Note 377 — Chapter IV · SUNDAY AT REYKJAVIK—DRINKING IN ICELAND.

According to Professor J. M. Thiele (Copenhagen, 1832), he was descended on the spindle side—where, by-the-by, almost any descent can be established—from the royal blood of Scandinavia. The family, once settled at Óslandshlíð in Skagafjörð, sank, and his father Gottskálk emigrated to Copenhagen, where he lived by carving figureheads for shipwrights. His mother was a clergyman’s daughter, and he was born November 19, 1770. Finn Magnússon (Antiquitates Americanæ) has also drawn up his pedigree.

His first order from his northern home was, according to Thiele, a font which Countess Schimmelmann and her brother Baron Schubarth wished to present to the church of Brahe-Trolleberg in “Funen,” as we write Fyen. It was adorned with four bas-reliefs—the Baptism, the Holy Family, Christ blessing the children, and three angels. After being exhibited and admired at Copenhagen, it was sent to its destination, and a copy, we are told, was offered by the artist to the deserted land of his forefathers, to be placed in Myklabye church. A note informs us that this font was bought by a northern merchant, whereupon the artist immediately began another in Carrara marble. It is not said whether the third edition actually reached Myklabye church or is the one bought by Lord Caledon—evidently we have found it in the cathedral.

The “Patriarch of Bas-reliefs,” as the Italians entitled him (ob. 1844), has been called a “handsome young Dane,” when he was peculiarly Icelandic in body and mind. It was his misfortune to belong to the day of manufacturing sculptors, amongst whom he was the first and no more. But what can the artist expect from such inspiration as Jason, Anacreon and Cupid, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, can give? The Icelander was pure and simple, free from the Gallicisms of Canova, an improvement upon Sergell the Swede, but cold, lacking life and interest; in fact, an imitator. I would rather in these days settle as an artist amongst the Kru-boys of the west coast of Africa, and attempt negro subjects, than copy the classics.

Richard Cleasby, who, by the by, killed himself with Cures, or rather Kurs, had a wide experience of men and manners in Europe, and his criticisms are sometimes sharp, but he left Thorvaldsen “with the impression of having been in the company of a great man.” The peculiar Icelandic traits in his character were an ultra-Yankee ‘cuteness in making a bargain, and a love of money, which led him into that ugly business of Madame d’Uhden. Still he amply deserves the statue for which the Municipal Council of Copenhagen has voted $6000, in honour of the Iceland Millenary.