HER LIFE.

In the vast and magnificent church of the Dominicans at Bologna, in the handsome chapel dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary, there is a modest sepulchre belonging to the ancient Guidotti family, which attracts as large a share of the art–loving pilgrim's notice, as even the world–famous shrine of the founder of the order with its statues and bas–reliefs by NiccolÒ di Pisa, Afonso Lombardo, and Michael Angelo. For there beneath the same stone were laid the bodies of Guido Reni and Elisabetta Sirani; he full of years and honours, at the ripe age of sixty–seven; she cut off untimely in the morning of her working day at twenty–six. She was no "favourite pupil" of his, as has been written,[227] for Guido died, when Sirani was four years old; but her works are interesting to the art–student, as far more accurate embodiments of the traditions of his school, than the pictures of most of those who were his immediate pupils; and her short career is especially worthy of the notice of such as are interested in observing female capabilities for winning a right to a place on the roll of the world's worthies.

The art–critics assure us that her works are stamped with a vigour, and bold free precision of outline, which have been rarely attained by female artists. "It is indeed a wonderful thing," writes Lanzi,[228] "that a young girl, who lived only six–and–twenty years, should have painted the vast number of pictures recorded by Malvasia[229]; still more so, that she should have perfected them with a care and finish of the highest order; and most wonderful of all, that she should have reached this perfection in historical pieces of large size, in a style free from that timidity, which La Fontana, and other painters of her sex, never got rid of."

It would be easy to multiply citations from the best authorities on art, to prove the high degree of excellence in her vocation attained by this girl, at an age when most of her competitors of the stronger sex were climbing the first steps of the ladder. But taking this for granted, and leaving the critical appreciation of her works to those whose studies lead them specially in that direction, it will be more interesting for us to endeavour to make out for ourselves some tolerably life–like representation of the young worker as she lived and laboured a couple of hundred years ago in her home at Bologna.

The picture ought to be, if presented aright, a singularly pleasing one, healthy in its tone, invigorating in its suggestions, and addressing itself vividly to the sympathies of every admirer of honest energetic labour. Of all the types of female character and life gathered in these volumes from various social conditions, differing every one of them so widely from our own, this artist figure seems to claim the closest kin to some living phases of the life around us, and to be the most readily and advantageously transplantable into our own social system.

The story of Elisabetta Sirani's untimely death has added a sort of melodramatic interest to her name, which was not needed to make her life a noticeable one. Every one who has heard her mentioned has heard that she died by poison. Her contemporaries suspected that she might have been poisoned; the following generation said and wrote, that she probably had been thus destroyed; and Lanzi, and after him the manuals, and other common sources of information, content themselves with simply stating that she was poisoned, without expressing any doubt on the subject. The reader of the following pages will see that there is every reason to think that she died from natural causes. The circumstances of her death, however, and the judicial investigations to which they gave rise, will furnish some of those little traits of the artist–family's home and mode of life, which, far too trifling ever to have been recorded as such by contemporaries, are yet in every case more precious in their suggestiveness than facts of greater importance to those who, at a distance of a couple of centuries, seek to catch a glimpse of any life as it passed amid its ordinary every–day environment.

The records of the judicial proceedings to which Elisabetta's death gave rise, were for many years sought for in vain by various writers on subjects connected with Bolognese art–history. The name of the person accused of the crime was unknown. And for want of this indication it was, it seems, impossible, without searching the entire mass of the archives in question, to find the required papers. At last, however, in 1833, Signor Mazzoni Toselli had the good fortune to light on them, and published the result of his discovery in a small pamphlet printed at Bologna in that year. Since that time another fortunate discovery has brought to light the "conclusions" submitted to the court by the advocate employed for the prosecution, as we should say. This document was not found in company with the records discovered by Signor Toselli; but was put before the world by Signor Ulisse Guidi, in a pamphlet printed at Bologna in 1854. So that, besides obtaining from the evidence of the witnesses examined, those little hints above alluded to of the manner of life led in the "Casa Sirani," we have now the means of forming a tolerably well–grounded opinion as to the real cause of the young artist's death.

The house of Giovanni Andrea Sirani in the Via Urbana at Bologna, was the home of a family of artists. The father was himself at the head of a considerable school, in which Guido's second manner was the standard of excellence aimed at, and by the master himself and some of his scholars attained with very respectable success. He had a son who became a physician. But he was the only deserter from the family profession. The three daughters, Elisabetta, Barbara, and Anna Maria were all artists. The name of the elder has cast that of her sisters and even of her father, into the shade. But his works are still well esteemed in his own city; and there are pictures by Barbara and Anna Maria Sirani in the churches of Bologna.

Giovanni's wife Margherita, and his sister, who cooked for the family, together with a female servant, were the other members of his household. We are told also, that Bartolommeo Zanichelli, Antonio Donzelli, and Giulio Banzi, his pupils, lived with him upon the footing of members of his family. The first had "frequented his school" for fifteen years.

The house in the Via Urbana, which accommodated this numerous family, and gave the seven painters, out of the ten persons who occupied it, room to work in, must have been a good sized one. It consisted, we hear, of two stories, with some large rooms above "for the school."

The sort of industry that prevailed in this hive of workers may be estimated from the list of Elisabetta's works extant in her own handwriting. Her rapidity, it is true, was marvellous, and the sureness of her hand was only equalled by the overflowing abundance of her thought. We must not, therefore, imagine that all the members of this busy art–factory contributed to the general production in a similar degree. Making due allowance for this, however, and remembering that Elisabetta's works were always highly finished, her methodical and business–like list will give us some idea of the family produce.

In the year 1655, which is the first that figures on her catalogue,—and she was then only seventeen,—she painted two pictures, one for the Marchese Spada, and one for the Municipality of Trassano. In the year 1656, five pictures. In 1657, seven pictures. In 1658, twelve pictures. In 1659, ten pictures. In 1660, fourteen pictures. In 1661, fourteen pictures, of which one ordered by the nuns of St. Catherine contained half figures of the size of life of the twelve Apostles. In 1662, forty–nine pictures! Either by an error of the pen these forty–nine works were the product of two years' labour, which is probable, or the year 1663 from some unexplained cause, produced nothing. In the year 1664, we find twenty–eight pictures registered. And in the first half of 1665, the year of her death, she had completed nine works. In the nine years and a half, from the seventeenth to the twenty–sixth of her age, she had thus produced a hundred and fifty pictures,[230] many of them of large size, and all of them carefully finished! Besides this, she etched occasionally; and many works of this class from her hand are known to, and much sought by collectors. A record of work honestly and conscientiously done, as Lanzi may well say, truly wonderful!

Her rapidity of execution, and especially of throwing with a sure unerring hand her first ideas upon the canvas, was so remarkable, that to see Elisabetta paint was considered one of the sights at Bologna most worthy of the attention of strangers. And we find that few personages of distinction passed through the city without paying a visit to the artist family in the Via Urbana.

"On the 13th of May, 1664," she records in the list of works, which seems also to have served as a sort of journal, "His Serene Highness Cosmo, crown prince of Tuscany, came to our house to see me paint, and I worked at a picture of the Prince Leopold his uncle in his presence. Alluding to the three special virtues of that great family"—(Poor Elisabetta!)—"of Justice, Charity, and Prudence, I introduced figures of them into the picture, sketching in the infant whom Charity is nursing, very quickly, while the prince stood by. On leaving me, he ordered a Holy Virgin for himself, which I executed in time for him to take with him, when he returned to Florence. It is in an oval, with the child in the mother's lap, who with his left hand is caressing her, while the right, with an olive–branch in it, rests on the world; my intention being to allude to the peace, which, by the negotiations of his Most Serene father, is preserved to Italy!"

The Duchess of Brunswick, who "came to our house to see me paint, on the 3rd of January, 1665," was treated, however, it would seem, with a sly bit of satire, instead of the usual dose of flattery expected by most personages when they condescend to stand by artists' easels. The lady, it appears, had the reputation of being possessed by a somewhat inordinate spirit of self–love. So "I painted her a Cupid, a year old, looking at himself in the glass, and wounding himself with his own arrow." And Malvasia, the historian of Bolognese art, who was intimate with the family, recounts, that while painting this allegorical device, the young artist kept repeating, "Let those comprehend that can. I know my own meaning!"

It does not appear that the Duchess left any commission.

Then a visit from the Duca di Mirandola is mentioned; and another from the Principe di Messerano. And then, "all the Princes and Princesses who have passed through Bologna this spring, have come to look at my pictures and to see me work."

We find mention of commissions from the Empress Leonora, from Prince Leopold of Tuscany, who rewards the artist with a cross set with fifty–six diamonds,—the most liberal recompense she had ever received;—from the Duchess of Bavaria, who sends an order for another picture the following year; from Cardinal Farnese; from the Legate; and from the "Padre Inquisitore," who orders a Cupid crowned with laurel, with a sceptre in his hand.

All the cash payments earned by this untiring industry, were handed over to her father to go towards the general maintenance of the family. But the presents which she received in jewellery and other such matters were considered her private property, kept in a cupboard sacred to them, and shown by her mother Margherita to her gossips and the friends of the family on high days and holidays, with infinite pride and reverence.

It seems reasonable to suppose, that in a family of six persons,—leaving the medical son, of whom we find no further mention, out of the question,—in which four of the members are bread–winners, and that by industry so energetic, a considerable ease of circumstances ought to have been found. And perhaps the extreme simplicity of life, indicated by a few of the circumstances which happen to have been recorded, is to be attributed rather to the prevailing habits of frugality of the time, than to poverty. Thus we find that the master's sister occupied the position of cook in the family. The one other servant received four pauls, about two francs, a month for wages. And the family dinner, of which all the members of the household partook in company, consisted, on one occasion,—recorded not for any special reason, but accidentally, and therefore affording a sample of the ordinary fare,—of toasted bread and a little fish. There is a trifling circumstance also, which may be thought to indicate that it was not always convenient to disburse cash for this lenten meal. For in the list of Elisabetta's works, among the pictures executed for churches, princes, and prelates, occurs one of "Saint Margaret, leading a dragon with an azure ribband, painted for the fisherman who supplies our house."

Her music–master also,—for Elisabetta was extremely fond of music, and a creditable performer,—was, we find, paid by a yearly present of a picture.

Possibly the father Giovanni Andrea may have been touched with the very common Italian vice of money–loving, and have been more niggardly in his disbursements than he ought to have been. For we find that now and then Elisabetta would sell some unimportant work of hers privately, in order to supply some little unacknowledged expenses of her mother.

This poor Donna Margherita, who, while her husband and daughters were at their busy easels, had nothing to do but to "rule her house," seems to have been the principal cause of any little roughness which ruffled from time to time the tranquil and cheerful course of successful and appreciated labour in the industrious artist home. Donna Margherita, it is to be feared, was afflicted with a sharp tongue; and there are very unmistakeable symptoms of poor Lucia, the maid, not having earned her annual four–and–twenty francs too easily.

Again and again she had been on the point of throwing up all the advantages of her position under the provocation of her mistress's continual fault–finding. The daily reproach, that she was not worth her keep, was difficult to bear. Then she was accused of dressing her hair when there was no due occasion for such display; the immutable rule of Dame Margherita's house being that the maid was allowed to appear with her head dressed only when visitors of distinction were expected to see the Signorina Elisabetta at her easel. Then again, the unreasonable Lucia wanted to go out occasionally,—gadding about the town, forsooth; and in Bologna too, of all places in the world, swarming from morn to night with idle university scholars! Dame Margherita would have no such doings. Besides, she wished to know what was the reason Lucia was always so anxious to go down herself and shut the ground–floor shutters that looked into the street, at night. Idle enough in other matters, why was she so anxious to perform this duty?

But when these provocations became more than she could bear, and the poor girl had made up her mind to go, Elisabetta would soothe and comfort her, with "Come, come, Lucia, don't leave us! Take time to think of it. Sleep on it this night, and make up your mind in the morning!" And as Lucia, like every one else in the house, was very fond of the Signorina Elisabetta, she would be persuaded to think better of it, and try to put up with Dame Margherita's tongue.

But all these reproaches of seeking occasion to go to the window at nightfall, anxiety to go out into the town, and untimely indulgences of hair–decking, were only grounds of suspicion, that Lucia was guilty of the heinous offence (not even yet in these improved times wholly extirpated from the race of Abigails)—of possessing a lover;—which however permissible, under proper regulations, for young persons inhabiting drawing–rooms, is, as every respectable person knows, most abominable in those living in kitchens. Still there was nothing stronger against Lucia than mere suspicion.

But then came one unlucky day a terrible discovery. There passed down the Via Urbana a tinker in the exercise of his calling. Whereupon this wicked girl,—who could have thought there had been such deepness in her! as Dame Margherita (we may be quite sure) said,—bringing her mistress an old kettle out of the cellar, asked whether it would not be well to call in the tinker and have it mended. The tinker accordingly was summoned, and sent under escort of this false serving–maid to do his duty in such cellar, or outhouse, as may have been adapted to the business in hand. But Dame Margherita "had her suspicions;" and despatched two of her younger children to watch secretly the interview between Lucia and the tinker. The result was a confirmation of the mistress's worst fears. The first words overheard between them proved that the tinker was an old love of Lucia's, who had known her when in her mother's house.

Here was a scope for Mistress Margherita's eloquence! When it was exhausted, the good man Giovanni Andrea was called on to "speak as he ought" on the occasion. And he accordingly, we are told, "said some severe words." Even Elisabetta laughed at poor Lucia, and asked "how she could be so silly as to look after such a sorry knave?"

Now, to poor Lucia this seems to have been the last drop in the cup; and she finally made up her mind to leave her place. Thereupon her master, who was just then confined to his bed by a fit of the gout, which interrupted his work at the easel from time to time, called her into his room and remonstrated with her. "Don't you see, ungrateful girl that you are," he said, "in what a condition you are leaving us? Here am I unable to leave my bed. Margherita is unwell. Barbara has the fever. And we have no one to help us." Lucia was inflexible. "Will you not wait till we have found another servant?"

"No, Signor, I cannot!" was the provoked girl's answer.

"Go, then," rejoined her angry master, "wherever God may lead you!"

But Giovanni Sirani could not reconcile it to his conscience to let the girl go forth unprotected into the city wholly left to her own devices. And the steps he took to prevent this are curiously illustrative of the manners of the time. He sent for two men, who were related to the girl; and privately arranged with them, that they should tell her they had found her an excellent place with a worthy family, to which they would at once conduct her. The unsuspecting Lucia departed accordingly; and was led by them to "the Hospital of St. Gregory, called the Beggar's Home," where she was forthwith shut up a prisoner! So that it should seem a master had the power to cause a girl guilty of nothing but having no home, to be thus imprisoned for her own protection: and yet that it was necessary to use a ruse to get her there!

The Sirani family were a good deal surprised at Lucia's determination to leave them just at the time she did. For it wanted only a few days of the annual fair held on the 24th of August. And a considerable item in the value of her place consisted in the presents which it was the custom to give her on this occasion. In the first year of her service Dame Margherita had given her a muff, and Elisabetta a couple of pauls. The next year the mistress had given her a shift, and the Signorina a paul. And now, in the third year, she lost her fairings by abruptly going away just before the time when they were due.

This was the uncomfortable state of matters in the Sirani family in August 1665. Elisabetta herself had been for some time past out of her usual health. But with her ordinary invincible industry, she stuck to her work. With her father disabled by the gout, her sister Barbara also down with fever, and unable to earn anything, it was more than ever necessary that Elisabetta should take the labouring oar. And fortunately a fresh order for a picture from the Empress Eleonora had recently been received. And the young artist, answering her mother's anxious inquiries about a pain, from which she had been suffering, by saying that "the best way not to feel it was not to think of it," bravely set her canvas before her, and bent her mind to the composition of the new picture.