POUSSIN

Truth and compliment are happily united in Poussin’s observation to a

noble amateur, “You wanted but the stimulus of necessity to have become

a great painter.” The artist had himself felt this stimulus, and he knew

its value in producing resolution and habits of industry. His family was

noble, but indigent: John, his father, a native of Soissons, and a

soldier of fortune, served during the reigns of Charles IX., Henry III.,

and Henry IV., with more reputation than profit. At last, finding that

in the trade of arms his valour was likely to be its own reward, he

married the widow of a solicitor, resigned his military employments, and

fixed his abode at Andelys in Normandy, where, in June 1594, his son

Nicholas, the subject of the present memoir, was born.

The district in which Andelys is situated is remarkable for its

picturesque beauty, and from the scenery which surrounded him the genius

of Poussin drew its first inspiration. His sketches of landscape

attracted the notice and commendation of Quintin Varin, an artist

residing in the neighbourhood. Animated by praise, young Poussin

earnestly solicited his father that he might become Varin’s pupil: a

request to which the prudent parent, after long hesitation, reluctantly

acceded. He knew that in such a pursuit as that of the fine arts, much

of the aspirant’s life must be expended before a just estimate of his

professional talents can be formed, and that even where talent exists,

the success of the possessor is not always commensurate to its claims.

The youth, however, was fortunate in meeting, in the first instance,

with a preceptor whose instructions, founded on just principles, left

him nothing to unlearn. He remained with Varin until his eighteenth

year, when he went to Paris, and studied under Ferdinand Elle, and

L’Allemand, two artists then in fashion, from whom he learned nothing.

In the mean time he had become acquainted with several persons who

appreciated his dawning talents, and felt an interest in his fortunes.

Among the rest, a young nobleman of Poitou manifested an almost

fraternal attachment towards him, relieved his pecuniary wants, and

among other services introduced him to Courtois, the King’s

mathematician, who possessed a fine collection of prints by Marc

Antonio, and a great number of drawings and sketches by Raffaelle,

Giulio Romano, and other great masters of the Roman school. These

treasures Poussin studied and copied with sedulous zeal and attention,

and he was frequently heard to advert to this circumstance as one of the

most fortunate of his life, inasmuch as the contemplation of these fine

examples had fixed his taste, and determined the bent of his powers

towards the higher branches of art, at a time when his mind was

fluctuating between the attractions of different schools.

The young Poitevin, being summoned to return home, invited Poussin to

become his companion, and to undertake a series of pictures, calculated,

by its extent as well as its excellence, to do honour to his paternal

mansion. But his mother regarded the fine arts and those who patronised

them with equal and unqualified contempt: and suffering in her house the

exercise of none but what she considered useful talents, she assigned to

Poussin the office of house-steward, and his visions of fame were at

once dispelled by the humble occupation of overlooking the servants, and

keeping accounts. It may easily be supposed that the young artist did

not deport himself very meekly under the new appointments which had thus

unexpectedly been thrust upon him. Without asking the sympathy or

assistance even of his friend, who, it would appear, had acquiesced too

readily in his mother’s arrangements, he quitted the house and made his

way to Paris on foot; having no other means of support on the road than

the extemporaneous productions of his pencil. In consequence of the

hardships which he experienced during this journey, he was attacked by a

fever on reaching Paris, which obliged him to return to Andelys. After

the lapse of a year, having recruited his health, he made arrangements

to execute a long-cherished purpose of a journey to Rome. But with an

improvidence not uncommon in artists, and sometimes falsely said to be

characteristic of genius, he calculated his resources so inaccurately

that in two successive attempts he was obliged to return, leaving his

purpose unaccomplished. In the first instance he reached Florence, but

in the second, he got no farther than Lyons. The disappointment,

however, was attended with good results, for on his return to Paris, a

circumstance occurred which at once raised him into high reputation.

The Jesuits had ordered a set of pictures for a high festival, which

were to display the miracles worked by their patron saints, Ignatius

Loyola, and Francis Xavier. Of these, six were executed by Poussin, in a

very short space of time; the pictures were little more than sketches,

but they exhibited such powers of composition and expression, that he

was at once acknowledged to have distanced all competitors. His

acquaintance was now sought by amateurs and literati; but the chief

advantage which accrued to him was the friendship of the Chevalier

Marini, a distinguished Italian, who had settled in Paris, and engaged

with interest in the cultivation of elegant literature and the arts. His

mind was stored with classical erudition, and he delighted to exercise

his poetic talent on the then fashionable fables of heathen mythology.

Such pursuits were congenial to Poussin’s turn of mind; and by the

advice, and with the assistance of Marini, he entered deeply into the

study of the Latin and Italian authors. Hence he drew the elements of

that knowledge of the customs, manners, and habits of antiquity, by

which his works are so eminently distinguished. Marini, soon after, went

to Rome, and was anxious that Poussin should accompany him; but this the

artist found impossible, from the number of unfinished commissions on

his hands. In the ensuing year, however, 1624, his long-cherished wish

was accomplished, and he trod the streets of the Eternal City.

Among the innumerable pilgrims who have thronged to that mighty shrine,

no one ever, perhaps, approached it with deeper reverence than Poussin,

or studied in the school of antiquity with more zeal and success. He

commenced his labours with that enthusiasm which the objects around him

could not fail to inspire, and comprehended in the round of his studies

the different sciences which bore collaterally upon his art. Some of his

finest works are among those which he produced at this period; but his

talents were not at first appreciated in Rome, and the spectre of penury

still haunted his study. His friend Marini had gone to Naples, where he

died, and the Cardinal Barberini, to whose favour he had been especially

recommended, was absent on a legation in Spain. Among other works which

his necessities compelled him to dispose of at this time for a trifling

sum, was “The Ark of God in the hands of the Philistines,” which was

purchased from him for fifty crowns, and sold shortly afterwards to the

Duc de Richelieu for one thousand. Accident and ill health combined with

poverty to overcloud the early part of his abode in Rome. The French

were then very unpopular, on account of some differences existing

between the Court of France and the Holy See. Poussin was assaulted in

the streets by some of the Pope’s soldiery, severely wounded by a

sabre-cut in the hand, and only escaped more serious injury by the

spirit and resolution with which he defended himself. After recovering

from this injury, he was again rendered unable to pursue his art by a

lingering illness; in the course of which a fellow-countryman, named

Jean Dughet, took him to his own home, and treated him with care, which

soon restored him to health. Six months afterwards he married the

daughter of his host, and subsequently adopted his wife’s brother,

Gaspar, who assumed his name, and has shared its honours by his splendid

landscapes. With part of his wife’s portion Poussin purchased a house on

the Pincian Hill, which is still pointed out as an object of interest to

travellers and students.

From this period the fortune of Poussin began to improve. Relieved from

his embarrassments, and tranquillized by domestic comfort, he proceeded

in the calm exercise of his powers; and the fine works on which his

reputation is founded were painted in rapid succession. Cardinal

Barberini, who had returned to Rome, engaged him to execute one of the

large paintings ordered to be copied in mosaic for St. Peter’s Church.

The subject was the Martyrdom of St. Erasmus; but the picture, which is

now in the Vatican, furnishes no reason for regret that Poussin did not

more frequently employ himself on works of large dimensions. A

circumstance occurred at this time which it is gratifying to relate, as

it exhibits two distinguished men engaged in the honourable task of

promoting the success and vindicating the reputation of each other. When

Poussin arrived at Rome, he found the lovers of art divided into two

parties, composed respectively of the admirers of Guido and Domenichino.

Two pictures had been painted by those artists, which, as if to decide

their rival claims, were hung opposite to each other in the church of

San Gregorio. The subjects were similar; the one the Flagellation, the

other the Martyrdom of the Saint from whom the church is named. The

performance of Guido was the one most generally preferred: but Poussin

formed a different judgment, and sat down to copy the picture of the

less popular artist. Domenichino, on being informed of this, although he

was then suffering from illness, ordered himself to be carried to the

church, where he entered into conversation with Poussin, to whom he was

personally unknown, and who indeed imagined him to be dead. A friendly

intimacy was the consequence of this interview, which was exceedingly

advantageous to Poussin, as Domenichino took pleasure in communicating

all that knowledge of art, which long experience had enabled him to

acquire. Shortly after this Domenichino quitted Rome for Naples, and the

storm of envy and detraction seemed to gather force in his absence. So

much was his reputation injured, that the monks of the convent of San

Girolamo della Carità, who had in their possession his superb picture of

the Communion of St. Jerome, ordered it to be removed from the walls and

consigned to a cellar as a thing utterly contemptible. This anecdote,

were it not attested by unquestionable evidence, would be difficult to

believe; for the merits of the picture require no deep knowledge of art

to be duly appreciated: it is not less admirable in colour and effect

than in sentiment and character. The intelligent monks, however, wishing

for a picture to supply its place, engaged Poussin to paint one,

acquainting him at the same time that they could save him the expense of

canvass, by sending him a worthless daub, over which he might paint. The

astonishment of Poussin on receiving the picture may be easily

conceived. He immediately directed it to be carried to the church from

whence it had been taken, and announced his intention to deliver a

public disquisition on its merits. This he accordingly did to a large

auditory, and with such force of reasoning and illustration, that malice

was silenced and prejudice convinced; and the name of Domenichino

assumed from that time its just rank in public estimation.

The pictures of Poussin, as he advanced in his career, were eagerly

purchased by connoisseurs from all countries, and his fame was at length

established throughout Europe. In 1638 a project was suggested to Louis

XIII., by Cardinal Richelieu, for finishing the Louvre, and adorning the

royal palaces, according to the magnificent plans of Francis I. The high

reputation of Poussin marked him out as the person best qualified for

the partial execution and entire superintendence of these splendid

works; and accordingly a letter was transmitted to him by order of the

French monarch, appointing him his principal painter, and requesting his

immediate attendance at Paris. But so absorbed was the artist in his

studies, and so unambitious was his temper, that he allowed two years to

elapse before he attended to this flattering requisition; nor is it

probable that he would have quitted Rome at all, had not a gentleman

been despatched from the court of France to bring him. On his arrival,

he was presented to the King, who received him with courtesy, and

assigned him a liberal income. Placed in the full enjoyment of fame and

wealth, Poussin’s situation might well appear enviable to his less

favoured brethren in art. But his station, brilliant as it was, proved

ill-suited to his disposition: and his letters to his friends in Rome

were soon filled with the language of disappointment and complaint. He

felt that he was no longer exercising his genius as an artist, but

labouring as an artisan. Commissions were poured in upon him from the

court with merciless rapidity, without the slightest calculation of the

time requisite to the production of works of art. On one occasion he was

required to execute a picture containing sixteen figures, larger than

life, within six weeks. Nor was this the worst: the triflers of the

court obtruded on him, with irritating politeness, the most

insignificant employments; designs for chimney-pieces, ornamental

cabinets, bindings for books, repairing pictures, &c. To complete the

catalogue of annoyances, his coadjutors in the public works, Le Mercier

the architect, and the painters Vouet and Fouquieres, thwarted and

opposed him in every particular; until at length, worn out and

disgusted, he applied for permission to return to Rome. This he obtained

with some difficulty, and not without a stipulation that he should

revisit Paris within twelve months. It is not improbable that the

condition would never have been fulfilled; but the King’s death in the

following year released him from the obligation. The last works executed

by Poussin in Paris were two allegorical subjects: the one, Time

bringing Truth to light, and delivering her from the fiends, Malice and

Envy; in which an allusion was most probably meant to the controversies

in which he had been engaged: the other, in which his intention is less

equivocal, is an imitation of bas-relief, in the ceiling of the Louvre,

where his opponents, Fouquieres, Le Mercier, and Vouet, are consigned to

the derision of posterity under the figures of Folly, Ignorance, and

Envy.

Perhaps the happiest, and not an inconsiderable, portion of Poussin’s

life, was that which intervened between his return to Rome and his

death. Experience of the cabals and disquietudes of Paris had no doubt

taught him to value the classical serenity of his adopted home. Although

in possession of great and undisputed fame, and sufficiently affluent,

he continued to labour in his art with unrelaxing diligence, if that may

be called labour which constituted his highest gratification. His

talents and moral worth drew round him a large circle of the learned and

the polite, who anxiously sought his society during his leisure hours;

and in his evening walks on the Pincian Hill, he might have been said to

resemble one of the philosophers of antiquity, surrounded by his friends

and disciples. Thus he descended, with tranquil dignity, into the vale

of life. In 1665 he suffered from a stroke of the palsy, and, shortly

after, the death of his wife plunged him into the deepest affliction. He

perceived his own end to be approaching, and awaited it with calm

resignation. He died in his 72d year, A. D. 1665, and was buried with

public honours in the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina.

The pictures of Poussin are so numerous, and so generally dispersed,

that every one, whose attention has been directed to the arts, must have

a pretty accurate impression of his style. It is a style of perfect

originality, reminding us somewhat of ancient art, but without a

tincture of imitation of any modern master. For a short time Poussin

sought a model in the school of Titian, but turned from that task to

copy the pictures discovered among the ruins of ancient Rome. Apparently

he wished to give his works something of the subdued tone which Time has

communicated to those relics; and hence, in some of his pictures, there

is a singular discrepancy between the subject and the effect. He

delighted to paint antique revels, bacchanalians, dancing nymphs, &c.;

but his tints never accord with gay subjects, nor exhibit the vivacity

and freshness proper to such scenes. The solemn and sombre hue of his

colouring is far better adapted to grand or pathetic subjects.

Considering the implicit and almost idolatrous admiration with which

Poussin regarded the antique statues, it is astonishing that he should

not have infused into his own forms more of the spirit in which these

are conceived; for, in this point, imitation could not have been carried

too far. But the reverse is the case: his figures are direct transcripts

of individual models, usually correct in proportion, but seldom rendered

ideal, or generalized into beauty. A still greater defect is chargeable

on his composition, which is almost invariably scattered and confused,

without a centre of interest or point of unity. His principal figures

are mixed up with the subordinate ones, and those again with the

accessories in the back-ground. What, then, are the qualities by which

Poussin has acquired his high reputation? The principal one we conceive

to consist in that very simplicity and severity, by which perhaps the

eye is at first offended. He appears to feel himself above the necessity

of superficial ornament. He is always thoroughly in earnest; his figures

perform their business with an emphasis which rivets our attention, we

become identified with the subject, and lose all thought of the painter

in his performance. This is a result never produced by an inferior

artist. On the whole, although we cannot assign Poussin a place by the

side of Raffaelle, Rubens, Titian, and some others, who may be

considered the giants of art, and compose the foremost rank, he

certainly stands among those who are most eminent in the second. His

compositions, which are very numerous, are varied with great skill, and

surprise us, not unfrequently, with novel and striking combinations; and

several among them—we may adduce particularly the Ark of God among the

Philistines, the Deluge, and the Slaughter of the Innocents—could only

have originated in a mind of a very exalted order.

Several of Poussin’s finest works are in this country. In the Dulwich

Gallery there is, we believe, the largest number to be found in any one

collection. Among those, the subject of the Angels appearing to Abraham

is treated with considerable grace and beauty. The picture of Moses

striking the rock, in the possession of the Marquis of Stafford, is one

of Poussin’s most profound and elaborate performances; and, in the

National Gallery, the two Bacchanalian subjects will furnish a full idea

both of his powers and deficiencies in treating that favourite class of

compositions.

The reader will find a more detailed account of the life and works of

Poussin in Lanzi’s ‘Storia Pittorica dell’Italia,’ and Bellori’s ‘Vite

di Pittori moderni.’ There is an English life of him written by Maria

Graham. Much critical information concerning his style and performances

will be found in the writings of Mengs, Reynolds, and Fuseli.

[Illustration: [Holy Family; from a picture by Poussin.]]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by E. Scriven._