a multiplicity of figures are employed, they are so grouped that the
masses of light and shade are interrupted as little as possible; and it
is only in his earlier works, such as those now in the Munich Gallery,
where this isolated light is carried to extravagance. In many of his
later pictures, we have not only subordinate groups, but a repetition
of the principal lights; also a greater breadth of half-tint.
"Composition," says Reynolds, "which is the principal part of the
invention of a painter, is by far the greatest difficulty he has to
encounter. Every man that can paint at all, can execute individual
parts; but to keep these parts in due subordination as relative to a
whole, requires a comprehensive view of the art, that more strongly
implies genius than perhaps any other quality whatever." Now Rembrandt
possessed this power in an eminent degree. At the revival of painting
in Italy, the compositions consisted entirely of subjects taken from
Sacred Writ--subjects that imposed a purity of thought and a primitive
simplicity upon the artists; these qualities were, however, in a great
measure lost in passing through the Venetian and German schools, where
either the love for pictorial effect or the introduction of catholic
ceremonies took precedence of every other arrangement. The prolific
genius of Rubens spread this infectious mode of treatment through
Flanders and Holland, till at length, in the hands of the painters of
smoking and drinking scenes, historical subjects, even of a sacred
character, became quite ridiculous. Yet, with all these examples of bad
and vulgar taste around him, we find many compositions of Rembrandt less
degraded by mean representation than many of the best of the works of
the Venetian and Flemish painters. Take, for example, his design of
Christ and his Disciples at Emmaus, the principal figure in which is
certainly more refined than the Christ either in the pictures of Titian
or Rubens of the same subject; in fact, the idea of it is taken from the
Last Supper, by Raffaelle, (the Mark Antonio print of which he must have
had.) Raffaelle is indebted for the figure to Leonardo da Vinci; and if
we were to trace back, I have no doubt we should find that the Milanese
borrowed it from an earlier master; indeed, we perceive in the progress
of painting much of the primitive simplicity and uniformity preserved
in the best works of the Italian school. It was only when composition
passed through the prolific minds of such artists as Paul Veronese,
Tintoret, and Rubens, that it was made subservient to the bustle,
animation, and picturesque effect of their works. When we find,
therefore, any remains revived in the pictures of Rembrandt, who was
surrounded by compositions of a vulgar and low cast, we can only ascribe
it to the taste and genius of this great painter. In the design just
mentioned, the idea of the Disciples, as if struck with astonishment
and awe at the bursting forth of the divinity of Christ, is admirably
conceived. As the heads are taken from the people of his country, they
of necessity partake of the character of the people. This cannot be
justified, though it is excusable. Reynolds, on this head, speaking
of the ennobling of the characters in an historical picture, says,
"How much the great style exacts from its professors to conceive and
represent their subjects in a poetical manner, not confined to mere
matter of fact, may be seen in the Cartoons of Raffaelle. In all the
pictures in which the painter has represented the apostles, he has
drawn them with great nobleness; he has given them as much dignity as
the human figure is capable of receiving. Yet we are expressly told in
Scripture they had no such respectable appearance; and of St. Paul
in particular we are told by himself that his _bodily_ presence was
_mean_. In conformity to custom, I call this part of the art History
Painting: it ought to be called Poetical, as in reality it is." He
further adds, "The painter has no other means of giving an idea of the
mind but by that external appearance which grandeur of thought does
generally, though not always, impress on the countenance, and by that
correspondence of figure to sentiment and situation which all men wish,
but cannot command." As I cannot defend the mean appearance of the
disciples, neither shall I exculpate our great artist from blame in
introducing a dog into so grand a subject; we can only excuse him on
the plea of following the practice of his predecessors. Titian, in his
celebrated picture, has not only introduced a dog, but a cat also, which
is quarrelling with the former for a bone under the table. To this love
for the introduction of animals into their compositions, for the sake of
picturesque variety, many of the greatest painters must plead guilty;
and though the incongruity has been pointed out over and over again by
the writers on art, it is still clung to as means of contrast with the
human figure. In one of the sketches by the late Sir D. Wilkie for his
picture of "Finding the Body of Tippoo Saib," he had introduced two
dogs, and only obliterated them when informed that dogs were considered
unclean by the people of the east, and therefore it was an impossibility
for them to be in the palace of Seringapatam. While I am upon this
subject, it may not be amiss to refer to one of the authorities who
censures this practice. Fresnoy says, in his poem on the "Art of
Painting,"
"Nec quod inane, nihil facit ad rem sive videtur
Improprium minimeque urgens potiora tenebit
Ornamenta operis."
"Nor paint conspicuous on the foremost plain,
Whate'er is false, impertinent, or vain."
MASON.
[Illustration: CHRIST AND HIS DISCIPLES AT EMMAUS]
On this rule, Reynolds remarks--"This precept, so obvious to common
sense, appears superfluous till we recollect that some of the greatest
painters have been guilty of a breach of it; for--not to mention Paul
Veronese or Rubens, whose principles as ornamental painters would allow
great latitude in introducing animals, or whatever they might think
necessary to contrast or make the composition more picturesque--we can
no longer wonder why the poet has thought it worth setting a guard
against this impropriety, when we find that such men as Raffaelle and
the Caracci, in their greatest and most serious works, have introduced
on the foreground mean and frivolous circumstances. Such improprieties,
to do justice to the more modern painters, are seldom found in their
works. The only excuse that can be made for those great artists, is
their living in an age when it was the custom to mix the ludicrous with
the serious, and when poetry as well as painting gave in to this
fashion."
Many of the compositions of Rembrandt indicate not only a refined
taste, but the greatest sensibility and feeling. For example, the small
etchings of the "Burial of Christ," and the "Return from Jerusalem;"
these, from their slightness, may lay me under the same category as the
old Greek, who, having a house to sell, carried in his pocket one of the
bricks as a sample; yet, being his own indications, I have given them.
It is worth while to compare the "Entombment" with the same subject by
Raffaelle, in the Crozat Collection. The whole arrangement is treated in
the finest taste of the Italian school. The other design has been always
a favourite with the admirers of Rembrandt. The feeling character of the
youthful Saviour is admirably portrayed. Holding his mother's hand, he
is cheering her on her tiring journey, looking in her face with an
expression of affection and solace; while she is represented with
downcast eyes, fatigued and "pondering in her mind" the import of the
words he had addressed to her, "How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not
that I must be about my Father's business?" And even here we can almost
excuse the introduction of the little dog, who, running before the
group, is looking back, giving a bark of joy at their having found the
object of their solicitude. The background is conceived in the finest
spirit of Titian.
These are the touches of nature that, like the expressions of our own
immortal Shakspere, however slight, and though dressed in modern garb or
familiar language, reach the innermost sensibilities of the human heart.
[Illustration: THE ENTOMBMENT]
[Illustration: THE RETURN FROM JERUSALEM]
The character and costume of the people, as well as the scenery of those
subjects taken from Holy Writ, have been a matter of investigation both
by artists and writers upon art; for although the events related in the
New Testament are not of so ancient a date as those of the heathen
writers, yet the mind seems to require that the style should be neither
classic nor too strictly local. Hence, though the costume represented in
the Venetian pictures is no doubt nearer the truth than that made use of
by Raffaelle and other Italians, it fails to carry us back to ancient
and primitive simplicity. The early pictures delineating Christian
subjects are modelled upon Greek forms and dresses, and having been
made the foundation of those works afterwards produced by the great
restorers of painting, have gained a hold upon our ideas, which, if not
impossible, is yet difficult to throw off. As the late Sir David Wilkie
travelled into the East with the express purpose of painting the
subjects mentioned in Scripture in more strict accordance with the
people and their habits, it may be of advantage to give the student his
opinions. In his Journal, he says--"After seeing with great attention
the city of Jerusalem and the district of Syria that extends from Jaffa
to the river Jordan, I am satisfied it still presents a new field for
the genius of Scripture painting to work upon. It is true the great
Italian painters have created an art, the highest of its kind, peculiar
to the subjects of sacred history; and in some of their examples,
whether from facility of inquiry or from imagination, have come very
near all the view of Syria could supply. The Venetians, (perhaps
from their intercourse with Cyprus and the Levant,) Titian, Paul
Veronese, and Sebastian del Piombo, have in their pictures given
the nearest appearance to a Syrian people. Michael Angelo, too, from
his generalizing style, has brought some of his prophets and sybils
to resemble the old Jews about the streets of the Holy City; but in
general, though the aspect of Nature will sometimes recall the finest
ideas of Leonardo da Vinci and Raffaelle, yet these masters still want
much that could be supplied here, and have a great deal of matters quite
contrary to what the country could furnish. These contrarieties, indeed,
are so great, that in discussions with the learned here, I find a
disposition to that kind of change that would soon set aside the whole
system of Italian and European art; but as these changes go too much
upon the supposition that the manners of Scripture are precisely
represented by the present race in Syria, it is too sweeping to be borne
out by what we actually know. At the same time, there are so many
objects in this country so perfectly described, so incapable of change,
and that give such an air of truth to the local allusions of Sacred
Writ, that one can scarcely imagine that these, had they been known to
the painters of Italy, would not have added to the impressive power of
their works. Without trying to take from the grand impression produced
by the reading of the Sacred Writings, it may be said that from its
nature many things must be confined to narrative, to description, to
precept--and these are no doubt so strong as to supply to a pious mind
everything that can be desired; but if these are to be represented, as
certainly they have been, by those of an art who have not seen Syria, it
is clear some other country, Italy, Spain, or Flanders, will be drawn
upon to supply this, and the reader of Scripture and the admirer of art
will be alike deluded by the representation of a strange country in the
place of that so selected and so identified as the Land of Promise--so
well known and so graphically described from the first to the last of
the inspired writers."
These remarks are certainly applicable, but only in a degree. What
is quoted from Reynolds, in a former part, shows that a licence is
indispensable; and yet, without destroying the apparent truth of the
subject, many things are now established that, without their being
facts, have taken such hold of our ideas that they cannot with safety be
departed from. I may instance the countenances of our Saviour and the
Virgin, as given by Raffaelle and Coreggio--we recognise them as if they
had been painted from the persons themselves; I may also add the heads
of the Apostles. With regard to the scenery, many circumstances may
certainly be taken advantage of, always guarding against a topographical
appearance that, by its locality, may prevent the work leading the
spectator back into distant periods of time. Before quitting this part
of the subject, which refers to Rembrandt's powers of composition, I may
notice one or two of his designs, which stamp him as a great genius in
this department of the art--viz., his "Christ Healing the Sick," "Haman
and Mordecai," the "Ecce Homo," "Christ Preaching," and the "Death of
the Virgin."
CHIARO-SCURO.
From the position we are now placed in, surrounded by the accumulated
talent of many centuries, it is easy to take a retrospective view of
the progress of art; and it is only by so doing that we can arrive at
a just estimate of the great artists who advanced it beyond the age
in which they lived, and this seems mainly to have been achieved by
a close observance of nature. As in philosophy the genius of Bacon,
by investigating the phenomena of visible objects, put to flight
and dissipated the learned dogmas of the school of Aristotle, so in
sculpture the purity and simplicity of the forms of Phidias established
a line of demarcation between his own works and those of the formal,
symmetrical, and dry sculpture of his predecessors. Sculpture, till
then, lay fettered and bound up in the severity of Egyptian
Hieroglyphics. Likewise we perceive the genius of Michael Angelo and
Raffaelle setting aside the stiffness and profile character existing
in the works of Signorelli and Masaccio. In Venice, Titian emancipated
the arts from the grasp of Giovanni Bellini. In Germany, Rubens must
be considered the great translator of art out of a dead language into
a living one, to use a metaphor, and into one that, like music, is
universal. Previous to Rembrandt, the pupils of Rubens had thrown off
every affinity not only to Gothic stiffness, but even to that degree
of regularity of composition which all classes of historical subjects
require. Independent of Rubens and his pupils, we find Rembrandt was
aware of the great advances made in natural representations of objects
by Adrian Brauwer, (several of whose works, by the catalogue given of
his effects, were in his possession;) therefore, as far as transparency
and richness, with a truthfulness of tint, are concerned, Brauwer had
set an example. But in the works of Rembrandt we perceive a peculiarity
entirely his own--that of enveloping parts in beautiful obscurity, and
the light again emerging from the shadow, like the softness of moonlight
partially seen through demi-transparent clouds, and leaving large
masses of undefined objects in darkness. This principle he applied to
compositions of even a complicated character, and their bustle and noise
were swallowed up in the stillness of shadow. If breadth constitutes
grandeur, Rembrandt's works are exemplifications of mysterious sublimity
to the fullest extent. This "darkness visible," as Milton expresses it,
belongs to the great founder of the school of Holland, and to him alone.
Flinck, Dietricy, De Guelder, and others his pupils, give no idea of it;
their works are warm, but they are without redeeming cool tints; they
are yellow without pearly tones; and in place of leading the eye of the
spectator into the depths of aerial perspective, the whole work appears
on the surface of the panel. There are none of those shadows "hanging
in mid air," which constitute so captivating a charm in the great
magician of chiaro-scuro; not only are objects of solidity surrounded
by softening obscurity, but the contiguous atmosphere gives indications
of the influence of the light and shade. To these principles the art
is indebted for breadth and fulness of effect, which constitute the
distinct characteristics between the early state and its maturity--and
to Rembrandt we owe the perfection of this fascinating quality.
We must, nevertheless, always look back with wonder at what was
achieved by Coreggio. Even when painting flourished under the guidance
of Leonardo da Vinci and Giorgione, Reynolds, speaking of this quality
in contradistinction to that of relief, says, "This favourite quality
of giving objects relief, and which De Piles and all the critics have
considered as a requisite of the greatest importance, was not one of
those objects which much engaged the attention of Titian. Painters of an
inferior rank have far exceeded him in producing this effect. This was a
great object of attention when art was in its infant state, as it is at
present with the vulgar and ignorant, who feel the highest satisfaction
in seeing a figure which, as they say, looks as if they could walk round
it. But however low I might rate this pleasure of deception, I should
not oppose it, did it not oppose itself to a quality of a much higher
kind, by counteracting entirely that fulness of manner which is so
difficult to express in words, but which is found in perfection in the
best works of Coreggio, and, we may add, of Rembrandt. This effect is
produced by melting and losing the shadows in a ground still darker
than those shadows; whereas that relief is produced by opposing and
separating the ground from the figure, either by light, or shadow,
or colour. This conduct of inlaying, as it may be called, figures on
their ground, in order to produce relief, was the practice of the old
painters, such as Andrea Mantegna, Pietro Perugino, and Albert Durer,
and to these we may add the first manner of Leonardo da Vinci,
Giorgione, and even Coreggio; but these three were among the first
who began to correct themselves in dryness of style, by no longer
considering relief as a principal object. As those two qualities,
relief and fulness of effect, can hardly exist together, it is not
very difficult to determine to which we ought to give the preference.
An artist is obliged for ever to hold a balance in his hand, by which
he must determine the value of different qualities, that when some fault
must be committed, he may choose the least. Those painters who have
best understood the art of producing a good effect have adopted one
principle that seems perfectly conformable to reason--that a part may be
sacrificed for the good of the whole. Thus, whether the masses consist
of light or shadow, it is necessary that they should be compact and
of a pleasing shape; to this end, some parts may be made darker and
some lighter, and reflections stronger than nature would warrant. Paul
Veronese took great liberties of this kind. It is said, that being once
asked why certain figures were painted in shade, as no cause was seen in
the picture itself, he turned off the inquiry by answering, 'Una nuevola
che passa,'--a cloud is passing, which has overshadowed them."
Before entering more minutely into an investigation of the principles
of Rembrandt with regard to chiaro-scuro, I must again revert to those
of Coreggio. Opie, speaking of the method of this great artist, says,
"To describe his practice will be in a great degree to repeat my
observations on chiaro-scuro in its enlarged sense. By classing his
colours, and judiciously dividing them into few and large masses of
bright and obscure, gently rounding off his light, and passing, by
almost imperceptible degrees, through pellucid demi-tints and warm
reflections into broad, deep, and transparent shade, he artfully
connected the finest extremes of light and shadow, harmonized the most
intense opposition of colours, and combined the greatest possible effect
with the sweetest and softest repose imaginable." Further on, he
remarks--"The turn of his thoughts, also, in regard to particular
subjects, was often in the highest degree poetical and uncommon, of
which it will be sufficient to give as an instance his celebrated
_Notte_, or painting of the 'Nativity of Christ,' in which his making
all the light of the picture emanate from the child, striking upwards
on the beautiful face of the mother, and in all directions on the
surrounding objects, may challenge comparison with any invention in the
whole circle of art, both for the splendour and sweetness of effect,
which nothing can exceed, and for its happy appropriation to the person
of Him who was born to dispel the clouds of ignorance, and diffuse the
light of truth over a darkened world!" Now, this work Rembrandt must
have seen, or at least a copy from it, as his treatment of the same
subject, in the National Gallery, indicates; but the poetry is lost, for
it would be impossible to imitate it without a direct plagiarism. It
may, however, have given a turn to his thoughts, in representing many of
his subjects under the influence of night in place of day, such as his
"Taking down from the Cross," by torch light; his "Flight into Egypt,"
with the lantern; the "Burial of Christ," &c. While other men were
painting daylight, he turned the day into night, which is one of the
paths that sublimity travels through. The general idea most people have
of Rembrandt is, that he is one of the dark masters: but his shadows
are not black, they are filled with transparency. The backgrounds to his
portraits are less dark than many of either Titian or Tintoret. His
landscapes are not black, they are the soft emanations of twilight; and
when he leads you through the shadows of night, you see the path, even
in the deepest obscurity. As colour forms a constituent part of
chiaro-scuro, I must, in this division, confine myself more particularly
to black and white, both in giving examples from his etchings, and
explaining the various changes he made upon them in order to heighten
the effect. The etching I have here given is the "Nativity," in the
darkest state; in the British Museum there are no less than seven
varieties, and the first state is the lightest. But in order to render
his mode of proceeding more intelligible, I shall explain the progress
of his working. His first etchings are often bit in with the aquafortis,
when the shadows have but few ways crossed with the etching point: these
are often strongly bit in, that, when covered over with finer lines, the
first may shine through, and give transparency. In the next process he
seems to have taken off the etching ground, and laid over the plate a
transparent ground, (that is to say, one not darkened by the smoke of a
candle;) upon this he worked up his effect by a multiplicity of fresh
lines, often altering his forms, and adding new objects, as the idea
seemed to rise in his mind. After which, when the plate was again
subjected to the operation of the acid, the etching ground was removed,
and the whole worked up with the greatest delicacy and softness by means
of the dry needle, to the scratches of which the aquafortis is never
applied. This process it is that gives what is termed the _burr_, and
renders the etchings of Rembrandt different from all others. Now this
_burr_ is produced, not by the ink going into the lines, but by the
printer being obstructed in wiping it off by the raised edge which the
dry point has forced up; for when these lines run through deep shadows,
we often see that they print white, from the ink being wiped off the
top of the ridge.
[Illustration: THE NATIVITY]