Exhibition of Sèvres China at the Louvre.--Gobelins and
Beauvais Tapestry.--Legitimatist Father and Doctrinaire
Son.--Copies from the Medicean Gallery.
We are just returned from an exhibition at the Louvre; and a very
splendid exhibition it is--though, alas! but a poor consolation for
the hidden treasures of the picture-gallery. Several magnificent rooms
are now open for the display of works in tapestry and Sèvres
porcelain; and however much we might have preferred seeing something
else there, it is impossible to deny that these rooms contain many
objects as wonderful perhaps in their way as any that the higher
branches of art ever produced.
The copy of Titian's portrait of his mistress, on porcelain, and still
more perhaps that of Raphaël's "Virgin and St. John watching the sleep
of the infant Jesus," (the _Parce somnum rumpere_,) are, I think, the
most remarkable; both being of the same size as the originals, and
performed with a perfection of colouring that is almost
inconceivable.
That the fragile clay of which porcelain is fabricated should so lend
itself to the skill of the workman,--or rather, that the workman's
skill should so triumph over the million chances which exist against
bringing unbroken out of the fire a smooth and level _plaque_ of such
extent,--is indeed most wonderful. Still more so is the skill which
has enabled the artist to prophesy, as he painted with his greys and
his greens, that the tints which flowed from his pencil of one colour,
should assume, from the nicely-regulated action of an element the most
difficult to govern, hues and shades so exquisitely imitative of his
great original.
But having acknowledged this, I have nothing more to say in praise of
a _tour de force_ which, in my opinion, can only be attempted by the
sacrifice of common sense. The _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of a Titian or a
Raphaël are treasures of which we may lawfully covet an imitation; but
why should it be attempted in a manner the most difficult, the most
laborious, the most likely to fail, and the most liable to destruction
when completed?--not to mention that, after all, there is in the most
perfect copy on porcelain a something--I am mistress of no words to
define it--which does not satisfy the mind.
As far as regards my own feelings indeed, I could go farther, and say
that the effect produced is to a certain degree positively
disagreeable,--not quite unlike that occasioned by examining
needlework performed without fingers, or watch-papers exquisitely cut
out by feet instead of hands. The admiration demanded is less for the
thing itself, than for the very defective means employed to produce
it. Were there indeed none other, the inventor would deserve a statue,
and the artist, like Trisotin, should take the air "_en carrosse
doré_:" but as it is, I would rather see a good copy on canvass than
on china.
Far different, however, is the effect produced by this beautiful and
ingenious branch of art when displayed in the embellishment of cups
and plates, vases and tea-trays. I never saw anything more gracefully
appropriate to the last high finish of domestic elegance than all the
articles of this description exhibited this year at the Louvre. It is
impossible to admire or to praise them too much; or to deny that,
wonderfully as similar manufactories have improved in England within
the last thirty years, we have still nothing equal to the finer
specimens of the Sèvres porcelain.
These rooms were, like every other place in Paris where human beings
know that they shall meet each other, extremely full of company; and I
have certainly never seen such ecstasy of admiration produced by any
objects exhibited to the public eye, as was elicited by some of the
articles displayed on this occasion: they are indeed most beautiful;
the form, the material, the workmanship, all perfect.
The Sèvres manufactory must, I think, have some individuals attached
to it who have made the theory of colour an especial study. It is
worth while to walk round the vast table, or rather platform, raised
in the middle of the apartment, for the purpose of examining the
different sets, with a view only to observe the effect produced on the
eye by the arrangement of colours in each.
The finest specimens, after the wonderful copies from pictures which I
have already mentioned, are small breakfast-sets--for a _tête-à-tête_,
I believe,--enclosed in large cases lined either with white satin or
white velvet. These cases are all open for inspection, but with a
stout brass bar around, to protect them from the peril of too near an
approach. The lid is so formed as exactly to receive the tray; while
the articles to be placed upon it, when in use, are arranged each in
its own delicate recess, with such an attention to composition and
general effect as to show all and everything to the greatest possible
advantage.
Some of these exquisite specimens are decorated with flowers, some
with landscapes, and others with figures, or miniatures of heads,
either superlative in beauty or distinguished by fame. These beautiful
decorations, admirable as they all are in design and execution, struck
me less than the perfect taste with which the reigning colour which
pervades each set, either as background, lining, or border, is made to
harmonize with the ornaments upon it.
It is a positive pleasure, independent of the amusement which may be
derived from a closer examination, to cast the eye over the general
effect produced by the consummate taste and skill thus displayed.
Those curious affinities and antipathies among colours, which I have
seen made the subject of many pretty experimental lectures, must, I am
sure, have been studied and acted upon by the _colour-master_ of each
department; and the result is to my feelings productive of a pleasure,
from the contemplation of the effect produced, as distinct from the
examination of the design, or of any other circumstance connected with
the art, as the gratification produced by the smell of an
orange-blossom or a rose: it is a pleasure which has no connexion with
the intellect, but arises solely from its agreeable effect on the
sense.
The eye seems to be unconsciously soothed and gratified, and lingers
upon the rich, the soft, or the brilliant hues, with a satisfaction
that positively amounts to enjoyment.
Whoever may be occupied by the "delightful task" of fitting up a
sumptuous drawing-room, will do well to take a tour round a room
filled with sets of Sèvres porcelain. The important question of "What
colours shall we mix?" would receive an answer there, with the
delightful certainty that no solecism in taste could possibly be
committed by obeying it.
The Gobelins and Beauvais work for chairs, screens, cushions, and
various other articles, makes a great display this year. It is very
beautiful, both in design and execution; and at the present moment,
when the stately magnificence of the age of Louis Quinze is so much in
vogue--in compliment, it is said, to the taste of the Duc
d'Orléans,--this costly manufacture is likely again to flourish.
Never can a large and lofty chamber present an appearance of more
princely magnificence than when thus decorated; and the manner in
which this elaborate style of ancient embellishment is now adopted to
modern use, is equally ingenious and elegant.
Some political economists talk of the national advantage of decreasing
labour by machinery, while others advocate every fashion which demands
the work of hands. I will not attempt to decide on which side wisdom
lies; but, in our present imperfect condition, everything that brings
an innocent and profitable occupation to women appears to me
desirable.
The needles of France are assuredly the most skilful in the world; and
set to work as they are upon designs that rival those of the Vatican
in elegance, they produce a perfection of embroidery that sets all
competition at defiance.
In pursuing my way along the rail which encloses the specimens
exhibited--a progress which was necessarily very slow from the
pressure of the crowd,--I followed close behind a tall, elegant,
aristocratic-looking gentleman, who was accompanied by his
son--decidedly his son,--the boy "fathered himself;" I never saw a
stronger likeness. Their conversation, which I overheard by no act of
impertinent listening, but because I could not possibly avoid it,
amused me much. I am seldom thrown into such close contact with
strangers without making a fancy-sketch of who and what they are; but
upon this occasion I was thrown out,--it was like reading a novel, the
_dénouement_ of which is so well concealed as to evade guessing. The
boy and his father were not of one mind; their observations were made
in the spirit of different parties: the father, I suspect, was a
royalist,--the son, I am sure, was a young doctrinaire. The crowd hung
long upon the spot where a magnificent collection of embroidery for
the seats and backs of a set of chairs was displayed. "They are for
the Duke of Orleans," said the father.
"Yes, yes," said the boy; "they are fit for him--they are princely."
"They are fit for a king!" said the father with a sigh.
The lad paused for a moment, and then said, _avec intention_, as the
stage directions express it, "Mais lui aussi, il est fils de St.
Louis; n'est-ce pas?" The father answered not, and the crowd moved on.
All I could make of this was, that the boy's instructor, whether male
or female, was a faithful disciple of the "_PARCEQU'il est Bourbon_"
school; and whatever leaven of wavering faith may be mixed up with
this doctrine, it forms perhaps the best defence to be found for
attachment to the reigning dynasty amongst those who are too young to
enter fully into the expediency part of the question.
In the last of the suite of rooms opened for this exhibition, are
displayed splendid pieces of tapestry from subjects taken from Rubens'
Medicean Gallery.
That the achievement of these enormous combinations of stitches must
have been a labour of extreme difficulty, there can be no doubt; but
notwithstanding my admiration for French needles, I am tempted to add,
in the words of our uncompromising moralist, "Would it had been
impossible!"