Anecdotes of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors and Architects, and Curiosities of Art (Vol. 3 of 3) — A Reader’s Guide

From Thebes to Munich: Shifts in Scale and Tone

The volume's first entries dwell on colossal monuments—the Temple of Carnac, the Colossal Sphinx, the Pyramids—described with a cataloger's eye for dimension and material. The prose is measured, almost archaeological. Then, abruptly, the reader encounters the story of Filippo Brunelleschi, whose “trials of genius” are narrated with novelistic urgency. The most striking tonal shift comes in the anecdote of Christopher Schwarts: a painter who, to avoid supervision, props up a dummy in his work clothes while he drinks in secret for a fortnight. The magistrates, seeing “the well known stockings and shoes,” are fooled. Spooner relates this with dry understatement, letting the absurdity speak for itself. The contrast between the solemnity of Egyptian wonders and the farce of Schwarts's deception is not smoothed over; it is the book's method.

Voice and the Artist's Character

Spooner's narrative voice is that of a compiler who values anecdote over hagiography. He does not simply praise; he selects stories that reveal temperament. Jacques Callot, the French engraver, is introduced through his youthful rebellion—running away with Bohemians—and later through his principled refusal to engrave the siege of his native Nancy for Cardinal Richelieu. Callot's threat to cut off his own thumb rather than comply is rendered in direct speech: “My Lord, if you continue to urge me, I will cut off the thumb of my right hand before your face.” The voice of the artist is preserved, lending immediacy. Similarly, Donatello is shown not through his sculptures but through his dealings with a merchant and his kinsmen, revealing a prickly, independent character. Spooner's choices consistently foreground personality over oeuvre.

Pace and the Mechanics of Art

The book's pace varies markedly between sections. Passages on the removal of an obelisk from Thebes to Paris or on Carburi's base for the equestrian statue of Peter the Great read like engineering reports, dense with measurements and mechanical process. The description of floating and raising the tubes of the Britannia Bridge is methodical, almost instructional. In contrast, the lives of artists like Sofonisba Anguisciola or Nicholas Poussin are told in a more flowing biographical style, with attention to social networks and patronage. This alternation between technical exposition and narrative biography creates a rhythm that mirrors the dual nature of art itself: the interplay of inspiration and craft. Readers may find themselves skimming the mechanical details and lingering on the human dramas, or vice versa—the book accommodates both interests.

This volume rewards readers who dip in and out, following the thread of a single artist or comparing the treatment of similar themes across entries. The index of contents is essential for navigating the mix of subjects. Pay attention to the footnotes and asides, where Spooner sometimes adds a second anecdote or a skeptical remark. The book is best approached not as a continuous narrative but as a cabinet of curiosities, each entry a distinct object to be examined on its own terms.

That rainy afternoon, Spooner’s anecdotes drifted from a marble’s chisel marks to a painter’s quarrel, and I lingered on how light—not fame—made their figures breathe. Later, restless, I picked up Naturalistic Photography for Students of the Art. — Themes and Context and found the same quiet obsession: waiting for the grey sky to soften a face, letting shadows tell the story.