by Susan Jaques
Canova achieved different textures with a variety of tools. He also had special curved tools made to reach the most inaccessible parts of a work. In addition, he was renowned for “the final touch” he gave his works, creating the illusion of warm flesh from cold marble. Canova polished every surface and crevice of a marble until it shone. Among his finishing treatments was the application of wax and grind water, adding a stain to the marble surface that gave the appearance of antiquity—similar to the patinas added to bronze. Sculptors in antiquity also added a smooth sheen to their statues by repeatedly rubbing the marble surface with abrasives. Emery, pumice, and sandstone were used in either a handheld form or a powder using fabric or leather.13
The success of Theseus and the Minotaur led to Canova’s breakthrough. In 1783, he was hired to create a neoclassical tomb for Pope Clement XIV at Rome’s Church of the Holy Apostles. The high profile commission was secured with the help of well-connected Giovanni Volpato. For inspiration, Canova turned to the pyramid, the ancient Egyptian symbol of grief and transcendence. He may also have been influenced by Rome’s own first century Pyramid of Cestius. One hundred Roman feet (ninety-eight feet) high, faced with white Carrara marble, the pyramid tomb for praetor and state priest Gaius Cestius had been built between 18 and 12 B.C.E., not long after Augustus added Egypt to the Roman Empire. Five years after finishing Clement XIV’s tomb, Canova produced a second funerary monument for Pope Clement XIII at St. Peter’s Basilica in white Carrara marble with a pair of travertine lions at the base.
While executing the gigantic papal tombs, Canova’s assistants read aloud texts by Homer, Virgil, and other classical authors. This led to a series of large clay reliefs depicting episodes from these texts. The austere classicism of the papal tombs established Canova as “the new Phidias” after ancient Greece’s most famous sculptor. Goethe, Byron, and Wordsworth sang his praises. Stendhal described him as a “simple worker who had received from heaven a beautiful soul and genius.”
By the first decade of the nineteenth century, Canova’s reputation was soaring. As Robert Hughes writes, “No Italian artist since Bernini had the relations Canova enjoyed with the great and the good of his day: with the popes he served, depicted and memorialized (Clement XIII, Clement XIV, Pius VII), with bankers and politicians, princesses and powerful women, with every sort of foreigner. . . . His very presence in Rome, and his art’s relation to Roman prototypes, seemed to confirm that the city had kept an undiminished vitality as a centre of the world’s culture.”14
In 1801, the Vatican acquired Canova’s monumental Perseus for the space previously occupied by the purloined Apollo Belvedere. The acquisition launched an important relationship between Canova and Pius VII that would continue for two decades. Canova collaborated with Pius on an edict on the conservation of Rome’s artworks and monuments. In 1802, Pius named him Inspector General of Antiquities and Fine Arts for the Papal States, a position once held by Raphael. Canova’s responsibilities included the Vatican museums, Capitoline museums, and the Academy of Saint Luke.
Canova entrusted the Vatican’s Museo Chiaramonti and its hundreds of ancient busts and statues to his disciple Antonio D’Este, and his sons Giuseppe and Alessandro. The two sculptors met in 1768 as apprentices in Giuseppe Bernardi’s Venice studio and developed a lifelong friendship.15 Thanks to Canova, the Burano-born sculptor produced a statue after Apollo Belvedere for the king of Poland; he also restored sculptures for the Vatican and other prominent collectors. By 1799, D’Este was managing Canova’s studio. His duties included the selection of marble, an indication of Canova’s confidence in his friend.16 D’Este himself carved a number of portraits, including a bust of Canova (in 1807, he was named curator of the Vatican museums; he would later become its director).
In 1802, Canova declined Napoleon’s summons to Paris, pleading illness, bad weather, and the need to organize his studio. But Pius VII and Cardinal Consalvi insisted he travel to Paris. Despite the Concordat, the pope’s relationship with Napoleon was precarious. Both men saw the invitation as a diplomatic opportunity. Canova could no longer say no.
Pius supplied Canova with an elegant carriage for the two-week journey to France, and asked him to deliver the ceremonial pallium to Napoleon’s new appointee for Archbishop of Paris, nonagenarian Jean-Baptiste de Belloy. Traveling with his half-brother and a servant, Canova left Rome on September 22.
It was a rare moment for Napoleon to be in Paris. In February 1801, as a result of his victory at Marengo, Napoleon coerced Austria’s Francis II into signing the Treaty of Lunéville. In March 1802, after six months of acrimonious negotiations, his brother Joseph Bonaparte and England’s Marquess Cornwallis signed the Peace of Amiens. The war-weary French public was elated by the prospect of peace and Napoleon’s popularity surged. Engravings were published of female representations of France crowning busts of the “pacificator” Napoleon wearing laurel leaves.
In May 1802, Napoleon established the Legion of Honor. Unlike the old orders of chivalry based on social status, the institution rewarded merit and bravery to civilians and military men of any background (women were excluded). Borrowing its name from the legions of ancient Rome, the order took as its motto “Honor and Homeland.” Structured around legionaires, officers, commanders, regional “cohorts,” and a grand council, the order was loosely based on the Roman legion.
Some legislators pushed back against the decoration, arguing that it would be the end of the Revolution’s hard fought egalitarianism. Crosses and ribbons, they maintained, were baubles fit for monarchs. To this Napoleon famously replied, “You call these medals and ribbons baubles; well, it is with such baubles that men are led . . . the French are not changed by ten years of revolution; they are what the Gauls were, fierce and fickle. They have only one feeling: honour. We must nourish that feeling . . .”17
In 1802, Talleyrand and Cambacérès proposed to the Senate that Napoleon be given the position of consul for life. In a compromise, the senators cut the proposal to a ten-year term plus the seven Napoleon still had left to serve. But Napoleon refused, claiming that the French people needed to grant such an extension. On August 2, Napoleon was declared first consul for life. According to Valérie Huet, Napoleon was a shrewd student of Roman history. Octavian used the same tactic on several occasions leading up to his establishing himself as Augustus, Rome’s first emperor. “Bonaparte’s decision helped to reassure the mass of citizens that the legitimacy of the French Republic was not contested and that the republic was still in operation,” writes Huet. “Bonaparte, just as Octavian had done, required a power which was legitimate.”18 Like Octavian, Napoleon was careful to preserve an illusion of a republic while he consolidated power.
After years of war on the Continent, the Treaty of Amiens was a boon for tourism. Foreign visitors, especially British, flocked to the Louvre to experience the artworks seized from Italy and the famous horses of St. Marks in an inner courtyard. Among the visitors was British painter J.M.W. Turner, who filled a sketchbook. Napoleon was thrilled with the crowds. The goal of his art confiscations was to turn Paris’s Louvre into the greatest museum in the world; the embodiment of the French Republic. “A great capital is the homeland of a nation’s elite . . . it is the center of opinion, the repository of everything,” he declared.19
One person not impressed with the purloined art was Antonio Canova, who arrived in Paris and was hosted by Cardinal Giovanni Battista Caprara. Napoleon’s recent choice for papal legate, Caprara had helped implement the Concordat, officiating at Notre Dame Cathedral on Easter Day, 1802, the official restoration of public worship in France. A month later, Napoleon named the Bologna-born Caprara archbishop of Milan.
In early October, Canova’s friend Quatremère de Quincy presented him to Napoleon and Joséphine at Saint-Cloud. The former residence of the Dukes of Orléans and Marie Antoinette was fresh from a makeover by Percier and Fontaine, who Canova knew from Rome. The château was a dramatic showcase for their bold new Empire style. Durin
g this initial meeting, Canova joined the couple for a fork luncheon. Napoleon bore so little resemblance to his portraits that Canova didn’t recognize him at first.20
During the Italian campaign, Napoleon wore his fine chestnut hair long, cut square and covering his ears in a style called “dogs ears.” In Cairo, Napoleon ordered his soldiers to follow his example and cut their hair short, Roman style “à la Titus.” His soldiers, who wore their hair tied on the nape, nicknamed their general Petit Tondu, Little Shaved/Mowed One. Because of Napoleon’s popularity, short hair became the rage for both men and women. As Irene Antoni-Komar writes, Roman emperor Titus’s distinctive short hairstyle had a strong advocate in Napoleon whose military style was part of the staging of his political power.21 Caracalla, emperor from 198–217, the first of the so-called soldier emperors, wore a similar tightly cropped hairdo.
Canova may also have been surprised by the unassuming figure Napoleon cut relative to his status. As the painter Jacques-Louis David observed: “Nothing let on the man who had overthrown, sustained, or created several states and whose protection four kings and a host of sovereign princes have implored; neither his height, nor his features, nor his manner, nor his attire drew one’s attention; and yet, the fame attached to his name being so resplendent, he struck all the onlookers.”22
After inquiring about the state of Rome, Napoleon asked Canova to sculpt his portrait statue. Canova returned a few days later with clay and modeling tools. Napoleon convinced him to stay for another week, which turned into two, and then a month and a half. Canova was granted a handful of meetings and five sittings with Napoleon—generous for a man who disliked posing and refused to sit for David.23 During the informal sessions, Napoleon read papers and wrote dispatches from an hourglass-shaped desk topped with busts of Caesar and Hannibal.
Napoleon also chatted with Joséphine and Canova, reportedly calling the sculptor “Caesar’s friend.”24 Keenly aware of his role as papal envoy, Canova used the meetings to convey Rome’s economic plight and the dire financial situation of the Papal States. According to the sculptor, he did not hold back, expressing his concern about France’s treatment of Venice, the “deportation” of the St. Mark’s horses, and the removal of Rome’s masterworks. In exchange for a superb portrait bust, the first consul seems to have put up with Canova’s complaints.
On one occasion, Canova returned to Saint-Cloud to find Napoleon preparing to go hunting. While waiting for him to return, Canova made preliminary sketches for a full-length marble portrait. During their discussions, Napoleon had expressed a strong preference to be portrayed in his military uniform. Canova insisted that he be sculpted nude, like the heroes and rulers of ancient Greece. “God himself would not have been able to create a beautiful work of art if he had represented Your Majesty as you are . . . dressed in French fashion,” declared the sculptor.25
Because of his celebrity, Canova enjoyed a high degree of artistic freedom with his powerful patrons. Dominique-Vivant Denon supported Canova, telling Napoleon that costumes were rooted in time, while nudity was timeless and fitting for a great military leader. Antiquarian Ennio Visconti also favored Canova’s approach. Napoleon wound up deferring to Canova, reportedly saying, “We do not impose a law on Genius.”26 Canova had carte blanche for the statue and a contract for 120,000 francs.
The Journal de Paris painted a glowing picture of Canova’s visit to Paris, the impressive portrait bust, and the future commission for a heroic, monumental statue of the French leader. But the First Consul’s private secretary Bourrienne had a different take. In Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, Bourrienne described Canova’s sessions with Napoleon and the final portrait bust as less than ideal:
“This great artist came often in the hope of having his model pose for him but it was really making Bonaparte bored, disgusted, and impatient. Therefore he only rarely posed and just for short sessions. You could tell that the likeness suffered from that. However, he really appreciated Canova and every time he was announced, the First Consul sent someone to keep him company until the time he could be available to pose. But he would shrug his shoulders and say, ‘Posing again? My God, this is so annoying!’ Canova expressed his displeasure to me at not being able to study his model as he would have liked to. Bonaparte’s lack of willingness dampened his creativity . . .”27
On October 17, Canova asked Quatremère to see Napoleon’s bust. Quatremère reported that Canova was “pleased to say that he had found, in the features and physiognomy of his model, forms most favorable to sculpture, and most applicable to the heroic style of the figure that he was envisioning.”28 According to the popular late eighteenth-century theories of physiognomy, the shape of the skull reflected a person’s character.
With the larger than life-size head, and hairstyle like Augustus, Canova managed to evoke his sitter’s restless intelligence. The bust also conveyed Napoleon’s superhuman quality noted by contemporaries like Étienne-Léon Langon. “Though Napoleon was of medium height [about five feet six inches], like Alexander the Great . . . by optical effect he dominated all others with the majesty of his gestures, his irresistible eyes, and seductive smile.”29 Despite Bourienne’s criticism, Canova’s portrait bust became a canonical image of Napoleon. The new Augustus would be incorporated into Canova’s monumental statue, Napoleon as Mars the Peacemaker.
During his three-month stay in Paris, Canova reconnected with his colleagues from Rome, including Pierre Fontaine and Jacques-Louis David. He also befriended François Gérard who painted his portrait. A stickler for how his sculptures were displayed, Canova traveled to the Murat château in Neuilly to visit his two Cupid and Psyche groups, taking along Quatremère.30
Quatremère was especially taken with the standing version. “I could not refrain from complementing him [Canova] on the visible progress that I saw in the second group,” he wrote, “not for its elegance, voluptuousness, or the picturesque composition; but on the contrary, for its simplicity, purity, nobility of style and design, the truth of the nude, the ingenuity of the antique manner, which I saw with please he had so frankly embraced.”31 Quatremère raved that the sensual marble was not carved or polished, but caressed and kissed into life by Canova.
On November 12, Canova joined a group for dinner that included Dominque-Vivant Denon, antiquarians Ennio Visconti and Auguste de Choiseul-Gouffier, Prussian diplomat Girolamo Lucchesini, and musician Johann Friedrich Reichardt. At the recommendation of David, Napoleon had just appointed Denon director of the Louvre, renamed the Central Museum of Arts, passing over Visconti. Denon’s best-selling Egypt travel guide had turned his failed military campaign into a triumph. “Denon, very ugly and of a less sympathetic approach, limited himself to recounting his travels with a cheerful good-nature,” wrote Reichardt. Visconti was “small in stature, plump, of a certain age, but with an all-around petulance.”32
Denon was not Napoleon’s first choice. He had initially offered the prestigious directorship to Antonio Canova, who promptly declined. The sculptor was already director of the Vatican and Capitoline museums and the Academy of St. Luke.
Canova presented Napoleon’s portrait bust on November 21 (today at the Palazzo Pitti, Florence). Napoleon insisted that Canova postpone his departure until Monday so that he could attend a Sunday Mass with a group of dignitaries. With the first consul’s clay bust carefully packed in his carriage, Canova and his stepbrother left Paris on November 30. In Lyons, they were hosted by Cardinal Fesch, Napoleon’s art-loving uncle. From there, Canova proceeded to Milan where he was welcomed by Joachim Murat, along with Melzi d’Eril, vice president of the Italian Republic and his friend Giuseppe Bossi, secretary of the Academy of Brera. During his stay, Canova dined with Napoleon’s stepson Eugène de Beauharnais and sat for his portrait by Andrea Appiani.
Before returning to Rome in December, Canova made a detour to Florence where he was greeted by Louis I, the Bourbon King of Etruria. As part of the March 1801 Treaty of Lunéville, Ferdinand, Duke of Parma surrendered his duchy t
o France after his death in exchange for the new Kingdom of Etruria, the former Grand Duchy of Tuscany. That summer, Ferdinand’s epileptic son was installed as Louis I, King of Etruria; his wife, Marie Louisa, was the daughter of Spanish king Charles VII.
Florentine officials met with Canova to discuss a commission. The treasure of the Uffizi Gallery, the Medici Venus, was widely regarded as the standard of female perfection in sculpture. The marble was believed to be a first-century copy of a post-Praxitelean bronze statue dating from around 200 B.C.E. In 1667, the work was moved to Florence from Rome because the pope thought that the sensuous pose encouraged lewd behavior. The erotic depiction of Venus covering her breasts and pubic area with her hands added to its popularity with wealthy travelers on the Grand Tour.
At the time, Venus’s lips were painted red, her hair sparkled with gold leaf, and earrings hung from her earlobes.33 As Hugh Honour writes, “. . . the Parian marble is indeed outstanding both for its colour and texture—and, more surprisingly, the voluptuousness of the form.”34
In June 1796, while touring the Uffizi with the gallery director Tommaso Puccini, Napoleon saw the celebrated Medici Venus in the gallery’s Tribuna. At the time, he threatened that he would take the famous marble to Paris if Florence declared war on France. Two years later, when a French invasion of Tuscany seemed imminent, Puccini transferred the prized statue along with other Uffizi masterworks to Palermo for safekeeping. That did not stop Napoleon. In September 1802, French forces seized the Medici Venus in Palermo. Napoleon called her a “bride” for the Vatican’s Apollo Belvedere, already installed at the Louvre.