The Sun.
London, England, 1860-05-29 00:00:00

A WALK IN A BYE-STREET OF FLORENCE.

A letter from Florence, dated May 21, says
Amongst the distinguishing features of the age
we live in there is not probably one which will
leave such memorable results behind it as the
energy which Englishmen have shown in the pro-
secution of new and strange careers—the indomita-
ble courage and perseverance they have displayed
in circumstances perfectly novel. India presents
an immense number of such instances, where men
were called on for the exhibition of qualities which
in their ordinary life, had never been developed. Our
colonies, especially Australia, are full of such ex-
amples; and it is really in no vain-gloriousness
that we can say that the Anglo-Saxon race lends
itself more readily to the spirit of the time and the
demands of emergency than any other of which
history tells us. We have but to turn over the files
of a newspaper to adduce examples. One of the
ablest, if not the very ablest, of our Indian generals
at this moment, passed years of his life in the half-
inglorious indolence of a secretary of embassy, re-
markable for little beyond the facility with which
he indulged that indolence. The event, however,
called for the man, and we have seen how he an-
swered the call. It was following out in reverse
the train of thought thus suggested I found myself
a few days back in a lonely and almost deserted
street of Florence. A high wall at one side, over
which :some trees showed their foliage, was an-
swered at the other by a large, irregular old build- ,
ing, whose jealous-looking windows betrayed the
convent. Looking somewhat closer, however, I per-
ceived that the place was no longer tenanted by the
devout, butwas in reality an artist's studio—the name
C— F— on the door modestly announcing the
proprietor.

" C— F— !" muttered I to myself: strange
accident of name. It was only a few years ago I
knew one who bore it, the most flattered and eagerly
sought, the handsome aide-de-camp, the best look-
ing and most accomplished fellow of a crick cavalry
regiment, one of those men who carry with them
into life tko cachet of gentleman so distinctively,
whose breeding is so eminently true and real that
even the scandalmongers of society are fain to let
him pass unmolested, and suffer his claim to notice
and distinction to be preferred without objecting.
Some reverses of fortune, I know not exactly how
caused, had compelled him to leave the army; but,
with influential connections, and the popularity of
his name, I had little doubt of his obtaining some
public employment—in fact, such a man, highly
gifted and accomplished as he was, could not fail of
receiving his just recognition. I had asked three
or four who knew him, and all I could learn was he
had been at Constantinople at such a time ; so and
so had met at such an embassy at dinner, and he
had been shooting with somebody else at such a
place; when suddenly the same name on the door-
post of the convent brought up the man to my
mind. Curious to see him who bore the designa-
tion—amusing myself with the idea of how unlike
would be the swell cavalry officer with the pale-
checked artist—l rang the bell, and asked permis-
sion to see the studio. he artist, I was informed
was from home, but I could see the studio. In the
vast chamber, which had once been the chapel o!
the convent, and which was now arranged with the
most consummate taste, I saw a number of busts,
many of which—seen qt a glance—l could rccog
nise. Mario and Grisi, a distinguished Welsh ba-
ronet, and a_ well-known Irish beauty.
Fro:n these, however, I turned to examine the
greater and more pretensions work to which my
attention was now called. One called the Cast-
away represented a young sailor, storm-tossed on a
raft, at a moment when a strange sail has come in
sight and answered his signal. The form of strength
and symmetry wasted by privation and suffering,
but not painfully emaciated—the terrible eagerness
of the face, as with a last effort he seems to cry for
aid—the strength which, in the very act, appears
to fail him, were all depicted with consummate
power. There was all the narrative power of a late
great writer with the life-like traits which mere
description never reaches; and, greater than these
was the great avo:k of art, the graceful delineation
of form, the most accurate study of the human
anatomy, and the truest adherence to all the prin-
ciples of art.

Besides this—but as yet only- existing in the state
of model—was one of the most beautiful concep-
tions I have ever seen. It was the undraped figure
of a girl sleeping ; the expression of the features,
slightly moved by some passing dream, but still
relaxed in sleep, harmonised beautifully with the
repose of the attitude, and as if to contrast with
whose peaceful loveliness a proud eagle, with arched
neck and piercing eye, stands cowering at her feet,
seizing as his prey her slipper, for it is the fable of
Rhodope, the Cinderella of Eastern story, which is
here told, To represent the utmost amount of
beauty, the most consummate perfection of form in
all the voluptuous abandonment of sleep, and yet
retain throughout the purest sentiment of the ideal,
is the triumph of this work. The whole conception
is chaste as the spotless marble that reveals it.
I have but space to mention one other work—a
half-finished model of Lady Godiva. She is of
course undraped, but the masses of her flowing hair
fall in wavy sheets over her, as with bent-down
head and modest mien she moves slowly on. The
figure is a charming one; it is a womanly grace in
all its highest perfection, Bnt probably the critical
eye will be equally struck by the horse, which shows
how thoroughly the artist must have studied that
animal's proportions. The pace is a slow one, and
consequently more difficult to render ; but every
muscle is portrayed, and every articulation de-
lineated with so truthful a nicety that I only
know of one instance to compete with it—Rauch's
admirable equestrian statue of Frederick the Great.
Disappointed at not meeting the artist himself—
for I own that my visit had been prompted by
the curiosity I have mentioned—l asked
some questions about him. "He was very young
—an Englishman," my informant proudly said,
un uomo bellissi»2e, who could do everything ; he
rode, drew, sang, and spoke foreign languages.
"Had he ever served in the British army," I asked.
" Yes ; here was his portrait," and he pointed to a
water-colour sketch, and the sculptor stood revealed
in the handsome officer of the Lancers!