied, that “they might dig for more.”

Having modelled the bust of Bonaparte, Canova returned to Italy to complete the colossal statue of Napoleon, now in the possession of the Duke of Wellington. In this work, which he considered an heroic representation, he elevated the forms to his highest conceptions of an abstract style, and, probably in imitation of the statue of Pompey, exhibited the figure naked. The censures which were passed on this bold attempt were most satisfactorily answered by the celebrated Visconti. In Canova’s second visit to Paris, Napoleon himself remarked, that his statue should have been in the ordinary dress, to which Canova replied, “Our art, like all the fine arts, has its sublime language; this language in sculpture is the naked, and such drapery as conveys a general idea.” The extensive monument for Vienna was next finished, and Canova repaired to the Austrian capital to see it put together. The artist’s general deviation from the style of sculpture practised by the ancients, may be illustrated by this work, admirable as it is for its details. The real aperture, or door of the tomb, into which the procession is entering, the literal reality of the steps, the accurately-imitated drapery, and other circumstances, are all nearer to nature than the flesh, the reverse of the principle of the Greeks. The partial or absolute truth of the accessories thus reminds us that colour and life are wanting in the figures—a discovery the spectator should never be permitted to make. Again, the indistinctness which must exist more or less in an assemblage of figures similar in colour (the unavoidable condition of the art), far from being obviated by indiscriminate imitation, requires rather to be counteracted by those judicious conventions which, in some measure, represent the varieties of nature, and constitute the style of sculpture. The Venus for Florence, (afterwards more than once repeated,) and the statues of the Princess Borghese, and the mother of Napoleon, were the next works of Canova. The attitude and treatment of the last seem to have been inspired by the statue of Agrippina; it was completely successful in Paris. After these, the well-known Dancing Nymphs occupied him, and seem to have been favourite works of his own. Although these statues excited more attention in Paris than perhaps any of his former works, and raised his reputation more than ever, they have since been very generally censured as meretricious in their taste. The portrait statues of the Princess Borghese and Madame Letitia, invited many other commissions of the same kind, which it would be long to recount. The monument of Alfieri, and the statues of Hector and Ajax, the latter admirable for their details, but with little of the antique character in their general treatment, were successively produced, together with many busts of individuals and of ideal personages. An opportunity was soon after afforded the sculptor, in a statue of Paris for the Empress Josephine, of exhibiting his best powers to the French critics. He was perhaps better satisfied with this than with any other single figure he had done. It was much admired when exhibited in the Louvre, and QuatremÈre de Quincy published an eulogium on it.

In 1810, Canova again proceeded to the French capital to receive the commands of Napoleon, and modelled the bust of Maria Louisa. The statue of the Empress, as Concord, and of the Princess Eliza, in the character of a Muse, were finished on his return to Rome. The group of the Graces, and a statue of Peace, were next completed. The colossal horse, first intended to bear Napoleon, and then Murat, was finally surmounted with the statue of Charles III. of Naples, and placed in that city. A recumbent nymph, Canova’s next work, was succeeded by one of his most extraordinary productions, the Theseus and Centaur, a group now in Vienna, where it is placed in a temple built for its reception. Opinions are divided between the merits of this work and of his Hercules and Lichas.

In 1815, when the Allies occupied Paris, Canova was sent there by Pope Pius VII. on an honourable and interesting mission, namely, to intercede with the French government and the invading powers, for the restitution of the works of art which had been torn from Rome by the treaty of Tolentino. The French ministry resisted his application, and it was ultimately by the decision of the Allied Powers, and literally under the protection of foreign bayonets, that Canova removed the objects in question from the Louvre. The gratitude of the Pope to the British government on this occasion led to Canova’s visit to London. The honours he received in England from George IV., then Prince Regent, from the nobility, and the professors of the arts, perhaps even exceeded the homage which had been paid him on the continent; and it ought not to be forgotten, that the great Flaxman, who was among the warmest in welcoming him, wrote a letter to Canova on his return to Rome, which did honour to both, and in which he says, “You will be always a great example in the arts, not only in Italy, but in Europe.”

Canova’s return to Rome, in 1816, was little short of a triumph. The Pope created him Marquis of Ischia, with an annual pension of three thousand crowns; but the noble-minded artist divided this sum, till his death, among the institutions of the arts, in premiums for the young and in aids for the old and decayed. Long was his benevolence to rising artists the general theme of gratitude and regret; and in every case of ill-rewarded industry, or fancied oppression, the exclamation was, “Ah! if Canova were alive!”

The statue of Washington; the Stuart monument in St. Peter’s; the group of Mars and Venus, which was done for George IV.; the Sleeping Nymphs; the recumbent Magdalen, executed for the Earl of Liverpool, were successively produced at this highly-honoured period of his life; and a third monument in St. Peter’s, viz., that of Pope Pius VI.

The last great act of Canova’s life was the foundation of a magnificent church at Possagno, the first stone of which was laid by him July 11, 1819. The monument for the Marquis Salsa Berio, sent to Naples, the figures of which are in basso relievo; seven mezzi relievi for the metopes of the frieze of his church at Possagno, the design of which combines the forms of the Parthenon and the Pantheon; and the beautiful group of the PietÀ, or dead Christ in the lap of the Virgin at the foot of the cross, accompanied by the Magdalen, intended for the altar of the same church, were the last works of Canova.

In 1822, he visited Possagno, partly to see the progress of the building, and still more on account of his infirm state of health. After a short stay in the neighbourhood, his illness increased so much that he was forced to repair to Venice for medical assistance; but his recovery was hopeless, and he died October 13, 1822, in the 65th year of his age. Gratitude was among the prominent virtues of Canova, and among his legacies, it is pleasing to observe that the sons of Faliero, his earliest patron, were remembered. He was buried at Possagno; but his funeral obsequies were celebrated throughout Italy, and a statue to his memory was afterwards placed in the Academy of St. Luke, at Rome.

Ample details of Canova’s life, his precepts on art, and conversations with Napoleon, will be found in the account of him by Missirini: for a catalogue and eulogy of his works, Cicognara’s ‘Storia della Scultura’ may be consulted. The memoir of him by that nobleman, together with his own ‘Thoughts on the Arts,’ taken down and recorded by Missirini, will be found in the splendid edition of Canova’s works, engraved in outline by Moses.