David (Jacques Louis).
JACQUES LOUIS DAVID, the celebrated French painter, was born in Paris in the year 1748, and studied under Vienne. It is said of him, that while endeavouring to give an air of antique character to his works, he was too often cold and inexpressive, resembling coloured statuary more than nature. By many admirers he is looked up to as the head and restorer of the French school. The following may be reckoned as his most celebrated pictures:—“The Rape of the Sabines,” “The Coronation of Napoleon,” “The Oath taken in the Tennis Court,” “Brutus,” “Belisarius,” “The Funeral of Patroclus,” and “The Death of Socrates.” He died in December, 1825.
DAVID’S MARRIAGE.
Jacques Louis David was very successful with his pupils. At each distribution of prizes at the Academy of Rome, one of his pupils generally bore away the palm. The King of France, who acknowledged the royalty of the arts, ordered apartments to be prepared for David in the Louvre.
Till then, David had never dreamed of marrying; he only thought of the productions of his genius. Before taking possession of his apartments in the Louvre, it was necessary for him to come to some arrangement with Pécoul, the King’s architect. David had known his son at Rome. They had often talked together of their country and absent families. Pécoul’s son had said to David, “I have some handsome sisters; you must choose one, and we shall then be brothers.” On the painter’s departure for Paris, he had given him a letter to his father, principally as an introduction to his sisters. More than two years had passed by, and the letter still remained in a portfolio of drawings. One day, as David turned it over, he said—“Who knows but destiny may have traced this?” And so it remained for another six months.
At last he called on Pécoul.
“Ah!” said the architect, “you are David, and you want apartments in the Louvre?”
“Yes, sir, the King has had the kindness to allow me to reside there.”
David had the letter in his pocket; he blushed, drew it out, and gave it, with much emotion, to the architect.
“Egad!” said Pécoul, “this letter will still keep a little longer; come and dine with me, and we will read it at the dessert.” Saying this, Pécoul, in his turn, put the letter into his pocket.
David went to dinner. There was a great display of luxury and coquetry. It was Pécoul’s ardent wish that the glory and fortune of David should spring from his own house.
At the dessert, Pécoul took out his son’s letter and read it aloud. This was like a piece of theatrical clap-trap. The profoundest silence ensued; the young girls held down their heads while eyeing David. David interrogated the sphinx. Pécoul, as he read the letter, tried also to read the thoughts of David in his eyes. The mother alone thought of him who had written the letter, for her son was still at Rome.
The letter ran as follows:—“The bearer of this, dear father, is my best friend; do your utmost that he may become my brother. This will be easy enough; he is twenty-five, and you have some marriageable daughters; he has genius, and you have money.”
Monsieur Pécoul finished reading; but his auditors were still listening.
“You see, mesdemoiselles,” at last said David, taken unexpectedly, “how your brother settles matters. I am quite confused at his good opinion of me; but he does not seem to know that neither daughter nor sister ought to be forced, where marriage is concerned. As for me, who am alone in the world, I should be too happy to people my solitude with beauty and virtue.”
After an awkward pause, the architect broke silence by telling David that he would religiously follow his son’s advice, especially as the celebrated painter of “Belisarius” had no natural aversion to matrimony. The conversation resumed its liveliness, and every one spoke much and gaily; but when David rose to leave, he did not yet know which of the two young girls he should marry. Of the two beauties he married the Roman type.
DAVID’S CRUELTY.
It is related of David, that during the reign of terror, when the executions were most numerous and indiscriminate, he would give vent to his ferocious nature by exclaiming with a chuckle, “C’est ça, il faut encore broyer du rouge.”
HIS EXCESSIVE VANITY.
His cruelty was only equalled by his vanity and sycophancy. Boasting of being like Robespierre—incorruptible, one who knew him remarked, “I know what would bribe you!” “What?” he indignantly exclaimed. “An apotheosis in the Pantheon during your lifetime,” was the answer.
On his death-bed, at the direction of his physicians, an engraving of one of his works was shown him to test the state of his faculties; he cast on it his glassy eyes, and muttered, “Il n’y a que moi qui pouvait concevoir la tête de Léonidas.”
DANTON’S FEATURES.
David, who regarded as a demi-god Danton, the organizer of the massacre of the prisons during the reign of terror, attempted several times to delineate the horrid countenance of this remarkable man; at last, giving up the attempt as impossible, David exclaimed, “Il serait plus facile de peindre l’éruption d’un volcan, que les traits de ce grand homme.”
DAVID AND NAPOLEON.
In his celebrated picture of the distribution of the eagles to Napoleon’s legions, David had represented Victory soaring over them, holding forth crowns of laurel. “What do you mean, sir, by this foolish allegory?” exclaimed the Emperor, “it was perfectly unnecessary. Without borrowing such absurd fictions, the world must know that all my soldiers are conquerors.” On returning some days after this ebullition of temper, the Emperor was delighted at finding David had painted three scrolls, bearing the names of Buonaparte, Hannibal, and Charlemagne.
DAVID AND THE EMPEROR’S PORTRAIT.
Before painting the Emperor’s portrait, he asked him how he would be represented. “On the field of victory, sire, sword in hand?” “Bah!” replied the Emperor. “Victories are not gained by the sword. Represent me, sir, dashing forward on a fiery steed.”
Again, when requested to sit a little more steadily, to obtain a good resemblance, Napoleon replied: “Pshaw, sir! who cares for a resemblance? What are mere features, sir? The genius of the artist is shown by his success in representing the fire—the inspiration of the face. Think you, sir, Alexander ever sat to Apelles?”