SAND George (1804-1876). - Lot 213

  2. Result
  3. SAND George (1804-1876). - Lot 213
  4. Lot n° 213 
Lot n° 213
Go to lot
Estimation :
2000 - 2500 EUR
Result with fees
Result : 2 636EUR
SAND George (1804-1876). - Lot 213
SAND George (1804-1876). L.A.S. "G. Sand", [Nohant] July 27 [1855], to Eugène DELACROIX; 5 pages in-8 in his cipher, in blue ink. Very beautiful letter to Delacroix about painting and Italy. Delacroix has just read in La Presse the chapter of Histoire de ma vie which is devoted to him, but which was truncated: "I will therefore send you the whole work when it is complete. I find that one cannot read otherwise and that not being able to say to oneself in front of a book, I will read it at my day and my hour, is a way invented by those who do not like reading. My work is not of the kind that can be enjoyed in serial form, if anything can be read in this way. So I thank you very much for not reading it that way. Later, you will tell me your opinion on the whole, there is no hurry. Work, it is you who have a monument to continue for the crushing of all these pygmies". She went to Italy last spring: "I saw the old masters again in Genoa and in Florence, I saw Rome that I didn't know and all the Raphaels that I had never seen. In fact, there are some beautiful Raphaels among a crowd of apocrypha. By apocrypha I mean the frescoes for which he only provided the cartoons and which his pupils painted in brick red, yellow and Prussian blue. It is precisely those in front of which the Ingrists swoon, Galateas that I would not like to have above doors, and saints of all caliber that look as if they were made by stupid ten-year-olds. The Lodges can be seen with the eyes of faith, everything falls apart, the Stanze are so black that you can see everything you want. It is in some of the galleries that one can finally distinguish some of Raphael's figures, which really leave nothing to be desired. But apart from that, his work is a big joke, and he himself is quite a poseur. Here is my impression, I give it to you for what it is worth. As far as MICHEL-ANGE is concerned, it's a different matter. All damaged, perforated, hidden, smoked that it is, the Sistine Chapel, the ceilings especially, leave you a stupor, a terror, an enthusiasm which makes you look in pity at all the rest, the Ghirlandajo, the Albanians, the Salvator [Rosa] and tutti quanti, - but not Mr. Titian and other Venetians that one finds in Florence, nor the Rubens and Van Dyck that one finds in Genoa. But if I must tell you, Michelangelo as a statuary crushes all the ancients, and as a painter equals all the moderns. His color is superb in Rome. Ah! how I thought of you, of your beautiful pages, the only ones worthy of him! And when I saw the Moses, the Pieta, the tombs of the Medici, the Christ with the arms of the Virgin, the Adonis and two or three other groups of his youth which are less praised and which in spite of some defects perhaps, are as imprinted with his genius as the remainder, how I remembered our long station at the palace of the Fine Arts in front of all these plaster modelings, that you taught me to see and that our poor good CHOPIN did not want to see. Do you remember it? Do you also remember a bas-relief by Luca Della Robbia representing little singers? I found that in Florence in a corner and I saw myself with you stirring up this plaster just unpacked and discovering with you that it was a masterpiece of naivety. All this is more beautiful in marble, it is finer, more hollowed out, more transparent, especially these old polished and yellowed marbles. The Moses seems to be alive, one can see him breathing, and as he has nothing of a simple mortal, one is ready to run away in front of such an appearance. Well, I came back from all these masterpieces, a little ruffled from my long nap in Nohant, and when I arrived in Paris around May 15th, I ran to the exhibition, relying a little more than before on my reason and on my feeling. I saw all your work again, I hardly looked at anything else, and I left there putting you always, without hesitation and without fear of any partiality, next to the greatest in the history of painting and above, but two hundred thousand feet above all the living ones"... Correspondence, t. XIII, p. 266.
My orders
Sale information
Sales conditions
Return to catalogue