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2023-05-27 07:15:07

    Victor Charles Thirion (1833-1878) è stato un pittore e incisore francese, nato nella città di Langres nella regione francese dell'Alta Saona. Si trasferì a Parigi per studiare all'Ecole des Beaux-Arts sotto William Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905), il principale pittore di saloni e insegnante della sua generazione, e sotto Marc Gabriel Charles Gleyre (1808-1874).

    Raimundo de Madrazo - Portrait of Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala - 1863/64

    Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta (24 July 1841 – 15 September 1920) was a Spanish painter from the Madrazo family of artists who worked in the Realistic style, although his later work shows signs of Rococo and Japanese influence. He was known primarily for his genre paintings and portraits. His grandfather was José de Madrazo, his father was the portrait painter Federico de Madrazo and his brother was Ricardo de Madrazo.

    Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala (2 July 1841 in Bilbao – 12 January 1871 in Madrid) was a Spanish Academic painter who specialized in small-scale canvases. He was the father of the French writer, Miguel Zamacoïs, brother of the writer Niceto de Zamacois, the singer Elisa Zamacois and the actor Ricardo Zamacois, and also an uncle of the writer Eduardo Zamacois and the music composer Joaquín Zamacois.

    Eduardo María Zamacois y Zabala was born in Bilbao, Spain; the son of Professor Miguel Antonio de Zamacois y Berreteaga (1794-1863), and his second wife, Ruperta María del Pilar de Zabala y Arauco. His father was the founder and director of the Santiago de Vizcaya School of Humanities. His relatives included numerous artists: writers, actors and musicians. Of Basque ancestry, their surname originated in Hasparren, France, where it was originally spelled “Samacoys”.

    He received a thorough education, which included drawing classes with a local artist named Joaquín Balaca (c.1820-?). Later, when his father’s school closed, the family moved to Madrid and, in 1856, he was enrolled at the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, where he studied with Federico de Madrazo.

    In 1860, on Madrazo’s recommendation, he went to Paris and attended the classes of Charles Gleyre in preparation for applying to the Ècole des Beaux-Arts. His application there was denied, so he turned to the workshops of Ernest Meissonier, where he found a position.

    A skillful business negotiator, he strove to gain access to as many European exhibitions as possible. Success came quickly. In 1861, he was commissioned to create decorative paintings in the quarters of the future king, Alfonso XII at the Palacio Real de Madrid. This work won him a grant from the Diputación Foral de Vizcaya [es], which enabled him to continue his studies. In 1862 and 1864, he was awarded medals at the National Exhibition of Fine Arts.

    He was married in Paris in 1865, to Louise Marie Héloise Perrin, whom he had met at the home of his friend, Jehan Georges Vibert. They had two children: Miguel Louis Pascual, who became a well-known journalist and playwright, and a posthumous daughter, Marie Hélène, (who married the painter, Jean Alfred Marioton).

    In 1866, he became good friends with the painter, Marià Fortuny, who did a portrait etching of him. During a trip to Rome, Zamacois also posed as a toreador for Fortuny’s painting, The Spanish Wedding. Later, he contacted his friend, Adolphe Goupil, and put him in touch with Fortuny, which resulted in an exclusive contract with Goupil & Cie; a turning point in Fortuny’s career.

    In 1870, he was awarded the Gold Medal at the Salon for his painting, The Education of a Prince. After a showing in London, one of his paintings was purchased by Charles Dickens.

    The Franco-Prussian War created difficulties that eventually forced him to return to Madrid. His arrival there coincided with the official coronation of King Amadeus I, and he attended the ceremonies. It was an unusually cold winter and he became ill the following day. He died there suddenly, aged 29, of what was described as “gangrenous angina” (possibly Diphtheria).

    In 1878, he was awarded a posthumous diploma by the École des Beaux-Arts and a major retrospective at the Exposition Universelle. Goupil & Cie also published a large volume of photographs of his major works.

    Henri Zuber

    Jean Henri Zuber [24 June 1844 – 1909 April 7] was a French landscape painter. He was born in Rixheim, in the Haut-Rhin département of Alsace. He served in the French navy from 1863 to 1868, and took part in the French campaign against Korea in 1866.

    Zuber entered the atelier of Charles Gleyre in 1868, and was admitted to the Salon des artistes français in 1869. In 1873, he published an account of his experiences in Korea, with his own illustrations, in the Hachette periodical 'Le Tour du Monde'.

    From 1884, he is listed as a member of the Société d'aquarellistes français or "French society of watercolourists."

    In 1886, he was made a knight of the Légion d'honneur.

    Zuber died in Paris on 7 April 1909. (Wikipedia)

    15 Works, Today, May 2nd. is artist Charles Gleyre's day, his story, illustrated with footnotes #121

    15 Works, Today, May 2nd. is artist Charles Gleyre’s day, his story, illustrated with footnotes #121

    Gleyre, Charles 1806–1874.Pentheus, Hunted by the Maenads, c. 1865Oil on canvas121.7 × 200.7cm.Öffentliche Kunstsammlung, Basel The Bacchae; also known as The Bacchantes is an ancient Greek tragedy. The tragedy is based on the Greek myth of King Pentheus of Thebes and his mother Agave, and their punishment by the god Dionysus. The god Dionysus appears at the beginning of the play and proclaims…

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    ‘I would like to bathe in milk,’ Said little Agnes, fresh and fair, With her taper fingers smooth as silk, Her cherry cheeks, and nut-brown hair— ‘In a bath of ivory, filled to the brim, I would love to lie and swim, And float like a strawberry plucked at dawn In the lily-white waves of milk new drawn.’

    ‘And I,’ said Rose, with her eyes divine, ‘Would love to bathe in the ruddy wine, Trailing my long and coal-black locks In purple claret and amber hocks; And I would have a fountain play So that the wine might fall in spray, And I might stand in the sparkling rain, Statue-like, in perfect rest;— And if the droplets left a stain, I’d have a fountain of champagne To wash the purple from my breast, And troops of slaves, in rich attire, Should scatter myrrh and incense sweet And bring me, should my looks desire, A golden ewer to wash my feet. I’d tread on carpets of velvet woof, My mirrors should reach from floor to roof, And every slave should envy me My loveliness and luxury.’

    ‘And I,’ said Jane, with her eyes’ dark glances Radiant with untold romances, ‘Would choose a milder bath than thine, Nor crumple my curls with fiery wine. In a bath of alabaster bright, In a marble-floored and lofty hall, Transplendent with the regal light Of a thousand lamps from roof and wall. Amid exotics rich and rare Filling with odors all the air, In clear rose-water I would lie, Like a lily on a lake serene, Or move my limbs to the harmony Of an orchestra unseen, Placed in a chamber far remote, And floating sing, and singing float.’

    ‘Sweet bath,’ said the calm, fair Margaret; ‘But the bath I’d choose is sweeter yet. I’d have it in a rich saloon Open to the breeze of noon, With marble columns smooth and high, And crimson damask drapery, Filled with statues chaste and rare Of nymphs and gods divinely fair. Of jet-black marble the bath should be, With no white speck on its purity; It should not flow with milk or wine, With scented waters or with brine; It should be filled with meadow dew, Gathered at morning in the grass, ‘Mid harebell cups and violets blue, And my bath should be my looking-glass; And I would have a score of maids Glowing with beauty, each and all, To twist my locks in graceful braids, And dress me for a festival.’

    ‘And I,’ said Lilias, raising her eyes Clear as morn, of passion full, ‘Would love to bathe under Eastern skies, In the palace gardens of Istamboul, In the hanging groves of Babylon, Or Bagdad, city of the sun, 'Mid orange, date, and trailing vine, Palm, and myrtle, and eglantine; I would have fifty fountains fair, 'Mid bowers of roses and evergreens, And bathing in the odorous air, I would be waited on by queens.’

    ‘And I,’ said Ann, with her drooping tresses, And eyes as full of love’s caresses As the morning is of day, And mouth so ripe and kindly smiling ’T was never made to answer ‘Nay,’ ‘I would bathe in the fresh blue sea With the wild waves sporting over me; I would toy with the harmless foam, Passing my fingers like a comb Through the crest of each wave that reared Its spray, as white as Neptune’s beard;— With a fresh wind blowing across the reach, I would dive and float again and again, And dress myself on the bare sea-beach, In a nook invisible to men.’

    ‘And I,’ said Laura, ‘would choose my bath Where a river took its lonely path On round smooth shingle, clear in its flow, Showing the pebbles that slept below, Through a flowery lawn well shaven and soft And cool to the feet. I would not care For bands of music, if larks aloft Filled with their songs the sunny air; I would not ask for lustres bright, If the clear morning shed its light; Not for marble statue of youth and maid, If oaks and poplars lent their shade; Nor for exotics of choice perfume, If the meadow-sweet were fresh in bloom; I would but ask for a summer day, And nearest eyes ten miles away.’

    ‘And I,’ said tuneful Isabel, With her soft blue eyes and cheek vermeil, With her witching smile and modest blush, And voice to make the blackbird hush, ‘I would not bathe by the sea-beach cold, Nor river running through open wold; I would not bathe in halls of state, In wine, or milk, or honey-dew; On me should no serving maidens wait, Nor luxury my senses woo. I would bathe far up in a Highland burn, Hidden from sight in its every turn, Deep embowered 'mid pendent larch, And silver birches poised on high, With nothing alive to cross my path But the bright incurious butterfly; In a limpid basin of the rocks I would unbind my flaxen locks, And lay my clothes on the mossy stone, Happy—happy—and all alone.’

    ‘And I,’ said Geraldine, smoothing back, From her stately brow, her tresses black, A blush, like morning over the isles, Dawning upon her cheeks, and smiles Flashing about her lips and eyes, Full of meanings and mysteries, ‘I would love to bathe in a quiet mere, As a mirror smooth, as a dew-drop clear, So still that my floating limbs should make The only ripples upon the lake; I’d have it fringed with fruits and flowers, Forests and orchards, groves and bowers, That whenever I bathed in the noons of spring I might pluck laburnums blossoming, Or shake, as I floated, the lilac blooms, Or chestnut cones with their rich perfumes, Over my glancing neck and shoulders, Concealed in the leaves from all beholders, Except from the ring-dove—too intent On her own pleasures to look at mine; And if I bathed when the flowers were spent, And peaches blushed in the autumn shine, I would choose a solitary nook, By the confluence of a brook, Where the apples were ripe, and the jet-black cherries, And the juicy luscious dark mulberries, Or jargonelles of a ruddy gold, And nectarines as sweet to taste As the kisses of urchins three years old, Grew within reach, that stretching in haste My hand to the boughs as I floated near, Or stood knee-deep in the lucid mere, I might rustle and shake the pulpy treasure Into the water for my pleasure, Catching an apple as it fell, Or diving for a jargonelle.’


    The Nine Bathers

    Charles Mackay  1814-1889


    Graphic - Charles Gleyre  1806-1874